
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4780415.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle, Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Draco_Malfoy/Harry
      Potter, Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Vernon_Dursley, Petunia_Dursley, Dudley_Dursley, Original
      Characters_(snakes), Tom_Riddle_|_Voldemort, Draco_Malfoy, Severus_Snape,
      Quinirus_Quirrel, Original_Characters, Other_Character_Tags_to_Be_Added,
      Hedwig_(Harry_Potter)
  Additional Tags:
      Dark_Harry_Potter, Blood, Snakes, Lots_of_Snakes, Powerful_Harry_Potter,
      Assassin_Harry_Potter, People_Gon_Die, Character_Bashing, Dumbledore
      Bashing, Weasley_Bashing, light_bashing, Harry_is_a_Snarky_Shit, Sass
      Master_Harry, Not_Canon_Compliant, Tbh_everyone_in_this_story_is_kinda
      gonna_be_a_piece_of_shit, like_the_light_sucks, the_dark_sucks, Everyone
      sucks, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Foursome_-_M/M/M/M,
      Threesome_-_M/M/M, Slash, Prompt_Fill, these_tags_are_all_over_the_place,
      Sane_Voldemort, Independent_Harry, Tattooed_Harry_Potter, Unhealthy
      Relationships, I_use_too_many_tags, Harry_takes_no_shit, Smart_Harry,
      Thief_Harry, Amorality, Parseltongue, I_don't_think_you_understand_how
      many_snakes_are_gonna_be_in_this_shit, like_so_many_snakes, just...
      snakes., Fandom_Allusions_&_Cliches_&_References
  Collections:
      Wizards_Vs_Muggles
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-12 Updated: 2017-11-08 Chapters: 8/? Words: 19361
****** Assassin ******
by embulance
Summary
     Harry ran away from the Dursleys as a young child. Aged 15, he hasn’t
     gone to Hogwarts because the letters can’t find him if he keeps
     moving. As he keeps moving, he finds a rather… unusual mentor to
     teach him a worrisome art.
Notes
     This is the first prologue, just to explain everything that happened
     before the story's current events. There will be one more prologue
     after this that I've already started-- hopefully I'll finish it
     tomorrow.
***** Prologue One *****
Harry is six when he first speaks with a snake.
He is working in the garden when he hears the annoyed hissing. “Who is messing
with Shieyish’s home? Shieyish will bite whoever it is!” A little green snake
peeks out of the bush that Harry is working in. “Stupid human, messing with
Shieyish’s home! Shieyish will teach you a lesson!”
“No, you will not teach me a lesson!” Harry grumbles, crossing his arms and
staring angrily at the snake. “This is my job and I was here first! These are
my bushes. I should teach you a lesson for trying to live in my bush!”
It only occurs to him after he says that that snakes don’t talk.
But apparently this one does, because the little green snake rears back in
apparent shock and lets out a wordless hiss before he responds loudly. “A
speaker? Shieyish thought that speakers were just tales for hatchlings! Speak,
speaker, and tell Shieyish where you learned parseltongue!”
Harry assumes that the snake is talking to him.
“I didn’t learn it?”
Shieyish hisses again, slithering closer to Harry until he is only a few feet
away from the skinny child and studying him closely. “How strange! Did your
family not teach you?”
Harry thinks of the Dursleys and scowls. “I have no family,” he spits
irritably.
“You live here with the fat ones, do you not?” Shieyish asks curiously. “Are
they not your nest mates?”
Harry snorts in disgust. “I want nothing to do with them. They are no family of
mine.”
The green snake laughs slightly, or at least Harry thinks he is laughing; at
the very least, the snake is making very short hissing sounds over and over.
“Take me with you, speaker. I wish to make my travels with you from now on.”
Harry shrugs and holds out his hand, thinking the cupboard may be more
interesting with someone to make conversation with. Shieyish quickly curls
around the slender wrist, making a pleased sound. “Alright, but if you get
caught by the Dursleys it’s on you,” Harry states, returning to working the
garden.
“Why do you not make the fat ones do it?” Shieyish grumbles. “They clearly eat
too many mice and do not work enough.”
Harry laughs.
---
“Freak, come here!” The shrill tones of Aunt Petunia’s voice drag Harry away
from his conversation with Shieyish; he tells the snake he’ll be back when he
can and rushes inside.
His aunt is tapping her foot impatiently; she stands by the door and glares at
him. “You’ve spent long enough on the garden, boy; if you’ve not finished by
now, then you’ll just be getting extra lashings when Vernon gets home. Get
inside and get to preparing the roast for dinner. I want everything perfect for
my Diddydums; he’s probably just starving after a long day at school.”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry drones, and heads into the kitchen.
The roast is perfect, just as Harry was commanded, but Dudley throws a tantrum
because he wanted fish and chips. Harry pays the price with five lashings from
the belt. He doesn’t make a sound when he is punished. This is nothing to him
anymore.
Vernon throws Harry in his cupboard roughly, and Harry sighs and takes off his
shirt, running his fingers over the marks that he can reach. A few have broken
the skin and the boy grumbles under his breath as he lies down on his stomach
to sleep. Those are going to scar.
---
A few weeks have passed, and Harry has met a few more snakes, Shieyish’s
hatchmates and friends. One of them, Shishisha, is far older than Shieyish and
has some knowledge of speakers beyond tales told to Shieyish as a hatchling;
she tells dazzling tales of a tall speaker who wears dark, flowing cloaks and
preforms amazing feats of magic with a pale wand.
She speaks of his talent of magic without a wand as well; how he could wave a
hand and hiss their language and things would happen as he commanded.
Parselmagic, she calls it, and Harry asks if he can do it too.
Shishisha doesn’t know.
“You are the only other speaker I have ever met, hatchling. Perhaps you could.
You are probably a wizard after all—you smell of the dark one’s magic.”
Had someone informed Harry that he was a wizard a few weeks earlier, he would
have accused them of lying, but then again, had someone told Harry that he
could speak to snakes a few weeks earlier, he would have accused them of lying.
Harry resolves to learn this parselmagic immediately; he could do chores much
faster if he could just command them to do it.
---
“Time for Harry hunting!” Dudley exclaims cheerfully, rubbing his hands
together and grinning evilly.
Harry doesn’t wait for his cousin to say anything else; he’s already sprinted
away as fast as he can. He dodges down a side-street and curses—he forgot there
was a fence at the end. He doesn’t think he can climb it fast enough but he
still resolves to try, hoping and praying his cousin and his idiot cronies will
trip and buy him sometime.
“Trip… just fall,” he hisses under his breath as he climbs up the chain-link
fence.
As he jumps over the top of the fence, he doesn’t look back, and so he doesn’t
see his cousin trip over nothing.
---
A few more weeks pass and Harry has managed a few simple commands, moving a few
various objects and unlocking doors. Shieyish is wholly unimpressed, snickering
and reminding him at every turn of the things the dark one could do with his
magic. Shishisha, on the other hand, cheers him on and praises him constantly.
Harry jokingly calls her mother only for her to laugh.
“You are my beloved hatchling, little one,” she says, voice full of warmth.
Shieyish snickers at him until Shishisha whacks him with her tail. “Shush, now,
you are my hatchling too.”
Harry giggles and flicks his hand at a flower, magic plucking it from the
ground as he wills it to float to him. “Yes, brother, do shush,” he snorts,
quickly losing his focus on the flower. It slowly flutters to the ground, but
the boy does not notice—he’s laughing too much to care.
He lays there on the ground, chatting happily with the two snakes until the
shrill voice of his aunt calls him back home to make a dinner that he won’t get
to eat.
---
“Boy, get your ass in here!” Vernon bellows in a rage.
Harry scurries into the room, and Vernon grabs the boy by his hair and drags
him over to the living room and points at a broken vase. “What the hell is
this, freak?”
“I—It’s a broken vase, Uncle Vernon—“ Harry stutters out, torn between fury at
his uncle and cousin (for he knows they both know that Dudley did this; not
Harry) and terror.
Vernon tosses the boy at the broken glass with an incoherent snarl, ignoring
the pained cry as Harry stumbles into the glass, hands and knees digging into
the shards of glass and tearing his palms and knees to shreds. “Clean it the
hell up, freak, and then get in your cupboard. No meals for a week.”
As Harry picks the pieces of glass out of his hands and knees, he simmers in
his anger, and hopes that something horrid happens to his uncle and cousin.
The next day, Vernon gets a hefty fine for a speeding ticket and Dudley gets
caught beating up another student by a teacher at school and gets into massive
amounts of trouble.
Harry never finds out.
---
“Why do you always come back to us tasting of blood, speaker?” Shieyish asks
one day.
The dark-haired boy shakes his head and holds out his hand to the snake. “The
fat ones are easily upset,” he responds softly as Shieyish wraps himself around
the frail wrist. “It does not matter; they’ll get what’s coming to them one
day.”
Shieyish lets out an angry hiss, coiling tighter around Harry. “You should
teach them not to mess with you any longer, speaker!” The snake is clearly
furious. “Use your parselmagic and defend yourself! You are better than them;
you have power—use it! A snake when threatened should not sit idly by, and you
are one of us—do not allow the fat ones to hurt you any longer! Destroy them if
that’s what it takes to protect yourself.”
Harry sighs, running soothing fingers over Shieyish’s scales. “I’ll think about
it, okay, brother?”
Shieyish hisses softly but says nothing more.
---
Weeks pass and Harry simmers in anger and hate.
“Boy!” Vernon barks at his nephew, voice slurred and clutching to a bottle of
whiskey. “You ruin everything.”
Harry sighs, really just getting tired of this by now. “Yes, Uncle,” he
murmurs, sounding bored. He can’t be bothered to really care about his uncle’s
insults. He’s still thinking on what Shieyish said earlier. Use your
parselmagic and defend yourself… He had told Harry. The boy couldn’t deny how
appealing it sounded, showing the Dursleys their place and refusing to take
their brutality anymore.
Vernon, apparently displeased with his nephew’s apathy towards the situation,
struck out at Harry, knocking the small boy to the floor.
Green eyes narrowed in anger as he sat up and reached up to hold his head.
This was getting ridiculous.
Vernon kicked at the boy this time with what looked to be heavy boots, and if
Harry hadn’t scrambled back fast enough, the blow would have caught him in the
ribs.
“Enough,” Harry snarls, raising the hand that’s not cradling his head. “Move,”
he commands, waving his hand and throwing the man towards the table. The table
collapses under his heavy weight with a loud crack, but Harry pays it no mind,
going to Petunia’s purse on the hook by the door and rummaging through it.
The fat man gets up surprisingly fast for someone of his size and follows Harry
quickly. “What the hell do you think you are doing, freak?!” Vernon demands
furiously.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Harry scoffs. “I’m leaving.” He pulls out
Petunia’s wallet and pulls out several crumpled bills and several coins and
counting it. Nearly three hundred pounds—Petunia was likely going to use it for
shopping the next day.
“Don’t sass me, you little thief!” Vernon growls. He raises a hand as though he
was planning to strike Harry.
Again, emerald eyes narrow. “Was once not enough for you?” He asks, voice dark.
“Move,” he hisses, waving a hand in his uncle’s direction. The man flies back,
past Harry’s cupboard and into the kitchen, slamming into a wall with a loud
crack. Several plates on display fall from the impact, shattering around Vernon
and apparently waking Dudley and Petunia as Dudley peers down the stairs,
rubbing sleep from his eyes and the thin woman rushes down the stairs.
“Freak, what did you do?” She shrieks upon seeing her husband’s prone form.
“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Harry spits angrily, heading to the back door,
only to be blocked by Petunia.
The woman holds a shard of glass in her hand from one of the fallen plates and
looks quite wild in that moment.
Harry tilts his head to the side. “Are you… threatening me?” He asks, voice
soft. “Do you wish for me to do to you what I’ve done to your whale of a
husband? I think you would fare far worse; after all, you are far smaller.” He
frowns. “Let me go, and you’ll not have to deal with me ever again. Won’t that
benefit us all?” He points out quietly.
“You attacked my husband,” Petunia answers, voice shaking—whether from rage or
fear or perhaps both, Harry cannot tell.
“Yes, I did,” Harry answers simply. “He was drunk and he would have hurt me and
I have no desire to play these power games with you and your family any longer.
So yes, I attacked your husband.”
“You’ve damaged my home.”
“It was necessary.” Harry responds dismissively. “Now, are you going to move,
or will I have to move you myself?”
Petunia’s gaze flickers between her husband and her nephew for a moment before
she slowly steps to the side.
“Good.” Harry says, smiling slightly.
He steps outside and calls out for Shishisha and Shieyish, and once he collects
the two of them, he sets off down the street, one snake curled around each
wrist and a smile on his face.
It’s time to begin a new chapter.
***** Prologue Two *****
Chapter Notes
     Holy shit, over 100 kudos? I've never got such an amazing response on
     a fic before! Thank you so much everyone!
     In other news, this was getting to be ridiculously long, so I've had
     to split the second prologue in two.
     Also, snarky Harry is snarky
See the end of the chapter for more notes
A few years pass, and Harry has long since learned how to tell parseltongue
from normal speech. He’s eleven now, and he’s been on the run for over five
years, never staying in one place for longer than a day—since the strange
letters have started coming, he doesn’t stay in one place longer than a few
hours. Magic might be real—yes, this he does not doubt, but he does not trust
this Hogwarts at all. He’s been told of it, heard stories from snakes about it,
and even met a few muggleborns and squibs who have taught him a few things here
and there—and from their stories, all he has learned is that he does not trust
this Albus Dumbledore and he does not want to go to this Hogwarts.
“Harry,” Shieyish hisses.
Harry stiffens, worried. Shieyish has never referred to him as anything but
‘speaker’ before. “Shieyish? What is wrong?” He questions in a soft hiss,
ducking into an alleyway. He is in London this week, travelling the city by bus
and pick-pocketing left and right, collecting coins and bills alike; more than
enough to get him a nice dinner and many bus rides, and later, a taxi to the
next town that he’ll stay in for a few days. His magic makes it easy for him;
he doesn’t even have to be near a person to summon the money to him, or he can
persuade them using what he calls his magic voice—Shishisha calls it the
imperious, but Harry doesn’t see it as an unforgivable—he’s just trying to
survive.
“There is a man who tastes of magic following us—“
“He tastes like the dark one, yet… he is not…” Shishisha sounds confused, like
she does not know what she is scenting in the air.
Harry spins around, eyes narrowed. “Who’s there?” He demands, voice harsh and
unhesitating.
A man dressed in maroon robes and a turban shimmers and slowly appears,
clapping slowly. A high voice speaks, though the man’s mouth does not move.
“Very nice, little parseltongue. I’m impressed.”
“Little one, I would not mess with this one…the dark one is out of your
league…” Shishisha murmurs anxiously.
“Who are you?” Harry snaps, ignoring the man’s statement—quite frankly, he’s
unnerved by the man, the way he spoke without moving his mouth; something told
him it wasn’t ventriloquism. “If you’re one of those Hogwarts people, I already
sent several letters telling you that I don’t want to go—“
“Speaker… remember what Shishisha said—“ Shieyish’s voice is worried.
Harry doesn’t respond; he’s glancing around, looking for a way to escape the
man. Sucking in a breath, he closes his eyes for a split second and then runs
straight for the man. Just as the man reacts, Harry dives past his outstretched
arm and dashes around the corner, quickly blending into the crowd on the London
streets.
The man in maroon smiles.
“You were right, master. He is the one we need.”
---
After wandering around for an hour or two, Harry decides to go to the Leaky
Cauldron for a bit. After running into that man, he and Shieyish decide that it
would be for the best to leave London, but leaving London means that he won’t
be able to have access to anything magical until he returns and there were
things he wanted to get while he was here to make things easier.
He ducks into a restroom in a restaurant after ordering a hamburger and
disguises himself quickly, pulling out concealer and smearing it over his scar
and pulling out a cheap blond wig and carefully tucking long black hair into it
and brushing it out while grimacing at the poor state of his bag. Shaking his
head, he studies himself in the mirror. The blond hair does a well-enough job
of hiding him since his face is not well-known—thanks to the warnings from
various snakes telling him of his fame within the wizarding world.
He steps out of the bathroom and makes his way to the Leaky Cauldron, all the
while cursing the man in maroon—he keeps glancing over his shoulder, paranoid
that he is being followed. A short walk, no more than a block, leaves him
standing outside the wizarding pub. He sighs and heads on in.
The pub is crowded—good fortune for Harry, who will need someone to open the
gateway for him. He heads on back and waits for someone to come out and open
the wall. Five minutes pass and a witch in red robes comes along and taps on
the bricks, not even noticing Harry, who is quite good at blending into the
background. He ducks into Diagon Alley right behind her and heads straight to
Gringotts. He needs to exchange some money for galleons.
---
The bank is quick and efficient, just as Harry remembers from his last trip a
few years ago, and it takes only a few moments for him to exchange one hundred
and fifty pounds for thirty galleons—the goblins don’t waste time like many
shopkeepers (“Where’s your mummy at, little boy?”), they just take his money
and give him the money he wants without fuss. Harry likes the goblins.
First he stops at Madam Malkin’s and purchases a pair of black dragon-hide
boots for ten galleons and a pair of matching dragon-hide gloves for six.
Satisfied that he won’t need to replace his shoes or gloves for all of winter
at the very least, he leaves the shop after politely thanking the witch and
then lying and claiming his mother was at the shop next door. He shoves the
purchases in his ratty bag and heads to the trunk shop to see if they have
bags—he’s hoping to find one that’s bottomless and sturdier than the cheap bag
he bought at a secondhand shop.
At the shop he ends up being lucky—they have exactly what he’s looking for. A
nice black canvas bag with anti-theft charms, waterproof charms and
undetectable extension charms—Harry feels pretty good when he gets it for five
galleons. [1]
Pleased with his purchases, Harry quickly flees the alley and flags down a
taxi.
“Can you take me to Bristol, please?”
The taxi driver seems reluctant to take a young kid that far, but once Harry
uses his magic voice, he stops protesting and does as he is told. Harry changes
into his new boots and gloves and moves all his extra clothing and such into
his new bag after throwing his wig at the bottom of the bag (hopefully he won’t
need it for a while; it’s not pleasant to wear since it’s quite itchy). With
that done, he settles back for a nap after telling the taxi driver to wake him
when they’re near Bristol.
---
“Sir, we’re a few kilometers outside Bristol,” the cab driver speaks in a flat
tone; Harry can tell his magic voice still has a strong hold on the man—he must
have had a rather weak will for it to hold so strongly while Harry’s not really
focusing.
“Mm, take me to the nearest bus stop,” he commands.
A few minutes pass in silence—Shieyish is asleep, Shishisha has hidden herself
in Harry’s new bag for the time being, and Harry has no desire to make
conversation with the cabbie. The cabbie pulls up to the bus stop and Harry
gets out, leaving his old shoes and bag and not bothering to pay the cabbie.
It’s not like he’ll care anyways; he can’t even really think for himself right
now anyways. It’s not his problem if it causes problems for the man later; that
money can buy him a rest or two in a shady pub or a few good meals and he’d
have to be stupid to give it away when he doesn’t have to. He prods at Shieyish
until he wakes.
“What do you think we should do?” Harry asks the snake.
Shieyish just hisses grumpily, not appreciating the rude wake up call.
Harry pouts and starts walking down the street.
---
The next few hours pass with very little conversation; both Harry and Shieyish
not really speaking to each other and instead pouting like the children they
are. At some point, Shishisha peeks her head out of the bag and makes her way
on to Harry’s shoulder and curling around his neck, occasionally giggling at
how childish the two are. Suddenly, Shieyish perks up, looking around.
“I smell the same magic one from earlier, speaker—he is very near—“
Shishisha is quiet for a moment before she sighs. “Why…is the dark one after my
little one?”
Harry tenses up but immediately relaxes—he cannot show fear; he knows that
weakness should be kept to himself, because weakness will be used against him.
He doesn’t stop walking, focusing on slipping into a crowd and blending in.
This is his best skill, one that he relies on a bit more than he should because
it’s easier to disappear and manipulate people than it is to fight them.
He is glad now that he slept in that cab—with the confirmation that this man is
following him, he’s going to have a much harder time sleeping.
“He is very close, speaker; we should really get out of here—“
Harry bites his lip and looks around. He doesn’t see any escape; his best bet
is to confront the man in a public area and hope that he won’t attack him with
so many people around. He stops, leaning against the wall of a nearby building,
and stares at the man who has been following him, waiting for the man in maroon
to speak.
“My master has sent me to find you, Harry Potter.” The voice is different than
the high, cold voice from before, and it sends shivers down Harry’s spine,
though he doesn’t react. This time, Harry knows that the man must somehow be
two people; after all, where else would the second voice come from?
Instead of showing fear, Harry sneers. “Your master…? Do you mean the Dark
Lord? If he’s sent you to kill me, you’ll find I won’t go down without a
fight.”
The man laughs, and Harry hears the high voice laughing as well. “I am not here
to kill you, Harry Potter. I am here to collect you.”
“Collect me?” Harry exclaims, pressing further against the wall and taking
comfort in the solid feeling behind him. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass; I don’t
see a reason to trust one of the Dark Lord’s minions.”
“Take him now,” the high voice demands, and the man lunges at Harry.
Harry ducks under the arms and dashes away, only for the man to grab his wrist
and pull him close. The man twists and apparates away with Harry at his side.
Harry thinks he’s going to be sick for a moment, but then they land and the
feeling passes. Harry jerks away from the man roughly, immediately backing
towards the nearest wall and taking in their surroundings. They seem to be in a
dirty alley of some sort; Harry can feel the magic in the air, which leads him
to believe they’re in Diagon Alley or someplace similar, perhaps Knockturn
Alley.
The man takes Harry’s hand and tugs him out of the alley into an equally seedy
looking alley--Knockturn. “Come, we’ll talk over tea.”
“What the hell?” Harry snarls, trying to tug his hand away. “You kidnap me and
then invite me to tea? Are you bloody serious?”
The man looks back at the boy and nods. “Yes, Harry Potter, I am. Now, do be
quiet; you’re drawing unnecessary attention to us, and while no one is going to
care enough to help you, I don’t want people to remember us later.”
“Don’t say my name—that’s the surest way to get someone to remember us, idiot!”
Harry spits out angrily as the man leads him into a surprisingly clean
pub—apparently even Knockturn has a few nice places. “I’ve been careful to stay
hidden for this long and I don’t fancy you ruining that for me!”
“My little one, don’t provoke the dark one—“ Shishisha hisses worriedly.
The man laughs and approaches the counter at the back of the room, dragging the
dark-haired boy along. “A private meeting room, if you please,” he says to the
blonde woman behind the counter, pulling out a small bag and tossing it on the
counter. Harry can hear coins jangling inside, and the woman opens it and pulls
out a galleon, inspecting it, and the boy sighs because the man is clearly
probably going to get his way at this point.
“Of course,” she smirks. “The usual, I presume?”
“Yes, my dear, that would be lovely, thank you.” The man says, already hauling
Harry over to the stairs and shoving him into a room. “I told you to be quiet,
Harry Potter.” He says, voice harsh.
Harry rubs at his hand irritably—the man had a strong grip and Harry suspected
there’d be bruises on his hand if he cared to take of his gloves. “And I told
you to stop saying my name around here. They don’t know my face yet, and I
likeit that way.”
The man sits at the table in the center of the room and gestures at the seat
opposite of him. “Sit,” he commands and he waves his wand in a complicated
movement at the door. A nice dinner of roast chicken and potatoes appears on
the table, along with wine, juice and tea. Harry sits, eyeing the man
cautiously. “Eat.” Harry takes some of the meal as the man pours himself a
glass of wine. “Would you like some?” He offers.
As much as Harry would like to try such things, Harry does not think getting
intoxicated will help him escape, and he doubts his body can handle any amount
of alcohol at all, so he declines and pours himself a glass of the juice.
“So, Harry Potter and guests,” the man says after a long silence passes, in
which Harry manages consume most of his food. “I don’t believe I’ve introduced
myself properly. My name is Quinirus Quirrel, and as you earlier assumed, I
found you at the behest of the Dark Lord.”
Shishisha and Shieyish both hiss at this; Shieyish uncoiling from Harry’s wrist
and quickly moving up to his shoulder, where the small snake poises, looking
ready to strike.
“Speaker, I will protect you,” Shieyish snarls, and Harry reaches up to pat his
head soothingly.
“You’ll do no such thing,” The boy responds to the snake. “You cannot possibly
hope to win, if you should attempt to fight this man, and I’ll not see you hurt
on my behalf.” Green eyes bore into the man in front of him now as he asks why
while ignoring the strange, amused laughter of the high voice.
Quirrel leans back in his chair and smiles. “Power, of course,” he responds,
sounding more amused than anything. “The Dark Lord values power, and what would
bring more power to him than having the savior of the wizarding world by his
side? Surely, you understand, Potter; you’ve been living on the streets. I’ve
seen you lie and manipulate and steal, and should anyone try to stop you… well,
you don’t stand for it. It’s clear that you value power. You understand; there
is no good or evil; there is only power and those too weak to seek it.”
“Oh yes, I understand,” Harry replies, leaning forward and resting his chin on
his hand. “But what’s in this for me? You speak of power, but I’m afraid I’m
not convinced.”
Quirrel laughs. “You are indeed everything we had hoped,” he states, shaking
his head. “Power is what’s in it for you, of course. Right now, you live on the
run, running from Hogwarts and running from the authorities who see a child,
not a powerful wizard. Your knowledge is limited to what you can learn from
passing strangers and snakes, and while you’re by no means ignorant, wouldn’t
you like to learn whatever you like, when you like? Wouldn’t you like to have a
home to return to at the end of the day, one safe from the constant stream of
letters and fools who think of you as nothing more than a defenseless child?”
The man pauses, studying Harry closely before continuing, “You would be free to
pursue whatever you wish, be that learning or travelling or anything your heart
desires. In return, the Dark Lord asks only that you go on missions for him on
occasion, tasks that he believes you would be suited to. We would fulfill your
heart’s desire, for such a small price. We would find you the finest teachers,
experts in any field you wish, rare books, portkeys to any country you wish.
Join us, Harry Potter, and we shall give you everything you could ever want and
more.”
Harry stares at the man for a moment. Quirrel was quite convincing and the
offer was beyond anything Harry had hoped for, but one question remained: Did
he trust this man? Did he trust the Dark Lord? He respected him, certainly—he
knew of the Dark Lord’s reign and the man’s power, thanks to Shishisha, and
really, someone that powerful was someone who ought to be respected. Yes, Harry
respected the Dark Lord, but he had no reason to trust him.
“Shishisha?” He finally murmurs. “What do you think I should do?”
The snake is silent for a moment, clearly thinking, before finally, she
responds. “I think you should accept this offer. The dark one would gain
nothing from making this offer unless he truly meant to give you this. You
stand to gain everything from this. Take it.”
Harry nods at the snake and then he looks at Quirrel and speaks softly. “I
accept.”
Chapter End Notes
     [1] Price of dragon-hide boots is based off price of leather boots
     and then converted to pounds and then galleons and then rounded
     slightly because i don’t fancy trying to calculate how much a pound
     and some pence is. Price of dragon-hide gloves was found the same way
     only with leather gloves. Price of bag is completely random but I
     thought it to be reasonable enough since a decent bookbag costs
     around thirty dollars and then also magic (idk man but I’d charge for
     labor so--)
     The next chapter is over halfway done, so it hopefully will be posted
     soon (but I gotta work on my math homework and packing first!)
***** Prologue Three *****
Chapter Notes
     Well, I never intended for this to take as long as it did, but I got
     sucked back into tumblr hell and started roleplaying again (rip me).
     As always, thank you to everyone for your comments, kudos, and
     bookmarks, and I do hope this chapter makes up for the wait!
     After this chapter, the real story begins, but don't worry, there
     will be flashbacks here and there, so if you were hoping for more
     smol Harry, you'll get it!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The same night Harry accepts the Dark Lord’s offer, he is moved into a small
seaside manor that Quirrel informs him was gifted to the Dark Lord by the
Malfoys. It is homey, despite being larger than the Dursleys’ home many times
over. Quirrel shows him around the manor, patiently answering any questions
Harry has and introducing him to the house elves, Mipzy, Hetty and Dappy.
At the end of Quirrel’s little tour, Harry is given a ring and is told that it
is a password activated portkey that will take him here whenever he wishes—to
leave, he’ll have to walk out to the gates and summon the Knight Bus. He is
promised that no mail can get through the wards unless it is delivered by
Quirrel himself, and later an owl that Quirrel will take Harry to choose when
he comes to take him to get a wand—Harry may not be going to Hogwarts, but the
high voice is adamant that Harry get a wand, and the boy sees no reason to
argue—a wand can only be beneficial to Harry; it’ll open more avenues of magic
to Harry that he can’t use at this point wandless.
Quirrel leaves after Harry agrees to get a wand, and the boy, exhausted from
the day’s events, immediately finds a bedroom with décor that doesn’t make him
contemplate murder (dark grey walls and emerald green sheets and furniture of
some sort of very pale wood) and goes to sleep.
---
Harry spends the next week in the library in the manor, reading any book that
catches his interest. He never really leaves unless he needs the bathroom,
choosing to take all his meals in the fluffy chair he’s made his base of sorts
and even sleeping there—it’s a comfortable chair, Harry suspects some sort of
charm, honestly, because even the softest chair in the world should leave kinks
in his neck after he slept in it. [1]
This is how Quirrel finds him when he comes to take Harry to get his wand and
an owl on the eighth day of Harry’s stay in the manor. He immediately sends him
to shower while he calls the elves and tells them to make sure that Harry takes
better care of himself in the future.
It doesn’t take long for Harry to return to the library, clean and dressed in
his nicest clothes, a grey t-shirt and dark-colored blue jeans and of course,
his boots and gloves; for once, he has no snakes draped over his shoulders.
Quirrel looks him up and down and scoffs. “Haven’t you anything nicer to wear?”
the high voice asks, clearly unimpressed.
Harry looks down at his clothes for a moment and then shakes his head. “No, not
really. It’s not like pickpocketing makes enough for me to keep an entire
wardrobe, nor have I really had a place to keep more clothing until recently.”
“We shall get you a full wardrobe,” the voice says after a moment of silence.
“Now come here,” Quirrel commands. “I shall disguise you.”
Harry obeys, edging closer to the man just as he is told. Quirrel runs the tip
of his wand gently over Harry’s face, starting with his forehead and running it
down over his cheeks and eyelids and then the bridge of his nose and his lips.
He draws the wand back up and circles it over the crown of Harry’s head. Harry
feels his hair shortening until it is near the nape of his neck rather than
mid-back.
“There you go,” Quirrel says, nodding in approval. “If anyone asks, you are a
muggleborn and I’m showing you around Diagon; your name is Thomas Parker.” [2]
Harry nods, and Quirrel grabs the boy without warning and they apparate away.
---
They first go to Twilfitt and Tattings, where a man dressed in black silk robes
measures Harry in a quiet, efficient manner. When asked what types of clothing,
colors and fabrics Harry wants, Quirrel cuts in before the boy can speak.
“He needs a full wardrobe, in dark colors and your finest silks. Clothing from
your muggle line as well, and a set of dueling robes made from horntail hide. A
few more sets of boots and gloves in dragon hide, and we’ll wait for you to go
ahead and finish one of those outfits for my charge to change into.” Quirrel
states quickly, pulling a sack of galleons out of his robes. “I’ll pay now;
five hundred galleons will be enough for plenty of clothing for the boy, yes?”
Though posed as a question, Quirrel’s voice had a dangerous quality to it that
made it more of a threat. [3]
“Yes, of course, sir,” the man agrees, bowing and accepting the payment before
rushing to the back, presumably to begin the order.
Nearly fifteen minutes later, the man returns with a set of green robes so dark
they’re nearly black. There is a curtain for customers to change behind that
Harry is ushered into and the boy quickly changes but pauses by the mirror.
This was his first opportunity to see the glamour that he wore—looking back at
him in the mirror was a boy with chubby cheeks, mousy brown hair and eyes a
dull, unremarkable shade of brown. In other words, Harry appeared to be a
completely unmemorable boy. He was impressed—he couldn’t even recognize
himself, especially when the robes were factored in.
Yes, no one would question his true identity like this.
Nodding in satisfaction, Harry steps out from the behind the curtain and
Quirrel nods as well, pleased. “Very good. I’ll be back in a week to fetch half
of the order,” he states, and the man in fine robes stammers assurances.
Quirrel grins and leads Harry out of the shop and down the street to
Ollivanders’, where Harry tries many wands before being paired with a holly and
phoenix feather wand.
After that, the duo heads to Magical Menagerie, which was full of animals of
every sort imaginable. Harry was drawn to the snakes, and Quirrel made no
attempts to stop the boy from going to chat with them while he chose a falcon
with bright amber eyes to gift to Harry. The boy doesn’t notice this; he is too
focused on a large white snake. He’s never seen a snake that was white before,
but he can say with certainty that they are lovely. [4]
The snake herself is hissing irritably. “Lovely, another snot-nosed brat has
come to tap on the glass.”
“I won’t tap on the glass, I promise,” Harry responds quietly.
“Oh, a speaker? Are you powerful? Take me with you. A beautiful snake like me
deserves to travel with a powerful speaker.” The snake draws herself up in a
prideful way.
“I have a few galleons…” Harry murmurs, fishing through his pockets to find the
money pouch, only to pause. “Wait, I almost forgot to ask—you have to be able
to get along with my friends at home; they’re not as big as you.”
“Yes, of course. If a speaker has chosen to travel with them, then they must be
acceptable company for one such as myself.” She replies.
Quirrel slides up behind Harry in that moment. “I’ve already paid for her for
you; the deal was you get everything your heart desires. Surely you haven’t
forgotten?”
Harry doesn’t respond; he just reaches into the tank and carefully lifts the
snake and allows her to settle on his shoulders. “My name is Harry Potter, by
the way. Do you have a name or do you need one?”
“No, there is no point in having a name here when someone comes along just to
name you something else,” She answers.
Harry nods. That seems logical. “Is there a name you like or should I choose
one for you?”
“Choose one for me; that will be much easier.”
Harry is silent for several moments before he speaks. “How does Hedwig sound?”
The large snake hisses happily and bobs her head up and down. “Yes, that will
do nicely.” [5]
The boy smiles and Quirrel rolls his eyes and apparates them away.
---
It has been a few months since Harry has moved into the seaside manor and he
has had many different tutors come to teach him; all Harry has to do to get a
teacher is send a letter to the Dark Lord, and within a day or two, Quirrel
brings a new tutor to Harry. When Harry has learned whatever he cares to learn
from the person in question, they are obliviated and given a nice sum of money
before being sent back wherever they came from. Sometimes on the weekends
Quirrel leaves Hogwarts and comes to the seaside manor, where the high voice
teaches Harry high level spells. They all usually seem to be dangerous in one
way or another but Harry likes learning the more dangerous spells. They’re more
interesting to him; he never really knew spells or magic that could help him
fight wizards until meeting Quirrel. Harry likes to know these spells; he likes
to know things that protect him and he likes to know things that make him
stronger.
Harry wants to be stronger than anyone else; he doesn’t ever want to be the
powerless child he was with the Dursleys ever again.
Today the high voice is teaching Harry some more… explosive curses.
“No, no, you have to wantit,” the high voice informs Harry. “Bring your wand
down at your target like you mean it.”
Harry nods and whips his wand down sharply at the training dummy, shouting,
“Confringo!”
A spark of light flickers at the tip of his wand but nothing happens.
Growling under his breath, the boy glares at the dummy. “This is stupid. It’s
boring to blow up a cotton doll.”
Quirrel looks at Harry incredulously. “Are you claiming the doll is the
problem?”
“Yes,” Harry states. “It’s boring. It doesn’t really harm anything; isn’t that
the point of these curses? I want to break something.”
The high voice starts laughing and Quirrel points his wand at the dummy and
transfigures it into a vase. “Go on then,” the high voice says, amused. “Break
something.”
Harry grins and casts the curse again. This time the vase is blasted back and
shards of glass fly everywhere. The high voice is laughing loudly as Quirrel
transfigures and summons more vases and Harry finds himself laughing too as he
casts more curses wildly, destroying vase after vase after vase.
---
Harry watches the tutor that has been gotten for him point his wand at a
cowering muggle that Quirrel had tied up in the basement just for this lesson.
“You have to focus on what you want them to forget; it’s a very delicate
spell,” the man, whose name Harry has already forgotten, explains. “Twist your
wand just so, and—Obliviate.” The spell hits the muggle in front of them like a
fog and the muggle’s jaw goes slack and their eyes unfocused. “Normally, when
learning this spell, there’s not a… legalway to check if it was cast correctly.
Of course, there are no such problems here, so once you try the spell, I’ll
check to see if you got it completely using legilimancy. Now, to give the
muggle something to forget—“
Harry’s tutor summons birds using a wordless spell and then freezes them. They
fall to the ground and shatter, and then the tutor banishes them. “Make the
muggle forget what he just saw.”
Harry nods and points his wand in the muggle’s face, looking into scared brown
eyes. He smiles slightly and laughs. “Obliviate,” he murmurs, voice cold.
---
Harry likes Knockturn Alley. It’s an interesting place, and no one questions
his presence as long as he acts like he belongs there. He takes Shishisha and
Shieyish with him but has to leave Hedwig at home since she is too big to carry
around comfortably for long periods of time. No one comments on the fact that
Harry has one snake curled around his neck and one curled around his arm; if
this is because they are afraid of the snakes or simply don’t care, Harry
doesn’t know or care to find out.
Harry goes into Borgin and Burkes and looks around at the items for sell, which
include a withered hand with a sign proclaiming it the ‘hand of glory’, an
assortment of human bones, a beautiful opal necklace that has been cursed and
some leering masks. [6]
Harry isn’t interested in any of these items, but he heads deeper into the shop
to look at the items further back. An ornate dagger rests on a cushion with a
sign that explains that it is goblin-made and the blade has been impregnated
with many different poisons. The boy stares at the blade for a moment, trying
to decide if he wants it. It is very lovely, with rubies and sapphires and
emeralds embedded into the shining hilt and it is polished to the point that
Harry can see his reflection in the slightly crooked blade and gems. It looks
very old. Harry likes pretty, dangerous things, and this dagger is definitely
both dangerous and beautiful with the sparkling gems and sharp poisonous blade.
“You should get it, speaker; you obviously want it.” Shieyish hisses.
Harry nods and approaches the man at the counter who has been watching him
suspiciously as he shopped. “I want to purchase that dagger,” he states, not
bothering with niceties—on Knockturn Alley, they didn’t get you very far.
The man laughs. “Kid, you couldn’t afford that.”
Emerald eyes narrow and Harry frowns. “I assure you,” He states, pulling out
the money pouch that Quirrel gave him. “I could.”
“Look, kid, your measly allowance isn’t going to pay for something that pricey.
Or anything in this shop, really.”
“How much?” Harry snaps, growing irritated.
“Two thousand one hundred galleons,” the man seems smug; Harry suspects he
thinks that he’s right and Harry’s not going to be able to afford this.
Harry grins. “Done,” he says, tapping his wand on the money pouch and then
upending it over the counter. [7]The man stares in shock before shaking his
head and opening the display case and carefully wrapping the blade and handing
it to Harry. He doesn’t say anything; Harry thinks he’s still a bit surprised
as he tucks the dagger away in his robes along with his money pouch.
Finished for the day now that he has a shiny new plaything, Harry starts
towards the exit of Knockturn, thinking perhaps he’ll get some ice cream before
heading back to the manor, when a hand is clapped over his mouth and an arm
wrapped around his waist—the person holding him yanks him back into a side
street and throws him to the ground. Both Harry and the man pull their wand at
the same time, though the man seems unimpressed by Harry brandishing his wand.
“I saw all that money, and that fancy dagger you bought. Hand it over and I
won’t kill you,” the man threatens, tapping his wand against his palm.
Harry narrows his eyes and flicks his wand, hissing, “Move.” The man is roughly
flung up and over Harry’s head and to the end of the alley, following the
movement of Harry’s wand. Before the man can get up, Harry’s already pulled out
the dagger and jumps at the man, stabbing him several times in the chest with
no hesitation. The man dies quickly, foaming at the mouth and gasping for
air—Harry wonders if the poison is the cause of it, since he hadn’t had enough
time to bleed out. [8]
Wiping the blade off calmly, Harry wraps it neatly once more and activates his
portkey, thinking it best to leave unless he wants to get caught—he’s too
distracted by the feeling of power and bloodlust to focus on much of anything.
---
Harry develops an interest in death after that day. In his next letter to
Voldemort, Harry relates the story of his kill, describing the way his victim
died with an abundance of adjectives and speaking of his fascination of how
quickly the man died. The Dark Lord seems pleased if his response is anything
to go by, and soon after that, Harry begins receiving tutoring in all sorts of
lethal spells and rituals.
Nonverbal spells were his favorite.
“Dolohov’s Curse is a tricky bastard,” his tutor of the day, a tall, muscular
man who is dark in every sense of the word possible, taps his wand against his
palm. “It has no incantation at all; it’s solely based on will—this makes it
one of the hardest damn curses you’ll ever learn, but the stronger your will,
the stronger the curse, so it also can be very powerful, and it’s damn near
untraceable.”
The dark-skinned man waves his wand, opening the door to the dungeons with a
loud creaking sound. Harry makes a mental note to have the house elves grease
the door again; the sound grates upon his nerves. A several muggles are chained
to the walls; despite clearly being afraid, they seem to be in good health
otherwise—the house elves must have been cleaning up behind them and keeping
them fed and watered. Of course, they shan’t be in such good condition for
long; Harry likes to test his curses on live subjects and Quirrel, the high
voice, and the Dark Lord only encouraged this behavior in their near daily
letters.
The man points his wand at one of the muggles chained up with a grin and
gestures for Harry to come closer. “Watch,” he barks at the dark-haired boy,
and Harry complies, eager to see the curse in action. The tutor swipes his wand
down in a sharp, slashing movement, and a streak of purple flame strikes the
targeted muggle, seeming to almost sink into her body as she crumples like a
puppet who’s strings have been cut, only held up by the chains on her wrists.
Harry reaches up to feel for a pulse, finding a weak, fluttering pulse that
quickly fades into nonexistence. He snaps his fingers and a house elf pops in.
He smiles at the withered creature. “Dappy, could you take care of this for
me?”
The house elf bows low and snaps his fingers, causing the body to disappear.
Before anything more can be said, Dappy too pops out of the room.
“That there’s a good, loyal house elf, boy. You best keep that one around.” The
tutor seems amused by the entire situation. He shakes his head before returning
to his lesson. “Muggles die far quicker with this curse due to their lack of
magic, so unless you’re sure they won’t be getting help quickly or you’ve got a
particularly powerful curse, save this for a weaker witch or wizard, or
eliminate some more muggles. I’m quite sure the Dark Lord won’t mind.”
The man then waves his hand at one of the other muggles chained up and grins.
“Why don’t you give it a try?”
Harry smirks and points his wand at the muggle.
---
Harry Potter,
As per our agreement, you are due for your first assignment. Quirrel will be at
the manor on Sunday evening at 18:00 to relay the details of this job to you.
Destroy this letter once you have memorized the date.
Lord Voldemort
Harry crumples the letter roughly in his fist and grins. He’d wondered when
this would happen. With a hissed command, the page slowly burns to ashes that
float away in the air of the small owlery. He’s already been practicing curses
for fun, but to use them with a purpose? Oh, that ought to be truly exciting.
He hopes that the Dark Lord will give him something to get his blood pumping.
The young boy leans over the railing of the tower and laughs as the sun begins
to set, casting everything in a bloody light.
---
“Good evening, sir, the young master has had we elvesies prepare a nice roast
dinner to talk over. If you will follow Dappy, please.” The house elf was
waiting for Quirrel at the door, and though Quirrel knows his way around the
manor just fine, his master is pleased because this means that Harry Potter has
at last read up on the pureblood customs and is trying to follow them—thus they
will oblige the child with no fuss.
After all, this is all exactly what they had hoped for.
Quirrel follows the house elf to the private dining room, the one meant for
family or small gatherings. The elf opens the doors with a snap of its fingers
and bows as Quirrel passes it to go into the room before disapparating with a
soft pop. Potter is already seated at the small round table, and Quirrel takes
the seat opposite the child quietly.
“Good evening, Professor. I hope your journey was well?” The boy’s voice is
quiet, but in the silent room, it is near as good as shouting.
Quirrel inclines his head in a slight nod as neatly-plated food appears in
front of him. “Quite. But these pleasantries aren’t what we are here for, now
are they?”
“I suppose not,” Potter replies, green eyes sparkling with mischief.
Master speaks this time. “So, Potter… how would you like to kill for the Dark
Lord?”
Potter’s answering grin is more than enough.
Chapter End Notes
     1. The power went to Harry’s head XD all those books; how could
     anyone expect him to bathe?
     2. Harry’s fake name was chosen from a list of common first names and
     common surnames.
     3. When Quirrel says a full wardrobe, he means a small mountain of
     clothing with which to smother Harry.
     4. The white snake is a leucistic Texas rat snake; they are a fairly
     popular type of snake to buy as a pet and are fairly cheap.
     5. Yes, Hedwig the snake is meant to replace Hedwig the owl. I really
     like Harry being best bros with lots of snakes okay? Sorry not sorry
     6. The items for sell @ borgin and burkes were found on wiki, based
     on what was there second year—I can’t imagine they get a lot of
     business, considering that the Hand of Glory was there from at least
     Harry’s second year to his sixth year.
     7. There’s a charm on the bag that links it directly to a bank
     account that Quirrel/Voldy has given to Harry—he more or less has
     access to buckets of money at all times.
     8. Baby’s first kill!!
***** Chapter One *****
Chapter Notes
     I apologize for the long wait on this. I haven't given up on any of
     my fics; I've just been having a very hard time and so I've been more
     focused on trying to get my life together. In the future if you wish
     to make any requests or check the status of the updates on this, you
     can find me on tumblr @ ficsbyem.tumblr.com
     This chapter will bring up questions about what has happened between
     the prologues and this chapter. Some will be answered in the next
     chapter; some will be answered much later in the fic. Please feel
     free to ask questions if you need anything clarified; I will answer
     them as quick as I can.
     Thanks again for your patience. I'll try to be faster with updates in
     the future.
The door swings open without a sound, and slowly, the figure cloaked in
darkness creeps across the room, drawing his wand at the foot of the bed. This
is too easy; he has to resist the urge to laugh.
“Somnus,” he whispers, pointing his wand at the thin-- almost  too  thin-
- woman on the left.
A foggy mist erupts from the tip of his wand, and settles over her sleeping
body. The figure’s gaze drifts to the fat man sleeping on the right now; the
figure rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “Incarcerous.” He flicks his wand, and
ropes burst from the tip of his wand and wrap around the man in the bed,
binding him tight.
The man’s eyes snaps open and immediately, he starts struggling. “What is the
meaning of this?” He demands loudly. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you recognize me, Uncle?” The cloaked figure draws down his hood,
revealing long messy black hair, braided, and emerald green eyes-- Harry Potter
sported a vicious grin.
The fat man-- Vernon Dursley-- paled, shrinking back. “Freak,” he whispers in
horror. “Why have you come back?”
“I left you be for nearly ten years,” Harry says, voice soft. His disdain is
clear in his tone; he looks positively bloodthirsty. “I let you think that you
were safe, that no one would come for you. And now, I’m done with that. Now,
I’m going to take you home and make you into my plaything, while Petunia and
Dudders mourn for you. And then, just when they’ve started to get over the
loss, I’m going return your mutilated corpse to them. I’m going to torment you
and your family, because you tormented  me .”
Before Vernon can respond to Harry’s words, Harry lunges forward, fingers
curling into the rope and then he twists and apparates away.
---
They arrive at Harry’s home, that same little seaside manor that Quirrel first
took Harry to four years ago. Grayside Manor.
Vernon seems to be missing a chunk of his leg, blood drips everywhere and the
man is screaming and sobbing. Harry had not meant to splinch but he certainly
didn’t care that he’d done so; in fact, he was mildly amused at the man’s
suffering.
Immediately upon arrival, Hetty rushes over to Harry. “Master Harry, yous gonna
get blood in the carpet again if yous not being careful,” she frets, wringing
her hands fitfully. “Yous be giving yous toys to Hetty to put away from now on.
Yous call Hetty for help.”
“As you wish, Hetty. Do with him as you please; I need to shower to get his
filth off me.” Harry responds, wiping his hands on his clothes as he starts up
the stairs. “Just don’t let him die; I have to make him suffer for his  sins.
”
“Yes, Master Harry, Hetty be taking good care of yous toys.” Hetty responds,
popping away with Vernon in tow.
Harry smiles, pleased with his elf, and pushes open the door to his room. The
Dark Lord stands out on the balcony, looking out at the night sky. Harry can’t
help but admire his form for a moment; the Dark Lord is admittedly a handsome
man-- the type who could charm anyone with a look.
“Good evening, Harry,” he says as he turns to look at Harry.
“Good evening, milord,” Harry responds, dipping his head in greeting.
“We have already discussed the need for a lack of formalities, Harry.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, Marvolo. It is just quite the adjustment.” Harry slowly makes
his way to the man’s side and looks out at the sky. “Did you need something?”
“You’re not going to like what I am going to ask of you. But unfortunately, I
am beginning to think that Dumbledore has gotten to Severus, and I need you to
go to Hogwarts and serve as my spy.” Marvolo seems truly apologetic; Harry can
see it in those crimson eyes but he is still not pleased.
“Marvolo, you would subject me to Dumbledore’s antics?” He complains, horror
clearly etched on his face.
Marvolo nods, face grim. “No one else could do this for me, Harry. The Order
would not trust any of my other people, and I do not trust anyone else to be
able to fool them as well as you, my protégé.”
Harry sighs, turning to lean on the railing. “I don’t like this, but of course
I will do this for you.”
Marvolo smiles widely. “Thank you, Harry. Now-- here’s the plan…”
---
Harry stumbles on to Hogwarts’ grounds clutching his arm. Blood drips from a
cut just above his eye, and his clothes are torn and covered in blood and dirt.
Despite the exhaustion that weighs down his body, he presses on towards the
castle. Spotting someone, he lets out a feeble cry for help.
“Pl--please-- someone, please…”
He wishes he had Shishisha and Shieyish and Hedwig with him. But he’s alone-
- he has no one; he has to play this part all alone. Marvolo is counting on
him.
Someone rushes forward and wraps their arms around him, steadying him and
holding him up. Harry recognizes this person from all Marvolo’s lessons.
Minerva McGonagall; Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor, and Deputy
Headmistress of Hogwarts.
“Please h-help me,” he whispers.
“What’s happened to you?” She asks.
“I barely got--got away-- I’ve b-been on the run for so l-long-- please, I’m so
sc-scared…” The desperation can be heard in the boy’s voice; green eyes glisten
with unshed tears as he looks up at her. Surely she’ll be moved by his tears
(only half-faked; he truly is in a lot of pain) and bring him into the castle.
McGonagall seems to recognize those eyes if her gasp is anything to go by. “By
the-- Harry Potter?”
“Pl-please,” Harry repeats, voice breaking. Everything hurts. It hurts so much.
“Please don’t-- don’t let him g-get me.”
“Who is  him ?”
“I-I ca---can’t-- I  ca--n’t !” Harry starts to gasp, forcing himself to
hyperventilate, eyes bulging. Spots dance in the corners of his eyes. “Pl-plea-
-” He can’t get the words out; his head feels light and then suddenly
everything goes dark.
---
“--solutely not! Albus, the boy has to recover! You’ll not be talking to him
until I say he’s ready! Now, out!” The woman speaking sounds motherly, stern
but loving. Harry thinks of Narcissa Malfoy in that moment; though she sounded
a bit more regal, she did tend to mother most everyone.
Harry lets out a soft groan in an attempt to get someone to come to his side.
It works very well, the woman-- Poppy Pomfrey, the school matron, Harry
assumes-- quickly shoves Albus (Dumbledore? Harry wonders) out the door,
ignoring his protests and rushes over to Harry’s side.
“You’re awake! That’s wonderful; we were beginning to worry about you, dear.
How are you feeling?”
“Tired? And… confused.” Harry answers, but he’s lying. He’s not particularly
tired nor confused. “Who are you exactly? Where am I?”
“I am Madam Pomfrey, and you’re in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, dear. Now,
you say you’re tired, hm? Yes, that’s not surprising considering your injuries.
I’ve got you all healed up, but I’d like to keep you here for observation a bit
longer, so you can rest as much as you like and I can ensure that you don’t
suddenly take a turn for the worst.”
So Harry was right and this woman is the school matron. Good.
“Okay, Madam. Can I have something to eat before I sleep again?”
“Of course, dear. Wait just a moment while I get some soup brought up.”
As the woman turns away, Harry smirks. She’s easy to play. As long as he keeps
this up, she’ll think he’s an angel that can do no wrong, and that exactly what
he wants everyone to think.
Maybe this will be easier than Harry thought.
***** Retrospection One *****
Chapter Notes
     Well, this is a flashback chapter-- there will be quite a few
     flashback chapters, in fact, because a lot has happened and those
     gaps ought to be filled, yes? If you have a specific thing you're
     hoping to see in the flashbacks, let me know on here or on tumblr @
     ficsbyem.tumblr.com and I'll see if something can be arranged ;)
     Oh, another thing that should be noted that these flashback are non-
     linear. If this is confusing in any way, please let me know so I can
     make efforts to correct it and improve future updates.
     As always, thank you all for your comments and kudos, and I hope you
     enjoy c:
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Harry Potter,
I will be making use of Grayside Manor in the coming days. You are already
aware of the plan to acquire the sorcerer's stone; I’ve found a way around
Dumbledore’s enchantments at last and will need a new base of operations.
Beyond that little detail, you have a lot of potential that I do not wish to
see go untapped, and so I shall be training you personally in a variety of
subjects.
The war will be resuming in all its glory soon. Be prepared; you will be in the
thick of it.
Destroy this letter once you are done with it.
Lord Voldemort
Harry pulls the letter close to his chest excitedly; a long moment passes
before the letter slowly crumbles to ash in his grip. “ Shishisha, Shieyish,
Hedwig, ” He calls, looking around for them eagerly and holding out hands so
that they might curl around him. “ Voldemort is going to teach me more magic-
- imagine all the things he must know! I will learn so much; I’m going to be so
powerful-- no one will dare to mess with us! ”
“ Our nest will be feared? How fitting. ” Hedwig slowly makes her way up
Harry’s arm to settle around his shoulders.
Shishisha is quick to curl around a small wrist, hissing in satisfaction. “ I’m
so happy for you, my precious hatchling. ”
Shieyish curls around the opposite wrist, but doesn’t speak. Harry starts
braiding his hair.
Tying a ribbon to keep his hair from falling loose, Harry starts striding
towards the door, dragonhide boots clicking on the expensive tile as he moves.
“ We have to go out and find new prey to play with as celebration! ”
---
“No, you do it like this,” the Dark Lord murmurs, wrapping his arms around
Harry as he guides the teen’s hands.
Harry represses the urge to press against the older man. He can feel Marvolo’s
heat, and for a moment, the teen imagines that warm body pressing him into a
bed, Marvolo's heavy weight almost smothering Harry's small, slight frame-- but
such thoughts are not allowed. Sucking in a sharp breath, he focuses on his
spellcasting, and tries to cast the curse again.
This time, when Harry flicks his wand, his target cries for mercy.
Harry doesn’t give it.
As Marvolo pulls away, making a satisfied sound, Harry thinks that he can still
imagine that weight upon him. It’s still forbidden to him but… Harry still
finds the thought pleasant.
---
Harry pulls his hood over his head, the beginnings of a smile upon his lips as
Lord Voldemort presses the tip of his wand to Lucius Malfoy’s wrist with
unexpected gentleness-- perhaps his choice to return to the Dark Lord’s side
has earned him some greater measure of favor than Harry had originally thought,
Harry muses. That’s fortunate for the man as the Dark Lord is not feeling
particularly merciful.
Soon enough, the air was full with the sound of apparition and swishing of
cloaks as the Death Eaters join Harry, Lucius and Voldemort in the place Harry
has come to call home. Slowly, cautiously, they move forward, one by one,
almost as though they cannot believe their eyes, and perhaps some of them
cannot, Harry thinks. After all, much of the wizarding world truly believed the
Dark Lord to be vanquished by Harry that night in Godric’s Hollow. Harry finds
the thought laughable now that he knows his Lord as well as he does. Voldemort
is simply far too powerful and clever to ever be  truly  vanquished.
Temporarily setback, oh yes, he was. But truly gone? Never.
No one speaks-- the Death Eaters are still taking in the sight of their Lord,
restored to all his former glory and strength, the body he’d once had long ago
before the toll of too many rituals took place and Lord Voldemort simply waits
for his followers to act, and act they do, falling to their knees and crawling
forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort’s robes before backing away and standing
up, forming a circle. Gaps are left, as though waiting for people-- those loyal
followers who are in Azkaban, perhaps? Or perhaps for him and Lucius? Harry
wonders. Still, neither Harry nor Lucius move to join the circle-- their Lord
has given them their own orders to follow; right now, they are the favored
ones, and they are above those who wait in the circle for the Dark Lord to
speak.
“Welcome, Death Eaters, to Grayside Manor,” Voldemort speaks, and his voice is
soft, almost affectionate in tone, but everyone there knows not to assume that
this means the Dark Lord is in a good-- or forgiving-- mood. “You return to me
as though it were yesterday rather than ten years. We are still united under
the Dark Mark, then! Or,” and here the man pauses, beautiful face twisting into
something ugly. “Are we?”
He looks around the circle of his followers, disgust and betrayal clear on his
face.
“I see you all-- alive and well, whole and healthy-- and I ask myself: why did
this band of wizards not come to the aid of their master, the man to whom they
swore eternal loyalty?”
No one dared speak, but under their hoods, if anyone had looked at Harry or
Lucius’ lowered heads, they would have seen the pair smirking. They were safe.
They were loyal, and Lord Voldemort always rewards his loyal ones.
“And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, “they must have believed me gone;
they must have thought I was dead. They slipped back among our enemies, and
they pleaded innocence, and bewitchment. They betrayed me.”
Silence still reigns-- rightfully so. No one dared move; no one dared speak.
“And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise
again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against
mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the
times when I was mightier than any wizard living? And I answer myself, perhaps
they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even
Lord Voldemort… perhaps they now pay allegiance to another… perhaps that
champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?”
At the mention of Dumbledore’s name, the members of the circle stirred, and
some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.
“It is a disappointment to me… I confess myself disappointed…”
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling
from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort’s feet.
“Master!” he shrieked, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!”
Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand, and cast the cruciatus curse..
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; Harry’s smirk only grew-
- he wanted to learn this next. He’d wanted to learn before but had turned to
other curses and spells but seeing the cruciatus in action? Oh, it was
exquisite. He wanted to do that too.
Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground,
gasping..
“Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly. “Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I
do not forgive. I do not forget. Ten long years… I want ten years’ repayment
before I forgive you. Lucius here has paid some of his debt already, have you
not, Lucius?”
He looked over to Lucius, who stood tall and proud.
“When our young friend here,” and now, Voldemort gestures to Harry, “contacted
you with whispers of your master requiring your assistance, you returned to me
without hesitation. You helped me. And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers… Let
it be known that Lucius is above all of you-- among our ranks only one stands
higher… but we shall talk about that shortly, yes?”
Now Lucius takes his place in the circle, and Voldemort moved on, stopping and
staring the space large enough for two people-- that separated Malfoy and the
next man.
“The Lestranges should stand here,” said the Dark Lord quietly. “But they are
entombed in Azkaban rather than renounce me. When Azkaban is broken open, the
Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us;
they are our natural allies… we will recall the banished giants… I shall have
all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all
fear…”
He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused
before others and spoke to them.
“Macnair… destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Lucius
tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort
will provide.”
“Thank you, Master… thank you,” murmured Macnair.
“And here,” Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures. “We have
Crabbe… you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?”
They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.
“Yes, Master…”
“We will, Master…”
“The same goes for you, Nott,” said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a
stooped figure in Goyle’s shadow.
“My Lord, I prostrate myself before you; I am your most faithful--”
“That will do,” said Voldemort.
He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with sharp,
red eyes, as though he could see people standing there. Harry rather thought
that Voldemort was remembering the days when the circle had no gaps.
“And here we have seven missing Death Eaters… four dead in my service. Two, too
cowardly to return-- they will pay. And one, who I believe has left me forever…
he will be killed, of course.” The Dark Lord moves to return to the center of
the circle now. “But you must be questioning my young friend here, yes? This is
my most faithful, the one I hold above all others.” And with that, he pulls
Harry’s hood off and Harry removes his mask. “Harry Potter, who joined me
before all others-- who joined me despite everything urging him in another
direction. You’ll see the evidence of all his efforts for me in the
disappearance of many a mudblood. Such a faithful servant. One might go so far
as to call him my guest of honor.”
There was a silence. Then a Death Eater steps forward, and speaks. “Master, we
long to know… we beg you to tell us how you have achieved this miracle… how you
have managed to return to us…”
“Ah, what a story it is, Nott,” said Voldemort, looking over to Harry now. “And
it begins-- and ends-- with my young friend here.”
“You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?” Voldemort
said softly, turning his gaze from Harry to look out upon the circle. “You all
know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His
mother died in the attempt to save him-- and unwittingly provided him with a
protection I admit I had not foreseen… I could not touch the boy. I
miscalculated, my friends. I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s
foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah… pain beyond pain, my
friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body; I
was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost, but still, I was alive. What
I was, even I do not know… I, who have gone further than anybody along the path
that leads to immortality. You know my goal-- to conquer death. And now, I was
tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked… for I
had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was
as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help
myself… for I had  no body, and every spell that might have helped me required
the use of a wand…”
Harry has heard this story before but he cannot deny that his Lord is a master
with words-- he is spellbound; all the Death Eaters are, listening silently,
not daring to move a muscle, almost holding their breath in anticipation.
“I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to
exist… I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited… Surely, one of
my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me… one of them would come and
perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body… but I waited in vain.”
A shiver ran around the circle of listening Death Eaters, and Harry can almost
taste  the shame many of them are feeling. Voldemort let the silence hang in
the air, forcing the Death Eaters to stew in their guilt before he continued.
“Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I
dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were
still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals-- snakes, of
course, being my preference-- but I was little better off inside them than as
pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted perform magic… and my possession
of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long…”
And now a smile appears on his face, but it is twisted, frightening. Despite
the fact that Harry should be afraid at such an expression, the boy can’t help
but think that even this is a good look for Lord Voldemort; no one in their
right mind would dare to mess with the dark lord when he looked so cruel and
bloodthirsty. “Then, about a year ago… the means for my return was assured. A
wizard-- young, foolish, and gullible-- wandered across my path in the forest I
had made my home. Oh, he was the very chance I had been dreaming of, for he was
a teacher at Dumbledore’s school. He was easy to bend to my will. He brought me
back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to
supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. And imagine my surprise upon
surprise when I came across Harry Potter in Diagon Alley one day. The boy never
saw me but I saw him, performing wonderful feats of magic for an untrained
wizard, all to steal from wizards. I admit my curiosity was peaked-- the
paragon of the light, stealing? And as I followed the boy, I learned that he
was just as ruthless and Dark as many of you, and I sought him out.”
Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the trees. The
Death Eaters were quite motionless, the glittering eyes in their masks fixed
upon Voldemort and upon Harry. Harry stood, proud and tall, drinking in the
attention and the praise offered-- for that was what this was; Harry doubted
the Dark Lord would openly praise anyone, but anyone with half a mind would see
this for what it was.
“Harry Potter values power before all else; he understands that there is no
good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. And so, being the
clever boy he is, he joined my side, and while I went to Hogwarts to seek out
the Sorcerer’s Stone, he remained here, preparing my ritual for my return.
There were many ingredients required-- many sacrifices being the least of them.
And Harry, dear, sweet Harry,” and here, Harry grins maliciously. “He gladly
collected lives for me. He drew the runic circle in the blood of his
sacrifices, and I provided the elixir from the Sorcerer's Stone, of course.
Phoenix ashes, scales of a basilisk, and finally, the blood of my equal. Of
course, who else could I choose but my most faithful, the only other who could
speak parseltongue as I do? Harry willingly gave his own blood for my
resurrection, and that, combined with the elixir of life, restored me to even
greater strength than I was before that fateful night in Godric’s Hollow.”
Silence reigns for a moment before the Dark Lord speaks again. “And now? Now we
shall pick up where we left off-- we will take the wizarding world by storm, my
friends.”
Chapter End Notes
     Much of this chapter with Voldemort's return is taken from the Goblet
     of Fire with edits where fitting. A lot of changes had to be made to
     make it fit, but a lot of Voldemort's dramatic speech was fitting and
     I saw fit to use it.
     Thanks again for everything guys!
***** Chapter Two *****
Chapter Notes
     Well, here's the next chapter!! I hope it's everything you were
     hoping for; if it's not, message me here or on tumblr @
     ficsbyem.tumblr.com and let me know where I went wrong. If it's
     great, maybe send a message my way anyways?? Your kudos and comments
     are what keep me going on here c:
See the end of the chapter for more notes
McGonagall was silent as she led Harry up the spiral staircase to Dumbledore’s
office. Harry thought perhaps she didn’t know what to say to him or how to say
whatever it was she wanted to say; she kept opening her mouth as though she was
going to say something and then seeming to change her mind and shut her mouth
just as abruptly.
The door to Dumbledore’s office was rather nice; a polished oak door with a
brass door knocker. Harry wondered how much work the house elves had to put
into that as the door opened.
“Ah, Harry, my boy! I’m glad to see you; however something’s come up and I
really must be stepping out of my office for a few moments. Wait here for me.”
Dumbledore said, stepping out of the office quickly, McGonagall following
behind him.
Harry looked around the office. It was actually very beautiful, a circular room
lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all
of who were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently. Dumbledore’s
phoenix stood on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with
magnificent scarlet and gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked
benignly at Harry.
Harry sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk. For a moment or two,
he sat and watched the old headmasters and headmistresses sleeping, thinking
about how much he’d rather be anywhere but here. He looked up at the walls
behind the desk. The patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf. He
was gazing at it, wondering if perhaps Dumbledore would insist he be sorted,
when he noticed a patch of silvery light, dancing and shimmering on the glass
case. He looked around for the source of the light, and saw a sliver of silver-
white shining brightly from within a black cabinet behind him, whose door had
not been closed properly. He didn’t hesitate to make his way over and open the
cabinet door.
A shallow stone basin lay there, with runes carved all around the edge-- This
was a pensieve, Harry knew. It was not his first experience with one. The
pensieve was full of memories. Harry wanted them, but he knew he could not just
take them. Dumbledore would question their absence. Quickly he conjured a
crystal flask, waved his fingers over the basin, chanting softly. Slowly the
flask filled with copies of the memories. Once satisfied with his work, he
corked the flask and pocketed it quickly before sitting back in the seat,
making it just in time for the door to open.
Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully as he sat down behind his desk, eyes
twinkling merrily.
Dumbledore was disgustingly fake. Harry was pretty sure that that damn twinkle
in his eyes was some sort of charm, because there was nothing on this Earth
that could convince Harry that that was  natural .
“Please tell me where you’ve been all these years, my boy. You’ve worried quite
a lot of people, you know, and we’ve all been searching for you; you owe
everyone an explanation.” As Dumbledore speaks, he steeples his fingers and
looks over the top of his glasses sternly.
Harry wants to punch the man. Fucking manipulative bastard; trying to guilt
trip him! Instead, of responding the way he’d like, he wrings his hands
together, looking down at his lap. “Aunt Petunia told me all about magic and
where I came from and I was scared. Everyone  said  that You-Know-Who was gone,
but-- but what if he wasn’t? I didn’t want to put my family in danger, so I ran
away and I just kept going. If I never stayed put then he’d never find me,
right? But I was wrong, because one day they almost caught me and I didn’t know
what to do-- I just knew that I didn’t want to be caught and then next thing I
knew I appeared here and that’s all I know.”
Lying to the old fool gave Harry a sense of satisfaction. The great Albus
Dumbledore would eat his story up; Harry was sure of it, and he would make the
mistake of  trusting  Harry, and that would be his downfall.
Harry would be Dumbledore’s downfall.
Knowing that felt good. Harry held such power in his hands. That was so very
gratifying.
“You’re safe here at Hogwarts, my dear boy. You have nothing to fear as long as
you stay here.” Dumbledore said in what Harry assumed was meant to be a
reassuring tone, but really just made Harry want to curse him senseless.
“Really? I’m safe?” Harry jerked his head up in fake shock.
“Yes, Harry, you’re safe.”
Harry wants to vomit; he knows Dumbledore is just trying to manipulate him-
- he’s already tried to guilt trip him once; now he’s trying to get Harry to
trust him.
“Can-- Can I learn magic so I can protect people? I don’t want anyone to get
hurt for me…”
Dumbledore nods sagely. “Of course, my boy. There will be a lot of catching up
to do, but if you work hard, I’m sure we can have you caught up with your
yearmates in no time-- and then perhaps we’ll see about specialized training.”
“Thank you so much; I swear I’ll pay you back for this!” It wasn’t a lie; Harry
fully intended to pay Dumbledore back for all the shit he’d pulled-- in fact,
if he had his way, Harry would just use one of the many curses he’d learned
over the years now and end Dumbledore now, but that wasn’t allowed,
unfortunately. Marvolo had plans and things like that simply had to wait for
now. It didn’t stop Harry from imagining what it would be like. He rather
thought it would feel so very nice.
Dumbledore chuckles. “Oh no, my boy, the only sort of repayment I expect from
you is hard work on your studies.”
“Yes, sir!” Harry answers, sounding every bit the eager teen that Dumbledore
surely wants.
“Now, I do think you’ll be needing some rest, my boy. I’ll let Professor
McGonagall show you to your rooms.”
With that, Harry nods, and leaves with the woman who seems to have been waiting
outside the door.
---
With a sigh, Harry sinks down into his new bed. It’s not as comfortable as the
one he’s used to. He already misses Grayside manor and his elves and his
beloved snakes. But he doesn’t dare to call Hetty, Mipzy, or Dappy for
anything. Not when he knows there are monitoring charms all over his room. He
can’t risk his cover because he misses his elves or wants them to bring him his
snakes. Worse still, bringing his elves or his snakes here would put them in
danger, and he’s meant to protect those who are his, not put them in harm’s
way.
Perhaps he will be able to see Draco soon. Or Severus. He knows both him and
Severus will have to play like they hate each other, but perhaps he can pretend
to make friends with his favorite Malfoy. The thought of having only Dumbledore
and his lackeys as companions makes him want to be sick.
With his resolve renewed, he closes his eyes and tries to sleep, one hand
tucked inside his robes, touching the vial of memories he took. After all,
tomorrow will surely be a long day.
---
Dumbledore presents Harry with the key to his trust fund the next day, and he
can’t quite suppress the flash of rage behind green eyes. Dumbledore never
should have had access to such a thing. That was something that was meant for
his parents and godparents only; Dumbledore had no right, Harry wants to scream
at the man. But instead, he only thanks the man with a smile.
“Professor Snape here will be your guide for the day, Harry,” the old fool says
while gesturing at Severus. Severus, for his part, looks very annoyed as
Dumbledore continues, “I’m sure the two of you will get along wonderfully.”
The second Dumbledore falls silent, Severus spins sharply on his heel and
starts walking away. “Yes, well, come along, Potter; I don’t have all day.”
Harry has to jog to catch up. Severus plays his part well; Harry is impressed.
He wonders if Severus really is on Dumbledore’s side. He will have to find out.
So far, Severus hasn’t blown Harry’s cover, but Harry doesn’t dare try to find
the truth from him yet. He hopes Severus is loyal to the Dark Lord; otherwise
Harry thinks he might find Hogwarts to be a very lonely, frustrating place.
Outside the gates of Hogwarts, Severus snaps, “Give me your arm, Potter.”
“Sir?” Harry questions, slowly holding his arm out.
Severus snatches Harry’s arm with a tight squeeze, and turns, pulling Harry
into his apparition along with him.
Harry hates side-along apparition. He’d thought he’d get used to it at some
point, but unfortunately, he never did. Severus dragging him along so suddenly
didn’t help him any, either. Harry’s stomach protested violently, and for a
moment, Harry thought he’d be sick on Severus’ shoes.
“Pull yourself together, Potter. It’s time to go to Gringotts.” Severus barked,
and Harry shook his head and quickly followed behind the potions master.
After they finished their business at Gringotts, Severus dragged Harry along to
get robes, books for several years worth of schooling, potions supplies, and
finally, took him to Ollivander, where, since Harry did not actually need a
wand, they were purchased a holster and nothing else-- the whole visit to the
shop was solely for the purpose of appearances and nothing more.
The entire time, Severus spoke the barest minimum and what little he did speak
was very snappy and irritated sounding.
It wasn’t until the very end of the trip, as they were walking back up to the
castle, that Severus spoke something that Harry actually cared to listen to.
“You will meet me after dinner and I will show you to my office for the first
of your lessons. Bring three books from your first year set of your choice, and
do not test my patience, Potter.”
Before Harry could respond, Severus walked away. Harry had to hide his giggles
behind his hand. Severus was just as dour as he remembered.
---
Dinner was a rather unpleasant affair for Harry; as it was the summer, no one
but a few professors were in the castle, and Harry was stuck making small talk
with Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick while Severus occasionally snapped at
him but mostly ignored them except when Dumbledore attempted to drag him into
the conversation with little success.
At the end of the meal, Harry had to force himself not to let out a sigh of
relief as Dumbledore wished Harry luck in his lessons with Severus and
McGonagall informed him that he’d have lessons with her after breakfast,
requesting he bring his Transfiguration book.
Once all the other professors were gone, Severus started for his office,
barking impatiently for Harry to follow as he walked. Once they were in his
office and the door locked, however, his demeanor changed.
“Tell me why you’ve sided with the Dark Lord, Potter. Originally I’d been lead
to believe you had no choice but now I am beginning to question your motives.
You will explain at once, or I will go straight to Dumbledore before you have a
chance to escape back to the Dark Lord.”
Chapter End Notes
     Bit of a cliffhanger there, ahaha, but don't fear-- I'm already
     working on the next two chapters, so there shouldn't be too long of a
     wait! In the meantime, maybe think about which characters you'd like
     to see side with Harry and let me know!! There's still some
     characters I'm rather undecided on, so it'd be super helpful if
     anyone wanted to share what they liked best!
***** Retrospection Two *****
Chapter Notes
     No worries, next chapter will get rid of that lil old cliffhanger. In
     the meantime, here's some more flashbacks and peek and some of the
     things Harry and Voldemort were getting up to in those years between
     the prologue and the first chapter. A warning for this chapter: There
     is some triggering content in this chapter including self harm, minor
     character death, and gore.
     Some bits and pieces of this are taken from the book, with edits to
     suit my needs for this fic. All credits, of course, go to Ms.
     Rowling.
     Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed the fic, please let me know in
     the comments or on tumblr @ ficsbyem.tumblr.com
Harry stands in the middle of the room, looking around slowly to survey the
area. The smooth, stone floor is the perfect place to draw out the runes-- not
a single mistake can be made, or else the backlash of magic would probably
level the whole manor.
This should scare Harry; this should make him nervous.
But Harry is more than confident in his abilities. So instead of worrying about
what could go wrong, he thinks about everything going  right . He dips his
fingers into the golden cauldron of his victims’ blood and slowly but surely
starts drawing out runes one by one. As he paints the runes, he slowly feeds
his magic into them, until the air is thrumming with magic-- the air feels
almost alive;  Harry  feels alive.
For the first time, Harry can understand how someone could get addicted to
performing rituals. The magic is intoxicating; he can’t help but smile widely
and breathe in deeply. He can even taste the magic; it’s thick and heady on his
tongue. He feels grateful to be the one who is performing this for the Dark
Lord. This is the best Harry’s ever felt in his life.
Grinning, he paints Algiz. Protection, opportunity. The Dark Lord needed plenty
of both. It wouldn’t do to have him fall again.
Uruz, for strength. Lord Voldemort needed to be returned to his full strength.
Nothing else would do.
Jera-- success and continuity. Success was what they sought, but continuity was
what they needed for this ritual to hold.
Tiwaz, the warrior’s rune, and sowilo-- an important rune, for energy,
wholeness, and victory. Tiwaz represented the Dark Lord, who was well-known as
a powerful and terrifying duelist-- a warrior, but sowilo powered the ritual,
brought wholeness to the Dark Lord’s body, and hopefully would bring them many
victories.
Dagaz, the rune of transformation. This, the Dark Lord had told Harry, was a
surprise.
And Thurisaz, the rune of chaos. And this rune too represented the Dark Lord.
Seven is the most magically powerful number, is it not? Harry thinks to himself
as he paints these runes over and over until his circle is complete. A ring of
tiny, delicate looking runes. They glow, alit with Harry’s magic and he stands
in the center, slowly circling the golden cauldron as he continues to fuel the
runes. His hair and robes whip around him as though blown by the nonexistent
breeze; his eyes glow in the darkness.
And the door to the room opens, and Quirrell, dressed only in the simplest of
robes slowly steps into the circle. He shudders as Harry’s magic washes over
him, but continues on, until he reaches the cauldron, and then he slips out of
the robes, and climbs into the cauldron, sinking down into the blood.
Harry starts chanting in parseltongue now, voice ringing out in the room and
echoing. From his robes, he brings forth the basilisk scales, and in sweeping,
dramatic movements, sprinkles them over the blood. “ Let the king of serpents
bring forth Slytherin’s heir, the king of serpents. Let the deadly gaze wash
over him and strengthen him; he who is of immense power. Let him be reborn in
all his glory, formidable and commanding. ”
The mixture bubbles up and Harry keeps chanting, circling the cauldron until
the reaction slows and stops, and then he brings forth the phoenix ashes, and
again, in the same exaggerated movements, sprinkles ash over the blood. “ Let
the sun bird bring forth Slytherin’s heir, the king of serpents. Let the
healing touch wash over him and heal all his impurities; Let nothing that
weakens him touch him any longer. Let him be reborn in all his glory, whole and
untouched. ”
Again, the mixture bubbles up, more violently than before, and Harry chants
faster, voice harsher and unwavering still as he continues to circle and circle
and circle as the reaction only grows. It isn’t until it stabilizes that Harry
brings forth the elixir of life, and slowly, moving his hand around the rim of
the cauldron, he pours it in. The potion begins to turn a glowing gold, and
still Harry chants on. “ Let the fabled elixir of life bring forth Slytherin’s
heir, the king of serpents. Let it’s immortal touch wash over him and restore
him as he once was. Let him be reborn in all his glory, formidable and
commanding. Let him be reborn in all his glory, whole and untouched. Let him be
reborn in all his glory, feared and mighty. ”
As he walks, Harry pulls out his ritual blade, and in one sharp motion, he
tears his wrists open, blood spilling forth. He holds his wrists over the
cauldron and lets the blood pour freely into the mixture. When he pulls away,
still the blood runs, but he makes no move to stem the flow. “ With the blood
of the equal, freely given, the Dark Lord will rise again. ”
And for the first time since the ritual began, Harry stops moving, and stands
with his back to the cauldron as he stretches his arms up to the sky and chants
louder, imbibing his words with magic. The cauldron shakes and shudders, it’s
contents overflowing and Harry presses on, chanting louder still. Quirrell’s
body twists grotesquely and changes, but Harry does not see as he continues
chanting without hesitation until the magic in the air slowly seeps back into
his small, trembling body, and he sinks to the ground.
Lord Voldemort steps over to him, a soft hand brushing the top of his head and
sliding downwards to tilt Harry’s chin up. “You have done well, Harry, and you
will be rewarded for your efforts. For now, you must rest. Your elves will come
and put you to bed.”
Harry doesn’t respond, because his vision is already going out and he loses
consciousness.
---
“Oh, yeah, ol’ ‘ogwarts was a riot. ‘Ad me tons of ‘ventures, I did,” the man
drawls, leaning over his butterbeer to look across the table at the disguised
Harry.
Harry grins, playing the part of a fascinated child-- it wasn’t a hard part to
play, despite how he might pretend otherwise, he was still very young, and he
loved stories as much as the next kid, even if he liked to claim that it was
solely for the sake of knowledge. “Can you me about some of your adventures?
Please ?”
“Okay, okay, kid. Sure.” For all the man’s supposed reluctance, he seemed to
enjoy having an audience. “‘Ave ya ‘eard of th’Forbidden Forest? ‘S a ‘uge
forest on ‘ogwarts grounds. ‘S also forbidden for students to go in there if ya
couldn’t guess. Dang’rous, it is. Tha’s why ‘s forbidden, ya see.”
As the man speaks, he gestures widely with his hands. “Well, I used to get
detent’in all th’time. Always acting up in Minnie’s class, I was. Get the
feelin’ she innit like me very much, ‘cause I almost always got sent to
th’Forbidden Forest.”
Harry gasped, partially for show but also partially because he simply couldn’t
believe they would punish children by sending them into a forest that they
deemed too dangerous for them as a punishment.
“Yeah, I know, kid. Crazy, innit? Well, usually I’d get sent off with ‘agrid,
an’ ‘e was a nice enough guy, real tall, real friendly, an’ louder than ‘ell
but if ‘e ‘ad any magic in ‘im I sure as ‘ell never saw ‘im use it.” The man
pauses to take a swig of his drink, swirling it around in the bottle as he’s
silent for a moment. “Well, more often than not nothin’ of intres’ ‘appened on
these li’l excursions, bu’ once in awhile ol’ ‘agrid would send me off alone
‘cause ‘e reckoned we’d cover more ground separately. A few knuts short of a
galleon, I reckon ‘e was, ‘cause me third year I got los’ in th’forest.”
At this, Harry just stared. “And this was  allowed  at Hogwarts?”
“Oh yeah, ol’ Dumblydore would let all sorts of crazy stuff ‘appen at ‘ogwarts.
Did ya know ‘e brought in a big ol’ tree that tried to murder ya if ya got too
close? Tha Whompin’ Willow was summat crazy, but ol’ Dumblydore innit seem to
mind it much.” The man ignores the shock that Harry isn’t even bothering to try
to hide at this point and keeps on talking. “Anyways, back ta me story. So, I
got los’ in th’forest. All I ‘ad on me was me wand and th’clothes on me back.
‘S dark as ‘ell out, so I use me wand to light th’way, an’ thank the goddess
that ’s th’new moon so at leas’ I knew no werewolves would be comin’ after me.
‘M wonderin’ ‘round th’forest lookin’ for anythin’ familiar for what must’ve
been hours when I run inta centaurs. Turns out, centaurs is bleedin’ crazy. One
of ‘em gets real mad. Says ‘e don’t like ‘is forest bein’ invaded or whatever.
I wasn’t listenin’ much, ya see, ‘cause the other one tried ta shoot me with
‘is bow an’ arrow an’ I was ‘ightailin’ it outta there, ‘cause ya don’t jus’
sit there an’ get shot in th’face unless ya crazy. So ‘m runnin’, an’ they
looked like they was gunna chase me for a second, but then another centaur
comes up. ‘M thinkin’ tha’ this is it for ol’ Callum, of course. Thought they
was gunna kill me. But I reckon they got bored or summat, cause they left me
be. ‘Course, I still kep’ runnin’, ‘cause there was no way I was gunna wait
around ta see if they changed their minds.”
“So I’m runnin’, an’ now I run inta giant bleedin’ spiders!” At this, Callum
slams his hands down on the table, shaking his head. “Apparently, there’s also
acromantula all in th’forest. An’ not jus’ any kind of acromantula-- man-eatin’
acromantula. Those buggers are fast, kid. I was slingin’ spells left an’ right
as I jus’ ran like ‘ell, ‘cause what else could I do? I was screamin’ at the
top o’ me lungs too, which in ‘indsight, pro’lly wasn’t real smart but I was
scared as ‘ell so ‘course I didn’t really think about  that . Again ‘m
thinkin’,  this is the end for ol’ Callum . I was sure as ‘ell them spiders was
gunna ‘ave me as a nice li’l appetizer. But then--” and now the man pauses for
dramatic effect, taking another large drink of butterbeer. “But then, ol’
Minnie ‘erself comes in, wand at the ready, an’ she blasts the ‘ell out of them
spiders with a fire spell. A couple o’ sparks got me clothes, an’ they caugh’
fire, but the scars look kinda cool so I nev’r really minded all tha’ much.
Also, not gettin’ eaten by spiders was a nice bonus. After tha;, I nev’r le’
ol’ ‘agrid talk me inta splittin’ up again.”
“That was crazy. I can’t believe they kept sending you out in the forest after
all that happened.” Harry muses, looking thoughtfully.
“Yeah, ol’ Minnie still didn’t like me much after all tha’.” Callum admits with
a grin. “Anyways kid, ya should be gettin’ back ta yer mom now. Ol’ Callum ‘as
took up enough o’ yer time, I reckon.”
“Okay, mister. Thanks for the story,” Harry says, climbing out of the tall
chair and skipping away, looking every bit like an innocent child. No one
notices when he hisses to the snakes coiled around his wrists.
---
It was late at night when Harry flooed into the Ministry, cloaked and masked.
He walked with purpose to the lift and pressed the down button, nodding in
satisfaction when a lift clattered into sight almost immediately. Harry stepped
inside and pressed the number nine button, and the grilles closed with a bang
as the lift began to descend.
When the lift halted, the lift announced that he’d reached the Department of
Mysteries and the door opened with a clang. The door Harry needed was guarded
by some member of the Order, who sent a stunner in Harry’s direction. He
sidestepped the spell and returned fire with a much more fatal curse. At that
point, all bets were off.
Both wizards were slinging spells back and forth, but while Harry dodged and
shielded quite well, the other man’s shield was shattered with two well placed
entrail expelling curses. The third curse hit the wizard and with a sickening
sound, his stomach split and his innards spilled from his stomach.
Harry smiled as the man tried to gather them up as though he could fix damage
of this magnitude. Soon enough the Order member collapsed, and Harry stepped
over his body, seeming not to care that he was getting blood on the hems of his
cloak. He opened the door, and found a large, circular room. Everything in here
was black including the floor and ceiling-- identical, unmarked, handleless
black doors were set at intervals all around the walls, interspersed with
branches of candles whose flames burned blue, their cool, shimmering light
reflected in the shining marble floor so that it looked as though there was
dark water underfoot.
Harry shut the door behind him, and the whole room was so dark that there was
little Harry could see. He lit his wand and waited for the walls to rotate.
Once they stopped, Harry chose the door now facing him and opened it.
After the darkness of the first room, the lamps hanging low on golden chains
from this ceiling gave the impression that this long rectangular room was much
brighter. The room was quite empty except for a few desks, and in the very
middle of the room, an enormous glass tank of deep green water, which contained
a number of objects drifting around lazily in the liquid. Upon closer
inspection, Harry found that these objects were brains. This was not what Harry
came back for, so he turned back, casting a spell to mark the door on his way
out.
The second the door clicked shut, there was a great rumbling, and once again,
the wall began to revolve very fast again. The next door Harry chose would not
open no matter what Harry tried. In frustration, he gave up after several
attempts, just marking the door and waiting for the wall to spin once more.
The next door was the right door. Harry knew it at once when he saw the
dancing, diamond sparkling light. Clocks gleamed from every surface, large and
small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or
standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless
ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The
source of the bright dancing light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood
at the far end of the room.
Harry walked forward down the narrow space between the lines of the desks and
he edged around the bell jar and opened the door behind it.
The ceiling of the room was as high as a church and it was full of nothing but
towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in
the light issuing from more candle brackets set at intervals along the shelves.
Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue.
The room was very cold. Harry looked up at the end of the closest row. Beneath
the branch of blue glowing candles protruding from it glimmered the silver
figure 53.
Harry continued forward, past fifty four and fifty five, looking around as he
walked. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the
shelf. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow; others were as dull and dark
within as blown lights.
He passed row eighty-four… eighty-five… Harry was ready to be have that
prophecy in his hands; Marvolo would be so pleased with him… And there it was.
Row Ninety-seven.
It was near the end of the row, Harry had been told. His eyes searched
frantically for any sign of his name until he found it.
                              S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D
                                   Dark Lord
                               and Harry Potter.
Harry stared at it for a moment.
Then he picked it up. He had expected it to feel cold, but it did not. On the
contrary, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though
the glow of light within was warming it. Gently, he brushed it free of dust,
and then tucked it in one of his pockets and made his way back to the way he
came, a pleased smile on his face.
The prophecy was theirs.
***** Chapter Three *****
Chapter Notes
     I never intended to have such a long wait on this fic. But alas, I
     lost muse for the longest time, and then life was too busy for me to
     even think of working on fanfics-- really, life is still too busy for
     me to be spending time on this, but I really felt terrible for
     letting this go without updates for so long. I will try to update
     more frequently, but things are still gonna be a bit slow -- it is
     that time of year, after all. I don't intend to give up on this fic
     at any point though, so even if wait times are long, the fic still
     lives. If you enjoy this chapter ( or if you hate it ), please leave
     a comment so I know what I'm doing right ( or wrong )! ❤
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“Tell me why you’ve sided with the Dark Lord, Potter. Originally I’d been lead
to believe you had no choice but now I am beginning to question your motives.
You will explain at once, or I will go straight to Dumbledore before you have a
chance to escape back to the Dark Lord.”
Before Severus could speak another word, Harry’s already drawn his wand and has
it pressed to Severus’ throat. The look on Harry’s face is nothing short of
vicious. “Never underestimate me, Severus Snape. I have not served faithfully
as the Dark Lord’s second for all these years for  nothing . I could end you in
a hundred ways without lifting my wand once. With my wand out like this… well,
I can do so much worse. Do  not  presume you can threaten  me .”
“I came to this school to see which side you were truly loyal to. The Dark Lord
had his suspicions that you were Dumbledore’s man and now I see that this is
true. You were never on our side at all, were you, Severus?” As Harry speaks,
he gestures with his free hand, summoning the chair behind Severus’ desk to
him. Forcefully, and without letting his wand slip from its position, Harry
pushes the older man into the chair and then binds him with a flick of his
wand.  
That done, Harry returns his wand to its holster with an unpleasant looking
smile.
Severus, for his part, has yet to show a smidgen of fear. If this is because he
truly feels no fear or he just has a very good poker face, Harry knows not.
Either way it matters not. Harry isn’t trying to elicit fear out of the man.
Harry wants to see if Severus can be swayed back to the side of the dark or if
he will have to be disposed of before he can threaten the Dark Lord’s cause any
further.
“You will answer my questions.” Harry says, and it’s not a question but a
statement. If Harry has to torture to get the answers he seeks, then it shall
be done without hesitation.
“Yes,” Severus bites out, but he looks pained to do so. Harry hopes this grates
his nerves for all the extra work he now has to put in.
“Are you a spy for the light side?” Harry demands.
“Yes.”
Harry’s eyes narrow, his face scrunching slightly in anger. “How long have you
been a spy for the light side?”
Severus is silent for a long while. It isn’t until Harry draws his wand again
that he speaks. “Since the Dark Lord decided to seek out the Potters.”
“Why?” And this time, it’s not anger on Harry’s face, but curiousity. Everyone
knows of Severus’ dislike of James Potter. It’s unclear to Harry why Severus
would care if he was hurt.
“Because I did not wish to see Lily killed. I asked the Dark Lord to spare her
and he did not. You survived, and she did not. And for her sake, I have tried
to keep you alive.” And there’s something Harry can’t decipher in Severus’ dark
eyes.
“And yet you’d wish to see me killed by Dumbledore?” Harry muses, but it’s not
truly a question meant to be answered.
Severus answers anyways. “I do not believe Dumbledore would hurt you.”
“You’d be wrong,” Harry returns easily, once again holstering his wand. “For
neither can live while the other survives, my dear professor. For the Dark Lord
to fall, I too must fall, and Dumbledore would happily sacrifice one for the
greater good of the wizarding world, and you surely must know that. After all,
doesn’t Dumbledore make these sort of sacrifices all the time in your little
Order?”
Severus doesn’t respond. He looks thoughtful more than anything. Harry
continues on. Severus is thinking, but that’s not enough. “So you played
whatever part you thought would play to your wishes the best. That doesn’t
please me, Severus. If you’d just been loyal to our Lord, I’d have never had to
come here at all, you know. Now I have to clean up your mess. The question is…
do I have to deal with you, or are you going stay loyal to the dark this time?”
“I will be loyal to the Dark Lord,” Severus answers, voice even and calm.
Harry smiles sweetly. “Those are pretty words, Severus. Unfortunately, I don’t
believe you mean them. You played both sides for years.” Slowly, Harry’s wand
slides back into his palm. Severus wisely chooses not to speak as Harry circles
around him. “I am disappointed, really. After the Dark Lord tried so hard to
spare my mother, you still would cast away your loyalty.”
“What do you mean he tried to spare Lily?” And for the first time, Harry sees
Severus’ mask well and truly slip.
“I mean just that, Severus. Did you know that when the Dark Lord went to sway
the Dementors to our side, he brought me? That day I learned that I simply…
don’t get along with Dementors. See, they draw on my memories of my parents’
deaths. And I hear our Lord speak to her, and he tells her to step aside three
times, tells her that she doesn’t have to die if she’ll just move, and three
times, she refuses. The chance was given, but she begged for the Dark Lord to
take her instead. What else could have been done?” Harry’s voice is soft,
almost as though he feels compassion for Severus. He does not-- Harry has long
since gotten over his parents’ deaths, for holding on to that does nothing for
him but make him long for something he can never have. But Harry wishes to play
on the man’s feelings as much as he can.
“The Dark Lord… listened to me?” Surprise is clear in Severus’ voice, his eyes
wide, disbelieving.
I’ve gotten through Severus’ mask, Harry thinks with no small amount of
satisfaction. He nods. “He heard your plea and tried to give you what you
wanted. And why would he not? You had been loyal until that point. He has
always rewarded those who were loyal.”
“And he has protected you?” Severus muses.
Harry has no need for protection. Harry can take care of himself quite well at
this point. But that’s not what Harry needs to say to win Severus over. No.
Harry smiles slightly and nods. “Yes, the Dark Lord has kept me safe.”
Severus is silent for a moment, and then he speaks. “I will follow the Dark
Lord.” This time, there’s emotion in the man’s voice. This time, Harry believes
him.
“You will swear a vow on your magic,” Harry says. He may believe Severus means
what he says but he will not risk it.
“I, Severus Snape, swear upon my magic to follow the oath of loyalty I took
when I recieved the Dark Mark.” Severus says, voice returning to its original,
even tone. His eyes glow for a moment, and Harry knows the vow has taken place.
He draws his wand and swipes it over the ropes binding Severus. The ropes fall
to the ground, and Harry returns his wand to his holster and takes a seat in
front of Severus’ desk. “Let’s talk about why I’m here, Severus.”
Severus returns his seat to the desk, and sits down, and together, Harry and
Severus begin discussing Lord Voldemort’s plans for the Order of the Phoenix.
---
The next day, Harry wakes and begins to dress for the day. The robes are not of
the quality he’s used to, and he wants to whine, for they are far less
comfortable. But instead of complaining to himself, he settles for braiding his
hair and tying it with a silken ribbon. At least he still has this small
comfort, he thinks as he grabs his first year transfiguration book. He’s not
going to have fun pretending to be incompetent, he thinks. At least
transfiguration, as he found little need for it at Grayside Manor and thus
never bothered to learn much of it, is one of his worst subjects , so there
won’t be too much pretending.
Still, first year spells seem like they’d be rather boring. Harry knows he can
do simple things like turn a matchstick into a needle. That’s just a simple
matter of will; he doesn’t need an incantation for that.
He heads down to the Great Hall, perking up slightly when he realizes he’s the
first to arrive for breakfast. He is glad not to have to make small talk for
the time being. He takes his seat, in between McGonagall’s and Dumbledore’s,
and starts to pile generous servings of food on his plate.
He starts eating the hard boiled eggs as Severus comes in and sits down and
starts serving himself tea without so much as a greeting to Harry. Harry’s not
sure if that’s because Severus is still playing his role, or if it’s because
he’s simply not a morning person-- either seem possible.
Soon, Flitwick arrives, greeting Harry with a chipper good morning, and Harry
returns the favor. They strike up a small conversation on some basic first year
charms, but most of their focus remains on their breakfast, a fact Harry is
grateful for as he doesn’t particularly enjoy making small talk at all, and
enjoys it even less early in the morning when he doesn’t feel like pretending
he likes people.
He misses Grayside Manor.
He misses his snakes.
He misses his elves.
But he promised he would do this for Marvolo, and so he shall stay strong and
keep going, for all that he and Marvolo have been fighting for.
---
The summer passes uneventfully. Harry dutifully plays his part, acts the part
of the eager to please, desperate for positive attention child. He cannot quite
tone down his knowledge enough to avoid advancing quickly through his private
studies with the professors, but this doesn’t trouble him. After all, he is
supposed to be the light side’s precious savior-- surely they will want a
capable, albeit malleable, wizard, not a bumbling squib.
Dumbledore makes the decision to place Harry in with the fifth year classes,
despite McGonagall’s complaints that she has not had the time to get him as
caught up as she would like. As the old man explained it, Harry should
apparently be with children of his own age. Harry wonders if there is an
ulterior motive for this-- there is always an ulterior motive behind everything
Dumbledore does-- Harry will figure out Dumbledore’s motives for this choice
soon enough.
For the time being however, his focus ought to be on figuring out how to
convince the hat not to place him in Slytherin-- for where else could he
possibly go? He wonders if he can threaten the hat into letting him go into
another house. So absorbed in his thoughts, he almost doesn’t notice when
McGonagall calls his name to be sorted.
If it hadn’t been for the way the students all burst out with curious
questions, he would have missed his cue.
He makes his way up to the stool, and takes a seat, and McGonagall drops the
hat on his head.
“Now, now, you don’t need to threaten me-- calm yourself, young man, and we’ll
have a rational discussion.” The hat sounds amused. It’s strange to think that
a hat can be amused. “You really ought to be in Slytherin, you know, and you’d
be much happier there.”
Yes, well, it’s not about where I’d be happiest,  Harry thinks. A scowl crosses
his face for a split second before he forces himself to relax.
“Your loyalty to your cause is quite admirable, you know. Better be... ” And
the moment the hat tells Harry this, he knows where the hat is about to send
him, and his suspicions are immediately proved correct when the hat declares to
the Great Hall: “Hufflepuff!”
Chapter End Notes
     Yes, I decided a time skip was appropriate. After all, it's not very
     entertaining to sit through a bunch of old classes that we can read
     about in the books, especially when it's not too terribly important
     to the fic. It would have been nothing but filler. Perhaps I will
     include some of the lessons in the next flashback chapter ( but I
     don't plan on writing one of those until another few chapters have
     passed, so we shall see where that goes. ). If you enjoyed this
     chapter ( or if you hated it ), please leave a comment so I know what
     I'm doing right ( or wrong )! ❤
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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