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November 2^nd, 1981

The Daily Prophet

MALFOY MANOR BURNS TO THE GROUND!

Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange unleashes Fiendfyre on sister’s home

Late yesterday evening, an anonymous call from Wiltshire notified the Ministry of a huge magical fire. The Aurors were quickly dispatched to the location, where they were immediately confronted with a burning Malfoy Manor, that was being happily burned to the ground with Fiendfyre by a cackling witch, later identified as Bellatrix Lestrange (neé Black), sister to Narcissa Malfoy, the Lady of the House. All efforts to sedate the witch and stop the obvious madness failed, and the witch soon started attacking. A deadly duel ensued - in which Auror Alastor Moody emerged victorious, though not unscathed - while the rest of the Auror Squadron tried to tame the flames, which were finally completely smothered only in the early hours of the morning. It is unknown whether there were any victims, though it is highly likely that Lucius Malfoy, presumed Death Eater, and his wife Narcissa Malfoy (neé Black) were sleeping in the Manor at the time. Fortunately, Abraxas Malfoy, Head of House Malfoy, and his one year old grandson Draco are out of the country at the moment, and managed to escape the tragedy. An investigation on Lestrange’s motives and mental state at the time of the attack has been launched, and Lestrange’s husband Rodolphus, Head of House Lestrange, has already been approached for questioning.

If you have any information pertaining Dark Wizard attacks or suspect one of your acquaintances to be a Death Eater, do not hesitate to inform the Ministry at the emergency floo call address: “Ministry Emergency Office".

Bellatrix Lestrange: professional duelling and insanity, on page 3

House Malfoy: fallen to the Dark Arts or victims of the war?, on page 4

Fiendfyre: the most destructive magical fire of all ages, on page 9

Malfoy Manor: pearl of the 14 ^th Century, a huge architectural loss, on page 9

October 31^st, 1985

Little Whinging, Surrey

A dark form moved silently down Privet Drive, his feet barely making a sound in the silent street. A muttered spell and a small flash of light and the front door to Number 4 was opened. Pausing in the doorway, the man seemed to take a deep breath before stepping into the house. A small chuckle escaped from underneath the dark hood when nothing stopped his entrance, and after briefly glancing around, the wizard climbed the stairs, looking for his little victim’s room. In the first room he encountered a blond fatty boy, and silently closed the door again. The second was a clearly a child’s playroom, and the third was the master bedroom, where a fat man and a skinny woman were sleeping. Confused, the figure opened the last door, finding himself in a bathroom. Rolling his eyes, the figure moved back down the stairs, looking for another bedroom, but finding only a kitchen, sitting room and another bathroom. Standing in the entry hall, the man finally realized the Dumbledore had probably added an extra level of protection he had not anticipated, a hidden room for his precious Saviour to sleep in. Hoping that the room wasn’t guarded by a Fidelius, but by more traditional wards, the dark figure started looking for the ward anchors, which were meant to keep the wards in place, and could be identified easily if you knew what you where looking for. After thoroughly exploring the upstairs corridor and the playroom, which were the most likely places to have the entrance to the child’s room, the now very impatient man headed back downstairs, not wanting to risk waking the Muggles yet. It was then that the figure finally noticed the boot cupboard under the stairs. Smirking, the man unlatched the bolt on the little door, and silently swung it open. A loud gasp was echoed throughout the entry hall: the man had been expecting to find rune-covered ward anchors disguised under advanced glamours, and certainly not a little five year old sleeping on a dingy cot, trembling underneath his little blanket. The light from the street illuminated the scrawny child’s face, his cute nose scrunched up and a lightning shaped scar vividly standing out on his pale forehead. Recovering from his shock, the man took out his wand, and pointed it at the little boy. Taking careful aim and a deep breath the dark figure steeled himself to do what he must.

“Av-avada…” he whispered, before lowering his wand once again, gazing forlornly at the innocent child for a moment more. Sighing heavily, he was about to reluctantly raise his wand again to finally cast the Killing Curse on his five-year-old nemesis, when he was struck by a sudden suspicion. His instincts were screaming at him that something was off with the boy, something which had nothing to do with the obvious abuse. Pausing once again, he decided to investigate more: after all, the last time he had ignored his instincts, exactly four years before, he had ended spending two years as a bodiless wraith, an experience he wasn’t really keen on repeating. So, Lord Voldemort found himself silently inspecting Harry Potter in the moonlight, and when he couldn’t immediately figure out exactly what it was that was bothering him, he started casting several anti-disguise charms, looking for any hidden traps. He almost growled aloud when they all turned up empty, and after ten minutes of casting, he cast a basic medical scans on the child a last resort, hoping to finally get a clue of what had triggered his survival instincts. The results actually managed to make the war-hardened Dark Lord gape: he was quite certain that if he didn’t kill the Potter brat tonight, his dear relatives would probably succeed in doing so in the space of a couple of years. Shaking his head in disbelief, wondering how it was possible that Dumbledore’s pet squib across the street had failed to inform the Headmaster of such blatant abuse on his precious Saviour, the Dark Lord was distracted by a weird reading on his last medical scan. Furrowing his brow, he repeated the scan, and came back with the same results: active Dark Magic. On the Boy-Who-Lived! If Voldemort hadn’t been so shocked at the news, he would have certainly laughed out loud, but he only remained there staring at the still sleeping child, utterly incapable of wrapping his mind around the concept. Slowly, his brain kicked back into gear, and he finally realized what it was that had been bothering him unconsciously: the child’s scar was too vivid. The mark looked to be a couple months old, certainly nothing like a four year old scar should look like. Even if it was a curse scar. And he had seen many curse scars in his career, he had even had a few on his first body.

Now determined to unravel yet another mystery centering on Harry Potter, the Dark Lord shot a barrage of scanning spells at the child’s forehead, the results of which made him stumble back in shock. Leaning on the flowery wallpaper in the entry hall of a small suburban muggle home, the Dark Lord Voldemort stared wide-eyed at his newfound Horcrux, and idly wondered if his life could get even more complicated.

Chapter Text

November 3rd, 1981; early hours of the morning

Somewhere in northern France

Pain. So much pain and so much anger. A red haze of hate, rage, fear and bloodlust clouded the fleeing spirit’s mind. He swore revenge on all those who had contributed to his current state: a bodiless wraith, running for his life, hoping to find refuge in the impenetrable Great Forests of Albania. Dumbledore, Trelawney, Snape, Pettigrew and especially the Potter spawn were at the centre of his dark thoughts of vengeance.

A sudden noise attracted the spirit’s attention, but before he could even turn around, something slammed in his side at a huge speed. The last thought the spirit had before losing consciousness was that it was impossible for a material object to hurt a phantom.

The spirit’s awakening was the best one Voldemort had had in years, even with the underlying spiritual pain that not having a proper body caused. Gone was the madness that had slowly started affecting his mind for the last 20 years, and he could see the world with such a clarity that had been missing since he was a teenager. His thoughts weren’t muddied anymore, and his quick thinking, which was one of his best traits in his youth, was back, without the haze of rage and bloodlust that characterized his last decade of life.

It’s then not a big surprise then less than an hour after his awakening the defeated Dark Lord had already come up with a convincing theory on his descent into madness and his sudden return to sanity: the more Horcruxes he created, the more inhumane his personality became. Potent rage, fear, bloodlust and hate were emotions Voldemort had had to deal with daily for the last two decades, and they had increased exponentially over the last decade, so much so, that he hadn’t even realized that there was something wrong with himself.

Thinking about it this way, Voldemort realized that one of the theories on Horcruxes he had read about in his youth and then discarded as false, had instead probably been right: the splitting of a person’s soul after murder tore the soul exactly in half. Half the soul was then put in the object that held the Horcrux, and the other half, called the “main half” or the “stable half”, remained connected to the body and most of the magic. In other words, when he had created his second Horcrux, the Dark Lord had split his “main half” in half once again, making his body remain with only a fourth of his soul and even less magic than before. This process had then been repeated so many times that it was a miracle that Voldemort’s body and magic had still been able to function relatively well with such a small sliver of soul to control them.

Now, his head clear and a big chunk of his magic returned, the Dark Lord realized that one of his first Horcruxes, probably the diary or the ring, had been destroyed, thus making the soul housed in the object return to the “stable half”. At the moment he was leaning toward the diary, seeing as the ring was much better protected and hidden. This meant that his old friend Abraxas Malfoy had betrayed him, probably to stay out of prison. If he had a face, the spirit would have grinned at the irony: his old friend’s betrayal had just caused the return of his sanity. Now though, he had to hurry and create himself a new body: if someone had realized what the diary Horcrux was and destroyed it, they could manage to find the rest, and if they destroyed all the objects when he was still without a body, he would die. Fortunately, if he managed to create himself a new body and his other Horcruxes were only destroyed afterwards, his soul would be whole once again, and there would be no further repercussions: it is known after all that the only one who can permanently destroy a piece of soul, preventing it to reattach itself to the “main half” is only the one whose soul it belongs to.

October 31th, 1985

Little Whinging, Surrey

All these thoughts and theories he had realized were true four years ago now flitted through the Dark Lord’s mind while he stood watching little Harry Potter sleep. His Horcrux. Suddenly, he realized that he had almost walked right in a trap set by Dumbledore: if he had actually shot a Killing Curse at the child again, he would have destroyed a sliver of his own soul, the backlash of which would have probably managed to incapacitate him long enough for Dumbledore to be alerted to the massive use of magic at his Saviour’s house, and immediately apparate to Surrey, where Voldemort would be confronted by one of the most powerful magic users of the world while still recovering from a crippling blow. The Dark Lord’s anger was now reaching boiling point with all the successive revelations: the old coot had actually WANTED Voldemort to try and kill the little boy! Why else would he have put the child in an abusive home, where the blood wards created by Lily Potter’s sacrifice were so ineffective that they only covered the inside of the little cupboard were Harry was now sleeping?

After finally creating a new body, the Dark Lord had researched the cause of his defeat two years prior, and had realized that a mother’s voluntary sacrifice for her defenseless child was one of the most ancient and enigmatic types of spontaneous magic. Though, this type of spontaneous ward still didn’t actually explain how the Potter child had survived a Killing Curse to the face! The ward took hours to accumulate enough power, and anyway for such a ward to be that powerful to deflect an Avada Kedavra was unheard of!

Still, if the child survived the initial attack, the resulting ward created was quite long lasting: it created a protection around the place the child identified with ‘family’, ‘home’ and ‘safe’, which protected the child from outside physical harm and from being evicted against his own free will till the age of magical maturity. This meant that no magical means could be used to drag Potter outside the cupboard: summoning charms, the Imperius curse, love potions and all such means were useless when the child was inside the blood ward. Of course there were loopholes: spells could be shot and they would still harm the child, and also the surface the ward covered depended on the level of safety the child felt when at home with his family. This was the thing that had most surprised the Dark Lord when, more than a year after his resurrection, he had finally found were the Potter brat lived. He had been expecting the blood wards to cover half the street or at the least, if the child was a near squib with very little magical power to sustain them, only the house were he lived in. It’s not like these wards required more than the smallest trickle of magic to keep going! Instead, after months of testing and scanning the area in secret, he had to admit that the only wards surrounding the house were three set up by Dumbledore: an anti-apparition ward, a ward monitoring the use of Dark Magic, and one monitoring the use of any magic that was stronger than a Levitation Charm (reason why Voldemort had had to cloak his wand to cast any magic more powerful than Alohomora and medical scans in the house. Two weeks of rituals and being unable to use his wand better be worth it!).

Now instead, looking at the tiny boy, who looked so small (where all children so scrawny?!) and was sleeping in a boot cupboard of all places, with a blue bruise that could be seen on his shoulder underneath his huge shirt, Voldemort finally realized why the blood wards were so inefficient: the only place in the house where the child actually felt safe was the cupboard.

Five minutes later, the Dark Lord had a plan in place and started to gently call the child’s name, making sure to not cross the cupboard’s ward line: “Harry? Harry? Wake up child! Wake up!”

The little boy started stirring and, after many patient repetitions, he was finally sitting up on the mouldy cot, blinking blearily at the dark figure in the entrance hall.

“W-who are you?”, the child whispered, uncertainty and alarm in his voice.

“I’m your brother, Harry”, the man answered, “I’ve come to bring you home.”

Chapter Text

“I’m your brother, Harry”, the man answered, “I’ve come to bring you home.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. He had a brother? How was it possible? Aunt Petunia had always said that his parents were good for nothing drunkards and freaks, just like him, but she had never said anything about him having siblings!

“You’re lying.”, Harry surprised himself: he hadn’t meant to say it out loud! And he had been disrespectful to an adult too! He was in for a beating now, he was sure of it.

To his great surprise, the man only cocked his head to the side, stared at him for a bit -making him fidget even more- and then he… chuckled! At him! Like he had said something funny! He didn’t even LOOK angry… and Harry was really good at determining people’s moods, because he had to be extra careful and respectful when his Uncle or Aunt were having a bad day.

“Maybe.” The man answered, and gave him a mysterious smile.

“Wh-what? But-but…?”

And the man just continued laughing at him, making him even more confused. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to little Harry, the man explained:

“I’m not your biological brother, if that’s what you mean, my little soul. After all, I’m old enough to be your grandfather… Still, we are brothers in spirit, of a sort. So, you are welcome to come live with me. If you would prefer it to your current accommodations that is.”

“Ac-accom…?”

“Your house. If you choose to come live with me, you would live in my house. Do not fear, little soul, I will give you food, clothes, toys and, of course, your own bedroom. You will wish for nothing while under my protection.”

“And, and I’ll live with you? And you’ll be my brother?”, asked the little child, his green eyes shining with such hope that even the Dark Lord was moved. Though he would certainly never admit it aloud. But, after all, it was his Horcrux who was pleading, so maybe he had the right to be a little soft.

“Of course. I’ll be your brother Harry.”

Dumbledore was content. He was sitting in the Headmaster’s office, sipping tea, and was contemplating the Halloween feast that had taken place that evening. Thoughts of Halloween inevitably brought him back four years in time, to that fateful night. Really, it was such a shame for the Potters, James had been such a nice child! The perfect Gryffindor, yes, a bit opinionated, but still such a nice young man. Lily instead… he had thought that she was such a charming girl, a perfect symbol of the Light, and a prodigy in Charms and Potions, if Filius and Horace were to be believed. And she wanted to be a Healer, Minerva had once told him. Still… what she had done that night…

While Hagrid was bringing little Harry to Surrey, Albus had stayed back in Godric’s Hollow, to investigate the crime scene before the arrival of the Aurors. In the nursery there hadn’t been any residues of Dark Magic in the air, apart from the ones for the two Killing Curses that Voldemort had fired, and no runes on the ground indicating a ritual of some sorts… but he had still seen them, how could he not? Surrounding the child’s crib, enveloping it like a heavy mantle, blood wards were rapidly forming. He could feel the oppressive magic which kept him, anyone, out, apart from maybe family members or people who the child trusted. He had done well in sending Harry to live with Lily’s sister, he realized, but even so his profound disappointment in his former student actually surpassed his relief that Voldemort was finally gone -if not forever, at least for the time being- leaving the Order time to regroup.

It was only later that night, when he held Harry Potter in his arms, and closely examined his scar with every spell he had in his vast repertoire, that he finally understood what the prophecy meant: …and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… of course… if Harry was a Horcrux, and Voldemort killed Harry, than he would destroy a part of his own soul, and the opposite was true too…

So, Dumbledore formed his plans: Harry would personally destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes -if there were any others, which he doubted, but you can never be too careful!, he will have to search for them as soon as this political mess was over- and when Voldemort would return, he would certainly hunt Harry down, and destroy himself in the process, making it easier for Albus to deal the deathblow. Little Harry’s death really was inevitable… such a sad thought, for one so young! Oh Lily, to what kind of miserable life have you condemned your innocent child to!

And all for the lure of the Dark… just like young Tom… a Horcrux and Blood Magic! How… how… crude. That such a combination would cause the fall of a Dark Lord! Where was the Light Magic, the happiness, the love and the radiance?, Albus pouted, and realized that he had once again lost himself in his many dejected thoughts. Oh well, he mused a little more cheerfully, chewing on a lemon drop, the world was safe for now, and he wouldn’t have to deal with Voldemort again for many years to come.

The man, his brother, extended a hand to him, and Harry quickly scrambled off his cot and latched on, scared that he would go away, scared that it was only a beautiful dream, which would become a horrible nightmare the moment he woke up, his Aunt banging on the cupboard’s door, yelling at him to set the table for breakfast, and he will then realize that it wasn’t real, that he had just imagined it, and he had to spend yet another day watching Aunt Petunia fussing over her Diddikins, while he was forgotten in the background, remembered only when there were some chores to do or some imaginary fault to be given.

And yet this time it was all so real! It couldn’t be a dream! It couldn’t be!

And Harry was pretty sure it wasn’t, because his brother was now leading him quickly down the street, and he had to run to keep up with his long strides, and the cold of the night was even worse outside than in the cupboard, and Harry was shivering and his teeth were rattling. Thankfully, the man stopped about halfway down the street, and turned around to look at him.

“Hold on to me now: I’m going to apparate us to my house. It’s quite a disturbing feeling, especially the first time.”

Harry nodded, too cold to really answer, not really understanding, but hold to the front of his brother’s clothes as tightly as he could manage. The next moment, he felt like he was suffocating, his chest was constricting, and he couldn’t breathe, and just when he was sure he was going to die, the sensation stopped, and he landed on his knees, heaving the little food he had managed to nick from the leftovers after dinner. When he finally managed to stop retching, he realized that his brother was actually kneeling next to him, a hand on his back while he vomited... he was actually helping him! And then their eyes met, and his brother flicked his wrist and somehow made all the cold disappeared! It was like having an invisible warm blanket on! and his mouth didn’t taste of sick anymore! It was exactly in that moment, that Harry decided that he would do absolutely anything to make his brother happy and proud of him.

Kneeling on the ground, Voldemort looked at the child, staring at him with so much trust and innocence. He tried to delude himself in imagining that he had been more distrustful and less naïve at his age, but he knew that he was just lying to himself. If someone had come to the orphanage when he was five, or even ten, and told him that he wanted to be his brother, that he would give him food and clothes and a home, his greatest dream would have come true. And a simmering rage started to build inside him, a murdering fury that he hadn’t felt in four years, a bloodlust that made him want to tear the whole world apart, starting with that old fool Dumbledore, who had the audacity to make a magical, innocent child go live with those pigs, those muggles, who dared lock a starving and shivering five-year-old inside a filthy cupboard.

The child who was moaning in pain, clutching his forehead, blood trickling between his fingers, and tears down his cheeks. Wait… blood? Voldemort was startled out of his murdering fury, and the child immediately fell gasping on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Shocked, the Dark Lord gently pried the child’s hands from his forehead, and realized that the lightning bolt scar was red and inflamed, a trickle of blood oozing from its centre.

“What happened?”

“I-I don’t know… it-it hurts sometimes, b-but never so much! I-I’m sorry, I felt very an-angry, I’m sorry, pl-please don’t make me go back, pl-pleas-”

“Hush! Hush now, my little soul, it’s all right. I’ve no intention of sending you back. As for the pain, I must apologize. I was thinking of the fool who left you with those muggles, your family,” he spat the words like a curse, “and I must have lost control of my emotions. We must be connected.”

Harry started at him in incomprehension, “B-but its m-my scar which hurt, h-how can you…?”

“I told you that were are brothers in spirit did I not?”

Seeing Harry wary nod, he continued, “That scar you have on your forehead, it is where our connection originates from. In fact, you got it the last time we met.”

At this, Harry’s eyes grew wide as saucers, “But Aunt Petunia told me that I got it when my drunk father and mother died in a car crash! Where you there too? Did you get hurt?”, the little child worried, sniffling and almost crying again, not realizing that the Dark Lord had been rendered completely speechless for the second time that night.

Chapter Text

Half an hour later found Harry Potter and the Dark Lord in a comfortable sitting room, respectively drinking hot cocoa and Ogden’s Best Firewhiskey.

When he had recovered from the shock of realising that Potter’s dear muggle family hadn’t even had the decency of telling the child of his parents’ murder, but had blatantly lied to him instead, Voldemort had told the kid that he would explain everything to him, but it was better to be in a more comfortable environment. So, they had made their way towards the house, Harry staring in wonder, and asking the Dark Lord if he was a prince, because he lived in a palace. That comment had actually made Voldemort laugh so hard he had to wipe away tears of mirth, and only when he was finally calm again, he told Harry amidst chuckles that the house didn’t actually belong to him, but to the Lestrange Family, and it was only a Manor. In fact, when they arrived to the door, despite it being quite late at night, they were greeted by Rodolphus Lestrange, a thickset man with black hair, and Rabastan, slightly thinner than his brother, his long warm brown wavy hair, and the same piercing dark brown eyes, almost black, which were now widened in disbelief, flickering worriedly between Harry and their Lord, unsure of this new turn of events. A quelling glare was all that was needed for the two men to shut their gaping mouths, and introductions were made.

Only when the four of them were in a sitting room, a house elf serving drinks, did Voldemort remove his hooded robe, and Harry saw his brother’s face for the first time. He stared. If he hadn’t already been told that his sibling wasn’t a prince, he would have asked again for sure: he was handsome, even more than the men who were on those soap operas that Aunt Petunia liked so much and made her dab her eyes with a handkerchief, trying to hide her tears. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and pale skin, with dark brown hair framing his perfect face. He looked like a statue! His eyes though were the feature that captivated the most, because Harry thought he saw a hint of red in those chocolate depths, though it might have been a trick of the light.

When they were seated, the Dark Lord and his two Death Eaters served themselves some firewhiskey, while Harry tried hot cocoa for the first time. Hearing Harry’s gasp of surprise after the first sip, Rabastan and Rodolphus exchanged a quizzical glance, and Rabastan, eyes flickering to the Dark Lord for permission, asked the child, “Have you never tried hot chocolate before?”

“No sir. Uncle Vernon said that freaks like me don’t deserve such luxuries.”

Ringing silence followed the five year old’s matter-of-fact statement, the Lestrange brothers staring at the child completely astounded, and the Dark Lord trying to control his rage, but not succeeding completely.

Harry winced, his scar hurting yet again, and quickly tried to apologise, “I-I’m sorry, I-I d-didn’t mean to be dis-disrespectful, I-I…”

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the Dark Lord interrupted the anxious kid, “It’s alright. I’m not angry with you, little soul. I’m angry with your uncle and that idiot Dumbledore.”

“Whose D-dumblydoor?”

“Dumbledore. He is the man who made you to live with your aunt, when your parents never wanted you to end up there.”

The kid was now staring wide-eyed at him, “B-but why? And why couldn’t I have lived with you? W-why? Why would he make me live with them then?”

“You don’t have any other blood relatives, but you should have gone to live with your godfather, or other close friends of theirs at the very least. I believe the Longbottom woman was close friends with your mother.”

“I-I have a godfather? And my mother had friends?”, the child’s eyes shone with such happiness and wonder, that all three adults found themselves unwillingly smiling.

“Yes, you do. And she did. Unfortunately, your godfather has been imprisoned for murder, so he cannot raise you.”

“He-he’s in prison? S-so he’s a bad man?”

“No, he’s not. He killed Pettigrew, the man who betrayed your parents.”

“Betrayed my parents?”

“Yes. Pettigrew is the reason why your parents were killed four years ago.”

“K-Killed?”

“Ah, yes. It looks like your Aunt had the bad habit of lying to you. Your parents didn’t die in a car crash Harry, they were murdered.”

The child stared at Voldemort aghast, completely confused by the news. Staring back at the small child, the Dark Lord felt a bubble of guilt rise in his chest, an emotion with which he had reacquainted himself in the last four years, but which was still quite rare for him to experience. He quickly crushed it, telling himself that he had been completely insane at the time of the Potters’ murder, and that from now on, he would strive to make Harry the happiest child in the world. And it was best to get this killing-his-parents thing out in the open quickly, before there was much trust to be betrayed. Yes, it was best to tell the child the whole truth as soon as he settled in a little.

After a few minutes of silently crying and sipping his delicious cocoa, Harry raised his eyes again to look at his brother, who was now staring at the dark garden outside the window, deep in thought.

“W-was it t-this Pet-Pettiju who k-killed my mum and dad?”

“No. I’ll tell you more about what happened that night tomorrow or the next day. For now, the most important thing is that you must understand that you are not a freak, my little soul. You can use magic, because you are a wizard. Just like me, and Rodolphus and Rabastan here, and many others around the world.”

At this, the two brothers stared in shock at their Lord, and Rabastan stammered, “M-my Lord? The-the child didn’t even know about magic? A-and he believed that his parents had died in a muggle accident?”

“Yes.”

“This is preposterous!”, Rodolphus exploded, “what was that fool Dumbledore thinking! Leaving the Heir to House Potter, even if a half-blood, with muggle scum! Abusive muggle scum! The kid looks like he never saw a decent meal in his life!” The Head of House Lestrange was now pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, ranting about muggle filth and muggle-lovers who worked to destroy the world, getting more incensed by the second, his younger brother adding his own vicious contributions. Cowed and shocked, Harry sunk into the sofa, trying to make sure that the man’s anger wasn’t turned on him, like Uncle Vernon was prone to do. Seeing this, Voldemort sat beside his little Horcrux, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

“What are m-muggles?” Harry felt brave enough to ask as the Lestranges ended their tirades.

“They are people who do not have magic, just like your Aunt and Uncle. They are petty and cruel, and they hate all those who are different from them. They are vicious creatures who should all be destroyed.”

“O-oh… just like nosy neighbours?”

The Dark Lord let out a snort, and asked, “And who told you that?”

“M-my Aunt…”

Chuckling the Dark Lord explained, “There is nothing wrong with nosy neighbours, my little soul. Your aunt is just as bad as them, if not worse. She hates everything that is different, that ruins her perfect little world. She hated you because you are a wizard, because she is just a filthy muggle and is scared of you. I can assure you, in the wizarding world, nosy neighbours are the least of your concerns.”

“Oh… so my Aunt and Uncle are liars, sir?”

“Yes, they are. And there is no need for you to call me sir. You may call me Marvolo if you wish. Mar-vo-lo.”

“Mar-vo-lo? Marvolo! It’s nice… it sounds special.”

Voldemort hummed noncommittally, gazing thoughtfully at the child sitting by his side, sipping cocoa. Half an hour later, when Harry Potter fell asleep curled against his side, completely exhausted, the Dark Lord realised that maybe, he may have just found another reason for happiness in his life.

December 21st, 1985

Lestrange Manor

Harry woke up in the softest bed ever. Even after almost two months of living with his brother, he was still surprised every time he realised he wasn’t in his little cupboard anymore, and that he actually had his own room, and it was bigger than both of Dudley’s bedrooms combined! And it looked much better too, like the bedroom of a king. Or a young prince.

But today, he was excited for a whole other reason: it was Yule! Uncle Rodolphus had told Harry that it was the wizarding equivalent of Christmas, and then had promptly begun yelling and swearing at incompetent muggles and useless holidays. It was funny! Harry had realised that Uncle Rodo like to rant, and be angry, but he wasn’t angry at Harry, so it didn’t scare him anymore. Uncle Rodo was nice! He told him stories and let him eat snacks and had fixed his hands when he fell running in the garden and made the pain go away!

Still, the last few days Harry had spent helping the house-elfs decorating the Manor for the huge celebration that would be held tonight, from sundown to sunup, all night long, with many Death Eaters –though Harry hadn’t really understood what that term meant, but he was too shy to ask- and allied Dark families and creatures present. Harry didn’t really understand who these people were, but he did understand that there was going to be a party. And Harry was invited! And there would be other children to play with!

Yesterday, Uncle Rabastan had hung icicles and holly and mistletoe all over the place, with Harry directing and then they put the braided flowers and berries that Harry had created the last week on the banisters of the stairs. Marvolo had said that it looked very nice! And then Uncle Barty had brought live fairies! Harry thought they were really cute, though a little vain and they bit you if you bothered them too much.

Uncle Barty was a really nice man too, Harry thought, and he took care of Harry whenever Marvolo or his other Uncles weren’t around. He always had fun stories to tell: for example, he had explained to Harry that Yule was celebrated on the longest night of the year, and sundown signalled the death of the Holly King, who was killed in battle by his twin, the Oak King. The whole night was then spent celebrating the new king, who was also called the Light Twin. The opposite happened instead at Midsummer, when the Holly King resurrected and banished the Oak King.

Barty also liked to tell Harry all about weird magical creatures, like dragons, vampires and giant spiders called Acromantula. Uncle Bastian always teased him and told Harry that Barty liked beasts more than humans, and Barty teased Rabastan back saying that at least animals where more intelligent than plants, at which Bastian always huffed and started ranting that plants were very intelligent, and giving a huge list of examples. This argument always made Harry laugh, and it was the reason the two adults had it at least once a week in front of the child: everyone had noticed that Harry was a very serious and scared child, so they tried their best to make him happy. They had an Dark-aligned Healer to see Harry the first week he was here, and the man had speculated that Harry’s disposition was a result of the abuse the child had suffered, and he insisted that everyone try and make the child comfortable and happy, while still giving him healthy boundaries. It was still a work in progress, the four men had never had children and they certainly weren’t the most exemplary citizens, but Harry was a very sweet child, and the adults tried their best, so it certainly couldn’t be as bad as that horrid Muggle family that he lived with before. At least now he had a proper bed, healthy food and no bruises on his body.

The 21st of December passed uneventfully (and very very slowly if you asked a hyper impatient Harry!), and the guests finally started arriving an hour before sundown. Harry was waiting in his room, colouring a dragon that moved when it was completely coloured (it was cooler than any of Dudley’s colouring books!), when his brother came to get him some ten minutes before dusk. His stomach fluttering with nerves, he followed Marvolo to the ballroom, getting even more anxious with every step. Fortunately, Voldemort noticed the boy’s nervousness, and right before going in, he stopped and remarked:

“Don’t worry little soul, they’ll love you. You just have to smile and have a good time. Barty and Rabastan will introduce you to other kids your age when they arrive, all right?”

Nodding, but still very worried, because the only other kid his age he had ever really interacted with was his cousin, Harry clutched Marvolo’s hand tightly. The two of them then stepped in the ballroom. Harry gasped: they were standing at the top of the staircase Harry had helped decorate, looking down on the room already filled to the brim with hundreds of witches and wizards, dressed in formal robes and ballgowns of all the colours of the rainbow. The sun was setting right at that moment, suffusing the room in a soft, pink light, and making all the decorations glitter. Every guest had turned at the Dark Lord’s entrance, and all the men bowed while the women curtsied. Marvolo let go of Harry’s hand and leaned on the balustrade:

“Rise, my faithful subjects. Tonight is a night of celebration. Tonight is in honour of our traditions, that they never be lost to Muggle scum and bloodtraitors! Tonight I would like to present you my heir, the supposed Saviour of the Light, Harry Potter!”, a huge cheer erupted from the crowd, and Harry was lifted up and deposited on the balustrade in front of Marvolo, to be better seen by his followers. The man snapped his fingers, and a house-elf appeared, handing them both a glass.

“I propose a toast!”, the Dark Lord continued, raising his champagne after the clamour and whispering had died down, “To my heir! To victory! And to the Dark side!”

The cheer this time was deafening, and Harry shrank against Marvolo, wide eyed and almost scared of the tumult. The Dark Lord emptied his glass in one gulp and, after leaving it and Harry’s untouched one on the balustrade, he gently tugged the child down the stairs with a wink, and dived in the colourful crowd. The night passed in a haze of colour and sound for Harry, with hundreds of people bowing and praising and flattering, and even years later, after having been to countless balls and events, Harry still remembered that night for the sheer opulence and luxury and power that had been present, despite having spent most of the time playing with other children in a dedicated area for them, and the rest sleeping, having fell asleep exhausted with the other children sometime around one in the morning, when the party was still in full swing for the adults.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed, and Harry was still reeling from Yule night and the next day when, after having slept most of the day away, Marvolo, the Lestrange brothers, Barty and Harry had all met in the sitting room and opened the Yule presents. Harry had been shocked, because he couldn’t remember ever receiving a present in his whole life, and now he had hundreds. That night he opened only the ones from Marvolo, Rodolphus, Rabastan and Barty, and saved the ones from Yule ball’s guests for the next days. In fact, he had set a routine: he opened three gifts a night, and he was finally finishing the pile after a month. Fortunately, there was only one gift from each family, and not for person, or he wouldn’t even be halfway through! And most of these gifts were expensive trinkets for which he had absolutely no use. Marvolo said that the house-elf will sort them and put them in storage, but Harry liked opening them himself, because he was still so shocked that all these people had thought of him and bought him gifts!

Still, the best gift in Harry’s opinion was Barty’s, which was the new Comet 63 broomstick, child’s model. Harry had instantly discovered that he absolutely loved flying, and spent hours zooming through the gardens. He was joined countless times by children of Death Eaters or allies of the Dark who had business to attend to with their Lord. He found out quickly that it was quite easy to make friends, now that he didn’t have an overbearing cousin and a disapproving aunt shadowing him and, unknown to him, all the children he met had been instructed to be polite to him by their parents.

His favourite friend was Marcus, who was three years older than him and triple his size, and who told Harry all about Quidditch and flying, and with whom he spent many afternoons chasing each other in the air, or throwing a soft ball at each other, imagining to be Quidditch stars playing in the World Cup final. Marvolo always told Harry that ‘that Flint boy’ was corrupting him, and that Quidditch was an ‘useless sport for foolhardy Gryffindors with no sense self-preservation’, but he always let Harry go fly with Marcus when he was at the Manor, though he relegated them to the ballroom when it was too cold to stay outside for long. Also, Flint senior had suspiciously a lot of meetings with the Dark Lord, at least once a week, since Harry had made friends with his son.

Harry’s next best friend was called Tracey Davis. She was Harry’s same age, and had dark blond hair and brown eyes. She was always up to some type of mischief, and usually managed to rope Harry into it too. So, it was because of her that one cold day in the middle of February the two of them were sneaking to the kitchens to ‘steal’ some chocolate from the house-elves, though dinner was supposed to be in only an hour. They passed next to the slightly open door of one of the Manor’s most used studies, when they heard voices coming from inside. With a glance at each other, the children decided to eavesdrop and, peeking through the slightly opened door, the two children spied Rabastan, Barty and Tracey’s Death Eater mother inside the room.

“-so what do you think are the chances for the election?” Alexandra was asking.

“Good ones. Father is more insane than ever, trying to gather last minutes votes here and there. Mother’s death somehow made him even more popular than before, and he has actually gathered more than a few pity votes. Why anyone would want that madman to run the country is beyond me.”

Rabastan’s deep laughter rang out: “Come on Barty! What were you expecting? Common sense? The self-proclaimed ‘Light side’ behaves more deranged than my Black sister-in-law used to! And they have the guts to tell us that we’re destroying the world!”

The adults continued talking about politics, before the conversation moved to more touchy topics regarding the progression of the war. Harry didn’t understand much, but he managed to comprehend that open warfare had been abandoned, and that the Dark Lord was lying low and rebuilding his forces in secret. Wide-eyed, the two children glanced at each other, suddenly very nervous because they realised they weren’t supposed to know these kind of things, though they had heard snippets when the adults around them were careless. They silently decided to sneak away from there before being discovered, but unfortunately one of the house-elves caught the two children eavesdropping right at that moment, and they had to make a hasty giggling retreat from the feather duster-wielding creature who ran after them. At dinner that night, Harry was almost certain that he was going to be punished for his disrespectful spying, but Rabastan only shot him a conspiratorial wink, and Harry was once again reminded that the rules here where very different from those of his dirty Muggle family. Life was good, Harry thought, eating a mouth-watering piece of treacle tart after dinner, and he owed it all to his brother Marvolo.

February 20^th, 1981

The Daily Prophet

CROUCH ELECTED MINISTER OF MAGIC 

Bones appointed Head of DMLE and Longbottom Head of Auror Corps

The result of the latest Ministerial election came as no surprise to anyone. Barthemius Crouch managed to win by a large majority against his opponent Cornelius Fudge, even without the backing of Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts. The only surprise was the appointment of Frank Longbottom as Head of Auror Corps instead of the more experienced Rufus Scrimgeour-

March 3^rd, 1986

The Daily Prophet

HARRY POTTER DISAPPEARED!

Dumbledore under investigation, where is our Saviour, and how long has he been missing?

In a shocking press conference, Minister Crouch has revealed yesterday that Harry Potter, 5 years old, went missing from his Aunt’s house on the night between the 31^st of October and the 1^st of November 1985. This fact has only come to light two days ago because of-

March 14^th, 1986

The Daily Prophet

HARRY POTTER ABUSED BY MUGGLES!

Dumbledore faces charges for neglect: temporarily removed from post as Hogwarts' Headmaster

Many have wondered why our Saviour’s Muggle family never alerted the authorities after the child’s disappearance in November. Yesterday, a Ministry spokesman told us the reason: “Little Harry was abused by those horrible Muggles. He was forced to live in a cupboard and given little to no food, and almost never let outside the house. When he disappeared during the night, those Muggles actually celebrated.” Harry Potter’s Aunt and Uncle are now facing prison time and heavy fines for abuse and are actually suspected of premeditated murder. Dumbledore instead is facing charges for criminal negligence in regards to his magical ward-

April 20^th, 1986

The Daily Prophet

“THE LIFE AND LIES OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE”

Skeeter’s book causes uproar

Released yesterday, Rita Skeeter’s latest work has already caused scandal and undermined many of the things everyone took for granted regarding venerable Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. The writer insists that every fact reported is the complete truth: “There was no need to embellish the facts: the truth was much juicier then anything I could have invented”, Rita stated yesterday at her novel’s presentation.

Member of the Wizengamot Dedalus Diggle was immediately available for comment: “The things that harpy invented are preposterous! Albus will sue her and MacKinnon’s Publishing for slander in no time! You’ll see! These ludicrous statements will not last for long! Grindelwald’s lover my beard!” Dumbledore remains in the meantime unavailable for comment.

May 25^th, 1986

The Daily Prophet

DUMBLEDORE OUSTED AS CHIEF WARLOCK OF WIZENGAMOT

Potter’s disappearance and Skeeter’s bestseller have the public pushing for more measures to be taken: will he be permanently removed from post as Hogwarts Headmaster?

May 27^th,1986

The Daily Prophet

POTTER’S MUGGLE FAMILY FOUND DEAD

Tortured to death by unknown Dark or Light wizards? The authorities are baffled!

May 30^th,1986

The Daily Prophet

NEW CHARGES AGAINST DUMBLEDORE AND SNAPE

The two Professors are suspected of using Mind Arts on students: Snape on probation

July 14^th, 1986

Witch Weekly

POTTER WILL FINALLY UNSEALED

Harry was never meant to live with Muggles

Yesterday a new chapter has been opened in what has now become one of the greatest scandals of the century: the Potter Will was unsealed. Sealed by the Wizengamot on order of Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore less than a week after the deaths of James Charles and Lily Margaret Potter, their will was never read nor enacted. Yesterday, a last minute session of the Wizengamot finally unsealed the Potters’ last wishes. And surprise, surprise! Harry James Potter was never meant to go live with his maternal aunt Petunia (it was actually explicitly written that he should for NO REASON be left there!), and Dumbledore was in no way listed as potential magical guardian. In fact, the people listed were (in order): Harry’s godfather Sirius Black, now in Azkaban for multiple murders, Peter Pettigrew (deceased), the Longbottom family and Remus Lupin. Before the Will’s unsealing, in all official documents regarding Harry Potter, Sirius Orion Black was still listed as Harry’s primary guardian, though temporary magical guardianship was given to Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore in the same Wizengamot session that sealed the Potters’ Will. This reporter can’t help but notice the extraordinary coincidences regarding the Harry Potter situation, and sincerely hopes that the DMLE will launch yet another an investigation asap. After all, it’s the least we could do for our missing Saviour!

July 17^th, 1986

The Daily Prophet

SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT!

Bones’ investigation uncovers that he was sent to Azkaban sans questioning nor trial by Minister Crouch (then Head Auror) and Dumbledore (then Chief Warlock)

July 18^th, 1986

Witch Weekly

TRAITOR PETTIGREW LOSES ORDER OF MERLIN

July 23^rd, 1986

The Daily Prophet

CROUCH OUT OF OFFICE

New trials scheduled for all those sent to Azkaban between 1978 and 1985

July 27^th, 1986

The Daily Prophet

CORNELIUS FUDGE NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC

July 29^th, 1986

Witch Weekly

HALF-BLOOD IS NEW HEIR TO HOUSE BLACK

Uproar in pureblood circles

Metamorphmagus Nymphadora Tonks (age 13) was appointed yesterday Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black by Sirius Black, Head of the Black Family. She is the daughter of Andromeda Tonks (née Black), recently reinstated as member of the House of Black, who was disinherited by the Family more than 15 years ago for marrying Muggleborn Edward Tonks. Nymphadora in this way overrides her younger cousin’s Draco Malfoy’s -son of Andromeda’s deceased younger sister Narcissa Malfoy (née Black)- claim to the Heirship of House Black.

August 16^th, 1988

The Daily Prophet

HARRY POTTER FOUND AGAIN!

Lived in orphanage in Wiltshire, recognised by Flint patriarch when playing with his son

Chapter Text

September 1^st, 1991

Platform 9 ¾, King’s Cross

Sirius Black was a very worried man. Now, anyone looking at him would think he was always carefree and immature, but lately it was mostly all an act. And it all revolved around his godson Harry. Looking at him, Sirius couldn’t help but be reminded of his little brother Regulus, who at eleven was already the perfect little Slytherin Pureblood heir.

Now, Sirius had abandoned his prejudices against Slytherin House years ago, when Remus had finally managed to make him see that every time he spouted off against Slytherin, his godson continued growing more distant and colder. Or maybe he did only with him. After all, Harry lived with the Flints, an all-Slytherin family if there ever was one, he only saw Sirius one weekend a month, and they had nothing in common. Damn Dark-side lawyers and healers saying he was not capable of caring for a child because of Azkaban.

Still, seeing Prongslet chatting happily with a bunch of Slytherin kids, all from dark families that were rumoured to have been Voldemort supporters, while he barely managed to smile-grimace at him maybe once a day, made him experience a sharp pang of longing and envy. His own chances of have his godson completely relaxed and happy while spending time with him had completely evaporated when he had transformed into Padfoot for the first time for Harry. Really, if those horrid Dursleys hadn’t already been horrifically killed by persons unknown, Sirius would have gone after them himself.

Sirius had wanted to surprise Harry, so he transformed into Padfoot with no warning. Harry had been so scared by the sudden appearance of a huge dog in place of the godfather he had been starting to trust, that he had had a panic attack, triggered by his phobia of dogs (that they later figured out stemmed from Marge Dursley’s bulldogs). Only the appearance of his politician ‘brother’ Marvolo Gaunt, who cuddled the eight year old for half an hour, managed to finally calm Harry down. The child had then refused to see Sirius again for almost a year, before being convinced by his guardians to give him another chance. It was actually this incident which swayed the Wizarding Child Services to give complete guardianship to the Flint family, rather than splitting it with Sirius. Hard to choose him as a guardian after all, when the child started hyperventilating every time he caught sight of him.

Speaking of Marvolo Gaunt, that was a whole other weird business. The man was in his late twenties, had appeared on the political scene around 1987, somehow managed to become the leader of both the moderate and extremist Dark factions in no time, and by 1989 he was appointed Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Dumbledore insisted that he was Voldemort reborn, but Sirius had long since stopped listening to the old man’s ramblings, which became more farfetched every year since his fall from grace. Gaunt must have some huge blackmail material on someone real important, but Voldemort reborn! Really! These kinds of things certainly lent credence to the rumour that St.Mungo’s had diagnosed old Dumbledore with an onset of dementia a few years back…

Anyway, the only thing that mattered to Sirius about that Gaunt man was that Harry hero-worshipped him to the extreme, and actually called him brother. The two of them were even closer than Harry and that Flint boy were! And that was really saying something…

And so, with a heavy heart, Sirius watched Harry mount on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, and wished there was something he could do to get back in the child’s good graces.

Harry hauled his trunk on the train, thankful that Marvolo had the foresight of charming it lightweight and waved one last time to his Godfather, who was looking rather gloomy for some reason. He was so weird, Harry really couldn’t understand the man, and he didn’t believe it was only because of being in the presence of dementors for years like everyone insisted. They didn’t have to interact with Sirius for a whole day once a month! They had no idea what they were talking about!

Marcus had already boarded, and Harry had already said his goodbyes to Maximilian and Wilhelmina Flint, his ‘parents’, so he went looking for Tracey. He found her in a compartment with Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode, and he quickly settled in with the three girls. They were soon joined by Theodore Nott and a boy called Blaise Zabini, whom Harry didn’t know well, but he vaguely remembered his mother was a Dark sympathiser and that the boy had mostly grown up in Italy. This was soon confirmed when Harry tried to drag the silent boy in a conversation, and he answered haltingly with a heavy accent. At which Tracey went into ‘bossy mode’ and the rest of the train ride was spent giving impromptu English lessons that had all the children laughing so hard their sides hurt.

In Hogsmeade, the first years were all rounded up by Hagrid, the groundskeeper, and they climbed on the little boats in groups of four, Tracey and Harry sitting together, inseparable as always. At Harry’s first glimpse of Hogwarts, the first thing which came to mind was that Marvolo, Marcus and Sirius’ tales of Hogwarts really didn’t render the castle justice: it was even more magnificent than Harry had imagined. True, he had already seen it from a distance last year when he had met Marcus during one of his Hogsmeade weekends, but this was completely different.

The castle stood tall against the inky blackness of the sky and it was illuminated from within by thousand of torches and candles, its silhouette mirrored on the still waters of the lake. In short, it was on of the most magical sights Harry had ever seen.

The boats docked and the children scrambled up the front steps, where they were greeted by Deputy Headmistress Sprout, a plump woman with a kind face who ushered them inside, and into the Great Hall. Tracey briefly squeezed Harry’s hand to convey her excitement as they entered the Great Hall, before her Pureblood mask of aloofness and detachment slipped back in place. Harry was amazed by the size and opulence of the Great Hall, but he almost sneered at the undisguised expressions of awe and bewilderment of the muggleborns present. And Ronald Weasley. Merlin, how he hated the little prat! And the guy followed the Chudley Cannons! How lame was that?

Sirius had tried many times to get Harry to get along with the Weasley family, but Harry really couldn’t stand Ronald (and the twins even less. They always pranked him and made him want to cry. The fact that Sirius insisted it was all fun and games while Harry thought they were cruel and humiliating was one of the biggest reasons why he disliked his godfather). He was sure that if he had grown up with someone other than Marvolo, he would have probably started a public feud in retaliation against those prats. Instead, he was patient and finally, a month ago, he got his chance. He had been completely fed up with Ron spouting how all Gryffindors were brave and daring and Slytherins evil and murderers, and was still smarting from the latest twins’ prank. He had wandlessly cursed all three without getting caught, turning their hair and clothes all green for a week, and making them feel sick if they ate something that wasn’t green, and not even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had managed to turn them back to normal. They had to go to St. Mungo’s to get the curses off!

Marvolo chastised him, but Harry noticed that he looked like he wanted to laugh the whole time, and then he got him that expensive book he’d been wanting for a while for no reason! His big brother obviously approved.

Also, when Harry finally got back home (to Lestrange Manor, not Flint Manor: sometimes having two homes got really confusing…) and he told Uncle Rodolphus what had happened, the man was so proud of him he bought him a Nimbus 2000, the newest racing broom on the market, despite having already given Harry a present for his birthday. So, not only did he get revenge on the Weasleys without getting caught, he also got presents out of it! His family was the best!

The Sorting finally began, with the Hat singing a silly song, and Harry used the time to discreetly look at the Professors. Headmistress McGonagall sat in the centre, looking strict and unapproachable. The chair to her right, belonging to Sprout, was empty, and at her left sat Dumbledore, who was bluntly staring straight at Harry. And then there was Snape, who was glowering at everyone. It was the first time Harry had seen both of the men, and he really wasn’t looking forward to their classes. Dumbledore taught Transfiguration and Snape Potions, two of the most important subjects, and Harry had the feeling that he wasn’t going to enjoy them one bit. Marvolo had been trying to get rid of the both of them for years, but charges against them hadn’t yet managed to stick permanently. And Marvolo didn’t want to outright attack Dumbledore, who still had some public support despite various scandals during the years and suspicions of advancing mental illness, while Snape was a very good duelist and almost never left the castle. In fact, the last time he had gone out not accompanied by Dumbledore, four Death Eaters attacked him and it was only thanks to a lucky fluke that he managed to escape with his life. He was now sporting a vertical scar marring his face, with some vision loss in his left eye, which the scar bisected. Harry had been at Lestrange Manor when the attack happened, and he had heard Marvolo’s rage at his Death Eaters when he was told that the traitor had managed to escape alive once again.

Snape looked up, and started scanning the incoming first years, and Harry hurriedly looked over the rest of the Professors, not wanting to meet the man’s eyes. There was a little man, most likely Filius Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House, and then Uncle Rabastan and Uncle Barty sitting side by side.

Harry’s musings were suddenly interrupted by Sprout calling out: “Potter, Harry!”

The hall exploded in whispers and pointing, people standing up to have a good look at him. Harry almost startled, before taking a deep breath and readjusting his Occlumency shields. He calmly strolled up to the stool, and the hat had just touched his head when it yelled out: “Slytherin!”

The cheers from the Slytherin table, or at least the dark sympathisers at that table who knew him, were deafening, while the rest of the Great Hall sat in stunned silence, probably not believing that their precious Saviour could be anything other than a Gryffindor. Harry almost sneered at their idiocy, despite having expected it, and sat down next to Tracey, sharing a smug look with her. The rest of the first years were Sorting exactly as Harry and his friends had predicted on the train, and finally it ended and the Headmistress stood up to speak:

“Welcome back to Hogwarts, and welcome to all the new students. I have a few things to say before letting you all enjoy the feast without worries. Professor Kettleburn has decided to retire this year because of his injuries, and Bartemius Crouch will be the new Care of Magical Creatures Professor,” polite clapping followed, and Harry wished he was already in third year to have lessons with Barty, “also, students should know that the Forbidden Forest is in fact forbidden, and quite a dangerous place to go wandering around. The third floor corridor’s west wing is out of bounds this year because of some repair works and fear of collapsing ceilings, and students are requested to not go there, for security reasons. On the caretaker Mr. Filch’s door there is also a list of banned items that aren’t permitted in the school. That’s all. Tuck in!” and the tables were suddenly groaning under mountains of food.

The Slytherin first years had just started to settle in their dormitories, when they were called back in the Common Room for their Head of House’s start of term speech. Snape was actually well seen in Slytherin House, despite Marvolo’s realisation after he regained his sanity that the man had been spying on him for Dumbledore, and his subsequent murder attempts of the traitor. Still, despite being dour and routinely cutting people to pieces with his sarcasm, he was very loyal to his House, which had flourished under his stern guidance, and he always protected his young snakes during the school year. This was the only reason why Marvolo had never tried very hard to kill him. He could have easily gotten one of his people’s children who still went to school to off him, but he preferred to deal with this matter via official Death Eaters, possibly through those who had never had him as a Professor and Head of House. There was after all no need to make his men uncomfortable when there wasn’t a dire or urgent need.

Still, Harry was quite sure that he would probably be an exception to the rule: he knew very well that Snape had hated James Potter and the Marauders and, alas, Harry looked quite a bit like James, despite his best tries to change his appearance (when he was younger he had wanted to look just like his brother!). His different haircut and his lack of glasses did differentiate him a bit from his biological father, but he was still mostly a mini-Potter clone. He hoped that his mother’s eyes would be enough to distract Snape from his appearance, since they used to be close, but seeing the hateful glare his Head of House sent his way, Harry was scared his hopes where all in vain.