Harry's halfbreed wizard-goblin persona became known among the merchants of both Diagon and Knockturn Alley's during the next year. He was always on the hunt for obscure objects and interesting books to help pass the excessive amount of time he had to spend in the muggle world and he came by often. He also went there often because he had little else to do and needed some excuse to get away from his muggle relatives.
He returned to muggle primary school in the fall, but as soon as school let out each afternoon, he would apparate back to London, don his disguise, spend some time in the magical districts and then apparate back to Godric's Hollow to work on his house.
He had ended up ordering some specially crafted magical focusing stones to aid in his work. They were created as a tool for underpowered witches and wizards. You could feed your magic slowly into them over an extended period of time by wearing them around your neck or holding them in your pocket, and then use that stored up magic to cast spells more powerful than you would normally be able to cast on your own. Since Harry's body was still too young and weak to handle the full extent of his magic, he made use of these stones in order to cast the large illusion spells over his own, to remove the preservation spell, and to cast the wards that he erected around the house to keep people out of the actual house. He also used the casting stones to perform some of the more extensive repairs to the house's roof and walls.
At one point, during the spring before he turned seven, he attempted to perform one of the rituals that would summon Tom's bodiless soul to him, by using one of the stones. However something strange had gone wrong and the stone had ended up exploding. Harry had grumbled in frustration and had been in a terrible mood for several weeks after that, sending the Dursley's to act even more terrified around him then usual.
His time at muggle school was boring, but he made it a point to put on a convincing front with the teachers and other children should Dumbledore or any of his lackeys ever go questioning them about him. He had long ago guaranteed the Dursley's silence through a number of magical means. Initially he had simply threatened them into silence. Now he'd secured any and all of their knowledge regarding him through magical means.
At his muggle school, 'Prodigy' had become an official label for Harry. He'd been bumped up another grade, and was taken away for two hours a day to join a special class for gifted students. He was considered rather anti-social, and the teachers worried that he didn't have any friends and didn't seem interested in playing with any of the other children, but he assured them he was happy being left to his own devices with his books.
They explained his behavior and social difficulties away as a symptom of his advanced intellect. It was unfortunate, but perfectly reasonable, and he was always such a polite and respectful young man other wise.
Dudley never even looked at him when they were at school. In fact, if you were to ask any of the other children, and most of the teachers, they wouldn't have the faintest clue that the two boys were cousins, or that they even knew each other. Harry was fine with that, and Petunia preferred it that way. The less exposure her precious Diddikins had to the freak boy, the better. Not that she would ever dare say that in front of Harry.
During the past few years, Harry had also begun spending some of his afternoons and evenings at the London Magical Historical Society, sifting through their collections and documents. The Magical Historical Society kept copies of every issue of the Daily Prophet ever printed, and kept detailed information on all of the old magical family lines. He and Tom had made use of their genealogical archives a few times in their youth the summer just before they went after the Gaunts, and later on to research the Valerius family, so Harry already knew his way around the place.
He'd started looking into the family trees of many of the families he knew in his previous life, mostly out of curiosity to see what might have happened to them, and to see how many of them were still alive. He also figured it would be a good way to start guessing who alive today had been among the ranks of Tom's Death Eaters. He cross referenced he names of the sons and daughters of those who had been active followers back when Harry was still Heri, and checked to see if any of them were currently incarcerated at Azkaban for crimes of being a Death Eater. Several were, but quite a few others were not. He made note of which ones were likely candidates as followers of Tom's, but were clear and free.
He also noticed that quite a few members of the more wealthy and influential families had been found bearing the Dark Mark, but had been acquitted of all crimes because they argued they had taken the mark and committed the crimes while under the Imperius curse.
Obviously this was a bullshit line, and no doubt a lot of money exchanged hands during the whole process as well. Harry knew for a fact that the Dark Mark couldn't be taken while under the Imperius. Being marked required an honest willingness. You could not be coerced into it at all.
He made note of all those listed as being cleared of their crimes since they were absolutes. Anyone bearing the Mark had been a Death Eater. No doubt at all.
Still, even with his list of possible and definite Death Eaters, he wasn't about to go to any of them for help. He wasn't that desperate yet, and he honestly didn't trust any of them. Not yet. Sure, they had been loyal to Tom in the previous war, but they were all laying low now. Or living a life of comfort, having completely disavowed any past connection with anything Dark.
If any of them were really loyal, they'd be trying a bit harder to bring their Lord back. But they weren't. Bloody bastards.
–
Another bit of research he started performing at the Magical Historical Society was on his own family. The Potters, rather. What he discovered actually shocked him. James Potter's parents were Charlus Potter and Dorea Black. While Harry had downright despised Charlus back in their school days, he'd been fond enough of Dorea. He'd only met her twice, as she was five years older than Lucretia and Walburga, and seven years older than he was, so she had already been out of Hogwarts when he started.
While Lucretia, Orion, Walburga, and Cygnus – the four Blacks that Heri had gotten to know best – were all cousins, Dorea was actually Walburga and Cygnus's aunt – the youngest sister of their father Pollux.
It was a weird, convoluted bit of relation, but the fact remained that now, Harry was related to the Blacks.
How the bloody hell Dorea Black had ended up marrying Charlus Ruddy Potter he couldn't even fathom.
Further examination of the Black tree gave him some sad news. It turned out that both Orion and Cygnus had died in 1979. Walburga, who in all honestly, Harry hadn't been all that fond of, had only just died the previous year, while Lucretia was still living. He was slightly tempted to try and pay the woman a visit, but had no idea how he would explain him knowing about her.
One more shocking realization that came out of this line of digging was that Orion and Walburga – cousins, mind you! – had married! Harry wanted to retch. How the hell Orion had ended up with his cousin Walburga was beyond him. He'd liked Orion! But no – that wasn't really the shocking thing. It was actually fairly common for Blacks to marry their cousins. The shocking thing was that they had two sons and one of them was Sirius. Harry's godfather.
Regulus Black, Sirius' brother, was listed as dead – once again, back in 1979. It made Harry wonder if they'd all died together. Orion, Cygnus, and Regulus – all dead in 1979. That must have been a very intense year for the war.
But back to Sirius...
It made Harry wonder if this was why his father had ended up being friends with the man. Harry had always wondered how his father – a Potter – had ended up best mates with a Black. Maybe this was why. Because they were sort-of-distant-cousins?
It was a possible explanation. But pondering on it really only made Harry wonder that much more as to why the ruddy hell he hadn't ended up with his godfather.
He set to searching through the Prophets again for any clues as to what had happened to the man, since he was listed on the tree as still living. It didn't take long for Harry to find it.
Sirius Black was in Azkaban.
Well, that certainly explained why the man wasn't looking after him, then. But what got Harry really angry was when he realized that Sirius was in prison because he had supposedly been a Death Eater and had betrayed Harry and his parents to the Dark Lord. It said that Sirius had been his parents secret keeper, and went on to remark how sad it was that the Potters had put their trust in the wrong person.
That part was right at least – they had put their trust into the wrong person, but it wasn't Sirius. Peter had been the secret keeper! Sirius was just a decoy!
And Albus bloody Dumbledore knew that! He knew it because he had been the one to cast the Fidelius charm around their house!
Harry set to researching his godfather's trial and went through a lot of frustrating loops as he attempted to request transcripts and Ministry records. He finally resorted to actually using his name, since they were obviously unwilling to hand any documents over to some uninvolved third party, but even then his requests were refused.
Finally, Harry managed to get a letter in response from a witch who worked in some records department at the Ministry who quietly admitted that she did some digging for him because she was just 'such a fan', and as best she could tell, Sirius had never even gotten a trial. It was all very strange and it looked to her that someone had gone to a lot of trouble to push this all under the rug.
Harry fumed.
There was really only one person that Harry could think of that would have the power to deny his godfather a trial and get all of the proof of such a thing kept quiet. The Supreme Mugwump, himself. Albus Dumbledore.
It didn't take a genius to figure out why. With Sirius in prison, Dumbledore had magical guardianship over Harry, the ability to dictate who's custody he legally remained in, and control of Harry's vaults. Oh – and also the power to seal his parents will so no one could possibly question him on his choices for Harry's safety. If Sirius had been a free man, he could have tried to contest Dumbledore's actions. He could have fought for Harry's rights and for his safety. With him out of the picture, Dumbledore was free to do whatever he pleased with Harry.
Although Harry still couldn't fathom what reason Dumbledore would have for leaving him with the Dursley's of all people. Why muggles?
If Dumbledore wanted Harry to grow up loving and respecting muggles and their culture, he obviously picked the wrong damn muggles to leave him with. If Dumbledore were ignorant of how much the Dursley's hated him, this explanation could still be valid, but Harry was sure that Dumbledore knew just how shitty his treatment had been at their hands. He had a squib spying on Harry, after all. There was no way he couldn't know.
So why?
Harry didn't know.
But he kept his head down while on Privet Drive. He still made sure to return to the Dursley's house most nights, and still made sure that Mrs. Figg saw him from time to time. He even had Petunia ask her to babysit him every now and then just to keep up appearances.
Harry wondered if there was anything he could do for his godfather. The man was in prison for more than just 'betraying the Potters'. He had also been accused of killing Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles in an explosion. The original reports made it out to look like Peter had perhaps gone after Sirius, knowing that Sirius had betrayed James and Lily, and Sirius had killed him. Harry knew it was likely the exact opposite scenario. Sirius was the only one, besides Dumbledore and Harry, that knew Peter had been the real secret keeper. He had no doubt gone after Peter in a fit of rage.
The dead muggles added a bit of confusion to the whole thing, though. Sirius had been an Auror, and during the year and three months that Harry had known his godfather he had gotten the impression that he was a rather Light wizard, as far as his politics and world-view was concerned. He liked muggles. Or at least, he thought they were interesting and entertaining. He fought for muggle and muggleborn rights. He rebelled against his parents over it. Harry had a hard time seeing Sirius killing off a dozen muggles, even if it was just splash damage.
In the end, for all Harry knew, Sirius really had killed Pettigrew and the muggles. At the very least, he undoubtedly did kill Pettigrew. So no matter what, he was stuck in Azkaban for murder. Even if Harry was able to get the man's name cleared of the charges of being a Death Eater and having betrayed the Potters.
And even if by some weird fluke, Harry got the man free – well, that wouldn't necessary benefit Harry any, would it? He had the Dursley's trained rather well at the moment. He was able to retreat to his house in Godric's Hollow as often as he wanted, and while glamoured, he could get anything he needed or wanted in the magical alleys.
Sirius would expect him to be a normal magical child. He would have to play a role to fit the man's expectations, and he'd have to follow rules. His freedom would be dramatically reduced. The Dursley's were just scared of him and let him do whatever he wanted.
So it really came down to the simple fact that having Sirius be his guardian really wouldn't benefit his current situation at all, and it wasn't worth the effort needed to clear him. Doing something like that would also draw attention to Harry. Attention from people like Dumbledore and Harry still wasn't prepared or powerful enough to face that problem yet. Perhaps when it was closer to Harry being eleven he would address the issue – of course, by then, Sirius could be completely insane... only time would tell.
–
During all of this time, Harry continued nightly exercises with his magic. Pulling magic into his body, moving it about and slowly letting it out again. As more time passed, he slowly increased the amount of magic he pulled in, forcing his body to grow adjusted to it. He had to be careful though. He couldn't rush it. Every time he tried, he ended up making himself sick. Magical exhaustion was a very miserable feeling, and he absolutely hated it.
When he was seven, he felt like his body was beginning to reach a level where he might be able to attempt some more high level spells and he attempted another summoning spell, trying to call out to Tom's soul – but this time, without the stones. He hoped that performing the spell entirely with his own magic would get better results, but once again something weird happened and prevented his success. However, he was at least not left exhausted or sick from the attempt.
He tried again three weeks later and was met with the same wall. It baffled and bewildered him. He couldn't understand what was blocking him.
It was on his third attempt – an attempt that he made while keeping an especially close eye on what was going on with his magic – that he first began to suspect some of what was going on.
A weird magical force was blocking him, and he recognized that force. He'd seen it active in two other places before, and seen residue of it in a third. One active place was in the ward layer around Privet Drive that oddly enough, appeared to have been cast by Lily Potter, and the other was in the strange magical seal around the Dark magic trapped in his scar. The place where he'd seen residue of this magical signature was in the nursery on the second floor of his house in Godric's Hollow. Centered and focused around the very spot on the floor where his mother had died.
The magic preventing him from success at summoning Tom's soul was his mother's magic.
Powerful, mysterious magic that was somehow left inside him by his mother's sacrificial death, was preventing his summons, and it appeared as if there was nothing he could do about it.
He wanted to scream. The mountain of frustrated rage that this realization brought to him, was monumental.
It was this discovery that led to the subject of the next year's worth of dedicated research. After spending a month's worth of evenings and weekends focused solely on trying and failing to dismantle the strange Light magic that appeared locked in his very veins, Harry began researching a branch of magic that he had admittedly, severely neglected.
It was a branch of magic that had never interested him, and that he had always dismissed, but he now realized that he would have to learn as much about it as possible if he were ever going to free himself of this frustrating protective power that had been left within him by his mother.
Light magic.
The only really fortunate thing about his new focus was that it was very easy to research. There were no laws banning the study of Light magic. No one would look at you suspiciously for frequenting the – surprisingly small – section of various book stores or the library that held the books on the subject. No one suspected you of doing something shady if you asked for every book they had on the subject.
The funny thing about all this was that Harry quickly came to realize people's lack of concern about this branch of magic was clearly based entirely on ignorance of the subject matter. Light magic was far from harmless. Quite the contrary, actually.
The more Harry researched the branch of magic the more he realized how naive he had been for dismissing it in his youth. Or... rather, in his previous youth.
Light Magic was not the harmless end of the dangerous scale as many seemed to assume. People thought of Dark magic as the evil stuff while Light magic was the... not evil stuff? Well, in any case, it was an ignorant assumption. Light and Dark were merely two ends of a very large spectrum of magic. Two extremes.
At one point he mentally compared the two branches to the simplified muggle chemistry he was actually being subjected to in his primary school at the time. Dark and Light were, in a way, like acids and bases. Everyone knew acids would burn you, but people often forgot that strong bases were just as dangerous. Hydrochloric acid burned the skin horribly, but so did ammonia – a base. Yet put a powerful acid and a powerful base together and you get neutralization – you get water. The two could cancel each other out, given the proper circumstances.
It was the same way in that the powerful Light magic left from his mother was able to neutralize the mysterious powerful Dark magic left behind by Tom's failed killing curse.
Both Light and Dark could be equally dangerous and deadly, but they could also cancel each other out.
His research into Light magic was surprisingly fascinating. He knew he needed to focus on the protective side of Light magic since that was obviously what had been left in him, but there was a whole range of offensive Light magic to entice his curiosity.
It was so fundamentally different than anything he had ever explored before, and he had to admit that the challenge that posed to his thinking was intriguing.
By the time he turned eight he had two journals full of notes and theories, and finally felt like he'd developed enough solid ideas to start really poking at the protective magic his mother had left in him. He had been hesitant to simply try ripping it all down since it was protecting him from whatever the hell that Dark magic was, and there was the very real possibility that if the protection came down, whatever it was would just kill him instantly. So instead he started by trying to pull the protection aside enough for him to try an analyze the Dark magic. If he could figure out what it was, exactly, he could prepare a counter to the curse, or figure out what steps would be needed to actually remove it, or seal it himself without the need of his mother's magic.
It was two weeks after Halloween that Harry finally succeeded in this regard and what he discovered was shocking beyond words.
It was a horcrux.
He had a bloody horcrux inside him!
It was a piece of soul, encapsulated, protected, isolated, and surrounded by a swirling vortex of protective Dark magic to prevent it being tampered with or destroyed, as any horcrux should be, only just outside the swirling Dark magic was a maelstrom of powerful, protective Light magic, sealing it up tight. The powerful Dark magics detected in his scar were those that would normally transfer to the horcrux's vessel to prevent it from ever being destroyed, in order to protect the soul shard contained within.
It appeared that the Dark magic within him wasn't actually a threat at all – if set free it would try to protect the vessel – him – not harm him. However, Harry had to admit that he wasn't entirely sure what would happen if the Light magic that was keeping the soul isolated was gone, and the soul shard was given free reign in his body. What would the foreign piece of soul within him do? What would happen to it? What would happen to him?
Only a few writings on horcruxes that he and Tom had read had ever even considered the possibility of using a living being as a vessel for a horcrux and even they had only been theoretical texts. No one had ever done it before, as far as anyone knew. It was obviously a bad idea, just on principle. The magics that protect a horcrux could only do so much when the vessel was a living, biological, being. It couldn't make the host impervious or immortal. If the vessel was destroyed – or if it died – the horcrux was lost.
More than any other concerns that Harry had at the moment, was the simple fact that he needed to find a way to get the piece of soul out of him and back to Tom without damaging it. If he died, this piece would be lost and he refused to allow that to happen! He had to protect the piece of Tom that he carried! Which also meant that he couldn't do anything to risk his own life until he figured out a way to safely remove it and get it back to Tom's central soul.
Tampering with his mother's protection was going to be even more tricky with all of this in mind.
He tried a few more times over the next two months to combine magics to pull back or suppress the Light protection, while simultaneously performing a summoning spell for Tom's central soul piece. The summoning part was actually an easier version of the spell, since he actually had a horcrux at his disposal – himself – however it still didn't work, and it left him utterly exhausted.
The protective Light magic was just too powerful, and it was fighting too hard to repel any contact or summoning of Tom's soul.
It was a few weeks later, while reading one of the texts he had kept in his vault on horcruxes, that he got an idea for a different approach to take.
It appeared that no matter what he tried, he could not call Tom's soul to him, however, since he had a horcrux in him, and since he was a damn powerful necromancer to boot, he still had access to a direct connection to Tom's soul. When he entered the proper trance he could actually see the tiny thread-like tether that connected his body to Tom's central core. It was sort of strange, actually; having more than one astral tether attached to his body... but it provided him with the perfect gateway for what he decided to try next.
He obviously couldn't bring Tom to him in order to help the man restore a body, but he could still help in another way. As a bodiless specter, Tom was no doubt near powerless. Weak, and unable to do little more than float about and perhaps possess very simple animals. Harry decided that he would help by feeding magic along the connection to Tom to use as an additional power source. Hopefully, with that extra magic at his disposal, Tom would be able to help himself.
Or at least, Harry hoped so.
In any case, it was the best he could come up with at the moment. So he began a daily routine where every morning as soon as he got up, every afternoon as soon as he was done with school, and every night before bed, he would sit, cross-legged on the floor, and meditate. He would suppress his mother's protection while focusing on the astral tether that connected his scar to Tom's central soul and feed magic through it.
It was probably the most strenuous and exhausting magical exercise he had ever endured. In the beginning he was only able to feed a relatively small amount of magic along the link, but as the months passed, the less difficult it became to send more magical energy without knocking himself out form exhaustion.
There were times he swore he could almost feel something trying to come back along the link. A feather-like touch at first, and then the slightest indication of curiosity. But whenever something attempted to come back to Harry along the link, that damned protective magic would flare up and fight it. Harry would try to hold it back, but by the time he had control over the protective magic, the touch would have retreated and he was left frustrated.
He kept up his efforts, and months and months passed with no obvious change or progress. Not that he had any idea what exactly he might be looking for as a sign of 'progress'.
Summer came and Harry spent almost all of his time at the Godric's Hollow house. He made sure to make appearances on Privet Drive from time to time for the sake of Dumbledore's pet squib. He only slept in his room at the Dursley's house once a week, and that was simply for the sake of resetting the ward that checked to make sure he wasn't gone for more than two weeks.
He continued his studies into Light magic, hoping for some breakthrough in regards to figure out exactly what the hell sort of magic his mother had used to guarantee his 'protection', but wasn't getting anywhere on that front. He kept up on wizarding news through a few different papers that were deposited into his rented owl post box every day, visited the Alley's frequently, and continued his three-times-a-day meditations to send magic to Tom's soul.
Harry had also been doing some more active managing of his money since he literally had no income and was slowly eating away at his savings. It wasn't a significant concern since his vaults had a literal fortune in them, but Harry had always been money conscious – it was an understandable result of growing up poor and hungry – so he made it a point to take an active role in how his old fortune was managed and invested in order to begin turning a profit. As a result of this, the only inhabitants of Diagon Alley that ever saw him as 'Harry Potter' were the goblins, and even when he went there, he remained glamoured until he entered his account manager's private office.
The goblin had been intrigued the first time he'd seen Harry come to him glamoured. He had no doubt suspected during their first meeting that there was clearly more to the young wizard than met the eye, but the obvious display of powerful magic from a small child confirmed any suspicions the old goblin might have had as to Harry being and knowing far more than a normal child should. He never questioned Harry, though, and they had a very good working relationship. Goblins valued client-privacy almost as much as they valued gold. And since Harry's account manager got a percentage of any of the investments that he assisted Harry make, as long as Harry was making profitable financial decisions, he didn't care who or what Harry was, and wouldn't betray his secrets.
–
Harry turned nine years old without any notice or fuss from anyone, including himself. In the fall he returned to primary school where he continued to charm his teachers. He was an outcast among his classmates, but none of them were stupid enough to try and bully him. The teachers liked him, but were still observant enough to realize that certain children – the ones that tended to pick on the weaker children – seemed to be afraid of Harry, an thus, left him alone. None of the kids would ever talk about why they were afraid, of course. Those that did make accusations were dismissed because those accusations tended to be ludicrous or impossible. The teachers generally brushed it all off with the excuse that Harry was a prodigy and his intelligence intimidated his classmates.
Harry continued his meditation routine every day, even after returning to school. He had no idea if it was making any difference at all, on Tom's end. The link between them seemed to be growing stronger, and sending magic was easier – that much he could tell. The light touches from the other side began to occur more frequently as Halloween drew closer, and Harry always tried to catch them and hold the protections down, but never quite succeeded.
It was nearing midnight on Halloween – on Samhain – and he was in the sitting room of his Godric's Hollow house. He had gone there that night to get away from his relatives and the frequent visitors to their door for the ridiculous muggle tradition of going door-to-door to beg for free candy. Suddenly, and without any warning, his forehead exploded with pain.
His hand flew up to his scar and he yelped out in shock before struggling to stifle his vocalizations by biting down on his lip. He tasted blood in his mouth and realized that was probably not the best approach, but was too busy trying to hold back the tears that threatened to leak from his eyes as his head continued to pound horrifically with pain. It pulsed rhythmically and seemed to be growing in tempo and intensity with each passing moment.
He tried to steady his breathing and focused his magic on clearing his mind so he could make sense of what the hell was happening, but it was hard. Everything hurt so much! It was spreading everywhere and he could almost feel it all the way down to his toes.
He finally managed to gain enough control of his senses to realize that a great deal of the pain was actually being caused by that blasted protection as it tried to fight against a Dark magical force from the link. It was in overdrive, trying to throw up protective shields all around him and fighting furiously against some external force.
He gritted his teeth, growling out and pulling as much power to himself as he could muster and crushed the damned light magic back, forcing it into submission. As soon as he had it under control the pain reseeded considerably. He instantly caught what it had been reacting to. The link was active and there was a force at the other end of it sucking at his magic like a vacuum. It was a surprisingly desperate suction. Something big was going on, on the other end, and it needed power. More power.
Both excited and worried by what this could mean he quickly set to feeding magic along the link, and the force on the other end seemed to respond eagerly, soaking up everything he could give it.
Harry didn't know how long he had managed to remain conscious as he fed magic to Tom's soul. All he knew was that at some point he must have passed out because the next thing he knew he was waking with worst headache he could ever remember, and the warmth of sunlight beating down upon his face from the partially curtained window a few feet away.
He was laying on the floor, curled into a ball. He felt light-headed, and his clothes were damp as if he had been sweating profusely for hours. As he made to sit up, he felt exceedingly dizzy, and settled for laying back down for a few more minutes instead.
He spent several minutes regulating his breathing and trying to think past the headache that he decided was a mix between the worst imaginable hangover, and an epic-level migraine. Finally he forced himself to stand up, and wobbled on his feet slightly as he made his way out of the sitting room and down the hall to the first floor bathroom.
Upon looking at his reflection in the mirror, he saw that his scar was horribly inflamed and that it had bled. Which was... bizarre. But the evidence was obvious to see. Quite a bit of dried blood caked his forehead, dripping down to the side, to show that it had happened while he was horizontal and on the floor.
His Black Sight told him that the Dark magic around his horcrux scar was basically the same as ever, so that hadn't changed any.
He disrobed and climbed into the shower. The water went a long way to clearing his mind, and gargling copious amounts of water helped clear the cottony taste that seemed to have taken over his mouth.
As his head cleared his ability to think over what had happened the previous night grew. He had a few theories. The one he was hoping for was that Tom had managed something on his end. That he had intentionally done something, and maybe had succeeded. Tom could have a body back right that very moment, and that thought excited Harry – a lot.
Another, far more worrying possibility was that something had happened to Tom. That he had been attacked or something and the draw on Harry's magic had been in an attempt on Tom's half to try and defend himself.
In the end, Harry really had no way of knowing for sure what had happened.
He sighed heavily as he left the shower, wrapped himself in a towel and weakly made his way up the stairs to the master bedroom that he had claimed and fixed up as his own years earlier.
–
Harry wasn't up to even attempting to send magic along the link for about a week. His own magical reserves had been utterly depleted and after resorting to using the Knight Bus to get back to Surrey and walking a few blocks to 4 Privet Drive, he could do little more than climb up to his bed and sleep. He'd stayed home from school for the week and told Petunia to call him in sick.
He was so weak during that time that he had no chance of suppressing the protective magic in his blood enough to even try to tap into the link. Finally, after suffering through magical exhaustion for about 9 days, he felt like he had enough power reserves to attempt accessing the link.
He left Privet Drive, since as a general rule, he refused to do any strenuous magical activity there, even if it didn't involve a wand, simply because it was better safe than sorry where Dumbledore's wards were concerned. He managed to apparate back to Godric's Hollow and settled into the sitting room of his house before entering a meditative state and suppressing the protective magics.
The moment he attempted to tap into the link he was rebuked. It was a sudden and rather forceful push and the strength to it shocked him. Someone was blocking him. A powerful wall of magic, protecting the person on the other end.
Shields. Occlumency shields!
Harry gasped as he jerked out of his trance and was filled with a sense of elation. If Tom was able to form Occlumency shields around himself, it meant he had a body! He had a body! He was alive again!
Harry jumped to his feet and let out an excited yell and did a ridiculous, childish little jig that he never would have allowed himself had he been in an adult body for fear of looking far too idiotic.
But he didn't care. Not at this moment. His plan had worked. He had helped Tom get a body back!
Now to figure out where the hell the man was and how to get in contact with him.
– –
Nothing. Bloody nothing. That was what Harry had found. Months had passed. Christmas had come and gone. Bloody Valentines day had come and gone, and he had found nothing.
He couldn't breach Tom's Occlumency wall at all, no matter how hard he tried. The tracking and scrying spells he had tried had all failed – not that he had honestly expected any of them to work. The super-long-shot attempt of sending an owl out with a letter addressed to 'Tom Riddle', and even another attempt with a letter addressed to 'Voldemort' and also failed. But he had honestly expected that. It was a stupid thing to try, but he'd been getting desperate.
He kept close watch on all of the papers, both muggle and wizard for any signs that Tom might be regrouping, but found nothing.
He was getting frantic. He knew Tom had a body back. He was sure of that fact. But how to find the man? Would he really have to wait until he had come out of hiding? He wasn't surprised with the idea of Tom trying to lay low. Rebuild his power. Regroup. Act in the shadows for a while until he was actually ready, and then announce his return.
But Harry wondered how he would get a hold of Tom, even after he knew he was publicly 'back'. He knew that even then, Tom would be a hard man to get a hold of.
–
It was March, and he was walking through Diagon Alley from the Post Office towards the apparition lot while in his halfbreed glamour when he caught Sight of a wizard walking down the street past him with a mass of blackish-purple energy dancing around his left forearm.
Harry barely held in a gasp as he realized what it was and turned and began to follow the man as subtly as he could manage. This man was a Death Eater. He wore Tom's mark upon his arm! But the most fantastic thing about this wasn't he fact that he'd found a Death Eater, it was the fact that the mark was active! Harry had caught glimpses of a few other marked wizards over the years as he made his way through Diagon Alley and especially through Knockturn Alley, but that had been before Tom had regained a body and the magic in those marks had been dormant. This mark was active.
Harry continued to tail the man, following him into Knockturn Alley. He realized a few minutes in, that the man knew he was being tailed, despite Harry's caution. Harry wasn't about to give up though and continued on his quest. Without any warning, the man ducked into the space between two buildings suddenly. Harry, knowing that he was walking into a potentially dangerous situation decided it was time to bring out a few big guns. He dug deep into his magical core, grasping hold of his necromantic powers and whispering under his breath while his hands began to frantically fly through a series of complex hand positions. The power rushed through him and in a flash of deep sanguine red light, his body was engulfed in a strange translucent darkness. He was partially see-through, and an aura of necromantic power pulsed around him. In a flash of darkness, he was gone from the spot and seemed to simply reappear at the other end of the narrow alley, directly behind the wizard he had been following. A wizard who was standing, facing the entrance of the alley with his wand at the ready.
He hadn't even had the chance to acknowledge that Harry had appeared behind him, before he had been incapacitated.
– –
The man came to, an undetermined time later. He found himself in a dirty room with shuttered windows. He was bound to a chair in the center of the room, but it was hard to tell if there was anything else around him since it was so dim.
He swiveled his head around, pushing down the sense of panic that wanted to build within him at waking in an unfamiliar place.
"Don't worry..." a voice said from behind him, and his head twisted to the side as he attempted to get a look at the source. He gasped as his eyes laid upon the strange figure standing just to the side and behind him, and slowing walking around him towards the front.
The figure was pretty short; probably only about four feet tall, but the person's entire body was a silhouette of semi-translucent blackness, and it had nothing to do with the poor lighting. Swirling around the figure was a dark reddish aura, pulsing and swirling around it slowly and filling the room with a terrifyingly Dark magical presence.
"Who... what are you?" the man stuttered. "Why-why do you look like that?"
"I look like this because I walk with death," the figure spoke in a terrifying whisper. It was probably male, but the voice sounded strangely young. What was truly weird was that when the voice spoke, it seemed to have several echoes to go with it. Like distant whispers. Little voices in the background, speaking things he couldn't understand or quite make out. It sent a terrible shiver down his spine.
"What do you want with me?" the man whimpered. "I ain't done nothing! You can't do this ta me!"
"I will not harm you," the frightening voice spoke – again, accompanied by the strange whispering echoes. "I simply desire information. Information I wish to get from you. Tell me what I want and I will let you go."
"I don't know nothin'!"
"Oh, I suspect you know something. Now tell me... how long ago were you marked by the Dark Lord?"
The man gasped and his eyes widened in horror.
"I don't know what yur talkin' 'bout! I ain't no D-death Eater! I ain't done nothin'!"
The strange dark figure seemed to give an exasperated sigh and waved it's dark hand, sending out a wave of the deep blood-red magical darkness. It struck the man and he was suddenly screaming. The scream cut off an instant later with another move of the dark figure's hand.
"I do not want to have to repeat myself," the figure hissed in low voice and the man whimpered and shuttered again. "Tell me. How long ago were you marked?"
"I... I..." the man shook and then swallowed thickly. "It was about ten years ago. Before he died."
"Died? Are you really so sure he's dead?"
"Well... I mean, that's what they all said, yeah? That... that he was destroyed by that brat. Potter."
"Yes, yes. Whatever. Your Mark. It's active. How long has it been that way?"
Again the man's eyes widened and then darted down to his left arm, bound to the arm of the chair and then back up at the strange figure.
"It... er... Halloween. It... it was getting clearer be'fer that though. Started getting darker durin' the summer sum time. But it burned on Halloween. Been like this ever since then."
"And has he called you to him?" the figure asked, and the man could hear eager anticipation in the figure's strangely youthful voice. Even more creepy, the whisperey echoes sounded excited as well.
The man shook his head form side to side. "No. No, he hasn't. I ain't been summoned. Ain't nothin' happened since Halloween. Nothin's changed, nothin's called me."
The figure growled in frustration and the glow red misty aura flared angrily. The man flinched as he felt the powerful Dark magic lash out at him, but it did not strike.
"Have you spoke with any of the others? Other Death Eaters?" the figure asked after a moment.
"I... I only knew a few. I wasn't in the inner circle, ya see. But... well, I talked with the few I did know."
"And?"
"Nothing fer them either. None of 'em have been summoned."
The figure flashed and was suddenly standing directly in front of the bound man and his black, semi-translucent hand and arm reached out and grasped him roughly by the neck. The man yelped in shock and in pain as the red, steam-like magic swirled around the figure and licked at the bound man like flames.
"If you are lying to me, I will kill you!" the frightening figure growled and the whispers grew louder and angry.
The bound man gasped and shook his head violently, trying to squirm away from the tiny hand and it's surprisingly powerful grip.
"I ain't lying! I swears it! I ain't lying!"
The cloud of magic engulfed him and he screamed as he felt his mind being entered, forcefully. His mental shields were tossed aside as if they were nothing and images were flying through his minds eye.
A moment later the presence retreated and the bound man was left heaving heavy breaths and shaking violently.
The strange figure sighed and turned away from him.
"You speak the truth," the figure said, although it sounded entirely disappointed and annoyed with this statement. It paused a moment and then turned back around. "When you are finally summoned to him, tell him of this encounter. Tell him of me, and what happened here today. Tell him that Valerius is alive and searching for him. Repeat it."
"Whuh?"
"Repeat what I said! Valerius is alive and searching for him!
"V-valerius is ah... alive and searching for him. Yeah?"
"Correct. You will tell him this for me?" the figure asked, and it was clearly not a question, but rather a threat.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll tell 'im. You... you really think he's back then?"
"Of course he is you fool," the figure spat before turned away, taking a few steps forward and seemingly disappearing in a flash of black and red vapour. The dimness of the room diminished almost instantly and the man suddenly found that his binds had disappeared.
He stood up, shakily and his eyes darted around the room for a moment before he checked his robes for his wand. It was in his pocket. Good. He hastily moved to the door and found it unlocked. He quickly ran from the building, thankful the strange incident had ended without anything worse happening.
– –
Harry repeated this scenario three more times during the next five months. Every time he managed to come across a Marked wizard he would question them to see if they had been summoned to Tom's side. Strangely enough, none of them had. One of them had even been an inner circle member and he was a man who knew who all of the other inner circle members were by name, had spoken with all of them since Halloween, and knew that none of them had been summoned either.
Harry couldn't make sense of it. Why, if Tom had his body back, had the man not called any of his old followers out yet?
Harry had thought that Tom would be using this time to regroup and prepare in secret, but if he was he didn't seem to be preparing in the way Harry would have expected.
Was he unable? Was he trapped somewhere? Incapacitated in some way? The prospect of that was not appealing in the least. But another possibility occurred to him. Tom could have decided to do something before trying to regroup his followers in Britain. He and Tom had seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth a few times over the years for the sake of going abroad to search for some magical artifact, or research some obscure magic or theory. He could imagine Tom disappearing with the intent of acquiring something to try and make himself stronger. He would no doubt be wary, given how his body had been destroyed by an inexplicable magical backfire.
That was another possible theory. Tom could be searching for some explanation as to what the hell had happened that night when he shot the killing curse at Harry.
In the end, all Harry could do was theorize and guess. He had no way of knowing what was going on and he hated that. He hated being in the dark. He hated having to wait.
But he had no other choice. So he waited.
Every now and then he would test the connection again, but there was always a rock solid wall up, preventing him entry. Spring was in full force and the school year was almost over. One day in school, it was announced that his class would be going on a field trip to the local zoo and they were all given permission slips to get signed.
Harry had no problem getting Petunia to sign the blasted thing and returned it to his teacher with little enthusiasm. It was just another stupid waste of time. It was meaningless, but it was a way to pass the days. Perhaps – he told himself – once he was at Hogwarts he would have access to better information. Better sources. He could only hope.
His class loaded into buses later that week and were taken to the zoo. It was the first time Harry had been to one in this life. Or the last, for that matter. He'd never actually been to a muggle zoo before, now that he thought about it.
It was entertaining enough, as far as pointless distractions were concerned. The animals were... well, they were animals. They were all mundane, of course – no magical creatures in a muggle zoo – but quite a few of them were pretty or interesting.
His classmates were rowdy and annoying as ever and he tuned them out as his teacher led them all into a large enclosed building that turned out to be a reptile house.
Harry sighed heavily and made his way over to the snake aquariums while several of the boys from his class began to ogle a komodo dragon.
He ran his fingers along the glass cage of a boa constrictor and observed the beautiful, impressive serpent.
"You look almost as bored as I feel." Harry commented dryly to the animal. Surprisingly, the snake rose it's head and focused on Harry.
The snake did nothing else, and Harry was about to just turn and leave, shrugging off the strange reaction when he heard a strange hissing voice.
"I sssuspect, youngling, that I am far more bored than you."
Harry blinked and did a double-take at the snake.
He stood there, probably gaping like an idiot for a moment before he gathered himself up.
"Did you just speak to me?"
"Yesss. But you spoke to me firsst."
"Did I?" Harry asked, pausing to pay closer attention to his own words. Tom had described to him on several occasions during their youth how strange parseltongue was for him since to him, it sounded as if he were speaking and hearing English. It had required Heri telling him otherwise for Tom to realize he was actually speaking a different language.
"I...am I speaking snake language?" Harry said, trying to listen closely to his own words.
"Obviousssly," the snake said back.
And the snake was right. It was obvious now that he was paying attention. He could hear the strange breathy hissing quality to his voice.
"Bloody hell! I'm a parssselmouth!" Harry exclaimed in shock. How the hell had that happened? There was no way he was descended from Slytherin. He had Potter and Black blood and neither of those lines had any connection to Salazar Slytherin. And his mum was a muggleborn, so there was no chance of a connection from that end.
Could it be from the horcrux? It was pretty strongly sealed away, so it was hard to imagine the ability to speak and understand parseltongue had seeped through, but it was still possible. So he had inherited parseltongue from Tom's soul?
That was... fascinating. And it opened a whole world of possibilities. Especially once he got to Hogwarts! He could go down into the Chamber's library!
Of course, that was only possible if Dumbledore wasn't watching him, or the Chamber's entrance, but it had been fifty years, so surely...
It was something to ponder on later. He wished he had access to Tom's vault as well, since he knew he had stored almost every parseltongue book he'd ever found since leaving Hogwarts, in there. He could finally read those blasted taunting books! He would have let a delighted cackle escape his mouth had he not been somewhere so public.
This was definitely a development to explore further.
– – –