My Past Will Always Catch Up
By Allanasha Ke Kiri
Chapter 11 – Voldemort
It was simple enough getting Lucius and Bellatrix to take the amnesiac wizard shopping. Lucius was quite tired of seeing Harry in muggle clothing, and felt he needed to be more properly dressed for his supposed position. Bellatrix had just wanted to spoil him. Perhaps she was taking her role a bit too seriously …
No, he thought as he looked over a report. The more seriously she appeared to take it, the more likely the boy … young man was to believe it. He'd have to get Lucius and Harry to spend some time together in the near future so he could play his part as the boy's father figure.
On the other hand, Harry didn't seem to be getting along with Evan particularly well. And when he'd asked, Evan hadn't made much sense.
"The kitten's thoughts remain his own and for only him to see. Do not presume that even I can know what goes on within his head, for surely it will be wrong."
Voldemort shook his head as his follower's words. As loyal as he was, perhaps assigning Harry to Evan wasn't the best idea. Voldemort could rarely understand the man, even at the best of times. Then again, he was probably the best person he could have assigned to keep the boy safe. Evan wouldn't let anyone else take Harry from him, not without a fight worthy of a master.
He leaned back in his seat, wondering when the last time Evan had had a challenge was. Not for several years at least. Not that it ever seemed to hurt him any.
"Perhaps I'll assign him as Harry's teacher," he mused. Merlin knew there was no one better for it. Except perhaps Lucius, but Evan would expect more from the boy-who-lived, and would, in the end, probably get more out of him, and at a faster pace.
Of course, all of this had the unpleasant possibility of bringing Harry's memories back, despite their false start. Hopefully, by that time, he'd already gotten the boy's loyalty to him so that when he did start to remember, it wouldn't matter … or it would matter less. Then again, perhaps he wouldn't appreciate being lied to.
One could never tell with a Gryffindor. They're too emotional, too irrational, and they almost never did anything you expected them too. Unless of course, you planned for every possibility, which he'd had to do with blasted Harry Potter.
Of course, then the boy had gone and done the one thing he'd never expected him to do. He'd run away. And then he'd managed to keep all of them running in circles searching for him for five years, and all along he's been living as a muggle.
His lips pulled back in a disgusted sneer. He could only blame the boy's lost memory for that … though that still brought up the question as to how it disappeared. If only he could ask the boy, it would surely answer a lot of questions. Of course, if he could ask the boy, he wouldn't be amnesiac, and would most likely be dead. He had no use for a Harry Potter that was against him.
A loyal Harry Potter on the other hand, well, that was a completely different matter. The boy was strong. As much as he hated to admit it at times, it was the truth. And he'd only grown stronger in the years he'd been missing. It was like his magic had slowly simmered beneath the surface, slowly building and waiting for the perfect time to let itself out. And with five years of no use … or of little use as the case was.
How did Harry Potter learn sex magic? His lips pulled back into a puzzled frown as he remembered the two times he'd been at the muggle establishment. Both times Harry had somehow managed to fill the room with it. Keeping the muggles bound to him, unwavering, and longing, but none of them daring to touch.
Harry had raised it, and used it, drawing … something from every muggle, and wizard, there before drawing it back as he'd finished. It had been extraordinary to feel it brush against him, seeking him and begging him to allow it in, but Voldemort hadn't. His magic was his own, and he wasn't going to allow anyone else any of it, even if it would be easily replaced.
Could he be doing it completely by instinct? It was possible. The little he knew about the Potter heir was that he was magically powerful, had an insane amount of luck, and had an innate talent for magic. Ever since they'd found him, it was almost like it surrounded him, cloaking him in a protective shell.
It was one of the reasons he hadn't killed the boy, why he'd decided to look deeper, and why he was pulling this ruse. Harry's magic was practically solid around him. When he was close, Voldemort could practically see his magic. No one else had seemed to notice, but he had. Harry had only grown stronger.
But why was his magic acting as a shield? And from what? These were two questions he was going to find out, eventually. Until then, he had the seductive wizard to himself. None of his followers would dare touch anything he'd claimed as his. And he had claimed Harry a long time ago.
Several hours later, Voldemort found himself in the library, immersed in one of his many books of the Dark Arts. He was pulled from it when he sensed Harry's presence enter the room. Keeping his eyes on the book in front of him, he listened as the boy made his way through the shelves to where he stood. Harry made little noise as he moved, but it didn't matter. Voldemort didn't need his ears to know he was there. He could feel the boy.
Harry stopped several feet away, but didn't announce his presence. He could feel Harry's eyes on him, intent and searching. He wondered what he was looking for, what he saw … what he was thinking.
Voldemort remained silent, waiting to see what Harry would do, but after several minutes had passed and the boy still hadn't made a sound, Voldemort felt his patience dwindle. Not that he allowed it to show in his voice. Mustn't scare off his supposed consort after all.
"Are you done observing me?" he asked, calmly, eyes never leaving the book before him. "Or should I pretend I haven't realized you're there for a few more minutes?"
From the corner of his eye, he had the distinct pleasure of watching Harry jump. So, he had surprised the boy. Good.
"I'm done," he replied, his mild surprise echoing in his voice.
"Good," Voldemort replied, glancing up at the boy with a smirk. "Because I couldn't have lasted much longer anyway."
Harry raised an eyebrow, but refused to say anything, so Voldemort took the opportunity to look him over. The first thing he noticed was the way Harry's magic wrapped around him protectively. It settled about his shoulders like a cape, swirled in warning and invitingly. But the boy seemed oblivious to it.
He looked good in his dark blue robes, better than he used to look in his oversized muggle clothing from several years ago anyway. As his eyes trailed over Harry, Voldemort surprised himself with a sudden surge of lust. He shoved it back down, not letting it show on his face as he nodded his approval.
"They suit you," he said, breaking the silence. The boy just raised another eyebrow, not looking impressed in the least. He wondered what Harry was thinking.
He shrugged and crossed the room to sit at the other end of the couch, causing Voldemort to have to twist to keep his eyes on him. The smirk never left his lips.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, actually curious as to the boy's day in Diagon Alley.
He shrugged again. "Shopping has never been my favorite past time," he replied.
Voldemort chuckled lightly. "No, I don't imagine it would have been."
"I met Ronald's brothers," Harry offered, suddenly, surprising Voldemort.
Which ones? He wondered silently as he raised an eyebrow in question.
"Fred and George, I believe."
The twins. Two of the only ones not to go into hiding after he'd taken over. He'd allowed the twins to live because of how little action they'd taken during the war, and because they were a pair of pureblood wizards who would produce powerful children.
"Ah, yes, the pranksters," Voldemort murmured, keeping his voice light. "A brilliant pair of wizards. Did you recognize them?"
If he had, he was going to have to do something to slow his memory return. The boy couldn't remember yet … if ever.
"No …" Harry replied, as though hesitant to say it. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. After a moment, he did.
"But … it was … painful," each word was said slowly, as though tasting them and not sure if it was what he meant.
"Painful?" Voldemort asked, curious. The boy nodded silently, his blank emerald eyes turning to glance around the room, probably to avoid his own red ones.
"It's understandable," he said, calmly. "They do share a remarkable resemblance to your friend."
"I know," the boy replied, causing Voldemort's eyes to narrow in suspicion.
Harry glanced back at him, head tilting slightly in an innocent gesture. "They showed me pictures," he said, thoughtfully. "Of Ronald, Hermione, and me. So now, I have a face for a name … but still no true recollection."
Voldemort relaxed slightly, barely noticeable as he nodded. "That is too bad," he murmured. "I had hoped … well, no matter, I'm sure your memories will come back to you in time." He frowned lightly. "Would you like me to ask Severus to brew you a potion that might encourage it?"
Harry gave him a long slow blink, as though trying to process something. Finally, he shook his head, the action smooth.
"No," he said. "Perhaps it's best if it returns on its own."
Voldemort nodded silently. "Very well, Harry," he replied, satisfied in the boy's response.
They fell silent, and Voldemort was surprised to find it comfortable. He had no desire to break it as he continued to look over the boy. Harry was leaning back against the couch, his eyes closed in thought. Or what Voldemort presumed was thought. He certainly didn't look tired.
"What happened to you, Harry?" Voldemort asked, surprising himself at the question.
Harry eyes opened and he blinked at him. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice just as blank as it always was.
"You're memory. What happened to it?"
The boy blinked again, then shrugged lightly. "I don't know. The first thing I remember is waking up in a warm bed. Ellisa came in shortly after, surprised to see me awake. She'd found me in an alley nearby, hurt."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed as the boy's expression seemed to gentle a bit, sorrow flickering across his eyes.
"She didn't know me, who I was, or what had happened, but she took me in and nursed me back to health."
"Do you still see her?"
"She's dead." The boy's expression closed off again. "She was killed a year later by a muggle thief."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Well, that was interesting. "And why do you dance?"
Harry seemed startled by the question. He blinked at Voldemort in surprise, and didn't reply right away. Finally, he shrugged lightly.
"Because I can," he answered. "Because I'm good at it. Because they want me but can never touch me …" his voice dropped until Voldemort had to strain to hear it. "Because it's a sense of control."
"I see," Voldemort replied, after a moment. Yes, he could understand all of that, had experienced some of that. Of course, he'd done it in school, and hadn't done anything quite like Harry was doing. But he had enjoyed stringing his 'friends' along, making them beg. He'd relished the control he'd had over them. He still did.
He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his leg as Harry looked at him, almost curiously.
"I know something else you're good at," he said.
Harry raised an eyebrow, not giving a verbal reply.
"Magic," Voldemort told him. "It will take time, but you'll get there again. You were quite a sight to behold."
Not really. Dumbledore had never trained the boy to his full potential. He'd kept him weak and naïve, but that would soon change. Voldemort could feel the power that came off of the boy. And this time it would be his, completely.
Standing swiftly, he closed the short distance between him and Harry and inserted a leg between the boy's so he could stand between them. Then, he leaned down, placing a hand on either side of him, like he had just a few days before. Harry tensed beneath him, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he hovered over him, but Voldemort took no notice of it as he swooped down, catching Harry's lips with his own.
Harry tensed even more, twitching as he jerked back. Voldemort frowned at him, about to demand why he'd pulled away.
"I didn't take the potion," Harry admitted, before he could. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you today."
Voldemort sighed as he pulled away, annoyed that his plans had been put on hold. "Very well," he murmured.
As he stepped further away from Harry, his eyes caught the glint of something silver on the boy's wrist.
"What is that?" he demanded, motioning to it.
Blinking, Harry raised his arm and blinked at the bracelet. "This? Evan put it on me. Said it would keep me from getting lost again."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Was that so? Why hadn't he been told about it?
"I should go," Harry said, smoothly rising from the couch. As the boy passed him, Voldemort reached out, snagging his sleeve. Harry paused, glancing at him with those blank eyes.
"You should stay," he said. "You belong here, Harry. Not with those muggles."
Harry shrugged. "I like it there," he said.
"You're mine, Harry," Voldemort told him, anger filtering into his voice, an anger that was echoed in Harry's eyes.
It flashed through them, lighting them with its fury and sending Voldemort back years. The graveyard when Harry was 14 … the Ministry when he was fifteen. Every time they'd met, his eyes had flashed angrily.
And then it was gone, the emotion locked behind emotionless emerald eyes. And his magic flared, briefly.
"I am not yours," Harry replied, his voice blank and uncaring. "I am not a possession."
With that, the boy walked away, and Voldemort let him. Because he knew what Harry's magic was protecting him from.
Hey guys. This chapter was a pain to write. It didn't want to be written from Harry's POV, and then it didn't want to be written from Voldemort's. I'll probably come and edit it later to make it flow better. Tell me what you think ^_^
Also, I've got a poll in my profile. Go check it out ^_^