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Here is chapter two! Enjoy!

"Talking aloud"; 'Thinking to oneself'; /Thinking to each other/; :Parseltongue:

Book 1—Dark Allies

Chapter 2

Harry sat quietly in the back of the van, occasionally glancing at his uncle's puce face. Uncle Vernon had not been happy to see Harry, and the boy now had a growing sense of foreboding. He was terrified of what was going to happen when he was back at the Dursleys'. Surprisingly, Harry hadn't heard from Voldemort since leaving Hogwarts. He had honestly expected the Dark Lord to complain and make snide comments about Harry's Muggle relatives. The spirit had been quite vocal in his displeasure about being surrounded by Muggle-lovers and Gryffindors back at school.

/Hey./ Harry thought softly. /Are you still in there?/

A dry voice commented, /It isn't as if I could be anywhere else./

Harry strove to keep the embarrassed blush off of his face. /Oh, um, yeah. You were just being really quiet./ He paused for a moment, and then added for good measure, /Unnaturally quiet./

/Are you implying that I talk a lot?/ Voldemort asked, sounding rather annoyed.

Harry restrained a grin. /Well, if the shoe fits.../ he trailed off.

An outraged voice stated, /I do not talk a lot./

/Of course not./ Harry was hard-pressed to keep a condescending and mocking tone out of his mental voice. /You've only constantly been making comments about my poor choice in companions, the idiots that populate my House, and how much Hogwarts has degraded since your time there./ Harry was rather proud of himself. He supposed that spending so much time listening to Voldemort's cutting sardonic comments had improved his own skills in sarcasm.

/You...You.../ The Dark Lord seemed to be practically speechless with fury.

Harry repressed a snicker. /What? Does the truth really hurt so much?/ He could still perceive Voldemort's simmering anger, but Harry could sense the spirit retreating, having apparently decided to give his host the cold shoulder. Harry sighed. /Aw, come on! I was just teasing! I didn't really mean anything by it. The stuff you said was actually kind of funny./

'Even if he does talk a lot.' Harry thought to himself. It had taken him a few days to get the hang of keeping his private thoughts and his conversations with Voldemort separate, but he was glad it hadn't been too hard. Three days of Voldemort hearing every thought that passed through his head had been more than enough.

The car stopped, and Harry's dread returned, his banter with Voldemort forgotten. Harry got out of the car, only to gape for a moment as he saw that Uncle Vernon had already taken his trunk out of the boot. Uncle Vernon never helped Harry with anything. 'What is he playing at?'

"Get inside," he growled, glaring at Harry through beady eyes. Harry followed his uncle inside the house to find him stuffing Harry's trunk and broomstick into his cupboard.

"Uncle Vernon!" Harry protested. "I need that! I have summer homework."

The obese man grinned at him nastily. "And why should that bother me? I don't care if you flunk out of that freak school."

Harry quelled more furious shouting. Uncle Vernon had obviously made his mind up, and nothing was going to change it. Unless...

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, and said "Oh, well, I just didn't think you'd want to deal with any more wiz-err...freaks. If I go back in the fall without any homework done, they'll be sure to send a letter asking why. They might even send a person here to investigate. They might do that anyway if my grades drop because I can't study over the summer."

Uncle Vernon paled before turning green and ending on a nasty gray-ish hue. Apparently his fear of more 'freaks' contaminating his precious normal home overrode his intense desire to do any- and everything to ruin Harry's life. "Fine!" he snapped. "Just your homework, though. And keep that ruddy bird quiet or I'll wring its neck" He then proceeded to stand over Harry as he hurriedly removed his schoolbooks, quill, some parchment and two bottles of ink. After he was done, Vernon threw Harry's trunk in the cupboard, locked it, and then frog-marched his nephew upstairs. He shoved Harry into his room, shutting and locking the door. Harry set Hedwig's cage on the floor and stood listening as his uncle stomped downstairs again before collapsing on the thin, ratty bed.

LVHPLV

Lord Voldemort was not happy with his current situation. Not only had he been trapped in the head of an average—if not mediocre, judging by his shoddy essays and grades—eleven-year-old wizard by accident, but said young wizard was Dumbledore's precious Golden Boy; the child prophesied to vanquish him.

He counted himself lucky that the dark aura in the Potter boy's scar had been strong enough to mask his presence while the boy was being healed. The Dark Lord had also been pleasantly surprised at how receptive Potter had been towards him. The child had listened to him, thought over his words logically, and then agreed with him.

Voldemort had already known that, as he was entirely dependent on the boy, he would have to play nice with him for a while. He had been surprised by how little effort it took to convince Potter of Dumbledore's duplicity, though he had also been relieved. He really was convinced that Dumbledore would sacrifice Potter if it was for the 'Greater Good', and it was such a bother to have to float around as a bodiless wraith.

He had been temporarily...alarmed...(because Dark Lords do not panic) when the Weasley boy had figured out that something was wrong. The Dark Lord was furious that Potter hadn't allowed him to Obliviate the idiot. It infuriated him all the more that he had to ask permission in the first place. Voldemort made a mental note to remind Potter to explain about Legilimency to his Weasley friend.

He had tried to remain silent after that, worried that other people might notice. Voldemort planned to coach the boy in controlling his facial expressions that summer, so that hopefully by fall no one would be able to tell when the two were conversing. Potter had managed to calm him down somewhat by pointing out that Weasley had only noticed because the boy was around Potter constantly for nearly an entire year. Potter had then added that his mudblood (though Potter didn't use that exact terminology) hadn't noticed anything because she 'wasn't as good at reading people as she was at reading books'.

It hadn't even occurred to him before Potter met up with his uncle that the boy lived with Muggles. Already on edge because of the idea of having to spend time in a Muggle environment for the first time since he had turned seventeen, Potter's comments had easily enraged him. Voldemort had then been utterly bewildered by the boy's sort-of-apology. He had never had anyone tease him in a friendly manner. Any teasing in his youth had been cruel and meant to wound. Later, after he had grown more powerful, no one would have dared tease him in any manner.

Harry Potter was a puzzle—that was certain. The boy should have hated Voldemort for killing his parents, and yet Potter was perfectly comfortable teasing him and joking with him. Potter appeared to be the stereotypical Gryffindor, but the trick he had pulled to get his schoolbooks into his room had been pure Slytherin.

'Speaking of Potter's "room",' Voldemort pulled himself out of his musings to examine his new surroundings. The so-called bedroom was practically Spartan. The only furniture was an old desk with a rickety chair, a wardrobe that had a broken door, and Potter's bed, a metal affair with a rock-hard mattress and a thin, ratty blanket. /I had a better bed at the orphanage, and they were tight on money and tried to give the resident 'freak' all of the worst stuff./ He then froze. 'Did I just say that where the boy could hear me?'

Potter, who had been organizing his books on his desk and deciding which assignment to start on first, abruptly froze in his work. Voldemort then heard the tentative question, /You grew up in a Muggle orphanage?/

'Shit. I did.' He then hesitated, and answered, /Yes. I grew up during the thirties and forties./

Harry blinked. /Oh./ He paused awkwardly and said, /Is that why you hate Muggles so much? Because of how they treated you when you were a kid?/

Voldemort sighed. /Partially./ Then, trying to steer the subject away from his childhood and reasons for hating Muggles, he asked, /Are you going to be locked in here all summer?/

Harry shook his head, and then clarified, /Not really. I do a lot of the chores. I'll be stuck in here whenever I'm not working, though./ Harry then asked rather impishly, /Hey, since you don't have anything better to do, could you help me with my homework?/

Voldemort snorted. /Cheeky brat./

'I might be stuck here for the next few years, but at least the boy's not completely intolerable.'

HPLVHP

Harry sat staring intensely at the bush he could have sworn had eyeballs a moment ago. /What do you think that was?/

/Perhaps it was a wizarding fan that discovered your address and wants to wish you a happy birthday./ A dry voice answered him.

Harry snorted. /Merlin forbid. The last thing I need is a stalker./

"I know what day it is," the two heard a familiar voice jeer. Harry turned to see Dudley waddling toward him. Voldemort's sardonic voice commented. /I wonder what the pig is referring to; has he finally learned the days of the week, or is that too much to hope for?/

Despite Harry's amusement, only the barest traces of the laughter inside him appeared on his face. Voldemort had been teaching him how to hide his emotions, explaining that it would prevent anyone else from becoming suspicious like Ron had. After four weeks of near-constant practice, Voldemort claimed he was at the same level of proficiency as the average ten-year-old pureblood heir.

"I know what day it is!" Dudley reiterated, annoyed at being ignored.

"Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days of the week."

"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you any friends at that freak place?"

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," said Harry coolly.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.

"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.

"I'm trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," said Harry a bit vindictively.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.

"You c-can't—Dad told you you're not to do m-magic—he said he'll chuck you out of the house—and you haven't got anywhere else to go—you haven't got any friends to take you—"

"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice as Voldemort laughed uproariously at the sheer terror in Dudley's voice. "Hocus pocus—squiggly wiggly—"

Dudley then went screaming for his mum, with Harry finally giving in and joining Voldemort in laughter. Later, while he was working on the chores Aunt Petunia had set him in retaliation to his stunt, Harry remarked to the Dark Lord, /Dudley is kind of right, though. I haven't heard from any of my friends all summer. Honestly, if you weren't stuck here with me, I might have started thinking that Hogwarts had been a dream./

/Someone most likely just set up post wards around the house./ Voldemort replied. Harry had a feeling that if the Dark Lord had had a face he would have been rolling his eyes.

Harry frowned in confusion. /Post wards?/

Voldemort seemed to nod. /The wizarding world considers you a savior. You're bound to have fan mail and such. Haven't you ever wondered how you could be so famous and yet no one ever wrote you a letter, never sent an autograph request?/

Harry was dumbly silent, his hands working mechanically. /I guess I never thought about it. Where would it all go, though?/

Voldemort answered immediately. /The owls would either be redirected to a vault at Gringotts set up for that purpose, or they would be sent to the person who set the ward up./

Harry sneered at that. /Three guesses who, considering the Ministry has no idea where I'm living, according to the research you and Quirrel did on me, and who Hagrid claims left me with the Dursleys./

/Indeed./ the spirit agreed. /Dumbledore does seem the most likely to have set up wards around your house./

Harry exhaled, scowling in aggravation. /My life is insane. How is it that I had the two most powerful wizards of the age involved in my life before my second birthday?/

Voldemort was silent for a moment before answering him.

/The winter before you were born, one of my newer Death Eaters—/ he stopped, and in reply to Harry's confusion at the term, he clarified, /The Death Eaters were my followers. Now, in the December before you were born, a Death Eater came to me with the news that he had overheard part of a prophecy concerning me./

Harry quickly interrupted. /You mean prophecies exist?/

/Yes, they do. The Death Eater explained that he had been having a drink at a pub in the village beside Hogwarts when a woman walked in. She strode over to the barman, announcing herself to be Sibyl Trelawny, great-granddaughter to the famous seer Cassandra Trelawny, and the barman directed her to an upstairs room. My Death Eater followed her to the upstairs room, where he learned that Trelawny was being interviewed for the post of Divination Professor at Hogwarts by Dumbledore./

Harry frowned in confusion. /He was holding a job interview in a pub? Did you ever think that your prophecy might be a fake?/

/Of course I did!/ Voldemort snapped. /An Unspeakable—they record and study prophecies, among other things—who was loyal to me looked over the memory, and he insisted that it was genuine./

Harry huffed. /Oh./ He hesitated, and then asked, /What did it say?/

The Dark Lord sighed. /I only ever heard the first few lines, but it spoke of a boy born at the end of July to parents who had defied me three times; a child who would have the power to vanquish me. There were two children found who fit that criteria: a boy named Neville Longbottom…and you./

Harry was quiet while the spirit described the prophecy to him. He really didn't know how to feel. Voldemort was so powerful and clever—how could it be him who was destined to defeat the darkest wizard in centuries? When Voldemort had finished speaking, Harry asked softly, /Why me? Why didn't you see Neville as the worse threat? I mean, if you look at him now, you would know that he's no hero, but I'm not either! Why did you choose to come after me?/

Voldemort didn't answer for a moment. He almost seemed uncomfortable with his answer. /I suppose…I suppose I chose you because you were more like me./

Harry, not knowing how to reply to that, finished his work in silence. That evening, once he was finished, Aunt Petunia hurried Harry up to his room, reminding him that he was to remain absolutely silent. Harry, however, froze upon entering the room at the sight of a strange creature standing on his bed.

He felt Voldemort's curiosity and surprise. /That's a house-elf. They are servants in wizarding households./

Harry's eyes widened at the spirit's quiet comment. The creature—house-elf—bowed to him, introducing himself as Dobby the house-elf and stating what an honor it was to meet "Mr. Harry Potter sir". "Erm..." Harry stuttered, "It's nice to meet you too. Uh, what are you doing here?"

The house-elf seemed astonished at Harry's polite tone, but said, "Dobby has come to warn Mr. Harry Potter sir about a great danger."

"Danger?" Harry parroted. "What kind of danger?"

"It is...difficult to explain, Harry Potter. Dobby wonders where he should begin..."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Well, if it's going to take a while, you might as well sit down," he said, gesturing to the bed as he sat on the desk chair. "Make yourself comfortable."

Harry became quite alarmed when his words caused the little elf to begin bawling. /Shut him up; house-elves are required to follow the instructions of a person living in a house they visit./

Harry nodded unconsciously, and said sternly, "Dobby, be quiet!" Dobby was startled into silence. "Now, while you're here you have to follow my rules, correct?" As the house-elf opened his mouth, Harry hastily added, "Just nod or shake your head." Dobby nodded.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, well, the rules of my house are that you have to remain as quiet as possible, but you are allowed to sit on the bed."

Voldemort interjected, /They also punish themselves when they believe that they have disobeyed a master's order./

Concealing a frown at that statement, Harry added, "You are also not allowed to punish yourself without my permission. Understand?"

Dobby replied in a passable whisper, "Dobby understands sir. Mr. Harry Potter sir is a most kind and noble wizard."

Blushing, Harry stammered, "Okay..." He then looked at Dobby with an expectant expression. "Explain what you're doing here."

Harry listened as the house-elf told him that there was a "plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts". Dobby couldn't tell him much, as he apparently had orders against that, but what he did tell Harry was worrying. The house-elf insisted that he stay here and not leave for Hogwarts this year. Dobby's cryptic comments about dark magic and the danger not being Voldemort specifically were also worrying. However, his unease changed to anger when Dobby admitted to stopping his post.

"Give. Me. Back. My. Letters." Harry gritted out, trying his best to keep from shouting.

The house-elf responded with a sharp "NO!" and fled the room. Harry followed Dobby seething with fury. His outrage quickly became sheer terror when he saw the horrid little gremlin levitating his aunt's pudding.

"Dobby, don't do it! Please!" Harry begged in a petrified whisper. "They'll kill me!"

Dobby gave Harry a tragic look. "Dobby is sorry sir, but Dobby must do it for Harry Potter's own good." With that the house-elf released the levitation charm and disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

His relatives and the Masons rushed in, having heard the noise as the platter fell. Harry had managed to keep the glass platter from shattering, but he was covered in pudding. Aunt Petunia set him to work cleaning up, and at first it appeared that Uncle Vernon would manage to smooth the whole thing over (Just our nephew—very disturbed—meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs...). then the owl arrived. Mrs. Mason fled the house, her husband only staying long enough to explain that his wife was terrified of birds and asking if this was the Dursleys' idea of a practical joke. Then he was gone as well.

The moment the Masons had left, Vernon brandished a letter in Harry's face. "Read it!" he growled. Harry opened it with shaking hands. It was from the Ministry for Magic, explaining that under-aged magic had been detected at his home and this was his first official warning.

"You forgot to mention you weren't allowed to use magic outside of school," Uncle Vernon said in a dangerous voice, "Slipped your mind, I daresay... "

Harry stared at his uncle, petrified. He had never seen him look so unhinged and terrifying. Vernon grabbed Dudley's Smelting's stick before dragging him upstairs, talking to him in that terrifyingly calm voice the whole way. "I've had enough of this freakishness, I tell you, and I've had enough of you!"

When they reached Harry's bedroom, the furious man threw him down, kicking him and beating him with the Smelting's stick. Harry heard the snapping of broken bones as his uncle released his fury, and Harry's last thought was to wonder what would happen to Voldemort if Harry's body died.

A cliffie on chapter two! I'm evil. :) By the way, all bolded segments are from the books. (In this case, CoS.)

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