His secret ward

1993

 Harry always dreaded his birthday. It was the one day of the year he was forced to watch as his legal guardian murder his only friend in cold blood. Harry would always spend the weeks following his birthday giving Tom the cold shoulder. Then Tom would get him a new friend elf to which Harry always told himself he would treat the way everyone he knew treated house-elves, but he always gave in to his instincts. Tom always called him soft.

 His thirteenth birthday was by far the worst one yet.

 Since he had two years of experience with a wand and was now officially a teenager, his guardian thought it would be fit to have Harry perform the ‘birthday tradition’ himself instead of just watching.

 He hadn’t mourned this hard since his eighth birthday when Tom first introduced Harry to this cruel birthday tradition.

 Harry wished his guardian would apply this to Harry’s tutors instead. He actually wouldn’t mind it if Tom had Snape killed. Tom had done it before, kill Harry’s tutor, that is. When Tom first hired Delores Umbridge as Harry’s first private tutor, she’d disappeared the moment Tom found out about her using a blood quill to punish Harry.

 Not that Tom murdered her because of her poor teaching methods, mind you, Harry knew Tom only got rid of her because he didn’t stomach the thought of anyone else punishing Harry except for himself. The wanker.

 When Umbridge mysteriously disappeared after only six months of tutoring an eleven-year-old Harry, Tom decided that he’d assign one of his most trusted followers to be Harry’s private tutor. That was how, for the last couple of years, Harry ended us with Severus Snape as his private tutor.

 “Why can’t I just go to a normal magical school?” He’d whine. “It’s not fair that I’m homeschooled while others my age get to attend school!”

 “Do not compare yourself with your lesser, child.” Tom would chastise without so much as lifting his head from the papers to address Harry. “And being homeschooled isn’t that unheard of. Now go play with your broom. Shoo.”

 Harry had no one to play quidditch with, so he was used to playing solo. He once tried making human friends with some of the Death Eaters’ kids, but they would avoid him. Harry didn’t know why and thought that it was because there was something wrong with him, that maybe his aunt had been right all along, and he was so much of a freak for other kids to want to play with him.

 But as Harry grew older in Tom’s care, he found out that it had nothing to do with him at all. The others always seemed too afraid to speak to Harry. And whenever he’d attempt a friendly conversation with one of them at parties, they would excuse themselves from the party, pretending they didn’t feel well to get away from Harry. Tom definitely had something to do with it.

 Harry discovered, however, that the only sort of friends Tom didn’t mind Harry having were the snake kind.

 He brought Harry one on his eleventh birthday and let him keep her, so that had probably been the only decent present Tom had ever given him. She was a giant, magical snake with poison that burned like acid. She was to be Harry’s personal companion and protector as Tom said. Harry named her Inigan, much to Tom’s annoyance.

 The reason Tom gave her to him was so she would accompany Harry anywhere he went as a personal bodyguard. Unfortunately, she was too big for Harry to have her on the broom with him, so she couldn’t fly. He tried levitating her once but, well, she didn’t appreciate that. She hated it even more when Harry suggested using a shrinking charm on her.

 Inigan stayed on the ground in an abandoned muggle neighborhood and kept a watchful eye on Harry as he made a beeline for the sky above.

 After flying for what felt like hours, Harry decided to invade the Death Eaters’ secret headquarters and spent whatever was left of his free time to stroll the hallways there while playing with his golden snitch, Inigan tailed him and hissed at the Death Eaters if they so much as looked at Harry. But he paid them no mind. His only focus was on catching the snitch before releasing it to chase after it again, indoors.

 He bumped into someone when he turned a corner where the snitch went zigzagging through. “Sorry!” He shouted without bothering to see who it had been. He ran as fast as he could to make the perfect power jump, inclosing his fingers around the golden snitch high in the air. “Gotcha!”

 He grinned down at the little wings flapping between his fingers. His lesson with Snape was about to start in five minutes, so he had to hurry if he didn’t want to get rebuked by Snape for his ‘excessive tardiness’.

 A growl near Harry’s ear made him jump in surprise. He turned and saw whomever it was he must’ve bumped into earlier. Harry wouldn’t say this out loud, but he rather thought that person looked more like a predator than human as he bared his unusually sharp teeth down at Harry.

 He leaped backward and accidentally let go of his snitch in the process. He searched around for Inigan but couldn’t find her. He figured he must’ve gone too fast for her to catch up because she no longer was with him.

 “Easy, Greyback. This one’s off limits.” Said a bored voice.

 The unsettling man growled in frustration, surveying Harry with a hungry look that made the thirteen-year-old feel uneasy. “Hmm forbidden treat. If that doesn’t make it more tempting, I don’t know what’ll do it.” Greyback said in a deep voice that seemed to rumble from the pit of his stomach. He smiled sharply at Harry and took a step toward him.

 Harry knew he had no reason to fear for himself. Tom wouldn’t let any harm come toward him (unless it came from Tom himself), so Harry knew that the infamous werewolf leader was only trying to scare him. That was why Harry stood his ground and glared at the disgusting child molester before Inigan finally showed up. She attempted to bite Greyback’s face off, but Harry asked her not to.

 “It’s okay, girl. I’m okay.”

 She made a nasty hiss at Fenrir Greyback’s face instead, drops of acid burning the floor between her and Greyback as the poison dripped from her impressive set of fangs.

 Despite being Harry’s friend, it was Inigan’s duty to report to Tom of Harry’s mishaps or whatever, and the last thing Harry needed was for his guardian to get involved. If Tom did something to Greyback because of Harry, the other Death Eaters would think he was spoilt and needed daddy to his rescue at every little inconvenience (it happened once before with Umbridge). Harry was nothing if not brave enough to stand up for himself, thank you very much.

 Greyback sneered down at Harry one last time before going on with his way.

 This was the first time Harry interacted with a werewolf since the Durmstrang incident years ago. The now dead werewolf that the blinded man had called Remus seemed far too nice to be a werewolf. When Harry helped him and Giddy out of their cell, Remus was always checking if Harry was doing well. Asking if he was okay when it should be the other way around. Harry could never forget how earnest he sounded. How unlike Fenrir Greyback he was despite being of the same species. Harry thought that maybe it was Fenrir Greyback who gave the werewolves a bad reputation. Then again, Remus couldn’t have been all that good if he had been imprisoned for trying to kill Harry’s only family.

 “You’re late.” Snape greeted unpleasantly.

 “Sorry, ran into a werewolf.” Also spent the fifteen minutes after searching the headquarters for his missing snitch, but Snape didn’t need to know about that. Not when this was the fifth time Harry was late for his Transfiguration lesson. It wasn’t his fault Snape chose to teach the subject this late in the afternoon! The hooked nosed wizard always made sure to start with Potions and end with Transfiguration. The other subjects would get mixed up somewhere in the middle.

 Snape made several insults to Harry’s birth father and how much he resembled the dead man before finally starting the lesson. Harry thought Snape wasted more time complaining about his dad than Harry did before arriving, but as always, he held his tongue. Tom always said he had to behave himself around everyone.

 He wondered if Tom would get rid of Snape if Harry pretended to like him, but that would be as affective as Harry pretending to hate the house-elves. It wasn’t like whatever act he tried could make Tom apply the birthday rule to the right person, because Tom always read Harry’s mind whenever he thought Harry was faking. It’s his bloody favorite thing!

 It didn’t matter if Harry didn’t want him to. It didn’t matter how much he complained or cried for wanting to have privacy of his own thoughts. Tom was bloody possessive! He said it was his right as his guardian to have control over every aspect of Harry’s life to ‘nurture’ him.

 Harry sometimes wanted to join the Resistance just to spite him.

 Of course, Tom had known about that little wish since Harry thought about it. Tom hit him with a tickling spell for three minutes straight as punishment—which okay, didn’t sound bad at all if someone was to compare that to one of Tom’s real punishments. But it still sucked that Harry’s thoughts weren’t sacred enough for him to not to have to share them.

 Harry tried teaching himself Occlumency once, which had been a spectacular failure—it’s too hard! But after all the rubbish Tom put him through, Harry still loved him. That’s the problem.

Voldemort was not having a good week.

The Resistance were expanding their ranks. It didn’t matter how many members his Death Eaters killed, they multiply like moths!

 Just four days ago, Voldemort had launched an attack on the Resistance secret base, sending forty-seven of his Death Eaters to kill every last one of the rebels there. But just because he eliminated the source, it did not mean that the danger was over. With every ten fallen rebels, fifteen others would rise after them in a couple of years, and another base would be formed by one Regulus Arcturus Black.

 The only heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black had been a thorn in Voldemort’s side for years. He slowed down many of Voldemort’s operations. Voldemort wanted—no, he needed him gone. Especially now that Black had stolen Slytherin’s locket.

 How?!

 How had Black managed to steal the locket and not be drowned by at least one Inferius?

 The proof was in the letter Voldemort had found in the place where his horcrux had once been.

To the Dark Lord

Nice try with the Inferi!

I will admit it has taken me months to figure out how to work around the trick you did with the dementor’s venom. Very complicated piece of magic, and difficult to cheat, but cheat I did.

You should know by now that it was I who discovered your secret. It was I who stole your horcrux, and it shall already be destroyed by the time you read this. I can only wish to have one of those muggle security cameras installed in the cave to see the look on your face!

—R. A. B.

 Voldemort was fuming. His secret had been discovered, and there was no telling how long it would take for Regulus Black to figure out there was more than one horcrux.

 Voldemort needed to take extra precautions—no, he needed to curse someone.

 No, no, no—what he needed to do was calm down, lest he started acting rashly.

 He still had four non-sentient horcruxes safely hidden, and his boy. . . who was slowly starting to show signs of rebellion.

 Voldemort knew that it was natural for children of Harry’s age to want to act out. The boy might feel the desire to do something unsavory like running away if he didn’t like what Voldemort said or did. It was an exhausting stage of a child’s development. Exhausting for Voldemort.

 He knew better than to try enforcing more rules. The stricter he was, the more likely Harry would do something stupid and make his existence known to the Resistance.

 What Voldemort needed to do was train Harry harder than he already was. Teach him the Unforgivable curses. Voldemort would’ve preferred to do that when Harry was at least fifteen, but with the way Black was moving against the Dark lord, he had to take desperate precautions.

 This was how lord Voldemort ended up interrupting his ward’s lesson with Severus Snape. He dismissed Severus and stood in his place in front of Harry’s desk.

 Harry stared up at him puzzledly. Voldemort hadn’t realized how comforting it was to see his unethical horcrux safe and sound. It helped calm his nerves and he no longer felt like torturing someone.

 “The time has come for me to teach you, child.”

 “What? You mean more wandless magic lessons?” Harry asked hopefully.

 Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him. “No. Proper magic.”

 Harry frowned. “You mean dark magic? I don’t want—”

 Voldemort waved a hand, wandlessly silencing the boy.

 Harry huffed crossly.

 “I need you to be prepared to hold on your own in case a situation calls for it.” Voldemort said, pacing.

 Harry’s mind asked: Can’t I just use normal spell for that?

 “You could. However, I’d much prefer you not only resorting to use them for the lack of better options.” He stopped his pacing when an idea struck him. “Come, we’re going to visit the cells.”

 He cancelled the silencing spell for Harry to speak.

 “W-why?” The boy sounded nervous. Voldemort had a feeling he knew why that was.

 The boy taught himself about Riddikulus way before he acquired his Holly wand at eleven. It was even the first spell Harry learned to cast. And thanks to Voldemort’s insistence to practice wandless magic as frequently as Harry could. Harry’s sheer determination was enough to make him learn how to wandlessly cast Riddikulus at the prime age of twelve.

 Voldemort couldn’t have been prouder at the time.

 Then the boy ruined the moment by pulling stunts similar to what he’d done in Durmstrang. Ruining Voldemort’s plans before they even started, just because the boy thought he was ‘doing the right thing’ by breaking out dangerous rebels from their cells.

 Voldemort didn’t understand why Harry was becoming a brat all of a sudden (what happened to the innocent boy that listened to him at all times?) Later it occurred to him that Harry was doing these things because he no longer feared the consequences. The boggart Voldemort used as punishment no longer had the desired effect on his ward.

 That’s fine. He’ll think of a much more sever replacement later.

 Voldemort smiled cruelly. “To practice, of course.”

 He grabbed his ward’s shoulder in a bone crushing grip before disapparating.

After the little chat he’d had with Horace Slughorn, Regulus felt utterly defeated.

 Seven times.

 Nothing was confirmed though, it was just a possibility, but Regulus honestly wouldn’t put it past the Dark lord to do something so amoral as much as it was vile.

 Fuck. He pulled his hair, frustrated with himself.

 He should’ve spoken to Horace before going to the cave, then he wouldn’t have foolishly (pettily) put a fucking note telling Voldemort exactly what had been done.

 The mad man would probably be extra careful with the rest of his horcruxes! And Regulus had already worn himself out from having to deal with just one.

 He had to consider the worst-case scenario. That there was more than one horcrux left for him to track.

1994

 On Halloween 1993, Regulus had thought on a whim that because the locket had been an ancient artifact that belonged to one of Hogwarts’ founders, then maybe—just maybe. . .

 Nymphadora and Gideon’s eldest nephews seemed to have rubbed off on some of the students before graduating. A Hufflepuff named Cedric Diggory was told of what Regulus was searching for and found Ravenclaw’s diadem at Hogwarts. When Diggory’s son snuck out the diadem to give him, Regulus could feel the aura of dark magic almost immediately.

 The Weasley Twins and their younger brother helped bring Gryffindor’s sword to Regulus. Despite it not being a horcrux, the sword ironically was repellent to dark magic. What were the chances!

 Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom would’ve been the same age as Weasley Number Six. Regulus had thought nostalgically when the three brothers brought him the sword. He didn't even want to think how the Weasley Twins reminded him of Molly's once inseparable brothers, now forever separated.

 The diadem proved Regulus’ theory about Voldemort using the founders’ artifacts. Unfortunately, not all of them could be found in Hogwarts.

 But weeks after, Regulus was able to get his hands on the cup from his cousin’s vault and the diary from his other cousin’s manor. It hadn’t been easy, but with the reluctant assistance of Severus Snape, Regulus was able to obtain both Helga Hufflepuff’s cup and the diary of. . . Tom Marvolo Riddle?

 The wanker isn’t even a pure-blood, such hypocrisy!

 With that, Regulus successfully destroyed four horcruxes in the span of two months. Since new year, he was stuck with no new leads, or a purpose other than the occasional rescue missions.

 Until he ran into an old friend.

 “Reggie?”

 “B-Barty?! What the f—how did you find me?”

 “I have my ways” Bartemius Crouch Jr leered at Regulus. “Dark lord’s been getting really mad lately.”

 “He is mad.”

 The corner of Barty’s mouth twitched as the tip of his tongue threatened to flicker in and out. A nervous tick Regulus had known he’d had since they were naïve first years boarding the train together. “You don’t understand. Whatever it is you’ve been doing the past couple of months is really getting to him. But he’s been taking out all his frustration on us now that his ward isn’t around to distract him. . .”

 His ward.

“Who?” He cut Barty off.

 “What?”

 “His secret ward, who is he?”

 Barty stared at Regulus like he was a mad man. “You know. The one that broke your friend out of Durmstrang in 89? I thought you already knew about him?”

 The boy had been really young as far as Regulus could remember. He had been mostly hidden on the side which Gideon had been leaning on.

 “Wai—you didn’t know?” Barty’s eyes widened when Regulus didn’t answer, terrified. Regulus guessed it was because information about Voldemort’s ward was confidential.

 “I know what relation he has to the Dark lord.” Regulus said quickly. “I just—was I supposed to know him?”

 Barty’s eyebrows knitted together in deep thought, tongue unconsciously flickering to the side. “I mean, it’s difficult not to know who he is. The scar aside, he really looks the spiffing image of his father.”

 Regulus became very still. “Who are you talking about, Crouch?” He said slowly, letting each syllable slide out leisurely.

 Barty gave Regulus a look that told him that he was very dumb. It was the Ravenclaw Effect, as they used to call it when they were young. “Who else am I talking about, Black? It’s Potter.”

 His mind came to a halt. “It can’t be. He. . . he killed all the remaining Potters. Every last one of them.”

 Barty sighed tiredly. “Listen, before I leave you to process. . . all that. I need to tell you to stop doing whatever is pissing off the Dark lord so much, alright? It’s for your own good. You’ve no idea how big of a target you’ve got on your back.”

 Regulus narrowed his eyes until they were but slits of dark grey. “Why are you here?”

 “To warn you.”

 “Why don’t you just touch your Mark and call him? I’m sure he’ll have a special reward if I’m that much of a bother to him! Go on, do it!”

 “Believe it or not, I went through the trouble of finding you as a friend, which you need to listen to. If the Dark captures you, and he will, I don’t even want to imagine what’ll happen to you.”

 Barty disapparate, not letting Regulus have the last word.

 Regulus feelings about Barty were. . . complicated. He was no longer the boy who Regulus attended Hogwarts with. That man had been one of the Death Eaters who tortured the husband of Alice Longbottom into insanity.

 And now he had just delivered the news that her late friend’s son was allegedly adopted by the darkest wizard of all time.

 Harry Potter is alive. The Boy Who Lived still held on to his title.

 Barty said Harry had run away, which meant the kid could be anywhere.

 Harry Potter, Sirius’ godson. The one Sirius literally wouldn’t shut up about before 1981. Harry, Regulus thought, was the only thing left of his old life. Even though he hadn’t been as close to the Potters as Sirius was. Even though he and Harry never actually met. But the Potter boy was his brother’s godson.

 Kid’s so damn pure. Should’ve taken him with us. Gedion’s voice echoed inside Regulus’ mind.

 We will. He thought resolutely. Forget about the bleeding horcruxes. Regulus found himself a new purpose!

Harry loved wearing muggle cloths. His favorites were jeans with a hoodie. Muggle clothing was so much easier to move around with. But he also loved Wizarding robes to wear above his pajamas to piss off Tom. His muggle pajamas.

 He’d always covered his head with the hood of his jacket whenever he strolled the empty streets of London with Inigan, daydreaming of how the city looked like before Tom killed all the muggles.

 The Magical world was taking over, of course, but the muggle areas were far larger than the magical ones, so there were still deserted spots.

 Harry wanted to visit his parents’ graves at Godrick Hollow again. Tom had taken him there only once and never bothered to do so again. Because Tom described every sentimentality Harry expressed as him being soft. Which was another word for saying that Harry was weak.

 Lately, Tom was trying to teach Harry the Unforgivables—specifically the one that’s blaze matched Harry’s eye color.

 “It’s the fastest way to kill an opponent,” Tom had said as they stood before the captive. “I know it will be easier for you to master than the cruciatus curse. Just think of it this way, child, look at how miserable they look. Don’t they deserve mercy? A way to end their suffering?”

 This was how it had started, and when Harry struggled with the curse, Tom didn’t relent, he pushed Harry even harder.

 And when Harry made the first kill using a blade instead of the killing curse, Tom still wasn’t satisfied.

 “Are you really that soft you can’t even think of a hateful enough thought to conjure the curse, child?”

 “I’m not a child.” Harry had snapped “Stop—calling—me—that—when—you—don’t—treat—me—as—such.”

 He had stormed out of the cell and left Tom.

 Harry didn’t like disappointing Tom, he really didn’t, but he was so upset with his guardian forcing him to do things he knew Harry vehemently despised. Why wouldn’t Tom just let things be?

 Harry found an owl in a tree and called it so it would deliver a piece of parchment to stop his guardian from worrying.

Dear Tom,

I’m okay. Still mad at you, though.

Love, Harry.

 Harry used a shrinking spell to carry Inigan in his pocket despite her protest before hoping onto his Fire Bolt. Harry craved the comfort of a parental figure, and if Tom wasn’t going to provide that, then Harry would seek that comfort elsewhere.

 The graveyards in Godrick Hollow was empty as usual. Except, when Harry got close to his parents' gravestones, he found someone sitting there, peering at Harry.

 “Thought you’d come here.” The man stood up, dusting his cloths.

 Harry took a staggering step back when he realized this was not one of Tom’s Death Eaters—or rather no longer was. Before him stood the only defected Death Eater that survived betraying the Dark lord (that they knew of). Harry’s seen pictures of him in the Daily Prophet. His Wanted posters were all over the place.

 Harry was about to unshrink Inigan, but Regulus Black disarmed him quickly.

 It’s really him. The messy Potter hair, the face structure, the scar—even the eyes! That was James and Lily’s very alive son.

 There were no burning marks on the kid, though, or anything that Regulus could pinpoint and label it as child abuse for that matter. But abuse could rarely be detected from physical appearances alone. Regulus’ own childhood taught him that. He didn’t even want to imagine what Harry must have gone through from being raised by the Dark lord himself.

 Regulus calmly set aside both his and Harry’s wands to show that he means no harm. “Do you know who I am, Harry?”

 The boy nodded. Regulus wasn’t surprised in the slightest; everyone knew who he was.

 “Are you hurt?”

 The boy gave him a skeptical look, shaking his head no.

 Regulus sighed. He wasn’t really expecting Harry to answer truthfully, but he was still hopeful. “Do you visit your parents often?” He attempted a small talk.

 “What do you want from me?” The boy finally spoke. Alright, so skip the small talk.

 Regulus shrugged. To help you, to save you from him. “Answers.” He said instead. “I want to know why the Dark lord haven’t killed you yet, and why is he keeping you alive in his custody.”

 Harry looked genuinely confused. “Why would Tom kill me?”

 Tom.

 Now it was Regulus who was confused. Did he hear him right? Did Harry really just call the darkest wizard of their age by his given (muggle) name?

 Could it be that Harry’s on Voldemort’s side willingly?

 Regulus shook the unsettling thought away. Harry was still a kid. No matter what affect Voldemort had on him, Harry still had room for more growth. If Regulus could switch sides as late in life as he did, then surely Harry could too the same earlier.

 “Because of the prophecy, of course.” He answered Harry.

 The boy nodded. Regulus recognized the movement as something he did often as a kid, pretending to understand to appear more knowledgeable than he was.

 The kid doesn’t know anything.

 “Before you were born, a prophecy theorized a weapon that could help bring down the Dark lord. The Chosen One, as the prophecy claimed, would be born in the end of July in 1980.” Regulus explained. He’d known about the prophecy fourteen years ago since he had been in the meeting when Snape told Voldemort about it. “It was what made You-Know-Who target your family since before you were born.”

 “Who?” Harry said, intrigued.

 “What?”

 “I don’t know who!” The boy exasperated. “Are you talking about the one that murdered my parents and gave me the scar?”

 Regulus gaped at him.

 He doesn’t know shit!

 Of course the Dark lord wouldn’t have told Harry the truth, but that did not make Regulus any less disgusted by the tyrant’s actions. What kind of  monster kills people and steal their children to make them his own? Or better yet, how isolated had the boy been all these years to not know simple facts?!

 “Harry,” Regulus took cautious steps toward the Potter boy to which he matched Regulus by taking a step back. He sighed, throwing both wands at Harry’s feet to give him a sense of security. “There, if it’ll make you feel better. I only need you to lend me an ear—”

 Harry picked up the wands and used his own to—woah, that’s one angry snake.

 Harry held his hand in front of the giant white snake with the red patterns to prevent it from going at Regulus.

 “Er, don’t mind her feistiness, she’s just very protective of me.” Harry said while giving Regulus an apologetic look.

 “Right.” Regulus gulped, eyeing the clearly toxic poison dripping across the majestic fangs. He wished he hadn’t thrown away his wand. Now, Regulus could only rely on the boy’s kindness to not have the snake attack him. He cleared his throat. “You may need to sit down for what I'm about to tell you.”

Dear Tom,

Go fuck yourself.

Love, Harry

 Voldemort stared at Harry’s messy scrawl as he fiddled with the Guant ring on his finger. Why is he still cross at me?

 Harry knew that if he stopped writing to him, Voldemort would immediately apparate to the boy’s location using the trace, which was why Voldemort had been getting two to five letters a day from his ward to know that he was alright since running away.

 He could always bring Harry back using the trace he’d put on the boy for the sake of giving him a little independency, but it was crucial for children of Harry’s age to know their parental figures trusted them enough to make their own choices. Voldemort wasn’t happy with Harry’s long departure, but he needed to put a little more faith in his boy. And Harry needed to cool down a bit more, it seemed.

 He’ll be back.