Chapter One – Propositioning a Dark Lord
Harry stands in front of a long, rectangular table littered with multiple crystal vials filled with various potions, elixirs, and poisons; leaving no doubt in the young saviour's mind that they had finally reached Professor Snape's contribution aiding in protecting the Philosopher's Stone. Despite his relief at nearing his goal, as Harry rereads the potion master's riddle, multiple concerns fill his mind. Conflicting thoughts surrounding these so-called protective measures. He had a sinking feeling that they had all been designed with him and his 'friends' in mind.
Firstly, there had been an off-limits door which could be unlocked by a simple spell taught to all first -year students leading to a Cerberus. Fluffy, the three-headed dog, who just so happened to be owned by the easier person to manipulate into spilling facts best kept secret, especially information about sneaking past said three-headed dog. A bed of devil's snare had followed, again something which could be found in the first year Herbology curriculum.
He isn't ashamed to admit that Professor McGonagall's test would have been impossible for him to get past on his own but luckily for him, he had been friends with Ronald Weasley, one of the most revered chess players in the school, despite him only being eleven years old. There had even been a task wherein someone had to fly up and catch the key to unlock the next door, a task not particularly hard for the youngest Seeker of the century. Finally, there was this one. A potion riddle which seemed to be the hardest task out of them all and only because many witches and wizards seemed to lack any form of common sense and logic.
So there Harry stands, riddle in hand. A smirk dancing at the corner of his lips as he watches Hermione swallow her own potion vial before she spins on her heels and hurries back through the doorway they had just walked through. She leaves Harry alone without so much as a bye-your-leave, no words of 'good luck' or encouragement as he is now expected to face off against the one attempting to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Hermione had decided, after they had left Ronald's unconscious body on the floor of the giant chessboard, that she had better go and find a professor to come and aid the passed out first year. Why, being hailed as the brightest witch of their generation, had she not thought of that beforehand was beyond him, but Harry didn't want to think too much on it.
And so, Harry is left all alone, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Boy-Who-Lived, left to act as a scapegoat once again for the rest of the Wizarding World to hide behind against anything evil in this world. Harry rolls his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping him. He shakes his head to clear the mass of thoughts swirling. He plucks his own potion from the table and downs the heavy liquid in one swallow, throat constricting as it sticks along the way. Walking forward, Harry marvels at the icy sensation travelling through his veins, holding his breath as flames lick around his form but never burning. He really did love magic.
Laughter bubbles up in his stomach as he enters another dingy corridor, the path forward being lit by some sparsely spaced torches. Sometimes, he couldn't believe the naivety of Hermione and Ronald. Just because something or even someone had appeared 'Dark' and 'cruel' didn't mean that they were. Thinking back on all of their arguments and speculations about who the thief could be always amused him greatly. Appearances could be deceiving, something which his friends would have to learn at some point if they didn't want to end up in deep trouble someday.
His smile soon drops, morphing into a sneer as he continues to make his way through the corridor, his eyes adjusting to the low light. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his too baggy jeans, eyeing the cobwebs and suspicious dark splotches covering the walls with trepidation. Harry didn't even wish to know what could have made such stains so far down beneath the castle walls. After a moment of walking, Harry spies a small archway. The low light casts shadows all around him as it gives entrance to a wider anti-chamber. Harry rolls his eyes.
"Stupid Dumbledork. Who does he think he is allowing a bunch of eleven-year-olds, two of whom have less than a year of magical knowledge, to traipse through a bunch of challenges which he guaranteed would deliver a very painful death. Does he really believe that we are capable of defending the Stone from someone who clearly has decades of training over us? I don't think he believed that letter from the Ministry at all. What are the odds that he receives an emergency missive the very night someone tries to steal the Stone? It is laughably obvious."
Standing in the entrance, Harry casts a critical eye around the large circular chamber, his eyebrows furrowing. His nose scrunches up as he catches the scent of dust and damp. Continuing his quiet mutterings, Harry shakes his head. Be damned if someone were to hear him. Why should he care? It wasn't like whoever it was down here was going to try and kill him or anything. Harry takes a cautious step over the threshold, breath catching as he scans the room once more. Nothing happens. Nor do any spells get fired in his direction.
Releasing a sigh, Harry walks towards the centre of the chamber, eyes still peeled, sweeping the shadows. Seriously, it was as if whoever set this up had some aversion to light. Maybe Dumbledore was an Ancient Vampire. Just as that particular thought crosses his mind, or more like as soon as he climbs down the stairs to cross over the centre of the room, fire explodes around him, trapping him and anything down here in the chamber. He sighs.
"Of course. Why did I not think of the fiery death trap waiting for me down here? I wonder why it wasn't triggered earlier." Harry wonders, pausing in his descent, he knows the thief is already down here, who else would have been able to set off most of the traps before him and his friends had fallen through the trap door?
"This is where that old coot is keeping the Philosopher's Stone? Said to be one of the most powerful mystical artefacts of the wizarding world; one which could reap havoc if it ended up in the wrong hands and Flamel and Dumbledore decide to leave it in a school full of underage defenceless children? How stupid do they need to be? Does he not care for his students' safety? Oh, wait, of course he doesn't. Why would he waste his time caring about the people he is just moulding into mindless soldiers for the Light side?" Harry releases a loud sigh, expelling his frustration. He continues to trek down the stairs, eyes landing on a familiar mirror standing in the centre of the otherwise empty room, flames reflecting off its surface making it appear to sparkle.
"Wow, really conspicuous Dumbledore. You may as well have hung a couple of L.E.D signs pointing to where you have 'hidden' the Stone. What next? It doesn't really seem as if you are trying too hard to discourage the thief at all. No, I think you wanted to see how many students would come out of this with third degree burns." Harry mutters glancing down at the multiple scrapes and burns covering his own arms from the previous tasks, stroking a finger down a particularly nasty looking injury on his forearm he hisses when it flares in pain.
His eyes skirt around the room again, scanning the shadows. He knows that Professor Quirrell had been watching him since he had entered the chamber; knowns that his Defence Professor had been the one attempting to steal the Stone all year, Professor Snape's actions had really helped him to piece together the puzzle. He may have to find some way of thanking the Potions professor before the end of the year.
Harry allows a smirk to dance across his lips, stopping himself a few feet away from the Mirror of Erised, he looks into the reflective surface, eyes roaming as he contemplates what it is he is supposed to be looking for. What he is going to be shown as his 'hearts deepest desire' this time around. All he knows is that his parents are not going to be making another appearance, despite them having shown up every time he had looked into the mirror previously. Well, before Dumbledore had decided that it was in his best interest to move the mirror to a place Harry would never be able to find it again.
I do believe the old man said I would never see the Mirror of Erised again. That he was going to put it someplace where no one would ever be tempted to fall pray to their deepest desires ever again. Yet, here it is, standing in front of me in the chamber he had orchestrated me to end up. Such a manipulative old codger.
Now though, harry doesn't see his parents within the mirror's reflection.
If asked, Harry would simply explain that he had thought long and hard about the circumstances of his parents' deaths during many sleepless nights. He had thought about everything he knew was done leading up to that fateful night and the actions of their most trusted accomplices. After months or contemplation and his fair share or research into that night and the wizarding war, Harry had concluded that the death of his mum and dad had been no one's fault entirely, though his parents hadn't been entirely blameless either.
At first, Harry can admit to blaming Lord Voldemort, especially when he had first been told the story behind his orphaned state, though he could now admit that it had been a premature conclusion on his part. He hadn't been told the whole story. Besides, harry had spent the past nine years of his life listening to his muggle aunt and uncle referring to his parents as 'good for nothing drunk' and 'lazy layabouts' who had died one day due to their bad habits. They had been drunk driving when a traffic accident had killed them and left him with his infamous lightning bolt scar.
But no, who should tell him the truth, at the tender age of eleven, when he had just been told that he is a wizard, that a supposed mad man, a maniac, the worse Dark wizard in British History aimed a bright green killing curse at his mum and dad but a bumbling oaf of a giant. Renowned 'Light' supporter, completely devoted to the headmaster all because the old coot had given him a job after his release from Azkaban. Dumbledore had even allowed him to do small bouts of magic despite his wand being snapped.
That hadn't been why harry had concluded that his parents had been to blame for their own deaths though, no that had only been the beginning. Firstly, his mum and dad had decided to bring a child, himself, into the world during one of the worse wizarding wars in the history of magic and didn't think to have adequate protection in place.
He knew that they had gone into hiding and that they had placed the Fidelius charm around their home, but he doesn't believe for a minute that they had trusted their secret keeper entirely. Every book he had read about his parents' deaths, and the Fidelius charm had stated that the secret keeper would be the only person to know the location of the home besides the occupants and anyone used to cast the spell. To Harry, that was a lot of trust to place in someone during a war where supposedly no one could be trusted.
It baffled him why they wouldn't have just asked Dumbledore to be there secret keeper. If he was as omnipotent as everyone believe, the only one Lord Voldemort is said to have feared, then why not use him? If anything, having the almighty Light Lord as their secret keeper would have deterred Voldemort from attempting to find them. Why had they not had an emergency portkey on hand for when Voldemort attempted to bypass the charm? His parents, he was sad to claim, were much too Gryffindor for their own good, always hoping things were going to work out for the best, no forethoughts of self-preservation nor the need for back-up plans.
He had spent many nights researching a man named Sirius Black, as many books had claimed this man, his supposed Godfather, to be the secret keeper for his parents. Harry had been suitably surprised to find that not only had Sirius been his second cousin or some other distant relative on his Father's side but also the disowned (not officially) son of Walburga Black. Sirius Black had, according to every account he had read, all throughout his life, renounced his families ties to the Dark Arts, heavily resenting anything with links to his family, including all Slytherins. Harry had been surprised that this man, ambassador for the Light, had all of a sudden decided to switch to the side he had heavily fought against. That he would lead the Dark Lord to the boy who had taken him in and treated him like a brother. It hadn't made sense to Harry; he wasn't sure if this man had been his parents' secret keeper at all.
Dragging himself from his thoughts when the fire surrounding him crackles, Harry focuses back on the Mirror of Erised. Walking around the artefact, Harry inspects it for any indications of how he is supposed to retrieve the stone from inside the mirror. He tucks his hands back into his pockets, delicate fingers curling around his wand. Shifting shadows catches his peripheral vision. Harry smirks, Professor Quirrell was not very good at stealth, his tall frame peaking out from behind a stone pillar.
Harry shakes his head, focusing on the magical artefact preventing him from collecting the stone, as he attempts to curb the bubble of laughter building in his chest. He had known that his professor was going to be watching his every move, he wanted to steal the stone from Harry instead of attempting to gain access to it himself, not that harry blames the man. Anyone would know that it is easier to steal something from an inexperienced eleven-year-old than an ancient magical artefact. It made a lot of sense, but did he have to make it so obvious?
"Stupid Dumbledore," his voice is soft, mumbling under his breath but still carries in the near silence of the stone chamber. "Who does he think he is, expecting me to fend off whoever wants the Stone? Because I definitely have enough magic and experience to fight against a follower of the Dark Lord, let alone Voldemort himself. I barely even had enough time to learn all of the first-year spells what with everything going on this year. Yet, he still expects me to protect the Stone. Why should I? No one came to protect me these past nine years. No one even bothered to check to see if I was safe and looked after. No one deemed me worth their time when I was being neglected and starved. Their precious saviour left to fend for himself, growing up not knowing who he is, what he has done. Never being told about his heritage until a mere month before he is thrown blind into a new world. He will survive surely. Starve the boy, neglect him. Beat him for things he doesn't understand. As long as he is still capable of standing between them and the evil of this world, it doesn't matter."
Harry snorts when he rounds the mirror, stopping to stare at his reflection again. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, wand clasped in white knuckles, he tries to breath through his rising anger at the wizarding world. He hadn't meant to say most of that out loud. He didn't want to give his enemy anything concrete to use against him. He glances towards the shadowy figure, watching as the man takes a hesitant step closer, frame becoming clearer when the shadows seemingly retreat.
"I don't understand why they cannot just leave me alone," Harry continues, he had already spilt too much, there was not much point in him curbing himself now. Besides he kind of wished to know how the other would react to him letting down some of his masks.
"Why did that old coot practically force me to become friends with that filthy weasel and bucked tooth Mudblood. Ronald Weasley? A sorry excuse for a pureblood wizard. He doesn't have the brains nor the respect to hold up some of the most important ancient wizarding traditions or rites of passage to help them connect with Mother Magic. His family who favours muggle celebrations which stem from religions which condemn their kind. His barely concealed jealousy: if he wants the fame that bad, then he can have it. I never asked for it nor do I want it. They weight of the wizarding world on my shoulders. No, thank you. It is not my fault that his parents decided to have more children than they could afford."
In his attempt to release some of his building frustration, harry almost forgets about the man listening to his every word. He begins to pace back and forth, wand swinging from his hand spitting out sparks. Harry's skin begins to prickle with raw magic as power swirls within in eyes making them appear to glow an eerie green in the dim chamber. Sparks fly around him in concentrated waves causing his hair to stand on ends. The figure behind him draws a sharp breath at the magic pressure mounting within the air.
A humourless laugh escapes Harry's throat, he turns his back on the mirror taking a deep breath as he drags a hand through his hair. He draws his magic back into his core, spinning back to stare into the depth of the mirror just as the surface ripples. His reflection shifts, smirking out at his real self, eyes sparkling when it reaches into his pocket and draws a deep blood-red stone. Harry watches with rapt attention as his reflection drops the Stone back into his trouser pocket, a real weight threatening to pull his jeans down. He smirks.
"Don't even get me started on that know-it-all. She thinks that all she has to do to prove herself, to show that she belongs in the wizarding world is to show that she is the best. I have news for her, it isn't going to work. If she wanted to truly belong, then maybe she should stop trying to force her muggle customs on everyone all the time. Maybe she should be the one to adapt and practice some of the more traditional celebrations and rituals of the wizarding world."
Harry shuffles a foot across the dry-stone floor, staring at his reflection, which oddly enough is offering him a sympathetic smile. Irritated silence coats the chamber, the air rippling, pressing around him as if attempting to offer what little comfort it could to the child. Taking another deep, calming breath, Harry releases a sigh letting go of his anger before allowing a smirk to rest on his lips.
"Both are abominations to the wizarding world. Wouldn't you agree, Professor Quirrell?"
Leaning to his left, Harry peers around the edge of the mirror smirk widening when the shadowy figure steps out of his hiding place, walking around the pillar and towards the small child a nervous smirk trembling on his own features.
"That was a very… informative speech, young Harry Potter. I can tell that the old coot hasn't changed much from my time here at Hogwarts."
Harry's smirk drops into a smile, shocking the professor, as he glances up at the man now standing no more than a few metres away from him. A man who had taught him Defence for the past year and who most likely is, or was, a follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort. As he studies his professor, harry is surprised to notice a small shine of… is that pride… in his gaze? Shrugging off the strange feeling bubbling in his chest at the thought, Harry turns his attention back to the artefact in front of him, letting his mask of indifference fall back over his features. He didn't wish for the other to know he had already acquired the Stone from the Mirror just yet.
After standing in a strangely comfortable silence for a moment, Harry turns back to his professor, cocking his head to the side as he regards the man, the final puzzle piece slotting into place.
"Good evening, Professor. Would you be so kind as to allow me to speak to your Lord? There is something which I must discuss with him."
Quirrell hesitates, hands wringing in front of his torso as he glances anywhere but at the small child standing before him, scowl down turning his lips at the delay.
"I don't know what you mean, young Mister Potter."
Harry's eyes narrow, glare intensifying as he stares up at his defence professor, fingers tightening on his wand which is pointing at the man opposite, despite his hand still hanging at his side. He shuffles his feet into a defensive position, preparing to protect himself if the need arose, or to prevent Professor Quirrell from escaping before he could get his answers. His eyes swirl with suppressed powers while he mentally laughs when the professor jumps backwards, a squeak of fright escaping his lips.
"If you have finished lying to me, Professor. You know full-well what I am speaking off. Though you actually seem to think you have a choice in the matter. There is nothing I want from you, nothing that you could offer me in any case. Now, let me speak to the Dark Lord before I curse you both into oblivion!"
Eyes widening at the pure hatred bleeding through the child's voice, and despite him being an inexperienced eleven-year-old with only a year of magical training under his belt, Professor Quirrell didn't doubt that if angered enough, Harry would indeed follow through on his threat. After a second of mounting silence, another voice; this one cold, raspy and weak, as if it hadn't been used in a while, echoes through the abandoned chamber.
"Let me speak to the boy."
Harry's anger lessens, smirk returning as he watches the pure terror overrunning his professor's features with pleasurable glee. Taking a step forward, Harry watches, eyes sparkling when Quirrell begins to unwind his purple turban, letting the ugly, thick fabric fall to a heap on the dust-covered floor. Eyes alight with curiosity, harry stares as his professor turns around, a quiet gasp falling from his lips when a distorted figure, which had once been the Dark Lord, faces him. Seemingly growing out the back of Professor Quirrell's head.
"Ah, Harry Potter. It has been too long."
"Yes, 10 years I do believe. How have you been?" Harry shrugs his shoulders, hands slipping back into his pocket as he stands in front of the Dark Lord. Not appearing bothered at facing his parents' murderer after all this time. Lord Voldemort notices the undertone of amusement coating Harry's voice as he merely watches the young wizard. Harry catches sight of the calculating gaze roaming his stature though he choses to ignore it for the time being. He sends a smirk to the Dark Lord.
Lord Voldemort stays silent, scrutinising Harry for any sign of fear, unease or discomfort being covered or hidden but is pleasantly surprised to find none. Despite there being no such emotions in Harry's form or eyes, Voldemort can see that he has yet to relax his grip on his wand, the small stick making a distinct outline in the boy's pocket. He is impressed that such a young child was showing remarkable self-preservation skills, especially one who is supposed to be the Lights' lap dog and Gryffindor Golden Boy.
"Indeed, Mister Potter. What has bought you down to these chambers so late in the school year?" Voldemort smirks when he sees the subtle glance Harry directs towards the Mirror of Erised before he finds those green orbs focused back on himself.
"I am guessing that it is the same reason you found yourself impersonating a professor for the entire year. However, seen as you are still down here, and have yet to make your escape, not to mention that you, or rather Professor Quirrell has been watching my every move since I entered the chamber. I am right in assuming that you have had little success in procuring the Stone."
Lord Voldemort once again finds himself staring at the young child, the reason for his defeat all those years ago. He wonders why he hadn't felt the urge to hex or curse him yet. Maybe it was because young Harry Potter reminded him so much of himself when he had first entered Hogwarts? Or maybe it was because even his most trusted followers couldn't look at him without a small hint of fear in their stances? Admitting to himself that he was becoming rather fond of the small child, Voldemort makes Quirrell walk forward awkwardly. He places a hand on Harry's shoulder.
Intrigue pulls at his gut when he notices the small, involuntary flinch Harry makes at the action, soft features twisting in fear before the expression in quickly covered up by a shy smile. Voldemort does not like what Harry's response is pointing to, he doesn't wish to even consider the facts, especially when he looks at just how skinny the boy really is and the state of the clothes, he is wearing is in. Of course, he had heard some of the things Harry had been muttering about earlier, but he had assumed that it wasn't as bad as he had been making out. It didn't seem as drastic as Harry's actions are now leading him to believe.
"Yes, I do believe you are correct, Harry Potter. The old fool must have some form of trick on the Mirror, a high-powered protective ward. I want that Stone; it is my heart's desire to acquire it and use it to create a new body for myself, but I don't know how to retrieve it."
The Dark Lord squeezes Harry's shoulders gently, watching their reflections when Harry's smile twists into a knowing smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief, though the uncertainty remains in the shadows. Voldemort knows he is up to something.
Harry turns around slowly, looking up at the man who had killed his parents when he was a baby, his large hands still resting on his shoulders offering him a strange sense of security. It was odd to think of this man as his stuttering mess of a defence professor of the past year. Harry tilts his head to the side, giving off an air of complete innocence.
"What if I told you that I knew a way of getting the Stone for you?" His voice wavers, lacking the self-confident tone Voldemort had come to expect from Harry. His expression falls, clouding with doubt and nervousness. It was almost as if the child feared a reprimand for his offer.
The Dark Lord raises an eyebrow, he had been down here for almost an hour before Harry Potter had turned up and had watched the child's movements carefully. There was no way he had been able to figure out the Mirror in such a short amount of time, not when he, the Dark Lord, couldn't. He wonders how Harry plans on bypassing the wards Dumbledore himself had set up around the Mirror. His lips upturn into a small sneer.
"And pray tell how a mere child is capable of retrieving such an artefact?"
"Trust me? I know that trick to getting the stone out of the mirror, it is rather simple really. However, for me to do this for you, then an exchange will have to commence. I will hand the stone to you if you agree to do something for me."
"A proposition? What would give you the impression that the Dark Lord compromises with anyone. Especially, the child behind my downfall?"
Harry raises an eyebrow at the Dark Lord, he finds it amusing that the evilest wizard in history would revert to speaking in the third person. It wasn't exactly terrifying to hear. Using deliberate movements, Harry slips his free hand into his trouser pocket. Keeping an eye on the Dark Lord to ensure his attention, Harry holds up the large blood red stone withholding a snicker when Voldemort's gaze fixates on the object, fingers twitching to snatch it.
"I wish to bargain with you."
Lord Voldemort growls low watching as the boy plays with the stone absently, his small fingers tracing each crack as he twists away from the Dark Lord's grip. Harry takes a couple of steps backwards, his gaze never leaving the stone.
"Why should I not just kill you and take th stone now?"
"Because I don't think you really could at this point. Not in your current situation anyhow. I do not doubt that you are strong but, the magic you are used to using is not as compatible with Professor Quirrell's magical core. You can't hurt me. Whether that is because you cannot or because you won't I am unsure. But the fact still remains. I am perfectly capable of placing the stone back into the mirror where you will be unable to reach it. Though, I am sure that under normal circumstances, you would easily be able to kill me, but these are not normal circumstances."
Lord finds himself staring down at Harry, jaw slack at the knowledge he holds, especially when he has had a little less that a year Magical training. He watches as Harry drops himself to the floor, legs crossing he continues to stare down at the stone in his hands. Not seeming to be bothered at being trapped between the Dark Lord and the Mirror.
"Bloody Gryffindor should have been in Slytherin…." The Dark Lord mumbles drawing a chuckle from Harry who pulls his gaze away from the magical artefact long enough to smirk at Voldemort.
"Well, I think you should know that I almost was sorted into Slytherin; it took me a while to convince the hat to sort me into Gryffindor. Stubborn thing!"
Silence follows his words causing Harry to look up once again, laughter bubbling from his throat at the gobsmacked expression shaping the Dark Lord's features. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting something like that.
"It's just that, ever since I came into the wizarding world, especially after that oaf Hagrid told me about my infamous scar and how everyone already knew me as the boy-who-lived. I knew everyone would have preconceived expectations of me. Seen as my parents were hailed as war heroes and the 'epitome' of Light wizards, I knew that I had to be sorted into Gryffindor if I didn't want the old coot on my back. It would give me enough time to come up with my own plans to get off their pedestal. A lion is easily spotted in the Snake's pit, but a snake it hard to find in the Lion's den."
Harry pushes himself off the floor, brush a hand down his trousers to get rid of the dust. He clutches the stone in one hand, turning to face the Dark Lord scrutinising the older wizard to garter his reaction.
"Look do you want this Stone or not? I don't think it would be a good idea for you to stay here much longer. The Mudblood went looking for a professor a while ago and I am sure that they will be searching for me after dealing with the Weasel."
Voldemort eyes the child for a moment longer, pondering his offer. He sighs internally when Harry flashes him an innocent smile.
"Alright, Little Snake." Voldemort makes Quirrell crouch down in front of Harry, resting a hand on the boy's small shoulders offering what he hopes is a reassuring smile, it wasn't an expression he attempted often, if at all. "What is it you would like in exchange for the Stone?"
The Dark Lord watches as Harry's eyes widen as if not expecting him to actually agree to his terms. His gaze quickly drops to the floor, hands trembling gripping the stone in white knuckles, shoulders hunching forward. Harry's small frame quivers.
"Protection-"
Harry's voice, unlike what the Dark Lord is used to, is timid, quiet. The sound so soft that Voldemort is sure he would have missed it if he hadn't been listening out for it. He watches in silence for a moment as Harry begins to fidget, hand gripping his shirt, pulling at the fabric. Placing his other hand on Harry's shoulder, the Dark Lord smiles when wide, terrified eyes snap up to meet his own.
"What do you need protection from, Little Snake?"
Lord Voldemort continues to watch the small boy, foreboding rising in his mind when Harry drops his gaze back to his feet, the toe of his battered shoes scuffing along the dry-stone floor, kicking up dust. Green eyes fill with tears and Voldemort feels his heart constrict, never had he felt so much sorrow for anyone else in his life before. His dread grows when Harry takes a deep breath, eyes dull when he glances back up at him.
"My relatives-" The word is injected with so much venom that Voldemort almost feels sorry for the people who have incurred Harry's wrath to such an extent. "They are Muggles of the worse kind. They hate all things magical and, therefore, by association, me. I get beaten and starved for they deem mistakes. I sleep in the cupboard under the stairs and have done for as long as I can remember. I was left outside on the doorstep in nothing but a blanket and basket. My cousin Dudley and his gang love to play a game called 'Harry hunting' and if they catch me, they beat me up. Aunt Petunia hits me with her frying pan or burns my hands on the stove when I make mistakes cooking. Uncle Vernon is the worse those, he thrashes me whenever things go wrong at work, if I make better grades than Dudley or if I don't finish all of my chores on time."
Harry's voice breaks, the tears he tried desperately to hold back stream down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking. The boy falls silent swiping his eyes in a valiant attempt to stop his tears from falling but to no avail. He makes no sound aside from the occasional sniffle.
Lord Voldemort uses the opportunity, and Harry brief vulnerability to slip into the boy's mind. He investigates the flashes of memories flying through Harry's thoughts. Some which he had alluded to while others were almost too disturbing and horrendous to witness. Pulling out, Voldemort's eyes flash with restrained rage. The old fool had done it again. He had refused to take adequate care of a magical child entrusted to his care. Had Dumbledore not learnt his lesson from what had happened to Severus Snape and himself during their youths? The Dark Lord was angry, the temptation to murder the old fool that moment increasing, but before he could entertain such a notion, he had an emotionally distressed child to help.
Slowly, as to not frighten the child, the Dark Lord makes Quirrell reach forward. Placing Quirrell's hands under Harry's arms he lifts him off the floor. He holds the small child against his chest, rubbing a hand up and down Harry's back, whispering in his ear in hopes of stopping the tears.
"It is alright, Harry. They cannot reach you here. I promise that I will try to get you away from those despicable muggles as soon as I can, Little Snake. You will never have to go back to them again once I come to collect you, not if I have anything to say about it."
Never in his life had Voldemort been saddened to see someone crying, he was the Dark Lord for Merlin's sake, but he could feel there was something special about this child. Swaying on the spot, Voldemort tightens Quirrell's arms, hugging Harry closer to his chest resting his cheek against unruly black hair. When he feels that Harry has calmed down enough, he pulls back, stroking a hand down the boy's cheek smiling when Harry leans into the touch.
"How about this Harry? I will not allow for you to stay there any longer than you have to, alright? I will offer you my protection, but if you are agreeable, then I am willing to offer you something more."
Nodding his head, Harry accepts the white, silk handkerchief the Dark Lord pulls out of Quirrell's robes and wipes his eyes muttering a soft 'thank you' when Voldemort motions for him to keep it. Wrapping his thin arms around the Dark Lord's neck, Harry smiles a strange sense of irony building at hugging his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, who was also the Dark Lord.
"What did you have in mind, oh Dark One?" Harry lets out a breathy laugh when red eyes roll towards the ceiling playfully; alongside a muttered 'cheeky brat' under his breath. Lord Voldemort cards a hand through Harry's hair smiling when the child relaxes further into his embrace.
"I am proposing an adoption or sorts. I will first need to complete the ritual to regain my physical body but once that has been completed, I will be able to come and collect you from your relatives' house. It shouldn't take too long, two weeks at most, but I want you to remember that no matter how long it takes I will come for you. If you consent to the adoption then we can go through with an old pureblood, blood adoption ritual which will make you my son in both magic and blood. Though we will need to find witnesses for the ritual, I was thinking Lord Malfoy and Severus Snape?"
Harry doesn't respond at first, merely staring up at Lord Voldemort, the man who had killed his parents; a man who the entire wizarding world fears. Yet, here he is, proposing to adopt the Boy-Who-Lived, the boy behind his defeat all those years ago. The boy who had thwart his attempt at gaining control over wizarding Britain. Tears fill the corners of his eyes, and he flings himself forward, wrapping his arms around Lord Voldemort's neck laughing when the arms around his waist tighten.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
The Dark Lord laughs, relief flooding his systems because Dark Lord or not, he had been apprehensive that Harry Potter would not wish to be adopted by the man who had taken his first family away; the man who was responsible for his current placement. Yet, here he stands, hugging a tearful boy-who-lived.
"I will take that as a yes?"
Harry nods his head vigorously before pulling back. His head bows shadows of doubt crossing his expression and the Dark Lord frowns.
"I mean only if you want me. I don't want to be a burden…" Harry is pulled from his self-deprecating thoughts when a calloused had cards through his hair, a feather-like kiss brushing his forehead.
"I would be honoured and proud to call a child as intelligent and brave as you, my son and heir, Harry and I don't want you to think otherwise. You are special, you have shown me that this evening. You are kind, caring and smart; yet cunning and sly when you need to be. The perfect little Slytherin."
Lord Voldemort once again brings Harry closer, rocking back and forth when fresh tears fall from the boy's eyes. Harry buries his head in the crook of the Dark Lord's neck who smiles when he feels Harry nodding his acceptance.
"Thank you. Thank you, I would be happy to call myself your son."
Before the Dark Lord can respond to the joyous child, whose excitement is that palpable that it is mixing with his magic and manifesting in the air around them, thunderous footsteps echo through the corridor heading towards them rapidly. Lord Voldemort freezes, holding his soon-to-be-son protectively against his chest. He waits for the Professor to approach, wand slipping into his hand.
"Mister Potter, you are harder to track down than a…"
Turning at the familiar voice, Voldemort's lips up turn with a smirk, eyes roaming up and down the skinny stature of his old follower. He finds himself watching with guarded amusement as one of his most loyal and trusted friends surveys the scene before falling to his knee. Bowing his head lowly so his hair drapes in front of his face, Severus places a hand across his chest in a show of respect. His silky baritone voice drifts around the chamber.
"My Lord."
Harry turns towards the newcomer, eyes wide. He studies his potions professor for a moment before he turns his attention to the Dark Lord whose hold on his relaxes no there is no threat. Harry tilts his head in silent question, not really wishing to talk just yet in front of the professor who had bullied him all year. Ruffling Harry's hair, Voldemort answers the unasked question much to Severus's surprise. He hadn't heard his Lord speaking with such gentleness before.
"I informed you earlier how Severus here is one of my most trusted followers?" The Dark Lord gestures to Severus, watching as Harry nods his head gaze turning back to his professor, trepidation shining in his green eyes. Voldemort continues, voice sharpening as he turns towards Severus. "And I dare hope that his allegiance has not wavered in my sudden and extended absence?"
"Of course not, My Lord. I have always remained faithful to yourself and our course. While you have been absent, I have gathered information on Dumbledore, his Order and their goals as well as procured Dumbledore's unwavering trust, My Lord."
Professor Snape lifts his head, a question hovering on his lips as his gaze trails the way his master is holding the Potter spawn and the way Harry is gripping hold of the Dark Lord in turn. The confusion must have shown on his face, his gaze lingering on the young boy longer than the Dark Lord; his eyes take in every detail, noting the reddening around Harry's eyes and the tension in his frame. A throat clearing breaks him out of his exploration, eyes flicking to meet the pale blue of his colleague of the past year.
"Severus, I would like for you to meet my soon-to-be-son and heir. I have heard and seen a multitude of stories and memories pertaining to his abysmal living arrangements and refuse to allow another young wizard to be abused at the hands of ignorant muggles."
Lord Voldemort watches his follower with calculating eyes; seeing the disbelief, shock and horror fighting for dominance while he retains his Slytherin mask. He watches, eyes alight with amusement as Snape's eyes shift from Harry to himself and back again. Confusion overtaking his features slowly as if he were fighting against the preconceived notions of Harry's behaviour and his home life.
"My Lord, Dumbledore had informed his staff that Mister Potter had been sent to live with a loving light family who treated him as if he were their own and spoilt him, so he wanted for nothing. He told me how alike his Father he was…" Professor Snape breaks off uncertainly, his voice wavering as he watches the Dark Lord shaking his head in sorrow. He watches as one hand drags up and down Harry's spine as he begins to tremble once again.
"I am afraid to say Severus that you have been gravely misinformed. Young Harry here has been severely neglected, starved and beaten. He has been mistreated since Dumbledore sent him to live with his mother's muggle sister, I do believe, at the tender age of fifteen months. Did you, or any of his other professors never notice how thin and small he is in comparison to his year mates? Especially seen as Lily and James had been quite tall themselves. Did you never stop to wonder why he wears glasses, when any normal wizarding family would have bought an eye correcting potion? Did no one question why he shies away from most physical contact and shrinks in on himself when he as any form of attention on himself?"
Severus's features morph into one of abject horror, eyes widening at the implications, his gaze shifts to the hidden form of Harry Potter, the child of his childhood tormentor. His thoughts tumble around each other as he pictures some of the treatment Harry must have suffered through for the Dark Lord to look as forlorn and angry as he did. He takes a steadying breath, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave of the impeding headache when a sentence his Lord uttered catches his attention.
"I am sorry, My Lord but please tell me that you didn't just say the boy was sent to live with his mother's muggle sister?"
At the affirming nod from Voldemort, Severus releases a strangled noise, a mix between a shout of disgust, a sob of despair and a growl of anger. Hanging his head, shiny black hair obscuring his pale, drawn face from view Severus clears his throat. His voice comes out strained and broken.
"Please Merlin, tell me that this child has not spent the past ten years under the care of Petunia Evans and her despicable husband."
Harry pulls his face out of Voldemort's shoulder, eyes shining bright with unshed tears as he stares across the chamber at his potion's professor. His voice is soft, scratchy from crying.
"You know Aunt Petunia?"
Severus can hear the fear in Harry's voice, the fear of being reprimanded for daring to question an adult who was talking. He watches as the boy's fists clench and unclench repeatedly around the Dark Lord's robes and he comes to the dark conclusion that he had misjudged Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter. He concludes that Harry isn't the spoilt, cocky, disrespectful brat he had been led to believe. Prejudicial lenses shatter as he gazes at Harry, realising that he had failed in his promise to Lily, failed to protect her child.
"I met your mother, Lily a few years before we were due to begin Hogwarts. She had been one of my only true friends and I treasured her dearly. Your aunt, on the other hand, was a jealous, horse-faced girl who despised the fact that her sister was special; that your mother could perform magic while she was an ordinary muggle. Petunia Evans wrote multiple letters to Headmaster Dumbledore begging for him to allow her to study at Hogwarts as well, but he refused. She became hateful of everything magical."
Harry stares at his professor, eyes alight with interest as he listens with rapt attention loving the fact that he could hear more about his mother instead of just his father. He doesn't pay attention when his tremors ease with every word from the dour man, his voice, when not shouting at students, was calming.
The Dark Lord watches the interaction with wonderment, attention snapping down to the child in his arms when he feels pressure on his arm. Harry smiles shyly, leaning close to whisper in into his ear, the request making him chuckle much to Severus's amazement. Lord Voldemort gestures for Severus to stand and walk forward, watching carefully as Harry shifts a little to better see his professor.
Coming to a stop just in front of his master, Severus drops his gaze to his hands, clenching his fists in front of his waist fearing the punishment he is sure to receive for treating his Lord's future son in such a deplorable way, despite him not knowing of their arrangement. He takes a deep breath, knowing that he would deserve nothing less.
"Professor?"
Snape snaps his head up at the insecure call, eyes filled with deep remorse as he regards the child in his Lord's arms. He watches in silence as Harry slowly untangles his arms from around the Dark Lord's neck, reaching out towards his professor. Eyes widening, Severus looks towards his Lord who nods towards Harry making a smile to tug at the corners of his lips. With one final glance at Harry's eyes, Lily's eyes, Severus has an armful of the small child.
Clutching the boy to his chest, Severus releases a soft, chocked sob, rocking his body from side to side as he settles Harry against his chest; one hand cradling the back of Harry's head, bringing it to rest against his shoulder. He brushes a hand through the unruly locks. His other hand tightens around Harry's waist, holding the boy as close as possible.
"I am so sorry Harry. So very sorry. I was too blinded by my schoolboy hatred of your father to see who you truly were. I do not ask for your forgiveness because I know that I do not deserve it, but I promise that I will always protect you from now on." Snape cards Harry's hair again, tears stinging his eyes when he feels the grip around his shoulders and waist tightening.
"It is okay, Professor. My father must have been really horrible to you in school, I am sorry he was so mean to you. Everyone is always telling me how great a man he was, how Light he was, but how could he have been if he bullied and belittled people because he didn't like them, or because he didn't like their school house?"
Harry glances over his shoulder to smile at Voldemort who nods his head towards the potions professor which Harry accepts with a nod of his own. Turning his attention back to the dour man, Harry speaks, voice still timid, while his eyes skirt around his surroundings.
"Though, I think I know of a way for you to earn my forgiveness…"
Severus watches the child, startles at his ability to forgive other so easily but he is grateful. A smile graces his stern features, chest warming when he feels Harry relaxing in his arms.
"What is it, Harry? What would you have me do to atone for my past discretions?" He watches almost mesmerised as those shining Avada green eyes flick up to meet his own gaze, Harry smiles tentatively at him.
"I want you to be one of the witnesses for the blood adoption ritual, and I know you are the most renowned potion master in Britain so, I also wish for you to make the potions we will be needing, along with the ones I may need to fix the damage my relatives have caused."
Severus is stunned. He regards the child, gratefulness shining in the depth of his eyes, and he nods his head slowly. Hugging Harry to his chest once more, placing a soft kiss to the boy's head, his eyes catch a glimpse of the gentle smile softening his Lord's features causing his breath to stutter in his chest.
"Of course, Harry. I would be honoured to bear witness to your adoption and to receive such trust from you."
Studying the small child in his arms, Severus is amazed when Harry giggles in glee. Green eyes sparkling when he brushes a hesitant kiss to his professor's cheek in thanks. A pale flush dusts Harry's cheeks. Lord Voldemort, not wishing to break up such a tender moment, steps forward and places a hand on Harry's back, his other resting against Severus's shoulder his smile growing when the pair turn towards him. The Dark Lord feels pleasure warming his heart at Severus's quick change of heart pertaining to Harry Potter though he realises that it was probably due to Harry's childhood being so much like his own.
"Alright, my Little Snakelet. I am sorry to say that I am going to have to leave very soon. If Severus is down here much longer then I fear someone far less understanding will make an appearance. I promise you, though, that I will come for you as soon as I can, alright?" Voldemort mutters, carding a hand through Harry's hair before placing a kiss to his forehead. He turns towards Severus, smirking when he spies the slight reddening of Severus's ears.
"Severus, I would like for you to knock harry unconscious for me."
Harry startles, jerking back from the Dark Lord, eyes widening as the blood drains from his face. Lord Voldemort, noticing where Harry's thoughts are taking him smiles. He rubs his hand up and down Harry's back, soothing the small child.
"Do not worry so, Snakelet. Severus will not harm you. It is just to make our story a little more believable for the old coot; to make him think that you truly did fight against Professor Quirrell. I promise this will keep you safe. I wish for you, Severus, to tell Dumbledore that you found Harry down here unconscious with the dead body of Quirrell and the Stone still in the mirror."
Severus and Harry nod along with his plan, not seeing much of an issue with it.
"I had the foresight to bring a replica of the Stone with me so that I may place it in the mirror before I leave. Dumbledore should be so focused on getting the true series of events out of Harry that he hopefully will take your word and not check the stone until the announcement of my Lordships being activated."
Seeing another nod of understanding from his follower, Lord Voldemort returns his gaze to Harry who, despite still looking unsure at the prospect of being knocked out, smiles up at the Dark Lord. He giggles softly when he is lifted out of Severus's arms. He ponders for a brief moment if it were uncomfortable for the two men to hold him like this but dismisses the thought when he is encircled in Voldemort's tight embrace.
"Do not worry, Snakelet. Severus will take care of you while you are still within the school, nothing is going to happen to you while you are under his care. I promise." Feeling a nod against his shoulder, Voldemort presses on running a hand through Harry's hair to try and keep the boy calm.
"To ensure your further safety from the old coot, I am going to place a strong block on your memories of the past few hours which will keep dumbledore from knowing anything about our conversation. He will hopefully believe that the battle has destroyed your memories, or it was so traumatic that your mind has blocked them itself. He will not be able to access anything pertaining to our plans whether you are awake or asleep." Harry nods again, hugging the Dark Lord tightly before pulling back to smile up at the man.
"Thank you, Father. I will see you soon."
Lord Voldemort places another kiss to Harry's forehead before lifting him down to the floor, steadying him when Harry teeters on his feet. He takes the offered stone, slipping it into his pocket as he turns to face Severus, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder. He really didn't want to leave his son alone knowing that Dumbledore was planning on sending the boy back to those animals at the end of the school year, but knowing he has no choice.
"Look after him for me, Severus."
Bowing lowly, Severus too drops a hand to Harry's shoulder smiling down at the child.
"With my life, My Lord."