I know… I'm sorry. But I'm really hitting road blocks with everything else I'm writing so I'm trying to get past the damned writer's block by writing up all the other ideas I've had. So here it is. The Harry Potter song fic nobody asked for. The song I got the idea from is Six Trillion Years and Overnight, performed by Ashe. I was really debating writing this first person, because the song is, but I ultimately went third person because I'm more used to it, I might rewrite the chapter in first person though if enough people comment asking for it.
Harry Potter was doing as he usually did when the Dursley's had guests over, sitting in his cupboard silently finding ways to entertain himself. His most recent attempts to stave off boredom included storytelling, coming up with fantastical stories that he would never be able to share with anyone because he had no friends and his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley would never listen. He laid back on his cot, just about to decide on his setting when there was a loud cracking noise from just in front of him. Jerking up from his reclined position, Harry found himself face to face with a pale man with only slits for a nose and no hair. The eleven year old caught himself from shouting in surprise, but just barely. "Who are you? How did you get here? Why are you here? What do you want?" Harry spouts out all the questions on his mind without pausing to consider the possible repercussions of asking such things. The man blinked, covering his crimson eyes for just an instant as he looked at the boy in bewilderment.
"My name is Voldemort." He speaks slowly, a bit confused. Why wasn't the boy scared of him? He should be! He was terrifying to look at and no doubt the old fool would have told Harry when he was young about his parents' heroism and the story of the 'boy-who-lived'. But there he sat, head cocked to the side as he stretched his neck to look up at him, his Avada Kedavra green eyes boring into the older man's very soul.
"Death flying. Is that your real name?" He asked curiously. The man looked almost snake-like, but Harry liked snakes, they talked to him when no one else would. Many people were scared of snakes but Harry found they tended to be very polite creature, though he did realise the man had answered only one of his questions. He decided to leave it for later, he wanted to know more about the man whose name meant death.
"No," Voldemort answered cautiously, he didn't know what this boy was capable of, or what his plan was. No matter, he would not die at the hands of a child. Not again. That was why he had come here as soon as he could, ensuring he could kill the boy before Harry could gain any knowledge on how to control his magic. Slowly lifting his yew wand he saw the green gaze drawn to the sliver of wood. There was no fear, only that curiosity and confusion.
"What is your real name then?" After examining the stick in the man's hand, Harry turned his eyes back to the crimson orbs, he didn't like the short answers the man was giving him, but this was his first actual conversation with another human he had had in awhile. He was enjoying the back and forth of words.
"I don't see how that is your business, boy." The man replies in his soft voice, deceptively quiet in a way that could so easily draw you in for the kill. The tall man was unsure of how to respond to the enigma that was Harry Potter.
"And I don't see why you're here." The young boy quickly replied to the older man, he found no reason to hold back his retorts as Voldemort had made no move to hurt him even with his previous questions.
Voldemort leveled a glare at the boy but it seemed to be lacking its usual icy bite. "And I don't see why you must question everything. Did the old fool tell you nothing?" Voldemort cursed himself as he realised that he had not only brought Dumbledore into a conversation when he easily could have said nothing, he had also inquired the boy when he should have, instead, killed him.
Squinting his green eyes at the pale man in black robe, Harry seemed to become even more confused. "What old fool? Do you mean my Uncle Vernon?" Crimson eyes blinked in surprise as he looked at the boy in a bit more scrutiny than he had before. He noticed that he was too thin, too pale, that the clothes he wore were old and hung off his delicate frame. Did this boy truly not know Dumbledore? Then again, would the old man allow this sort of treatment to the boy who had supposedly saved the wizarding world? To be shoved into a small cupboard and seemingly forgotten?
"Have you not met Albus Dumbledore?" If the boy's answer was what he expected it to be, that would mean that the boy was a blank canvas, one that could be easily molded into whatever he pleased. He could easily bring this boy to his side of the war and eradicate any threat to his rise in power.
"Who?" Harry moved himself further back on his bed, pressing his back against the wall of his cupboard, freeing the taller man to sit as he realised he had been standing in the cramped closet for much longer than was probably comfortable.
Voldemort noticed the boy's movement but remained standing, to sit would be to admit defeat and he wouldn't allow himself to be beat again. "The old headmaster of Hogwarts. You've never heard of him?" The boy couldn't know anything of magic. He hadn't responded at all when he heard his name or the old goat's. This was almost inconceivable. How had Dumbledore managed to lose his hold on the young boy? Surely not the muggles Harry was living with? The man wouldn't step down for something like that.
The young boy slowly shook his head. "What kind of school is Hogwarts?" His question was innocent. Definitely no way this boy had ever properly learned of his own magic. Voldemort had questions. Too many. He hated it. Hated not knowing or understanding what was happening. He, for once in his life, acted gently unable to explain this decision himself, probing into the boy's entirely unguarded mind. All he found were long days filled with hard work, abuse, and neglect. There was no way Dumbledore didn't know of this, the boy had met members of the magical world before, people who were close to the headmaster. Feeling rage seep into him, angry for this boy who had to endure those beatings everyday, Voldemort withdrew silently from the boy's mind, showing nothing of his anger outwardly. He was surprised though to learn that this boy had the same ability to speak with snakes as himself.
Giving into the boy's silent offer, Voldemort perched himself on the very edge of the cot the boy was sitting on, a thin blanket still draped over his legs. "A school of magic." He says simply, knowing full well how the boy could easily be overwhelmed. Had he received his letter yet? Had he even performed an act of accidental magic? He must have, Voldemort reasoned, he could feel the boy's power even now when he was weakened from the abuse.
"Why would I know the headmaster of such a school?" Harry didn't know what questions to ask first anymore, but he thought he might just get a more complete answer with this one rather than inquiring of the school itself.
"Did he not come to tell you about the school? To inform you of your… history?" Voldemort asks as though he doesn't know the answer to the question, and by all rights he shouldn't.
"The only history I have is here." The green eyed boy lifts a hand to gesture around the small room and Voldemort sweeps his crimson eyes along where Harry had pointed.
"Do you know nothing of your parents then?" If he hadn't been looking closely, Voldemort would have missed the spark in the boy's eyes, would have missed the way he straightened his posture just a bit.
"My parents were drunks. They died in a car wreck." Harry informed the strange man in front of him, but questioningly, as though he hadn't known that for his eleven years of life. As though he was pleading with this man, this stranger, to tell him. To confirm the thought. Instead, he simply looked offended.
"Is that the lie they fed you? That Lily and James Potter died so easily?" Voldemort's upper lip curled in disgust, though he already knew that was what the daft muggles had told the boy. He was angry they had let the boy grow up believing he was nothing but a freak. He hated the muggles the boy had grown up with. He felt… sympathy? No. The Dark Lord doesn't feel sympathy. He merely pitied the boy. That was all.
"Is that not what happened?" This man seemed so upset to hear those words. Was he close to Harry's parents? Why else would he be so offended?
"Of course not. They were much more of an annoyance than that." Voldemort sneered. "Now, will we be sitting here all night or would you prefer to leave?" Voldemort didn't know what had possessed him to offer this boy, of all people, refuge. Offer him a place to go.
"What? Go where?" Green eyes widened as Harry looked up at Voldemort in surprise. He had never met this man before. He appeared out of nowhere and told him that everything he knew was wrong. Could this man truly be trusted? As green met red, Harry made up his mind. Lifting his chin, he speaks again before Voldemort could let loose his response to the boy's inquiries. "No matter, near anywhere is better than here."
Alright, so yes. Here's a thing I did. Also. This is an AU wherein Voldy was able to regain his sanity (to some extent), his body (so he's Tom Riddle, but using glamours to instill fear), and all that before Harry's birthday. Harry is still ten at this moment, this is the June 23 (Dudley's birthday and the day of the trip to the zoo). Also, this is assuming that Harry had previous encounters with snakes and knew that he was a Parselmouth (though he didn't know there was a name for it) before the zoo trip.
I'm really sorry about the end of this chapter but I feel like it might have never ended if I hadn't cut it off...
So! What did you think of this first chapter? Let me know! And if you have any suggestions for the title, please offer them up!