Harry screamed and sobbed as his Uncle whipped his back with the thick leather belt. He hadn’t meant to do something wrong again. Why wouldn’t Dumbledore let him stay at Hogwarts or somewhere else? Why did it have to be this hellhole? His heart hurt from the loss of Sirius. He didn’t want to be here anymore. Sometimes he wished he had just died with him. Lash after lash rained down on him and he screamed until he couldn’t anymore.
“Why do you let them beat you like this? Your more powerful.”
“They're my only family… Where would I go?”
“Come to me. You know I would help you.”
“You're not real.”
The voice soothed his mind and he felt the pain ease into a gentle hum. “I am as real as you are. Why won’t you let me help you?”
“No, I don't want you to hurt anyone again!”
The voice grumbled softly and faded into the back of his mind. So lost in the conversation he didn’t even register that his uncle had finally stopped. The slamming of the door jarring him out of his thoughts. “Tom?”
“Shhh. I am still here. I will not leave you.”
Harry curled up into a tight ball and held himself. He knew what the voice was. It had started out small in the back of his mind. His imaginary friend growing up. He couldn’t always see him, but he could occasionally. His friend was tall and beautiful, with soft black hair that fell in curls to his chin. Bright red eyes and a smile that could charm the devil. It wasn’t until he was at Hogwarts in his second year did he realize exactly who the voice in his mind was. His imaginary friend was Voldemort. Tom Riddle. He didn’t know why his brain had decided to create an imaginary friend in the image of his enemy. The voice had gotten stronger and younger after he had destroyed the diary. Going from a man in his late thirties to a handsome one in his early twenties. It was like the Tom from the diary and the one in his head had fused.
He had tried desperately to get rid of the voice or ignore it after he had found out but by the time he was fourteen he depended on that voice just to survive. He had helped him find the books and spells he needed for the tournament. Had helped him live in the maze, and even more so… helped him live in the Graveyard. The voice in his mind had been repulsed by what he had seen himself turn into. Claiming that he would never want to do such a disgusting thing. Harry shook as he coughed, he could taste blood on his tongue.
“Harry, Little one… it is not safe here anymore. Please. Let me help.”
Harry sobbed and begged him softly, “You can’t kill anyone.”
“I won’t, I will only cast a spell to take you to a safe place.”
“Promise.”
The voice in his mind sighed softly, “I swear it Harry. Now please. Close your eyes and open your mind.”
Harry coughed and closed his eyes, trying to open his mind to the cold presence in the back of his mind. Trying not to lose consciousness. He still felt like he was drifting in that numbing cold. He couldn’t feel his back anymore… or his fingers. The cold trickled into his mind further until black spots peppered his vision and he felt his mouth open to speak. The voice was his but the words and motions were controlled by the voice in his mind. His longest friend.
“Ad salutem celeriter tolle”
The cold overtook him, tearing into his heart as the magic drained from him fast and strong. Harry cried out as the darkness overtook the last of his vision and the world spun around him into the black.
----
Slowly Harry came to, The pain was back but it was dulled to the point that he could handle such things. His eyes opened to swathes of red and black fabrics. Draped from wooden slats in the ceiling. He could vaguely hear birds outside, water bubbling, and other wildlife that he rarely heard. He tried to move but found himself unable to.
“Ah, you're awake. That is good. Careful now, you had a rather nasty occurrence.” The voice was kind and gentle as the voice’s owner helped ease him up onto soft pillows.
Harry looked to the one that talked and gasped lightly. The man, was he a man? It was hard to tell. He was beautiful. Long black hair fell like a waterfall along his slim muscled frame. Pale skin and eyes the color of silver. Everything about him spoke of something otherworldly. “Where am I?”
“You are in Zhan Zu. A small kingdom in the north. This is my temple.”
“Your temple?”
“Yes. What is your name?”
Harry was about to speak when silver butterflies began to float about the room. A gust of wind from the window stirring them up as they alighted from hidden resting places in the swathes of fabric, “Oh, um. Harry.”
The man smiled and tilted his head, “Harry. That is a lovely name. I am Lau Zu. Welcome to the Temple of Silver Beginnings.”