A/N: The question that prompted this story was: "What if Voldemort made sure Harry was the only thing keeping him alive, and then made sure no one knew but him." Voldemort was going to play mind games with the poor kid, while Dumbledore would never be able to figure out while everyone around him would be murdered in terrible ways, but Harry would be left completely alone.

Seven Deadly Drabbles

The Anchor of the Soul

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry — you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.

"Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and — oh Harry — be careful!"

"You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"

"Positive," said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.

"It's not poison?" said Harry anxiously.

"No — but it's like ice."

"Quick, go, before it wears off."

"Good luck — take care."

"GO!"

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire.

Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames.

"Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking his body, but couldn't feel them — for a moment he could see nothing but dark fire — then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there — but it wasn't Snape.

(Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone)

Instead, an older gentleman stood where Harry expected to find the greasy professor.

He wore the typical garb of adult wizards, in Harry's limited experience at Diagon Alley – crisply pressed robes and a comfortable cloak, both in black. His hair had wings of gray at his temples, and he had a rather haughty, aristocratic face. His back was turned to Harry, but he could clearly see the man's reflection in the Mirror of Erised, which Harry recognized was the mirror he was staring into.

"Ah, Harry Potter. I was rather hoping to get to meet you soon." The man said, his clear blue eyes, like ice, snapped to focus on Harry's reflection in the mirror. He held in his right hand a black cane decorated with green filigree trim; the top was adorned with a silver serpent.

He turned, then, facing Harry properly, and seemed to take a measure of the boy. Harry gripped his wand tightly in his hand, nervous at the examination.

"I'm…" Harry began awkwardly before finding his courage. "I'm afraid I don't know you, sir."

"Sir?" The man laughed at that, and a smile adorned his features as the lines around his eyes crinkled pleasantly. "Well at least you've been taught some manners, Harry. I'm glad of that – too often hard to find these days, especially in Muggleborns. And you're as good as, raised as you were by Muggles."

"My name, Harry, is Lord Voldemort." Harry's eyes widened and his wand wavered as he whipped it up to point it at the man who killed his parents. A man he'd heard little enough about, spoken of only in hesitant whispers.

"Tut, tut, Harry, put that fine wand of yours away. I daresay you shan't need it here, and it would do you little enough good even if you did." Harry hesitated for a moment before lowering his wand, not putting it away as he adopted a hard look in his eyes as he viewed the murderer.

"Such a fierce glare, Harry Potter! I daresay if you were a basilisk I would be quite dead by now!" Harry had no idea what Voldemort was talking about, but his lightly mocking tone and the humor in his voice did not reconcile at all with the feelings of rage that Harry felt now.

"Don't!" Harry finally yelled. "Don't laugh at me! You killed my parents, don't you dare stand there and laugh at me like that!" Voldemort stopped, eyeing the boy curiously. He perched an eyebrow as he seemed to reconsider Harry.

"So I did, Mr. Potter." He replied simply.

"Why?" Harry demanded harshly. "Why did you attack them? Just because that's what dark wizards do?"

"Ah, Dumbledore never told you then." Voldemort said, smiling again. "Well, the old man will be gone for some time yet, and this mirror quite obviously isn't yielding up the Philosopher's Stone to me, so I suppose I shall indulge your curiosity, Harry."

"You see, there was a prophecy." Voldemort began, summoning up a padded stool upon which he sat. With another flick of his wand he conjured another, offering it to Harry. Harry, however, did not take it, and stood as far away from Voldemort as he could within the room.

"The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches. Born as the seventh month died. Born to those who have thrice defied him." Voldemort recited.

"I was made known of this prophecy, which potentially applied to exactly two people – yourself and one Neville Longbottom. I determined that you were the most likely candidate, and…eliminated the problem." Voldemort said casually. "So while I suppose I could say that I killed your parents because they defied me three times – and that is a good reason, since in that time, few lived to do so beyond perhaps the first defiance – in truth I killed them because of you, Harry Potter."

Harry felt numb at this revelation, and fought back tears in his eyes at the knowledge that he'd indirectly killed his parents. "But they didn't have to die! Why couldn't you have just killed me?"

"Kill you? Harry, I had no intention that night – or now – of killing you. Your parents got in the way – I even offered your fool mother her life, to tell you the truth. No, Harry, instead of killing you, you became my greatest creation. Indeed, a Great Working of magic. And those are rare, though you won't have heard of them here at Hogwarts, I don't think. You see, Harry, that prophecy says that you have the power to destroy me – you alone, with the right interpretation. I had to prevent that, of course. So I did this Great Working. Now, most Great Workings take thirteen wizards and witches – powerful number for rituals, thirteen. However, with your parents as the sacrifice, the triad – one caster, two sacrifices – was enough."

Harry wasn't quite sure what Voldemort was talking about, but he had heard mention of there being several numbers that were powerful – three, seven, and thirteen, mostly – and that Arithmancy, an elective in third year, taught about it.

"Now, even still, the Great Working left me weak – powerless, even, for three full years. I fled to Albania, where dark wizards are more common, it was easy enough to hide there in the simple villages where people thought me a squib or something. I stayed to myself and learned a bit of esoteric magic at the same time. And I also reconsidered my plans, Harry." Voldemort continued. He had conjured up a glass of red wine and took the occasional sip, ostensibly to prevent his throat from getting dry.

"You see, I had plans for changing the Wizarding World – you can see that it is stagnant, a rather repulsive society to tell the truth. But terrorism and attacks were ineffective – the people merely huddled together under the protection of a few powerful individuals. Such as Professor Dumbledore, for instance, with his little Order of the Phoenix. So when I fled, my followers broke and fled as well; some claimed the Imperius curse, some went to prison. But it all served a purpose – this time, Harry, my methodology will be just a bit different; more effective, if I do say so myself." Voldemort said, a fire of passion burning in his eyes.

"What Great Working was it? What did you do when you killed my parents?" Harry finally asked when Voldemort had a bit of a break in his speech.

"Ah, curious are you? Well, I can't fault you there, I was always rather curious myself. And see, that's a bit of the answer right there." Voldemort began cryptically. "My goal, for many years, was to become immortal. Not just to live forever – other wizards have accomplished that, with things like this Philosopher's Stone here. A handy gift, and Dumbledore no doubt put it here as an obvious lure for me; thankfully I was able to outsmart the old man, just like the old days. No, my goal was that I not be killed. I did everything in my power to obtain it, stretched the boundaries of magic itself, I daresay. But this Great Working guaranteed it. You see, Harry, you are the individual prophesized with the power to defeat me. And, thanks to my little Working, you now house a bit of my soul." Voldemort abruptly exploded into a wispy cloud of smoke, and reappeared inches from Harry, who jumped at the shock.

"Your curse scar, Harry." Voldemort said, running his hand on the scar, which tingled slightly as he did so, just as it had from time to time, like when Harry first entered the boundaries of Hogwarts.

"It is no mere scar, but a sign that you are a receptacle. You, my little friend, house a portion of my own soul. Since that is the case, I cannot die unless you do so first. And since you are the only one with the power to defeat me…well, that is quite a beautiful conundrum, isn't it?" Harry's mouth got dry as Voldemort revealed this, and he touched his scar in disgust.

"Have you not seen the signs, Harry Potter?" Voldemort said at Harry's incredulous look as he returned to his chair and wine glass.

"A Parselmouth, the first one in a generation! And quite the affinity for curses you've got, I believe. We even look something alike – use the mirror if you don't believe me!" Voldemort's voice got somewhat frenetic then, drawing to a crescendo. "You're nothing special, Harry Potter! All that you are, you are because I made you that way! Your fame, even, because I retreated after my Great Working. The Boy-Who-Lived, and no one could ever figure out just why! Everything special about you is only there because a small fraction of my greatness resides in you, along with my soul. You are nothing, Harry Potter, and I am the greatest sorcerer since Merlin himself." Harry denied Voldemort as he finished his monologue.

"You were afraid of Dumbledore! Even at the height of your power, before your 'Great Working'. Dumbledore's the greatest wizard!" Voldemort's smile grew cold, almost snakelike as he considered Harry, the last of his wine drained from the glass.

"Do you know why Merlin was so great, Harry Potter? Do you know what he did? Besides forge the Wizard's Council, which predated our Ministry of Magic, of course. It was very simple, Harry. Merlin did not need the spells that most wizards rely on to use their magic. He merely spoke his desire, and the magic complied. No wizard before or since was able to do so." Voldemort said calmly, regarding his glass; it was empty, with only a slight puddle of remaining wine lining the bottom.

"Be gone, glass." The glass vanished.

Harry blinked. Vanishing was possible, of course, but it was difficult magic, not generally taught until 4th year.

"You see, Harry Potter? That power is no longer lost with Merlin. I, too, can command and magic obeys. Cup of tea, come here won't you?" A cup of tea and a saucer appeared out of thin air, Voldemort sipped it, then made a face.

"I believe it needs a bit more sugar, Harry. I always had a bit of a sweet tooth. Sugar bowl and spoon, I have need of you." A sugar bowl appeared, and a spoon shoveled sugar into Lord Voldemort's tea seemingly of its own volition. "Enough," Voldemort said before taking a drink of his tea and smiling at Harry once more.

"As I said, Harry, the greatest sorcerer alive. Me." Voldemort continued. "I should have known better than to suspect my mother – the last heir of Slytherin, of course – to choose a common Muggle to mate with. No, indeed Thomas Riddle Sr.'s family came from Wales. And, tracing the family line back, they once had the surname of Emrys. Which was Merlin's surname in the original Welsh – the Riddles were not Muggles, but Squibs. So you see, I am the heir of not only Slytherin, but also of the great Merlin himself. And when these two powerful bloodlines mixed, well…you've seen the results yourself." Voldemort said, gesturing to himself. "You may leave now." He addressed the teacup and sugar bowl.

"I do believe Dumbledore is on his way back here now, Harry, so our time together draws short." Voldemort said, Vanishing his chair with the more traditional flick of his wand.

"I'll tell everyone. Dumbledore will figure out how to defeat you." Harry said weakly. Voldemort actually smiled then, and knelt so that he was at Harry's eye level.

"Oh, I very much doubt that, Harry." He said seriously. "You see, Dumbledore once came up with a motto, a slogan if you will, that he to this day takes very seriously. 'For the Greater Good'. The man will, and has, done anything so long as it benefits the greater good. His childhood friend Gellert Grindelwald – you'd know him as an infamous dark wizard, I believe – used that slogan as his wizard armies advanced before the Muggle forces of the Germans in World War II. He engineered the entire thing because he believed, rightly, that Muggleborns are a threat to our society, and need to be dealt with for the betterment of all wizards. What do you think Dumbledore will do when he finds out that you, a young, defenseless boy, are what is keeping me alive despite curses of all sorts finding their mark as they seek my death? Would he sacrifice one child, you, Harry, for the sake of all the Muggleborns who may die at my wand? No, Harry, I do not think you will tell anyone my secret. Because Dumbledore, or perhaps the Ministry, or perhaps some vigilante witch, upset at the death of her loved one at my hand, may just kill you so that I am mortal once again.

"I'm glad we've had this chat, Harry. I'll keep in touch with you." Voldemort promised, tousling Harry's hair as Harry considered the implications.

"Step away from the Mirror, Tom." The flames surrounding the entry to the chamber died in a sudden 'whoosh' and Dumbledore stepped through, his wand raised and his beard blown back across his body, so fast did he move.

"Ah, Albus – I'd been wondering how long it would take for you to arrive, old teacher. Come to challenge me to another Wizard's Duel?" Tom said with laughter alight in his cold blue eyes.

"I daresay the time for things like honorable duels has passed, Tom." Dumbledore said, his wand raised.

"Ah, of course. Well I have no desire to live like a Squib anyway, but I suppose my not agreeing to an Oath wouldn't matter since you don't intend for an honorable duel. Shall we start with the flames, then?" He gestured with his left hand, and the flames that died with Dumbledore's arrival reignited into a blaze taller than the walls, so that they wrapped around to envelop the ceiling. The room's temperature jumped several degrees. Harry, standing helplessly to the side of the two wizards, merely eyed them and gulped.

"You often do, Tom." Dumbledore stole some of Voldemort's fire then, and as it coalesced in his hand, he threw it at Voldemort and waved his wand – it wrapped fire around him in a cage.

"Freeze." Voldemort commanded the flames; they turned immediately to ice statues of flames; with a point of his wand the entire circle exploded into shards of ice and shot at Dumbledore.

With a whiplike circular motion of his wand, a massive disc of flames appeared in front of Dumbledore, and the ice shards melted in the intense heat into mostly water. The three larger shards that got through his defense, he transfigured into birds that subsequently flew away.

"Gargoyles." Voldemort said, indicating the stone columns around the room. Every other column immediately leaped away from its place and collapsed into a stone gargoyle wielding a wicked looking axe.

Dumbledore pointed his wand at one gargoyle and it sprouted feathers – for a moment Harry thought the old wizard had succeeded in attempting to transfigure it, but the gargoyle merely shook itself like a dog shaking itself dry, and the feathers molted to the floor. The assaulted gargoyle then charged at Dumbledore, who shot several more spells in quick succession before it was entirely destroyed.

"Quite impressive, aren't they Dumbledore?" Voldemort taunted. The other twelve gargoyles formed a vague semicircle around Dumbledore as the old wizard fought off a furious myriad of curses from the grinning Voldemort.

His canny defense, deflecting as many of the younger wizard's curses at the nigh-indestructible gargoyles as possible, was just one reason why Harry realized his Headmaster was considered one of the most powerful wizards on the planet.

And yet, even he seemed overmatched by Voldemort's strange magicks.

"Globes defend me." Voldemort called out, pointing at a randomly cracked stone tile that immediately congealed into rough orbs that spun above Voldemort's head as Dumbledore started his counteroffensive.

A great whooshing of a tornado of fire erupted as Dumbledore's wand circled above his head, releasing a great gout of flame hotter than any he'd previously conjured. Harry ran behind one of the remaining pillars to avoid the heat of it – Voldemort seemed unaffected, but Harry who was farther away was sweating. From the circle of fire, which seemed keep the gargoyles at bay, several small spurts of flame lashed out at the stone creations menacing their axes. The gargoyles hit by the flame were blackened at least, and after particularly fierce gouts, were often missing pieces.

A giant bird of fire arose from the circle, then, and from above Dumbledore's head made to dive-bomb Voldemort.

Before it got close, Voldemort simply commanded, "Stop." The bird advanced no further, and even Dumbledore's eyes grew wide at this power.

"Fiendfyre, Dumbledore? Resorting to any tactic, then, to counter my superior magic. I must say, I'm almost proud, seeing you use the cursed flame. Though obviously the magic of Merlin himself is far beyond even that powerful conjuration." Voldemort said calmly. The gargoyles continued to fight Dumbledore even as their master paused, and the Headmaster was forced to defend himself from thrown axes and disconnected stone limbs of the gargoyles; one of the more brave figures even sacrificed itself by leaping atop the flame, allowing two of its brothers to bypass the circular barrier. Dumbledore destroyed one of them, but the second clubbed the old man viciously, when he blocked it with his arm, an audible crack was heard before Dumbledore could destroy the gargoyle.

With a wave of his wand, then, the fire around him and the phoenix disappeared, and Harry had to clamber away from the protection of the pillar he was hiding behind as it turned into an enormous lion that leapt upon the nearest gargoyle. The two battered at each other, somewhat evenly matched – the gargoyle seemed more durable, but the lion more vicious and canny. At least, it was before Voldemort turned it to a pile of dust with an almost contemptuous wave of his wand.

"Pitiful, Dumbledore – surely, you see how my creations are much superior to your halfhearted transfiguration!" Voldemort said as he and Dumbledore circled once more, though Voldemort still had a bit of a break as Dumbledore defended himself from the occasional onslaught of the five remaining gargoyles.

As they circled, however, Harry realized that Voldemort now turned his back to Harry himself; he was only feet away from the evil sorcerer, and might be able to help Dumbledore.

The old man must have seen the decision in the young boy's eyes, as they flickered to him for just a moment, and Dumbledore shouted a series of spells at Voldemort, whereas before they had been silently cast.

It was enough of a distraction for Harry to almost whisper one of the few offensive spells taught to first years in their Defense class – such material was usually reserved for third years and up.

"Petrificus Totalus!" He whispered with desperation, and a half-prayer that the Dark Lord did not kill him with a flick of his wand.

With bated breath, Harry watched his spell get closer and closer, until finally the white light of Harry's spell impacted with Voldemort and spread across his body as his limbs snapped together.

Before it had even hit, Dumbledore yelled, "Avada Kedavra!" An ugly green light shot from his wand, and it was almost slow motion that Voldemort's limbs snapped together.

His head, despite being supposedly frozen in a forward position, turned to face Harry; the Dark Lord winked at Harry, causing his blood to run cold. As the green light hit Voldemort, his body erupted into black smoke that dissipated into the thin air.

The rest of the gargoyles fell to Dumbledore's wand soon enough, without Voldemort drawing his attention, and amidst the ruins, finally there was only Harry and Dumbledore standing.