Chapter 1
Evil things should not be beautiful, Harry thinks angrily, as he dodges several brightly coloured jets of light. Gold, purple, navy all dance around him as he dodges and returns red, silver, and light blue in turn.
Then Harry sees Voldemort’s ugly mug, and all is right in the world once more.
“I don’t see why you are smiling at me, Harry Potter,” Voldemort frowns.
“It’s because you’re ugly,” Harry replies, and perhaps that was not the best thing to say to an already incensed dark lord, because Voldemort is chasing him now. Harry makes like the road runner and with a quiet “meep!” begins to run, leading Voldemort on a merry chase around the Department of Mysteries.
They duel through the Division of Love Magic, then Soul Magic, and it is in the Division of Temporal Magic that Harry knocks into an aggressively violet potion in a cauldron. Potion contents stream down his hair, neck, and back, soaking him. It feels cold, and wet, and Harry feels distinctly off-kilter, as though he has a middle ear infection, and falls to his hands and knees. Of course potions would be his undoing. Snape will probably throw a party.
Luckily, Harry passes out then, with no more Snape-ish nightmares to plague him.
***
Voldemort races to the site of the potions carnage, eager to see Harry Potter felled, and instead, stops to stare.
“Rodolphus,” Voldemort says, not taking his eyes off of the boy on the floor, “do you know why I love magic?”
Rodolphus, who had caught up with his lord, looks equally surprised by the scene. “No, my lord,” he replies.
Voldemort smiles at the now very tiny, six year old Harry Potter on the floor. “Because it’s such fun.”
***
Voldemort does not get the prophecy that night, but he does get a tiny, sleepy, Harry Potter, dozing with his head against the dark lord’s shoulder while Voldemort displays his prize to Dumbledore and his precious Order, taunting them.
“Look at your failure, Dumbledore!” Voldemort crows. “Look upon my prize, and- eck!” His victory speech is cut short, because Sirius Black has thrown himself at them, and quite nearly got Voldemort with a skin-stripper curse. Honestly, that spell shouldn’t be allowed, Voldemort thinks, as he duels the madman.
“Harry! No!” a bushy haired girl cries, and she too starts throwing spells at Voldemort, and why are there literal children fighting him? This is ridiculous. Then an alarmingly ginger boy throws a literal brain at Voldemort, and he simply can’t take it anymore, this is just beyond the pale.
Voldemort releases a powerful shockwave that knocks everyone back, and he flings himself into the Ministry floo, disappearing with his prize.
***
“He’s still sleeping,” Rodolphus Lestrange observes the sleeping Harry Potter. “Do children usually sleep so much?”
“I think it is due to the effects of the potion,” Voldemort grumbled, picking remnants of brain matter off of his robes. Ugh. “He will wake soon, and when he does-“ Voldemort stops. What will he do?
While the dark lord ponders appropriately dark thoughts, Harry Potter sleeps on.
***
When Harry wakes, it is to the sight of a beautiful woman. He startles, and the woman jumps as well. She then looks at him carefully, as though he will explode, or worse yet, cry.
When he does neither, she reaches towards him, her movements deliberately slow. “Hello,” she says softly. “Hello there.”
Harry just blinks. The woman is nice, and while he doesn’t know exactly where he is, or who she is, she is being nice to him, which is enough of a rarity that Harry smiles feebly back. “H- hello.”
The woman looks shocked for a second, before plastering the smile back onto her face. “Mr. Potter,” she says gently, “do you know where you are?” When Harry shakes his head, she goes on. “You are at Malfoy Manor,” she says, looking for any recognition in his eyes. “You were hurt, and fell down. We brought you here.” She sees neither horror nor understanding, and rises gracefully.
“I am going to fetch someone to see you,” she says softly. “They were waiting for you to wake.”
Harry looks resignedly back at her, and it is a jarring expression to see on a child. “Is it my aunt and uncle?” he asks quietly. “Are they very cross?”
Narcissa swallows, understanding. “No. No, it is not they. It is someone else.” She finds that she is unable to look at the thin, pained child any longer, and leaves. She dares not think what will become of him once the dark lord arrives.
***
“He has awoken, then?”
The dark lord is pleased, Narcissa can feel it. He is probably plotting various tortures to inflict upon the boy.
“He is, my lord,” she says, and quickly adds, “He spoke, and knows not of where he is, and who we are. He has regressed fully, my lord,” she says, and hopes that it is enough.
Voldemort is suitably stymied, but does not speak his thoughts. Instead, he bids Narcissa to leave, his mind racing. Fate has thrown a curveball at him, and this has caused a rare opportunity to come his way. Far be it for Voldemort to not grab kairos as it passes by.
Making up his mind, Voldemort draws his wand, and conjures a mirror.
***
It gives Voldemort great joy to see Rodolphus Lestrange trip over his own feet when He stalks past the man.
It’s amazing the effect a nose and some hair will have on people.
***
“Harry Potter.”
Harry looks over at the tall man by the door in trepidation. The man is, in Harry’s six year old mind, very pretty, with dark hair, burning eyes, and a very straight nose. He is very, very pale, a bit like Dracula.
“H- hello,” Harry says quietly. He doesn't know how the man knows him. Perhaps he is a doctor?
The man stalks forward, all fluid grace. He stares at Harry, with eyes that Harry can now tell are very, very red. Perhaps he is Dracula after all.
“Do you know who I am, Harry Potter?” the man asks, and is surprised when Harry nods.
“Yes,” Harry says, his voice sure. “You’re Dracula.”
That was definitely not what Voldemort was expecting to hear. For a moment, he is taken aback. “I am not he,” Voldemort says instead. “Dracula was the ancestor of all vampires, and he has been dead for a while now. He was killed by a wizard, you know. Van Helsing.”
Harry frowns. To anyone else, it would be adorable. “Magic isn’t real,” he says, making Voldemort’s bowel twist angrily. “Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon say so. They say that when I do weird things, it’s because I’m just a freak.”
Voldemort makes a note to murder the aforementioned muggles. He must remember to pencil in a reminder in his calendar. In response, Voldemort reveals his wand, and conjures a series of tiny sparrows that flutter around Harry’s head before disappearing in a sparkle of glitter.
Harry looks genuinely astounded and awed, of the smile is anything to go by. It makes Voldemort slightly envious, recalling his own first introduction to magic, which involved a burning wardrobe.
Ah. He must also remember to curse Albus Dumbledore when he has time.
“You have magic as well,” Voldemort tells the boy. “You are a wizard, Harry.”
Harry goggles rather sweetly, amplifying his bug-eyes behind his glasses. “No I’m not. I’m just Harry.”
“You are both a wizard and a Harry,” Voldemort replies, eliciting a giggle from the boy. On a whim, the dark lord then holds his wand out. “Here, give it a swish. I give you permission.”
Harry looks uncertain, but does as he is bid. He squeals as a small snake shoots out of the end, landing on the blankets, wriggling frantically.
Voldemort sighs at the small grass snake, nothing so majestic as his own Nagini, but definitely just as dramatic. Voldemort wandlessly banishes the snake to return from whence it came, and looks at Harry, who is now looking slightly worried.
“Will the snake be alright?” Harry asks quietly. “It was very scared.”
Voldemort blinks. Of course, the boy is a fellow parselmouth. “It will be fine. Snakes are, as a species, dramatic. My own snake routinely declares that she will ‘simply perish from hunger’ if I don’t give her at least five mice for breakfast.”
Harry giggles, a not altogether unpleasant sound. “I didn’t know that talking to snakes was magic,” he divulges. “I hear them all the time - they’re all over the park near the Dursley’s house. I just thought that I was hearing other people, because Aunt Petunia-“
“Pray do not speak of that odious woman,” Voldemort says sternly. “Aunt Petunia indeed. Wretched, awful muggle-“
“What’s a muggle?”
“A non-magical person,” Voldemort says. “They are cruel, and filthy. They fear what they don’t know, and they persecute - hurt - wizards. We are hidden from them, living our lives as dirty secrets,” he spits, noting the child’s eyes widen. “We are superior, though, Harry,” Voldemort says lowly, “you must know that. We have powers beyond their wildest dreams, and they would use us, and hurt us.”
Harry blinks rapidly, processing the information. It was true of the Dursleys - cruel, mean people who belittled Harry at every turn. There are others though, like the postman, and the cashier lady at the Tesco’s who always slips Harry a sweet when Aunt Petunia dragged him along to carry the groceries. Mrs. Mills, his kindergarten teacher, had also been nice to him, allowing him to stay behind during recess to draw and avoid Dudley in the yard.
“Not everyone is mean,” Harry says with the certainty of a child. “Mrs. Mills was my teacher and she was always nice, and didn’t make me go out with Dudley. And Miss Clara from Tesco’s always gives me a toffee when Aunt Petunia makes me carry the bags, and Mister Adebayo the postman always says hello to me. So not everyone is bad,” Harry reasons. “But the Dursleys were mean to me, and they told the Polkisses to be mean to me too. And Aunt Marge is awful, she’s the worst.”
Voldemort quietly files all the names of the ‘awful’ people away for extermination down the line. It appeared that the Dursley clan would be going extinct very soon.
What a shame.
“You are a small and innocent child,” Voldemort says slowly, so as not to upset Harry. After all, there was a bigger plan afoot. “You will see the wisdom of my words as you grow. Today has been a long day, you should sleep. I shall see you tomorrow.”
“Alright,” Harry nods. “Goodnight, er, sir.”
Voldemort stops at the address, and then nods in return. “Sleep well, child.”
***
The next morning started with a tizzy when Harry was not found in bed. This launched a manhunt through the manor, until Anthus Carrow found him asleep in the cupboard, with a pillow and a blanket.
When asked why he was in the cupboard, Harry replied that the vampire-man told him to go to sleep, and he always sleeps in the cupboard.
Voldemort is perfectly calm when he tells Harry that the room he woke up in was his own, and that he shall never again sleep in a cupboard. When Harry smiles at him, it makes Voldemort want to punch something very, very hard.
***
Voldemort really underestimated the effect of having a nose and a full head of hair again.
This is highlighted when Jonaquin Avery pinches his bum from behind, calls him ‘doll’, and tells him something lewd about a unicorn horn. He subsequently dissolves in a puddle of horror and shame when Voldemort yells at him for engaging in cad-like behaviour with his lord, you are lucky I don’t crucio you on the spot.
***
It gives Voldemort great joy to have the usually unflappable Severus Snape walk past, do a double take, and walk into a wall when he sees the now banging dark lord.
It’s even better when Harry waddles past, small and sweet, and Severus chokes on a scone.
***
Voldemort is a bit glad that Bellatrix is dead. He doesn’t fancy thinking about what form her obsession would take now that he has regrown his nose and hair.
She was a bit too loud for his tastes anyway, and Rodolphus is happy to have the bed to himself, so all’s well that ends well.
***
The dark lord is very surprised to walk into the kitchen at six in the morning and finds Harry making an omelette. This is made even more surreal by the fact that he is standing on a footstool to reach the stove. The house elves are in a tizzy, and are practically begging Voldemort to do something.
And to think that all he wanted was a cup of tea.
“Harry, what are you doing?” Voldemort asks quietly, so as not to startle the child. Harry jumps nonetheless, and looks around to the dark lord.
“I- I was making breakfast. I always have to make breakfast, and I have to help with dinner,” the boy explains.
Time to expedite the Dursley Extinction. “Child.” Voldemort swallows his anger, and instead of going on, lifts Harry off of the stool and takes the spatula from him. The house elves cheer.
“Sir?” Harry asks softly. “Did- did you not like my eggs?”
Voldemort looks at the admittedly fine omelette in the pan, and flips it himself, before adding some cheese and transferring it to a plate.
Several house elves faint.
As Voldemort eats the omelette, he contemplates the boy before him. “You will not,” the dark lord decides, “cook. That is not to say that the omelette is not good, but it is not necessary. See how the house elves cry when you interfere with their work? Neither will you sleep in the cupboard. It is unseemly.”
Harry nods along to all of these points. “Yessir.”
“You will instead invest yourself in your education by learning your letters and by doing maths.”
“I can read, sir,” Harry said, surprising Voldemort. “And I can do sums as well. I went to school. I got a B in language and an A- in maths. Aunt Petunia wasn’t happy that I scored higher than Dudley.”
“What,” Voldemort says, “is a Dudley?”
“My cousin. He’s big, and mean, and all pink, like an evil balloon.” Then, “Are you my papa?”
Voldemort chokes as a bit of egg goes down the wrong way. It takes several minutes for him to recover while Harry patiently waits. “What- why would you ask me that?”
Harry looks contemplatively up at him. “Dunno. Only, we kind of have the same hair, and you’re being nice to me. So I thought that you rescued me from the Dursleys and now we are going to live together and do magic.”
“I must sit,” Voldemort says, and conjures an armchair in the middle of the kitchen, alarming several elves at the change of decor. After several minutes, he speaks again. “I am not your father. Your parents passed away when you were a babe.”
“Oh,” Harry mutters. “So Aunt Petunia was right about the car crash.”
Voldemort cannot take much more absurdity this day. “Car crash, egads. Your parents were soldiers - active combatants in a war. They died protecting you, if that is any solace.”
Harry blinks, then blinks again. He looks around, before shakily asking, “Can I sit too?”
A more affectionate man would have taken the child into his lap and held him close. As it is, Voldemort just conjures another, tinier armchair for Harry to collapse into. “Take your time,” the dark lord offers. “Gather your thoughts, and then ask your questions.”
Harry does so, and after a while asks, “If you’re not my papa, then who are you?”
The thought of finally being able to execute his grand plan that he cooked up just last night makes Voldemort tingle with glee. Ah, but what an opportunity he has! “I,” Voldemort says archly, “am your Master. I rescued you, and have decided you take you under my wing. I shall train you in the magical arts, and when the time comes, you shall be by my side to enact my plans.”
Voldemort’s stomach jiggles with pleasure at the thought of the shockwaves that will rock the wizarding world when he emerges with Harry Potter by his side, as his own. He cannot wait to see Dumbledore’s oblong face drop in dismay and horror.
Harry seems to make peace with this very quickly. Goodness, but he is a very adaptable child. “You’re my teacher, then,” he says, then smiles. “You’re a very nice teacher, sir, like Mrs. Mills.”
Perhaps when he takes over the world, he will spare this Mrs. Mills, Voldemort thinks. After all, the future is rife with possibilities.