Chapter Text
The weather in Little Hangleton was bleak. Dark grey clouds covered any streams of light that threatened to shine through, a soft drizzle beat down on the ground, and the wind whistling through the trees gave a distinct horror movie feel to the whole situation, and there, in the thick of it, three young wizards stood in front of an imposing manor home.
“So.” The young muggle-born witch, with wild bushy hair and eyes that had seen too much for someone so young, looked at the two boys with her.
“So.” The tall red-headed wizard responded, looking at the final wizard in the trio, his black hair standing up in every direction, glowing green eyes fixed on the Riddle Manor.
“We’re actually doing this?” Hermione looked between the two boys; the only visible sign of her nerves was the slight tightness in her posture.
“We’re actually doing this,” Ron confirmed with a tight nod of his head.
Harry turned to look at his friends for the first time since they had landed in Little Hangleton, a feral grin lighting up his face.
“Let’s tear it down.” All three sets of eyes lit up as they stood together, wands pointed at Riddle Manor. With a burst of raw magic, the three teenagers began to tear through the wards with ease. Pops of apparition sounded around them, and spells started flying. Ron and Hermione grinned at each other; both had been rearing for a good fight. They tore through the Death Eaters ranks with ease, their fighting style perfectly in sync with each other, swapping between shielding and fighting as Harry poured his magic into the wards surrounding Riddle Manner, completely decimating them. Then, with a loud crash, the wards broke, and Harry turned his attention to the remaining Death Eaters. Focusing on his core, Harry drew his magic into himself, content to know that his best friends would be protecting him, and when he had concentrated enough power, let it go in a burst, cutting down all the remaining Death Eaters in one fell swoop.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance Mr Potter.” The serpentine hiss of Lord Voldemort was unmistakable.
Harry smiled and turned to face him. “Ah, Tom, just the man I wanted to see.” A sickly green spell flew at Harry, but he easily batted it away, then twisted his hand sharply, flicking his fingers. Voldemort’s wand flew out of his hands and landed perfectly in Harry’s outstretched one. “Now, Tom, that was just rude. Here I am trying to have a civilised conversation, and you’re throwing Killing Curses at me.”
Voldemort stood there, gaping like a fish. This child had knocked a killing curse away with his hand and disarmed him like it was child's play. Then, quickly regaining his senses, Voldemort snapped his mouth shut and glared. “You. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Came to my home, decimated my Death Eaters, and tore down my wards because you want to have a chat?” Voldemort said incredulously. The two other teenagers with Harry even had the audacity to snort, their shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.
The cheeky little shit actually smirked. “Well, yeah. Basically.” Harry looked at the unconscious forms of the Death Eaters. “Had to make a point somehow.” Harry threw Voldemort’s wand back to him. “Are you going to invite us in?”
Voldemort studied the enigma in front of him. This Harry Potter was different somehow. Not only did he radiate power, such intoxicating power, but he also looked different. The last time Voldemort had seen the boy was at the end of his fifth year, in the Department of Mysteries just after the death of his godfather. Then, he had been a scrawny little thing, in clothes at least three times too big for him, absolutely nothing special. The Harry Potter that stood in front of him now, a mear two years later, looked like an almost entirely different man. If not for the signature Potter hair and those Avada Kedavra green eyes, which glowed with power, Voldemort might not have had even believed him the same person.
Finally, Voldemort lifted a non-existent eyebrow at the boy and said, “After you then, Potter, " with an exaggerated hand gesture.
The Trio moved as one with practised ease, in a manner not dissimilar to Aurors. Wands in hand, triangle formation, light on their feet ready from an attack from all sides. Whilst leading the trio through the opulent Riddle Manor towards his study, Voldemort wondered for a moment who had trained them, while they all radiated an impressive amount of raw power, the way they moved and fought was practised and perfected, which took time and training, certainly more than two years. Another question to add to the list, he supposed.
Voldemort sat behind his desk as the three teenagers took their seats in front of him and stared at him. And stared. And stared. And stared. When it was apparent they weren’t going to say anything, the Dark Lord huffed out a breath.
“Well, Potter, what is it that you came here for?” That fucking cheeky smirk was back as the bushy-haired witch handed him a tiny beaded bag. Reaching into the bag, the wizard pulled out a locket, a cup, a diadem, an already destroyed diary and a ring. With every item the Potter boy pulled out, Voldemort got angrier and angrier until he was practically vibrating with rage.
“ What have you done!” The Dark Lord was so incensed he hadn’t noticed his slip into Parseltongue.
“ You need to keep a better eye on your possessions Tom, imagine what would have happened if the wrong person got ahold of these.” Harry hissed right back, enjoying the thoroughly shocked expression on the Dark Lord’s face.
“ So it’s true then, you speak Parseltongue .” The Dark Lord stated.
“How do you think I got through your wards? For someone who’s supposed to be a genius, that’s quite the idiotic oversight .” The Dark Lord scowled as Harry bit back a laugh.
“How did you come across my Horcrux’s Potter? And why are you giving them back to me rather than handing them over to Dumbledore?” Voldemort did not miss the dark look that passed over all of the teenagers faces at the mention of Dumbledore, how fascinating. “Is the Gryffindor Golden Boy unhappy with our esteemed headmaster?” Voldermort practically purred.
“Don’t call me that.” Potter snapped, eyes glowing with malice.
“Isn’t that what you are?” Voldemort goaded. “Gryffindor Golden Boy, Chosen One, Boy-Who-Lived…” A sharp pain hit his face suddenly. “Did you just hit me with a stinging hex?” He asked incredulously.
“I told you not to call me that; next time, it won’t be a stinging hex.” Cheeky little shit.
“I should kill you for that, or at least torture you a bit.”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t want to hurt the carrier of your soul, would you, Tommy Boy.”
Voldemort had his wand out, ready to curse the brat when his words registered. “What did you say?”
“I said you wouldn’t want to hurt the carrier of your soul, honestly. Are you going deaf in your old age?” Twin groans came from either side of the boy as his companions buried their heads in their hands.
“Honestly, Harry, we were going to float that much more gently.” Hermione hissed at him.
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? Look, I’ve broken him!” Harry gestured wildly at the Dark Lord, who was staring at Harry in wide-eyed disbelief, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound was coming out. Ron and Hermione turned to look at the Dark Lord, taking one look at his face and failing to contain the twin snorts of amusement that escaped.
This seemed to snap Voldemort out of his trance, eyes trained on the scar that had made Harry famous Voldemort whispered, “That’s not possible. There’s never been a human Horcrux in all of existence.”
Harry just huffed at him. “That’s me, Harry Potter, doer of the impossible.”
Voldemort continued to stare at Harry’s scar, almost reverently. “How come I’ve never felt it?” He whispered, almost to himself.
“That’s what happens when you spilt your soul seven times Tom. You might want to look into fixing that.”
“Would you stop calling me that, Potter?”
“Alright, Riddle.”
“For fucks sake!”
“Look, I made him swear!” Harry laughed almost gleefully.
Voldemort was about to respond when a knock on the door interrupted them, and a young man with sandy blonde hair walked into the room.
“My Lord, I’m sorry for interrupting but….” Whatever the man was about to say was cut off when he saw who was sitting in the office with his Lord. “Harry?”
Harry’s head snapped up as he looked into the sparkling blue eyes trained on him.
“Barty?”