I'm sorry for the wait. I've been so busy lately, I'll try and get chapters out faster. ChaosOrdo-FFL: Congrats on the new account! Please don't die on me; I would be terribly upset if I lost one of my most loyal readers because of boredom. little old nona: Welcome to the club. I'm proud to be your first vodemortXharry, it really is a lovely ship if you ask me. If I told you if you were right or not, it would take away the surprise. You will see in the coming chapters. Guest: I wish I knew who you were so I could answer you, but yes, exactly that. A. : I am confused by your review. If you could please elaborate. Ok with that done it is time for a chapter I have been itching to write, this is where Voldemort truly brings Harry over to his side. This will also begin the set up for the real meat of the story. That being said…sorry no sex in this chapter.
I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter Sixteen: Turning
"Why do you serve me?"
He mumbled something under his breath without looking up from the papers he was sorting through.
The Dark Lord sighed inwardly as he glided across the room, placing his hands over Harry's to get his attention.
"My Lord?" Harry asked, turning his green eyes to Voldemort's.
Those eyes had been soft once. He could remember the way they had looked when he had been a child, standing before that fool Quirrell. It was completely different from the way they looked now. Age and war had hardened him. No longer was he the eleven year old boy with no concept of the world; he was a warrior who had seen his fair share of death. There was an emptiness that the Dark Lord was almost proud to say that he had put there. It would make a perfect Death Eater if he could be convinced to willingly take the Mark.
"Why do you serve me?"
He currently had the boy sorting through war plans that had been found at one of the Order's camps. They had had the ingenious idea to keep all of their important information contained in small camps that he wouldn't have bothered with. All of them were coded, and Harry was sorting through them, attempting to compile a list of ones that could be decoded the same way.
He frowned, absently running his fingers through his hair-a tantalizing habit Harry had when he was thinking. "If I may speak freely my Lord?" The Dark Lord nodded once, and Harry looked him in the eye, "You tortured me for a year, my Lord. You used every manor of pain-both muggle and wizard-in order to reduce me to nothing more than an empty husk. You raped me when you weren't isolating me, tore into me mind and body when you weren't raping me. You prevented my suicide…twice. And when I was finally empty, finally uncaring, you drug me from the depths of hell and brought me back to life. I serve you my Lord because I know, at any moment, you could decide that you are tired of me and kill me or send my back down to the basement. I serve you because it's the only choice I have."
The Dark Lord nodded thoughtfully. It summed it up, except… "And the views I possess?" he offered. "I am looking to end the pain and suffering of my kind, our kind, at the hands of muggles. For too long we have been in hiding, afraid to show ourselves. If our enemy was destroyed, shown that they are lesser than us, then we will be free."
"You know I don't believe that my Lord." Harry's eyes were empty, uncaring. That spark that they had held as he had knelt for the first time in his office was gone. It was almost disappointing. "Dumbledore reminded me every chance he got that assimilation is possible. He told me that it would be best if we could learn to live with our non-magical counterparts."
"Do you really believe that would work?" the Dark Lord asked, studying Harry intently. "Do you really think that muggles," he sneered the word, "Would accept or ignore us if they knew we had a power that they didn't?"
"What of muggle-borns?" he offered, "Their families are usually over-joyed to have magical blood in the family."
"Name one instance."
He paused, chewing on his lip. His voice softened slightly, "Hermione's, my mother's."
"Ah yes, the Granger girl. Are you sure they are as accepting as you say? Have you ever been around them and their daughter? Have you been inside their minds and seen what they really think of her?" when Harry didn't answer, the Dark Lord continued. "And your mother's family." He laughed, "Surely you aren't referring to those muggles that shoved you in a cupboard and left you there to rot.; the ones that beat you and starved you. Yes, they are so very accepting of the wizarding world."
The Dark Lord sighed, watching Harry flinch at the mention of his "family." They had really done some damage to the boy. In the brief moments he had been inside his head, he had seen just how deeply his abuse went. It was shocking that nothing had been done for him. He had thought for sure that Dumbledore would have known at least, and done something about it. He shook his head; of course that wasn't the case. The man had known about him for years before he had come with his letter, and even after that he had ignored his pleas to stay at Hogwarts.
They were so similar, it was almost frightening. The boy had been damaged so similarly, and abandoned by the man who promised that he would always be there for him. He had grown used to having Harry near him, having someone whose soul mirrored his own. The Dark Lord, much to his horror, had found himself missing the boy that now stared blankly at him after he had gone to conquer the smaller camps of the light. He had received the news of his success with both pride and unease. He wanted the boy back, so he had sent the order, and Harry had returned.
Harry still did not look convinced. "Come," he offered Harry his hand. If he was not going to accept his ideas outright, he would show him why they would never be able to live in peace with muggles.
Harry set aside the papers he had been sorting, and cocked his head to the side. "My Lord?" he questioned.
The Dark Lord had been acting strange lately. He had yet to understand why he had been called back. He had been by the Dark Lord's side almost constantly since his return a day ago. If he wasn't training he was using his knowledge of the Order to help bring it down. This was the first time they had actually talked about Harry's loyalties.
It had never seemed an important thing. It was sort of an unspoken agreement, Harry obeyed without question, and his political views were never a concern. The Dark Lord had known, he was sure, that he disagreed with his views on muggles and muggle borns. But he had a point… the Dursley's had been…less than excepting of his heritage, and he really did have no idea how Hermione's family felt. She had rarely talked about them.
He took the Dark Lord's hand, and immediately felt the familiar sensation of apparition. He stumbled slightly, and would have fallen if it weren't for the Dark Lord's hand on his waist. They were standing outside of a coffee shop in a small London village. The leaves had already turned to the brightest shades of orange and gold, and littered the ground. The street was still, but the shop looked to be open, and warm against the chill outside. This place looked familiar, but he couldn't place it for the life of him.
Harry glanced up at the Dark Lord, and found him in his "true" form, his dark hair hanging in his eyes. He started to move away from the Dark Lord's grip, but his Lord linked their arms, pulling him closer. "Stay near me, and call me 'Tom.'" he instructed, pulling Harry towards the glow of the coffee shop.
The Dark Lord held the door open for Harry to enter, releasing the strong aroma of coffee beans and fresh bread.
"Tom!" the girl behind the counter squealed, bounding around the counter and flying into the Dark Lord's arms in a blur of movement. Harry went for his gun instinctively, stopping only when the Dark Lord gave him a hard look.
"Marisa, my dear," he crooned, hugging the girl back. "How have you been? How is your grandmother?"
Harry's jaw dropped when the Dark Lord smiled-actually smiled at the woman in his arms. "She is well! And yours Tom? How is the family? It's been so long since you've been here." She stepped back, and the Dark Lord shifted closer to Harry, lightly touching his arm.
"Close your mouth and smile," he hissed in his mind, before saying out loud in the same joyous tone, "Father is doing better, he is still very ill, but never fails to tell his stories of your grandmother and he when they were at the orphanage when he's up for it."
"That's wonderful Tom!" she squealed, turning her gaze to Harry. "And who is this," her grey eyes slid up and down him, smiling in appreciation as she took in his muscular form and long braid.
"This," the Dark Lord, smiled down at Harry, "Is my lover, Harry Potter." He took Harry's hand, twining their fingers together.
Disappointment flickered across her pale features for a moment before she smiled again, "Nice to meet you Harry. How long have you and Tom known each other?"
"Fifteen years. We went to school together and only reconnected a year ago."
"Fifteen years," Harry repeated smoothly, his lips curling into a smile, "We met at boarding school and reconnected about a year ago while I was vacationing in Italy."
"Oooo," she sighed, eyeing him with a smile, "You're one of Tom's school friends? Does that mean you know his family?"
Before Harry could answer a sharp voice cut through the air, "Marisa! Have you taken our guests orders yet?"
The girl looked ashamed, and blushed deeply, "No grandmother."
"I'll have my usual Marisa and so will Harry," the Dark Lord replied with a warm smile.
After a long look at the two of them, the girl bounded off to make whatever the Dark Lord's usual was. Harry felt a small tug on his hand as he was led to one of the small, comfortable couches across from an elderly woman.
"Mrs. Erril," the Dark Lord said, bowing slightly as he sat down, "Long time, no see."
"It always strikes me how much you look like your father when he was your age. It seems the Riddle men have strong genes." The woman looked to be in her seventies; her hair a steely gray, and her face sagging around her eyes. Her face was both hard and gentle at the same time; her thin lips twitching into a smile as Tom sat.
"Of course ma'am. My father sends his love," the Dark Lord pulled Harry down onto the couch beside him, draping his arm around his shoulders as he did.
It was strange; the Dark Lord was never like this. If he was touching Harry it was either for sex or punishment. There was never the gentle caress on the back of his neck. He had no idea what the others were talking about-Harry knew for a fact that Voldemort had killed his family and there was no way this woman was able know his father. There was so much he wanted to ask, but he knew better than to say anything. The Dark Lord would tell him when he was ready.
They chatted for several minutes, simple conversation of old friends. Harry tuned them out for the most part, his eyes roaming the coffee shop. It was done up in traditional browns and oranges. Small tables lined the walls, nestled in the shadows giving them an intimate feel. The center of the room was taken up by soft leather couches. That coupled with the soft lighting and intoxicating aroma of coffee gave the shop a warm, relaxing feel. They were the only ones in the shop save for a couple talking quietly in the corner.
"I knew your father when he was younger than you are now," her words caught his attention, and Harry turned his gaze towards the woman, peering at the Dark Lord from above her glasses, "He was a strange but brilliant boy." This had the feel of an old conversation.
"An apt description," the Dark Lord said smoothly, taking a sip from the steaming mug that was set in front of him. "He has told me of his days in the orphanage, and has spoken of you with much kindness."
"I've known you for nearly ten years now Tom, since you stumbled in here. You don't have to lie to me. I know your father resents all of us from the orphanage." She smiled bitterly.
"I wouldn't say he resents you. It's more of a…" he waved his hand through the air, as if unable to find the words.
She laughed, "Why haven't you found yourself a nice woman Tom?"
The Dark Lord laughed, lightly rubbing his thumb across Harry's shoulder, "Perhaps because I've found myself a nice man."
She turned her dull eyes to Harry as if seeing him for the first time, "Who are you?"
"Harry ma'am. An old friend of my L-" fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder, "Of Tom's."
"Ah, did you go to that school too? The one that Riddle Jr disappeared to every fall?"
"Tell her yes."
"Yes ma'am," Harry repeated. This wasn't possible; he was sitting with 'Riddle Jr' right now. The Dark Lord had had no children, and yet this woman claimed to know the entire Riddle line.
"My Lord…?" he asked silently, studying the woman.
"Just listen, pay attention." Was his only response- "If you'll excuse me Mrs. Erril, I must use the restroom." He stood, giving Harry's shoulder one long squeeze in warning before heading towards the back of the shop.
Doing well to hide his confusion, he turned to the woman and smiled. After a moment's silence and a sip of his coffee he finally asked, "So how long have you known V- Tom?"
"A little less than ten years dear." She reminded him of one of his aunt's friends, sweet and dignified with just an edge of hardness. "He came wandering in here and I knew immediately who he was. He's the spitting image of his father. We grew up together you know, in the orphanage just up the road-the father, not young Tom here."
"You knew his father too?" Harry inquired, leaning forward slightly, slowly registering what was going on. If he was correct in his math, the Dark Lord had come back nearly ten years ago. Had he been acting like his own son for this long?
"Yes, although I haven't seen him in…well it's been more than twenty-five years." She said with a frown. There was another moment of silence before she prattled off about the Riddles she had known in her years-showering the youngest with praise while steering away from anything more than a passing comment about the Dark Lord as a child.
Harry reached out with his mind, lightly touching her consciousness. She honestly believed that the Dark Lord was his own family. He could see him in years past looking nearly identical to the way he did now. He listened to her stories about "Tom" as she explained how he had begun a now global charity for the orphaned in honor of his father. It seemed the Dark Lord was spending quite a bit of time in the muggle world, more so than anyone knew. Before Harry could react the Dark Lord slid into the seat beside him, lightly draping his arm around his shoulders. "Sorry about that," he said with a light smile, "Where were we?"
"What are you doing my Lord?" he asked silently, "If you truly believe that muggles can't be lived with then why all of this?"
"Watch." The Dark Lord smiled slightly lifting his now empty cup to his lips, "Is there any way I can get a refill Marisa, love." he purred, looking at the girl who was sitting to his left.
"Of course Tom," she started to rise.
"No, no. Let me." The Dark Lord drew his wand, ignoring Harry when he stiffened, and summoned the pot with a flick of his wrist.
"My Lord," Harry murmured under his breath, eyeing the stunned women cautiously.
The Dark Lord shook his head, his body morphing as they watched into the form of Lord Voldemort.
There was a scream, "Demon!" The elderly woman made the sign of the cross, her eyes widening as the Dark Lord turned his crimson gaze towards her.
There was a familiar flash of green light and the woman's scream was cut off mid breathe.
Marisa jumped to her feet, going for the phone, "Harry," the Dark Lord snapped.
Harry drew his wand, "Avada Kedavra." The phone slid from her hand with a clatter as her body landed across the counter. He turned instinctively towards the movement from the only other patrons-killing them without hesitation. A hand gripped his upper arm, followed by a familiar squeezing in his chest, and they were back in the Malfoy manor.
"My Lord," he gasped, turning towards him, "What the fuck was that about? Those women adored you, I don't understand why you felt the need to-" A hand gripped his throat, pressing him back against the wall, his feet barely touching the floor.
"Remember who you are talking to Potter," the Dark Lord hissed, pressing harder on his throat, his eyes glowed with anger at Harry's outburst. "That was the point. Those women have known me for years, and yet they panic at the slightest magic. What do you think the rest of the muggle population would do?" he released Harry, letting him collapse to the ground at his feet. "Think about it."
The Dark Lord gazed sightlessly out the floor to ceiling windows of his private rooms.
It had to happen. He reminded himself, absently twirling his wand from one finger to the next. He had to kill them, just like he had to keep in contact with the muggle half of his heritage. It was the only way.
For nearly thirty years he had been bringing his plans to life. Thirty years of tireless planning and endless risks, and it was finally coming to a head. It all revolved around his muggle life. They were going to be the downfall of their society and they wouldn't know it until it was too late.
He had used his family name to procure the money he needed for his…projects. He had started out small, rebuilding his father's (he couldn't help the twinge of hatred at the thought of the man) company and gaining the Riddle estate. He started out small, investing in smaller companies helping them mature into huge enterprises. He had his hand in every major muggle company worldwide; using the money he gained from those successes to ease his way into the underground of the science community. It was something too many wizards ignored. Soon his teams would have reached their goal, and from there it was only a matter of infecting muggles.
He smiled bitterly. It was almost perfect. It was just a matter of crushing the bothersome Order. They were in his way of perfecting his world. The war was taking up far too much time. Getting them to surrender was ideal, but they refused to submit. It was only a matter of crushing them in one final swoop, but to do that he would have to kill the heads and for that he needed Harry. The boy was the only one who could get close enough, the only one who was truly capable of slipping past their wards and ending them. It was his hope that Harry would choose to join him after tonight, but he had surprised him as always. He had reacted the exact opposite of how he had wanted. The boy had a habit of doing that.
He was stubborn. Even broken and devoid of nearly all emotion, Harry still managed to surprise him. He was the second most powerful wizard that ever lived, and yet he was held back by his morals. Yes, he killed without hesitation when asked, but he refused to kill anyone who wasn't a part of this war without being ordered to do it. The Dark Lord had seen him around his men. The fifty original and the two hundred he had been given, they adored him. He commanded their respect without having to threaten their lives. They knew he would kill them if he had to, but torture was never his teaching method.
The Dark Lord sighed. If he could not bring the boy over to his side, he knew he had to kill him. It would be messy to clean up, but he could not have someone so close to him that was not willing to do anything to achieve his goal. There was a twinge in his chest. He didn't want to have to kill him; it would hurt more than he cared to admit. He had grown used to having him around and missed him when he had left. His Death Eaters were starting to talk, saying he was going soft on Potter. That he was allowed to speak in a way that no one else was-a boy who only a short time ago had been their greatest advisory.
Yes, he would kill him if he could not bring him over.
Thank you for reading Everyone! Let me know what you think. This story is about to pick up big time. The next chapter will be Harry making a huge decision that's going to affect the outcome of the story and maybe something else…idk, I'm still thinking about it. Tell me what you think!