Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
Team: Kenmare Kestrels
Position: Captain
Word Count: 1,532
Prompt: Why/When does Voldemort win?
All things considered, Voldemort was pleased. Dumbledore was dead, the Ministry was his, and Harry Potter had finally been found. Voldemort smirked to himself as he fingered his shoulder-length hair. Yes. It was nice being in a 26 year old body again. His Death Eaters were absent, so Voldemort decided to reflect. He remembered the joy of returning to life. He didn't remember much of being a Horcrux, but he did remember the day he was able to absorb the life from the red-headed blood traitor. The sensation of wet tiles under his bare feet had sent shivers of sensation down his spine. The smell of the old tunnels had filled him with newfound energy. His faithful Basilisk had been thrilled to see him alive, and he had allowed her to hunt more openly. Voldemort frowned and closed his eyes for a moment. What a waste. It had not been long before Dumbledore beheaded his snake with the help of his pheonix. His return had come with two deaths, the red-head he'd killed and the mudblood his Basilisk had eaten. Voldemort ended up spending his first year of his new life traveling to various places of his childhood. Knowing himself as he did, it did not take long for him to locate the first Horcrux. Touching the ring allowed him to absorb the memories of his older self. With the memories of the past war clear in his mind, he had set out to take over the world once more.
Before Voldemort could continue on this train of thought, the doors to the Great Hall opened. Voldemort looked up from his throne to see Bellatrix Lestrange levitating a gagged and bound Harry Potter.
Voldemort found himself stunned, for a variety of reasons. First was the boy's eyes. They were... broken. That was the only word for them. There was no anger, no fear, no hope. It was unusual. Second was the boy himself. A man really. He must be... 21 or so about now. An adult by anyone's standards. Somehow, Voldemort had imagined himself facing down a unprepared child, but a man was different. Perhaps the man had been training. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and decided to be more cautious. The third stunning thing was the aura around the man. Voldemort had performed a ceremony a year after his rebirth to help him gauge to the strength of the pests that tried to get rid of him. Bellatrix had an orange burn to it. Lucius had a white cloud of sorts. Dumbledore had a pink cloak that seemed to reach out. But this man... he had an aura the deepest of purples that seemed to drip off of him. It was shockingly similar to Voldemort's own black aura.
Bellatrix made the man bow down and threw curse after curse at him. Voldemort hardly paid attention to that, or the taunts she screeched. Instead, his eyes had caught the green ones and Voldemort found it hard to look away. His plans changed. He was going to keep this man, as long as he didn't prove to be a danger. There was one way to check for that. Voldemort lifted his wand and Bellatrix jumped back. "Legilimens."
Harry Potter stood at King's Cross and watched as his friends walked away. Voldemort knew that the boy had attended his first year at Hogwarts and supposed this was when the boy was eleven. He couldn't tell. The boy looked to be too young for Hogwarts.
"Hurry up, Boy. We are leaving. Now." Voldemort turned just as Harry did to find the largest muggle the Dark Lord had ever seen. He grimaced in disgust. His repulsion only grew as he noticed the man's wife and child. He made a mental note to track them down and kill them as soon as he was finished. Such filth did not deserve to breath the same air as him. Voldemort followed Harry Potter through his memories. He allowed the faint acknowledgement the boy had a similar upbringing. But Voldemort had overcome his tormentors, and he watched as boy Potter took the abuse.
Voldemort hardly focused on a memory, except he followed the eyes, day by day. The green darkened until suddenly they broke. Voldemort paused and returned to the moment. The boy was laying on his little bed. His face was flushed, and Voldemort had no doubt that the boy was running a fever. He had probably caught a muggle disease from his relatives. Shivers raked down the body, and he clutched a threadbare blanket closer. The whispered "help" left echoes in Voldemort's own memory. But both pleas were ignored. The boy tried louder. And then his eyes broke.
Voldemort watched as Harry Potter's innate magic broke free. The boy blew his door from the hinges. The fat muggle ran toward him and fell over dead moments later. Voldemort could not help but be impressed. The memories sped by once more. Harry Potter fled the country, taking refuge in Germany. Then he secluded himself from the world. Voldemort pulled himself from the memory to see the eyes gazing steadily at him. He could find no emotion hidden in their depths. Voldemort was ashamed to admit to himself that he didn't know whether it was a lack of emotion, or a good mask. But Voldemort knew that this man was no threat to him and had him released.
It didn't take long for word to reach the world. Harry Potter was Voldemort's pet. Voldemort had half hoped for a bit of anger at the word, but Potter just sat on the steps in front of his looking nonplussed. The first emotion that reappeared was determination. Every so often the man would focus on something. His eyes would harden and he wouldn't relax until he had done whatever he had chosen to do. At first it was learning to mimic a werewolf's howl. Voldemort didn't understand why Potter wanted to imitate a mutt but he let him be. Then he was determined to learn how to move like a dementor. Voldemort was always able to sense Harry, but others soon screamed at his appearance and some fled altogether. Voldemort enjoyed every moment.
Anger prompted Harry to kill for him. The first time Harry had uttered the Killing Curse, Voldemort felt his own new emotion. A strange mixture of pride and lust. He wasn't sure what to call it. He quickly satisfied the second emotion with a nameless woman. The first, pride, he found himself expressing by running his fingers through Harry's hair. The man would sit at his feet and lean his back against Voldemort's leg, and for hours Voldemort would run his hand through the silky tresses. No one dared comment on the gesture, and Voldemort found his own anger abated. A variety of emotions returned before one capture Voldemort's interest. These emotions came in small controlled bursts and would always fade soon after.
A half-blood family had come to his court demanding things of him. They saw it as a plead, but he could see the greed in their eyes. His hand was in Harry's hair, and on impulse he pushed Harry's head forward a slightly. The man shot forward like a dart and soon the family was dead. Harry looked up, and the desire in his eyes had Voldemort banishing everyone from the room and taking Harry on top of the blood from the decapitated wife. Every emotion seemed to fill Harry as they fulfilled their mutual desire and his broken eyed man became a flame that Voldemort wanted at his side forever.
A year later Voldemort saw the new emotion long before Harry recognized it himself. It gave him time to consider his options. He knew that Dumbledore had always claimed Harry had won because of "love." Voldemort didn't know what the emotion felt like, but he had seen it in enough eyes to know what it meant when his Harry looked at him like that. In the end, Voldemort remained silent. When Harry realized it himself, Voldemort was able to watch the fireworks it set off. First was the look of love. Then confusion. Hesitation. A taste of fear. Denial. Then it cut off. Voldemort couldn't help but grab the man's arm and Apparate them to their bedroom.
A week later Voldemort realized the horrible truth. He loved Harry Potter right back. It wasn't as disgusting as he had thought it would be, the feeling that Harry was his. The thought of losing Harry caused a near unbearable pain in his chest. As soon as he came to the conclusion that he was in love, Voldemort couldn't help but let out a half-broken laugh. Somehow, Dumbledore had won.