Chapter 12
The wards told Voldemort Barty was visiting, for which he was secretly more than glad. Voldemort hated to admit it, but he had spent half the night tossing and turning, unable to get the image of Harry Potter and his unfamiliar magic out of his head. Not for the first time Voldemort thought that things probably would have been a lot easier if Potter hadn't grown up in a mystery world where he learned magic that was unknown to anyone in the wizarding world but Potter himself.
Not for the first time that day, Voldemort cursed the blasted prophecy that still loomed over his head.
Voldemort arrived at his office the same time Barty did, and the first thing Barty did was give him a huge grin.
"I've got some interesting memories for you to see, my Lord." Barty had his wand out in a flash and pulled three strands of silvery memories out of his head and dumped them in the waiting pensieve.
Voldemort didn't say anything as he lowered his head and soon found himself standing in Hogwarts' entrance hall. There he watched as Barty approached an obviously cautious Potter to make contact under the mum of security concerns. The encounter was brief before Severus showed up to take Potter to Diagon Alley.
Hmm. Perhaps it was time to summon Severus and see what he had to say about their long lost adversary. Now, Voldemort was no fool and he understood that Severus had struck some sort of deal with Dumbledore to work at Hogwarts while keeping out of Azkaban. After Voldemort's disappearance, Igor Karkaroff had given up all the names of the remaining Death Eaters, Severus Snape amongst them. For that reason alone the Ministry would have thrown Severus into Azkaban, but Dumbledore had shielded Voldemort's spy. And Voldemort understood all too well that such favours from the old man came at a price.
As of yet, Dumbledore had no solid proof Voldemort had returned. All he knew for certain was that Quirrell had done away with the Philosopher's Stone. The old man probably had his suspicions, but he had no evidence to convince anyone else and therefor Voldemort could proceed with his plans as he wished. But Severus blabbing to Dumbledore that Voldemort had returned might ruin that opportunity. No, Voldemort knew he had to proceed with caution while it came to his wayward spy, but he reasoned that he might secure Severus' real loyalty with an Unbreakable Vow.
The next memory was far more interesting.
Barty intercepted Potter the moment he returned to Hogwarts and lured him to his office. Potter came along easily, his attitude pleasant enough, but his eyes were ever sharp even if he said very little at all.
The bird was also a point of interest. It sat securely on Potter's shoulder, as a pet bird might be trained to do, but its eyes were equally as sharp as Potter's while it looked around Barty's office.
Voldemort didn't much like birds, or any pets that wasn't a snake. Nagini was currently sunbathing in the conservatory after Voldemort had retrieved her from his safehouse. She was intelligent and independent and the perfect companion, as far as Voldemort was concerned. He couldn't imagine ever keeping a pet bird around that wasn't an owl relegated to the outside owlery.
And then the memory took an unexpected turn.
Potter confessed that he practised dark magic, had been using it his entire life. Couldn't even understand why it was so frowned upon in the wizarding world.
Voldemort's heartbeat increased while his mind spun with possibilities. After all, the easiest way to do away with the threat of Potter and the prophecy was to recruit the man to their side. And by the looks of it, recruiting him under the banner of decriminalizing all banned magic might be easier than previously expected.
Voldemort carefully took in Potter's expressions, and how he chose his words, and it was obvious to Voldemort that Potter was playing it up a bit for Barty, was throwing out a bit of bait to see if Barty would bite. But that was not unexpected if Potter was a true dark wizard who suddenly found himself stuck in a world where only light magic was seen as legitimate and desired.
The next memory was that of Potter joining Dumbledore for lunch in the Great Hall. Barty sat on Dumbledore's other side, so while he mostly kept to himself for the meal, he did still overhear all that was said between Potter and Dumbledore.
And while the conversation between those two was comprised entirely of utterly tedious small-talk, Voldemort did still learn a very important thing.
Potter did not trust Dumbledore one bit. Didn't even seem to like him much, Voldemort was sure.
Every time Dumbledore tried to entice Potter to divulge a little more information, to open up just a bit more, Potter expertly looped the conversation back to polite small-talk as one might expect between two strangers.
Potter absolutely knew what he was doing. This was no naïve young man who barely knew how to hold a wand. This was a powerful man who knew how to navigate unwelcome social situations with ease while giving nothing of importance away.
Oh, Voldemort found himself utterly intrigued by this man. And extremely curious what kind of life Potter had led in the mystery world that had given him the experience needed to act the way he did now.
"Thank you, Barty," Voldemort said as he pulled away from the pensieve. "That was most illuminating."
"Wasn't it just?" Barty said with a cackle, leaning back in the chair in front of Voldemort's desk where he'd been waiting. "I told you he was dark! I just knew it, that magic he used when he first showed up was as dark as can be."
"It certainly seems that way." Voldemort sat down behind his desk and folded his hands so he could rest his chin on them while he stared ahead, deep in thought. "I want you to draw him out a little more, Barty. See how much Potter is willing to admit about using dark magic." Voldemort looked at Barty with narrowed eyes. "And I want you to see what you can find out about Severus' deal with Dumbledore. We need to know what side Severus is actually loyal to."
"To tell it true, my Lord, I think only Snape knows the real answer to that question," Barty replied with a snort.
Voldemort chuckled and then nodded in agreement. "You make a good point. You may go, Barty."
With a bow Barty left the office and Voldemort leaned back in his chair. It seemed that his plans for the future would need to be adjusted.
00000000000
"Excuse me?" Lily demanded with a glare while both Fleamont and Henry rushed over to join Harry and James so they, too, could admire the invisibility cloak. "We just got news Voldemort is back and all you suddenly care about is your stupid invisibility cloak?"
"My dear child," Henry said, looking completely aghast by Lily's accusations. "Have a care. This is Ignotus Peverell's cloak, given to him by death himself!"
Lily's mouth fell open in a way that seemed to indicate she only now realized what kind of family exactly she'd married into. "Unbelievable," Lily said to no one in particular. "Fucking unbelievable."
"Take care of that cloak," Fleamont urged his grandson. "It truly is one of a kind."
"I will," Harry said solemnly while folding the cloak in his hands as best as he could before sliding it in the satchel on his belt. Harry knew all too well how much the cloak meant to his family from the many stories James, Fleamont and Henry had told him about it.
"You know, there still should be a copy of the Marauder's Map stored somewhere at Hogwarts," James mused with a thoughtful frown.
"James!" Lily cried while she threw both hands up in utter despair. "Voldemort, you know, that bastard who murdered us both and tried to murder our infant son, is back and he'll want to finish the job he started back in 1981."
"Oh, right," James said, finally seeming to snap out of whatever wave of nostalgia had overwhelmed him for a moment. "Sorry, Harry."
"It's fine," Harry sighed, glad to see Igor shuffling into the hallway, holding a serving tray with a glass and a bottle of wine on it. Harry met Igor halfway and snatched up the glass, quickly filling it from the bottle he decided to keep with him. "Go run me a bath," Harry told his undead butler while he downed a full glass of wine and quickly refilled it.
The only way he was going to be able to deal with the situation that had suddenly arisen was some serious day-drinking.
Around him his family got back to discussing the subject of Voldemort's return, but Harry could hardly care about that.
The thing was, to Harry, Lord Voldemort seemed like an afterthought, a done deal, a boogieman that had featured in stories his parents had told him when he was a child but that had lost their fear factor the moment he grew up.
Harry had defeated a Dark Lord a hundred times more powerful than Voldemort could ever hope to be when he was only seventeen and while he was still pretty much a sheltered little swot. Nowadays, Harry had singlehandedly rebuilt a whole magical community and led its people to success and victory more times than he could remember.
Not to mention one of his best friends for well over a hundred years was a chatty piece of Voldemort's soul that masqueraded as a raven. V had proven his worth since the day he appeared in Harry's life, saving Harry's life more times than Harry could remember and even coming up with the plan that ultimately saw Rylan killed for good.
Of course, Harry had never told his family the truth about V the moment he'd figured it out. His family had asked him plenty of times where V came from, and eventually Harry had told them part of the truth, that V was a guide gifted to him by the Figures in the deathlands, and that his name was Veles, since Harry thought perhaps simply using V might arise some suspicion with his parents. It never did, though, and his parents accepted V as a normal part of Harry's life pretty much from the start.
So Harry hadn't really lied to his family, since he had told them the truth. He simply hadn't told them all of it. Harry thought it wouldn't matter anyway since he lived in Santika and as far as he was concerned would someday die there as well, and so would V.
Even though V was a part of Voldemort's soul, he was still connected to Harry. Once Harry died, V would perish as well. They were both aware of this and they had both accepted that long ago.
Harry downed his second glass of wine and then held up both his hands, glass and bottle on display. "Enough!" he yelled, because the loud arguments that had erupted between his family members were giving him a headache. "How about we all give Voldemort's return some thought and maybe come up with some plans, and then tomorrow we'll have a meeting to discuss those in a civilized manner." And before anyone could respond, Harry dismissed them all back to their spying positions with a small burst of his powers.
Ah. Silence.
Harry refilled his glass just as V came flying over from the banister to sit on his shoulder.
"Trouble, trouble," V cawed while Harry slowly trudged up the stone staircase in search of a hot bath. His muscles and joints truly were aching.
"I certainly hope not," Harry said, sipping his wine. He placed the glass on the edge of the sink the moment he entered the bathroom where a steaming claw-footed tub stood waiting, courtesy of Igor. "Whatever it means, we don't have to worry about it right this moment."
Harry started taking his clothes off while V hopped onto the counter, eyeing him up and down with a tilt of his head.
"Shave, shave," V cawed just as Harry stepped out of his pants and was completely naked.
Chuckling, Harry stared at his reflection in the large mirror over the sink. "Not today, my friend."
"Stupid beard," V chattered with a shake of his head.
Harry actually liked his long beard. It had taken some getting used to the first time he'd grown it, but nowadays he appreciated how he looked. The problem with not aging as fast as those around you was that you kept looking very young while others matured, and as a result Harry started noticing about halfway throughout his long life, that people started taking him less seriously. Growing his hair and beard out had helped significantly with that, while it also helped to mask the fact that Harry wasn't aging much at all.
Brushing his fingers against the summoning amulet and the bloodstone he kept on a necklace at all times, Harry knew exactly why he didn't age as other did, of course.
As it turned out, Rylan had been greedy monster. While Rylan had been a talented and powerful necromancer, he hadn't possessed nearly as much natural talent for other types of sorcery. And so Rylan had adapted the ritual of immortality in ways that also allowed him to steal the power of magical children to add to his own minimal skills in sorcery.
The thing was, Harry was a born wizard, and a very powerful one at that. He didn't need any outside sources of magic or power because he had plenty of his own. And the bloodstone, which had been fully powered by Rylan through dozens and dozens of child sacrifices, only had to give up its magic in minimal amounts to keep Harry young.
Honestly, Harry had no idea how long it would take for the bloodstone to run out, but it didn't seem to be anytime soon by the looks of him.
Harry was tall and reasonably well-muscled, with a dusting of chest hair and plenty of scars covering his body. He looked in his prime, had looked in his prime for over a century. Though some days Harry did feel his age the older he got, like a lingering ache inside his bones he couldn't quite get rid of, but none of that ever showed in his physique.
"Fill sink, fill sink," V demanded while he hopped around on the counter.
With a smile, Harry did exactly that and when there were a few inches of lukewarm water sitting in the sink, V hopped right in for his own bath.
Harry grabbed his glass of wine and carefully lowered himself into the steaming tub, groaning as the hot water engulfed his aching body.
Closing his eyes, Harry sank down until the water reached his chin, sipping more wine. "Maybe we should just focus on creating a ritual to get back home. I'm sure Karakas would help."
"No time, no time," V cawed while he splashed around in the sink, sending drops of water flying everywhere while all his black feathers stood on end.
"Huh?" Harry cracked one eye open and eyed his companion. "What do you mean?"
"Time too fast," V pointed out with a sharp look, clicking his beak a few times.
Harry sat up a little in alarm. "Fuck," he said, with feeling.
It had utterly escaped Harry that since time moved faster in Santika, that also had consequences for his potential return. Harry did some quick math in his head. Here he was supposed to be 14 years old, yet in Santika he'd aged easily ten times as fast. So roughly for every one year in the wizarding world, ten passed in Santika.
"Well, there goes that plan," Harry sighed, sinking back into the water. He didn't want to return to Santika years later only to find more members of his family had died and Harry hadn't been there to support his loved ones.
"Home, home," V insisted while staring at Harry.
"You mean, we're home now?" Harry guessed. He had become rather good at interpreting all the things V meant to say in his limited vocabulary.
V bobbed his head up and down a few times.
"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly as he emptied his glass. "I suppose we are home at last. It just doesn't feel like it."
"More time," V offered, flying over to perch on the edge of the bathtub near Harry's head.
Harry stroked a few fingers up and down V's feathery chest. "Yeah, we'll give it some more time."
It wasn't until his skin started pruning and the water had cooled significantly that Harry got out of the tub. He dried himself with a few simple charms and then moved to his bedroom to dress in a fresh attire.
Next order of business was taking stock of what he all had. Harry liked to keep his castle full of all necessities but occasionally things did run out. Harry started in the basement, where the wine cellar was full, naturally, and the root cellar also had plenty of crops and meats and wheels of cheese under preservation charms to see them through a winter or two easily.
The pantry in the kitchen revealed a few sacks of flower and oats, pots of salt, sugar and honey and many different herbs and spices Harry had picked up during his many travels. There were also plenty of eggs, jars of pickles and olives and many bags of dried fruit and nuts.
Well, they weren't starving anytime soon.
Of course, Harry had a small mountain of gold and chests of gemstones hidden in his castle so even if food ran out they had plenty of money to buy more supplies. Not to mention that Harry now had access to his family's vault at Gringotts, which also held plenty of gold.
Yeah, Harry didn't have to worry about finding a paying job anytime soon, which was probably a good thing because he had plenty on his mind.
Lastly, Harry wandered to the castle library, which comprised the centre of the structure. It was an enormous hall, magically expanded, easily the size of Hogwarts' great hall. Around the room sat various comfortable chairs and tables, and a large desk stood in front of the biggest windows. And all along the walls, up to the high ceiling, were shelves filled with books.
Once upon a time books had been rare and expensive in Santika. Then Harry and his family had introduced the magical printing press and since that moment Harry has seriously started collecting books. It was made especially easy because Harry was gifted in charms and copying a whole book was as easy as swishing his wand. As a result, Sildar had several extensive libraries, and so did Harry personally.
Throughout his travels, Harry had made it a point to always copy any book he encountered, and thus his collection was vast and eclectic.
Harry sat behind his desk, grabbed a sheet of paper and a self-inking quill and thought about what he needed to do over the coming days and weeks. Research the upcoming tournament, that was an important thing not to forget, so Harry added that to the top of his list. He also added Sirius' lack of trial and finding a ritual to heal Sirius' soul. Somewhere at the bottom Harry put Voldemort with a question mark because he honestly wasn't even sure if Voldemort even was a problem.
And if he was, Harry might just send Keket to fix the issue. It worked with Rylan, after all.
Speaking of the beast, Keket came slinking into the library by way of the wall and settled on her favourite bearskin rug in front of the window beside Harry's desk.
"Some watchdog you are," Harry muttered while leaning back in his seat, giving Keket a fond smile. "Three kids snuck past you today."
Keket rumbled in a way that told Harry she'd been well aware kids were around but simply hadn't deemed them a threat so she'd ignored them. And Harry's wards were such that anyone could enter them as long as they had no ill intentions against Harry and his family.
"Still," Harry told his beastly friend. "Maybe a little warning next time would be nice."
Keket produced a few clicking sounds that sounded suspiciously like laughing.
Around dinnertime Harry made his way to the kitchen. Sadly, Igor had many talents, but his cooking skills were downright abysmal. Thankfully, Euphemia had always insisted Harry learn all manner of household magic, which meant that nowadays Harry could produce a culinary feast with just a few flicks of his wand.
In no time Harry had a meat, potato and barley stew put together that would see him fed for almost a whole week, and he took a bowl with him to the living room, to enjoy on the sofa while he relaxed. As always V was there to eat his own fill, but Harry didn't mind.
Afterwards, Igor took the dishes away and Harry decided to call it a night, tired from all the things that had happened over the past days.
V perched on Harry's headboard, tucking his head under a wing while Harry pulled the blanket over himself while extinguishing the oil lamps with a wave of his hand.
It was only when Harry stood in front of the sink the next morning to brush his teeth and try to tame his hair that he remembered he had an appointment with Dumbledore.
Ugh. Harry did not look forward to that, since the old man gave Harry all sorts of negative impressions the more time Harry spent with him. Hopefully Harry would get some answers soon about why Dumbledore seemed so elated with Harry's return, but if Harry had to guess it had probably something to do with Voldemort.
After a quick breakfast of oatmeal porridge with dried fruit and nuts, Harry pulled on his boots and his cloak and left his castle to go visit the bigger one next door. V joined him but Keket opted to remain behind, to explore the forest some more. That was fine by Harry, since he didn't expect to need his murder friend anytime soon.
Besides, if push came to shove, Harry was plenty capable of murdering someone himself.
Dumbledore stood waiting for Harry in the entrance hall. "Ah, Mr Potter, right on time. I trust you found a place to put your dwelling?"
"Sure did," Harry said with a smile which lacked any real warmth. "A nice little meadow, not that far from here."
"Excellent." Dumbledore led Harry towards his office while making some small-talk about some of the portraits and statues of armour they passed, and Harry politely nodded along, not giving anything away about what was really going on in his mind.
"Here we are," Dumbledore said as the gargoyle moved to the side to allow them entrance. What an interesting kind of magic, Harry thought. He might have to look into creating something like that for his own castle.
"Please have a seat." Dumbledore sat down behind a large desk while Harry sat down in front of it, looking around the office few times, but he'd also seen plenty of it during the night of his arrival.
"Harry," Dumbledore started while his expression changed from genial to utterly serious. "I have a few things to discuss with you that are, I'm afraid to say, a matter of life or death."
Harry nodded at the headmaster to continue, keeping his own expression as mildly interested without any real concern.
"Lord Voldemort murdered your parents, and then tried to kill you, which backfired on him."
"I am aware," Harry said in a quiet voice.
"What you may not know," Dumbledore continued, leaning forward to give Harry a piercing look. "Is that Voldemort did not die that night. Through the use of vile magics, though what these are I am not yet completely sure, Voldemort assured his own survival." Dumbledore paused for a moment for maximum effect. "Lord Voldemort has returned and is active once more."
Harry sat perfectly still and didn't say a word, as though the news Dumbledore had just given him wasn't even worth commenting on.
"This does not concern you?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes wide in obvious surprise.
"Not really, no," Harry said with a careless shrug.
Slowly rising from his desk, Dumbledore frowned. "It concerns you more than you may know, my dear…Harry." Dumbledore retrieved a stone basin from a cabinet which he placed on his desk between them. With a tap of Dumbledore's wand the basin activated and a figure of a shimmering woman floated above it.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power the vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
Harry's heart raced while his mind tried to make sense of all he'd just heard, yet his face was utterly blank.
"As you see," Dumbledore said with a solemn nod, "Sybill Trelawney uttered a prophecy in my company that points very clearly to you, my…Harry." Another pause for dramatic effect. "Only you can defeat Lord Voldemort."
Snorting, Harry shook his head, which soon transformed into booming laughter. "You believe in soothsayers here?" More loud, obnoxious laughter, while Harry slapped his own thigh to add to the image he was trying to project. "In Santika we only entertain fortune-tellers during festivals, while we're all well into our cups!"
Dumbledore could no longer hide some of the obvious frustration he had to be feeling, his eyes narrowing while his lips pinched into a thin line. "I assure you, Mr Potter, the prophecy is real. Your parents died for it."
Harry's laughter stopped to be replaced with clear disbelief. "My parents were murdered over some hack uttering a few vague words that could mean many different things to different people?"
"The prophecy is quite true," Dumbledore insisted, genial mask slipping more and more until a man on the verge of true anger remained.
"I don't believe it," Harry said with finality. "In Santika, we make our own destiny. So has it always been done, and so it shall remain."
"You cannot outrun fate, no matter how hard you try."
"I'm not outrunning anything," Harry said while giving Dumbledore a long, steady look. "I merely go about my own way, and if anything falls in my path that needs cleaning up, I'll do exactly that. But I refuse to involve myself in a conflict that's not my own."
Sighing deeply, Dumbledore sat back and bowed his head. "I suppose I will just have to put my faith in the prophecy then, instead of you personally."
"If you prefer soothsayers over reality, that is your choice." Harry got up at once while V flapped his wings in surprise. "I have much to do, so this is to be the end of our meeting."
"There is one last thing, Harry," Dumbledore said before Harry could reach the door. "Severus mentioned you've been trained in dark magic."
Harry nodded while offering Dumbledore an entirely unconcerned look. "We receive training in all aspects of magic in Santika."
"That is not the case here." Dumbledore's mask of geniality made a quick return. Harry used some of his power to get a sense of the man's soul. It felt old and sickly sweet, with an underlying arrogance and darkness that seemed entirely contrary. "In this world, Mr Potter, we practice only light magic. In fact, several types of dark magic are highly illegal and will earn you a lengthy prison sentence."
"As will committing no crime at all, I heard," Harry pointed out, unable to resist. "My godfather apparently never even had a trial before they locked him up. So you will have to excuse me if I don't take your judicial system very seriously. I wish you a good day." And with that, Harry marched out of the office.
Harry left the castle in a hurry, mind whirling with questions. He really wanted to talk to his family about everything he'd learned.
Because that prophecy that Harry had just heard fit him perfectly, when you considered Rylan as the Dark Lord in question. Of course, Harry couldn't very well tell Dumbledore that, because then he'd have to explain how Harry's parents had defied Rylan and he couldn't do that without revealing his necromancy and Harry wasn't about to tell Dumbledore that he essentially had a highly sophisticated network of invisible spies at his beck and call.
Still, Harry was convinced that prophecy had been fulfilled. Then what did Voldemort have to do with anything, and why had his parents been really killed?