Freezingflames7 - FreezingFlames

LMFAO I need more of this

“Expulso!”

The force of the magic slammed him through one wall and into another, and Harry could not breathe. It felt like the time Dudley sat on top of his chest, pressing all of the air from his lungs. He gasped and choked to no avail, the sensation of breathlessness more distressing than the stars dancing before his eyes and the ringing of his ears. 

He was dying, dying, dying.

After a too-long moment Harry managed a shuddering inhale, getting a lungful of concrete dust for his troubles. He doubled over, coughing violently. His wand. He needed his wand.

His right arm was screaming in pain, and Harry squinted through hazy eyes to find a bone sticking out of it at a decidedly odd angle, having ripped through his shirt and robes. Harry had a half-hearted thought of relief that Lockhart wasn’t here to vanish all the bones, which was strange because he should be focusing on the fact that he still couldn’t breathe properly. 

He blinked blearily and twitched his left hand with a desperation that had his wand—blessedly whole—slapping into it. Harry wasn’t used to casting with his off hand, but he was still able to twist it enough to cast a bubble-head charm. 

The spell was silent, because he had no breath for words and no time to think that he couldn’t manage. He had to.

Harry gasped again, this time into a clean pocket of air, and the panic receded a little more at the hard-won oxygen. The pulsing of his temples began to ease on his next breath, but the world still looked too-bright and decidedly crooked. 

“My Lord,” came a smooth, even voice, “shall I take his wand?”

Harry’s eyes focused slowly on the two figures in front of him as his fingers tightened almost compulsively around his wand. His.

“Let the child learn his lesson in full first,” said Lord Voldemort generously. 

Harry swallowed around a dry mouth, glad to taste no blood. At least he hadn’t bitten his tongue or gotten any teeth knocked loose. He inhaled deeply again, revelling in his ability to do so, though the motion made him notice an ache in his sternum as well. Bruised ribs, maybe?  

‘Lesson?’ Harry wondered blearily, a few beats too late. 

Though perhaps he said it out loud, because Voldemort replied, “That you are no match for Lord Voldemort.”

Of course he wasn’t. What a stupid point to try and make. He was fifteen. He barely knew any magic at all. Voldemort had been given decades to learn, versus Harry’s five years. Any competent adult—and wasn’t that an oxymoron—could easily outmatch him, nevertheless a Dark Lord. 

“Well,” Voldemort’s voice came dryly, “you have more sense than I expected, having been raised on Dumbledore’s knee.”

Harry let out a vague approximation of a laugh. He hadn’t known Voldemort had a sense of humour. Dumbledore couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him. They’d spoken—what, six times since he was eleven? Dumbledore hadn’t so much as looked his way the entire year. 

Not that Harry exactly wanted his attention. He was still angry with the Headmaster for that stupidity with the Triwizard Tournament, and his assault after returning from the Graveyard, and the resulting announcement made (on Harry’s behalf, as if he had any right to speak for him) that Voldemort was back. Really, Harry could have avoided a year of carving ‘I must not tell lies,’ into his own hand if it wasn’t for Dumbledore deciding to tell the world about Voldemort’s resurrection. 

Or maybe not, if Umbridge was one of Voldemort’s and he’d told her to torture Harry for revealing his return. Who knew? That would certainly have been a neat, simple solution. The woman was prejudiced enough to be on par with Malfoy, and he was a Death Eater. But if being prejudiced was the only qualifier to being a part of Voldemort’s army, or movement, or whatever the hell it was, then everybody would get an invite. Dudders could be a Death Eater; make his parents proud. 

“He has quite a mouth on him, My Lord.”

Wow, how observant. Snape would love this guy. 

Was Harry concussed? That was weird. Normally if he was concussed he stayed very, very still and quiet until he was able to sleep and his magic saw him to rights. If he got talkative with a head injury, the Durlsey’s would’ve probably dropped him at an orphanage like they always threatened, or maybe just left him in the middle of nowhere in hopes that he’d drop dead.

“What nonsense is he blubbering about?” the voice said again, and the trace of discomfort was slight but obvious to a boy who had been forced to pick up on such subtleties to survive. Did he not like to hear about the fact that some kids did not get coddled?

Did Death Eaters coddle their kids? Like, as a whole? Draco Malfoy had definitely been coddled; he acted just like Dudley, if not as stupid. He’d definitely grown up with a bed and food and people that would say ‘yes’ to his whims. He just had that sense about him.

Not that Harry wished that the boy hadn’t grown up with that stuff. Harry wouldn’t be intentionally cruel enough to hope for that. Just, he didn’t have to rub it in people’s faces so much. Then again, the brat would have to have manners or something not to do that, and with each passing day Harry was becoming increasingly sure that no witch or wizard actually possessed any matter of manners at all. Everyone was so rude, all the time. Well actually Riddle hadn’t been rude at first, but then he sicced a basilisk on Harry, which was not only rude but also attempted murder. 

Wait, where was he again? Oh. Halfway into the wall he had flown into after bursting through the first. Attempted murder again. That made sense.

The only question was, why was Voldemort so bad at actually murdering him? That had to be a little embarrassing. Oh wait, no, ‘lesson’. The man wanted to teach him something. Harry wondered if he wanted to be a good student for the Dark Lord, or if he’d rather just decline the opportunity. So far, he taught like a muggle.

“A muggle?”

Ouch. Harry’s scar hurt more than his arm; how did Voldemort do that? Harry needed to learn so he could hurt the man right back. Fairs fair.

A finger pressed cruelly into Harry’s brow, right over his scar. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurtithurt!

“Just like a muggle,” Harry gasped out. Physical violence. Just like Vernon. Voldemort. Vernon. Maybe everyone in the world who had a V-name was the worst.

Cold fingers felt surprisingly nice against Harry’s overheated face. The pain of his scar ebbed abruptly, leaving a dizzying confusion in its wake. Harry might throw up sometime soon.

“Would you like non-physical violence, boy?” Voldemort asked.

Harry carded through the options. Isolation and containment. Starvation. Maybe mental violence, the kind that Snape preferred. Verbal violence of Petunia’s ilk seemed a bit below the Dark Lord, but then her words about how much of a worthless, unnatural freak Harry was did circle his head to this day, so there was no doubt that kind of thing was effective. Just, probably it would’ve been effective if Voldemort had started before he could remember like Petunia had. 

“Do you have a non-violent option? Or is there a box I can check to be killed quickly? Is this a survey? I would rate your services as abysmal. Or wait. Uh. Troll. That’s it, right? Yeah. Bad… bad grade. Probably your first. You’ve failed pacifism. A truly bleak thing for a Dark Lord. You have my greatest sympathies. Surely this will hurt your future career options and they’ll have to lower your salary.” 

Are revolutionaries paid? Or does Voldemort take his own payment? What would be a suitable payment for a Dark Lord? The bodies of his opposers? But then, all his opposers are magical, and didn’t Riddle have that Magic is Might thing? Or was that just something he said? The man had ordered the death of Cedric, who had been the most worthy of age wizard at Hogwarts according to the cup. Apparently Cedric’s completely attractive competency hadn’t mattered, because Voldemort hadn’t hesitated to kill one of the brightest of a generation when a stunner and memory charm could’ve worked just as well. 

Then again, he’d wanted to kill a baby, once, and the death toll of the last war had officially been tallied at one-hundred and seven magicals, after Harry’s parents, so obviously he could care less if he was decimating their population, so long as he got to rule the world or whatever. 

“Potter, do shut up.”

Huh? Had Harry been talking?

“Rambling,” the voice of the oddly not simpering sycophant chimed in helpfully. 

Well. That was something. Normally Harry went very quiet when he was concussed and waited for his magic to—oh. His magic. Harry had magic. What had he done last summer, when Sirius was no longer an adequate threat? He could probably just… 

Harry looked down to see his wand in his left hand. He set it down very gently, then stared blankly at said hand for a long, long moment. Then the air around it began to do that cute little vibrating thing that his magic would do when it hadn’t been let out for long enough, because of the stupid Dursley’s, and the stupid rules, (why the fuck weren’t students allowed to use magic at all over the summer? Didn’t it make them feel like they were going to burst apart with all the suppressed energy? It was near painful sometimes unless Harry found some way to use it, which invariably the Dursely’s gave him.) 

A hand grasped over his wrist and held him at bay. “Do not do whatever you are considering, you stupid, reckless child—”

Harry was a child, and he had chosen to be reckless when he had chosen Gryffindor over Slytherin, so he let his wrist spark with electricity that was enough to get the touch away from him. Why did people always feel so entitled to touching him? He shivered in revulsion even as he placed his hand to his head and let his eyes fall shut.

His magic went to work, effective as always. This was only the second time it hadn’t waited until Harry was asleep. That was very nice of it.

“Thank you,” he told it quite seriously, in the middle of its work. It buzzed against his temple, a current of energy, and Harry quieted and let it continue.

When Harry re-opened his eyes, his vision was not blurry, his head not pounding, and the world not an unsteady bouquet of water colours with a diagonal slant. When he opened his eyes, he met the red gaze of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and swallowed.

“Oh. Just… lovely. Hi?”

The man behind the Dark Lord snorted. Harry spared him a glance—no features were visible beneath his cloak and mask. 

Harry’s throat worked around a swallow. “Fancy seeing you here,” Harry offered, and then set his hand on his arms, because why not, and winced when his bone snapped back into place. 

Ithurtsithurtsohshit. 

Voldemort’s eyes were gleaming with an odd sort of hunger. “I wonder if you will be so eager to talk now, Harry Potter? Tell me… when was the last time you encountered me treating you politely?”

Voldemort didn’t know about the Chamber?

Harry swallowed. “Okay,” he said.

Voldemort stared. “Just like that.”

 “It’s not like I’m opposed to you knowing. I thought you already knew, but apparently you and Tom Riddle weren’t as connected as he implied. Though, you know, if you want me to spill all, you should at least say please.”

Harry’s scar ached, but his arm didn’t any more. Unlike his ribs. “Pardon?”

“You would actually prefer to use Crucio than say please,” Harry noted. “That says mildly concerning things about you, you know. Common courtesy—Troll.”

“He’s stalling,” the Death Eater noted, when Voldemort moved as if for his wand. 

“Of course I am,” Harry rebutted. “He’s clever; you should keep him around to control your terrible temper.”

Why was Harry doing this? Was he waiting for a rescue that would never come, or an opening that was twice as unlikely given the multitude of people involved. 

The Death Eater laughed, and Harry saw a flash of green light. Heard his mothers scream. 

“Oh,” he said, eyes going a bit wide. “There’s two of you.”

Both figures went unnaturally still. “Why would you say that?” The cloaked Voldemort asked. 

Harry tilted his head. “Your laugh,” he said simply. “Your voice is different, but your laugh is the same. Also, you’re not nearly frightened enough of ‘Your Lord’’.”

The cloaked figure hummed, then lowered his hood. “Clever boy,” he said lightly, eyes just as intent and intense as Voldemort’s own, though they were dark rather than bright. His hair was curly, Harry noticed, longer than Tom had kept it when he was in school, though this man didn’t look very old at all. He still had his nose, though his cheekbones were sharper than they had been as a boy, and unlike Voldemort he had lips as well. Harry catalogued these differences with some interest. The evolution of Voldemort, he thought vaguely.

“Technically,” he adds, as he finishes taking the other Dark Lord in, “I’d be doing the both of you a favour by sharing the story of my Second Year.”

His implication was clear. He wanted two pleases. 

“You’re positively suicidal, aren’t you?” the human Voldemort murmured. “Very well, Harry. Please tell me about the circumstances surrounding your encounter or encounters with Tom Riddle, as well as the encounters themselves.”

Harry watched him thoughtfully. “What are you going by?”

“Marvolo,” the cloaked man answered easily. 

“Marvolo,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Your middle name. Tom wrote it in the air for me—rearranged the letters to spell,” he gestured to Voldemort with his newly healed arm. It didn’t so much as twinge. He was more than a little impressed with his magic. 

“How did you take the revelation?” said Voldemort, something cruel in his voice. 

Harry's lips quirked. "I told him he was nothing special," Harry admitted easily. "I told him Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world. Mostly, I just wanted him to shut up. He kept asking questions,” he allowed his gaze to drift over both of them, mouth speaking absently even as calculations flashed through his mind. How was he going to get out of this unscathed? There had to be something… some way… 

“He was desperate to know about the night you lost your body,” he told Voldemort. “He thought I would have the answers, somehow. I told him it was my mum. Muggleborn,” he informed Marvolo, in case he didn’t know. Harry’s lips curled in amusement. “He didn’t like that very much. Went on and on about how alike we are. Then he decided it was luck and chance that had saved me, said I was nothing special, and called the basilisk.”

“Maybe I proved him wrong when I killed it and then shoved a basilisk fang into the diary.”

Rage bloomed in two sets of eyes, but it was Voldemort that hissed, “You what?”

“Well, I was dying too at the time,” he defended. “I’m nothing if not spiteful. If I died, I was going to take him with me.”

“Yet here you are,” Marvolo said with clear menace. “Apparently you did not get close enough to death.”

Harry watched him, unimpressed. “The diary wasn’t the only thing that got stabbed with a basilisk fang.”

“You lie,” hissed Voldemort, redrawing Harry’s gaze as if he’d ever truly lost it. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s the liar, here? My parents died begging you for mercy?”

“Didn’t they? Your father begged for his wife's life, and yours. Your mother for yours alone.”

Harry’s lips pressed tight. “Really fucked yourself, didn’t you? You told my mum ‘very well’, when she begged to trade her life for mine. You agreed. You didn’t think she was powerful enough to form an unbreakable vow without the official bindings? You would think you would be smarter than pureblood rhetoric when you’re hardly pure yourself.”

“That's it?” Marvolo murmured, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You couldn’t tell me that?” He glanced at Voldemort, then straightened. “You didn’t know.”

Harry felt the silent chastisement in the words. ‘How is it that a child realised what you didn’t?’

bad hair day

Kissing on a swing! Kissing on a swing!!

The afternoon sun was just starting to set.

He was the last one left at the park as usual. Every other teenager or group had left long ago for dinner and cool air conditioning.

Harry didn't want to return to the Dursleys. Even though his stomach was growling something fierce, it wouldn't have mattered. They wouldn't give him enough food to help the ache in his stomach so for now, he was happier being away from them instead of easing his ever-present hunger. 

He sat on the swing and watched the cars as they passed on the road far away on the other side of the field. There was nothing else to do other than that. Dumbledore had forbidden him from leaving the safety of the Dursleys in case Voldemort or his death eaters tried to attack.

"Yeah, right," He thought. "The only thing I am safe of is a full meal."

A few moments later, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a presence came up from behind him. Before he could turn his head, he felt two hands grab the chains next to his head, pull back and then let go as the same hands pushed him forward.

"Hey-" was all Harry said as he started swinging. The same hands appeared on his back again as he swung backward to push him.

He started to turn his head around when a familiar voice he had not heard in several years said "Don't look. It's the only way I can speak to you."

Harry did not know what to do. It felt too surreal: Tom Riddle pushing him on a swing in the middle of the summer in a muggle neighborhood. At least he thought it was Tom Riddle. He didn’t sound as high-pitched and… horrible as Voldemort. What would he look like if he turned around? Would he see a handsome youthful face or one of a deformed snake-human hybrid that haunts his nightmares? 

“Don’t overthink it,” Tom said after a moment of silence. “You’ll just stress yourself out.”

“Okay, make it simple then. How are you here?” 

“You.” So simple an answer that explained nothing. 

“Me? I don’t want you here. Go away.” Harry dug his feet into the ground to stop the swing. 

Strong and strangely wet hands grabbed his head preventing him from turning around. “If you look I’ll leave.”

“Yeah, that is the whole point,” Harry snarled. 

“Who would talk to you then?” Tom pointed out. “Your relatives? Your neighbors? They all hate you.”

“You hate me.”

“No, I don’t. He hates you.” The hands became gentle as Harry stopped trying to turn around.

“Lord Voldemort is my past present and future,” Harry quoted.  “You two are one and the same.”

“Not today.” There was a strange tone in Tom’s voice. 

Harry thought Tom was playing some elaborate joke on him, but he was willing to play along for now. “What do you want then?”  

“To help you, for something in return.” 

Again, Harry grew irritated. “Oh no. I know how this goes. You are not doing to me what you did to Ginny.”

To Harry’s annoyance, Tom laughed. “I can’t. Not you, and maybe not anyone ever again. But I can get the next best thing.” Tom's right hand moved so out of the corner of Harry’s eye, he could see it dripping in ink before it brushed the bottom part of his lip. 

“I still have an instinct to take your soul even though I can’t. It’s beyond my reach now. I want instead … is your first kiss.” 

The words made Harry freeze with shock and embarrassment. “My what?” 

“You heard me.” Harry could just hear the grin forming on Tom’s face as he spoke. “ It means something to you, so it’s everything to me. I’ll help you get out of this horrid little town and away from your relatives. No one will be hurt. It will be totally painless, Harry. You might even look back on this moment fondly.”

“You’re joking,” Harry said uncertainly. 

“I’m completely serious, Harry. Or were you saving your lips for someone special? Had anyone in mind?”

“No, it’s just… why?”

“Because it means something to you, and you’ll always remember it was me who took it from you. That is all.” Hands moved so they covered Harry’s eyes. He could feel the ink dripping down his cheeks now. “Aren’t you hungry, Harry? Don’t you want something to eat? Or maybe you are more starved for affection. I can give that to you instead… Just say yes and I will help you.”

Harry was silent for a moment, his stomach and heart aching with hunger. “No one will get hurt?”

“No one will get hurt,” Tom promised. 

“...Okay.”

Tom smiled, “Remember. Keep your pretty eyes closed.” His hands left Harry’s face only for a moment as Tom walked around to face Harry. As promised, Harry kept his eyes closed and when he felt Tom’s hands touch his face again it was gentle as he tilted his face up towards him. 

Ink dripped onto Harry’s face, down his neck, and soaked his shirt. He could feel a cold breath on him before even colder lips pressed against his. They were surprisingly gentle and made Harry’s heart race at the feeling. The kiss was chaste at first, and Harry thought it wasn’t so bad until Tom deepened the kiss and a familiar taste of ink entered his mouth. 

Harry didn’t know what to do. Tom’s tongue was inside him and tasted stranger than what he would imagine a first kiss would be. But Harry kept his hands tight on the swing so he wouldn’t be tempted to fight. 

When it was over, Harry didn’t think he would ever look at a quill the same again without thinking of Tom. When he was brave enough to open his eyes again, he was alone, but the ink remained. 

Walking home was a challenge with how dazed he was, but his relatives did not comment on his appearance when he walked through their doors. It was like they couldn’t see the ink on him at all, and Harry knew his aunt would have something to say about his appearance. 

Before he had a chance to wash it off, Remus and the Order appeared to take him away, but they did not comment about the mess on him either. In just a few hours, he was sitting with his friends and Sirius eating a fabulous dinner made by Mrs. Weasley with Tom’s voice echoing in his head “Because it means something to you, and you’ll always remember it was me who took it from you.”

Staring

Harry: You killed my parents.

Voldemort: Yes, but didn’t you hear what they said to me?

Harry: I was 15 months old-

Voldemort: They said, “What are you going to do? Kill us?”

Meet the boy who survived🌞🤲

Secret Agent Boy-Who-Lived

Writer: Watermelonsmellinfellon Ship: Tomarrymort TAGS: AU-HBP, Humor, Crack, Voldemort/Horcrux Shenanigans.

~.O.~

‘Subtly inquire about his plans for the future and his thoughts regarding blood status.’

It wasn’t a difficult task. It wasn't something that Harry could not achieve. But could he achieve it with the best results when he was trying to be sneaky?

No.

If his life or the lives of others weren’t in danger, Harry was abysmal at pretending/sneaking. He usually got caught when he did so.

Dumbledore had asked it of him because of the new student. Well, ‘new student’.

Marvolo Slytherin, who was sorted into Slytherin. Harry had recognized that face anywhere. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Apparently, Voldemort had either gotten a new body, or he had made someone take the shape of his younger self. Either way, a young Dark Lord look alike roamed the halls of Hogwarts freely, having been sorted into Slytherin and taking up reins there.

Dumbledore had been rightfully wary and had asked Harry to befriend the ‘teen’. Voldemort should not know that Harry knew what his younger self looked like, according to Dumbledore. Harry should definitely be able to slip into the ‘teen’s’ life without much trouble.

Problem. Slytherin and Gryffindor were opposites. Their tables rested on opposite ends of the Great Hall. Their dorms on opposite ends of the school. Even in their shared classes, they sat on opposite sides of the room because Merlin forbid the students tried to mingle, let alone those from the most competitive Houses.

Harry knew he would have his work cut out for him. He contemplated the various ways he could stalk the teen but came up with nothing that wouldn’t get him a face full of flying bogeys or something worse. 

Certainly the Slytherins would notice the Boy-Who-Lived skulking about them. He needed a way to insert himself into Slytherin’s day to day life. A way that actually made sense

And so he had come up with this plan. He was a Gryffindor and he was known for diving right in while the water was boiling. He couldn’t think of anything else to get him the results he desired, so this plan would have to do.

He had a map of Hogwarts, an Invisibility Cloak, and knowledge of secret corridors and tunnels he’d found on his own that weren't listed on the map, because they changed often.

In the middle of the lunch hour, when the students were stuffing themselves silly, Harry stood from his position at the Gryffindor Table and made his way across the Hall. Some people quieted down when they noticed he was going into ‘dangerous territory’. Harry ignored them, because he had to get this introduction done before he lost his nerve.

Stopping a foot away from the group of Fifth Year Slytherins who had all been in quiet discussion before his interruption, Harry waited until he had all of their attention, before speaking.

Voldemort - or should he just call him Marvolo for now? - was also looking at him and his dark blue gaze held obvious interest and some confusion, which was perfectly understandable. This wasn’t Harry’s usual behaviour after all.

“Hello, Mr. Potter.”

Slytherin’s voice was incredibly smooth and sounded so much like the Diary had. Harry took note of how equally handsome he was as well. Voldemort was an attractive bloke, that was for certain.

Fixing the act onto his face, Harry allowed a bright and beaming smile to shine down upon the Slytherins. “Hi!” he said, enthusiasm almost too much for him to control.

The Slytherins exchanged wary looks. He’d never acted in such a way toward any of them before, so he couldn’t blame their mistrust. 

Keeping Slytherin’s gaze, Harry added, “I’m going to be spying on you.”

There was a collective hush at the table, which made the rest of the hall quiet down. Everyone was watching the interaction.

“O-kay?” Voldemort nodded, though he sounded questioning.

“Just thought you should know that I’ll be watching your every move!” Harry gave another blinding grin and traipsed back to his table, ignoring the looks, the whispers, and the questions his friends were shooting at him.

From his seat, he could see the shaking heads of the fellow Slytherins. Malfoy rolled his eyes for good measure. Marvolo Slytherin did not look worried in the least. 

That was the idea. If Harry blatantly said one thing, but did another, it would cause… suspicion. Hopefully, they’d be too unnerved by his declaration to consider he’d have ulterior motives. He was a Gryffindor after all. He couldn’t possibly be capable of thinking that far ahead.

~.O.~

Harry began his journey on the weekend. After he was called into Snape’s office and pretty much taken to task over his lacklustre plan and ‘completely idiotic ruination of the original plan with his Gryffindorish tendencies’, he set to stalking.

Harry slipped the Invisibility Cloak on and opened the map. Voldemort’s name - which actually came out to Tom Marvolo Riddle-Slytherin - was in the library. Not shocking, as the man most likely wanted something in the Restricted Section. Also, from how he’d sounded back in Second Year, the man was probably a swotty know-it-all.

Harry traversed the corridors silently, avoiding groups of students and any ghosts. They could apparently feel people when floating through them and would know he was there, even if under the Cloak. He was not taking risks with this.

Harry ducked behind an aisle that was a few feet from Voldemort. He slipped the Cloak and map into his bag and made it look as if he was browsing like others normally did. He nabbed a book on Runes and flipped it open to a random page.

Sowilo. Sigil. Sol. Something to represent the Sun. The shape of the rune on the page made him think of his scar. How interesting that this was the page he opened a random book up to. In fact, he’d never wondered why his scar was the shape it was, and suddenly wondered if there was a deeper meaning to it.

“Potter?”

Harry looked up, finding himself confronted with Slytherin. The other ‘teen’ looked surprised to see him there. Like it was impossible for Harry to set foot in a library. He withheld a scoff, because he’d set foot in this particular one, seven times, including this time. That was way more than the typical Gryffindor.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully, masking his annoyance with practice he’d learned from dealing with the Dursleys. “What are you in for?”

His eyes landed on the book about… Magical Illness? Why did Voldemort need such a book?

“Some light reading.”

For a second, Harry thought of Hermione. The book in those slim hands was not ‘light’ in any way. It could probably knock Hagrid out if thrown hard enough. Probably over a thousand pages as well. He shivered in terror at the thought of sitting down with such a book.

“And you?” queried the Slytherin.

Harry’s arms were already moving to turn the book around, displaying the rune for the man/teen to see. “Doesn’t this look like my scar?”

It was the best he had on such short notice. Lying on the spot wasn’t his best when he wasn’t in a hurry.

“Indeed. It could mean that you are blessed with great luck or success.”

Harry snorted. It didn’t specify which kind of luck though, did it? And his luck had been historically terrible.

“You don’t concur?”

Who even said words like ‘concur’ anymore? Unless it was Snape, Harry was definitely sure that this was Voldemort.

“No, I think it pretty much spells out the story of my life. Just that it never specifies what sort of luck I am ‘blessed’ with.”

With a shake of the head, Harry placed the book back on the shelf, uninterested in pursuing anything on Sowilo further.

Marvolo gave a nod. “As long as you’re certain.”

Yes, he was.

~.O.~

Slytherin had just left the Great Hall to head to Double Potions! If Harry was quick, he could make it there before him!

To the left of the Entrance Hall was a secret passageway that opened when someone sang Little Miss Moffat. The passage led to a portrait that was about ten feet away from the Potions Classroom. It was not common knowledge and Harry intended to keep it that way.

He brushed himself off and skipped ahead to wait in front of the door, knowing it would be baffling to see him already waiting. A moment later, Marvolo rounded the corner and paused mid stride to take in the fact that Harry was already there when Harry had obviously just been at breakfast and had even caught his eye as he was leaving.

Harry had to withhold his giggles because this was becoming fun! Who knew stalking Voldemort would bring him such entertainment?

This should have been a relatively serious situation, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit light over it. It’d been a while since Hogwarts was this fun.

What else could he do to throw the Dark-Lord-Turned-Teenager off his guard?

~.O.~

On Hallowe’en night, Harry had trailed after the Slytherins and managed to enter their Common Room with a group of First Years. He then stood beside the fireplace - which was alight with green flames - and waited for the perfect opportunity. Never had he been more grateful for his Invisibility Cloak.

In fact, he realised that he, Hermione, and Ron could have just used that to get into the Common Room in their Second Year and probably should have done just that instead of stealing potions ingredients. 

Well, it was in the past so he couldn’t really do anything about it now.

This part of the operation included subtlety. As subtle as Harry could be really. Every now and then he would reveal his head and then hide it again, while he chose a new side of the room to hide in. It was funny to see people double take or even triple take.

Of course, there was no chance of the possibility of Voldemort summoning the Cloak, even if he knew about it. The Cloak could not be summoned. A nifty little feature that Harry was ever so grateful for.

Eventually, someone went to a Prefect, which got a wider level of attention, and eventually, Marvolo became involved as they searched the room for the mysterious Harry Potter head. 

Harry snickered quietly to himself and proceeded to wait by the door for someone to leave so he could sneak out. It was far too easy to rile the Slytherins up.

Distantly, he was aware of how this was not the plan to get information out of Voldemort, but it was the most interesting things had been since Fourth Year, so he’d rather keep doing things his own way and hope for the best.

~.O.~

A/N: An idea from a very long time ago. I decided to share it here to tide everyone over while I have to deal with personal problems irl.

Naga Vee and a runaway Harry (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

so gorgeous

Mermaid AU where Tom makes people drown for fun, but Harry is not affected by his singing. Since Tom won't accept defeat and Harry has stuff to do, they both think the other is annoying.

(But deep down they're fascinated).

You can't leave. I won't let you.