My Past Will Always Catch Up

Allanasha Ke Kiri

03

Lucius

It was muggle. Everything about it was muggle. He shouldn't have expected anything else. He suppressed a sneer as Harry Potter waved him inside.

"There's drinks in the fridge," he said.

Lucius didn't know, or want to know, what a fridge was.

Potter tossed his bag on a sear and strode deeper into his home. The boy didn't talk much. It was disconcerting to see the lack of emotion on his face. Potter had always been expressive. Easy to read. Predictable.

This blank expanse wasn't Potter. It was a shell. A shadow of what used to be. Of what could be again, if proper, careful steps were taken.

He had seen Potter's reactions the day Weasley and Granger died. He'd been sent to see the distraction the Order orchestrated. To memorize Potter's reactions. He'd never heard anything so heartbreaking. Even his lord, for all that he'd drunk the boy's reactions like nectar, had appeared shocked at the strength of his reaction.

Lost in his pain, in the vision the Dark Lord trapped him, he shouted and cursed. He fought those who tried to restrain him with flailing arms and errant magic. He cried. He never begged. He screamed. What should have been the satisfaction of an enemy breaking, was a reminder of how young the boy was. How young all of them were.

The plan hadn't been to kill them. Not then, perhaps not every, as they had proven to be powerful and magically adept. They were bait. If the order hadn't retrained him, Potter would have apparated to the Dark Lord. They might still be alive.

The Dark Lord had planned for Potter to find him, full of rage, and pain, and hate, and hurt beyond measure, for a final fight. It never happened. In his rage, the Dark Lord killed Potter's friends. And three months later, whispers of the boy's disappearance filled the Wizarding World.

Lucius had never seen his lord so angry as when he couldn't find Potter. Agents had been sent around Europe, hunting the boy down with nothing to show for it. There wasn't even a hint of Potter's presence anywhere in the world.

And he's been here all this time.

Water started in the bathroom, leaving Lucius free to snoop around. Lord Voldemort wanted to know everything about Potter's current life. Anything he could use against the boy, or to tie him tighter to their cause.

There was nothing in the main room. No picture of anything important. A painting of a field hung on the way, looking vaguely familiar, and yet unlike anything he'd seen before. Shaking his head, he slipped down the hall and entered the first door which didn't lead to the bathroom.

It was small. A pitiful excuse of a bedroom. Potter could afford better, if he'd had access to any of it. The room was bare, empty of anything but a bed, neatly made and tucked into the corner.

He doesn't have company.

This couldn't be Potter's room. There wasn't a wardrobe, or a dresser, or anything personal. It was just a room. With a bed. And a window.

Lucius closed the door, moving on. There was only one other door besides the bathroom. Potter's room was sparse. There were no pictures mounted. Clothes - horribly muggle - hung in the wardrobe. Nothing incriminating in the dresser, or under the mattress.

If it weren't for the scar - and the wand they'd found in his bag - Lucius could think this Potter was a fake.

Did he take nothing with him? Or had he lost it all like his memories?

Lucius continued his search until he heard the water stop. He was back in the main room before the door opened. Steam billowed out around Potter as he exited. He didn't look at Lucius, covered only by a towel wrapped around his waist. He seemed unconcerned with his state of dress, but then, if the rumors of his profession were true, he wouldn't be.

Rising, Lucius followed. Curiosity was his main motivation, but his reaction would say a lot about him. Lucius was supposed to learn everything he could.

He leaned against the door frame as Potter stared into his wardrobe. Physically, very little had changed in the Boy-Who-Lived. Still short and slender. His hair had grown, wet strands falling into his eyes as he debated his clothing. Lucius wondered if he'd always been so fit, or if his profession had done that.

"You realize you're staring."

There was no concern in the voice. No worry. No wariness. He didn't care if Lucius stared. Then again, a celebrity had to get used to that. Being stared at. Whispered after.

"Just taking in the changes." That much was true, at least.

Potter turned to face him, an eyebrow arched over dead eyes. That was the most disconcerting change, Lucius realized with a shudder trailing down his spine. Potter was emotional. He was emotive. He cared, and raged, and laughed - supposedly. This walking corpse wasn't Potter. Couldn't be Potter.

"See any?" Potter asked, voice as dead as the rest of him.

Lucius nodded to the scar on his shoulder. "That's new."

Potter glanced down, humming softly. "I was mugged. Four years ago. Stabbed me and Annalyss. Took our money. I survived. She didn't."

The longer Potter spoke, the more it seemed he'd forgotten how to. The boy had never been the best speaker, but he could string more than three words together without pausing.

"It's what you're good at."

"Getting other people killed?"

There was a bite to the voice now, an edge in those eyes. Old pain which never healed. Who was this woman - muggle no doubt - that tormented him so?

"Surviving," Lucius told him, voice softening.

Lord Voldemort wanted the boy. Of all their number, Lucius was the best at gaining someone's regard and trust. So, he would get it, and make it seem as though it had always been there.

He stepped further into the room, Not enough to crowd the boy, but to fully embrace the conversation.

"You have always survived whatever life has thrown at you," he said. "That's a commendable ability, and nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. It is not your fault that people die."

The boy blinked at him, rapid little things that suggested new information had been received and his brain was uncertain how to sort it. Had no one ever told him that? Lucius would need to read up on memory loss and how it affected people. Was this normal?

Is anything involving Potter normal?

"You knew this was new," Potter reached up, touching the scar on his shoulder. Lucius nodded once, allowing the subject change. It wouldn't do to push.

"Would you recognize the rest, then?"

"Quite likely," Lucius said. Lucius had heard of, if not seen, a great deal of Potter's injuries in his early years. He could explain things, perhaps in a way that put Lord Voldemort in a better light.

"This then." Potter held out his left hand, palm down. Lucius had to approach the boy before he could see it. Potter still appeared unconcerned with his state of undress, as though such things were of little importance. In the possible presence of answers, perhaps they were.

I must not tell lies, was written across Potter's hand.

Draco had been quite vicious in his letters, describing Potter's pain and the way Umbridge treated Potter and his Gryffidors.

"You were 15," Lucius told him. "There was a teacher at your school. She had an … interesting way of assigning punishments."

"A teacher did this to me?"

"Technically, she made you do it."

"How?"

"It's called a blood quill. Whatever is written by the user is done in their own blood, and is etched into their skin.

"And this is allowed?"

"Blood Quills have been illegal for centuries."

"Then why did she have one?"

A challenge. An attempt to catch him in a lie. This part was easy. It was also the truth."

"She had the Ministry's backing, and you were vocally against them at the time. She was tasked with shutting you up, and to that end, the government gave her free reign over the school. A lot of children were hurt that year."

"And what happened to her?"

No questions about 'why me'. Interesting.

Lucius smirked. "You did, actually. You lured her into the nearby forest and gave her to centaurs. She was never quite the same after that."

"And this one?" Potter turned his arm over, revealing the long, jagged line that had led to Lord Voldemort's resurrection.

Without thinking, he reached out, touching the delicate skin. The boy twitched, moving his arm just out of reach. He glanced up, meeting Potter's eyes.

"This is how you brought our lord back from the death."

"This, I did to myself?"

Potter didn't believe him, he could hear it in the faint undertone of the boy's voice. He reached out touching the end closest to his elbow.

"The cut obviously started here," he continued, "and was dragged down by someone who didn't know what they were doing. If I'd done it to myself, I'd have started at the other end."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes."

Just a simple statement. No boasting. No explanations. Five years ago, Potter had always needed to explain his actions.

"Well, you're right," Lucius allowed. "You were not one of us then, and while it pained him to use the blood of a child, yours was the only sacrifice that would work."

"And why is that?" Potter asked. "And why could my blood bring him back from the dead?"

"Lord Voldemort always knew you would join us." This time Lucius did touch Potter, just a brush of his fingers. The boy still tensed. "As soon truths became known, you would come to us. He simply had to keep giving you information until you made the realization yourself."

"What realization?"

"That you were being used. All their care was an illusion that vanished any time you disagreed with them." He turned Potter's arm over, ignoring the tensing figure before him. "Your fifth year was a revelation for you in many ways."

"And you do?" Potter asked, eyebrow raised. "Care?"

"More than they ever did."

"Who are 'they'?"

"Our enemies."

"What enemies," the boy snapped, snatching his arm back. As quickly as it appeared, his ire vanished, smothered behind lifeless eyes once more. But, it was proof that Potter was still in there somewhere, waiting to be brought back to the surface.

"We were at war, Harry," Lucius said. "A war for the very soul of our world. It still continues, though the roles have reversed. Our enemy will stop at nothing until they succeed."

Potter stared at him. Measured him.

"What about this one?" Potter lifted his bangs, revealing the scar that started it all.

"You survived a curse no one had ever lived through before," he said, allowing the shift. Little probes would be how this young man was won over, how he was convinced. "It left a mark on you."

"Who did it?"

"Everything wrong in your life can be traced back to the machinations of one man."

"Who?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

There was no reaction to the name. No flicker of recognition. No thoughtful pause.

"And everything good from your lord?" A hint of mockery entered the boy's voice.

"He's caused you pain, yes, but he tried to make up for it in your time with us. You were happy."

Now, Potter turned away. "I'm never happy," was all he said, finally reaching for a shirt.

"You were once."

"I don't remember." Potter dropped his towel.

Lucius turned on his heel, putting his back to the boy as he finished dressing.

"I'll be outside."

Potter hummed, but let him go without a word.

When the boy emerged soon after, neither brought up the subject again. Potter grabbed his bag and left. Lucius had no choice but to follow. Neither spoke at all as they walked, but Lucius was learning this Potter didn't have much to say. And, he knew when to back away. He'd given the boy plenty to think about. Now, he had to let him think. The questions would come, eventually.

"You'll have to wait here," Potter said, outside a nondescript building. "No one's allowed to see rehearsals.

"This isn't what was agreed."

"No one said anything about coming in," Potter said. "You're just supposed to keep anyone suspicious away. You can do that just fine out here."

"Raven," one of the muggles called, "you coming?"

Potter waved back, turning from Lucius without a farewell. The boy was stopped by his colleagues, and several glances were tossed his way. Lucius ignored them, his gaze on the building.

It was too big for him to attempt wards, and they were too flashy for the muggle world anyway. But, that didn't mean he was completely blind. As the group slipped around the corner of the building, Lucius drew his wand. A careful incantation later, and he felt a layer of magic settle over the building.

It would only last a few hours, but it would notify him any time someone of magical ability entered or left. It was the best he could do without being in the building.

Harry

"Who was that man, Raven?"

Raven paused, turning to Daniel, a tall slender dancer. "Who?"

"The man you were talking to outside. You know, tall, blond, a gaze that could pierce metal. That your boyfriend?"

"No." He said. "He's no interest in me, nor I him."

"Can I have him then?"

"He's not interested."

"How do you know?" Daniel flung an arm about him, conveniently forgetting, again, that Raven didn't like to be touched.

Besides the fact that you're muggle?

"He had a wife," Raven shrugged him off. "And a son."

"Doesn't mean anything," Daniel laughed. "You know how many gay guys have wives and children?"

Raven shook his head, heading toward his mirror where he dropped his bag.

"Come on, have you seriously not tried to tap that?"

Raven looked at him. Daniel raised his hands.

"Sorry. Forgot you're not interested in real pleasure."

Jake arrived then, saving Raven from needing to answer, and saving Daniel from what that might have been.

"Good morning, Raven."

"Morning."

"Did anyone else see that guy outside?" Adam asked.

"He came with Raven," Daniel told them.

"Raven?"

He ignored them, setting his are up before rehearsal started. Not that he'd have much to actually rehearse.

"Raven?" Jake asked, hovering by his side.

He hummed softly, not looking up from his task.

"Did you get a sugar daddy?"

Raven paused, blinking up at his coworker. "No."

"Told you," Jake called to the others, even as he grinned at Raven. "See you on stage."

Raven watched the three of them go, bickering all the way. Sighing to himself, he dug through his bag, looking for his wand. He couldn't leave just yet. Malfoy might be sensitive enough to feel him apparate - or have placed any number of wards around the building. If he could sense him, Lucius would be able to get backstage before the lingering magic wore off. He needed more time if he wanted to get away.

Ten minutes, at least, though more was preferred. They'd come close to finding Voldemort's main hideout that way. The stronger the wizard, the longer they could follow, the more jumps they could follow through. He'd only just begun his training in that. Him, Ron, and Hermione. Five years ago, he could follow through five jumps before losing the thread. Dumbledore believed his could do six, at least.

Tonight, though. Once Malfoy - or whoever was assigned to him - was asleep, he could grab some clothes, money, leave the apartment, and apparate away. And no one would miss him until morning.

Except, he couldn't find his wand.

He could always reach it. No matter how long it sat there, it came to his hand when he needed it. Frowning, he pulled things from his bag, dropping them in his chair, on his vanity, on the ground, until the bag was empty. Everything was there. His knife. Spare clothes. Wallet and ID. Cellphone. But not his wand.

"Bastards," he muttered. They'd taken his wand before everything. Possibly, Voldemort planned on giving it back for a final duel. He'd done it before, but once he 'didn't remember anything', the man decided to keep it. Raven leaned against his table, breathing steadily.

He could leave without it, but it would be harder. No wand meant no muffling charm. No light spell. No instant packing. No apparating. It meant leaving behind the last piece that proved his whole life hadn't been a dream. That he'd had friends who cared. But, he could do it. If he had to.

Or, he could stay long enough to get it back. Voldemort would have to, eventually. If Raven was to be any use, he'd need his wand. But, he'd be dragged back into everything. Fame. Notoriety. The-Boy-Who-Ran.

The war. Politics. Voldemort. He'd have to deal with the dark lord. How long could he keep the charade going surrounded by people he knew? Hated? Who'd killed his family. All of it.

"Raven?"

He turned, staring at Jonathan, who gazed over Raven's mess.

"You alright?"

"Of course."

Another glance. Raven was always neat. Nothing was left out unless he needed it, so his boss' concern was understandable, if inconvenient.

"I left something at home," he explained. The man needed something.

"Is it important? We can delay rehearsal until you have it."

"No." Raven turned, carefully putting everything away. "It's not important. Just a … good luck charm."

Silence. Then, "You have a good luck charm?"

Raven glanced behind him. "Don't you?"

"Er … well … sure, I guess. Most people do, I suppose, but …"

Raven wasn't the type. He shrugged.

"It's the only thing I have from … before."

Jonathan's expression cleared. "I see. Well, you'll have time to get it before we open."

"Sure."

He wouldn't. Voldemort would determine when he got it back. If he stayed. If anything went to plan.

"You sure you're alright? The others say you come in with someone."

"A new acquaintance."

Jonathan hummed softly. "Now … about tonight. Are you sure can pull it off? You haven't mentioned it before."

"I know what I'm doing."

"We had to hire a professional last year. Why didn't you say anything?"

"No one else volunteered. I couldn't do it to myself."

"So, you're … into that scene then?"

"No." Raven sat. "I don't get off on pain."

"What about-"

"Or giving it. But, I know what to do. And how to do it. Some of it."

"Raven … if you don't mind my asking … If you don't like pain, why let us do it to you?"

"No one else was willing," he shrugged. "And I knew what to expect. I could make a good show of it, which is what you wanted. Pain wouldn't deter me from that."

"But, why were you even …" Jonathan trailed off, gaze concerned, but perhaps unwilling to cross further over the line into unprofessional territory. But, the old man worried. It had been awhile since anyone cared enough to really worry.

"I wanted to feel something," Raven admitted, looking into his mirror. Nothingness gazed back. "I thought that would. It didn't."

Jonathan sighed. "Raven … have you ever considered therapy?"

"Why? Unless they can dig out my memories, what use are they?"

"More than you'd think," Jonathan said. "But, it's up to you." Jonathan inhaled slowly.

"Now … What do you need for tonight?"

Voldemort

"We could just kill the boy," Gibbon said.

"No."

Voldemort didn't want him dead. Not yet. Not when Potter didn't know why he was dying. Not when he could recruit him, pull him into the darkness, and then drag his memories into the open. Not when he could watch Potter destroy himself before he died. Not when, even 5 years gone, the Boy-Who-Lived was still a powerful ally.

"I wish to use him," Voldemort told his circle. "I wish for his willing compliance. So, how do we provide him with irrefutable proof that he was ours?"

His Death eaters glanced amongst themselves.

"We could alter some memories," Nott said. "Put them in a pensieve and let him watch them."

"Can you fabricate a complete memory from nothing?" Bellatrix sneered. "That's what it will take. None of us have good memories of Potter. Nothing we can change without more practice than any of us have."

Bellatrix was likely right. Good memory fabrications required skill, and dedication to mind magics none of his order possessed.

"Any similarities could also risk triggering the boy's real memories," Severus said, the closest they had to an expert. He bowed his head to Voldemort before leaning forward. "Minor alterations are an easy matter. Erasing someone's memories, simple. Completely altering a memory becomes more difficult the more changes you make."

"Explain," Voldemort demanded.

"Each action begets another, and another. Wherever you break that chain, you must logically connect it to another. One misstep, and it becomes incomplete. Unnatural. Suspicion enters the viewer's mind, and they begin to question everything. They look for everything wrong, rather than what is right."

"Furthermore," Severus continued. "There is the chance that, upon remembering, or viewing, an altered memory, a person can recall what really happened. A minor detail can bring the truth back to a stubborn mind. And Potter is, if nothing else, quite stubborn."

"His luck almost guarantees he'd remember," Jugson said, glaring down at the table they were seated at.

"What are our options?" Voldemort demanded. "What can we do?"

No one spoke. Their uncertainty grated on his patience. The steady tap-tap-tap of his finger on the table caused them suitable discomfort, and yet none of them could speak.

"I may have a solution," Severus said, finally, "though to my knowledge, it has never been used on someone without memories before."

He motioned for the man to continue. Severus rarely put forth an opinion without some certainty, making his best guess better than most of his circle's stated fact.

"It is used, primarily by mind healers," Severus continued, "as such, while it's effects may be questionable, the ministry never actually outlawed it, even before your current administration," A bow of the head to Voldemort, as was his due. "The Novaya Vera is Russian in origin, and is designed to help the drinker see someone in a new light. It requires something of the person, and the drinker. The magic involved will craft a scenario in their head, much like a memory."

"Only one?" Voldemort asked. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And something crafted by the boy's own head would make it impossible to refute.

"I will need a few days, but I'm certain I can alter the potion to allow more than one scenario, and more than one person. It we tell him it's supposed to jump start his real memories, he will have no reason to doubt anything he's seen."

Voldemort grinned. "Excellent."

"The problem with it," Severus said, "is that is requires some conscious connection to the person involved."

"What does that mean?" Bellatrix demanded.

"Meaning, each person will need to meet Potter, and he would need some hint as to who they are in relation to him."

"It requires a mind that understands," Evan Rosier said, speaking up for the first time. "If he does not know who you are, his mind cannot create you. If he does not know what you are supposed to be, his mind cannot fathom your place in it. All magic needs something to anchor itself." He looked at Severus, eyes bright and eager, as they ever were when presented with something new and interesting. He turned to Voldemort. "Who will you choose? Surely the choice will determine who Potter grows close to."

"This will require some finesse," Voldemort agreed. "Severus, you know him best."

"I would politely decline," Severus said. "My own history with the boy does not lend itself well to being a confidant."

Bellatrix laughed. "Severus doesn't have the balls for this."

"Leave him be, Bellatrix. He'll be brewing the potion."

"Well, let me do it, my lord." Bellatrix leaned forward, eyes wide and eager, shining with glee as she salivated over the task.

"What could you do?" Gibbon sneered. "Besides scare him off with your crazy."

Bellatrix's grin grew. "He's never had a mother's touch," she said. "Never had anyone to bring him up right. He'll adore me. Even if he gets his memory back, he'll not want to leave me. Not after I get him."

Jugson laughed. "You? A mother?"

Bellatrix cursed him. Mildly. For her. She knew better than to permanently harm a Death Eater. That was Voldemort's prerogative."

"Enough."

The table silenced. All eyes returned to Voldemort, though some simmered angrily. He gazed them over, debating which of his number would be good for the task. Who could handle the Boy-Who-Lived, and which roles were suited to them.

The closer Potter became to people, the harder he would take it when the truth came to light. The more glorious his pain would be. Who could get that desired result?

"Very well, Bellatrix, I think young Harry could do with a mother's care."

The woman's grin returned, her hands clapping in unrestrained glee.

The others piped up with possibilities, each attempting to gain one of those coveted spots. All, but Severus. And Evan.

"Evan, what would you do?"

Evan leaned forward. "Everyone needs a voice of reason, my lord," he said, ignoring the scoffs around the table. "A teacher in how the world works, in how to reach their fullest potential. And if Severus doesn't want the job, I could take it. Someone would have had to teach Potter everything."

"You wish to teach him the dark arts?"

That was a possibility that hadn't entered his plans. But, the thought of teaching Potter the killing curse, on fully extinguishing the light he'd so carefully clung to, was tempting.

"I wish to put truth to your ruse, my lord. Someone would have taught him," he repeated. "Again, it can't be Severus. It might as well be me."

Slowly, Voldemort nodded. "Very well. I look forward to seeing your progress. How much would it take for the light to turn on him completely?"

Bellatrix cackled again, but Evan just smiled.

"Lucius will be the third," Voldemort decided. "Assuming he hasn't alienated Potter."

Doubtful. Lucius Malfoy always knew which way the wind blew. He'd know Voldemort had plans, and he'd make sure to stay in Potter's good graces.

"And myself." He was not going to relinquish any power over the boy. He would get Potter, and then he would shatter at Voldemort's feet.

"Can you manage that, Severus?" Bellatrix mocked.

"Easily," Severus' attention remained on Voldemort. "As I've said, it will take a few days to get everything done."

Voldemort nodded. "You'll have them. The rest of you will prepare for Potter's integration."

"And, I will also need something important to Potter, preferably something he possessed before he forgot everything. It will help the memories take on aspects of the boy he was, rather than the man he is now."

"Will his wand suffice?"

"It will. Finally, I will need something from the subject of each scenario. Something person. But that represents what they are supposed to be to Potter."

"That can be arranged. Bellatrix? Evan?"

They both nodded.

"I have just the thing," Bellatrix cackled.

And here's chapter three. As promised, it's completely new content. None of this appeared in the last version. It explains a few things, and fills in one important plot hole from the previous version. All in all, I'm not disappointed in it.

Hope you feel the same,

Allanasha Ke Kiri