Harry sat on a park bench in the dark with a broken jaw, a dislocated shoulder, a leg full of acromantula venom, and a note telling him to go home where he would be safe. He had no idea what to do but he couldn’t think of a single thing Death Eaters could do to him that would be worse than returning to his “safe” house.
He let the paper, delivered by a there and gone Hogwarts owl, slip through his fingers to fly away in the wind. His injuries pulsed in time with his heartbeat and he could feel his eye swelling shut as his broken jaw hung loose. His glasses were lost in the assault. He couldn’t really call it a fight. He hit his knees and laid down in the dirt as he reset his shoulder like he’d done so many times before. Of course normally he didn’t get to reset it until after Vernon was done with him. That hadn’t been an option this time. His brain skittered away for why this time had been different.
He tore a long strip of cloth from the over large t-shirt and tied his jaw up. Several of his teeth were loose and he spit one into his hand. It wasn’t the first tooth he’d lost to the Dursley’s. When Dudley lost his first baby tooth and subsequently had his first visit from the tooth fairy he immediately proceeded to knock, yank, and pull out every one of Harry’s baby teeth. Harry never received a visit from the tooth fairy. He’d also not had anything to eat but water from the faucet when he could sneak it because there was no sense wasting food on the freak when he couldn’t even chew it. Wizards were weird about things like teeth and hair. Petunia kept all of Dudley’s teeth in a keepsake box. Molly did the same with all of her children. All their baby teeth in neat little jars inside the Weasley family clock. They were tied to the spell that made the clock work Arthur had explained one evening. Harry’s baby teeth had gone into the garbage. Somewhere in a landfill lay little bits of himself he’d never get back.
Hedwig flew down to land on the back of the bench. She cooed in concern. Harry pointed at the Dursley’s street and shook his head firmly. She nodded in understanding. He pulled his bag into his lap. His glasses were long gone. Broken even before they’d been ripped from his face. Vernon wanted to look at his pretty eyes while he- no.
By touch and the vague shapes he could see Harry felt his invisibility cloak, his photo album, his nearly empty Gringotts pouch, and, with some small relief, his wand. He didn’t dare lean back on the bench for the welts on his back so he leaned forward on his knees and thought about what to do next.
He glanced in the direction the wind had blown the strip of parchment from Dumbledore. He thought about his increasingly frantic letters to his friends and their non-responses. He thought about the way Vernon’s bulk had gone through the wall when Harry’s accidental magic had finally reacted to protect him. How the brown Ministry owl had flung a letter at his head as he fled. How the ambulance had come and gone for the bellowing Dursley patriarch. How the Hogwarts owl had come but no one else. No one to check on him. No one to make sure he was okay.
He thought about walking back to his dorm after the maze, after Moody grabbed him, after Dumbledore’s questions. His body still shaking from the torture curse. The venom from the bite of Aragog’s child still pulsing up his leg. How he’d stood in the door of the infirmary watching Madame Pomfrey flit from patient to patient. How she’d blew in exasperation seeing him standing there. “You’re standing and walking Potter. I’ve not room for your usual shenanigans right now. Come back tomorrow.”
He had not. He had dragged himself down to Hagrid’s under his cloak the next day and asked for Hagrid’s homebrew anti-venom. The big friendly giant had lanced the wound for him and roughly applied the dark purple salve to the wound in Harry’s leg before bandaging it up the while cheerfully recounting the numerous times he’d been bitten and complimenting him for not bothering the Mediwitch when she was so busy. Apparently in all of the excitement several people had been trampled. Neither Hagrid nor Harry realized until much later that Hagrid’s potion wouldn’t work nearly as well for the non-giant Harry.
Harry supposed Hagrid might miss him.
This was it he realized. He’d made his decision. About the only thing the Death Eaters might do to him that the Dursleys or Hogwarts hadn’t would be to finally kill him. He wondered if death was the next great adventure Dumbledore claimed it was. He hoped not.
He gave Hedwig a final scratch before standing up and swinging the invisibility cloak over himself. Under the cloak he allowed himself the luxury of a limp. The bite area had turned darker and darker over the last few days. It had started to swell and stink. If the Death Eaters chose to torture him first the leg might kill him anyway. One way or another Harry was a dead man walking.
He dodged Mrs. Figg out for a night time scroll and once he was far enough away flagged down the Knight Bus. It took some pointing and a bit of parchment and quill but he paid the fare for a trip to Wiltshire with the last of his coins. The trip was painful and Harry quickly got off before they noticed the blood stains on the chair he’d suffered the ride through.
Without the effect of muggle repelling wards the Malfoy Estate was immediately obvious. Luckily being one of the most magically dense places in the area the bus let him off quite close to the entrance. Harry walked up and knocked on the gates. Several minutes later a confused looking elf arrived and let him in.
They walked up the drive together. Well the elf walked. Harry limped. He was done trying to hide. To pretend to be strong. What was the point? What was ever the point? Pretending to be strong had only gotten him hurt worse. Pretending he was fine avoided the hurt when people didn’t notice or care. Death Eaters weren’t going to care at all.
Speaking of Death Eaters Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway of his estate watching Harry dispassionately. He dismissed the elf with a wave. “Mr. Potter. To what do I owe the displeasure?”
Harry paused. He hadn’t quite thought far enough ahead about how he was supposed to convey his surrender to death. Honestly he’d thought the Dark Lord would just be here. Would just kill him on the spot. Harry finally tore another strip from the ragged shirt. It had once been white. That counted right? He cast around for a stick but of course the perfectly manicured lawn was clean. Finally he tied it to the end of his wand and holding it backwards waved a white flag of surrender at the pureblood lord.
“You’re...surrendering?”
Harry nodded tiredly.
“I...see.” Lord Malfoy sounded unimpressed. Apparently he didn’t think Harry was so pretty like Vern- no.
“Come along inside while I contact the Dark Lord.” No point in disguising his association with the Dark Lord. Potter had been there. He knew no matter what the Ministry or the Prophet wanted to say.
Harry followed the Lord wearily. Nearly there. He expected to be thrown into a dungeon or something but Malfoy merely led him to a sitting room and requested he not bleed on the furniture. Given the state of his back after the harrowing bus ride Harry decided to just remain standing.
He was just starting to sway when the Dark Lord swept in. Harry startled a bit staring at the white blob of the Dark Lord’s head but just weakly lifted his ragged surrender flag. The rag around his head holding his jaw in place prevented any talking. He was unaware it was stained with blood from his bleeding mouth and ear. Actually quite a lot of him was bloody. His pant leg. The back of his shirt. The bus ride had done his barely scabbed wounds no favors.
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I'd have never believed it. Brave Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore’s Golden Child. Surrendering. I’d ask why but I can clearly see you’re unable to answer. Verbally that is. I can look into your mind. Take the answer from there. Would that be acceptable?” The Dark Lord’s voice was cloying, almost congenial.
Harry was surprised he was asking. Unaware that his flag of surrender put him under a sort of parley. He shrugged and nodded. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide. All Voldemort was going to see was Harry’s sincere wish for death.
Cool white hands framed his face pressing cruelly into his hurt jaw and peeling open his swollen eye to meet the red glimmer of his supposed adversary.
Memories, thoughts, feelings flickered past his mind’s eye. His life with the Dursley’s before Hogwarts. His hope of the Wizarding World. His crushing disappointment in it's fickle nature. His repeated return to his prison. His despair. His disgust. His desperate fear.
Finally Voldemort released him and Harry fell unceremoniously to the floor in a bloody heap. He grunted when he hit the floor but otherwise didn’t give voice to the pain he was in. It was less pretending to be strong at this point and more just...apathy. Screaming wouldn’t make him feel better and he knew from the Dursley’s cruelty that screaming could be exactly what a torturer wanted. He wanted death. Not more pain.
“Well, well, well. Dumbledore has done it again.” The Dark Lord took a seat and crossed his legs. “He did the same thing to me, you know? I grew up in an orphanage. Bullies, beatings, hard labor, little food. No matter how much I begged and pleaded he sent me right back there each Summer. Even during the Blitz.”
Harry had not known that actually. He looked up at the Dark Lord and tried to strum up some sympathy but Voldemort, unlike Harry, had gotten away from Dumbledore. He’d made something of himself. Grew in power and strength. Were it not for whatever strange fluke had brought him low October 31st, 1980 Harry had little doubt he’d have grown up in a wizarding society ruled by the immortal Lord sitting in front of him. He looked back down at the floor noting distantly that he was staining the rug with blood from his leg.
“Normally when one such as you comes to me Harry I offer them sanctuary. A place in my ranks. Succor. Unfortunately for you there is a prophecy. A prophecy which states you will defeat me. Supposedly. I never heard it in total but it was the reason I went to exterminate you that night. Now that you are here and begging for death, a long time in coming I might add, I find myself hesitating. I believe I may have a use for you Harry. In exchange I will grant you the quick release you long for. Should you refuse this generous offer I’m sure I can draw out your torture to such lengths that your mind cannot comprehend just how excruciating life can be when death is forever beyond your reach.”
Harry shuddered. He may not comprehend but he could imagine an inkling of it. He looked back up at the Dark Lord, meeting the red orbs set in the white face and nodded.
“Very good. The Hall of Prophecies holds recordings of all prophecies made within the range of the British Ministry. One of my Death Eaters has confirmed our prophecy is in there. However there is a catch. No one but the ones listed in the prophecy may remove it from the shelf to listen to it. Now I obviously cannot go waltzing into the Ministry building to retrieve it but you can. Retrieve the prophecy for me and I shall grant your most dearly held wish.”
Harry nodded and attempted to regain his feet. He didn’t know where the Ministry was nor where the Hall of Prophecies might be located within. He wondered if there was some parchment about so that he could write the question down or...he looked into the Dark Lord’s eyes again hoping he could read the question there.
Apparently he could because the Dark Lord heaved a heavy sigh. “Magic save me from stupid Gryffindors. Not right now Stupid. The Ministry is teeming with people coming into work at the moment. Even if you knew how to get there, do you really expect to go unnoticed as you trail blood behind you?”
Harry glanced behind him. That...was a surprising amount of blood. He looked down at his leg and swayed. His pant leg was soaked through. He guessed Hagrid’s rough stitches had ripped out.
He hadn’t noticed the conjured stretcher until the Dark Lord pushed him back on it. The scream he let out when his back hit it however had him magically flipped on his stomach with another wave of the Dark Lord’s wand. Things got progressively fuzzier from there until the world finally, blessedly, went black.
Healer Magnus Davis swept into the Dark Lord’s office with a bow before taking the offered chair.
“How bad is he?”
“Do you want it chronologically or by severity?”
The Dark Lord sighed at his old friend. “Will he be able to walk into the Department of Mysteries with Rookwood in three days without leaving a trail of blood?”
“As long as he doesn’t gain anymore injuries between now and then or tear any of his current injuries open, yes he should be capable.” The Healer sighed, rubbing his wrinkled brow. “That a magical child could have lived such a childhood. This was what we were fighting to prevent.”
“Indeed.” The Dark Lord still looked expectant.
The Healer handed him an extremely thick scroll but launched into a summary anyway. “Systemic abuse, neglect, and starvation from his infancy. Or rather from about 15 months old to now. I can find no evidence he has ever been seen by a Healer though there are signs the school Mediwitch has treated him for magical exhaustion and vanished bones. Which is jarring when you consider how she could have possibly missed that almost every bone in his body has been broken, multiple times. Almost all having healed wrong. Due to this both his arms and legs are different lengths and the bones in his hands and feet are fused together in some places. If he’s ever taken a pain free step I would be shocked. I have no idea how he holds a quill. Multiple concussions. The reason for his poor eyesight I imagine. His muscles have been both starved and overworked and then there’s his skin.”
“Scarring in every way imaginable. He’s been whipped. Burned. Stabbed. Bitten. Torn. And...carved.” The Healer grit his teeth and spat the next words. “The word ‘Freak’ is carved into his shoulder. The wound is both old and frequently reopened. As if it has been reapplied every year.” The Healer rubbed his eyes tiredly. “And that’s just his home life. His time at Hogwarts is both better and worse. He has been bitten or scratched by dragons, Acromanula, and even a bloody Basilisk! The mental trauma to his brain from the Dementors in his third year makes me want to drag every child in that school to a Mind Healer and I despair at our comrades in Azkaban.”
The Healer rubbed his eyes and accepted a drink from the Dark Lord. He drained the glass. “And then, oh then, there’s his magic. He’s powerful. On par with yourself My Lord. As expected. Unfortunately his magic has been taxed in numerous different and as expected horrible ways. Number one. Since the night of your temporary vanquishment if he’s ever been scanned for curses or magical abnormalities either the scanner did a piss poor job or purposefully left things as they were. No guesses now?” The men shared a glance that screamed Dumbledore.
The Healer waited until the Dark Lord was taking a drink before bluntly stating, “You left a bit of your soul in him.”
As the Dark Lord choked, the Healer reflected that it truly was the little things in life.
“Excuse me?”
“A Horcrux. You’re familiar I take it? You left a bit of your SOUL in him! A good portion of his magic does nothing but feed it. Another part is portioned off to feed a fucking WARD STONE EMBEDDED INSIDE HIS PELVIC BONE! Which has Dumbledore’s signature ALL over it. Not that it matters because of the aforementioned broken bones the thing is busted and now all it does is leech his magic. Whatever protection it was supposed to provide is long gone. It’s amazing the damn thing hasn’t fucking imploded. In fact that’s probably why it’s leeching magic. That boy dies and his body immediately turns into a bomb! Which is a bit of a problem when the rest of his magic is trying to heal him and it’s so overworked and widespread it actually does very little. As of the start of his Hogwarts years these three drains on his magic have all gotten progressively less and less magic as he’s gone through casting spells at school and I cannot overstate this enough if he wasn’t such a godsbedamned powerhouse he’d had imploded by now.”
The Healer refilled his glass and drained it again. “How the boy isn’t an Obscura I have no idea.”
The Dark Lord blinked before looking down at the innocuous looking scroll. “Probably because the different factors are preventing enough magic to be dedicated in any one direction long enough for one to form.”
“This does present an opportunity for us though.” The Healer went on swirling the liquor in his third glass of the fine vintage. Pity he went through it quite so fast.
“Oh?”
“His condition is probably as close as we could get to what your followers are suffering in Azkaban. We could use him in the ritual.”
“The ritual you said only had a 70% chance of working properly?”
“It needs more testing before I can make it any better. Potter presents the perfect opportunity. He even has Dementor related brain damage. We try it out on him. Whether he survives or not we gain valuable data. After that if possible we get a hold of Black. That should allow us to get far enough along to let Barty try it out. If not then when we break out the others will grab a few test subjects along the way. That way we don’t risk anyone important.”
“Harry does wish for Death’s sweet embrace. For all the similarity in our childhoods we could not be more different in our ideologies.”
“That’s because you had people to care about you. From what you told me Potter begged for help for weeks with no answer. When you finally asked for help how quickly did we show up to get you from that dismal place?”
The Dark Lord chuckled. “The same day. Good thing too. The Orphanage took a direct hit that very night. Killed everyone there. I know what people thought but I honestly had nothing to do with it.”
“I know.” He took a slower sip of his drink. “What do you think of my idea?”
“We’ll give him the option. Technically he’s under parley until he completes his task for me. You know he intended to go and do it that very moment despite having no idea where the Ministry was or how to get into it?”
The Healer shared a laugh with the Dark Lord. “Gryffindors.”
Harry woke suddenly from a nightmare and only panicked for a moment before remembering where he was. Which wasn’t easy. He didn’t have his glasses still and everything more than 6 inches from his face was a blur. But he recognized the bedside table which held his photo album, his wand, and his folded invisibility cloak. He was surprised he still had his wand but had been made to understand a limiter had been placed on it to allow him access to only basic hygienic and household charms. Learning he didn’t know any of those spells got him a small book from the Healer that was clearly aimed at children but the large words and easy to say spells were a boon to his weak eyes and sore jaw.
He’d been baffled they would waste healing on him when he was going to be killed but once the experimental ritual had been explained he’d agreed. It sounded like it would be a blessing to kids like him in the future. If he left nothing else of good in this world at least there would be this.
However a few more things needed done. First off was the Horcrux. Which was odd to find out about and fortunately was relatively painless to resolve. The Dark Lord simply came in and placed his finger on Harry’s scar. There was an odd popping sensation then his ever present headache was gone and he’d felt such a surge of magic power it had literally knocked him out.
The next part had been taken care of while he was unconscious. The bits of ward stone lodged in his bones had been literally and magically ripped out and flung into the air outside. Where, as the Healer had expected, they exploded at once without a steady stream of magic. Apparently his magical exhaustion at school could have resulted in the destruction of the infirmary. This had resulted in yet another surge of his magic and took even longer for him to come around.
He pulled the photo album into his lap but didn’t open it. He had every picture inside memorized. It was enough just to have it. To have this little bit of his parents. To have this small piece of people who had really truly loved him. He hugged the album. Tomorrow was the ritual and if all went well the day after that he’d accompany a Death Eater who worked in the Department of Mysteries to retrieve the prophecy. After that he would be killed. If the ritual didn’t go well he’d also be dead. Win-Win either way for him.
He hugged the album tighter. He wondered if his parents would be disappointed in him. Suicide by Dark Lord. It wasn’t exactly a brave Gryffindor way to die. Would they greet him happily or with disdain?
He’d find out soon enough one way or the other.
Harry laid down in the cool stone basin set into the floor. He’d been thoroughly bathed earlier. He was a bit embarrassed by his heavily scarred body but neither the Dark Lord nor the Healer seemed at all surprised. His clothes had been gone when he woke up he guessed they had seen it all then.
He completely laid down in the basin as the Healer, the Dark Lord, and two others came in to take their places around the ritual circle. The numbing potion started to take effect and Harry looked at his fingers and flexed his toes in amazement at being pain free for the first time in his life. It was a weird feeling but a relief as well. Harry tried to relax but it was difficult as the potion started to drip down the sides of the ritual basin. He tried to take a deep breath as it rose up over his mouth and nose but everything disappeared in a red haze and he doesn’t remember exhaling.
When Harry opens his eyes next he realizes there's a ritual circle on the ceiling too. Then he realizes he can see the ceiling. He slowly reaches up to the edges of the basin and pulls himself up in a sitting position. At first he thinks the numbing potion was still in effect but then realizes he can feel the cool stone of the ritual basin. He looks over his hands in amazement.
He has long slender hands. His fingers are elegant and straight. His wrists have a full range of movement and there’s no pain. His arms are free from scars. He reaches behind to touch his shoulder but feels nothing but smooth skin where before there was always the hated word.
He looks down at the rest of himself to find his body is smooth, scar-free, lightly muscled and slightly hairy. The healer had said he would be in perfect health and he was. He slowly stood and was continually amazed that there was no pain. None at all.
He looked over to see the Dark Lord and the Healer watching him. He smiled at them. “Thank you. Even if I die tomorrow at least I’ll die knowing what it is to be without pain.” He wrapped his longer arms around his torso in a self hug and was startled when he began to cry. “I’ve never been so happy. I love magic.”
He missed the knowing look the Healer gave the Dark Lord.
Harry followed Rookwood through the busy Ministry. He was under his invisibility cloak but it was easy as everyone hopped out of the way of the robed Unspeakable. As long as Harry followed closely behind no one bumped into him and his steps were muffled by the many other feet. In the lift Harry tucked himself into the corner behind Rookwood.
Finally they were in the Department of Mysteries in a queer round room that spun around. Somehow Rookwood still knew the correct door. Inside was a shadowy room filled with shelves and on every shelf were small glass orbs. Some were dark but most were bright with swirling smoke.
Rookwood quickly led him down the aisles to his own brightly glowing orb. The Unspeakable took out a quill and parchment and prepared to write the prophecy down. He nodded for Harry to take the orb down.
Harry looked at the tag on the shelf.
S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D
Dark Lord
and (?) Harry Potter
He frowned at it. He wasn’t sure who S. P. T. was but he knew of no one else who had that many initials. Dumbledore knew and had originally heard the prophecy. Why Dark Lord? Why not Dark Lord Voldemort? Why the question mark by his own name?
Rookwood cleared his throat.
Harry blushed and tapped the orb with his wand as he’d been instructed earlier that morning.
To his surprise a ghost image of his Divination Teacher appeared. He recognized the trance-like state she entered as being the same as the one she’d been in during his 2nd year. Even the tone in which she spoke was the same.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."
Harry blinked at the recitation as Rookwood wrote quietly beside him. Already Harry’s mind spun. Clearer and more relaxed than he’d ever been in his life he found thinking was so much easier without the Dark Lord’s soul in his head or the various concussions damaging his brain. The Healer had plenty to say about all of that.
This prophecy was...well a prophecy but Harry understood why the Dark Lord wasn’t specified; why there was a question mark by his name. This prophecy could be about literally anyone.
Rookwood cleared his throat again, signalling Harry to play the prophecy again to confirm he’d written it down correctly. Afterwards Harry gently returned the prophecy to it’s shelf and followed Rookwood up and out of the Ministry.
Back at the Dark Lord’s manor a meeting was called to examine the prophecy. Harry was surprised he was invited to sit at the table.
As people started to trickle in the Dark Lord turned to Harry after reading the prophecy. “What do you think Harry?”
Harry was startled from watching the various Death Eaters walk in, see him, start, look at their Lord, then slowly put their wands away as they took their seats. He turned to face the Dark Lord. “Well honestly my Lord I think it's bollocks.”
“Oh?”
“It could be about anyone. Someone ‘approaches’ which could mean so many things. The Death Eaters are approaching this table. If you hold a meeting at the end of July does that mean they’re in the running for the ‘One’?”
“It doesn’t say July it says the seventh month. Of what calendar? The Gregorian one? The Celtic one? The Ethiopian one? There are roughly 40 calendars in use around the world to say nothing of the hundreds of ancient calendars.” Spoke up from a Death Eater with robes embroidered with constellations holding a monocle up to his face to read his own copy of the prophecy.
“That part is repeated twice as well. Are there to be two ‘ones’?” Another chimed in.
“Thrice defied him. Who is ‘him’? The Dark Lord? The ‘One’? Defied how?”
“And what Dark Lord?” Harry spoke up again especially as his Dark Lord was still looking at him. “It doesn’t say Dark Lord Voldemort, just the Dark Lord. You aren’t the first. You won’t be the last. Are there other Dark Lords active around the world? That room was filled with thousands of prophecies, most of which were still active and given hundreds of years ago.”
“That’s right. Who's to say this one isn’t about a Dark Lord 600 years in the future about a dandy who approached his citadel as the seventh month of a yet uncreated calendar dies who was born to parents who snubbed the Dark Lord at three dinner parties who happened to have won a bet against him that equals their fortunes for that week and they just can’t live with themselves until they settle things between them but the ‘One’ is a fantastic lover and gives the Dark Lord le petite mort and nine months later as the seventh month dies again the Dark Lord or the ‘One’ gives birth to a beautiful little baby that vanquishes the Dark Lord’s hatred of everything and they settle down in bliss to live happily ever after.” Another Death Eater, a woman with darkly beautiful looks who greatly resembled a Slytherin Harry went to Hogwarts with chimed in.
There were a few chuckles around the room but a much older man nodded his head with a smile. “There are so many prophecies that end in ways you never expect. That outcome is absolutely just as likely as any.”
“There’s an equal likelihood that somewhere in that room is a prophecy from hundreds of years ago that says something like: ‘The mistaken savior, battered and abused, throws himself at the mercy of the Dark Lord wishing for death and is instead granted healing and succor in exchange for a task that will turn the tide of the war.’ And as we were leaving the room somewhere that orb went dark.” Harry comments again and is gratified to see many nods around the room. He looks back to the Dark Lord to see a smile playing about his lips. The Dark Lord nods in agreement with Harry’s assessment and joins the debate as the group of Death Eaters dissect every single word in the prophecy until it loses all meaning.
At some point someone points out that Harry’s being able to remove it means it must be about him but Rookwood shoots that down. The protective spell is set by the Unspeakables not the prophecy itself. The Keeper of the Procephy room, who, unfortunately, was always a prophesied person so Rookwood had been unable to gain access, set the protections to whoever seemed most likely to be the people in question at the time. It was another reason why the Dark Lord couldn’t simply borrow Harry’s cloak and go himself because as Harry pointed out the tag simply said Dark Lord not which Dark Lord but Harry Potter was written on the tag making him the only one but the Keeper who could take it from the shelf. Apparently a large part of the Keeper’s job beside hunting down prophecies was updating people of interest on the tags.
They break for lunch and then dinner but the only conclusion they come to over and over again is that like many, many prophecies in the past that were debated over by the King’s wise men prophecies will be prophecies and always be unfathomable.
Harry is shown to a guest room finally out of the infirmary. He wonders if he’ll be killed tomorrow.
Tomorrow however he watches as Barty Crouch Junior undergoes the ritual lending his considerable power to the Dark Lord’s and The Healer’s as the former disguised professor climbed in shaking and poisoned by a year of polyjuice and emerging whole and happy like Harry.
Afterwards the Dark Lord himself lies in the basin and Harry gives his power willingly again. He’s not surprised when an older and somehow handsomer Tom Riddle climbs out the basin. He spends the rest of the day shadowing the Dark Lord as the man went about arranging for the escape of his followers from Azkaban.
Harry didn’t quite ask when the Dark Lord was going to kill him but he wondered loudly enough that finally the Dark Lord gave him an exasperated look. “Harry. I’m not going to kill you.”
“But...why not?”
“What would be the point? Why would I kill a magical powerful, intelligent, handsome, young wizard like yourself? I told you that typically when one such as you comes to me in the state you were in I grant them succor and a place in my ranks. That the only reason I wouldn’t do that was the prophecy which you agree we can safely ignore for the most part. Be thinking about what you want to do with the rest of your life Harry because you’re not going to be dying anytime soon. Certainly not by my hand.”
The revelation stunned Harry who walked around in a daze for the rest of the day until dinner that night where he found himself sitting between the darkly beautiful woman who he now knew was Madame Zabini and the man who only seemed to wear robes with various constellations on them who was apparently another Slytherin classmate’s grandfather Master Nott.
“More treacle Harry?”
“What? Oh yes please. Sorry.”
“It’s fine dear. You appear quite preoccupied. Are you well?”
“I’ve never been healthier in my life. It’s amazing. I’ve never known what it’s like to just not be in pain.” Harry smiled running over his mind the various places in his body that always used to throb with pain that now simply didn’t.
“Yes. The ritual seems to be a miracle. Our Lord has never looked better.”
Harry laughed. “I saw a version of him at 17 and I didn’t think then he could get any more handsome and yet there he is.”
“He certainly is.”
“I say what will you do now Harry? Are you planning to return to Hogwarts?” Master Nott asked.
Harry was shaking his head before he even realized it. “No. For the safest place in the world I was harmed there almost as much as I was at my muggle relatives. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. A few days ago I came here expecting, wanting, to die. The Dark Lord says I’m not going to now. That I should think about what I want to do but honestly I never expected to survive and I never had time or hope to dream about anything else. I don’t even know what my options are.”
“Oh Dear. Well it’s a bit late tonight but what say I come over tomorrow and we can talk about that hmm?” Madame Zabini fluttered her hand through his hair with a worried expression. Over Harry’s head she met the Dark Lord’s eyes and nodded.
It was over a week later when the Dark Lord walked into his library to unearth Harry from a pile of books. Mama Zabini, as she insisted on being called, had introduced Harry to so many interesting topics and career paths that he was spoiled for choices for the first time in his life. It helped that he could actually focus and think about things for once. It was Summer and the Dark Lord had given him the run of the manor. No chores. No friends. No family. Harry was experiencing leisure and he barely knew what to do with it.
The Dark Lord noted that many of the tomes surrounding him currently were of either rituals, warding, or healing though there were one or two of divination. Good to know he was narrowing it down a bit. “Harry?”
Harry looked up. “Yes My Lord?”
That was another thing. Harry seemed to take to the ranks as easy as breathing. He didn’t snark to the Dark Lord using his dead name. Didn’t refuse to give him deference. Like so many broken children before him he basked in the Dark Lord’s favor and followed gladly. So many the Dark Lord took in had stories so like his own. Childhoods of pain and loneliness. Sometimes he wondered if there had been a Dark Lord during his youth would he have also gladly followed?
But no. Even as a child Tom Riddle had always been a stand out. Never one to stand down or stand aside. Never one to follow in another’s wake. That was the difference between himself and Harry. No matter their similar childhoods or power levels.
The Dark Lord levitated a stack of warding books off a nearby chair and sat down. “I have a plan for you.”
“Okay?”
“Obviously you need to return to school. Not Hogwarts. Not Drumstang or Beauxbatons either. Despite your rather changed appearance there’s too great a risk someone may recognize you.”
Harry was rather changed. He was still startled by the image looking back at him in the mirror. His large luminous eyes set in a face with rather more flesh on it than he’d ever seen before. He could no longer see the joints in his elbows and knees. He’d grown around 30 cm according to the healer going from below the 5% to above the 95% whatever that meant. He’d also gained some 30 kg. The Healer gave him calisthenics to do every day to maintain his new physique. His skin glowed with health and his hair looked rather more purposefully messy and less like he’d licked a light socket. At a glance and without his trademark forehead scar even people who knew him before we’re unlikely to recognize him but there was always a chance.
“Okay. So where will I be going?”
“India. There’s a very large school there. 20 times the size of Hogwarts. It’ll be easy for you to disappear into the masses. You’ll return here for holidays of course but I recommend we take a portion of the Potter wealth and move it to the banks in India so it’s readily available. English is spoken there but I recommend you start learning Hindi. Additionally I know for a fact they have wonderful programs for each of your areas of interest here.” The Dark Lord indicated those interests with a wave of his hand.
“It sounds excellent.”
“I’m glad to hear you agree. I’ll finalize the paperwork then.”
“What about Hogwarts? Won’t people notice when I don’t show up?”
“Oh well I have a plan for that as well.” From a pocket the Dark Lord pulled a tooth out. It was yellow and pitted with cavities. A molar from someone. Actually…
“It’s yours. It was in your pocket when you came here. With it I’m going to build a homunculus. A body that looks a great deal like you did. Then I’m going to kill it and leave it somewhere it will be found. The British Wizarding world will believe you have died either by my hand or the hand of your muggle relatives whatever narrative makes the most sense and suits our agenda best.”
“So probably my relatives then.” Harry said sourly. “Make sure to…”
“Brutalize it?”
“Yeah.” Harry shrunk in on himself. “It is bad I want them to find me that way? I want them to know what the price of ignoring me was?”
“A bit vindictive but I’m not one to talk. Personally I think it’s fitting.”
“Have they even noticed I’m missing yet?”
“No. I imagine they will come looking for you soon though. For the trial.”
“Trial?”
The Dark Lord rolled his eyes and looked sardonic. “The Ministry apparently registered your accidental magic as purposeful magic in violation of the Misuse of Magic Act for Underage Wizards and are going to put you on trial for it. Now Lucius has had the trial moved back to give us time to prepare the homunculus but there has been no indication any one from Dumbledore’s camp has come to check on you since the incident though your muggles have returned large and angry from the hospital.”
Harry shrunk in on himself even more. “Do you need anything from me?”
“I’d like you to accompany Madame Zabini and Madame Malfoy to Gringotts to properly arrange your affairs to make sure the Potter fortune does not fall into the wrong hands. I believe the ladies also intend to take you shopping so do brace yourself for that. Once that’s done I’ll need your aid to place the homunculus and set the scene. Then we will sit back and watch the fireworks so to speak.”
Harry nodded. “Okay then. When?”
“The ladies will be by in an hour. So do go make yourself presentable. Don’t want to disappoint them now.”
Harry nodded with a bit more energy and carefully laid his book aside before hopping up and bowing to the Dark Lord before hurrying out of the room.
Mama Zabini and Cousin Cissy were in a towering fury upon leaving Gringotts. Madame Malfoy had revealed their relationship when they met that morning. Madame Malfoy in public or simply Cousin Narcissa but in private he had leave to call her Cissy. Apparently she’d grown up with his godfather and father and these would have been the forms of address he’d have grown up with had everything not gone so very wrong. There was even a chance had Dumbledore not interfered with his placement he might have grown up calling her Mama.
That was only part of the reason the ladies were furious though. Apparently in his capacity as Headmaster Dumbledore had been granted guardianship over Harry. In addition to paying the Dursleys to keep him as of a month ago he’d began “making donations” to a group called the Order of the Phoenix. He’d had a will made out leaving everything to this group upon Harry’s death. Also whenever Mrs. Weasley had his key to buy his own supplies apparently she would also buy her own children’s supplies with his money. That the goblins had just let this happen was just icing on the cake. Of course they hadn’t been grinning when Harry had signed the paperwork making Narcissa his guardian and then proceeded to draw 95% of his wealth out of the bank. Enough left to keep the vaults open and for it to continue to take in the money being generated by his family’s investments, inventions, and royalties. But nothing would be leaving that vault until Harry finished school.
Then came a shopping spree like nothing Harry had ever experienced starting with a new fancy expanded trunk. Harry got to get all the silly things he’d seen that first visit that Hagrid and subsequently Mrs. Weasley forbid. Color changing ink and golden cauldrons and all those books on nasty curses and hexes. The ladies gleefully let him buy anything he wanted. Trinkles and toys and silly clothes. Jokes and candy. Harry had a blast. He was practically bouncy when they returned for dinner.
The Dark Lord smiled at Harry’s joy and let him gush all through dinner about it. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
“Did Mama Zabini and Cousin Cissy tell you the rest?”
“They did. If at all possible we’ll try to recoup the losses. Fortunately it was caught early.”
“Is the homunculus done?”
“It is. All prepared. I was hoping we’d go place it tonight.”
“Okay. What do I have to do?”
“Simply invite me into the wards.”
That night, the night before Harry’s birthday, Harry returned to the place he’d hoped to never see again. His dinner churned in his stomach as he looked around Dudley’s second bedroom. Not his bedroom. Never his. He looked at the blood stains and torn sheets. The broken furniture. His school trunk had been up-ended and his books and robes torn. The bars had been replaced on the window. His glasses still lay smashed by the door. Throughout the house he listened to the thunderous snores of his uncle and cousin.
The Dark Lord brought out the homunculus and laid it out on the bed. Harry wanted to look away but he forces himself to watch as the naked skeletal figure with it’s scars and broken bones is laid belly down on the bed. As the Dark Lord removed the status charm the word on his back is reopened and weeps blood and pus as it so often did. His back is in bloody strips and freely bleeding. He tries not to look at the more brutalized parts of the body knowing without a doubt this had been his fate had his overtaxed magic not been able to throw Vernon through the wall. If he hadn’t been able to get out of the house with his go bag. If he’d not given up and went to the Dark Lord. If he’d gone to Dumbledore instead.
“You might shift through this and see if there’s anything you want to take with you.”
Harry shook his head. “There’s not.”
“Alright then. I have a few memories to modify. You don’t have to stay in here. Anywhere in the house is fine.”
Harry nodded. He looked around the room a bit before finding an unopened letter that must have been flung through the window bars by an owl.
It was addressed to him and he opened it just to have something to look at that wasn’t him bleeding to death on the bed.
Dear Harry,
Don’t worry about the trial. Arthur will be by the day of to pick you up on his way to work. Make sure to wear your best and be cleaned up looking smart. I’m glad you’ve stopped all these alarming letters dear boy. The children were starting to get upset. Keep your chin up. Unfortunately with the added danger of the trial I’m afraid it’s really best if you remain at your relatives where you’ll be safe until school starts.
Yours Sincerely,
Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc.
Harry was still staring at the letter when the Dark Lord returned.
“I got the son as well. Apparently they were going to share...What’s that?”
Harry handed him the letter numbly.
“The bastard. ‘Scaring the children.’ And what are you?”
“A lump of flesh to be used. Cannon fodder.”
“Not anymore. Never again.” The Dark Lord reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
Harry nodded. He took the letter back and carefully walked over to where he was bleeding. He smeared blood on it before crumbling it in the homunculus’ limp hand and stuffing it under his head.
His jaw was still broken. His eyes were swollen shut. His ears were bleeding. Yeah. That looked right.
The envelope was tossed back under the bed to land in a pool of blood.
“How much longer?” Harry asked, his voice small as he watched himself die.
“Any moment now.” The Dark Lord reached out one long arm and pulled him into his side. “Never again Harry. This is your past. You’ll never have to see this place or these people ever again.”
Harry nodded. Downstairs the hour chimed the first of the midnight strokes. On the third chime the bleeding broken Harry on the bed breathed his last, by the 6th his heart ceased to beat. By the 12th what brain activity there had been in the homunculus stopped firing. Harry Potter was dead.
Deep in the Department of Mysteries an orb goes dark and The Keeper of Prophecies makes a note in his book and moves on down the aisle. Several rows away in Aisle 97 Harry Potter’s name fades from the tag.
Harry clings to the Dark Lord for the next few days. Almost walking in the man’s shadow. The Dark Lord wonders to his closest friends in his study at night when he’d adopted the boy. Healer Davis and Master Nott laugh at him.
It is only on the third day. The day of Harry’s so-called trial that the news finally reports on his death when he doesn’t show up and the aurors went to his relatives to arrest him. What they found there sickened both to the point that they had to take leave afterwards. Arthur Weasley, apparently there to retrieve the boy for the trial had been found unconscious in an upstairs bedroom having apparently been conked hard on the back of the head. He was expected to recover physically. Mentally and emotionally it was still up in the air. Apparently he’d seen the body before the muggles got him.
As much as Harry had been maligned as a liar and attention seeker in the news the day before the next day was such a diametrically different tone that it was almost unbelievable. If anything the paper seemed to think Harry hadn’t gotten enough attention and that if he had surely someone would have stepped in to save him. His obituary spoke of how humble the boy hero was. How clever and wise. His amazing showing at the Tri-wizard Tournament. His past heroic exploits at school. Saving Hermione. Saving Ginny. His Quidditch prowess. Even his flying a car to school was reframed as a boyish exploit.
Then came the investigations. Why was the Savior of the Wizarding World left with Muggles!? Behind the scenes Death Eaters in key positions fanned the flames of Muggle hate. How many other children, muggle born or no, could be in similar states? Anti-muggle laws passed quicker than ever with public support and without Albus Dumbledore or Arthur Weasley there to put on the brakes. Before you could say Quidditch overnight muggleborn children of all ages were checked and if needed taken from their families. None were so bad as Harry but there were absolutely some bad cases. Cases that apparently Hogwarts had missed entirely. Matron Pomfrey had been investigated and sacked as apparently had No-Longer-Headmaster Dumbledore. Of the remaining teachers of all people Snape was promoted to Headmaster with Professor Sinistra as Deputy.
Harry asked but the Dark Lord claimed to have nothing to do with the placement. Apparently the investigation revealed that Professor Snape did identify and take care of abused children in his own house. Together with Professor Sinistra for the female presenting students he made sure his snaklings always had someone to go to. Apparently buried deep in the Headmaster’s files were reports Snape had filed after recognizing signs of abuse in other houses that had all been subsequently ignored by the other faculty. Harry was shocked to learn there were several such filed by the hateful man on his own account.
Finally came his funeral in state. The crowd was enormous. Harry attended with the Dark Lord out of morbid curiosity under his cloak flying above the crowd next to the Dark Lord who apparently needed no broom to fly. Hermione and Ginny along with Mrs. Weasley threw themselves across his solid gold coffin to wail and lament.
Harry, who vividly remembered letters to stay put and keep his head down, curled his lip in disgust. How dare they. How dare they act sad now after they had failed him in every way. Ron and his brothers, all of them even the oldest two, stood there stone faced and sad. Arthur was still in St. Mungos.
Thankfully someone somewhere hadn’t published the state his body had been found in. Only that he’d succumb to his injuries. His missing wand was assumed to have been broken and disposed of after Harry had tried and failed to fight back resulting in his violation of the Misuse of Magic Act. Which had been reversed. Clearly he’d been operating under self defense. Minister Fudge and several members of his staff had already been sacked. Without Lucius there to whisper in his ear Fudge was helpless to talk his way out of the myriad of accusations that he did not do more for the Boy-Who-Was-No-More.
However it was known that Arthur had told Dumbledore and his wife at the very least. Because it had been published that the incensed man had outright attacked Dumbledore from his hospital bed after Molly had run from the room to be violently ill in a bin in the hallway. Harry hoped it didn’t spread further than that.
At last after what felt like hours of speeches from people who he’d never met, tearfilled goodbyes from his “friends”, finally he was lowered into the ground beside his parents in Godric’s Hollow.
Hours later when even the most determined mourners have left, not his friends he noted, Harry descends. He doesn’t pull his father’s cloak off as he ignores the freshly covered mound. He’d never visited his parent’s grave.
“Hey Mum. Hey Dad. Don’t worry. That’s not me. It might have been. It would have been but you see...I gave up. I wanted to die just not like that. I gave myself to the Dark Lord. Surrendered. And you know what he did? He helped me. He helped me when no one else would. I thought he would kill me but he didn’t. The prophecy? It’s meaningless once you know all of it. It has nothing to do with me.”
Harry walked over to the mountain of flowers piled on his grave and pulled a few free. They were for him weren’t they? He laid them on his parent’s grave. “Anyway I’m leaving England. The Dark Lord is sending me to school far away. I’ll be back for holidays though. I’ll try to come by. Sorry I’ve never come before. I didn’t know where you were, you see.”
He stood back up and mounted his broom. “Goodbye Mum, Dad.” He rose up into the night sky to rejoin the Dark Lord. He was surprised he’d stayed all day with him. “I’m ready.”
“Let’s go then.”
The next day for the first time in over a week the paper’s headline didn’t have Harry’s name in it. Sirius Black during his godson’s funeral had broken into the empty Ministry and slaughtered the Dursleys with extreme prejudice. That news was so shocking that the report that others had escaped Azkaban was relegated to the 7th page and blamed on Sirius queerly despite both acts seeming to be at odds with one another and to have happened at the same time. The last hurray of a still in denial Ministry.
Harry had performed three rejuvenation rituals the day after that by the time Lord Malfoy came in to tell him in the drollest possible voice that Sirius had, much like Harry before him, shown up on the Malfoy’s doorstep. They had feared for a moment that Harry had been discovered but it turned out that Black had fully submitted to the Black madness and had arrived to sob into Narcissa’s petticoats. He vowed to swear himself to the Dark Lord for revenge on Dumbledore.
The Dark Lord was with him now and they were currently trying to decide whether it would help or hurt the man to tell him Harry was alive.
Harry honestly didn’t know how to feel about that. Sirius hadn’t responded to his pleading letters but given his extreme response Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d gotten them. Harry finished the current ritual before trading out with Barty and heading to the Dark Lord’s study. He stood outside the room and waited. The Dark Lord could normally feel Harry around the manor. Something about his soul piece remembering him. Harry felt like he could kind of do the same but he needed much more training.
“Enter.”
Harry stepped inside and was immediately wrapped up by a tall man that smelt a great deal like wet dog. “Hi Sirius.”
Sirius stepped back taking his head in his hands and immediately crumbled into sobs. “I’m so sorry Harry. I’m so sorry. They told me you were fine. They told me you were fine then Arthur came home and told me the truth. Told me you were dead. THEY DIDN’T EVEN TELL ME YOU WERE DEAD! I killed them though. I killed them for you Jamie. I did. I painted the cell walls with their blood. They’ll never hurt our little boy again Jamie. Never. Never. Never. Nevernevernevernever…”
Harry met the Dark Lord’s eyes over Sirius’ shoulder and raised his eyebrows.
“Take him to the ritual room. Having Lord Black on our side will do nothing but aid our cause.”
“Yes My Lord. Come on Sirius. See how healthy I am? There’s this ritual-”
Harry’s voice was cut off as the door closed. Fortunately as the fire flared green and again Lucius stepped out. He looked incredulous.
“I need to change my address. Or go on holiday. Something.”
The Dark Lord cocked an eyebrow in question.
“My Lord. Five Weasleys just showed up on my doorstep asking to join the Dark Lord. When exactly did I become the front man for our organization?”
“When you became Minister of Magic?”
“I’m not...I’m going to be Minister of Magic?”
“My sources tell me most of the wizarding world just understand that you’ve been the man behind the Minister for the last 15 years. How much easier when you simply are the Minister.”
For once Lucius looked nonplussed.
“Now. Weasleys?”
“What? Yes. Arthur and his oldest and the twins. The third oldest already worked for me but has stated a neutral stance. Apparently after what Arthur saw he’s had a rather extreme change of heart. From what I understand for his boys the Black blood bred true in them and all are rather dark inclined hence why they left home or were intending to leave home. The oldest boys are pragmatic but the twins truly cared for young Harry and are out for blood. Arthur is...I was under the impression he had no touch of the Black madness. He always seemed so far in the other direction but his eyes...his eyes are not unlike Sirius’ at the moment.”
“Hmm...show them in. Harry’s rather busy performing the ritual on his godfather at the moment.”
“Hasn’t he performed four already today?”
“Yes. We’ve been taking turns. For all the prophecy didn’t apply to us the boy is quite my equal in magical power. He’s untrained of course but given his power, direction is doing nothing but good to his core.”
“Right. I’ll just retrieve the Weasleys then. Should I tell them?”
“No, I doubt they’ll believe it until they see Harry with their own eyes.”
“Especially not Arthur.”
It was finally time for Harry to leave for school but he would be having company. While the Weasley were convinced to return to their lives, if now firmly on the Dark side now, Sirius continued to cling to Harry like a limpet. He would be buying a home somewhere near the school so Harry could stay with him instead of being a dorm student.
Harry found himself joining Lucius and LeStranges in being a Black minder. The ritual restored their bodies and the dementor damage but Bellatrix and Sirius, after a duel that destroyed a part of the Lestrange manor, were now thicker than thieves. They looked eerily like twins with their wild black hair and unnaturally silver eyes. Coupled with their manic smiles Harry sometimes hid in the Dark Lord’s study just for a moment’s peace.
“Will you be okay with Sirius?”
“I think so. I’m worried about him being home alone but at least he’ll be able to get out and about in India.”
“Hmm...I’m thinking about sending the LeStranges along with you. You’d have to deal with Bella but Rodolphus and Rabastan would be there to help.”
“That’s not so bad then.”
“How are you dealing with all this? At first you seemed numb and resigned. You rallied there for a while but after we placed the homunculus you’ve been rather subdued.”
“It’s something. To watch yourself die. Especially like that.”
The Dark Lord nodded. “Had I not needed you to get inside the wards I’d have preferred you not to have seen that.” He pondered a moment. “I can obliviate it from your mind.”
Harry shook his head. “No. It’s a reminder.”
The Dark Lord nodded in understanding. “Are you packed?”
“Yes My Lord.”
“The portkey leaves tomorrow but I understand Madames Zabini and Malfoy have arranged a small party for you tonight.”
Harry smiled. “That sounds nice. I’ve never had a party.”
Harry enjoyed his new school immensely but he wouldn’t say he wasn’t happy to come back to England for the many Hindu holidays. Thankfully Sirius sprung for an international floo and without his various physical maladies Harry didn’t even mind it all that much.
He came through the floo into the Dark Lord’s study but he wasn’t there. With his newly trained magical senses he felt him in the dining hall and quickly made his way there. He popped his head in and was happily greeted. The LeStranges had already been back for a few days and he missed them.
“Come here and give us kisses Harry.” Mama Zabini encouraged giving him a sitting hug in exchange for a kiss on the cheek.
“Mama Zabini. How’s Blaise?”
“He has good things to say about Hogwarts now. If he’d not he’d have been joining you.”
“Cousin Cissy.” Another kiss on the cheek.
“Cousin Harry. Where’s Sirius?”
“He had a date he’ll be coming through later tonight.”
Bellatrix gave him a very large manic smile and flung open her arms. “Come to Mummy!”
Harry willingly went to the somewhat deranged woman to be squeezed tightly. Part of his new cover would be as the long lost son of Bellatrix and Rodolphus and honestly Harry kind of loved it. Bellatrix was an extremely overprotective but also extremely loving Mum. She pulled him down into a chair his new dad, Rodolphus conjured between them.
Rodolphus gripped his shoulder and squeezed him into his side. On his other side Rabastan reached out to tug on his long curls with a smile.
Harry smiled back and then beamed a smile at the Dark Lord who gave him a small smile in return.
Harry looked around at the rest of them and was shocked to meet the flabbergasted black eyes of Headmaster Snape. Harry couldn’t resist and wiggled his fingers in greeting.
“You’re alive.”
Harry nodded. “I would have died. Like he did. It did. The homunculus. Healer Davis said so. But I came to the Dark Lord instead. I wanted him to kill me but he didn’t. And here we are.”
Headmaster Snape looked completely bewildered. He looked at his Lord in confusion.
“Needless to say Harry’s status is a closely guarded secret outside of the Inner Circle. Quite need to know.”
“Although some of the Weasleys know.” Harry chimed in.
“Some of the Weasleys know…” Snape covered his face with one hand and sighed deeply.