New A/N: Revised as of 11/30. This entire story is getting a facelift. I'll keep the old A/N just so you know what I was thinking at the time.
OLD A/N: Welcome! This is my first real try at a Harry Potter fanfic. So we'll see how it goes. I can't promise regular updates as of yet. But I hope to soon. Please enjoy this work! This will have SLASH pairings in it!
Summary: Some things are not always as they seem. Light is not always good and dark is not always evil. Harry finds out to he has been lied to and joins Voldemort in revealing Dumbledore's lies to world. Harry and Voldemort's goal of world domination is something they're just keeping to themselves for the moment. The world is in for a shock. TMR/HP SLASH! Boy on Boy! Don't like? Don't read.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world does not belong to me! It belongs to a genius named J.K. Rowling –bows down- However, the plot and any oc's are mine! This disclaimer will only appear once.
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, self-injury, language, and violence (all non-graphic). Abuse is not acceptable in anyway, shape, or form. I'm fortunate not to have ever experienced it. Any writing about such is based purely on what I think may be possible. This warning will only appear once.
Notes: You're going to need these
"Mental thoughts between bonds"
A Sense of Something Sacred
It was odd, to say the least. Harry was held down to the gravestone by rope. He watched emotionlessly as Voldemort came to life once more. Sure, the entire situation was deranged. Voldemort had come back to life. Using Harry's blood no less!
But that was not what Harry found strange. These things tended to happen to him often, run ins with evil. No. . . What he found strange was the fact that he honestly did not care. This fact, this apathy scared him.
What was wrong with him? Voldemort was evil. He was a megalomaniac, dark wizard who had ruined his life and changed the course of it forever. Harry felt guilty. He needed to stop Voldemort! What if his friend's got hurt? The thought of Hermione and Ron lying still and pale in death's grip rose to mind, causing Harry to shudder. Sirius motionless and body bloodied, the only thing he had close to a father . . .
He cared, Harry told himself mentally. He definitely cared. He would not allow his friends to come to any harm because of him. Harry's eyes scanned towards where Cedric Diggory's body lay facedown on the damp, graveyard grass. Cedric was dead. Because of him. A sharp pain on his forehead caused Harry to come out of his thoughts.
"See?" Voldemort told his followers, "I can even touch him now!" Harry looked up, seething, to Voldemort.
"Let go of me," he ordered in a deadly whisper with a bravery he most certainly didn't feel. Voldemort gave a cold, menacing laugh before pushing his finger harder on Harry's forehead.
"I'm afraid, Harry, that you are in no position to be giving me orders." The death eaters laughed. It wasn't a true laugh, Harry noticed. Merely one that seemed to be commanded of them. Mentally, he faced-palmed himself. Of all the things to notice at a time like this . . .
"Silence!" ordered Voldemort. The laughing stopped immediately, and silence reigned. "Now. . . Tonight will be the night that you will die, Harry Potter. I've caught you! Tonight is the night you join your dearly-departed parents in Heaven."
"I doubt it. I'm the-boy-who-wouldn't-fucking-die," muttered Harry, "If I did die, I'd more likely go to Hell."
Voldemort looked down at Harry, a look of pure curiosity plastered on his face.
"Now what makes you say that, Harry?" Voldemort demanded.
The situation had become stranger. Never had Harry seen a look of curiosity on Voldemort's face. Pleasure in other's pain and anger were the most common emotions to be adorned on Voldemort's face. Curiosity was not one Harry had been expecting.
'Don't call me Harry," he seethed.
Voldemort grabbed Harry's chin in his hand, causing Harry to look the Dark Lord face to face.
"You would be wise to answer my question," the dark lord whispered menacingly.
Harry tried his hardest not to cry out in pain. His head felt as if it was on fire. Thinking seemed like an impossibility. He was barely comprehending Voldemort's words at this point.
Voldemort seemed to notice Harry's pain and let go of him. Harry took a couple heaving breathes before looking back once to Voldemort. "What's it to you?" he asked, disgust in his eyes for the man before him.
"Come," said Voldemort changing his attitude completely, "This is no place for this conversation to take place."
"Silence, Potter. There is much you do not know and vice-versa. There are many mysteries in this world that I have not yet discovered the answers to. But I cannot talk to you about such things here. We shall leave these buffoons," said Voldemort.
It was funny, Harry thought. The first part had been said in a whisper so only Harry could hear. The last sentence was said for all the death eaters to hear. They seemed slightly put off to be called buffoons by their master.
The true meaning of Voldemort's statement, however, did not register in Harry's mind until it was to late. Voldemort took Harry's hand in his own and the last thing Harry noticed before darkness over came him was the world spinning before his eyes.
Morning light trickled through a window causing Harry's eyes to flicker wearily. He blinked a couple times before drawing a luxurious down duvet over his head and curling into a ball. He had had a terrible dream last night. It seemed so vivid! Voldemort's re-birth, the strange turn-around in Voldemort's attitude towards him and lastly, Voldemort taking him somewhere.
Suddenly, Harry bolted upright in the bed. Shit. Last night had not been a dream. It was real. A newly born Voldemort had taken him to Merlin-knows-where.
Harry's survival instincts kicked in, causing him to take in his surroundings. His glasses lay on a nightstand adjacent to the bed he was laying in. Warily, Harry picked the glasses up, worried that a curse or jinks might have been placed upon them. Nothing happened, so Harry placed them on his head.
His surroundings came into focus. The room was large and spacious. The bed he was in seemed to be made up of an enormous, oak wood frame and lavish sheets, pillow, and blankets. A fire crackled on the other side of the room, a comfy looking chair positioned just so with a blanket on its armrest.
Bookshelves, whose height stretched to the ceilings, lined the walls surrounding the fireplace. Harry figured there must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of books upon the shelves. But his question had not been answered. He had no idea where he was or why.
Cautiously, Harry climbed out of bed. His legs felt a bit like jelly and he grasped the bedpost, unsure of whether or not he could support himself. He tentatively made his way towards a shut wooden door. Harry figured that the other door, to the side of the bed, to be an entry way to a bathroom.
He grabbed the doorknob and gave a silent cry of happiness when he found it unlocked. But. . . Something was missing. Where was his wand! How stupid could he be not to have noticed it till now? He made his way back to the nightstand and rummaged threw its two drawers. They both were empty. Typical.
'Honestly,' Harry thought, ' I must be losing it.' This was (most-likely) Voldemort's lair, headquarters and or whatever it was called. The chances of Voldemort leaving him with a wand were null.
He made his way slowly back towards the door, grumbling a bit about the loss of his wand. Suddenly without warning, Harry's legs gave out from under him.
"Dammit," he cursed softly.
How the hell was he supposed to escape if he was stuck crawling around on the floor? A sinking feeling rose in Harry's stomach as a terrible thought crossed his mind. He had been kidnapped last night. Right now it was morning. And, as far as he knew, he was still in Voldemort's clutches. That meant that no one had located him as of yet. And as more time slipped by, the odds of anyone ever finding him became slimmer and slimmer.
That pretty much meant he was on his own. Not that that was uncommon for Harry. For most of his childhood, he had had only himself to rely. The Dursley's had never been of any help. Far from it. Personally, looking back on his childhood, Harry would have preferred to have been placed in an orphanage, like his Uncle had often threatened. However, he digressed.
Why was he unharmed and in such a luxurious room?
He struggled to stand up again and carefully made his way towards the door. He grabbed the doorknob and gently twisted it, leaned against the door, and opened it.
There was no one in the hallway. Harry, who hadn't realized he had been holding his breath, took in a deep breath. Now where to go? Mentally, he played a silent game of eeny-meanie-mine-moe and settled on the right side.
He started down the hallway, unsure of what he would find. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever. Perhaps, Harry rationalized, he was just imagining things. His fear was blowing things out of proportion.
He couldn't be scared. He had to brave. But why? The same feeling of apathy Harry had felt before rose up within him once more. Silently, he berated himself. He had to defeat Voldemort. No one had ever told him that outright but . . . It always was him. He always seemed to be facing Voldemort by himself. He had to care. How could he save everyone if he was apathetic?
His determination restored, he started once again to make his way down the hallway. A light was escaping out of an opened door a mere 100 ft in front of him. Harry cautiously made his way towards the door and peeked inside.
It seemed to be a study of sorts. Bookshelves were filled with books, more than had been in his room. A massive fireplace crackled and two squashy, comfy looking armchairs were placed facing it. A polished wooden side-table was placed to the side with s full tea service placed on top of it.
Delicious looking pastries and biscuits teased Harry's empty stomach. There were even sandwiches placed upon a platter. He hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday. And even that hadn't been much. He had been much too nervous to eat anything that day before the third task through the maze.
Harry's stomach gave a small grumbled and he cursed silently. What if someone in the room had heard it?
He waited a moment, ready to bolt if even the slightest noise came out of the study. Nothing happened. Warily, he made his way into the room. One sandwich couldn't hurt. Besides, he reasoned, how was he supposed to survive without food? Silently he tiptoed through the room and grabbed a single sandwich.
"Hello there, Harry," said a voice. Harry jumped and started to run out the room. Voldemort was suddenly sitting in the chair!
"No, no, no Harry. You're not going anyway right now," the Dark Lord said directing his wand towards the study door. Wordlessly, he caused the door to shut and lock itself. Harry struggled with the handle for a couple moments and then turned around.
"What do you want?" Harry asked vehemently, "Why the hell didn't you just kill me last night and be down with it? And don't call me Harry!"
Voldemort said nothing but directed Harry towards another chair opposite of his own. Harry, seeing no other logical choice due to lack of wand, grudgingly obliged and sat down.
"Missy!" called Voldemort. A small, brown elf clad in a smart, pressed white pillowcase appeared.
"Yes, Master Lord, sir? Missy is here!" she said in a small, rather high-pitched voice.
"Please prepare some tea for our guest and for myself as well," commanded Voldemort.
His voice was neither full of menace, not anger. In fact, it was rather pleasant, noticed Harry. When he spoke it was smooth and velvety. It flowed with confidence and seemed as regal as a king's without being overly pretentious. Almost like melted milk chocolate . . .
"Your teas is ready, sirs!" squeaked Missy, "Here you is, mister guest!" She thrust a teacup into Harry's hands and gave one to Voldemort as well.
"Thank you," said Harry. It seemed to be the only natural thing to do.
"Yes, thank you, Missy," said Voldemort, " Now, leave us."
"Yes, Master Lord sir. You is very welcome!" said Missy, "If you needs anything, I is just at your beckoning." She gave a curtsey and popped away.
Harry gave a tentative sip, praying to the gods that it wouldn't be poisoned. "Now then," said Voldemort, "Time for business. And I will call you Harry, as it is your given name. I do not want to be shouting Potter all the time like Snape does."
Harry nodded his head, unsure of what he was supposed to do.
"I had thought you wouldn't wake until later. Obviously, I was mistaken," Voldemort commented, "Eat, it'll do you some good." Harry, although hungry, merely stared at the food.
"Oh come now," scoffed Voldemort, "It's not poisoned."
"Why am I supposed to trust you?" asked Harry guardedly. Voldemort placed his tea down.
"That is true. Why should you trust me? But let me ask you one question. Why do you trust Dumbledore?" asked Voldemort.
"Well. . . Because he's Dumbledore, I suppose," said Harry trying to forget about how bizarre the entire situation was, "I mean, everyone trusts him. He's a light wizard, the strongest out there. He stands for good."
"Really now? I'm not saying you are completely wrong, just merely mistaken," said Voldemort, "But think of this, just because someone is light does that necessarily mean they are good?"
It was one of the most thought-provoking and absurd questions Harry had ever heard. Absurd in that the answer most certainly seemed to be yes and thought provoking due to the fact Voldemort wasn't likely to ask absurd or stupid questions.
"O-of course," said Harry hesitantly, "That's what light means. We learn light spells in school and how to defend ourselves from dark ones. But. . ." Harry thought for a while before speaking again. "Just because a spell is considered light, that doesn't mean that it can't be used for evil does it? And what about dark spells? Can any of those be used for good?"
"Very good, Harry," said Voldemort pleased. Harry sat awkwardly, not sure how to respond to such a compliment from the Dark Lord. After all, the bloody bastard had been after his blood for years. A compliment seemed rather out of place. "At least you can think for your self. The truth is just because something is light does not be it is good. And just since something is considered dark it isn't necessarily evil."
Harry looked at Voldemort strangely. "So are you saying that Dumbledore's evil?" he asked. Voldemort chuckled. Another first, noticed Harry, Voldemort chuckling. Honestly, was the world going crazy? Why was everything so messed up? Voldemort was chuckling? And it wasn't the mad, crazed laughter Harry was so used to. What in Merlin's name was going on?
Voldemort must have noticed Harry's confused look. "It's alright. Everything will be explained, in time. I'm not saying Dumbledore is evil. Just not. . . entirely altruistic as everyone thinks."
Harry cocked his head, completely and utterly intrigued, "How so?"
Voldemort's demeanor suddenly changed to one of utter seriousness, "You must understand this Harry, What you have been told about your parents and the night they died is not the truth. Your parents were actually followers of mine. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and James and Lily Potter were some of my top, if not, the top generals. Peter Pettigrew was one of our own as well. But he betrayed us to Dumbledore."
Harry, who had been sipping on some tea, suddenly choked on the hot liquid. "Wait… You're saying my family followed you, as well as the rest of the Marauders?" he sputtered.
Voldemort nodded watching Harry carefully, "Something like that, yes."
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And Dumbledore's the bad guy?" he asked.
Voldemort nodded again, "If you feel like calling it that, yes."
"Well at least one thing's the same," muttered Harry.
"And what would that be?" inquired Voldemort.
"Pettigrew's still a traitor."
Voldemort gave a short laugh. Harry rather liked it. Like Voldemort's voice, it seemed confident. And for some reason, this calmed Harry. The man's very presence seemed calming to Harry. Strange as it was, he couldn't deny it.
Harry took another sip of a tea and pondered everything Voldemort had just told him. It seemed so illogical after everything he had been told.
And why should he believe Voldemort, despite the calm feeling he gave Harry? He had tried to kill him after all on multiple occasions. It seemed so odd to be having tea and a civilized conversation with Voldemort, the Dark Lord, his supposed archenemy.
"But then, if my parents supported you, why then did you try to kill me?" Harry asked. This was a test and Voldemort seemed to notice.
"I have because I truly thought you lost, too brain-washed by Dumbledore for me to do anything. The least I could do was end your life and send you to your parents."
Harry couldn't really understand Voldemort's skewed logic but went along with it anyway. Voldemort was a dark lord after all. "But then, what made last night different?" Harry asked, truly puzzled.
"You saying that you would go to hell. If you were truly as drowned in Dumbledore's lies as I believed you would have thought you were an angel or something of the sort," answered Voldemort quite bluntly.
Harry gave a dark laugh, "I'm far from being an angel."
"And what makes you say that?"
Harry tensed up. Voldemort looked at him, as if inspecting him. It made Harry more insecure, and he felt oddly self-conscious of himself. It was as if Voldemort was trying to glance into his very soul.
"It's none of your business," he said coldly. Voldemort was obviously taken aback by this answer.
'Dammit,' thought Harry, 'Honestly, why do I end up in situations like this?'
'Because of who you are, Harry. It's your very being,' whispered a voice in his head.
"What the hell?" screamed Harry out loud, his eyes open wide.
"No! I will not calm down. I'm hearing fucking voices in my head!" Harry yelled.
"That's me," said Voldemort calmly, trying his best to control the situation and his temper, "It's part of the bond we share. Through it we have a telepathic means of communication and you've gained some powers from me such as your ability to speak Parseltongue."
Harry took some deep breaths, trying way to calm down. "What else can this bond do?' he asked.
"I can feel your emotions and read some of your thought. Emotions such as pity, love, sadness, and anger are conveyed. I know when you are in danger and such," said the dark lord nonchalantly.
"Great. . ." said Harry sarcastically, "The dark lord can read my mind like a book. Fantastic." He gave a yawn and rubbed his head. This whole conversation had taken quite a strain on him.
"Perhaps you should rest more," commented Voldemort."
"Kay," said Harry. He hadn't noticed how tired he was due to the fact he had been trying his best to pay attention.
"One last question though," said the dark lord.
"Yeah?" said Harry, obviously trying his best to stay awake.
"Do you believe me?" asked Voldemort.
Harry stared into the fire, watching the flames jump and dance while he thought. "I'm not sure," whispered Harry before falling asleep in the chair, lulled into slumber by a combination of fatigue and the warm fire.
Voldemort sighed and took Harry into his arms- a sight even his oldest and most trusted death eaters would probably faint at. Dumbledore's manipulations were spread far and wide- they even encompassed his own followers!
Carefully, as if Harry was glass, he carried the boy to his temporary room. He came to the room and opened the door and twitched a bit when it squeaked. He would have to get Missy on that straight away. Pulling back the covers, he placed Harry in the bed. Harry sighed and curled into ball, pulling the covers around him.
Voldemort pulled out his wand and summoned a chair next to the bed where Harry laid. He sat down and stared at the teen. When he was asleep, Harry looked almost angelic. His face was calm, devoid of anger, sadness, or pain. The dark lord had noticed these to be the most common emotions of the teen. What had happened in his life to make him like that- well besides Voldemort and Dumbledore of course. Having two of the most powerful wizards to ever roam the Earth interested in you never brought anything good.
Ironic, thought Voldemort, how had he himself turned out to be a dark lord? How does a little boy, eager to learn, turn into the most feared man in the wizarding man? He knew the answer but didn't want to think about it. It was something for another day.
He pushed Harry's bangs out of his face. How soft the boy's raven black hair was. His skin was smooth and pale. Harry had a slight and skinny frame. Too skinny, thought Voldemort, a frown appearing on his face. All through Dumbledore's doing, the manipulative bastard.
'Oh Harry,' thought Voldemort slightly perturbed by how sympathetic his voice sounded, 'There is so much more to tell you.'