Out With The Old
Well. Wasn’t this certainly unexpected?
Voldemort thought, almost amused as he sipped on his afternoon tea. Harry Potter had figured out how to contact him through their connection. It would be rather funny, if the message he had gotten wasn’t so…concerning.
Help.
One word with so much meaning and interpretation. Help. Help from his enemy? My my, is the golden boy in such a position to be begging?
“I must ask…”
He begins, calmly.
“Help with what, dear Potter?”
His response was almost instant. Much louder than before, as well, like he had gained energy purely from the words.
‘I’m…I’m going to die here! You wouldn’t want that, would you? For me to die of muggle hands and not yours? I’m starving! They’ll kill me-”
“Slow down.”
The boy was far too panicked for The Dark Lord’s liking. He needed to grasp the situation. Harry Potter, boy-who-lived, dying by starvation, by muggles no less? Despicable. This cannot occur.
“Tell me where you are, whom you reside with, and your current situation, Potter, and I will see what I am available to do.”
“...seriously?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, you contacted me knowing I would be indignant knowing my enemy is dying via muggle means and you believe me with no pride to assist?”
There was a pause. He could feel the relief from the connection.
“I’m at 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. I’m with my aunt Petunia, my uncle Vernon, and my cousin Dudley. I’m…starving, uhm, inside a cupboard. My leg, and my ribs…and my nose are broken. I can barely breathe.”
Interesting. A muggle neighborhood and rather muggle names. Along with what seems like abuse. This does not line up with the information given to him by Severus. It shall be rectified soon.
“I will be over shortly. Shall I slaughter the muggles when I reach-”
“NO!”
The child sounded desperate, pleading.
“Please don’t. They’re cruel but they…they don’t deserve that.”
“Ever so generous. Remain in wait.”
And with a pop, Voldemort began his journey to Privet Drive.