Chapter 2: in which there are too many words for one thing, and too little for another.
The same day, Twenty-three minutes later, In the Rain: a Saturday
Eskimos have over fifty words for snow; there was a word for wet snow, a word for dry snow, a word for that annoying snow that just seems to float in the air around you in a frozen dance but never actually touches the ground. There was even a word for 'the snow that you really should not walk on because it is not so much snow as it is ice that is melting away and you will likely fall in the river if you try'. Simply put, when you live in a place like northern Canada that gets nine months of snow fall, and where the snow never really melts so much as become a dirty muddy kind of snow, you end up developing a lot of ways of saying the same thing.
Harry did not live in northern Canada, nor was it snowing. Instead he lived in a little sad corner of southern London and was currently standing in a steady down pour of rain that was, once again, drenching him from head to toe. He would much rather have preferred the snow (and if he had been an Eskimo and lived in northern Canada he would have known over fifty words for it and would have been able to specify just what kind of snow he wanted), because at least snow was fun.
Rain was just wet and annoying and Harry was, by this point, very wet and very annoyed. You see, Mr. Tom – A.K.A Voldemort, A.K.A the Dark Lord of the United Kingdom, A.K.A He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, A.K.A the man who had just finished talking to said boy called Harry just over twenty three minutes ago – had forgotten one very important thing: He had forgotten to unlock a door so Harry could get back into the orphanage. So Harry, a young boy of six, was still left standing around outside of the orphanage waiting to be let back in. It would have been okay if it wasn't for the fact that the drying and rain repellent spells that had kept the child decently warm and content had worn off about two minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago.
If asked later, Voldemort would insist he had left the boy out in the cold, and therefore had not cast an unlocking spell on the orphanage front door, on purpose. After all, why should he care what happened to the child? If he died of pneumonia all the better. This would of course be a half lie; he did simply just forget to open the door for the boy, but he also would not care in the slightest if the boy were to die.
Half lies are, as every good Dark Lord and child between the age of five to sixteen (along with a large number of politicians and lawyers) knows, are the best lies because they sound believable and cannot easily be proven false.
And so, as a consequence, Harry had been left out in the rain to suffer.
He had not been idle, knowing that it would do him no good. Instead In his short time under the drying and waterproof spell he had wandered around the orphanage grounds looking for some way back in that he could have missed the first time around. He didn't think he had missed anything of course, he had been locked out enough times to know all of the potential entrances and ways back in, but so did everyone else. This meant that every other child could, very efficiently, close off every possible way in and keep another person out far better than any of the care takers could. Every once and a while this knowledge was used against said care takers, but, more often than not, it was aimed at the other kids. Getting locked out was such a common occurrence that many of the other children and secret places to stay outside of the orphanage walls when they could not, or would not, go back in. some were even lucky enough to have families or older gang members that were willing to give them short term shelter.
Harry was not so lucky as to have such a place. He had tried to find one once, but it had become abundantly clear after a couple hours of searching that all the tiny hell-holes in the area were already occupied and the people occupying them were not to be messed with. He had given up after a short while, knowing he could not fight someone for their claim, though he was regretting that now. The sun would be down soon and if he didn't get inside before that happened then he would have to wait until morning to be let back in, if he didn't freeze to death before that.
It wasn't like the other kids to do that though, sure they were mean and vicious and would call him awful things, but they weren't killers. After all, many of them had been in his shoes before and they knew, especially the older ones, when it was time for the game to stop. (This point was was usually when someone was hurt and sick and in pain but not dead yet, or when the sun was setting and they were all likely to get in trouble if they stayed out much later). This thought drove Harry once again to his feet to look around the building one more time. This time something was different, this time he discovered a window that had been left open. It was not the easiest to access but he could manage if he had to.
He had really hoped he wouldn't have to.
The window being open was, simply put, a sign from the other kids. It meant that this part of the game was over, but that didn't mean that the whole thing had finished just yet. He was, after all, wet and likely going to end up sick, but he wasn't in pain or hurt or in trouble. That could only mean one thing; this was a trap.
But it was cold and raining and all Harry wanted to do was go inside and up to his room to curl up into a ball on his bed. So, knowing that it was a bad idea but deciding to go along with it anyway, Harry pulled himself shakily up the side of the wall to perch on the windowsill. He sat there looking around for any signs of danger, but he found none. The room, the kitchen he noted watching the pots and pans that hung from the ceiling swing in the wind from the open window, was dark and none of the other children were in sight. He shivered from the cold wind hitting his back and took a deep gulp of air before slipping onto the counter beneath him.
So far so good.
He then, slowly and quietly, moved to the edge of the counter and slipped silently off of it, thinking that maybe the game really was over and he was home free. At least he had thought so until his feet hit the ground with a small splash which was quickly flowed by the sound of a bottle rolling across the room's floor. He looked on in horror as the bottle slowly make a 'chink, chink, chink,' sound as it rolled across the uneven wood floor before coming to stop a few feet from the door. The bottle shown a deep brown in the small amount of light filtering in through the open window and Harry froze in terror. The smell of spilt alcohol, Bourbon he noted on the bottle label, filled his nose, burning it with the sour smell.
There was a 'thunk' and a 'crash' from down the hall and Harry closed his eyes in despair, knowing what was coming next and knowing there would be no point in running.
The game was now over; he had lost, like he always did.
The Next Day: a Sunday
Voldemort's shoes made a soft 'splash' as he walked down the abandoned road. It was still raining, but it had slowed to a steady spray rather than a downpour. Even so, most of the inhabitance of this small corner of London had opted to stay indoors, at least those that had places indoors to go to. Voldemort was feeling the annoying press of time though and felt he needed to find a place for himself sooner rather than later. He could not stay holed up in the bed and breakfast forever; for one thing having to deal with the elderly couple was getting on his nerves. Sure they acted like he didn't exist, thanks to the Imperius curse, but there mere existence aggravated him. They were too well known in the area to kill them, so he just had to move out before he was driven to that point (though maybe he could get away with killing one, he thought. the man, he was old enough to suffer from a 'heart attack' without anyone questioning it).
So instead of killing the owners of his current residence, he set out to find a new one, preferably with residence that would not be missed. That was simple enough in this neighborhood since most people here knew how to mind their own business and keep their heads down. No one would ask when someone or a group of someones' disappeared; after all, it happened at least once a month.
He would have preferred to be moving on to a magical settlement by this point, but the Potter child had complicated things. He had, in developing his latest plan of dealing with the boy, over looked one very crucial component: He would have to live nearby.
Before this he had been planning to move into one of the more rural magical villages, maybe somewhere in Northern England, closer to Scotland. Just outside of Hogsmeade would have been a good option given that it was a decently discreet location while still being a center for news. But now that he had decided to be a force in Potter's life he would have to stay within the area. Staying in the area meant two very crucial things: one it meant having to live in an area where he had sworn he would never return, and two, it meant that he would have to live amongst muggles. And he hated having to deal with muggles.
He could, of course, apparite into the area whenever he felt the desire to influence the boy, and that option had crossed his mind, but then was quickly discarded. There were too many unknowns with the child's life and too many situations that could arise that, should he not be around or be prepared for them, could mean he would lose a valuable opportunity to mold the boy as he saw fit. Appariting in would also be a large waste of time and energy, not to mention that, should someone wish to, they could track him. So, even though he despised it, he knew he had little choice by to stay in London.
But still muggles.
And speaking of muggles and there quaint little settlements, it seemed he had finally found one that he might very well be able to use. He looked up at the two story townhouse; squinting a little as rain fell annoyingly close to his eyes, and made out a very large amount of fog clouding up the top bedrooms windows. It wasn't much to go on, but he was confident that this was the kind or residence he was looking for. He moved to inspect the rest of the building.
The townhouse was decent, for the area. It was worn down but not so much as to be condemned, and the small front garden was just overgrown enough to make it obvious that no one had cared for it for a long while. This likely meant that the original owners had either died or abandoned the residence as unsellable and no good years ago.
Voldemort made his way down the spotted and stained cobblestone walk way - mulberry stains, he noted, from a small tree that had started to grow in the side garden and would need to be removed before it got too big and started to cause damage - And made his way around the back. The back garden was in just as much disarray as the front, covered in more weeds then actual plants and with a number of rotting and broken tools and wooden boxes that had most likely been vegetable gardens at some point. They could be easily salvaged, he thought, and used to grow less accessible potions ingredients. There were also seven foot bushes – un-kept and in need of a very good trim – on either ends of the property lines which acted as a sort of fence and ensured a good measure of privacy. The small tool shed that stood in the far left corner of the yard had long since collapsed in on itself and was likely being used by a number of wild creatures by this point.
And speaking of wild creatures, a head made an appearance out of the townhouses back door. It was an ugly kind of head, misshapen with disgusting and greasy looking hair resting upon a very unfortunate looking face which was all connected to an even more unfortunate looking body.
"Oi!" A voice yelled from said ugly face, "watcha' think ya do'en mate! You's trespassing you's are!"
Voldemort turned to look at the muggle; he guessed the man was in his mid-twenties, along with the other faces that were now popping up behind the man. The Dark Lord sneered in disgust, muggles, they just kept replicating. It was revolting.
"Do you own this place?" He asked, not bothering to hide his disgust at the other man nor his obvious skepticism that this man was capable of owning anything. The other noticed this and his face turned red in anger.
"What's it to ya ha? Ya ever heard of squatters rights? Place is as good as ours, so I suggest ya be leaven" he threatened as one of his friends passed him a cricket bat. The other men armed themselves similarly, five in total it seemed, unless there were more inside. Voldemort let his wand slip into his hand and the men at the door all started to snigger.
"Watcha' gonna do with that mate? Poke our eyes out!?" The ugly one up front laughed.
"Actually, I was just going to kill you all," Voldemort answered as he casted a quick silencing spell. He doubted anyone would call the cops, not in this area, but better safe than sorry. Screams tended to attract unwanted attention, "Though I do think I prefer your idea." Muggles, he had found, were terrifyingly creative. It was one of the many reasons he distrusted muggles so much, their ability to develop new and creative ways of destroying themselves and others – well, there was no comparison. He lifted his wand and let the spell fly.
High pitched screams of pain filled the air as the leaders hands flew to his face in pain, his eyes liquefying within his skull and pouring down his face. His friends stumbled back in shock and terror before turning their backs and trying to run into the safety of the house.
Voldemort raised his wand again and the four men froze, looks of terror marring their faces. Voldemort took a step forward; the screaming had yet to stop.
'I'm going to need some good mulch anyway' The Dark Lord thought as his wand moved through the air with practiced ease.
Two Days Later; a Tuesday
Harry made his ways slowly out of Wool's orphanage, trying his best to go undetected. His stomach gurgled in pain and hunger and he did his best to try and 'shush' it. It responded by growling loudly and Harry gave it up for a lost cause. 'At least the sun is out' he thought, it was one of the only good things to have happened, in his opinion, since Saturday.
He had not eaten a single meal since 'the bourbon incident' as he was calling it. Mrs. Palmer had been quick to rush into the room once she had heard one of her bottles rolling and discovered him amongst her spilt liquor. Everyone knew that her alcohol was not to be messed with, ever, and the consequences for doing so were severe. Harry had since been locked in his room and only been let out during meal times, at which point he was forced to sit and watch everyone else eat their food while they sniggered at him. Usually this wouldn't be much of a problem given the normal state of food at the orphanage, but during times when other kids were being punished the food made a marked increase in quality. The children that weren't in trouble loved it (all except the older ones who by that point couldn't care less about the food), but the child that had to suffer through it only had the thought that when they were finally permitted to eat the meals would be back to little more the gruel.
Harry had been suffering through this treatment for three days and knew he would likely suffer through it for another handful. So he was doing the only sensible thing a child in his situation could, he was sneaking out to steal some food.
He walked a good distance from the orphanage into one of the less rundown parts of town before making his way to the nearest corner store. It was one of the less used stores and therefor didn't have security cameras set up yet, the relatively new technology made things like this far more difficult for kids like him so it was easier to avoid them all together. He slowly made his way inside, trying not to show how nervous he really was, before heading to the candy section. The only other customer in the shop, a man in his early forties who was currently paying for his purchase, watched Harry with critical eyes before turning back to the till. The till worker didn't pay him any attention though, so he made his way back, looking quickly through their selection and trying to decide which would be easiest to take.
The next time Voldemort saw Harry was at the little corner store by his new house. He had been walking by just in time to see the boy slip into the door, doing his best to keep from being noticed. He wasn't doing a very good job of it though. Voldemort sighed as he weighed his options, he could leave the boy to his own devices and deal with him a little later, or he could take advantage of the situation. Though he didn't feel much up to dealing with the boy, given that he was still trying to get his new living quarters into actual living condition (he still had a number of plants to remove from the top room), he knew he shouldn't pass up an opportunity just because it was inconvenient.
He made his way into the corner store just as another man made his way out, looking back suspiciously at Harry as he did so, but quickly turning his mind to his own business. Voldemort had to admit that that was one good thing about this area; for the most part people knew when to keep to themselves.
"What are you doing?" He asked as he walked up behind the boy. Harry apparently hadn't heard him coming because he jumped about a foot, dropping a candy bar to the floor, before turning around to face him.
"Mr. Tom!" he yelled in surprise, "I'm...um...nothing!"
"You're...nothing?" Voldemort asked, unable to resist the temptation of teasing the child, he would have to teach him how to better control his reactions. He raised an eyebrow at him "as great as that is to know, it doesn't answer my question."
Harry shifted awkwardly on his small feet and looked away in shame. It was obvious what the boy had been doing, but Voldemort was getting too much joy from watching the boy squirm to really care.
Harry finally looked up at him with what could really only be described as puppy dog eyes and indicated for him to come closer. "It's just..." Harry whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening, "it's just, I got in trouble a'cupple of nights ago, so I've not been allowed food since. So I just thought..." He stopped talked and once again looked off in shame.
"You just thought that you might as well sneak out of Wools and steal some instead." Voldemort finished for him and waited for Harry to nod in confirmation. Voldemort smiled bitterly at that, he had had to stoop to such low measures when he had been at Wool's too. He would hate the orphanage more (a hard thing given that he already despised it with all his being) if it wasn't for the fact that this gave him to perfect opportunity to start weaving his way into the boys good graces.
"What about your school? Surly they have been providing you with lunch?" unless the orphanage was no longer forcing the children to attend school, he wouldn't be overly surprised, they had been lenient on education even when he had been living there. Why make the children get an education when they were going to amount to nothing anyway?
Harry just shook his head sadly and looked down "it's the summer half term break Mr. Tom, we don't go back to school 'til Next week."
Well that would certainly explain why there had been so many brats walking around lately.
"I'll make you a deal," He said, looking down at the boy, "you manage to walk out that door with that candy bar and I promise to buy you lunch." No need to make the boy think stealing was bad after all, it was Voldemort's opinion that if people were too stupid to notice then they deserved to be stolen from. It was also a skill that would very likely serve Harry well in the future if he was going to have to spend the rest of his childhood within Wool's, "deal?"
Harry's eyes widened before looking over at the till. The only worker, a teenaged girl, was currently reading some business magazine. She hoped to one day become an independent business owner and millionaire. She would succeed, but only once she started paying attention to what was going on around her. Right now though she wasn't watching the six year old boy or the man in the candy section and missed when the six year old nodded to the older in agreement.
She also missed the child walking out a few minutes later with a Cadbury Chocolate Bar hidden beneath his thin and half tattered shirt.
Voldemort had hoped lunch would have been a quiet affair, but he had sadly underestimated just how talkative six year olds could be (He had not gotten Harry to shut up since they had left the corner store, and it was only upon ordering there food had he finally shut his trap). He had also made the bad decision of bringing them to the little tea shop he had stopped at before.
"Didja' hear that fat bastard up at the Corrter Cottage up and blood well died this week? The fucker had some kind of fucking heart attack, the poor bastard. It's about blood time though, that rat was always raisin' such a bloody fucking fuss about-" Voldemort winced, he was starting to realize that this women could cuss like a sailor after too much rum, (though given her current state or stumbling around the room and the noise coming from the kitchen as she had worked he would have to assume that she had also had more than a spot of rum herself), which meant that this likely was not the best environment for a six year old boy. Personally the Dark Lord thought cursing (outside of actual curses of course) was bad forum and spoke degrees about the intelligence of a person. The only people he knew that used such foul language were the uneducated scum that he did his best to avoid.
"You do realize that there is a child present, don't you?" He said with a glare at the women. She had just dropped off their meals and had yet to leave. Voldemort counted back from ten, knowing that it would ruin his plan to kill in front of the child.
The women for her part just raised an eyebrow at him then turned her look towards Harry who was already digging into his sandwich like it was the best thing he has ever tasted. She turned back to the Dark Lord with a look of her own (it was not so much a glare as it was a 'you have got to be kidding me' look). "I promise you this sir, that boy's heard a lot worse from a lot worse people then me in his life. Half of it has probably been aimed at him too. If he don't learn to ignore the unimportant words in this world then he won't be lasting very long on these blasted streets." And with that she turned away from there table and went to go serve another group that had just walked in.
Voldemort watched her leave with a bit of surprise before turning his attention back to Harry. Harry looked up at him and gave him a large smile, his mouth still full of food. Voldemort sighed and turned to his own meal, taking a hesitant bite before allowing himself to take a larger one.
The women might be a gossip, curse like a sailor, and be far too outspoken for her own good, but her food was exquisite and she still made the most perfect cup of tea the Dark Lord had ever had.
"That's Ms. Gudrun," Harry said, as he took another bite, "she always talks like that, but if you are good and she has a few things left over at the end of the day she will usually let you have them for free."
Ah, so the boy had been listening then, he probably shouldn't reward eavesdropping, but it was a good skill to have, just so long as it wasn't being used against him. "How long have you been living at the orphanage Harry?" He asked, turning back to his meal. If he was going to be here he was going to have some of his questions answered at least.
"Um…" Harry stopped to think and to count out on his hand. "About a year and…eight months?" he said a little unsure, "It will be two years on Halloween." He said the last part bitterly, not the Voldemort blamed him of course.
But this did shed some interesting light on why Dumbledore and his group didn't seem to be watching the boy. It seemed that they had left the child with someone else prior to him arriving at the orphanage. "And where were you before Wool's?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably before taking a bite of his sandwich again, likely to buy himself some time. Voldemort waited though he let his annoyance at the delay show. Finally Harry swallowed and started to talk, avoiding eye contact the whole time. "I was with my aunty and uncle," he said, shifting and looking out the window. He fidgeted with some of his silverware making them clink together in a grating manner. He rubbed angrily at his scar, something he had been doing periodically all afternoon. Voldemort made a mental note of it, and also noted that the scar seemed less agitated then when he had last seen the boy. Harry finally looked back at the table before starting up again.
"My parents died, when I was really little, in a car accident, and so I got left with my aunty. They didn't like me very much though," he said turning his attention to the fork and spoon in his small hands, the sound of them clashing against each other filled the silence for a little bit as Harry seemed to try to compose himself, his distress written clearly across his face. "So – so they sent me to Wool's instead, where I wouldn't be a…bur-den," he pronounced carefully, "to them anymore". The silverware fell silent in his hands and his head fell forward, his mess of hair obscuring his face. The silence was deafening and stifling and Voldemort wondered, briefly, if he should say something.
He didn't though, instead he turned back to his own meal and continued eating, making sure to look away from the child so he could compose himself in some amount of privacy, and started to think. The Potter's didn't have any living relatives, at least not closely related ones. Of course every pure blood family was in some way related, he was certain that if someone had bothered to do so then they would have found that they could have sent the child to any one of the pure blood families. He would likely have ended up with the blacks, which, given that most were currently in prison, would have meant would be presently living with the Malfoys. Voldemort cringed a little, the Malfoys' were loyal and a good breed of witch and wizard but they were absolute crap at raising children. Their kids always ended up a little off in his opinion, but it was far better than those that came from Muggle households.
He knew for a fact that Dumbledore had an odd love for muggles and muggle-borns' though, one that skewed his judgment and made him very biased in their favor. A muggle-born could murder in front of the old coot and get away with it, but a pure-blood couldn't even think of murder without Dumbledore persecuting them and sending them through the shredder.
It should be no surprise then that Dumbledore had opted to send the boy to his muggle relations, as stupid as the choice was. It was obvious by the boy's reaction that they had not been very accepting of their nephew and had likely made his life hell before sending him to Wool's.
'The boy had mentioned that his parents had died in a car crash, I wonder if that was Dumbledore's doing too' He wouldn't be surprised if it was. It could easily have been an attempt to deprive the boy of all things magical so that when he showed up to 'show him the light' so to say, then he would be more likely to accept anything out of the old fool's mouth. Voldemort had to admit that it was a good strategy and would likely have worked if it wasn't for Harry's muggle relatives. Maybe this would be a lesson to Dumbledore on just how trust-worthy muggles really were.
He smiled a thin smile before turning his attention back to Harry, whom, he was surprised to discover, had obviously recovered from his distress and was talking, and had likely been doing so for a long while. Voldemort mentally scolded himself for getting so lost in his own thoughts. Drowning out his surroundings was a habit he had picked up while still at the orphanage and had never fully been able to get rid of. He forced himself to pay attention to what the boy was saying, but quickly regretted it as it became obvious that it was pure drabble.
" – And then there is Justin, he goes to school with me, he's in the same house n' everything but in a different grade. I mean its lots better than the orphanage and Mrs. Palmer doesn't care when we get home so I can walk around and expl-"
"Harry," he cut the boy off, "do not speak with your mouth full." Harry promptly shut his mouth and swallowed before continuing on with his story as if he hadn't been interrupted in the first place. Voldemort had to force himself to keep calm and not curse the boy into next year. How the child could have this much to say he had no idea, how the boy could be this trusting was even more of a mystery. He had been going on like this the whole walk over, and now it seemed like he would be doing the same for the whole meal. It was something he would have at fix about the boy sooner rather than later if he wanted to ensure his own secrecy.
"You enjoy school then?" Voldemort asked, cutting into the boys rant just to try and get him to stay on one topic for more than three seconds. It wasn't the best topic, but he had to admit he was a little shocked that they boy talked so fondly of his schooling, it made his a bit curious as to why. His own experience with muggle schooling had left much to be desired, though thinking back on it he did suppose that he liked it better than the orphanage.
"Ya!" Harry answered enthusiastically but then quickly scrunched up his nose for a childish look of hate "except the other students, there not really nice, especially this girl Maggie in the girls school across the way, she's always mean to me and she gets everyone else to be mean to me and it's not very nice. Her brother is in my class too, there twins, and he is just as mean. He's in my house too and now everyone in my house doesn't like me either." He got thoughtful for a moment "but the teachers are nice and I am really good at reading and history! Mr. Clayworth says I can be really smart when I try." He smiled and Voldemort raised an eye brow at him. His own experiences with muggle teacher had also been...varied.
"Oh!" Harry quickly said as if realizing he had forgotten something very important. He jumped up a bit so he was leaning across the table and cupped his hand to his mouth. "But no one there knows I live at Wool's 'sept for the teachers so shhhhh! You can't tell people!"
Voldemort looked down at him in surprise, "how did you manage that?" He asked, because he had tried to pull that off when he was in school with no success. It had been obvious back then who was from Wool's and who wasn't, if anything the state of your uniform gave it away, had things changed that much?
Harry just shrugged and played with what was left of his food, "no one from Wool's wants any of the other kids to know I go there, because everyone thinks that if they hang out with me my 'freakishness' will rub off on them. So they pretend I don't go there and I don't tell anyone and so no one knows. Only the adults know but they don't talk about it either." Harry got silent for a moment, his face shifting quickly from a look of happiness to outright sadness, "it doesn't really matter anyway I guess, no one wants to be my friend anyway, no matter if they think I live a Wool's or not."
Voldemort felt a slight ping in his chest at the boy's words, though for what reason he couldn't tell. He watched the child for a long minute in silence before turning back to his own food; he wasn't sure what to do with this new information, or even what to think of it. It didn't change anything of course, but he couldn't push aside the feeling that was building in his chest the he couldn't name.
Harry started talking again after a few more moments, but this time the Dark Lord just let it wash over him without actually listening, for some reason he felt too exhausted to even try.
It was a little after three when they finally left the tea shop. Ms. Gudrun waited at the door, holding it open for them as they moved to leave. She bent down and handed harry a small bag "now ya run off before you get your sorry ass in more trouble, and don't you show that to any of those other fuckers when you get back okay?" Harry took her gift with a smile and a nod before running through the door, Voldemort moved to follow him when Ms. Gudrun moved into the door way, blocking his exit. He glared at her, ready to forcefully move her out of the way when she started talking.
"You listen to me, and you listen to me good." She said staring him right in the eyes, and for the first time he actually registered her size. He was not a short man but she held a good two inches on him and probably an extra hundred pound. Of course size meant little when you had magic, but as far as raw intimidation went, girth went a long way, "I know what people have likely been tellen ya' or will be tellen ya soon, and I'll say this, if you are gonna care for that boy then you better bloody well do it, if not then you might as will just fuck off." She leaned in, forcing him to take a step back "we've had too many screw ups round here, we don't need another." It was left unsaid weather or not she was talking about him or Harry. Looking back on it, she was probably talking about both.
He met Harry out of the street and they made their way back to the orphanage, Harry had since run out of things to say and instead an odd kind of silence flowed between them. It wasn't a comfortable silence it was more of a silence where neither really knew what else was left to say to the other. Harry didn't seem to mind it too much, Voldemort noted, as he walked beside him with a smile while lightly humming some tune he did not recognize. Perhaps that meant that the silence was just uncomfortable to him.
His throat itched like there was something stuck in the back of it, but he was sure there was nothing there.
They walked for another five minutes before Voldemort left Harry at one of the holes in the far side of the wall into the orphanage, Harry turned back for a second to wave before disappearing inside, being careful not to be spotted. The Dark Lord didn't bother to wave back and instead turned around had made his way home.
There was a lot he had left to do, but he suddenly didn't feel like doing any of it. The whole day played over in his head again and again, especially Ms. Gudrun final words to him. They left him unsettled in a way that he had never been before and he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He let the problem dance around in his head until he finally made it home, though he still could find no clarity in his thoughts.
He unlocked his front door and slipped inside, Whatever it was, he knew he couldn't be bothered with it, after all they were just inane drabble from an old muggle women. He pushed them to the back of his mind and forced himself to forget them; he had work to get done.
If Voldemort had known the feeling then he would have known exactly why Ms. Gudrun's words had affected him so much. He would have known what the ping and tightness in his chest meant and he would have realized what the sensation in his throat meant. Had he known, he would have been able to label the feeling, very simply, as guilt.
Thank you everyone who reviewed, I feel I should clarify something though; if you think this story is going to be about Harry's development then you are only half right. The main focus of this story should, hopefully, be clear now, or if not now than in the next couple of chapters.
Either way, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. and if anyone is interested, the song Primavera by Ludovico Einaudi is a strong inspiration for this story, i highly recommend taking a listen.
TheSeaAtNight