Chapter 2 : Chapter 2
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That night was surprisingly quiet. Voldemort only invited his close followers and his “son” to dinner with him. Harry, Draco, Lucius and Voldemort sat at the long mahogany table, waiting for the elves to bring out their dinner. Harry stared at his father most of the night. Voldemort was able to ignore him for a good while before his nerves got the best of him.
“What is it Potter?” he hissed.
“Riddle, and, uh, well to be honest I’ve never had a good look at my father before. I’m trying to take in every detail,” Harry replied. Draco’s brow furrowed as he looked at his own father. Lucius shook his head and mouthed ‘ignore him.’
A high pitched tapping sound was noticed not long after that. At first everyone ignored it, but soon the sound was echoing loudly off the walls. Draco watched Harry drumming his knife and fork on his plate with growing annoyance.
“Potter! What is your problem!” he spat. Harry stopped drumming and looked at Draco with slight irritation.
“It’s Riddle, Malfoy! And I’m sorry, I just can’t contain myself,” he turned his attention to Voldemort. “It’s not everyday you meet your father for the first time!” Harry grinned and grasped Voldemort’s hand. Voldemort jerked and quickly withdrew his hand as if he had just been touched in a loving manner by Harry Potter.
“Hey wait a second,” he thought. Harry flinched at the sudden reaction he got from his father and his eyebrows rose in sadness. His lips turned down as he shook his head.
“Dad, would Salazar think that was a good thing to do to your son?” Harry wagged a finger at him.
“Potter, there’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Draco started. He straightened in his seat and awaited Harry’s attention. However, that seemed to be somewhere on the other side of the planet at the moment. Harry sighed and rested his chin on his fist, letting his gaze roam around the stark, grey dining room.
“Potter,” Draco requested his attention once more. Harry still pretended to ignore the blonde sitting across from him. Draco sighed heavily.
“Riddle,” he finally submitted.
“Yes?” Harry replied sweetly. Draco stifled the outburst that had built up within him.
“If Lord Voldemort is your father, then he would have had to, erm,” Draco glanced uneasily at the bald Lord sitting at the end of the table, “With your mum. I think he would have remembered that.” Draco smugly crossed his arms over his chest. Lucius regarded his only son proudly. The pair shot identical smirks at Harry, convinced they had him cornered. Harry smiled.
“I have a letter,” he held up a folded piece of parchment. The stains and discoloration told the age of the paper. Harry handed it over to Voldemort, the brittle page crinkling as it exchanged hands. Cautiously, he unfolded the letter.
My Dearest Tommy,
My hopes are that this letter finds you well. I know you may not remember me, but I remember you. I shall never forget that night we spent together in London. You had told me that you couldn’t share forever with me, and I respect that. But I am glad that I was able to share that one night of love and passion with you. In that one night, you showed me enough love to last my lifetime. Thank you.
But now I must tell you why I am writing this letter. I am writing to tell you that the one night we shared did not leave me entirely empty handed. You left me with a child, Tom. Our child. I realize that he may never come to know who his true father is, and that saddens me. Which is why I left this letter for him to find. When he discovers who his father really is. It wasn’t long after I discovered I was pregnant that I realized I had captured the eye of a fellow classmate. James Potter. A handsome boy, although his beauty pales in comparison to yours. His eyes lack the depth that yours possess. I never meant to hurt him. I never meant to deceive him. I rushed off to marry him in hopes to conceal my condition. Thank goodness no one questioned Harry’s “early” birth. Premature births are not that uncommon.
I love you, Tom. And I want you to know that I see you in Harry’s eyes everyday. Everyday he looks more and more like you. If you’re reading this, then that must mean that Harry has told you and that he knows. Please, be the father he deserves Tommy. Be the one to guide him and love him.
Voldemort laid the page down, his features unconvinced and unamused.
“Did you honestly think I would believe this Potter?”
“What’s not to believe? My mum wrote this! It’s her handwriting! It must be true! And besides, DNA doesn’t lie,” Harry grabbed the paper and examined it again. He suddenly flinched and smacked his forehead.
“Oh, silly me, I almost forgot!” he mumbled and pulled out his wand. Pointing it to the trunk he had sitting in the corner of the room, he accioed the case over to him. Harry rummaged around in it before pulling out a package wrapped in baby blue paper and tied with a pale yellow bow.
“This is for you! I wanted to give you a gift to show my appreciation for letting me stay.”
“Letting you stay??? How did I,” Voldemort burst out, but was cut off by Harry’s hand.
“I know, I know, how could you turn away your only son? But don’t worry, I wanted to.” Voldemort sighed and opened the gift. Slowly, he pulled out a pair of green knitted socks. Draco let out a small cry of shock.
“Are those lightning bolts?” he commented on the pattern knitted into the socks.
“Yep!” Harry smiled and puffed out his chest. “I thought since you don’t have a cool scar like mine, you could have some socks with the same pattern!” Voldemort looked at Harry, his eyes dark and cold, and dropped the socks on the floor beside him. Harry’s jaw dropped as he watched the socks he worked for so long on fall to the floor.
“I don’t want your socks, Potter,” Voldemort hissed, picking up his fork and turning back to his food. Harry looked down at his plate solemnly.
“Oh, Potter, you’re not going to cry are you?” Draco scoffed at the sight of his school enemy’s chin quivering.
“Nah, I’m cool,” he mumbled. Harry shifted uncomfortably, pushing his glasses up his nose. He glanced at his father before quickly averting his eyes again. The silence in the room was almost unbearable. A few sighs were heard from the Dark Lord and his fellow diners.
“I just thought you would like them cause it can get cold and damp in dungeons. I thought if you get sick or something it would be nice to have a pair of socks,” Harry broke the silence, obviously unable to take his mind off the unwanted gift.
“I still don’t believe the letter, Potter. And whatever it is you are planning, I’m going to find out!” Voldemort slowly rose from this seat, pointing a long thin finger at Harry’s nose. Voldemort turned on his heel and stalked out of the dining room, his robe billowing out behind him much like Professor Snape’s robes. Concern flitted over Harry’s features.
“Oh, I hope he doesn’t find out about the surprise birthday party!” he worried.
“Surprise birthday party?” Lucius’ eyebrow crawled up his forehead.
“You mean you didn’t know it’s his birthday next week?” Harry cried out incredulously.
“The Dark Lord doesn’t celebrate birthdays,” Draco explained flatly. He of all people was quite disappointed with this policy, as he very much enjoyed receiving gifts just for his mere presence.
“Well no wonder he’s so mad all the time! You guys never threw him a birthday party? You never celebrated the day he came into this world?” The blonde duo silently shook their heads. Harry sighed.
“Where’s Crabbe? Maybe he’ll be able to help me plan something cool,” he muttered as he walked out of the room.
Later that night, Voldemort was still pacing the hallways of his manor. Not the Riddle house of course, but something his army helped to build in his honor. Full of dark passageways and secret rooms. Dark and dank, just like he liked it. He still couldn’t figure out Harry’s angle. Did he think he could gain the loyalty of his death eaters? They would never leave him. Voldemort made sure of that when they took the mark on their arm. So then why was the boy there? And why wasn’t he throwing hexes at him? He couldn’t possibly be his son. There was simply no way. Tom was ninety nine percent sure of that. But it was that one percent that also kept him up tonight. He had been to a lot of places in his life. Visited many pubs, clubs, and discos. It was that one percent that made him nauseous.
“Ok, so I think these plates are best. What kind of cake does he like? Do you know?” Tom turned sharply at the sound of whispering coming from behind.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat cake.” Two teenage boys, one much larger and bulkier than one turned the corner. They both jumped at the site of Voldemort standing before them. Harry quickly brought his hands behind his back.
“Dad! What are you doing here? It’s late, maybe you should be in bed. I’m sure all this evil plotting and searching for immortality gets exhausting after a while,” Harry explained.
“What are you two doing down here?” Voldemort sneered. “And what is behind your back, Potter?”
“Then show me your hands.” Harry showed him one hand, replaced it behind his back, and then showed Voldemort his other empty hand.
“At the same time!” Harry sighed.
“It was going to be a surprise,” he mumbled. Pulling his hands to his front, Harry displayed a colorful paper plate. Voldemort stepped closer to the two, examining the object Harry held in his hands. The plate was colored in several pastel colors and sported a couple of bears. The bears were smiling and hugging each other, yet Voldemort could still see the hearts painted on their stomachs.
“What is this?” he held up the festive plate in between his long thumb and forefinger.
“It’s a Care Bear Birthday Party Plate.” Crabbe said.
“And why would you two have a Care Bear Birthday Party Plate?”
“It’s for your not so surprise birthday party next week,” Harry’s shoulders slumped. Voldemort inhaled deeply through the slits in his face and stepped closer to Harry.
“I do not celebrate birthdays, and even if I did, why do you think I would want little poofy bears on my plates?” Voldemort snarled. Harry glanced at the plate, his lips curling up slightly.
“Well. Oh come on, look at them! How could you not feel happy looking at those guys?” Harry smiled. Voldemort tossed the plate at Crabbe and passed in between the two. Without another word he turned the corner and left Harry and Vincent in the hall. Vincent looked down at the plate.
“You know, Potter, for all our years at Hogwarts I thought you were a whiny little emo prat. But now I have to say that this is pretty hilarious!” he said, a chuckle escaping his throat as he held up the plate. Harry smiled.
“You should see what I’m gonna do tonight! Gotta thank Fred and George again. They come up with the best pranks! Hey, wanna help me with it?” Harry took the plate from Vincent. Vincent’s brow wrinkled in thought.
“Well,” he said weakly, “You bet I do!” he finally said enthusiastically. Harry laughed and the two continued their walk to Harry’s room.
Voldemort sighed as he sat down the thick tome in his lap.
“Come in!” The door stayed closed and there was silence. Voldemort frowned and turned his attention back to the book.
“Come in!” Voldemort called louder this time. He frowned again before pointing his wand at the door, opening it with the mere thought of a spell. The hallway was empty. Voldemort got up and strode quickly to the door frame. Poking his head out, he was confused to find the hallway empty. With a slam of a door and the turn of a heel, he made his way back to his leather chair.
“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” he cried. Opening the door again with his wand, Voldemort was perturbed, more times than he thought possible in one night, to see the hallway empty.
“The bloody hell?” he murmured, slamming the door once again. A knock sounded once more before he even got to his chair. Voldemort spun, spelled the door open and placed his hands on the frame in effort to catch a glimpse of his late night nuisance. Much to his complete lack of surprise, Harry Potter stood in the door way.
“What do you want Potter?” Voldemort cried. Harry jumped.
“What?” Harry’s eyes bugged out.
“Why do you keep rapping at my door?” Voldemort yelled, his red irises ablaze with fury.
“I just got here! I only knocked once!” Harry protested.
“I just got up and answered three knocks only to find no one was here!”
“Well it wasn’t me!” Harry shouted. He walked into the Dark Lord’s chambers with a huff and flopped onto the bed.
“What do you think you are doing?” Voldemort crossed his arms.
“I just thought it would be nice to talk to you with out all the other Death Eaters around. You know, father to son. Well, not that you’d really know about that,” Harry slapped a hand over his mouth at his last statement. “I’m so sorry Dad!”
“About what?” Voldemort asked dryly.
“I shouldn’t have said you wouldn’t know about father-son conversations. That was really inconsiderate of me!” Harry stood and made his way over to his father, arms outstretched. Voldemort’s hands shot out to protect him from Harry.
“No, no, it’s quite alright. No offence taken,” he mumbled and returned to his chair. Harry nodded, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. Harry tucked his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants and rocked back and forth on his heels.
“So, this is your room,” Harry commented as he eyed the dark, plain bedroom around him. Despite the plainness of the furniture, he did still see many Dark Arts odds and ends scattered around on table tops and on the walls. Many had snakes adorning them. Then he recognized a skeletal hand on the dresser. He shuddered as he remembered his second trip to Diagon Alley.
“Yes,” Voldemort had turned his attention to his book. He recalled the advice the workers at the orphanage used to give the children he bullied.
“Just ignore him. If you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, he’ll leave you alone.”
This advice was going to be harder to follow than he thought. Harry was walking around the room, examining every piece of furniture. Picking up almost every item he had on a surface, turning it over and over in his hands.
“Don’t touch everything, Potter. Most of it is worth more than you’ll ever know,” Voldemort mentioned as he saw Harry pick up a rather large crystal. Harry looked back and him and nodded. The stone almost slipped from his fingers as a knock on the door made both of them jump. Voldemort spelled the door open, once again finding the hallway empty.
“So that’s what you were talking about,” Harry mused, slipping his hands in his pockets again. His excitement spiked as he felt the small ping pong sized ball in his pocket. With a grin he pulled out the golden Practice Snitch he carried around almost everywhere with him.
“What’s that?” Voldemort asked.
“It’s a Practice Snitch. Professor Lupin gave it to me for a birthday present a while ago.” Harry tossed the snitch up in the air. Spindly golden wings sprouted from the sides and the snitch took off, darting around Harry. It wasn’t designed to go too far away. It’s purpose was to hone a Seeker’s skills when they couldn’t use a real snitch and field.
“Dad, have you always wanted children? I mean, I know you want a great many things, I’m just wondering if a child was ever one of them.” Harry asked as he reached out and clamped his hand down on the gold. With a toss, the snitch continued flitting around Harry.
“Not exactly. My mind was always occupied with other things,” Voldemort said, turning a page. Harry leapt forward, but missed the snitch by a centimeter or two. The ball circled around him, causing him to spin.
“Like what? What kind of music did you listen to? What kind of books did you read? Did you ever play Quidditch?” Harry asked, his eyes still trying to follow the snitch. Voldemort’s breath hitched as he saw Harry’s hand barely miss a statue of a serpent.
“Erm, not really. I uh, I didn’t really listen to music too much. Potter, be careful!” he cried. Harry finally caught the snitch and smiled.
“Got it!” he gave it another toss and watched it flit away. “Well, Riddle me this, Riddle!” he shot a glance at his dad, laughing silently at the nervous way Dark Lord’s eyes watched the snitch zoom past some portraits. The serpent in the portrait hissed. “Did you know about the secret passageway to Honeyduke's at Hogwarts?” Harry’s hand once again closed on the snitch, only to release it again.
“What? No, I, no.” Voldemort turned away and tried to bury his face in the book. Harry took a breath and watched the snitch closely, following it with his hand.
“Did you love mum?” he asked, a little more quietly this time.
“What? No! I mean, I never, I, uh, well,” Voldemort trailed off, unsure how to answer that. Harry leapt at the snitch, only for it to escape his grasp. Setting his jaw with determination, Harry lunged across the bed. In the process, he hand caught on a tapestry that hung beside the bed. As gravity forced Harry down, the tapestry tore, pulling several ornate goblets and glass lanterns off the table which stood beside the bed. The buzzing sound of the snitch was drowned out from the sound of glass shattering, fabric tearing, and a body hitting the floor.
“Potter! I told you to be careful! Look what you’ve done! Get out of my chambers!” Voldemort bellowed, jumping up from his chair. Harry jumped up and dashed for the door.
“Sorry Dad! I love you! Sleep well!” he cried out quickly as he shut the door behind him.
Harry silently padded down the hall. Vincent removed the invisibility cloak from his head and followed Harry.
“What was that?” he whispered. Harry winced as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Nothing. Hey, you did great! Your timing was perfect!” Harry whispered back.
“Did he think it was you the whole time?”
“At first, but then when you knocked later, it threw him off. Nicely done!” Harry and Vincent laughed as silently as they could.
Author's Note: Told it would be longer! And just in case you need a little explaination: In chapter one, I used numbers 11, 48, and 60 of the 103 ways to annoy Lord Voldemort. In this chapter, I used numbers 1, 4, 12, 53, 57, 75, and 80. Not exactly in that order, and I may have changed a few details about the ways a bit. Number 53 is going to be continued into the next chapter, and numbers 81 and 101 are going to be used continuously throughout the story. Hope you liked it! Let me know how I'm doing!
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