I Don't Want to Die

Harry sat on his bed in the littlest bedroom of Privet Drive, and thought about what had happened to him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts.

Harry had come face to face with Voldemort. He was impressed. The man was no more than a spirit, yet still managed to ruin his life. How could anyone allow themselves to be possessed like that? The image of the Dark Lord protruding from the back of Quirrel's head was so disturbing he was still having nightmares about it.

The worst part was, Voldemort still wanted him dead. He was a crazy, psychotic killer, without a body even, yet was almost able to kill him anyway. Harry didn't know why Voldemort wanted him dead so badly, but he was sure of one thing. He didn't want to die.

The problem was, how do you keep yourself alive when someone so determined wanted you dead? He needed to think of something, some plan of action, that would keep Voldemort from killing him. Voldemort was not known for failing to kill those he wanted dead. How would an eleven year old boy stop him?

"Boy, UP!" Aunt Petunia shouted through his closed door. His room echoed with the sound of her pounding fists, then the click of her unlocking the door. He quietly left his room and started his day, hoping for inspiration.


Nothing came to him while he was frying the bacon. It smelled so good, he took a chance and snuck a piece.

"Boy, here is a list of all the chores I want you to do today. They must all be done before supper this evening, or there will be nothing for supper for you! Am I understood?" Aunt Petunia looked as if she smelled something foul, but Harry could only smell the tasty bacon. Must be because she had to talk to him. Why did they hate magic so much? Maybe it was just him. He knew he was underweight, scrawny even, but he did try to be good. He wanted them to love him, but he would be satisfied if they would just stop being cruel.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he replied with an even tone, hoping it would be enough to keep him from getting punished so early in the day. Hope springs eternal.

"Don't take that tone with me! I expect the flowerbeds to be done first, don't waste any time. I have company coming over for lunch, so I expect you to be done and in your room by the time they get here." She was really on a role. How would he get the rest of the chores done if he was in his room pretending he wasn't there? "After they leave, you will finish the list. Understood?" She said as she set the table.

Oh. If that was how it was going to be, he needed to be fortified. He snatched another piece of bacon, and wondered if Voldemort had been treated this way as a child. It would explain why he hated muggles, but not why he wanted them dead.

After cleaning up the kitchen, he started on the flower beds. He pulled a weed. Did Voldemort have parents? He pulled another weed. Did he want his parents to love him, like Harry wanted his Aunt and Uncle to love him? He pulled another weed. At least his relatives didn't want him dead. They tolerated him. He pulled another weed. Could he get Voldemort to tolerate him? No good, he wanted Voldemort to not want to kill him anymore.

He turned on the water hose, and wondered a bit more. If there was someone he hated, what would it take to not want to kill them? What would be important enough to Voldemort to make him spare Harry, even if he did hate him? Harry hated Malfoy and his pureblood crap, but he didn't want him dead. The water hose sputtered.

Pureblood. Voldemort was hung up on pureblood elitism the same as the Malfoys were. What if he could convince the evil Dark Lord that he was a pureblood too? He resumed watering the flowerbed. Nah, no good. It might make Voldemort tolerate him, but Voldemort killed anyone who was in his way. If he could make Voldemort believe he was a pureblood, he might be given another chance to change sides, but Harry knew he wouldn't join him. He turned the water off, and went inside, his mind still in chaos.


He was sitting on his bed again, thinking. Getting Voldemort to tolerate him was a good place to start. In order to do that, he would have to convince him he was worth tolerating. He would have to convince the evil one he was from a family worth sparing. What a thought. The only family someone so evil would consider sparing would be his own.

His own. What did Harry know about Voldemort's family? Time for some research. Harry grabbed a quill and piece of paper, then wondered who he could ask that would keep his questions to themselves, and actually answer them. With a burst of inspiration, he began to write.


I hate you , you hate me. Now that we have gotten past that, I need a few questions answered. If you answer them for me, I promise to never tell anyone I got my information from you. No one would believe we could civil long enough anyway. If you are curious, write me back.

I may need to actually meet with you for this, so consider that before you answer. To make you even more interested, I think you might like to be the only one to know what Harry Potter gets up to when Dumbledore isn't around to keep him in line.

Write back soon, and don't hurt my owl.

Harry Potter

With a satisfied smile, Harry Potter attached the letter to Hedwig, apologised for sending her to the Malfoy spawn, opened his window, and sent her on her way. There was nothing for it but to wait.