Chapter Text
Harry was standing outside the Tesco several streets away from Privet Drive, shivering in the cold and generally wishing he could be anywhere else. He knew he would soon be able to walk home once Aunt Petunia had finished shopping, but the prospect of lugging several overfilled, heavy, plastic bags all the way back wasn’t something he was looking forward to. Besides, Aunt Petunia was already in a terrible mood - she hated having to buy things from the local Tesco, preferring to shop at the Waitrose they usually drove to.
He was huddled against the wall, just past the streetlight’s reach, when he heard a rustling. Glancing around nervously at the dark undergrowth along the edge of the road, he edged further into the night. Animals didn’t scare him, but people certainly never had his best interests in mind. Unfortunately, the state of his eyesight made it rather difficult to distinguish the two. Especially in the pitch black of the winter evening.
He breathed in relief when he saw a rat scurry out of the undergrowth and over the pavement, past him. The street lights flickered. A few minutes later and Aunt Petunia was exiting the shop, foisting the orange bags into his arms, marching off down the street. Harry maintained a trotting pace to keep up, doing his best not to drop any shopping.
He couldn’t shake off his earlier unease, it was like someone was following them. That feeling when you’re walking down an empty street and you just know there are eyes watching you. He brushed it off. Maybe he was just being paranoid.
His Aunt snapped at him to hurry up, and he tried to remain close to her, just in case. Not that she’d be any help if someone was following them. She’d probably just sacrifice Harry to the potential stalker and make a run for it.
Harry walked faster.
It was as they were rounding the final bend, onto Privet Drive itself, past the tangled brambles at the end of Mrs Pattison’s garden that it happened. A violent red beam shot out of the darkness, striking his Aunt in the back. She fell without a sound. And then there was a man in front of him, advancing threateningly, a stick held in his hands, pointing at Harry’s head.
He dropped the shopping, flung it really, and ran. He ducked and weaved, not wanting to get hit by whatever had downed his aunt.
He made it two more houses down, dodging one vibrant green beam that hit the tarmac with a sickening crunch, splitting the very ground. He didn’t make it any further.
A stunner hit him square in the shoulder and he tumbled, still in motion, face first into the pavement.
Harry woke up in pitch darkness. He was bound, his hands behind his back, blindfolded. He groaned in pain. His whole face felt grazed and he knew he’d probably face planted the road. He wondered if they’d also kidnapped Aunt Petunia. He hoped not. That would probably make his imprisonment even more unbearable.
Despite himself, he felt a small sliver of fear work its way up his chest. He may not enjoy his life at the Dursley’s very much, but that didn’t mean he wanted to die. He was only seven, but he had big plans. Okay, maybe they weren't big plans. But he did have plans to escape the Dursley’s and live out his life somewhere far far away from them. To be fair, getting kidnapped probably counted as achieving that aim.
Harry continued trying to wriggle his wrists free, but the chains just dug into his skin more and he eventually gave up, instead rubbing his head against the harsh brick wall to dislodge his blindfold. Maybe if he could just see then he could find a way out.
He was so preoccupied with his blindfold which was just starting to come loose that he barely heard the distinctive sound of a door unlocking, followed by footsteps.
The footsteps grew nearer until Harry knew his captor was standing directly in front of him, hot breath heavy on his face.Abruptly, his blindfold was ripped off and Harry squinted in the harsh light, eyes watering. His captor sneered at him, dressed in little more than rags, he had dirty blond hair that curled around his ears and vibrant blue eyes. Harry shrunk back.
“Harry, I’m sorry, I am sorry,” the strange man muttered as he paced up and down the small room. “I don’t have a choice, I wouldn’t if I did,”
Great Harry thought. My kidnapper is crazy, and also somehow knows who I am.
“I’ll deliver you to him and then he’ll forgive me, forgive me, it wasn’t my fault!” the man continued, chewing on his hand anxiously.
“Please just let me go, please, I won't tell the police or anything, I promise!” Harry pleaded, but his captor ignored him, continuing to mutter to himself.
“He’ll be so angry, but if I don’t do this, find him, then when he returns he’ll kill me, oh Merlin, forgive me,” The man continued to pace.
“What do you want with me?” Harry asked quietly, trying not to cry.
“I’ll deliver you to my master, you understand, don’t you, Harry? I’ll just keep you here until I find him, but how to find him?” The man pulled a stick out of his pocket, white with a bone like handle. He cradled it protectively and whispered to it under his breath like a lover in a secret tryst. Harry wedged himself further into the corner.
“It’ll all be okay Harry, oh, James and Lily, forgive me, I don’t have a choice!” The man reached out to caress Harry’s face and Harry tried to throw himself away as he saw the other arm bring a knife towards him.
“Just hold still Harry!” The man exclaimed, arms gripping him lightning fast, holding him still. “Just a little blood, you don’t mind do you Harry? Just a little blood to find my master? A sacrifice for knowledge, for finding him, please Harry!”
Harry tried to squirm away, but the knife was fast approaching his throat and the man was chanting, low and melodic. He felt himself slipping away, thinking how right it was that his life be extinguished for such a noble purpose. How amazing his sacrifice would be, how wonderful to have been chosen.
He slumped in his captor’s hold, a small part of him still screaming how wrong this was, that he needed to move, that he didn’t want to die.
It was in his desperation that, unbeknownst to him, his magic reached out into the horcrux attached to his very magic and soul, merging with him. They twined together in desperation to protect him, to give him the power to break through the magic-dampening chains he was wrapped in and to break the hypnosis of the ritual his captor had just begun.
His magic engulfed the sliver of the Dark Lord’s soul, taking all that power, all that darkness, all that magic, and making it his own. He grew stronger, he grew darker. The soul shard fought for a moment, just a moment, for dominance, but Harry’s magic wasn’t weak. His eyes rolled back in his head and he felt blood trickle out of his nose, but the soul shard’s resistance was futile, and the horcrux became just another part of Harry.
Harry’s magic darkened from it’s neutral, that typical of muggle-raised child, to a swirling dark mass close to that of the Dark Lord as a child.
Across the country, across the globe, men and women clasped their forearms in shock, at the brief but unmistakable twinge across their faded marks. In the privacy of his study, Lucius Malfoy examined the slightly darker, though still faded, serpent twining its way up his arm. Severus Snape dropped some newts eyes in a highly delicate potion as he felt the twinge, leaping backwards in shock. Bellatrix Lestrange cackled madly, and then fell to weeping. One day, she would be free to serve her Lord once more, and she’d wreak havoc on those who’d locked her away from him. Barty Crouch Jnr relished the pain, using it to break free, finally, from his father’s imperius.
Peter Pettigrew threw himself away from his captive, gibbering.
“My Lord? My Lord?” He stuttered, pulling the door to the room open frantically and staring out, as if expecting his Lord to have materialised outside. Harry gasped, the ritual stopped, his mind his own once more. However, he felt different, more powerful. Like he could just tear his chains to shreds. At the thought his chains fell off of him, clattering loudly to the ground.
Pettigrew spun around and upon seeing Harry unshackled, flung himself to the floor, on his knees. “My Lord?”
“Um, yes?” Harry hazarded. Anything to avoid the crazy man shackling him again. “I mean, yes, it is I.” He was quite proud of that, he sounded fairly Shakespearean.
“You are possessing the boy?” Pettigrew hazarded, not moving from the floor.
“Indeed.” Harry replied. Wondering if the man was on drugs. “I need to leave this place.” He continued, wondering if the crazy man would let him go now.
“At once My Lord, I will fetch one of your oldest supporters, you can recuperate there. I am not worthy…” He groveled as he fairly fled out of the room, door slamming and automatically locking behind him.
Harry sighed and sank to the floor. The man was insane. Though he seemed to think Harry was his Lord now, which further complicated things. He tried the door. Definitely locked. There were no windows in the room, and Harry couldn’t pick locks. He settled himself down to wait.
As he dozed against the wall he realised he felt different. Whatever the man had done with his weird chanting, Harry felt stronger. Maybe he was possessed by some weird demon or something, like the horror movie he’d seen on the telly.
He wondered how he’d tell. Well his thoughts seemed to be his own, so how had the man decided he was his Lord. Maybe he’d grown horns or something? But no, that wasn’t the case.
He sighed and settled down to sleep, feeling strangely warm in the room which had been freezing before. Indeed, his magic was hovering over him like a protective, oppressive cloud, ready to harm anyone who might hurt Harry while he slept, keeping him warm and comfortable.
Meanwhile Pettigrew was in a blind panic. Had his Lord been possessing the Potter boy all this time? Had he just been waiting for the right moment? Had his ritual gone wrong, given his Lord Harry’s body?
Whatever had happened he knew he’d probably be in for a punishment later. It had been years since he’d felt the sting of crucio and he wasn’t anxious to feel it again. Maybe if he bought one of his Lord one of his favourite servants, he might be spared. He dithered. On one hand Lucius Malfoy had been very close to his Lord before the fall, but then again, he’d often referred to Abiezer Nott as his oldest servant. Which one? Two powerful men, both who would be offended if he chose the other, their rivalry amongst the ranks legendary.
It was proximity that decided it in the end. He knew where Nott Castle was, and it was closer to his hideout than Malfoy Manor. Besides, Abiezer was very loyal. He’d know what to do.
Pettigrew apparated.
Lord Abiezer Nott was in the middle of an interesting experiment with some muggle bones in his mausoleum when he felt the wards notify him of someone nearing the main gates. He scowled and placed his work in stasis, marching up the stairs and down to the gates. He rarely left the castle these days, after the death of his eldest son and his wife, and the imprisonment of his second child, he had retreated from public life.
These days it was just him and his grandson in the drafty corridors of Nott Castle, along with the elves of course. The last guests they’d had was an auror raid some three months ago. Looking for anything that could get him thrown into prison. Well it wasn’t going to happen. He sent an elf to ensure Theodore was somewhere safe.
He nearly stumbled in shock when he recognised the lone figure at the gates. He was a dead man. Well, a man who was supposed to be dead and very soon would be if Abiezer had anything to say about it.
“You’re supposed to be dead!” he hissed, dragging Pettigrew through the gates and casting a few identifying charms to make sure this really was Pettigrew. “You sent our Lord on a suicide mission, the least you could do was die for it!”
He dragged a whimpering Pettigrew into his study, quickly warding the door closed. “Why are you here? I should kill you myself. I will kill you myself!”
“Please, Lord Nott, hear me out! I was searching for our Lord and I found him, he’s in the boy!”
“What are you twittering on about? Our Lord is dead and we all know whose fault it is!”
“Didn’t you feel your mark burn? It was him! I found him! And he wants assistance, I came to you! You are his oldest friend are you not?”
Lord Nott rubbed his forehead in exasperation. So Pettigrew thought he’d found their Lord. He couldn’t of course, simply dismiss this as ramblings of a lunatic, though Pettigrew was certainly acting crazy. What if it was his Lord? He felt a shiver of excitement run through him. And Pettigrew had come to him, not that fool Malfoy. Whether this was his Lord or not, it was up to him to deal with it.
“Explain. Pettigrew.” He ground out.
“I was hiding, hiding as a rat, I'm an animagus,” Pettigrew stuttered. “I was trying to find our Lord, resurrect him, to earn forgiveness for what happened on Samhain, but nothing was working, all the spells made it seem like he was alive, but barely, and scattered. So I found the boy and he was Our LORD!” Pettigrew seemed to be having some sort of nervous breakdown.
“What boy? For Salazar’s sake Pettigrew, unless you want me to remove your intestines slowly while I boil your feet in acid, you will explain!”
“The Potter boy! I found him! With his mother’s muggle sister! I met her once, at James’ wedding, and I found her, and I found the boy, and the boy is our Lord!”
At this point Lord Nott realised that getting any further information out of Pettigrew was a fool's errand. He got the address Pettigrew had left the boy he thought was their Lord at and then swiftly stunned the sniveling rat and bound him in one of the spare dungeons.
He would have to find out the truth of the matter for himself.