At a desolate turn of the road, Harry stuck out his wand to hail the Knight Bus and waited for a minute or so before it arrived with a customary bang. Unlike the previous time, he hardly even jumped, Voldemort had ridden it dozens of times in his youth to escape from the orphanage after stealing money from the matron. This was before he learned illegally to apparate at age fifteen of course.
Stan Shunpike stepped off in his usual conductor's outfit and started to give the obligatory speech, before breaking off when he saw who it was and waved him onboard, helping to carry Harry's trunk.
"We're delighted to have you aboard again, Mr. Potter," Stan said cheerfully as always, "Diagon Alley? Blimey what happened to your glasses?"
"Leaky Cauldron, and could I get a private bed this time Stan?" Harry let Stan magically repair his glasses for him before clambering on board.
Needless to say Harry was slightly taken aback, not because it was any different from how Stan behaved last time, but it was certainly not the treatment that Tom Riddle had experienced. He paid the extra gold for the private bed; he was definitely going to need it. His head was wracked full of memories that were not his own, clearly. It was like he was in somebody else's head constantly and it was exhausting beyond belief. Memories would jump to the surface at the merest unexpected, association with anything that apparently Voldemort was familiar with.
The bus took off with a bang again, and Harry didn't even need to flinch as he perfectly fastened the corners of his bed to the hanging curtains and much enjoyed the rocking sensation that was helping him doze off next to the other bed occupants who were yawning similarly. Stan went around handing hot chocolate to paying customers.
As he rounded Harry's bed, Harry told him to leave him for last as he was in no particular hurry.
The nature of the memories was also intriguing, he had far more memories of Voldemort in his fifties and forties, considerably fewer from his twenties and thirties, and very few from his Hogwarts years. And only several important ones from his bleak childhood. But it was enough for Harry to easily glean that he and Voldemort had had similar, tough childhoods.
Most of the memories he was experiencing were as expected, important to Voldemort, with the exception of a few trivial ones. From what he could glean Voldemort was definitely a psychopath with few interests other than the pursuit of magical might and proficiency as well as thinking up schemes to hurt, intimidate, and achieve dominance over others, to his own delight and pleasure.
Because magical proficiency and strength was of utmost importance to Voldemort, Harry was experiencing many of the memories of how Voldemort learned to perfect his magic and craft, his acquisition of magical knowledge, as well as the various ways in which he pushed the boundaries of magic through twisted experiments. All these were apparently considered the highlights of his life.
He also focused on the memories that concerned the decision to go after his parents, and he found the motivations to be disturbingly simple as well as somewhat paranoid. Unfortunately, hurting, torturing, and killing people were also highlights of Voldemort's very sick life and Harry was remembering enough cases to make him feel very nauseous. Unlike memories that he deliberately focused and dwelled on, he tried to skim over them and forget these as quickly as possible, with limited success.
For the next couple of hours, Harry drifted between a half-sleeping and a state of abrupt wakefulness as he relived even more memories, ones that caused him to go numb for shock, many that gave him nightmares, some that most disturbingly gave him secret pleasure. Voldemort's memories intermingled with his own, as Harry fought to give himself as many breaks as possible to remember his own life (even though most of that was pretty bleak as well). As memories continued to flow, it was all becoming frighteningly natural, and Harry was seriously concerned that he would lose himself or lose his mind to Voldemort, or at least the persona that he could make sense of from the memories. Already he could feel (or rememberer at least) that a part of himself had been lost. And if this continued unabated…
He need to get a letter to Dumbledore and Hermione as quickly as possible. As Stan swung by, whistling a merry tune, he asked him where they were. Stan saluted him from the other side of the bus to convey that he understood, and with the next bang they were in London.
Harry hadn't been paying attention, but the bus was nearly empty as most of the passengers had already left. Harry got off thanking Stan and Ernie again, crossed Charring Cross Road amid heavy traffic as it was a weekend and made for the extremely familiar, shady-looking pub that would have seemed even more obscure than usual in the dark, if Harry had not seen it (or thought he had seen it) thousands of times before, in another life or another world.
It was all extremely disorientating and unnerving but at the same time there were many things that he was just dying to do, and unfortunately more than a few of them were directly or indirectly inspired by Voldemort's memories. The jarring resemblance that a few of Voldemort's memories had with his own, in a way that made them somehow difficult to tell apart from the other, was also driving him totally insane, that not all of Voldemort's memories felt exactly alien to him.
The eerie way that Harry remembered Tom, the barman almost made him turn back out into the street. He really wanted to exit, because Voldemort had killed and tortured Tom's brother and he had just remembered the rather gory details that made him noticeably cringe.
Tom regarded him curiously as he inquired for a room, the Leaky Cauldron had plenty spare due to extensive application of the undetectable extension charm. Tom gave him the same toothless grin that he remembered too often as he bowed and led the way up the stairs.
Once he was all alone in his room, Harry threw down his trunk and cage and pulled out his wand. Consciously he tried to recall the memory and once he had reviewed it several times, he set about removing the tracking charm from his wand, using an ingenious spell that Riddle had learnt from pureblood circles in his second year. It was somewhat more difficult, as Harry had no spare wand to use, and so he had to perform the spell wandlessly. After a few tries, he finally got it right.
It might have been a shock to Harry to learn that purebloods were indeed flouting all Ministry rules and regulations using special insider tricks, but it certainly did not surprise the young Tom Riddle. It only increased his desire to be accepted by his fellow purebloods in Slytherin House, and the certainty (with mounting evidence) in which he believed in pureblood superiority.
He then performed wandlessly a few more diagnostic spells that confirmed that the tracking spell was indeed removed. Picking up his wand, he reviewed some memories and began a complex series of conjurations and transfigurations. It was easy, effortless, and Harry knew, far beyond what he could otherwise achieve using his own knowledge or abilities. He was able to better appreciate just what a brilliant practitioner of magic that Voldemort was, and how much care, attention, he had lavished onto improving his abilities over the years. This was in addition to Voldemort's natural talent and genius of course.
For the next hour, Harry performed hundreds of spells that could be performed safely within the confines of a relatively small and dark room. Insights into practical magic came easily to him now, and he knew reflexively all the shortcuts that Hogwarts textbooks never mentioned, that Voldemort had discovered for himself during his student years. In addition, he found non-verbal spells to be actually easier than speaking an incantation aloud, which said much about Voldemort's advanced abilities.
Of course, most of Voldemort's memories about magic concerned the darker arts, but Harry pushed those to the back of his mind for now. He could deal with them at a later time, possibly after he showed them to someone like Professor Dumbledore. At a sudden prompt, Harry found himself casting several advanced wards for protection, before going to bed.
.
The next morning, he awoke to find Hedwig at the foot of his bed, hooting. He reached out, petting her as she ruffled her feathers, still trying to shake off his latest dreams, which were confused and involved more of Voldemort's memories (as well as his own) that he could not quite place.
Grabbing his quill he penned several quick letters addressed to Dumbledore, Sirius, Ron, and Hermione respectively. He found that after absorbing Voldemort's memories, he was much inclined to go to Dumbledore for advice than before. Even though he now knew that Dumbledore had made many mistakes (deceived by Voldemort), it wasn't for nothing that Voldemort regarded Dumbledore as the most powerful and intelligent wizard alive. Just as Voldemort had feared Dumbledore's magic and would never seek out a straight duel with him, Harry was now doubly awed by the Headmaster once he better realized how powerful he was.
.
Dear Professor
As I'm sure you're aware by now, on the 2nd of August, two dementors attacked Little Whinging. My cousin's soul was taken, but for some reason that still eludes me, they did not take my soul. Something else unexpected happened however, and it is of utmost importance that we talk about it as soon as possible. If you want to find me, I am currently staying at the Leaky Cauldron. The Dursleys understandably no longer will not have me stay after what befell their son, it would be fruitless to try and change their minds after Petunia's end of the bargain was not upheld. The Ministry has decided to press charges over a feather light charm I used to transport Dudley back to his parents, but it shouldn't be a concern as I have a witness to my use of magic. Also, the Dursleys will require immediate protection after all this.
Sincerely, Harry Potter.
.
Dear Padfoot
Two dementors attacked Little Whinging on the 2nd of August and my cousin was killed but I somehow survived. I have something really important to tell you, but it will have to wait until we meet. Can't say any more now. Also apparently someone who was on duty left their post. The attack was witnessed by Mrs. Figg. The Dursleys understandably will no longer let me stay with them, so I can't wait to come and stay at your place.
Hope you're having a good summer,
Harry.
.
Dear Hermione
Hope you've had a good summer. Mine has been terrible as I'm sure you know, no information whatsoever from anyone. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron right now after a dementor attack that killed my cousin and the Dursleys have understandably kicked me out. Don't worry, somehow I managed to survive the attack, even though I have no idea how my soul remained intact. Hope to hear from you soon, I have a lot to tell you about the attack and the aftermath that I can't put in this letter.
Yours truly,
Harry.
.
Dear Ron
I'm currently staying at the Leaky Cauldron after a dementor attack that happened a couple of days ago. My cousin was killed, the Dursleys kicked me out, and the fallout is going to be crazy. The Ministry is pressing charges over underaged magic use, after I used a feather light charm to transport my cousin's body back. I have a lot to tell you that I can't put in this letter however, so if you or someone in the family could stop by or maybe I could drop by the Burrow as soon as possible.
Harry.
.
During a quick breakfast at the pub downstairs, Harry was puzzled by the usual stares which seemed colder and much more uncertain than usual. He made his way through the teeming crowds of Diagon Alley already crammed full of shoppers, even though the day was just beginning and half the stores were not fully open.
Gringotts loomed in the distance, it's white marble posts reflecting off the cheerful, early morning sunshine. He first withdrew a hefty amount gold and converted some into muggle currency. Handling the transactions, the goblin at the desk gave him additional respect after he performed the ritual of manners that he remembered from a memory of Voldemort's. After an inquiry, Harry learned that the Potter Vault contained over half a million galleons.
After that, Harry went to buy a magical trunk, similar to the one used by the fake Moody to imprison the real one. Next he bought a stone basin which he placed in his trunk, as he intended to make his own pensieve from Voldemort's knowledge. He would need it, if yesterday's memories were anything to go by.
After lunch, he spent the rest of the day in his room, in his trunk, making a start at the Ancient Runes that were needed to be carved on the inside and outside of the basin, while waiting for Hedwig to return, perhaps with a response from anyone that he had owled. At dinnertime, he went downstairs and ate a hearty meal. It was then he realized that Voldemort's memories were even altering his taste buds; things he found good now just seemed trivial, while he relished some things that he had been indifferent towards.
Radishes, for instance. A multitude of memories suddenly came to the surface, he had memories of food and eating that he was quite sure, were not his own. Not that Voldemort cared a great deal about what he ate, but he also now found treacle tart to be relatively dull.
As he ate, Harry tried striking up a conversation with his neighbouring wizards and witches. But they were all giving him cold and standoffish looks like at breakfast, and even at the shops in Diagon Alley the storekeepers did not seem particularly pleased to have a paying customer. One middle-aged witch dressed in handsome dress robes was shooting him particularly nasty looks, another aged, bespectacled wizard was eying him warily. They were all suspicious of him, and Harry was already turning over theories as to why.
The most likeliest explanation was simply that the ministry has blackened his name, it was impossible otherwise for his reputation to suffer in the space of a summer. But why had the Ministry turned against him all of a sudden?
Before he could get any further in his thoughts, the door to the pub opened, and Remus Lupin walked in from the driving rain outside.
