I AM MY FATHER'S SON

LADY SHINIGAMI

STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIES

CHAPTER 1

"I need to get out of here. Soon." Harry said quietly, wiping some blood from an oozing cut on his bruised face. The house was empty; otherwise Harry's comment would have resulted in another beating. With a raspy sigh, Harry went back to his chores. He knew he wasn't even remotely in the condition to be able to do the long list of chores that his relatives had left him. His aunt and uncle were had left to watch a boxing match of Dudley's and they wouldn't be back until late... very late.
At the moment, Harry had completed one third of the chores set out for him, all of them harder than the rest, and it was just before noon. Running a hand through his rapidly growing hair, Harry began to set up his escape. Going back inside the house, he picked the lock of the second bedroom, which used to be his room, and dragged his school trunk down the stairs and through the house, until it was behind the shed in the back yard, hidden by some bushes. He had a glass of water before returning to his chores.
A few nights previous, Harry had found his wand, hidden in Uncle Vernon's room, on the windowsill. He had replaced it with a transfigured twig, the twig transfigured to look like his wand by wandless magic. His plan was slowly coming together, however, it would take a few more days before he had enough strength and energy to escape, and it wouldn't have taken nearly as long as it had been taking if Harry had been eating properly; at least one meal a day would have improved his chances greatly. Harry's last meal had been at Hogwarts, at the End of Year feast, nearly two weeks ago. His relatives had developed a nasty grudge over the past year and the threat the Order had given at King's Cross Station had made them snap, so to speak.

Hours later, when the Dursleys arrived home to a sparkling home, they had beaten Harry for 'not doing a good enough job!' resulting in a new injury as he leaned heavily against the wall of his cupboard, bleeding. This time, Uncle Vernon had taken a large hunting knife and stabbed Harry's left leg. The blade had gone through Harry's bone. He also suffered from a newly broken ankle and some heavy bruising, plus a few broken ribs because Dudley had broken his Smeltings stick across Harry's back.
It hurt to breath. It was a struggle to breath. Feeling faint, Harry tore one of his few remaining shirts into strips and cleaned and wrapped his leg wound, stopping the blood flow and easing his dizziness.
"Boy! Time for more fun!" Vernon pulled open the cupboard door and grabbed Harry by his broken ankle, soliciting a ragged scream of pain, earning him a boot to the face, shattering his glasses. Nearly unconscious, Harry offered little struggle as his uncle dragged him into the living room, where the rest of his family waited. He was thrown into the coffee table, and was vaguely aware of aunt Petunia saying, "Vernon, don't get blood everywhere; it's just too much of a mess to clean up."
Harry became fully aware when Vernon tore at his shirt, revealing his already dangerously thin body. He started to back away when Dudley grabbed his arms and handcuffed his wrists together before taking a knife to the young wizard's bare arms.
"What are you doing? Please, stop it! Please!" Harry was backhanded and his lip slip open. Spitting out blood, Harry looked fearfully at his uncle, who, he noticed, was holding a hammer. Grinning maniacally, Vernon brought the hammer down on Harry's leg bone, just above his broken ankle. His scream of pain was cut off by Vernon's meaty hand slapping his face, bruising it.
"Shut up! I can't hear the bones breaking with all the racket you're making!" he shouted, grinning widely. The knife his cousin was using was already slick with Harry's blood, and Harry could not see his arms, covered in blood as they were. Harry was beginning to lose consciousness from blood loss. He needed to get out NOW! He wasn't going to die here! Struggling anew with new strength out of desperation, Harry lashed out, kicking with his good leg and catching Vernon in the face, knocking the fat man on his ass. With the rest of his 'family' surprised, Harry staggered to his feet and lurched towards his cupboard, where his wand was hidden. Grabbing his wand, Harry turned on the Dursleys, who had recovered from their shock and were only a few feet away from him, and Vernon smirked at the sight of Harry's wand.
"That isn't your real wand, boy! I have it up in my room! And. for your insolence, you will be punished severely!" He moved forward a step, but Harry's choking laugh made him pause.
"I found... th-this a few d-days ago, Ver-Vernon. I used... wandless magic to trans-transfigure a t-twig... to look like my wand. Wandless magic... is un-undetectable. I-I'm leaving. You... you can't st-stop me. You wo-won't see me again..." On one knee, Harry reached behind him and grabbed his Invisibility cloak. "I will be back, and I... I will kill you." Harry staggered to the door and opened it, keeping his wand trained on his relatives, thankfully with a steady hand.
Turning, he ran as quickly as he could on his broken ankle, throwing on his cloak. His progress was definitely slow but he managed to cover a few streets covered his strength faded and he collapsed on the street. Still awake, he started crawling, making sure his cloak covered him completely. Dawn was maybe an hour away when Harry loss consciousness due to blood loss and severe pain. The last thing he heard was some footsteps before the world faded into darkness.

He woke up briefly to being carried, and he heard a muffled conversation above him.
"...found him... on the street. I didn't... it... him... happened to him?" the voice was familiar, but in his foggy mind, Harry couldn't place it.
"Bring him... the Lord. He will... what to..." The second voice was also familiar. Whoever was carrying him stumbled slightly, and Harry whimpered.
"Is he waking...?" The voices vanished into a void.

He woke up again, this time completely, and opening his eyes, he saw a black ceiling, faint light reflecting dimly. Looking to one side, Harry saw two dimly lit lamps on the wall. Looking to the other side, Harry's emerald green eyes widened considerably. Sitting at his bedside was Lord Voldemort himself, the one wizard that he was sworn to kill or be killed by. But what Harry didn't understand was why his enemy was sitting calmly in a chair at his bedside, reading a book. A closer look at the book revealed that it was a Muggle book called 'Rules of Ascension' by David B. Coe. It was bizarre.
The Dark Lord noticed that Harry was awake and smiled thinly. "Ah, awake at last, Potter. You are confused; I know that. You are also hurt; I know that too. Why haven't I killed you yet? Because I want you strong for when I kill you in the final fight. Do you understand?" Harry shook his head. Voldemort sighed and closed his book. "Potter, I know what the prophecy says. 'One shall die at the other's hands, for neither can exist while the other survives.' I want a fair fight with both of us at our peek in strength and magic. You are in no condition to fight me, and I would rather take this world from the hands of a powerful opponent, the world's savior, than from the hands of a dying boy."
Harry raised an eyebrow in response. Voldemort chuckled, a disturbing sound. "Yes, a dying boy. When my Deatheaters brought you in, you were dying, but now, after nine days in a healing coma, you are recovering nicely. Any questions?"
Harry nodded. "How did you find out what the prophecy says?" he whispered and the Dark Lord smiled wickedly.
"You have a tendency to talk in your sleep. Tell me, do you often blame yourself for deaths that you have no control over? You shouldn't, really; it will keep you from reaching your full potential."
"I am to blame for Sirius's death. Why do you care anyway?"
Voldemort shrugged. "I don't, Potter. I won't deny that I want to kill you, but it's much more of a challenge and much more fun this way. Well, congratulations, Potter, you will live to see another year. Now go to sleep." Voldemort stood up and left the bedside as Harry's eyelids drooped shut.

A cool wetness woke Harry a second time; trickles of water sliding down his arms. Opening his eyes slowly, he watched as a Deatheater cleaned his arms, clean the slashes caused by his obese cousin.
"These weren't self-inflicted, were they?" The Deatheater asked suddenly, surprising Harry a little. He shook his head slowly. "I thought not. You were being restrained when this happened. Why were you, of all people, attacked so brutally?"
"Because the people I lived with thought I was a good-for-nothing freak, a freak worthy of nothing but torture at their amusement. They took advantage of my grief and surprised me." The Deatheater nodded and re-bandaged his arms.
"These will heal nicely. There will be some scarring, though. Most of the minor lacerations and major bruising have completely healed. Your ribs and back are still healing, so try not to move much or too quickly. Your leg wounds will take the longest time to heal. The bone has been healed, but you won't be able to walk for several weeks yet."
Harry nodded. "Thank you."
"Not at all. Just doing my job. I'll leave you now." Then the Deatheater was gone from the room. Harry took the opportunity to look around at his surroundings. The room he was in was black in color but the gently lit lamps made the room seem softer, more comforting. The furnishings were antiques, all in excellent condition, and every piece of fabric, from the bed sheets to the curtains, were accented with green. Outside the window, Harry could only see trees.
After about twenty minutes, the door to his room opened and Voldemort walked in, followed by a hooded Deatheater, this one taller than the one who had cleaned his bandages earlier. Harry regarded the both of them with indifference as they approached. The Dark Lord took the vacant chair at Harry's bedside, not acknowledging the Deatheater behind him, who remained standing.
"You look much better now, Potter. You are recovering nicely. Now, you will remain in my care until you are able to walk out of the front gate on steady feet. This is not a request of any kind. This is one order from me that you will obey. However, I cannot allow you to remain idle. You will continue your studies with some of my Deatheaters. You will learn how to Apparate with Avery; you will become an Animagus with me; Legellimency, you will also learn with me. You will duel with Lucius here."
Harry's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "Lucius? As in the father of my school 'enemy', that Lucius?" he asked and Voldemort smirked. "Yes, that Lucius. Anyway, you should continue to study from your textbooks, as I'm sure you have summer homework from the school. Was your school trunk destroyed, or is it still intact?"
"It's in one piece. I stashed it behind the shed in the back yard so that I could return for it. Should I have survived if you hadn't saved my life. As well, I have a few personal items in the second bedroom of the house, under a loose floorboard."
"All right. Lucius go and collect his things. He is under your care until I find someone more suited to the task. Be sure that he is able to do anything a Pureblood can do, or at least the basics; by the time he is ready to leave the Manor. Good day, Potter." Voldemort left Harry alone with Lucius, who continued to stare at Harry from beneath his hood. Harry stared back for several minutes, until he looked away, bored.
"Are you going to stare at me all day, Malfoy, or are you going to say something?" Harry asked quietly. Lucius let out a small, frustrated sigh and lowered his hood. His brow was furrowed and he regarded Harry with disdain, still silent. He shook his head, a little preoccupied, and sat down.
"How is it, Potter, that you were able to defeat the greatest Dark Lord of the century, but you were unable to even defend yourself against a fat Muggle?" Lucius' tone was full of contempt and Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Shut the fuck up, you prick! You don't know what I had to go through in my life! You know nothing of pain compared to what I have endured time and time again. I have gone through hell and back and even dueling Voldemort is heaven in comparison!" Harry shouted and Lucius frowned, angry. The older wizard promptly hid his face with his large hood and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Harry stared after him, furious. The nerve of that foul Deatheater!
"Arrogant prick! Who the fuck does he think he is? I will kill him before this war is over." He said quietly. Awning, he leaned back into the pillows, feeling exhausted. "Dear Merlin, I hope I survive this war..." His eyes closed and he was soon asleep.

Voldemort paced his throne room, obviously distracted and preoccupied, his thoughts entirely fixated on the Potter boy, who was currently sleeping upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms of Riddle Manor. The Deatheaters in attendance watched their Lord anxiously, unsure of Voldemort's mood. None of them said a word, or even so much as moved, for that matter. Voldemort ignored them. All he had on his mind was the Potter boy.
Potter. How had he completely misjudged the boy? Reflecting back, it was little wonder how the boy had defeated and thwarted him so often. Yes, the boy's mental prowess was weak, well, he had to admit that Potter was stronger than most when it came to Occlumency, and most likely Legilimency, and he was rather intelligent; he just didn't have enough opportunities to show it.
The boy was powerful, the Dark wizard knew that, and he knew it would be a challenge to defeat him, but then again, that was the idea. He knew of Potter's home life and school life and he wondered how that fool Dumbledore couldn't see the obvious problems, and this time, it had almost been too late for the Golden Boy. Speaking of Dumbledore.
"Severus!"
One of the Deatheaters assembled in the darkly lit and cold room stepped forward and bowed, kissing the hem of Voldemort's black robes.
"Yes, my Lord?"
"I know that you are not my most loyal Deatheater, but I will not punish you, not if you do one last thing for me. Come with me, and I shall give you your last assignment." Voldemort turned on his heel and left the throne room, not bothering to acknowledge Snape's presence as the Potions master followed behind him. Voldemort of course knew of Snape's betrayals, but he needed the younger wizard to take care of Potter, to help train the boy. Also... there was something nagging at his mind, something about the boy and his none-too-loyal Deatheater, but he didn't know what. It was... strange. Well, whatever it was could wait.
Quietly opening the door to Potter's room, Voldemort immediately noticed that the boy was asleep. No doubt from exhaustion and a lack of energy. The boy's school trunk was at the foot of the bed and a grubby old pillowcase lay on the bedside table, undoubtedly Potter's most prized possessions. If Voldemort had had any emotions other than hatred, he would have felt sad about the situation. Whatever, it was time to get to business.
"Severus, you see this boy here? He was slowly dying when I came across him. Well, some of the other Deatheaters came across him in Surrey and they brought him here to the Manor. I want him to live, Severus. I know who he is, but I want him to live now, so that I can defeat him later. You will care for him, Severus. I am making it your last assignment to keep the Boy Who Lived alive long enough for me to kill him. I want him strong, Severus. You will do as I say?" Voldemort asked, watching Harry sleep. Snape was silent and he approached the bed, examining the boy with a glance. After a moment, Snape turned back to his former master and nodded.
"Yes. Of course, my Lord."
Voldemort laughed with disdain. "Severus, I am not your Lord, so do not address me as such. Make sure he lives; Severus, and he must recover completely. Good day, Severus." Voldemort turned on his heel and left the room swiftly, feeling nothing for his once-loyal Deatheater, not even disgust or disappointment. Oh well. It didn't matter to him much.
Snape watched the Dark Lord as he left the room before turning back to the bed and its precious load.
"Dear Lord, Potter. What happened to you? Why is it always you?" He asked to the air. The boy was still bruised on his face and his arms, and the bandages on his arms hadn't escaped Snape's notice. With a small frown, he unwrapped the bandages from one of Harry's arms and examined the slashes.
The cuts weren't self-inflicted. A closer look at the boy's wrists showed bruising and horizontal cuts, as if something sharp, most likely metal, had dug into Potter's wrists until they bled. Potter had been restrained when whatever happened had happened.
"Shit Potter, can't you ever stay out of trouble? Now its my job to save your life- again." He rewrapped Harry's arm, still conversing with himself quietly. "You're lucky I'm alive to save you Potter. The Dark Lord knows of my betrayals, but since he wants to kill you when you're strong, who better to care for you than someone who wants him dead? Christ, Potter, were you ever a child or have you always been older than you should?" Of course, Harry didn't reply, being asleep. He continued to sleep peacefully, purely at ease. Snape sighed and examined the rest of the boy's injuries.
"Why is it always you? And why is it always me to protect you?" He started to remove tiny bottles and vials from his robes, not noticing as Harry stirred from his sleep.
"Dear Merlin, now I feel like a father trying desperately to protect his son."