In the Potter household, they celebrated Christmas. It was unusual, for they were a Pureblood wizarding family, but James loved this holiday. He adored it. Giving presents and getting them in return? Nothing better.
He waited eagerly at King Cross station for his two boys. He thought of his eldest son, Harry, and a feeling of guilt welled up in him. It was James' own fault that Charlie wasn't correctly trained and he was taking it out on his other, obviously well-trained son. He steeled his nerves and grit his teeth with determination. He would apologise to him - he had been cruel.
Harry gazed out of the window with a solemn look. His eyes were sore from crying last night. Charlie let out a loud snore next to him and Harry started to grin.
He decided, right then and there, he would sort himself out. He was weak. His emotions were up and down - one moment, he was fine. The next, he was crying. He was going to calm himself down, mellow out...
He was going to become the Pureblood heir he had been raised to be. No more dumbing himself down for his classmates.
He removed one of the books Professor Quirrel had given him from his bag - the bag was his mothers, dark dragonhide and perhaps a tad girlish, but it was his mums so he didn't really care. Memory and You, it was called. By T. M. Riddle. There was that name again. Harry frowned, confused - An Introduction to Darkness was written by T. M. Riddle, too - so why had Harry never heard of the man before? He shrugged his shoulders and opened the book.
The train ride passed by as Harry read the book. He already had a few spells in mind to use; one was particularly catching his eye.
Obliviate
Oh-BLI-vee-ate
This is a charm that can be used to erase memories from ones mind. They are specifically used to erase part of a memory, not the mind. The Ministry of Magic, no matter how many times they deny it, have Obliviaters to remove memories of Dark witches and wizards - however, they claim that they are there to erase Muggle minds. If one uses too much power, the sudden influx can completely erase someone's mind and possibly cause major brain damage.
There is a fault with this spell. If you enter someone's mind, who has forcibly lost their memories, there is a gaping hole in their memory where that memory previously was. This alerts the person who has entered the memory that someone has taken the memory from the persons mind and that leads to all sorts of complications.
To combat this, there is a tricky piece of magic that creates false memories and implants them into their head. I, myself, have used it. It adds a memory to that gaping hole and the persons memory does the rest - it fixes it in, and makes the victim think that the memory was what originally happened.
These two spells should be used in conjunction with each other.
He flicked the page to find a note, written in neat slanted hand writing.
Mr. Potter, it read.
These books are my gift to you, as a Yule present. Please use them wisely.
Memory spells should not be dabbled in lightly - one false move and you could wipe your mind - or in the very least, kill yourself - take my advice and use them on yourself, or those around you from the influx of magic. I have no doubt that you will excel at these from the way you flourish in my lessons (and your other lessons, by the sound of the gushing in meetings we have) but please exercise caution and let someone know that you are doing the spell for when something goes wrong.
I recommend page forty-two, where you are given the spell to release any hidden memories. I do not recommend it in so much as I believe someone has tampered with your mind - I recommend it as it allows information that you have forgotten to be used. Depending on the power used, you can possibly unlock even your childhood memories, even though I would prefer you didn't do that. It may prove to be... traumatic.
I also recommend the spell on page sixty-four. This allows you to make an imprint, almost, of anything you want - that you can later recall wholly. I find it particularly useful for History of Magic, what with Binns being the teacher.
Harry stifled his chuckle, which had Charlie give a slight snuffle in his sleep and shift around with a loud groan. Draco's eyes flickered up from the Daily Prophet, where there was an interesting section on the new Pureblood Laws being passed, and he gave Harry a tight smile.
Have a good Yule,
Professor Quirrel
Harry's smile was threatening to split his face in half - he didn't feel bad, now, for leaving an expensive quill on the man's desk. "Draco? Blaise?" Harry beamed at the other boy. "When Yule is over, would you like to come to Potter Mansion?"
Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Sure, Harry. What day?"
"Maybe the second of January?" Charlie suggested sleepily, sitting up. Harry slid his leather bookmark into his book and closed it, sliding it into his bottomless bag.
"That's fine for me," Draco hummed in thought. "Blaise?"
"That is fine for me as well." The dark skinned boy nodded, as if to emphasise his point, before he turned his attention back to his fictional book.
"You'd be able to sleep?" Charlie asked hopefully - the other two boys nodded. Harry clapped his hands together. It was going to be fun!
The train slowed to a stop an hour later. The twins wished their friends goodbye, Harry finding Hermione's curly, fluffy hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll owl you your present."
Hermione was blushing brightly, her heart pounding in her ears, as she nodded, flustered. Harry gave her a charming smile and spun on his foot, leaving to find his dad.
He found the man chatting amiably with Lucius Malfoy. Surprising! Harry noted with a small amount of shock. Remus was standing next to the pair, pressing light kisses all over Charlie's face who was a vibrant red. Draco was smirking into his fathers back, while Narcissa Malfoy embraced her only son. Where's Sirius?
Harry let out a squeal as a big, black dog bowled into him and floored him. His trunk and bag clattered to the floor. "Sirius!" Harry shrieked in laughter as the man changed back. The man was giggling like a little schoolboy, tickling him mercilessly.
Draco's smirk turned into a wide grin. Narcissa prided herself on picking up on things that no one else would (for that was how she survived so long, without being a Death Eater) and she definitely noticed the change in expression. She would be having words with Lucius - Draco needed true friends and it seemed he had found on in the Boy-Who-Lived. She would not let Lucius' schemes stop him from having friends.
"IT'S CHRISTMAAAAAAAS!" James howled, leaping into Harry's room and tickling the sleeping boy. Harry's eyes snapped open, two emeralds glaring back him in mock-anger.
"Go get Charlie, dad," Harry yawned, not even flinching at the man's tickles. Only Sirius could make him laugh through tickling. "I'll set everything up downstairs."
James nodded, pressing a kiss to Harry's nose, before bounding out of the room like an excited toddler. Harry groaned loudly and wrapped his duvet around him, wriggling off of his bed and sliding across the carpet on his bum.
He made it down the marble staircase on his bum, even managed to slide through the halls to the living room while his ancestors watched on in amusement. He finally, finally got up when he dropped his duvet in a pile and turned it into a nest. He started pushing Remus' presents towards him, pushed Sirius' to the plush arm-chair the man had claimed as his own, pushed his and Charlie's together and put James' to the left of them.
"Morning, Harry," Remus yawned. "Did you know Prongs has gotten us up at five o'clock?"
Harry grimaced. So early? "Do you want something to drink, Remy?" Harry asked, standing up and already heading towards the kitchen.
"Sweet tea please! Three sugars, big mug, lots of milk!" Remus called, smiling wryly to himself. Harry acted like Lily sometimes - it was painful to experience.
Harry passed Sirius on the way, who was storing loudly on the floor. Harry shook him gently and sent him through to the living room; Sirius would obviously like a milky, sugary, three-scoops-of-coffee shot to wake him up.
Harry made himself a sugary sweet cup of tea, made Charlie a bitter coffee, Sirius his coffee, Remus' drink before making his dad hot chocolate and lathering it with whipped cream and sugar. He placed them all a tray and carried them through to the living room, where everyone was sat waiting.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," Charlie chirped, taking his mug from the tray. "Thanks."
James took his mug. "Thanks, son."
Sirius and Remus both took their mugs with a murmur of appreciation. "Go open your presents, Harry." He fell into his duvet, smiling slightly when Calypso and Felix immediately leapt on his lap. The two cats were slightly overweight and Felix seemed to have some problems with his sight, but his cats were healthy and going strong.
Charlie grinned charmingly and tore into the biggest present there. The wrapping was terrible - it was obviously Sirius' wrapping (especially as he had used bright red wrapping paper covered in golden lions). It revealed a large box, so Charlie excitedly tore the lid off.
To another box. Charlie started giggling, tearing lid after lid away from the box - until it revealed a tiny box sat in the middle. Charlie gave him a look of sheer frustration and opened the lid.
He gaped and Harry looked over his shoulder. In the box sat a ring. It was a platinum band and lined with diamond, emeralds and sapphires - he picked it up and on the inside it read, Toujours Pur. Sirius grinned sheepishly. "It's the Black Family ring... Well, for the Heir. I was going to give it you on your birthday but I had to make sure that by Magic you are listed as my Heir."
"I love it," he breathed, sliding it on his finger. It fit his finger perfectly. "Does this mean...?" Charlie left his question hanging.
"It means that by Law, you are my Heir." Sirius murmured. "Go on, Harry. Open your present from James."
James passed Harry a small box, smiling proudly. Harry took it with shaky fingers, revealing a gold band filled with rubies. He looked on the inside and it read Siempre Fuerte. James smiled as Harry slid it carefully on his finger. "Open the rest of your presents, boys." James sat back in his chair.
Charlie dove on the pile and by the end of it, he had new dragonhide boots from Blaise, dragonhide gloves from Draco, a lovely glass sculpture from Hermione and tonnes of sweets.
There was another present left and he opened it to show a blank piece of parchment.
"That's the new Marauder's map," Remus told him proudly. "Vastly improved from the other one."
Harry opened his quickly too - from Blaise he got a plain golden necklace with a note attached.
Harry, this has been enchanted to protect you from strong hexes and curses, as well as only being removable by you. Please do not take it off, you reckless prat.
Harry smiled to himself and put it on. Blaise knew him all too well. From Draco, he received a black leather journal, with gold printing. T. M. Riddle.
There was that name again, and Harry was getting so damn frustrated seeing it all the time. He felt like someone was trying to tell him something! A note attached fell out of the packaging.
Dear Harry,
My father said that you would like this. It is a journal that once belonged to a family friend, and he enchanted it so that it would reply. I think you'll love having a new project, don't you? I expect that you'll know everything about it by the time the second rolls around.
From, Draco
Harry placed it in his pile, feeling just how delicate the book was. He would investigate it tonight but for now, he had presents to open.
He opened one that was wrapped in brown paper, next, and something smooth and silvery pooled on the ground. He ran his hands over the soft cloth before his eyes widened. "This is the Potter Invisibility Cloak!" he murmured, astonished.
James grinned widely. "From Dumbledore to you, Harry. Go on Charlie, where's your present?"
Harry pursed his lips when he realised Charlie didn't have anything from Dumbledore. "Imagine all the things we could do with this," Harry whispered, wrapping his hands into the material and grinning as his hands disappeared. "Oooh, should we prank the teachers? Snape first, definitely Snape."
Charlie's grateful look wasn't lost on anyone in the room, but James felt enraged. How dare that old man forget his other son? "I reckon he meant for you to share it, loves." Harry's angry eyes met James' own, and the pair knew that wasn't the case; however, it seemed to appease Charlie, who laughed and nodded.
Harry opened the rest of his presents before turning expectantly to his father. James opened a neatly wrapped little box, and nearly had a heart attack as rubber snakes flew out of it. Harry and Charlie burst into laughter. James shot them a mischievous grin, promising retribution, before he pulled out a plain bracelet from the box. It was a basic silver chain bracelet, which he put on straight away. "It protects against most dark curses and things like that, and it also heats up near a poisonous substance and stuff." Charlie explained, turning expectant eyes to Remus.
Remus grinned and opened his present from the boys - it was a picture, that much he could tell. His breath left in a slight 'whoosh' as he gazed down at the painting.
It was them. As a family. Harry was sat on James' lap, Charlie on Lily's, while Remus rested his head on Sirius' shoulder, sleeping. Lily was laughing, her hair vibrant in the sun, and her and James were holding hands. "It's wonderful!" he exclaimed, one hand absently stroking Lily's painted face. "Who made it?"
"Harry did the outline, I did the painting." Charlie told him proudly. "It took ages to get it right, especially making it move, but we got it down."
Remus thanked them profusely, before the attention was all on Sirius. He unwrapped his present slowly, before letting out a terrified shriek. Out came several sets of snakes - and Sirius was petrified of snakes. He'd jumped when James opened his present, and he really should have expected this.
"You little twats!" Sirius blurted out, as he tried to calm himself. He took another peek at his present and whimpered loudly as the rubber snake covered what his present was. He flicked it away with his wand.
He had gotten a painted picture too, except his was a portrait of a young man, only eighteen. He had sharp cheekbones, a thin-lipped smile and stormy eyes. His dark hair fell into his eyes and Sirius watched as his brother shook it away with a wide grin. "Thanks, boys." Sirius told them weakly.
Christmas dinner was a sombre affair; James was too busy thinking about Lily's cooking and comparing it to his own, burnt Yorkshire puddings, along with Charlie who was being influenced by his fathers emotions.
Harry stabbed his roast potato with his fork and speared it into his mouth. He was... itching to write in the journal Draco had given to him. He hoped it would solve the mystery of T. M. Riddle.
"I'm done. May I leave?" Harry asked politely, setting his cutlery down. James' glazed eyes met his own and the man waved his hand in the direction of the door. Harry took it as a yes and left, picking up the journal as he went.
Hello, he wrote. My name is Harry Potter and I'm eleven years old.
Hello, it replied. My name is Tom Riddle. It's nice to meet you, Harry Potter. What is the date?
It's Christmas Day, 1991. How is it that you can reply to me? Harry felt... Excited, by this book. How old are you, Mr. Riddle?
Please, call me Tom. 1991, you say? I am sixteen years old and this is my journal. I have enchanted it. Tell me - is Hogwarts still standing? You are magical, are you not? Potter is a Pureblood name.
Okay, Tom. Hogwarts is still standing, yes - and I am magical. However, I'm half-blood, not Pureblood. My mother was a muggleborn. What is your lineage, Tom?
The book didn't reply to him for a while. Harry had just changed into his pyjamas when it replied. I am a half-blood too, Harry, although I don't have a remarkable name.
Oh but you do! Harry wrote, grinning to himself. You have a tonne of books, don't you? I own a couple of them myself. An Introduction to Darkness and Memory and You! Something occurred to him. Tom, if you have written those books... How are you sixteen? The books look old.
The book hesitated on replying - numerous ink blots showed, before the reply was fully comprehensible. This is a mere memory imprint, Harry. This book holds all of my memories up to now. I know nothing of my future, or how my name appears to be famous... The book felt extremely smug. So I am famous, then?
Yes, you are. What year is it there, then? Who is the Headmaster?
It's 1943. The Headmaster is Armando Dippet - although everyone knows that Dumbledore controls the school.
Dumbledore is the Headmaster right now, Harry wrote, detecting a hint of annoyance from the book. How strange. He's a kind man, but I haven't really spoken to him.
He must think you're not special, the book seemed smug. Remain that way, Harry Potter. Dumbledore is not a man whose attention you want.
Harry shuddered. He could almost feel the purr the book emitted at his name. Hey, Tom? It's bed time for me now - but I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Good night, Harry Potter.
The book was open when Harry woke up and, written in Tom's elegant scrawl, was Good morning, Harry Potter. I trust you slept well?
Good morning, Tom. I slept very well, thank you! Hey, Tom... Do you think you could teach me things? Spells from 1943 must be different to how they are now, right?
Text appeared, but Harry couldn't read it for the blots of ink and quill scratches running through it. Several more appeared, before there was a proper reply. I can teach you, Harry, but in order for that to happen you would have to be in my journal with me. I tried to write several spells and, no doubt you can tell, my quill had a life of its own. If you continue to write in me, or even just have my book around, you will be able to join me soon.
Trepidation rose in Harry's stomach. What a strange request - keep the book around. What would that do? Tom, why would I have to keep the book with me? What are you getting out of me talking to you?
The book fell silent. Harry sneered and dropped the book on his bed, standing and feeling a slight sense of loss. "Mum..." His breath caught. He hadn't seen his mother for a long time; the lessons with Quirrel had made her disappear, but he wanted her back so much. She was always there and, while he knew it was wrong, it was okay; he had the power to bring her back, so why shouldn't he?
"Because she died and you should leave it at that." Harry swallowed heavily - the voices were back and this time, they were distinguishable. They were stronger. "Come on, little Potter - hurt someone. Hurt - kill. C'mon!"
"No!" he hissed, walking to his bathroom. His head twitched to the side as a floating ball of grey matter shot past where his head used to be. He started washing himself, brushed his teeth, stripped out of his clothing and changed into everyday wear. The voices continued, laughing, and Harry tried his hardest not to weep. He was only a child - how could he be expected to not only repress his emotions, but repress his magic as well?
"Only babies cry, little Potter; you're not a baby, are you? Professor Quirrel would be so disappointed in you."
Professor Quirrel, Harry wrote, pale with worry.
I really need your help. I thought I'd manage to suppress those poltergeist - I did everything you told me to do - but they're still here and my magic is responding again. I believe it's worse this time, because my hands keep on shaking and my face twitching; and I sneezed earlier and shattered my bedroom window.
Is there anything you can recommend? Or - do? Harry was really hoping his professor would meet him at Diagon Alley or his home, and tried to convey it more vehemently. Are you free at all? I don't know what to do.
I don't want to hurt someone, professor, and you're the only one who can help.
Harry Potter,
Firstborn and Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter
Son of Lord James Potter and Lady Lily Potter
To say that Voledmort was surprised to see such a beautiful snowy owl evade his wards and land in his throne room with no repercussions would be entirely true and lead to your death - but he couldn't wipe the surprise away quickly enough for Lucius' and Severus' sharp eyes.
He stepped closer to the bird and removed the leather pouch, slipping out a piece of parchment as he went. He read the letter quickly and smirked victoriously. "My Lord?" Lucius hedged, trying to discern the name at the bottom of the letter. He managed a glimpse of 'Son of Lord James Potter' before gleaming red eyes were on him.
"Yes, Lucius?" Voldemort smirked again, walking over to his desk and sitting down behind it. He quickly wrote a response, organising a date, time and location for Harry Potter and himself meeting.
"What will be done about the Potter boy? I gave him the journal, like you instructed. What about the stone? What about your body?" Lucius was a man of tact when it mattered - but his bodiless lord, living like a parasite on a weak man's mind... He cared little for tact.
Voldemort sniggered cruelly, avoiding the first question altogether. "The stone... The boy will get it and give it to me. I'll make a body from that."
"But what about the book?" Lucius pressed on, aware of Severus' pale face. He had paled the moment Harry Potter was mentioned, but he was even paler at the Dark Lord's laugh. Or maybe it was the fact that the Dark Lord was Professor Quirrel, a man who Severus had taken to belittling? Lucius wasn't sure.
"The book... Forget the book, Lucius. It isn't for you to know. Now, I need you to round up everyone who is loyal to me; I'm planning a raid, and we're going to kidnap Harry Potter."
Severus choked next to him, but he passed it off as coughing. "Kidnap?"
"Yesss." Voldemort hissed, crimson eyes lit in amusement. "Is there a problem, Severus? Will you make me regret my very existence?" Voldemort cackled, leaning in his wooden chair and swinging his legs up on his desk.
Severus grimaced. "My Lord, I didn't know it was you. With all due respect, I thought you were a strange man with an unhealthy interest in the Boy Wonder and his sidekick."
"Crucio."
The second of January didn't roll around quick enough, but the moment it arrived Harry felt inexplicably unsociable and wanted to stay chatting to Tom, the journal. Unfortunately, the second was also the day that he had agreed to go to Knockturn Alley to meet Professor Quirrel, somehow losing Draco, Blaise and Charlie on the way (as well as Moony and Sirius, but they were easy enough to lose).
And that was how he found himself pushed into the mouth of Knockturn Alley, Charlie tucked firmly between Blaise and Draco and having all the fun in the world. They didn't even notice - so it was easy to lie and say he had gotten lost in Knockturn Alley and he couldn't find anyone.
He wasn't imposing - he looked like a lost child - and he couldn't do magic outside of school. Wandless magic was a massive no - he had been severely depleted after his stint with Albert Moon and he was leeching from Charlie the entire time - and physical combat wasn't his forte. Which meant he had to wander around and around until he stumbled upon Borgin & Burkes, where Quirrel was investigating one of the dark artefacts that Borgin and Burke had. He had the distinct feeling that he was screwed - but, if he didn't rid himself of the voices, his sneezes would continue to break his bedroom window.
He gave one last, lingering look at Diagon Alley, before squaring his small shoulders and striding into the Alley like he owned it. He was swathed in a dark robe, complete with a hood - as the snow fell in large clusters, it wasn't unusual and nobody, especially has father, questioned his choice; Tom was incredibly pleased, as that meant he could go with Harry.
Harry sniffled slightly when a shop advertised "poisonous candles" and, with his pouch of money hidden beneath his cloak, he stepped into the store.
"He'o, lil' boy." An old crone sat at the back of the store, with white hair and yellowed skin. "Wha' you wan' from ole' Spydile?"
"I'm interested in your poisonous candles, as well as the location of Borgin and Burkes. I told my father I would meet him there, but I appear to have gotten lost."
The old crone cackled and hopped off her stool, limping over to the candles. They were all in various shapes and sizes, some a plain white and others sickly green, purple, yellow - his eye, in particular, was taken by a long one shaped like the bones in a human spine. It was an off-yellow colour, and while he didn't have a use for it yet, he was sure he could find one. Maybe Snape would enjoy it?
"Boy, tha' one yer' lookin' at ain't fer sale, no way. Not fer you." the lady snapped, pointing instead to a tiny purple one. "Wha' bou' tha' one, hm? Knock-out, proper good for a school boy - "
"I want that one, ma'am." Harry's tone allowed for no arguments, his magic rising in his ire. Who was this crone, dictating what he could and couldn't buy? "What does it do?"
The woman sniffed, her hooked nose rippling with the movement. "Grad'yull muscle loss then death. Ten galleons."
Harry fished out the coins and handed them to her, picking the candle up delicately and dropping it into his money bag. "Nice doing business with you. I was never here, right? Where's Borgin and Burkes?"
The old woman sneered again. "Cannae' say the same. Never where? Only Necromancer's can see me, boy. Borgin and Burke's is thirteen doors down, keep goin'. Get out."
Harry fled, his eyes wide. A Necromancer's-only shop? In Knockturn? The old crone was a Necromancer? He turned around, to ask a question, but found that he was at the mouth of Knockturn again. He blinked rapidly, and bolted down thirteen doors. On the left hand side of the bustling street, there was a building simply entitled, 13A. On the other side, there was a shop named Borgin & Burkes. He staved off the never-ending curiosity he felt about this place and entered the dingy shop.
He couldn't see the purple turban of his teacher, which made him grit his teeth in worry. Did he stay? Browse the wares? Or did he do what his instincts told him to do, and high-tail it out of there? No doubt Charlie had noticed his disappearance by now, and he was probably freaking out. So what did he do?
He swallowed nervously and stepped in, closing the door behind him. The shop was large and dimly lit - a glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a gleaming glass eye. Strange masks stared down at him from the walls, all imbued with magic long forgotten and pulsating, begging, pleading to reap disaster once more. An assortment of human bones lay upon the counter and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling; Filch would probably love it here, had he not been a Squib.
He scanned the shelves for anything that seemed normal for a boy to buy, but the vials of glimmering blood (was that Unicorn blood or something else?) and a shiny pearl necklace that had a slip of paper reading, "CURSED", didn't scream age-appropriate.
"Can I help you, lad?" The voice was gravelly and, as Harry turned, he caught the eye of his Potions Professor; he had never been more grateful for wearing his bulky cloak than he was now.
"No, sir." Harry replied, the stooping man behind the counter cackling and brushing his greasy hair out of his face. "Well... You can, actually. These masks... What type of magic are they?"
The man cackled louder, but didn't reply. Harry rose a condescending eyebrow and sighed, before drawing his magic into himself and exploding it out again, the bones on the counter flung into the gloom of the shop. "Don't test me, Borgin. The mask on the far left, with the laughing face and blood splatters. How much?"
Borgin paled and shrugged his shoulders, standing a little taller as the shop door opened again. "How much ya' got?"
Harry sneered in response. "You're annoying. I'll give you forty eight Galleons for it."
"You jest, surely!" The man sniggered like Harry had told a large joke, and his magic bristled.
"Thirty." Harry shot.
"Forty five." Borgin shot back, unaware of the cloaked figure walking up to Harry. Harry had noticed, and those azure eyes trained on him were more than a little unnerving.
"Twenty five." Harry grinned wickedly, shaking his pouch beneath his cloak. The coins clinked together, the candle also making a dull thud.
"..." Borgin frowned, and looked at the mask the boy was talking about. It was nothing special, so why was the boy fighting him so hard? "Twenty five, then, boy."
Harry smiled victoriously, already placing the amount on the counter. Borgin glared and waved his wand, the mask clattering off the wall and the man shot it into Harry's hands. He turned around to find something, and Harry took ten Galleons off the counter.
"Hello, sir." Harry greeted the man with the azure eyes cordially, and the man winked in response. "Professor?" Harry asked, surprised, and the man nodded. Harry tugged open the mouth of his pouch and emptied his coins into it, before shoving the mask in there too.
Voldemort took the boys arm and pulled him out of the shop. "Good haggling there, Harry. I couldn't help but laugh when you took some of your money back, as well. Come, to Diagon. The gloom of Knockturn Alley is disheartening."
Harry nodded, following behind the man dutifully. Unbeknownst to the pair, Snape began to follow them. He could recognise the Dark Lord from a mile off and the fact that he had met someone from Borgin & Burkes only spelled disaster. He had tipped Dumbledore off about the raid the Dark Lord had planned, and the man hadn't told anyone. People were milling around like there wasn't going to be an attack in approximately five minutes.
"We're being followed." Harry murmured as they reached Diagon Alley. "Have you noticed?" Harry dropped his cloak hood and Voldemort did the same, shocking Harry. His professors face had changed slightly - the nose was less pronounced, and his face had filled out. He even had a full head of dark hair, which also surprised the boy - he was sure his professor was bald.
"Honestly? I hadn't." Voldemort sighed, waving his hand in exasperation. "Now, about your poltergeist problem. A ring of salt didn't work?" Harry shook his head. "Interesting... Maybe you should try to get rid of them using your magic?"
Harry pursed his lips. "Is that plausible? I'd somehow learnt necromancy at aged one and brought back my deceased mother. I only do small things - actually dabbling in the magic? I've never done that before."
"Have you not been reading the books I gave you?" Voldemort snarled, suddenly feeling a hot flush of anger that dissipated immediately. He recognised it straight away - Harry had the journal on his person, and his nosy younger self was listening in. "It's explained in the books what to do."
"I tried, honestly! But in between finishing my essays, reading those other books you gave me by T. M. Riddle, which are extremely brilliant by the way," Voldemort smiled slightly. His books were his pride and joy. "And impromptu training sessions with my dad and Sirius, I couldn't get started on the," His voice lowered. "Necromancy book. The Language one is so interesting, but somebody changed the spells. I'd love to know the older spells," Harry sighed in pleasure. "I'm trying to get through them all, sir, I really am."
"I know you are, boy." Voldemort sighed again, looking around. The raid was set to start in three minutes. "Well, I'd recommend you start on the Necromancy book as soon as possible, because page fifty-six is very sensitive to your plight. Come. I wish to buy you a pet."
"A pet, sir?" Harry blinked in confusion, shuffling after the man and brushing the snowflakes from his hair. "I already have a pet - I have a little cat. And Hedwig, too; I don't need any animals."
"Ah, but I want you to have a snake, my little serpent." Voldemort crooned, his voice as soft as a whisper, but the Parseltongue was lost on Harry. It just sounded like plain old English to the boy. "Snakes are loyal and, dare I say it, pretty damn awesome."
Harry laughed brightly, nodding his head. "Of course, sir."
Snape was pretty damn sure he was going to have an aneurysm by the end of these five minutes. The boy the Dark Lord had met was Harry Potter - and they were on friendly terms. And the Dark Lord had been giving him books. And was going to buy him a snake. And Harry Potter was a Parselmouth. And the raid was going to occur in three minutes.
He just couldn't catch a break.
Voldemort strolled into the pet shop like he owned the place, which made Harry grin. His Defence Professor was brilliant. "Come, Harry. Which would you like?"
Harry looked around in bemusement, aware of the snake area in the Magical Menagerie, but never actually approaching it. The soft hisses were amusing, too -
"What is this man-child doing?"
"I don't like the walkers."
"Hide me, mummy!"
Harry's eye was taken by a dark, shimmery snake. The scales were a soft khaki, but they faded into grey and white down the length of the body. "Hello," Harry greeted, aware that he was speaking the snake tongue. The snake looked up, and flicked it's black tongue out. "My name is Harry. Would you like to come home with me? I promise I'll look after you, precious."
"Is that my name?" The snake flicked her tongue again, the voice soft and weak. "Precious? I will go with you, Harry. Your snake-tongue is very pleasing."
Harry grinned, dipping his hand into the tank and letting the serpent sluggishly crawl her way up to his wrist. The snake was tiny compared to the other snakes, as she was only a baby, but she was incredibly long. "A Black Mamba, Harry?" Voldemort laughed, a deep sound, and threw his head back. "I could think of nothing better. Come, let's pay, and I'll buy you a Butterbeer."
Harry giggled with Voldemort, secretly loving the reaction he'd gotten out of the man, and bought the necessary items for his lovely new snake. "Do you want to be called Precious?" Harry asked. "Do you have any other name?"
"I have no other name, Harry." The snake wrapped her tail firmly around his wrist, nestling around his neck. "Please could you help me, Harry? One of the other snakes attacked me, and I haven't been the same since."
His poor little snake had been poisoned! "Professor?" Harry turned to the man, gasping in horror. "She's ill! Astraea is ill!"
"A fitting name," Voldement muttered, off-hand; he removed his wand from it's holster and ran several diagnostic spells, despite the snake making it awkward by hiding and burrowing into Harry's warm body. "Easy fix!" Voldemort grinned, azure eyes boring into Harry's emerald, and he flicked his wand.
"I feel better already!" the snake hissed sleepily, tightening her grip around Harry. "Astraea? Is that my name? Precious Astraea?"
"If you wish," Harry cooed, stroking the snake softly. "Go to sleep, lovely."
Boom.
Voldemort grit his teeth, but inwardly he was a bundle of excitable nerves. "Harry, get out of here." He could just about see a plume of smoke rising above the Leaky Cauldron, and he could hear both frightened screams and in tune footsteps. His Death Eaters were here. "Harry, go!"
Harry's eyes widened. "Where do I go, sir? What about my family; Draco, Blaise?!" The boy drew his wand into his hand, and held his body taut.
"Harry, go!" Voldemort pushed the boy back as another explosion pushed frantic people their way. "There are going to be over a thousand people rushing our way, any minute. Go."
"What about you?" Harry was ashamed to realise his eyes welled with tears. "I can't go without you, sir. You're my - "
"I'll be fine, Harry," Voldemort kneeled, brushing a hand through the boy's hair. He was touched by the tears; and even though the boy hadn't finished his sentence, he assumed he was something akin to a 'best friend' to the child. "Go. I don't know who it is attacking, but they'll be after you. Who isn't? The Boy-Who-Lived... I'll be absolutely fine." Voldemort wiped away a stray tear from the boys face, before roughly shoving him away and shooting off several spells at once.
Harry bolted, running until his chest hurt and people were in front of him. His eyes stung, but he couldn't stop running - was Charlie okay? Moony? Sirius? Or even Draco and Blaise?
"HARRY!" Draco screeched; yes, it was Draco, Harry beamed, tears finally falling from his eyes, and he grabbed the blond boy close, ripping him through the crowd. "What do we do?" Draco cried, his pale face flush and his eyes red. "Where did you g-go?" He hiccuped. "We - we were in the Ice Cream Parlour, looking for you and Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black, but you weren't there and then the Leaky Cauldron blew up!"
"I was - with Professor Quirrel," Harry panted, beginning to slow. Where was the crowd running to? It was pointless! They were all out in the open, no buildings, nothing! Astraea was hissing and clinging to his body, but he was pleased her small fangs hadn't pierced his skin. "I was - the, the - Menagerie! I got a snake, and Quirrel was going to buy me Butterbeer, and then something exploded." Harry sniffled weakly, feeling much like the eleven year old boy he was. His hand was still tightly wrapped around his wand and he made no move to put it away, knowing there was worse to come.
He wasn't wrong.
They were standing in an open place, just cobblestones and dilapidated buildings - and there were numerous ominous cracks around them, figures swathed in black and wearing white masks, circling the group and pressing them against each other.
"Harry!" Draco cried again, tears falling down his face. "What do we do?"
Harry grit his teeth and removed his cloak, throwing it over Draco and bringing up the hood. Astraea hissed at the further decrease in temperature and moved down to his chest. He pushed his wand into the holster and opened his money pouch, removing the mask from his bag. "What's that, Harry?" Draco muttered, his voice broken with sobs that Harry didn't acknowledge.
"A mask... For Necromancers." Harry bit his lip in thought. The mask was excited in his hands, shaking and reverberating, but Harry shoved it back in his pouch and shoved the pouch in his vest. "Draco, what do I do? Why are they here? They're Death Eaters, aren't they?"
Draco nodded, one hand clasping Harry's tightly. "I won't let them hurt you, Harry. Daddy will protect me, and I'll make him protect you." Draco promised, mercury eyes bright but loyal.
"Bring us Harry Potter." The Death Eaters intoned, and Harry blanched. There were cries of outrage and cries of horror as another man appeared in the circle, blocking their only way out.
The man's power pulsated wildly, angrily - the magic was thick and clinging and smelt of death, decay - and Harry knew this was Lord Voldemort, and that he was going to die.
A sob passed his traitorous mouth, before he locked down on his emotions. "I won't let them, Harry! I promise!" Draco pulled Harry forward into a warm hug, the cloak hiding them both. "I'll - Daddy will find me, and I won't let you go."
Harry pressed a soft kiss to Draco's hand enclosed in his own, before he heard the sound of a body hitting the floor. Several more followed, and he peeked out.
People were dying because of him, and they weren't Death Eaters.
He tore himself out of Draco's grip and ran, his eyes wild. "Stop it!" he roared, his magic crackling and blistering and crying around him. "I'm here. You want me - so why are you hurting them?"
"HARRY!" Draco screamed, running forward and pulling on Harry. "Don't - stop! Not Harry, please, not Harry!" He begged, looking laughing crimson slits. "Please, sir. Not Harry. Don't kill Harry."
Voldemort cackled, a high, ringing sound, and lurched forward. He separated to two boys and Harry looked up calmly, the only trace of his fear in his hands. They shook. Voldemort looked down, just as calmly, but his hands didn't shake like Harry's did.
One loutish Death Eater laughed and a red curse shot forward. "Crucio!"
Harry tried not to scream, even going as far to bite his lip. Why him? He wondered. Why was it his fault? No sound left his bitten lips, enraging the woman further.
Draco whimpered and stood, making up his mind. He rushed forward and slammed his shoulder into Harry's right side, sending the boy flying to the left and putting Draco in the curse fire.
"Stupefy!" Harry hissed, his Yew wand in his hand. The Death Eater, a female with wild black hair, giggled before the curse hit her and deflected it, making Harry duck his weak spell. "Incendio!" he yelled, and the woman's skirts set alight with brilliantly red flames, and she laughed louder.
Voldemort sighed. His Death Eaters were always so quick to anger, especially Bellatrix - and Harry's particular brand of stubbornness that Voldemort adored, Bellatrix loathed. "Stop."
Bellatrix scowled, trying to put out the flames of her dress, but nothing was working. "What did you do?" she shrieked as the flames began to boil and lap at her skin. The Dark Lord sniggered and extinguished the flame, hissing much like Harry did. His crimson eyes sparkled with emotions that Harry couldn't identify, but he felt like he knew the Dark Lord.
"The thing about saying spells in another language, is that they're so much stronger." Harry grinned, his eyes dark with emotion. "Now - " He turned, aware of the Dark Lord at his back but hoping the man wouldn't want his enemy dead from behind. Maybe ten years or so of hatred meant he'd get tortured too - buying him some time to put some of his limited public speaking knowledge to the test. "There are roughly twenty men or women surrounding us, including a Dark Lord. There are sixty normal witches and wizards, with education under their belts, and they're just standing there, watching an eleven year old boy do magic and breaking the law. And I wonder why it was only Dumbledore who could defeat Grindelwald." He sighed in mock disappointment, and his confident speech seemed to do the trick. He wasn't feeling confident, definitely not, but his friend was on the floor crying from pain - and these people were watching, staring, and the confidence built. "What the Hell are you doing?" Harry barked angrily, and the people snapped into action.
The arrays of colour and the cries and screeches and the unity was his fondest memory to date.
"Well done, Potter." the Dark Lord murmured, the emerald-eyed boy turning in confusion. "My original plan was to kidnap you and torture you into a mindless mess, but if you can command people who barely know you..." The man revealed his face, two deep slits for a nose and lipless mouth and skin with thick scales and Merlin he was so ugly! "I'll see you soon, Boy Wonder."
And the Dark Lord Apparated away, his men attacking and murdering. Harry was left, bemused, until his friend reminded him of his presence with a sharp retch.
Harry dropped to the floor beside Draco and wrapped his arms around the taller boy. "Stop!" Draco groaned, his eyes clouded with pain. "I hurt so much, Harry..."
Harry soothed the boy, stroking his hair, erecting a bubble shield around the pair. The Death Eaters weren't targeting them; Harry couldn't decide if it was because Draco was the Heir to the Malfoy family (and Lucius would slaughter them), or if there was another reason.
"What do we do, Harry?" Draco moaned, his body filled with tremors. "People are dropping like flies and I don't - we can't Apparate, and we can't contact - t - " Draco began to stammer, his eyes twitching wildly.
"Draco?" Harry gasped as Draco began to convulse and stop again. "Are these after affects of the Cruciatus?" he asked no one in particular, swallowing. "Draco, can you hear me? Episkey. Episkey. Episkey. Episkey." Harry was pleased to note the shaking and convulsing gradually stopped, until it seemed like Draco was just sleeping in his arms.
"Draco?" Harry's head shot up. His eyes met the slate eyes of the Malfoy Lord, and Harry dropped his bubble shield. The battles around them had ended and Harry didn't know when or what the outcome was, but his dad was standing next to Lord Malfoy and so was Blaise and Charlie and Sirius and Moony and - what did he do?
"Sir..." Harry greeted, his hair plastered to his face with sweat. The two boy's were covered in snow and they were damp, sodden, but Draco wasn't shaking and everything was fine because his dad was here and Charlie was safe. "Um - a female Death - ah, Death Eater - Torture curse - Draco." Harry flailed, trying to explain it but words couldn't really explain what had happened, could they? It was all so quick, and Harry was pretty sure Episkey couldn't cure Cruciatus jitters, or the after effects, or even fix anything, really, and he felt sick.
He turned to the side and retched, his stomach emptying on the bloodied ground next to him, and he felt so much worse - what had happened? He wondered, his eyes clouded. Why hadn't the Malfoy man come to take his child from Harry yet? Why were they all just standing there?
Hiss. Astraea? Harry wondered why his snake wasn't around his neck and Professor Quirrel - "Is Professor Quirrel okay?" Harry squeaked, but nobody was forthcoming as the vicious Black Mamba snake reared her head and hissed viciously, protecting her Harry. "Astraea! Stop! They're my family. Come here."
James choked on air as Harry began to hiss, and accusing eyes turned to him; Charlie's, in particular, was vicious and probing. "Er - Harry? Could you drop the barrier, please? I'm pretty damn sure Malfoy wants his son."
"What barrier?" Harry spat in reply, his eyes spitting fire. "And where the Hell were you when Draco was getting tortured?" Harry's ugly, domineering side was kicking in, because he sure as Hell didn't know what had happened or what was going on, and somebody was going to have to take the lead, regardless of emotion.
Lucius snarled in reply, his immaculate hair not as immaculate as Harry thought it normally was. "Drop the barrier, you fool!"
"What barrier?!" Harry shouted. "And what about Professor Quirrel?!"
"I'm fine, Mr. Potter. Now drop the damn magical barrier you're projecting." His teacher's voice was haggard and tired, but his teacher was alive and he was there and the barriers (oh, so many more than one, Harry thought) began to fall. Lucius lurched forward with each one and Harry finally let himself collapse backwards when his magic realised there was no danger and he should just...
Stop.
I like plot development. I also enjoy OOC characters. (okay there was another ending here but I didn't like it; revised ending)
I don't like long waits, but I also don't enjoy writer's block.