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Chapter Text

The setting sun cast strange shadows through the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive, the light weak as it fought through heavy clouds that threatened rain.  Harry sat on his rickety bed, back against the wall, as he stared out the window, waiting...waiting for what he wasn’t sure anymore.  Hedwig cooed questioningly to him from her spot on the footboard.  Looking over at her, he let his fingers brush lightly over her soft feathers, accepting the affectionate nip she gave them.  “Looks like there’s still no word.  Not that I’m surprised.”

Ever since that night in the cemetery, since Voldemort came back, he felt like he’d been abandoned.  When he’d managed to escape with Cedric and the portkeyed cup, arm still steadily bleeding from Peter’s ragged cut and leg swelling and bleeding from the Acromantula’s attack, he’d thought he could finally rest.  He’d at least received a happy surprise as Cedric groaned upon their rough landing on the quidditch field; apparently he’d stumbled back as the killing curse shot towards him and fell, hitting his head on a broken piece of headstone and knocking himself unconscious.

But rest and healing was the last thing he was able to get that night.  Questioned mercilessly by the officials and Dumbledore alike, all apparently oblivious or completely uncaring about his injured state, he thought he’d finally be led off to the Madame Pomfrey’s care only to be hijacked by Alistair, or rather Barty Jr.  It had taken a lot of persuasion to convince the man that he really didn’t want to hurt Harry, that his lord was newly risen, and shouldn’t he just go to him before the Dementors came after him?  Dumbledore and Fudge’s raised voices and the sudden cooling of the air seemed to settle the matter and Harry watched helplessly as the stranger who he’d gotten to know so well through the school year disapparated. 

Thus had followed another round of questions and demands and blaming and name calling until finally everything went dark just as he started hearing his mother’s screams and his fingers started going numb from the cold.  He woke up briefly in the hospital ward the first time to hear Pomfrey yelling, albeit quietly, at Dumbledore for letting Harry nearly bleed out and “what good would your Savior be to you then, buried six foot under?” He’d kept his eyes closed just in case, and as he listened to Dumbledore speak again of “the greater good” and Pomfrey list all the new injuries he’d received, he thought he’d even heard Snape’s dark voice chime in with something about “fulfilling a prophecy if the boy is dead,” he’d fallen back asleep.

The next time he woke was to an empty hospital room and two new horrible looking scars on his arm and leg. He graciously sat through Pomfrey’s fussing as she told him how he was lucky to be alive between the blood loss and the Acromantula poisoning.  She’d told him how they’d found the real Alistair Moody in a trunk in his room though they still weren’t sure exactly who had taken his place, though apparently it had been for the entire school year.  Which left Harry quite curious about how good of a friend to Dumbledore he was if the headmaster never even noticed the entire year.  He really didn’t want to think about the implications of if he had known and decided to let the farce continue anyways.  

What was noticeably missing though was the presence of his two best friends.  Usually they were always there as soon as he woke up in the hospital ward, or at least soon thereafter.  Luna, Neville, Ginny and the twins actually came to visit him through the day before Hermione and Ron eventually showed up just after dinner.  Even their stay was short, asking him how he was feeling and what he remembered about his time in the cemetery before making excuses to leave.  Even Dumbledore stayed away until the next morning, at which point he pretty much interrogated Harry once more before telling him he’d be confined to his relatives’ house for the whole summer and that communication would be severely monitored due to potential security risks.

Even the train ride back to London was different. Neville and Luna kept up a steady conversation with him though Neville kept giving him confused looks as Hermione and Ron seemed to be focused in their own little world no matter how much Harry tried to pull them into conversation.  The little looks they kept giving each other every time someone would mention something about summer plans wasn’t helping his nerves any either.  Once they arrived, his two so called friends gave him guilty looks before slipping out to meet their families.  It was little Luna who hugged him before he left the platform to meet his relatives that gave him hope.

“Don’t worry, Harry. Friendships are funny things; they come and go, shrink and grow, but there’s always room for new ones. Sometimes things become clearer in the dark.” 

Her lilting whisper before she skipped away to her father’s side remained with him all the way to the house.  He’d forgotten about it during the next couple weeks as the Dursleys worked him to death and he waited for responses to letters he’d sent out asking for information, for updates, for anything, only to get brief meaningless notes in return. It was only in that moment as the last of the faltering sunlight faded away that her words returned to him once more.

None of the so-called Light side would talk to him.  No one would answer any questions he had about what was going on, if Voldemort or the Death Eaters had attacked anywhere, or what they were actually trying to accomplish anyway. Just “everything’s fine, Harry,” or “just stay inside the wards, Harry, you’ll be safe there,” or “we’re all staying with Padfoot and everybody’s fine.”  It was the last one that really irritated him.  If his friends could stay with his godfather wherever they were when he was a wanted man, that meant that they were all somewhere safe.  Why couldn’t he be there with them? Unsurprisingly, he was told to stay where he was and everything would be okay.

As the streetlights outside flickered on, Harry once more focused on Hedwig.  “I just don’t get it.  Why is it okay for everybody else to be together, but not me?  Why am I a problem? Why won’t anyone just talk to me and tell me what’s going on?  Even Voldy gave me more information when he was resurrected.”

Harry’s hand stilled its absent petting. “Even Voldy gave me more information, Hedwig.”

Hedwig tilted her head in confusion.  What was her boy thinking now?

“You know what? If the Light side won’t answer my questions about what’s going on, maybe he will. Gods know he likes talking about himself.”

Hedwig blinked and shook her feathers out.  The forced caging of her boy was surely making him crazy.  Surely he wasn’t planning on…

Harry scrambled off the bed and flicked on the lopsided lamp with the flickering light bulb that sat on his desk as he dug out a few pieces of notebook paper and a pen that he had left over from his Muggle school days.  Ignoring Hedwig’s increasingly concerned hooting and feather ruffling, Harry set pen to paper.

Dear Mr. Dark Lord…

Chapter Text

Hedwig winged through the night, the innate magic inside her guiding her unerringly to her letter’s recipient, her boy’s cautionary words ringing in her head. 

“Be careful, girl, please.  If it doesn’t look safe, then just bring it back.  This is probably a dumb idea anyway.  Maybe I can just get one of the regular mail owls…”

Even now the thought still made her chuff angrily. As if she’d let one of those featherbrained birds near her boy’s mail, especially such an important letter as this one.  Honestly, delivering mail for just any old person who asks.

Slowing her flight as she felt the presence of wards, she let them test her, ready to dodge away if they turned violent.  Surprisingly, they let her in with no trouble, though it left her suspicious for further traps.  Then she spotted the solid white fluffbrains strutting around the grounds below and realized that they had to be altered to allow for stupid birds to potentially run into them so one such as her should have no problems at all.

~~

Voldemort had just settled into the chair at the end of the large dining table across from Lucius, his closest followers and the rest of the Malfoy family scattered around the table, when several startled cries came from the direction of the kitchen and the elves inside preparing dinner.

“What in Merlin’s name?” Lucius had just stood up to see what the commotion was about when a white blur flew from the open doorway, dodging several sparkly blasts of elf magic.

A distraught elf came running from the kitchen, tugging at its ears. “We is sorry, Master.  Bad birdy not go away.  But we try and try.” To prove its point, he tried clicking his fingers at the blur again only for it to dive sharply before spreading its wings to fly towards the ceiling once more.

The blur, it seemed, was a large snowy owl, circling over the table as it appeared to inspect the occupants, a letter clutched tightly in its claws.

Voldemort looked over as he heard the youngest Malfoy groan and Severus cursing under his breath.

Draco gave the bird an aggravated look.  “It figures even Potter’s owl has his damned luck.  Who manages to dodge elf magic?”

If a bird could look smug, Voldemort would swear the bird did after the boy’s words.

Severus sighed and looked at his honorary nephew, a hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose.  “Potter.  Second year when Dobby decided to sic the bludger on him during the quidditch game.”

“He did?  I thought it was just another wizard that did it after Quirrel made his broom go crazy in first year.” 

Barty stood, wand glowing dangerously, as his gaze tracked the bird, unhappy as he may be about it.  “I’ll take care of the bird, my Lord.”

As amusing as the whole situation was, especially the frazzled look on Lucius and Narcissa’s faces as they were trying and failing to keep their dinner party from falling apart, Voldemort waved Barty down. “No, Barty.  If you want to go hunt an animal, go find Pettigrew or Fenrir.  The bird’s done nothing but its job, I assume.”  Looking up at the bird still circling carefully above the table, he made a decision.  “Find a place to settle.  I will cast the standard precautionary spells at you, then, if everything is safe, you may wait for your response since, I assume, that’s why you haven’t just dropped your letter and left again.” 

A chorus of “My Lord?” “Are you certain?” “Why are you talking to it?” and more echoed around the table.  Ignoring them all, Voldemort stood and moved toward the statue against the wall where the owl had finally landed, its golden eyes staring at him in suspicion.  A highly intelligent bird it seemed, but it was almost as if his magic recognized it, almost like a familiar bond.  Of course…

His voice barely above a whisper, he pointed his wand toward the owl, its body quivering as it readied itself to take flight once more. “Of course, his blood and magic are part of me, so recognize his tie to you. You can reach no harm by my wand.” The owl hooted curiously, beak opening to taste the air before staring at him once more.  A quickly cast series of curse, charm, jinx, and portkey detection spells later, and he was satisfied even though the bird was giving him a very irritated look as it fluffed its feathers out. “Hush, not a single pristine feather was disturbed.” 

Reaching out carefully, those long and incredibly sharp talons were nothing to take for granted, he took the letter from the bird’s grasp. Brow wrinkling, he stared at the odd letter he held before realizing it was plain Muggle paper, not the parchment used by wixen, and not even in an envelope.  “Elf, get the bird some refreshments.” He looked up just in time to see the bird puff itself up as it looked down at an angry little elf.  Yes, the bird could, indeed, look smug.  Rolling his eyes at the bird’s antics, he made his way back to his seat, ignoring everyone else waiting at the table and whispering to each other.

Opening the letter, he felt a flush of first anger, then something akin to amusement at the sheer nerve of the brat.  He was beginning to understand Severus’ grumblings about the boy now.

Dear Mr. Dark Lord,

Dear Tom,

Voldemort,

I’m really hoping this letter finds Hedwig in one piece. She was my first friend and you’d probably be happy to know how much it would hurt me if something happened to her.  I probably shouldn’t have told you that just for that reason, but I’m hoping that since you have your own loved pet, or maybe familiar, you’ll understand.  And I don’t mean Pettigrew.  Please keep Hedwig away from your snake, just in case.  Feel free to feed Pettigrew to either, however.  Actually, no, please don’t.  I need him alive. 

Looking up from the letter, he realized everyone was waiting on him, their food growing cold.  “Go ahead and eat, this is too interesting to wait.  Somebody please explain Potter’s...dislike toward Pettigrew later.  It can’t just be because of the ritual incident.”

Severus shook his head.  “No, my Lord, there is much more involved in their situation than the buffoon’s rough treatment of him that night.”

I guess you’re curious as to why I’m writing to you at all.  Honestly, you’re the only person I’ve written to so far this summer that might actually respond, and how fucked up is that?  I have no idea what’s going on outside the house I’m stuck in.  I barely get a chance to look at a Muggle newspaper and the Prophet, when I can get it, is pretty much useless as always, though apparently I’m crazy again.  Congratulations, nobody believes you’re alive.  

My so-called friends will tell me nothing about what’s happening out there.  Dumbledore just told me to stay where I am and talk to no one for my own safety and theirs, but no one will tell me why.  I don’t even know why I’m in hiding, or rather, I don’t know why I can’t be in hiding with literally everyone else I know. I feel like they’re all hiding something important from me.  Something about you.  And considering I was the one that was kidnapped and cut up and used as a potion ingredient, not to mention having you try to kill me for the fourth time, I feel like I should be the first person being told news.

Confused, he thought back over the times he’d encountered the boy. “How have I tried to kill Potter four times?” The sounds of somebody choking and utensils dropping against plates made him lift his gaze to his dinner companions.

Once again it was Severus that answered him, though the potion master seemed quite hesitant.  “First as a baby. Second when Quirrel tried to attack him, from what I was told.  Actually, it could be said there were two attempts that year, once with the broom and then the other at the end with the mirror. The third time would be in second year when, from what Albus told us, a younger ghost version of yourself, that was trapped in a diary, tried to kill him both directly and using Slytherin’s basilisk, though how he ever thought any of us would believe that…”

Whipping his head to look at a suddenly cowering Lucius, Voldemort spoke overly calmly. “No, that is entirely possible. Lucius, we will be having a...discussion later.”

“Y...yes, my Lord.”

“And then the fight after the ritual being the fourth. Interesting.”  Waving his hand for them to continue their meal, he went back to trying to read the messy handwriting. Frowning, he shook his head, muttering. “Honestly, has nobody taught the boy how to write properly?”

“His handwriting has always been atrocious, my Lord.  I simply assumed he didn’t care how he treated his quills and such.”

“No, he used a plain Muggle biro to write this, so it’s not that. He keeps switching between printing and cursive from the looks of it.  It’s very strange.”

“Honestly, um, sir, he really doesn’t seem to know how to use a quill and parchment though.  Even after all this time, he still fumbles around with them.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him use a proper nib either, come to think of it.” Draco’s nose crinkled as he tried to remember, looking to Severus for confirmation.

“Of course he has, he...actually...you may be correct, Dragon.” Severus was now rubbing both of his temples as the headache that had started at the first sight of Potter’s owl fully kicked in. Honestly, had nobody ever taught the boy how to write with a quill and ink? Even the Granger girl had the knack of it. Surely, whoever had raised him would have taught him basic life skills… right?

“Hmmm.” Between some of the things the boy had hinted at so far in his letter, and what the others were saying, the situation was becoming more and more curious.

So, as I’m locked away for my own good, or maybe just for the good of everyone else? I realized that the one person who has had no problem talking to me and telling me all about their plans is, well, you.  So, now I honestly want to know.  What are your plans? All I’ve heard since Hagrid told me I was a wizard when I turned 11...

“What! What does he mean, when ‘Hagrid told me I was a wizard when I turned eleven’? How could he not know? And why would that lout be the first one to tell him? Isn’t it McGonnegal’s job to tell the Muggleborn, even if he isn’t one?”

Voldemort watched as chaos descended on the people sitting around the table, everybody yelling in outrage and speaking overtop one another.  His mind was in such a whirl he couldn’t even be bothered to put a stop to it.  It was an outrage.  The Light’s so-called Savior was raised as a Muggle, and not even by family, or, at least from the little he mentioned in the letter, not by anyone he would claim as family.  What was that fool Dumbledore thinking?

Hearing a sad hoot from the boy’s owl and feeling a small tingle along the edge of his magic, he looked over at her.  Shaking his head, he muttered, “What in the world is going on with your Master?”

Chapter Text

Hedwig watched the chaos unfolding at the dinner table as everybody yelled overtop each other, gesturing angrily upon finding out about what age her boy was when he found out he was a wizard, the two loudest being the dark teacher and the small blonde who was so mean to her boy all the time.  She wasn’t sure why this was so concerning when there were so many other horrible things she’d heard about and seen happening to him.  The only silent one was the one called Voldemort who she was sent to deliver the message to.  Though he didn’t seem to be looking quite as her boy had described in one of his late night ramblings, the pull on her magic told her it was indeed him.  Then again, she almost felt the same pull to him as she did to her boy, and he had mentioned having his blood and magic inside him, so maybe that was part of it.  All the noise was starting to give her headache and she was just about to yell at them all when the silent man spoke, silencing them all at once.

~~

“Enough. Elf, bring a round of drinks for everyone.  I believe everyone could do with a cooler head, and I will hold off on finishing this letter until after our meal.  Severus, Draco, Barty...you three are most familiar with Potter at this point.  Do you think he’s lying?  Though I can’t see any benefit in him doing so.”

Once everyone had been served some form of alcohol, as fitted their tastes, Voldemort leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in the crystal glass he held.  “So, do you think he’s lying?”

Barty drummed his fingers on the table, staring into his glass as if it held the tea leaves Trelawney swore by.  “My first instinct is to say ‘no,’ my Lord.  He’s a truly horrible liar in person, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he would be on paper.  But…”

Voldemort looked at one of his most faithful followers, and the fact that the devoted young man refused to meet his eyes spoke more of his troubled thoughts than anything. “Yes, Barty?”

“It’s only…” Barty seemed to come to some kind of decision, nodding to himself slightly before lifting his head to meet his Lord’s eyes finally.  “The way the boy acted all year, his clothes, his reaction to things...he’s either a fantastic actor or he really doesn’t seem to have been brought up in our world.  Also, I’m pretty sure that wherever he was brought up hasn’t treated him kindly.  He’s undersized for his age and his regular clothes don’t fit him properly, only the school uniforms.”

“Perhaps he’s inherited a smaller stature? And it could be one of those Muggle fashion statements?”  Voldemort had his own ideas, but he would hear all sides on this.  Regaining his body had done much for him, not the least of which was improving his rationality.

Severus looked pained to have to speak up, but shook his head.  “No, my Lord.  Unless he inherited his size from a distant relative, Barty is correct.  Potter senior was tall for a man and Lilly was taller than the boy is now at the same age.  And, while Muggle tastes are decidedly...strange...the clothes he wears are nowhere ‘in fashion’ currently.”

“And, you, Draco? What do you think?” Voldemort looked at the boy’s troubled expression, bouncing from concerned to aggravated to hateful and back again, as if he couldn’t make up his mind how to feel.

“He’s a natural at everything it seems, except for Potions.” Severus snorted at that pointed commentary while Draco grinned for a moment before his face fell into more solemn lines, his fingers twisting his napkin thoughtlessly. “He got flying right off, and he only needs to try a spell once or twice before he usually gets it, especially in Defense.  He’s almost as good as Longbottom in Herbology, too. He never receives any mail though, no packages or anything, except from Hagrid and Dumbledore maybe, at least that’s what I can guess from the way he’ll look at them and nod after reading.  And his clothes aren’t just big on him, they’re not in good repair either.  The nicest things he seems to own are his uniforms and those tacky sweaters the Weasley brood always seem to acquire after Christmas.  I don’t know why he doesn’t just buy something new, he has to have money from his parents, right?”

Severus leaned his head back, eyes closed, as he sorted through memories, things he knew for a fact, and things he’d been told and thus assumed. “Dumbledore said he’d been placed with relatives and taught what he needed to know before arriving at Hogwarts.  Perhaps he was just assuming that these relatives were doing just that.  Otherwise...what else would he be learning there? He does have money, though I’m unsure to what extent, but he doesn’t hold his vault key.”  Waiting until the resulting chaos from that bit of news mostly died down, he continued slowly, judging the words before letting them slip free. “I remember Dumbledore mentioning that he sent it with Hagrid when he did, in fact, pick up Potter for his trip to Diagon.  That means he never had it before then.  Since then, I believe it’s gotten handed over to Molly Weasley.  I don’t think the boy has any idea what he has, especially if Hagrid went to the bank with him the first time.  Though, perhaps, his relatives have been keeping up with paperwork from the bank, but if that was the case, why dress him so improperly? Surely, it would look poorly on them.”

“Hmm, why indeed?”  Voldemort finished his drink and waved toward their still unfinished dinner.  “Finish, please.  I’ll be in the office.”  Standing, he hesitated for a moment before walking over to the statue where the owl sat, bright yellow eyes appearing to be judging everything she took in...and disapproving of it all.  Feeling that same tug on his magic, he held his arm out. “Come along, then.”

The bird was definitely judging him, he could not only see it in her eyes but also feel it in the spiky sensation trailing along his magic.  But, finally she seemed to give a resigned hoot and hopped carefully onto his arm.  Carrying the bird into the secondary office he’d taken over from Lucius, he made his way to the surprisingly comfortable chair next to the already lit fireplace. Waiting for the bird to hop off his arm and fly over to perch on the back of the desk chair, he sat down and brought out the boy’s letter once more, his thoughts and feelings in turmoil at the little bit he’d already deduced added into what the others had told him.

...All I’ve heard since Hagrid told me I was a wizard when I turned 11 is how Slytherins are nothing but slimy snakes, and how every bad wizard came from Slytherin, and oh, by the way, the man that killed your parents happened to be a Slytherin too.  It’s no wonder I didn’t want the Hat to put me in Slytherin when it was trying to sort me.

Voldemort jerked his head up in surprise, staring at the owl. “He was supposed to be in Slytherin? Oh, Severus will hate that.” Unsurprisingly, to him at least, the bird puffed up and seemed to chuff proudly.

So, yeah, every Slytherin is evil and dark and they all follow you, and you’re evil and dark and want to kill everyone that’s not a pureblood, so that’s why all the purebloods hate Muggles and Muggleborn and halfbloods.  Because supposedly we’re all weak and diluting the lines or something.  Which doesn’t really make much sense since we both know you’re a halfblood too, and you were pretty powerful from what I've seen.

Voldemort had to put the letter down before he accidentally incinerated it as the old anger regarding his family and heritage and Dumbledore and the orphanage rushed back to him all at once.  How did the boy know about that? It had to be Dumbledore’s meddling.  Or perhaps he learned it from the spectre of himself in the diary?

A concerned hoot dragged him from his spiraling thoughts, and he looked up at the boy’s bird once more.  “Your Master has a talent for angering me, intentionally or not. Though in this case, I think I can place the blame firmly on Dumbledore’s shoulders.  Really, what good would killing off everyone who isn’t a pureblood do? There’d only be a couple hundred wixen left, at best.  We’d die out in no time. Is this the drivel they’ve been spreading to the masses? No wonder my followers have gotten so little accomplished in my absence.”

So, I guess that’s my first real question - what do you actually want? What does the Dark stand for?  My next question - why did you come after me? I was just a baby.  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to really walk or talk much less do proper magic.  How was I a threat? Why did you have to kill the only people to ever love me my parents?

Voldemort paused there, noticing the smudges in the ink that looked like water marks...tear drops?  Such a loaded question and it spoke to much he’d deduced in the little he’d already read. 

I think that’s enough for now.  I probably shouldn’t have written any of this but I’m going crazy from the silence and I think maybe I’m a little dizzy too.  I think I’ll have to try to find something to eat soon.

Maybe your enemy?

Potter

Thoughts heavy, he considered the two of them - orphans left in an unloving home after their mothers’ died trying to save them, badly treated by those meant to care for them, alternately revered and reviled by those around them.  Looking at his reflection in the window, dark hair framing a pale face, he marveled that they even looked incredibly similar.  So many similarities and yet such different paths they’d taken, by chance or by meddlesome design was the question.  Thumb brushing over the tear stains absently, he stared blankly into the fire as his thoughts once again tumbled over each other. The owl’s soft hoot drew his gaze back to her.  “Is your Master another of Dumbledore’s pawns? Or an experiment he’s trying to figure out?”

A gentle knock on the door interrupted his stare down with the recalcitrant owl, without turning to look, he simply called out, “Enter!”

“My Lord?” Barty hesitantly stepped into the office, noticing the odd behavior between his Master and Harry’s owl.  Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room to kneel next to his Master’s chair, sitting back on his heels, head bowed.

“Ah, Barty, I’m assuming this is about the Potter boy?” Reaching out, he ran a hand gently over the bowed head, watching as the tension seemed to leave the younger man’s body. “You know you do not need to continue kneeling.”

“I know, Master, but...but I would like to? And yes, I’ve come to speak to you about Ha… Potter.” He dared look up slightly, trying to gauge his Master’s feelings.

Continuing to absently pet his kneeling follower, always one of his most devout, and always holding a different place in his mind, if not heart, than the others, he relaxed back in his chair once more. “Very well, Barty, but you remember the rules while around others.”

“Yes, Master, of course.” 

Shaking his head at Barty’s happily eager words, he tilted his head up with a finger.  “Now, what did you wish to discuss about Potter? You grew close to him while teaching him, I must assume?”

Gazing up into his Master’s bright red eyes, he nodded reluctantly. “Yes, Master. He was constantly being verbally abused by his peers after his name came out of the cup, sometimes even being attacked by the other students. He told me that this was not the first time it had happened to him.  Apparently in his second year, well, he found out he was a Parselmouth. Or rather, he found out that his ability to speak with snakes was actually something here, and not well liked at that.  They were blaming him for attacks that were happening in the school.  From what I understand, the public can’t seem to decide whether to worship him or condemn him.”

“Ah, so that’s what he meant about being considered crazy again.  And a Parselmouth? Interesting.  So where were the other teachers when all of this nonsense was going on around him this past year?” 

Barty fought the urge to curse, knew his face was giving away the anger he felt.  “They mostly just stood back and let it happen, believing that a 14yr old boy had somehow managed to magic his way past wards Dumbledore had put up.  Though, to be fair, the crazy old man would have probably managed to work in an exception for him if he could anyway.  I didn’t like the stories I heard from the other teachers and some of the students about his adventures each year.”

Voldemort studied the fierce look on Barty’s face, angered on behalf of the boy who should be their enemy by all rights.  “You care for him.” It was not a question.

Barty flushed bright red and dropped forward so his forehead touched his Master’s shoes.  “I’m sorry, Master! But, you didn’t see him, flinching at sudden touches or loud noises, the way he’d brighten from just the barest of praise. And those horrible clothes. And he was so small compared to the others. I don’t care what Severus and the little Malfoy brat might think about anything, I know that boy was not brought up in a loving home and he was not taught our ways.”

Voldemort, sighed, watching his...Barty...prostrate himself.  His hands clenched at the man’s words and he felt a sad brush of magic against his own, drawing his gaze back to the bird who seemed to have almost collapsed in on itself as Barty spoke. “Rise, Barty.  The boy has given me much to think about tonight. And I cannot fault you for defending him as you probably owe him a life debt from what you told me of your escape.” Looking at Barty’s ashamed expression, he brushed his hair back from his face, letting the man lean into his hand momentarily. “You see yourself in him, don’t you?” Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, feeling the weight of decisions and potential consequences dragging him down.

“I see many of us in him, Master.”

“You wish to write to him?” He cracked his eyes open, just enough to see Barty’s features cycle from fear to hope to a casual blankness.

“If you would allow it, Master.”

Sighing, he waved his hand toward the waiting owl.  “If the bird will accept it from you, I have no arguments.  Though I will read it first.”

“Yes, Master! Thank you.” Turning to look at Harry’s owl, Barty swallowed hard at the bright gold eyes that seemed to be staring into his soul.  “His familiar?”

“I believe so, though I’m unsure if he’s aware of the fact.  Remember to treat her accordingly.  Apparently her name is Hedwig.”

Looking from his Master to the owl, Barty turned slightly to face the owl from his kneeling position.  “I cannot apologize for my actions because they brought about what needed to happen, but I am sorry Harry had to be the one to suffer for it.  There were many much more deserving of the trials he faced than him.  I hope you will accept my letter with my apology and explanations to him.”  Part of him felt ridiculous speaking to an animal that way, but he remembered the way his Master had spoken to the bird to get her to land, and remembered the lessons he’d been taught growing up about honoring familiars due to their almost human intellect.  

The owl stared at the two of them for several long moments, only the crackling of the fire breaking the silence of the room, before she nodded her head, her body puffing up once more as she hooted in agreement. 

“Very well.  It’s getting late and we have letters to write.  I’m sure he’s worrying over her condition and we’ve kept her here long enough.”  Summoning writing supplies and a lap desk, Voldemort hesitated for a moment before beginning his letter.

To my reluctant enemy,

Chapter Text

Harry woke before dawn the next morning after a completely unrestful night, unable to fully fall asleep as he worried about his poor Hedwig, the guilt for sending her off into possible danger gnawing at him more and more as every hour passed.  He tried to convince himself that everything was okay, that it was probably just a long flight to wherever Voldemort was hiding.  Everything would be okay!

Sitting up, he looked around his empty room at the still empty cage and perch, his eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. Collapsing back on the bed, he kept chanting “my fault, my fault, I’m so sorry,” even as his head spun dizzily.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, world spinning behind his eyelids as silent tears trickled down his face, but when a curious hoot and flutter of wings had his eyes flying open, daylight was just beginning to creep through his window. “Hedwig!”

Stumbling out of bed, he made his way over to where his beautiful owl, his first, and most reliable, friend had landed.  Ignoring the package she had dropped on his wobbly desk, his hands ran frantically over her despite her annoyed pecking at his hands and ruffling of feathers. “You’re okay! Oh, Merlin, Hedwig, I was so worried! But you’re okay! You are okay, right?” 

Hedwig shook her feathers back into position once more as her boy stepped back to look her over, giving an encouraging hoot. Honestly, he had worked himself into a tizzy and looked even worse than he had before she left.  Hopefully whatever those men had put into the package would help him.  The two had certainly argued enough about it, well, as much as two men can argue when one was just looking pitiful and saying “but, Master…” every time the other disagreed.  Funny how well the strategy worked though as that Voldemort person finally just stared and then huffed and told the not-teacher person to do whatever he wanted.

The locks on his door clicked open one after another, drawing his attention away from Hedwig just as Petunia threw open the door.  

“What is all the racket in here? We’ve told you to keep you and that nasty bird quiet. Now get downstairs and fix breakfast.”

Harry bit back an angry retort and started toward the door when another sudden wave of dizziness came over him and he stumbled slightly, hand reaching out to steady himself on the wall.

Petunia stepped back fearfully, clutching the front of her housecoat. “What’s wrong with you?”

Harry, emotions still all over the place from his fear for Hedwig’s safety followed by swift relief coupled with his anger and hurt over the silent treatment from Sirius and his friends and the normal neglect and abuse heaped on him from the Dursleys, just stared at her in disbelief before he started talking, words tumbling out of him faster and faster. “What...what’s wrong with me? You’ve been working me like a dog in the heat and sun and you’ve barely let me eat since I got here.  I’ve had less food in two days than your precious Dudders gets in one meal, and you want to know what’s wrong with me?! My body is failing! Your husband and son keep knocking me around so my body is trying to heal itself too, but there’s nothing left to fuel it!” 

Petunia, now completely red in the face, strode forward and slapped him as hard as she could.  Unfortunately, with him already unsteady, it sent him crashing to the floor.

“How dare you speak to me like that! Just because you’re too weak to handle a few chores is not our fault.”

Clutching his cheek, he glared at her and then ripped Dudley’s old shirt off over his head, giving her a good look at how skinny he was, his ribs and the bones of his arms showing beneath his skin, his stomach missing any kind of padding at all and starting to sink, bruises blooming in different color scattered across his skin from where Vernon or Dudley had hit him since he’d gotten there. “Too weak? Too weak?! Look at me. Look at me! This is your fault! Yours! I am your nephew, your sister’s child. And you have starved me all my life. You have neglected me all my life. You have let your family beat me all my life. And for what?! What could I have possibly done to you when I was one year old? It’s not enough that I’ve had people and creatures legitimately trying to kill me while I’ve been in school the past four years, I can’t even come back here and try to rest and recover because my so-called family is trying to slowly kill me here too.” He didn’t notice the tears pouring down his face, or the way his body was trembling as he tried to keep himself propped up.  “What are your precious neighbors going to think when I finally collapse, dead, in the front yard because I just can’t take anymore? Or will you continue to lie to them like you have my entire fucking life, tell them, ‘oh he was a drug addict’ or ‘oh he had an eating disorder’ and ‘we tried so hard to take care of him, but he just wouldn’t let us.’ If they only knew what kind of monsters you people actually are, they’d spit on you when you go outside instead of me!” 

Petunia stood trembling, looking down at the beaten, scarred, too-skinny form crying on the floor in front of her, her sister’s eyes staring angrily up at her.  His words pecked at her brain as if his nasty bird was doing it itself, and from the glare it was giving her, it might not be long before it tried. As her emotions churned and boiled within her, she spun around and hurried from the room.  Pausing in the doorway just long enough to say, “You’ll stay in here for the rest of the summer,” she slammed and locked the door behind her.

Harry collapsed back on the floor, his chest heaving with each sobbing breath he took. A hysterical laugh bubbled out of him, softly at first, then louder as he curled into himself on his side, amazed that he actually said all that, that he’d finally let out even a fraction of his feelings about their treatment of him over the years.  He looked up as Hedwig flew down to land on the floor in front of him, head tilted as she regarded him curiously.  Shaking her body, she started grooming his hair, and he had the distinct feeling that she was both proud of him and thought him ridiculous.

He must have fallen asleep as all the stress caught up to him because when he next opened his eyes, sunlight was streaming into his room. Pushing himself up off the floor, and gods, why couldn’t he have fallen asleep on the bed, he noticed a plate sitting just inside the catflap with an apple and some cheese and crackers with a sealed bottle of water laying next to it. Not taking the sudden generosity for granted, he snatched the food up and moved to his bed, as far from the door as he could get. Trying not to eat too quickly so his stomach wouldn’t rebel, he made his way through his meal, sipping at the water to save as much for later as he could. 

It was after he’d pushed his plate back through the catflap and turned around that he remembered the package that Hedwig had brought him.  Wishing he knew some good detection spells, not like it mattered since he couldn’t cast magic anyway, he stared at the plain paper wrapped box sitting innocently on his desk.  Looking from Hedwig back to the package and back to her again, he scratched the back of his head. “Do you think it’s safe? I mean, I’m assuming Voldy or one of his minions sent it. That’s bad right? But, it didn’t hurt you to carry it…”

Looking around his room, he found a broken hanger and proceeded to poke the box with it, ready to spring away as soon as something happened. But after a long moment in which he was turned away, covering his head with his arms, and nothing had happened, he huffed and turned back to it, daring to walk up to the desk. “Maybe they put some kind of like contact poison on it and as soon as I open it my flesh is going to melt off or something.”

Hedwig made a very unimpressed noise and from the look she was giving him, he had a feeling she’d roll her eyes and call him an idiot if she could. “Right, right.  You’re sure it’s not booby-trapped or something though?  I mean it is Voldy we’re talking about.”

Hedwig looked at her ridiculous boy for a moment before hopping over the desk to grab the cord tied around the package in her claws and pull it free. 

“Right then. I guess you’re sure.” Pulling the paper carefully from the box, pausing occasionally to study his fingers and decide if he felt any differently, he finally opened the lid, mouth falling open in surprise as he looked inside.

Apparently there was an expansion charm on the box because there were several more boxes and oddly shaped packages within.  And sitting on top were two envelopes. Looking up at Hedwig, confusion plain on his face, he whispered, “What the hell? Did they give you the right box?”

Hedwig peeked over the edge of the box, seeing all the things the not-teacher put in and chuffed a positive, nudging his hand towards the two letters.  Hopefully he would open the packages soon as she could smell food and potions inside.

Confused as hell, Harry followed Hedwig’s nudging and picked up the two envelopes, figuring one of them should at least give him some answers.  Fingers caressing the fine paper, he curled up in the corner of his bed where the sunlight spilled in and got comfortable.  Flipping them over he saw an odd seal closing them, but it was the words scrawled in two different handwritings that made him pause.

Harry, in what looked like Moody’s handwriting...which meant it was really Barty Jr’s. The other, Potter, was also familiar, and he traced it with his finger tip, remembering back two years prior.  “Tom…”  He hesitated, unsure which one to open first.  Did he start with the letter from the man he’d actually written to, the man who had tried to kill him, the man who might answer all the questions he had. Or, the one from the man he had thought was a friend of sorts.  He’d grown close to the batty old wizard, enjoying their talks as Moody would teach him not just how to better his DADA spellwork, but about why certain spells worked the way they did, or why others wouldn’t get him the results he was looking for, how to tell if someone was following him, and how to spot an ambush. And then to find out that his mentor was actually Barty Jr, and he’d murdered his dad, was trying to steal him away...it hurt, almost the same way that Ron turning on him had.

He sat there for a while, lost in his thoughts, thinking of what little he knew of the two men as his fingers absently played with the letters.  Hedwig’s annoyed hoot finally dragged him from his mental quandary.  “Yeah, yeah I know, I’ll only find out what they have to say if I open them. I just...it was crazy to try to contact Voldy anyway, what if what he says changes everything? What if…”

He bit back the rest of that sentence, afraid to voice his actual fears.  What if by finding out what the other side had to say, he’d find out that everything he’d been told from his entry to the wizarding world was a lie? What if he found out that he had suffered for no reason at all.

Chapter Text

Mr. Potter

Potter

Dear Harry

Harry,

I hope that you’re reading this, though I’d understand if you didn’t want to.  I already told your familiar that I was sorry for what happened (I don’t think she would have taken my letter otherwise), but now I want to tell you.  I’m sorry about the tournament. All of it. In case you haven’t figured it out, though I’m sure you have as you’re an incredibly bright young man, I was the one who entered your name in the Cup. As I told Hedwig, I can’t apologize for how things turned out as I have my Master our Lord back, but I am sorry it had to involve you.  I’m sorry for everything that happened to you because of your involvement. And I’m sorry for scaring you even more after you returned from the ceremony; I was told it was probably quite horrifying for you.

Harry had to stop, realizing he was breathing too quickly, too harshly and the words were blurring as his eyes were burning. Pressing his hands to his face, refusing to cry, at least until he finished the letter, he made himself take slow deep breaths.  Barty had apologized. He thought he was smart. He didn’t want to get him involved. He had apologized. He had apologized to Hedwig first and now was apologizing to him. He meant it. How many people had ever apologized to him? How many people had apologized to him and actually meant it instead of giving some half-assed excuse of one like Ron had after he’d been so cruel to Harry for months. Feeling Hedwig nuzzling against his hair, he slowly got control over himself and started reading again.

As I got to know about you during the beginning of the year, it made it harder and harder for me to go through with the plan.  You were so talented and eager to learn and help your friends.  Now, I wonder if I had simply explained things and asked for your help, if you would have.  And then after your name was drawn, I was so angry with the entire school on your behalf. It was bad enough how the Slytherins and a lot of the others treated you before your name was called, and after that, it was absolutely ridiculous.  I really thought I was going to have to come up with something else because surely no one would actually believe a 14 year old boy would manage to trick his way past Dumbledore’s protections, and then if they did, I thought they’d never make it official.  I couldn’t believe it when Dumbledore forced you back with the other champions, when not a single teacher came forward to stop it, simply accepted that there was no other option and that of course you had done it. 

Harry bit his lip as he saw how spiky and tightly written the words became the more Barty wrote about the choosing, how deeply the words were etched into the paper.  He really was angry about what had happened. He was angry for Harry.  He was angry at the other adults. “Hedwig…” he didn’t even know what he was pleading for, something that made things make sense.  He tried to remember when any adult had stood up for him, had gotten angry for him. All he could think of was all the times the other teachers turned him away, ignoring his concerns or complaints. Every time they had turned a blind eye to his mistreatment going all the way back to primary school.  And now this...this Death Eater was outraged because of how the school had treated him.  Even Sirius just told him to keep his head down and try to stay out of trouble, that Dumbledore would take care of things. Except Dumbledore never did anything.  None of the teachers did anything, said they couldn’t help in any way even though he was three years younger and so underprepared for what was to come. They wouldn’t even tell him the names of books to read so he could try to help himself.

But Moody helped. Moody taught him spells and gave suggestions on how to do things, just in case . Moody asked him to stay behind after class and helped him improve his casting, left books about creatures and plants and survival guides on top of his class book. Moody...Barty...Barty, the Death Eater … was the one to try to help him survive the madness of the tournament.  The only one. “This is so fucked up, girl.”

Sorry, Master my Lord made me take a break after I broke my quill.  As I said, the whole situation made me very angry.  I can’t believe nobody else saw what I saw, a terrified boy struggling to survive, in need of help. And then everybody started attacking you in the halls and on the grounds, and your friends basically abandoned you.  I got away with attacking the little Malfoy brat (and Lucius tried to take me to task for that after I returned, but honestly, the boy is a pompous little twit), but there was no way I could get away with cursing everyone. 

Harry laughed and laughed and laughed. Even Death Eaters couldn’t stand Draco, apparently.

And when I tried talking to the rest of your teachers about it, they just shrugged it off, said that you were simply finally realizing the magnitude of the consequences of entering your name in the Cup, and you would have to learn from your mistakes. 

Harry glared at the paper, unsure whether that was actually something Snape or McGonnegal would have said, it was too easy to picture either of them as the culprit. 

And when I pointed out how frequently you were being attacked, because isn’t there supposed to be a rule about not casting in the halls? I was told that the children were just frustrated and playing around and it wasn’t that bad, no one had been injured after all. 

“What the bloody fuck?! Do I have to wind up the infirmary for it to actually matter?” Remembering Dumbledore’s treatment of him after the task, he snorted. “As if that would apparently make a difference.”

He made me take a break again.  He’s very curious as to what I’ve been writing to you that’s gotten me so angry, though you should know that he’s going to read this after it’s finished anyway.  I’m sorry I couldn’t have been in the graveyard with you, even if you wouldn’t have known I was me....Moody...your friend. I asked to be shown the memory of what had happened. I can’t believe that waste of space Pettigrew botched the ritual so badly.  Yes, Harry, the ritual did go badly, my Master should have come back as himself instead of as that thing creature monster. “Flesh of the servant” and he chops off his whole bloody hand.  Honestly, how stupid can you be.  It’s taken Severus a lot of work to fix things and Master is still improving.  I don’t know if he’ll let that part stay in, so I’ll just say that he’s not the monster from the graveyard that attacked you anymore.

It’s up to Master what he decides to tell you about his reasons, but I can say that being a wraith and possessing that teacher and inhabiting that golem did nothing good for his mental state.  Add in the botched potion and ritual and, well, he wasn’t himself.  I know that does nothing to truly make up for what happened, it had to be horrible for you. And then me trying to kidnap you all over. I do need to thank you for forcing me to run.  I probably owe you a life debt if that drop in temperature I felt was actually dementors. So, thank you, Harry, for saving my life, even if it was just to save yourself.  And thank you for saving my Master, even though you had no choice in the matter. I know you were injured when you returned between what happened in the maze and with that bastard Pettigrew; I hope you were taken care of properly, at least.

Harry sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as he read the words over again.  Apologies and explanations and recognizing that Harry had actually suffered through a horrible experience. An adult worrying about whether he was taken care of after being injured. There was just so much...so much. He felt Hedwig preening his hair again, and closed his eyes, letting the maelstrom of emotions and thoughts flow through him.  He felt like what he thought and felt actually mattered. He felt like he mattered. He had to laugh a little though because apparently it wasn’t just Draco that Barty couldn’t stand. He wondered if the other Death Eaters felt the same way about Pettigrew; he knew Snape did.  And was Snape with the Dark or not? Was he helping Voldy because he had to or because he wanted to?

If you’re reading this, then you’ve seen there’s a bunch of other stuff in the box.  I know it’s not something you want to talk about with anybody, probably, but You should know that I recognize a lot of myself in you.  My father was...not the best. I was smaller than a lot of my classmates, and I had a habit of flinching away from loud noises and people suddenly touching me.  That eye of Moody’s was hell to get used to, but once I did I noticed a lot. I...I didn’t like what I saw. So, in the box you’ll find a bunch of different things.  I know you probably will have a hard time believing it, but, for what it’s worth, I promise everything is safe for you to use. It’s all freely given, no strings attached.  Consider it part of my apology for not being able to do more during the year. 

He ran his finger over the scribbled out section, still able to partially make out the words, and, coupled with the rest of it, felt like that little boy locked in his cupboard again.  Nobody was supposed to know.  He thought he hid everything alright.  Nobody else had ever said anything after all. But Barty noticed.  Barty wanted to help.

Getting up, stretching since he’d been curled up reading for so long, he walked over to the box, lifting it carefully, still partially surprised when nothing strange happened. Carrying it back to the bed, he started pulling things out.  A squishy package he unwrapped turned out to be a pair of black pants and a green button up shirt, nice material but nothing overly fancy. Another cushioned box held a selection of potions inside.  A cold feeling box opened to reveal individual packages of food, pastas and salads and some sandwiches and cut up fruit.  It was too much.  It was...how had he known? Why did he do this? Why did Voldemort let him do this? Rubbing his eyes, he went back to the letter, hoping to find some more answers.

You should find some clothes, they’re nothing fancy, I didn’t think you’d be too comfortable with that anyway, but they are somewhat used, they’re some of my old stuff.  They’ve got automatic re-sizing charms on them so they’ll shrink to fit you, and if you put on some weight or height, they’ll grow with you as well. I would have gotten you at least a couple new things, but it’s late and I’m sure you’re worried about your owl. There’s also some new socks (I had one of the elves go get them from Draco’s room, he’ll never miss them) and a couple of my old sweaters too. I know you have those sweaters from the Weasleys but I thought you might like something a little less...noticeable too, for those days you feel like disappearing.

Digging back in the box, he found the two other packages, one with a few pairs of black socks, obviously new, and the other with...He gasped, pulling out the sweaters. One was a dark navy, the other a dark bronzy color, and they were so incredibly soft, obviously well loved as there was some wear around the edge of the neckline and cuffs, but, so much better than anything else he’d owned.  Even though it was summer and he didn’t have much air flow in his room, he couldn’t resist pulling one on, smiling even though it was too big on him, the arms hanging past his fingertips.  But unlike Dudley’s things, this felt good, like a warm hug just for him. Hedwig chirped approvingly as he turned to show her, arms spread out. “I wish you could feel this, girl, it’s so soft, just like your downy feathers.” 

To go along with the new clothes, that I hope you’ll grow into at least a little, I’ve had the elves here pack up some food for you.  They’re under stasis charms until you open the packages but the box they’re in acts just like a cold box so you can use it to store anything you need to keep fresh.  The potions were made before by Severus, so you know they’re going to taste horrible, but they’re the best. The orange one is skelegro, which I’ve heard you’re familiar with.  Hopefully you won’t need it, but if you do, it’s best to have on hand.  Also, go ahead and take a spoon full.  It won’t hurt if you don’t need it, but if you do need some help, it can start the process.  The red ones are nutrition potions.  Take one either in the morning or at night, not both; they’re to help you regain all the stuff your body is missing. You’ll probably feel a little weird after the first day as your body starts getting the things it needs, but it should pass after a couple days.  If it doesn’t, write me with what’s wrong and we’ll figure something else out.  You should recognize the pepper-up potions too, just in case you need it.

Harry hugged himself, wallowing in the soft, warm comfort of his new sweater as he looked at the spread of items across his bed. New clothes, food, and medicine, all things he needed, and none of it from his godfather or friends. None of it from the Light side.  All sent to him from a Death Eater who felt bad about how he was treated at home and at school.  “Did I slip into some kind of mirror universe? Hit my head?  None of this makes any sense.”

I also enclosed some more books for you.  Who knows what will happen with next year’s DADA teacher and I don’t trust those little arseholes in your school to stop targeting you now just because the tournament’s over. Just send them back when you’re done with them, or keep them, I can get another copy if I need it and I took them from Lucius’ library anyway. If you need anything, or have any questions for me, please feel free to write.  Anything I tell you will have to be approved by Master, but I’ll tell you as much as I’m able.

Still your friend,
Barty

Chapter Text

Harry had just folded Barty’s letter back up and stuck it in its envelope when he heard the first lock on his door turn.  Scrambling as fast as he could, he shoved all of the boxes and clothes into the original box and stuck it on the far side of his bed where it couldn’t be seen. Just as the last lock clicked open and the doorknob started to turn, he remembered the sweater, yanking it over his head and shoving it behind his pillow, leaving only the two letters sitting on the bed. 

Petunia opened the door, looking at the boy suspiciously as his hair was even more of a wreck than normal and he was breathing heavier. Deciding she didn’t want to dwell on what a teenage boy might be getting up to, she said nothing. Noticing he was still in his pajamas as well though, she scowled.  “Get your clothes and get in the bathroom.  You’ve got fifteen minutes to do your business and get cleaned up. Then you’re going to work in the back garden until I get back from the market, understood?” 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” Curious about the strange mood she seemed to be in, he wasn’t taking her generosity for granted and grabbed up one of his rattier shirts and pair of jeans since he’d be in the dirt and grass and hurried into the bathroom.  Turning on the shower, he stripped as quickly as he could, hopping in while the water was still warming up, but knowing that his aunt meant exactly fifteen minutes and he had no time to wait. He went about his normal routine as quickly as possible, just finishing brushing his teeth when she knocked on the door in warning.

She led him into the back yard and pointed out the areas she wanted taken care of and then locked the back door behind her as she back inside, leaving him more or less trapped in the fenced in yard. All too familiar with the routine by that point, he went to the small shed where the gardening items were kept, selected what he needed and got busy.  After a few years of dealing with plants that would just as soon attack you as let you tend them, his aunt’s garden was child’s play and he made quick work of tending to the weeds and trimming back the plants that had gotten out of hand.

He’d only been outside about fifteen minutes by his estimate when he got a creeping feeling along his spine, like someone or something was stalking him.  Pausing, keeping a firm hold on the sheers, he sat up straight, making a big deal of stretching his back as he looked subtly around him, but there was nothing there.  Not even Hedwig was hanging around to keep him company, but then he noticed there were actually no birds that he could see in the lone tree in the corner of the yard, no squirrels either, and that was odd.

Licking his lips, mouth suddenly dry from the nervous energy that was starting to fill him, he turned back to his work, making sure every sharp object he had brought out with him was close to his body.  The more he focused, the more he realized there was no noise at all coming from that part of the yard.  There was a wix hiding there, watching him, but why?  

He slowed in his work, trying to make as little noise as possible as he tried to listen for any movement, any shift of cloth that might signal someone lifting a wand toward him.  He hated leaving his back turned toward whoever was stalking him but he had no way to do his work and face whoever it was either. Managing to angle himself at least a little, he continued working until he heard Petunia’s car pull back in the drive. Gathering up all his tools, he made his way back to the shed, standing just inside, grabbing the small garden axe they used to chop down the trunks of some of the larger bushes in the past that Petunia had decided she didn’t like any more.  It was only when his aunt opened the door that he remotely relaxed, closing up the shed and hurrying towards her and the relative safety of the house.

Petunia looked around the yard and huffed softly. “I suppose it will do, up to your room with you.”

Harry darted inside, drawing an alarmed look from his aunt as he motioned frantically for her to close the door. Voice low, he urged her further into the kitchen, locking the door and moving the trash can in front of it as a sort of noise alarm if somebody should try to open it, “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, and, honestly, there’s not much either of us can do if somebody tries something. I’m pretty sure there was one of my kind hiding in the corner of the yard near the tree.  Nobody said or did anything, but it’s completely silent and there’s no animals over there which makes me pretty sure somebody’s hiding. You know I’m not allowed to use magic here, but Voldemort, the guy that killed mum and dad, is back and I don’t know if his followers are able to find me. So, let me take my trunk and wand up to my room, I’ll stash them out of sight from Vernon and Dudley, but if someone is trying to come after me, I’d rather be able to attempt to protect us and damn the consequences, alright?” 

Petunia stared at her nephew, so different now than the angry boy earlier, or the timid thing of the past. Even though she could see genuine fear in his eyes, there was a sense of steel to him, a fearlessness to his words as he offered to protect them , not just himself, even after everything.  Clutching her necklace, she looked nervously toward the kitchen window, walking over to slowly close the blinds as if nothing was wrong.  “You’re serious about this? You’re not just trying to get your freaky things?”

Swallowing hard, he nodded, though she still had her back to him, “Completely serious.  The scar on my upper arm? They kidnapped me and used my blood to help make a body for him.  He’s back and he tried to kill me but I was able to escape by sheer bloody luck.  I honestly don’t know who’s out there, it could be somebody sent by him, or it could be somebody sent by the Light side.” 

Turning back around, she decided to start a pot of tea, needing something to calm her nerves. “What about that headmaster of yours? Or the rest of those people you send letters off to.”

Slumping into one of the chairs, he ran his hands through his hair, “Dumbledore has responded once since I got here.  Nobody’s telling me anything about what’s going on out there.  All I’ve heard is that everyone is safe and apparently cleaning a house and having a good time without me.” And yes, he heard exactly how bitter he sounded about the whole thing.

Petunia frowned, fingers playing over the pearls of her necklace as she listened to him, hearing everything he wasn’t saying in that statement as well.  “Will you try to ask them about...that?” Nodding her head towards the window. “Is there anybody else you can contact? You lot have a police force right?”

Surprised by her question, he thought about it and nodded. “We do, but I don’t know how to get in touch with them, but I know some different people who might.  And...well, um… I may have kind of already written to Voldemort himself?”

“What?!”

Cringing as she shrieked her question, he nodded.  “I know, but, honestly, I didn’t know what else to do.  I really don’t know what their side is after, what their goals are.  Yes, he killed mum and dad and tried to kill me, but it was a war and mum and dad were fighting against him so while I don’t exactly forgive him for it, I can at least understand why he did it.  At least, I think I know why he did it? I actually asked him about that and some other stuff, and he wrote me back, I just haven’t had a chance to read it yet.  And honestly, after everything that’s happened to me while I’ve been in Hogwarts, I’m not sure Dumbledore is as good a person as people make him out to be.  I just don’t know anymore.”

Pouring a plain cup of tea, Petunia leaned back against the counter, sipping at the strong brew as she attempted to gather her thoughts. It was bad enough she lost her sister to that world, but she would never forgive that man for just dumping her nephew on her doorstep and never once bothering to follow up, without even having the decency to inform her of Lilly’s death properly. Nor would she ever like having the boy in her house with his magic and the danger that came with it, this recent incident just the latest of issues.  “Take the key and get your things out of the cupboard and up to your room and lock it back up.  Vernon never goes in there anyway when he thinks your things are there.  Read that letter and find out if we need to be worried about whoever is outside. Contact whoever you need to and deal with it. I will not have this freakishness putting me at risk in my own home, you understand me?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

“When Vernon and Dudley get home, I’ll suggest a nice trip to the shore for an extended weekend.  That will give you plenty of time to find out what’s going on and make sure my family is safe at home.  You will stay here. If it’s going to take longer than the weekend, you will call and leave a message for me at the hotel desk telling me so. Do you understand?”

Disbelieving his luck, he nodded quickly, “Yeah, uh, yes, ma’am. I’ll just...go get started on all...that.” As soon as she nodded, he was up and out of the kitchen, grabbing the key for the  cupboard off it’s little hook right next to the door, he unlocked it and felt a tightly clenched part of himself relax at the sight of his things.  Opening the lid to his trunk, he grabbed his wand straight away, relaxing further at the hum of his magic working with it.  Tucking it into his waistband, he maneuvered his trunk out of the cupboard and made the slow journey up the stairs with it, careful not to damage them and bring even more wrath down on his head.  After locking everything back up again, he started shifting his few pieces of furniture around so that he could make his trunk as unnoticeable as possible from the doorway.

Once he had everything as situated as possible, he grabbed a few sheets of paper and a pen and one of his old textbooks to use as a surface to write on and got comfortable on his bed, his wand resting right next to his leg. An inquisitive hoot from Hedwig had him giving her an apologetic look.  “Sorry, girl, but I need you to take a few letters out today and, since I don’t know where all they’re going, it might take a bit.” She simply nipped at his hand warmly. Brushing his fingers over her soft feathers, he took a minute to settle himself. “It seems we have a guest in the backyard but I don’t know who it’s from. Are they just watching? Are they supposed to protect me? Are they going to attack me? Though if that was their goal, they should’ve done it earlier when I was outside alone.  It’s giving me the creeps. I haven’t read the letter from Voldemort yet, so I don’t know if there’s something in there that might let me know, but I’m afraid it’ll take me too long to read it if I react like I did to Barty’s.”

Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself. He had a plan and a goal. And, more importantly, he had his wand.  He could handle this.  

Headmaster,

I have reason to believe there is somebody hiding themselves in the backyard.  I was forced outside to work in the yard and the whole back corner was completely silent and devoid of life. It felt like someone was watching me though nobody ever said or did anything.  Did you send someone to watch out for me? Or can you send someone to check it out? As you know, I’m not supposed to use magic here, but I’m afraid somebody is going to try to attack.  What should I do?

Harry

Sirius,

I’ve already written to Dumbledore asking for help, but since he hasn’t responded to any of my other letters, I thought you might be able to help. 

He paused, pen just off the paper as the unhappy thought, “Even though you haven’t so far,” went through his mind.  Sighing, he closed his eyes tightly for a moment. Surely, with his life possibly being in danger, he could get some real answers.

I have reason to believe there is somebody hiding themselves in the backyard.  I was forced outside to work in the yard and the whole back corner was completely silent and devoid of life. It felt like someone was watching me though nobody ever said or did anything.  Did Dumbledore send someone to watch out for me? Can you ask someone to check it out? As you know, I’m not supposed to use magic here, but I’m afraid somebody is going to try to attack.  What should I do?

Harry

Harry hesitated a moment, thinking about the situation, who else he might be able to contact since he’d received no real information from his normal sources.  Looking at the small stack of letters on the corner of his desk that he’d gotten so far that summer, and more specifically, one whose envelope had a corner smudged with dirt, he made a decision.

Dear Neville,

I’ll write more soon, but I think I have a problem and I need some help.  As you know, I’m staying with my Muggle relatives during the summer, but when I was outside working in the garden today, I felt someone watching me, and the whole corner of the yard was unnaturally quiet, there wasn’t even any wildlife.  I hurried inside as soon as my aunt got back home and let me in and told her what I suspected. She asked if we had police, aurors, and couldn’t I contact them.  I told her I had no idea how to do that.  I don’t know what to do. I’ve contacted Dumbledore to ask him if maybe he sent someone to watch me since Voldy is back, but he hasn’t been responding to my letters so far this summer about anything so I’m not sure if he’ll help.  Do you know how to contact the Aurors? Do I just send a message saying “help me?” I’m safe enough for now, I guess; I have my wand and things back with me now instead of locked away, so I can try to protect myself, even if I would get in trouble for using magic here.

Thanks a lot,

Harry

Harry folded up the letters and wrote the name of the recipients on the outside, showing them each to Hedwig. “Dumbledore, Siri, and Neville.  Maybe try Siri first and Dumbledore might be there too? It sounds like everybody is pretty much all together.”

Hedwig looked at the letters then at the two letters still sitting on the bed. Nudging the unopened one with her beak she looked at her boy, tilting her head curiously. If he thinks this Voldemort person sent the predator in the back, then maybe he can make them go away too.

Harry looked from Hedwig down to the letter from Voldemort and back again, biting his lower lip. “I just don’t know how to send them all together without someone interfering with the others if they see the name, or someone possibly hurting you to get the other. But I don’t want you to have to make two trips.”

Hedwig fluffed out her wings, irritated that this was even a concern. They were her letters to deliver and nobody would take them from her without a fight. Settling herself, she did understand what he meant though.  Two sides that didn’t like each other, but she could do this.  

Harry stared at the two letters for a long moment, then made a decision. It required a little… a lot… of trust, but it could work.

B,

Please give this to your boss.  I’m sending out the same letter to several people for safety’s sake as I don’t know who has the power to fix things, which is why I’ve written things the way I have in case the letters go to the wrong person. I think an employee of your boss or my boss is watching the house I’m staying in.  I was forced outside to work in the yard earlier today and the whole back corner was completely silent, not even animals running around. It felt like someone was watching me though nobody ever said or did anything.  I just want to know that I’m safe - if the person watching me is protecting me or watching me in order to attack me later. Please let me know as soon as possible if it’s not your boss’ doing or if it’s a safety measure.

Thank you,

Harry

P.S. Thank you, I’ll respond properly later

Folding up the letter, he wrote BJ on the front and held it up for Hedwig.  “This is for Voldemort, but you can give it to Barty, the not-Moody from school this year that sent the box for me. Maybe take his or Neville’s first? I know Neville wouldn’t bother you, and I think...I think maybe Barty would be okay too? I’ll leave it to your decision though.  Just be safe. I worded things so hopefully if his winds up in the wrong hands, it won’t cause too much of a fuss.” Handing over the letters, he watched her fly out the window two letters held tightly in each clawed foot.  Hopefully he’d actually hear back from someone before the day was done.

~~~

With nothing else that he could immediately do, he picked up the still sealed letter from Voldemort, and carefully opened it, wondering if he’d finally get answers to some of the questions he’d had for years.

Potter,

I must say you managed to cause quite a stir at dinner, or rather your familiar did. She’s quite intelligent; you should be proud. Your letter was quite a surprise in itself; the very fact that you decided to write to me at all.  I’m not sure if it’s courage or the reckless idiocy that Severus likes to accuse you of.  The contents of your letter, however, are quite concerning for many reasons.

As I’m writing this, my follower, Barty (who you knew as Alistair Moody last year), is writing a letter to you as well and, I believe, he is going to try to address some of the issues that were brought up during the reading of your letter.  He says he recognizes a lot of himself and others of our side, myself included, in your behavior.

Harry wrinkled his nose, staring down at the letter. He didn’t like the idea of having anything in common with Voldy, but he knew from Tom’s diary in second year that they really were treated an awful lot alike growing up, though their personalities apparently took them in opposite directions.

I found several comments in your letter to be highly improbable, though after talking with those of my followers who are most familiar with you, it seems that they may be true after all.  Barty said you lie horribly, anyway, but it’s hard to judge through writing. But I am curious how the so-called “Savior,” the “Boy Who Lived,” came to not know a single thing about the wizarding world? And what in Merlin’s name was that oaf Hagrid doing giving you the introduction to it? None of it makes any sense.  I’m hoping you have seen how strange this fact is since you have started at Hogwarts.  Even if you were raised as Muggle, as it appears you were, one of the actual professors would be the one to explain to you and your family about your place in the world. In my day, Dumbledore was frequently the one making the visits; I’ve been told by Severus that it is now usually either himself or McGonnegal that do so. Besides the fact that Hagrid has no way of actually blending into a Muggle environment, he has no ability to cast magic or explain the curriculum and rules.

Harry looked at how Voldemort’s words were getting pressed harder into the paper, the letters growing spikier, was he actually angry about this? Wait, he was supposed to have had the rules and courses explained to him before he got to school?

I believe I now understand why Barty keeps having to take breaks in his writing, and I should now tell you apparently there is a package that will be arriving with these letters full of things Barty has assembled for you.  Why he feels the need to do so, I’m unsure; I told him it was unnecessary, but he will do as he wishes. For what it’s worth, I do promise that Barty is the only one besides the elves handling things so they should all be safe for use. Though Lucius may find himself short a few things later, apparently.

Harry stopped reading, covering his mouth as he started laughing, talking softly to himself. “Oh wow, Barty actually talked Voldy into sending the package, and that doesn’t sound like he’s angry about it, or about him borrowing that stuff from Malfoy either. I wonder how close they are, because Voldy sounds like he doesn’t care what Barty does.  He didn’t even edit out anything in his letter.”

As I was saying before, I hope you have come to realize the circumstances surrounding your entrance to our world are highly suspect.  Severus even mentioned that you do not have access to your own vault key.  You would probably not believe what an uproar that bit of news caused.  I will tell you, however, that you should make a trip to Gringotts at your earliest convenience and tell them you have been denied access to your key. You should definitely check your past statements to verify that everything with your accounts is in order no matter how much you trust whoever is currently holding your key as you had no access to it prior to your first year of school.

“Statements? What statements? And if Snape and McGonnegal usually talk to the Muggleborn families, why didn’t one of them come instead of sending those hundreds of letters instead, which just made Vernon and Aunt Petunia even angrier? And with all those letters they sent, didn’t anybody ever notice ‘The Cupboard Under the Stairs?’ Wait a minute, what did he mean ‘accounts’?” Harry stopped and re-read the last paragraph, but the words were the same. But he only had the one account right? And who did have his key? Hagrid had it his first year and Molly had had it the past three, but who had it before Hagrid? Dumbledore? And why didn’t they let him keep it since it was his vault? Vaults?

Frowning in confusion, he set the letter down, Voldy’s words bouncing around his head.  It wasn’t that some of those things hadn’t occurred to him over the years, but it was the first time anybody else, an adult who knew better, had said they were out of the ordinary. Now he was having the evidence shoved in his face and it just brought up even more questions. Like why had Molly and the kids been on the Muggle side of the train station anyway? And she’d already had two sons graduate and three more still attending, how would she forget where to go? And to be talking about Muggles so loudly too. Why were all the protections for the Stone easy enough that a couple of firsties could get past them? He was famous, why hadn’t he ever received a single piece of fan mail, or hate mail, before?

Feeling a cold sensation that had nothing to do with the temperature, he stuck his hand under his pillow and pulled out Barty’s sweater. After tugging off his dirty shirt he’d been wearing outside, he slipped on the super soft sweater, gathering the extra length of sleeve up in each hand as he hugged himself, pulling his knees up to his chest.  He really wished Hedwig was there at that moment. She couldn’t give him a proper hug, but at least he wouldn’t feel so completely alone and lost. 

Chapter Text

Petunia had been by earlier while he’d been writing his notes to everyone and locked his door back up after verifying that his things were out of sight.  He’d absently made note of the sound of the front door slamming and Dudley’s whining voice ringing through the house while he was reading, and now he was hearing Vernon’s car pull in the drive.  He wondered how much time he’d missed while lost in his troubling thoughts.

Rummaging in his gift box, he found the cold box and picked through it, in awe once again at what all magic could accomplish, but also of how thoughtful Barty had been arranging for everything to be put together for him.  Selecting one of the little dishes of sliced fruit, he felt a small tingle of magic against his fingertips as he opened it, breaking the stasis spell, he assumed.

As he nibbled on the juicy fruit, his gaze kept playing back over to Voldemort’s letter sitting on the bed next to him.  He needed to finish reading it, needed to see if he answered the two big questions he’d asked.  But he wasn’t sure if his heart could handle any more insights either.

Vernon’s raised voice carried upstairs, unclear for the most part though Harry could make out a “boy” or “freak” occasionally.  He wondered what their uninvited guest outside thought about it, because he was surely loud enough that they would be able to hear him at least a little. Feeling childish, Harry stuck his tongue out in the direction of Vernon’s voice.  The man was probably wondering why Harry wasn’t elbow deep in dinner preparations right then. Or maybe his aunt had broken the news about their little weekend getaway. And...yep, there was Dudley’s whining tone joining in right on schedule. Never mind he’d be getting a trip to the beach, which Harry had never gotten to enjoy, he’d complain because it wasn’t something he chose.  Shaking his head, he popped another piece of fruit in his mouth, knowing that either Vernon or his aunt, or both, were probably bribing him right that moment with promises to buy him more junk he’d just break before he even made it home.

Finishing his snack, he wiped his hands off with a corner of his shirt he dampened with a little of his bottled water. Taking a deep breath, afraid of what else the letter might reveal to him, he settled back against his pillows and began to read.

I find myself unsure where to begin in regards to the answers to your questions as the answers to both, as well as my actions, become intertwined over time.  I think the easiest way is to start at the beginning.  As you are, apparently, aware, I am a half-blood also. My mother was a witch and my father was a Muggle that lived near where she grew up.  Due to circumstances you need not know about, my mother died, leaving me on the steps of an orphanage in London not long before the start of World War Two.  As you can probably imagine, the situation was far from ideal.  Added into the situation was my accidental magic manifesting as some of the older boys attempted to bully me, often resulting in hazardous results for them.  I was deemed to be a problem child, hurting the other children for no reason (since it was always so many other voices against my own), and then once one of the ladies saw some of my magic in action, it became even worse as they decided I must be possessed by the devil.  My only real companions were the snakes I’d find in the yard, though I’d have to be careful in speaking to them as the other boys would attempt to harm the poor things.

And then Dumbledore arrived.  I don’t know what the matron told him about me on his way to meet me, but he’d apparently already decided I was evil before even opening my door. When he explained that there was a reason I could do the things I did, that magic was real, I remember being so happy.  I was not alone! There were others like me.  I asked him about speaking to snakes and I could see any possibility of kindness disappear.  To this day I still don’t understand why he thinks Parselmouth is evil when it is simply another magical talent inherited through bloodlines.

To make matters worse, apparently the matron had told him I stole things from the other boys. To be fair, some things I did take from them but it was usually in response to them taking something of mine. But, once again, the voice of the masses versus myself meant that I never won the argument. I was an orphan in a poor section of London, everything I owned was given to me by the orphanage or I had scavenged from the neighborhood.  So, in one of Dumbledore’s brilliant moments, he decided to teach me a lesson about the consequences of stealing, never once asking me about my side of the story, and set my wardrobe on fire in a display of his magic. Everything I owned, every scrap of clothing besides what I was wearing, the few treasures I had managed to hang onto, were destroyed, and after he left and the matron found my wardrobe and the contents destroyed, I was blamed for starting the fire and punished severely. This was my introduction to the wizarding world.

Harry set the letter down and rubbed his temples. No wonder the man hated Dumbledore with a passion. He could only imagine how bloody furious he’d be if somebody destroyed everything he’d managed to scrimp and save for himself over the years despite the Dursleys’ best efforts. And then leave him to deal with the consequences too. And Harry had never really thought about how old Voldemort was, but if he was living in London during the War...did they force him back to the orphanage during the Blitz? Did they allow those poor students living in the Muggle areas to remain in Hogwarts where they could be protected? They’d just touched on things in his muggle History classes, but he’d seen parts of some of the documentaries Vernon would watch when he was cleaning and it was horrifying. And it was just like with him now, knowing you have access to magic that might be able to protect you, but not be able to use it, assuming you were even old enough to know the spells anyway. 

He stared unseeingly down at the letter.  He really didn’t want to read any more of it. He wasn’t supposed to feel bad for the man who made him an orphan. But he asked for answers, it wasn’t fair for him to get mad because he didn’t like the form they took.

My time at Hogwarts was...an experience.  I was a half-blood with a completely Muggle name in a Slytherin house filled with purebloods contemptuous of anybody who wasn’t one of them.  The Deputy Headmaster and Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, hated me for no apparent reason and I was frequently docked points for trivial matters, further spurring my housemates’ hatred. And, as much as I begged for them not to, during the very height of the War, they sent me back to the orphanage, they sent all of us Muggle raised back during the summers where we had to live in fear every day of either being killed in a bombing or starving to death from the sheer lack of supplies available.

Oh hell, they had sent him back, all those students back. How many of them never made it back to Hogwarts? Did anybody ever wonder or care what happened to them? How could they be so cruel? But then again, these are the same types of people, maybe even the same people, that had no problem forcing a 14 year old to fight in that bloody tournament or who sent hordes of dementors to a school full of children. 

You may be wondering what any of this has to do with your questions, but you will see how it ties into everything soon.  You may also be wondering as to my...civility when writing this after our last encounter, that too will come into play.

It was during investigations into my mother’s lineage that I discovered I was descended from Slytherin himself.  Needless to say, my housemates soon changed their opinions about the poor orphan boy. As I was brought into their ranks, I was able to see where the disconnect between the two worlds truly was and began to make plans on how to resolve this.  Situations like my own and others in the years around me, abandoned back to their homes in a world in the middle of a violent, impersonal war, or with no family at all to return to was just so illogical.  The lack of knowledge between incoming first years who were raised in the magical world versus those new to it was staggering. My goals became to find a way to integrate the Muggle raised students into the magical world earlier than the first year, to ensure that every magical child had a home and protection. Why are there no magical orphanages? Why is there no one following up on children who have shown sides of accidental magic in the Muggle world? Some families may welcome it, but others, like the employees in the orphanage took it incredibly poorly and tried numerous, usually unpleasant and sometimes painful, ways to drive it out of me. Why are there no magical primary schools? It was these kinds of issues that fueled my desire to join in our governing body, to help make and change laws to help integrate the Muggle born and raised into the wizarding world, to look into ways to segregate ourselves further from the Muggle world and all the hazards they represent to us among other things.

Harry had to stop reading, he couldn’t take it. Pushing the letter off his lap, he got up and started pacing around the small open area of his room as his breaths felt like they were coming too fast, his arms wrapping around himself in a farce of a hug.  That was not what he was told. He was told Voldemort hated anyone who wasn’t a pureblood, full stop.  He was told Voldemort wanted to get rid of Muggleborn, end of story. That is not what he just read.  Voldemort wanted to bring the Muggleborn into the magical world sooner than Hogwarts.  He wanted people to check on them and make sure they were safe, that they weren’t abandoned.  People like Harry.

Hearing the catflap clink, he looked over to see a bowl of what looked like the dregs of a stew and a small heel of bread and another bottle of water. Still slightly weirded out by the extra food he was getting, he still grabbed it up quickly, happy to have a hot meal he didn’t have to cook.

It wasn’t long after he’d slid the bowl back through the flap that he heard the locks clicking once more.  Standing, wand tucked away under his pillow, he waited.  

Petunia opened the door, hesitating for only a moment at seeing an unfamiliar sweater on the boy.  “Vernon’s arranged things with his work and we’ll be leaving in the morning.  You’ll have use of the bathroom and the kitchen and laundry to keep yourself clean and fed.  You are not to make a mess and you’ll stay out of the other rooms. I’ll contact Mrs. Figg to let her know we’re leaving so she can keep an eye on things though you won’t be staying with her.”

Harry still couldn’t believe his luck. On one hand, he had a person, maybe more, stalking him, but on the other, he’d have several days free of the Dursleys and free run of the house and no forced company of Mrs. Figg. “Yes, Aunt Petunia. Thank you. I’ll try to make sure everything is taken care of before the end of the weekend.”

She sniffed dismissively, “You do that.  Now go on and get cleaned up and ready for bed, I’ll unlock the door and give you instructions in the morning.”

Hurrying through his evening routine, he changed into his pajama bottoms and pulled Barty’s sweater back on and was back in his room before his allotted time was over.  Petunia paused at his door a couple minutes later, looking him over, her gaze seeming to fix on Barty’s sweater and he crossed his arms self consciously.

Rolling her eyes, she tsked. “While we’re gone I want you to freshen up the guest room. Marge…” neither of them bothered hiding their looks of distaste, “may be coming to visit soon. And no staring out the window to the backyard and getting distracted.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up as she stared pointedly at him for one long moment before shutting his door and locking it.  Did she seriously just give him a warning? Or was it a suggestion for him to keep an eye on things? He’d completely forgotten that the guest room had a window facing the back of the house.  That could come in useful.

Looking out the window at the darkening sky, he hoped for any sign of Hedwig’s return.  He really could use some comfort, plus he was anxious to see what any of them had to say to him.   Though, now that he thought of it, could just anyone send him an owl? So far it had only been his friends from school and Sirius and Dumbledore, but could Barty or Voldemort himself do it? Or would Hedwig have to wait for a response each time?  They’d have to find some way to test that if their correspondence was going to continue.

Sighing as the sky remained free of owl shaped bodies, he flopped back on his bed and pulled up the letter, afraid of what he’d find out next.

It was soon after my return to school one year after a horrible round of bombings through the city that a certain book made its way into my hands detailing a way to preserve a part of one’s self in order to return from death. 

“What?! Who the bloody fuck leaves a book like that in a school ?!” 

I have been told you met my first attempt at this process, about which Lucius and I will be having a discussion later. 

Harry downright cackled. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Wait, first?!”

However, one thing that was not made clear was that splitting yourself in such a way leads to certain unfortunate consequences.

Harry gave the letter a disbelieving look “You think?!” 

Two of those consequences are a gradual decline in rationality and a heightening of paranoia.  Combined with my ongoing experiences with Dumbledore and those that tended to follow him mindlessly, it was hard to separate reality from perceived offenses.

Thinking about the past school year in particular, he remembered the often quoted Muggle phrase, “It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you.”

Over the years, as things progressed further and further out of my control, I proceeded to make several more of those, shall we say, back up plans. And of course, each time, my mental state proceeded to decline faster and faster, and otherwise negligible concerns became dire threats. And it was in this precarious situation that I was made aware of a prophecy. 

Unable to wrap his head around the whole batshit insane idea of splitting oneself, he focused on the prophecy bit.  Thinking about Trelawney and her completely daft class, but also those random chilling predictions she’d spouted in his presence, he wrinkled his nose doubtfully.

The prophecy stated "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…” If I had been in my right mind I would have completely disregarded it.  For one thing, I’m relatively sure that was not all of what was foretold.  But, more importantly, most prophecies have a way of being self-fulfilling, and if ignored become completely irrelevant to those who they are supposed to involve. But, as it was, I found out that two boys were born at the end of July to two couples who actively fought against me, you being the last.

There it was, the whole bloody reason he and his parents were targeted.  Because of a bit of fortune telling Voldemort hadn’t even heard the whole of.  Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  It was so fucking ridiculous and pointless and so bloody fucking stupid!

A rustle of feathers and a tired hoot dragged him from the downward spiral of his thoughts, a smile lighting his face as Hedwig flew in and landed on the bed next to him, dropping only two letters. Frowning at that, though he couldn’t see who they were from yet so maybe it was some good news, he turned his attention to his beautiful girl, petting her and fetching some treats for her after the massive workout she’d had the past two days. “Welcome back, girl.  I have so much to tell you.  You’ll never believe this. I don’t believe it.”

Deciding to finish Voldemort’s letter since he was very close to the end, he sighed, how the hell was he supposed to come to grips with everything he’d just learned?

I’m sure you know what happened after gaining that knowledge.  After the destruction of my body, twisted and abnormal as it may have been due to other questionable decisions on my part through the years, I was left as the wraith you saw during the end of your first year.  It was after my resurrection and the help of several more rituals and many of Severus’ potions that I began to regain my sanity, slowly reintegrating those pieces of myself I’d broken off so many years ago.  It is a slow process and I can not absorb them all at once or risk even further damage to myself. 

I tell you all of this not for any form of pity, or even for a shred of forgiveness for my actions, as what I did while a shadow of myself is unforgivable, but merely as an explanation. Obviously, there is much I have left out of the story, but you, of all people, deserve what truth I can give.  I hope that you will agree to continue our correspondence and, perhaps in doing so, we can work towards a change for the better in the world around us.  A world that has failed you remarkably from all that I have perceived.

For now, I will tell you to enjoy whatever it is Barty has sent you.  I have placed no trackers on your owl to find where you live and I have instructed my followers that they are to take no action against anyone except in self defense, and especially not against you, until I tell them otherwise. 

Your potential ally,

Lord Voldemort

Harry stared down at the letter, his mind so full of thoughts and feelings it may as well be completely blank for all he could think at that moment. “Well, fuck.”

Chapter Text

Hedwig flew from her boy’s cage once more, clawed feet gripping the letters entrusted to her tightly. This was going to be nothing like her normal deliveries, but there was nothing normal about this trip to his noisy nest mates either.

Her innate magic wrapped around the four letters shown to her, the names of the people being delivered to calling up images of them and sending out strings in different directions.  Her boy was right that this trip would take a long time as all the people were spread out, but she would seek out the plant boy first. Neville-chick was a kind spirit and would not try to do anything out of line.  She’d make a decision about the others after visiting him.

~~

Neville was tending to some of his grandmother’s favorite decorative flowers, a potential bribe toward letting him get his own wand over the summer, humming to himself happily as he reveled in the feeling of the sun beating down on him, a gentle breeze occasionally teasing by to cool him off, and his hands sunk in the rich, fertile soil of the Longbottom estate. He liked Hogwarts most of the time...okay, some of the time, but there were always so many people and so much noise and nobody ever seemed to have time to really help him with anything.  Sure, the greenhouses were great, and Professor Sprout was amazing for letting him help her whenever he felt like it, but nothing beat being home with his own gardens and own plants, many that he’d started from seed himself, and surrounded by nothing but the sounds of nature.  

An inquisitive hoot drew his attention from the plants that kept trying to wrap around his hands as he worked and he batted the vines away lovingly before standing.  Shading his eyes with one dirty hand, he was finally able to make out the glow of late afternoon sunlight on white wings.  “Hedwig? What are you doing here? Harry already wrote me back last week.”

Watching in concern as the owl seemed to search the area for something, he finally noticed she had letters clutched in both feet.  Oh, well that would certainly make landing awkward. Looking around the little garden where he was working, he finally grabbed a pebble off the pathway and did a quick transformation to make it into a shallow bowl, so glad that he was able to use his wand while on the estate. “Here you go, Hedwig.  You can drop the letters in there so they won’t get damaged and land on the tree there and I’ll get the letters sorted back out for you.”

Smiling as she did as he suggested, he finally got a good look at her. “Tumtum, could you get Hedwig some refreshments please? Thank you.” Shaking his head with a smile, he watched as his old nursery elf blushed and got all flustered at his easy gratitude once again.

Turning his attention to the letters, he pulled his out but paused over the letter simply marked “BJ,” wondering who in the world that could be. Shrugging, he opened his letter, forehead creasing as he read the disturbing note, a frown marring his normally placid expression.  Harry had always indicated his home life was not the best, but some of the things he said… and then some stranger was hiding in his yard?

Reaching a quick decision, unknowingly drawing himself up straighter, a determined look in his eyes, he reached out to pet Hedwig.  “I’m sorry, Hedwig, no response right now.  I think Harry needs more help than I can give him myself.  I’ll send word as quickly as I can, I promise.”

Holding the letters out for her to take once more as he read off the names, he waited until she was on her way before striding into the manor, asking one of the elves for his grandmother’s location.  Finding her in her study going over correspondence of her own, he knocked on the doorframe.

“Neville? Oh, gracious child, you’re filthy, you couldn’t have cleaned up first?”

“Sorry, grandmother, but this is important.  I just received a very concerning letter from my friend Harry...Potter.  I think you should see this.” Neville held the letter out to her.

Augusta looked at her grandson, normally a stuttering, quiet little boy, but now replaced by a young man who was beginning to look like a leader.  Whatever was in that letter really must have concerned him.  Taking the piece of...muggle paper?...she skimmed it briefly.  Eyes widening, she put on her reading glasses and read through it once more, several things in the brief note drawing her concern.  What in the world was going on with that poor boy?  “You were right to come to me, Neville.  If what he says is true...this is most concerning.”

“Harry wouldn’t lie, grandmother, especially not about something like that.  He’s mentioned some things about his relatives in the past, and...well, it sounds right.  And then with the stuff that happened during the end of the tournament, with him coming back…”

Augusta read over the letter once more and made a decision.  “Very well, then.  Come with me.”

Neville followed quickly after his grandmother, still spry at her advanced age, through the house to the floo room.  With a quick flick of her wand at him, he was suddenly clean and presentable once more.  

“You’ll go first just in case there’s an accident so I know where you wound up.  Make sure to state clearly, ‘DMLE Reception.’ I think Amelia needs to see this.”

Neville gaped at his grandmother in shock.  She was taking him to speak with Mrs. Bones herself? Oh, Merlin.  The things Harry gets him into, seriously.  But...this was for Harry who asked for Neville’s help. After everything Harry had done for him over the past several years, it was the least he could do.  Taking a deep breath, he drew himself up straight and tall and tossed a bit of floo powder into the flames. “DMLE Reception.”

~~

Hedwig knew going to Neville-chick first was a good decision, always such a sweet boy.  Now on to see the not-teacher and not-Master...and maybe making the blonde ones turn red in the face again.  Looking at the position of the sun as she flew across the countryside she realized it should just be meal time again by the time she got there.

~~

“No! No no, bad birdy! Birdy is going away!”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, not again.”

“Really, does Potter’s bird do this on purpose?”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised.” Barty looked at the two distressed male Malfoys as Hedwig circled above the dinner table and grinned broadly.  

Voldemort looked at the chaos descending on the dinner table once more because of the Potter brat as everyone began arguing either about him or his bird and fought the urge to both roll his eyes and to laugh.  Noticing then that the familiar had letters clutched in both feet, not to mention it was too soon for him to realistically be replying to their letters, he scowled. Speaking just loud enough for his most trusted to hear him, he tapped a finger sharply against his hand. “Barty, stop antagonizing them. She’s got more than one letter and I’m doubting she trusts anyone here not to interfere with the others. And I don’t think he’s writing about the package, not this quickly.”

Barty frowned, finally noticing what his Master did.  Nodding, he moved his plates aside, clearing the area in front of him.  “Hedwig, you can drop whatever you need to here.  We won’t try to get anything that doesn’t belong to us.  You can go sit on the chandelier or something if you need a response.”

Barty had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as Lucius puffed up, as expected, and turned a delightful shade of pink as Hedwig did just that, the crystals dangling from the chandelier tinkling noisily as they bashed into each other with her not so gentle landing. Looking at the note that landed in front of him, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he saw who it was addressed to.  Showing his Master the messily scrawled initials on the front, he opened it, proud of the cleverness the boy showed in his message.  But everything he read had him scowling and he quickly handed the letter over to his Master.  “He was very clever about things, still needs some practice, but not bad for spur of the moment.  But I don’t know what Dumbledore is playing at.”

Voldemort read through the note, noticing a couple different issues, but realizing exactly what Barty meant.  “I did make it clear to all of my followers that the Potter boy is to be left alone, correct?”

Various quick replies of “Yes, my Lord!” echoed around the table.

Tapping the letter agitatedly against the table, he looked at Severus.  “Severus, does Dumbledore have someone watching the boy? And I want the absolute truth.  I am still unsure where your true loyalties lie, and I imagine only time will tell if you are truly serving anyone other than yourself, but this is important.” He smiled to himself as he watched Severus, already so pale, drain of all color at his words.  Oh, yes, he was aware that Severus was often playing both sides of the fight, and he would be making him choose soon...one way or another. “Potter noticed someone watching him while he was in his backyard today.”

“As if the boy would notice anything beyond his own trivial activities. But, yes...Dumbledore has instructed select members of the Order to guard him.”

Smiling evilly at Severus’ reaction to his Master’s not so veiled threat, Barty had to stop himself from cursing the arrogant git.  “Actually it’s amazing what the boy sees, and after everything that happened to him last year, it’s no wonder he’s paranoid.  It’s not the fact that he saw someone as it is what he didn’t see.  He said whoever was there had apparently cast spells to silence an entire area and drive off wildlife but no one showed themselves.”

“Exactly.  And if it’s not supposed to be one of my followers, that means it should be one of Dumbledore’s.  And if it is neither, then there is a completely different problem at hand.”

“What’s the big deal? So Potter has another stalker. It’s not like he doesn’t have people follow him around everywhere he goes anyway. Is he too good to cast a few spells to drive whoever it is away?” Draco tried to keep his voice level as he talked to the Dark Lord, but honestly, why?! Why was it always about Potter?

“First, this stalker is in his backyard.  Does anybody actually know where he lives, other than those Light fools? Second, he is in a completely Muggle neighborhood, there is apparently no adult capable of casting in the area, except for this stalker, and he can not do any magic for fear of drawing the Ministry’s wrath. I sincerely doubt he is helpless, but he would be working at a disadvantage.”

Draco frowned hearing that.  Unable to do any magic at all? That’s so ridiculous.  No wonder the prat always seemed to struggle at the beginning of the year.  Oh, that would also explain why a lot of the other kids did too, maybe.  But how were they supposed to do their summer work properly?  He’d ask his father later, that simply made no sense.

Severus listened to the conversation, his assumptions about the boy once again being picked apart.  But something was niggling at him.  “My Lord, why is Potter writing to you about the situation? I understand he wrote before, but about this?”

Barty laughed shortly. “Easy, Snape, he wanted to know if it was one of ours or one of Dumbledore’s. He wanted to know if someone was going to be attacking him or if they were there to protect him.”

“I don’t know whether to find him naive or simply stupid for just assuming he would be told the truth.”

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he looked over the people sitting at the table.  “It is simple. We have  sent a token of good faith and my word already that he is not to be attacked. Dumbledore and his fools in the Order have been alienating him since the end of the tournament.  He’s wanting information about my cause; what the Dark is fighting for. He’s asking questions about the world he has been brought into. What do I have to gain by lying to him when, by providing him the truth, I can potentially gain his loyalty instead?

Barty cackled a bit madly as Lucius proceeded to choke on his wine, Draco’s knife and fork screeched across his plate, and Severus almost knocked over his glass.  Only Narcissa remained calm, but he could see a nervous tic in her eye as she very carefully folded her napkin next to her plate.  Dinners with the Malfoys had gotten so much more entertaining thanks to Hedwig and Harry.

“Elf, bring writing materials.” Voldemort picked up the ever-inked quill and jotted a quick note.  Levitating it up to the owl who was watching everyone suspiciously, he waited until she was looking at it. “For your Master. I will look into the situation.”

As Barty watched her grab the letter and fly away through a suspiciously open nearby window, he could swear he could hear an elf grumbling as it shut behind her, he hoped the poor boy wouldn’t do anything hasty.  Thankfully, he seemed to be thinking like a Slytherin for the time being at least. 

~~

Hedwig flew through the rapidly darkening sky, amusement filling her at the reactions from the people at the table.  Perhaps not-Master and not-teacher would be able to help her boy.  Now, who to visit next? Ah, her Harry-chick was right and the last two people were together.  That would make things much easier.  Hopefully.

Flying in through the owl delivery door, she flew downstairs, startling a dirty looking man on the stairs who was stuffing something shiny in his pocket. Following the noise of too many voices talking over one another, she found herself in the kitchen, her two recipients sitting near each other.  Gliding over the table, she let the letters fall in front of them before taking a perch on one of the top of a cabinet, curious how these people would react to her boy’s letters as opposed to the last bunch.

~~

“Hedwig!” Sirius looked up excitedly as Harry’s owl dropped a couple letters in front of him, on one hand eager to hear from his godson, on the other, saddened that Dumbledore was still forcing the no information rule. Expecting it to be another letter to the kids, he was surprised by the name on it.  “Oh, there’s one here for you too, Dumbledore. I still don’t understand why we can’t just bring Harry here.  If it’s not safe for the Weasleys and Hermione to be in their homes because they know him, how is it safer for him to be out there alone? He can’t even protect himself if Voldemort did come after him.” Opening the note, more or less ignoring the headmaster’s words as he simply repeated the same thing every time he mentioned bringing Harry to Grimauld, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Now, now, Sirius, Harry is much safer behind the blood wards plus nobody but members of the Order even know where he lives.  Voldemort and his followers are completely unfamiliar with Muggle cities so the likelihood of them finding him are slim indeed. Perhaps we can bring him here for his birthday.  Now, let’s see what he has to say.”

“What he has to say? How about the fact that someone needs to tell him you’ve assigned guards to watch him, that he’s safe and being protected.  And what was that bit about being forced to work outside?” Sirius was fighting to control his temper, always a tricky thing with the Black bloodline and his stay in Azkaban.  

“Really, my boy, there’s nothing wrong with him doing chores; Molly has had the children helping around here every day.” Albus tucked the note in his pocket, no need for any of said children getting a look at the note.

“This does not sound like him being told to do chores.  And he’s scared , Dumbledore! He just had to fight off that madman not too long ago and now he’s on his own and helpless. He needs to know what’s going on.”

“No.  It is better for him not to know who is watching out for him; he could, accidentally of course, distract them. It’s only for a couple of months, after all.  You can let him know that he is indeed safe.  Besides, he isn’t alone; he is with his family after all.  Now, I bid you all a good night.” Albus absently patted the letter in his pocket.  Really, it was for the greater good, the boy may be a little inconvenienced for the moment, but better than Voldemort potentially discovering their plans if what he suspected was true.

Fred and George looked at each other doubtfully, muttering between themselves, “Some family…”

“Putting bars on the windows…”

“Locking away his things…”

“Barely feeding him…”

“Safe as houses...really.”

Sirius gave the twins a startled look.  Surely, they were exaggerating.  Right? Hermione and Ron certainly didn’t seem to be overly concerned.  And if the Dark was so unfamiliar with Muggle cities, how would they even find the Granger house? Mind spinning in circles, he looked at the couple, busy whispering to each other at the end of the table.  “Hermione, Ron, what do you think? Have you told Harry anything about what’s going on? Has he said how he’s really doing?”

Ron scratched behind his ear, nose wrinkled. “Well, he keeps asking us what’s going, if we know anything, and he says he’s worried about You-know-who attacking, but we keep telling him Dumbledore has everything under control.”

Hermione nodded, “Exactly, we told him we’re all safe together so he doesn’t have to worry, but that Professor Dumbledore told us not to worry him with what’s going on, just in case the letters should get intercepted.  It’s for everyone’s safety.  But then he started asking who ‘everyone’ was that was together and where and we had to tell him we couldn’t tell him that either.  Honestly, he’s just kind of been ranting angrily in the last couple letters.”

Sirius blinked at the two who were supposed to be his godson’s best friends before looking over at the twins to gauge their reaction, feeling a kinship with them and their look of disgust.  “So you mean to tell me that you told Harry that while he’s locked away and receiving no news from anyone about what’s going on in the world, everyone he knows and cares about is together without him?”

“Well, yes.  He should be happy that we’re all safe.  He’s got such a saving people thing, I figured it would be less stressful for him that way.”

Sirius had nothing he could respond with that wouldn’t have Molly raining hell down on him since she had picked up the same chorus of “well, Dumbledore said” as the other two.  Grabbing a piece of parchment and quill, he started writing a note to his godson, his cub.  Growling every time his hand would refuse to write anything actually useful, he silently cursed Dumbledore for his meddling.

“Hey, Sirius…”

“Let him know he can write to us too.”

“We’ll try to think of…

“Something to help him out too.”

Sirius glanced at the twins and up at Hedwig, who he swore was giving Ron and Hermione evil looks.  “Yeah, that’s a good idea.  Thanks, boys.”   Folding up the bit of parchment, once again filled with meaningless reassurances that he was safe and not much else, he walked over to Hedwig who turned her...yep, totally judging him...gaze on him. “I’m sorry, girl.  You heard Albus, he won’t let me tell him anything.  He made me swear an oath so I literally can’t . I just want to see my cub again.”  He waited, holding the letter out to her as she took it from him with her beak.  She looked at him for a long moment then nuzzled his hand and he sighed, scratching the top of her head gently. “Fly safe.  Hopefully we can bring him back home soon, not that this place is much of a home, but at least we can be together.”

Sirius smiled half-heartedly at her sad sounding hoot and watched her take off out of the room, two letters held tightly in her claws.  Even the bird knew things weren’t right.  Hopefully whoever else he was writing to could cheer him up.