Disclaimer: Harry Potter, et all are property of JK Rowling, and Bloomsbury, and Warner Bros and all those other nifty people that make it so we can read and watch the Potterverse whenever we feel like it. I make no money from this and I own nothing, just so you know.
Summary: [LV/HP] Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived. By some twist of Fate he was also the reincarnation of Voldemort's murdered lover. Harry has enjoyed the past few years at Hogwarts, but this one looks set to be even more intriguing. Suddenly smarter than he was before and plagued with memories of his past life as he sleeps, Harry prepares for the approaching war. Then Voldemort finds out who Harry really is. And every thing changes. AU.
Warnings: Slash. LV/HP. Past LV/OC (Harry). Violence. AU. Language. Character Death. Flashbacks. Horcruxes.
Rating: NC-17. Slash and Violence.
Name Meanings: I wanted to get this in early: "Anathema": a person or thing accursed or consigned to damnation or destruction. "Mallory": It is of Old French origin, and it's meaning is 'unlucky'. "Apep": Egyptian name, meaning 'to slither.' In mythology, Apep is the personification of evil, seen as a giant snake, serpent or dragon. Known as the Serpent of the Nile or Evil Lizard, he was an enemy of the sun god.
Animal Symbolism: "Panther"- Guardian, Energy, Understanding of Death, Reclaiming Ones Power, Ability to Know the Dark, Death, Rebirth. "Dog"- Guidance, Protection, Loyalty, Faithfulness, Devotion, Trust (The "Grim" is a ghostly image of a large dog-like beast; seeing one portends death).
I remember black skies, the lightening all around me.
I remembered each flash as time began to blur,
Like a startling sign that Fate had finally found me
And your voice was all I heard. Did I get what I deserved? -- Linkin Park.
Little Whinging was an ordinary little village. It wasn't large, but it wasn't too small either. It had been deemed perfect by Mr and Mrs Dursley when they had first decided to move there several years ago. Normal and tidy, with lots of neighbours to spy on and plenty of garden space for their future children to play in, the house of Number 4, Privet Drive couldn't have been more ordinary if it had tried.
The only thing less ordinary about the house was that one of its inhabitants was a Wizard named Harry Potter. Harry was the nephew of Petunia Dursley. The Dursleys had been forced to care for Harry after his parents had died sixteen years ago, and despite the fact that Harry spent most of the year at a boarding school in Scotland, they thought of Harry as a burden.
Normally Harry didn't mind. He wasn't all that fond of his Muggle relatives either, but the past school years had been hard on him. Two years ago, his beloved godfather had died. He had only known Sirius for two years at the time of his death, but Harry had been hit terribly hard by Sirius' murder. There was something about the man that compelled Harry to love him beyond reason and definition. He felt like he had known the man before, a long time ago, and not just when he had been a baby. Just as the boy thought he might be starting to heal, to 'get over it' as many people thought he should, his pseudo-grandfather had been killed a little over a month ago. The Headmaster's death had rocked him, sending his mind careening across a vast ocean of despair. How was he supposed to defeat Voldemort without his mentor's help?
The house was quiet, as it always was that late at night. Strangely enough, Harry was actually sleeping. He usually fought to stay awake for as long as possible. Lately, he had been having the strangest dreams. They hadn't come from Voldemort, but they weren't ordinary dreams either. Things happened in them; things that Harry could understand and relate to and they made him feel a horrid sense of déjà vu despite the fact that he had never experienced those things.
Sometimes, the dreams were more like nightmares.
Sometimes, they started off as nightmares.
Harry reached for the Locket, scooping it into his hand before turning from the basin. He ran back to Dumbledore, who was crouched a little way away, close to the edge of the island. Far too close to the water for Harry's liking.
"I've gotten it, Professor," Harry called. Harry heard himself speak, as if someone else had spoken, but at the same time he felt his mouth move to form the words. It was strange, this dream, he thought. A hybrid between a real dream and a visit into a Pensieve. "Let's go," he told his Headmaster.
Dumbledore merely looked up at him warily. "Water?" He begged, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Please?"
Harry ran to the basin. He grabbed hold of the cup, and when his spell failed to conjure water, he dipped the cup into the strange, clouded water that lapped against the island they stood on. He raised the cup.
With a frown, he looked around the Astronomy Tower. Harry was hidden under his cloak, and try as he might he couldn't free himself from Dumbledore's stunner. In his hand, he held onto the fake Locket, it dangled loosely from his fingers and Harry half hoped it would slip free and hit the ground. Its noise would let the others know they were being watched. Snape might stop long enough to investigate the noise.
Bright green light filled the room. Draco and Severus looked away, shielding their eyes, but Harry had no choice but to stare straight ahead and watch. He screamed, silent and unheard, as Dumbledore arched gracefully backwards (so reminiscent to Sirius' death) and tumbled back out of the window. The moment Harry was able to move, to squeeze the chain of the Locket so hard that it hurt, was the moment he knew Dumbledore was dead.
He looked down at the Locket. It was so unassuming, and while fancy and gaudy, it wasn't something that Harry thought Voldemort would even look twice at if not for the elaborate 'S' on the front of it that marked it as a past possession of Salazar Slytherin. He squeezed his hand around it once more, before he ran from the Tower. He chased after Snape, screaming the man's name, and the locket lay discarded on the floor.
Tom reached into his pocket and pulled forth the Locket. He held it out to Anathema, allowing the boy to see it as it dangled loosely from his fingers.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" The young Voldemort asked his lover. Merely 21, but already Tom exuded an aura of power strong enough that the other inhabitants of one of London's less popular streets steered well clear of him. They twisted their bodies out of the way, and changed directions in some cases, just to avoid him.
The dark haired beauty smiled. His eyes were a startling shade of green, his skin pale like porcelain and his lips were pale pink and bee stung. He reached out one hand to brush his fingers along the intricate 'S' on the front of the Locket. "A little much, don't you think?"
Tom chuckled lightly. His hand cupped Anathema's cheek lightly, brushing his thumb along the boy's cheekbone. "It once belonged to the great Salazar Slytherin, Ana. There is no other object of such beauty."
"Not even me?" Ana teased with another smile, his eyes shining in amusement.
Tom leant forward, his lips barely brushed against Anathema's as he whispered, "you are not an object, are you?"
A voice behind them startled them both. "No, but he is beautiful, ain't he?" Tom whirled around, eyes narrowing as they landed on the scantily dressed Muggle woman that was pressed up against the wall. She licked her lips at Ana, before she sauntered forward, ignoring the danger that was Tom Riddle. "Fancy a go, pretty boy? I ain't expensive, I promise." Her finger was suddenly against his mouth, pressing hard against Ana's bottom lip, and the young man turned wide eyes to his lover.
Anathema swallowed heavily as he met Tom's eyes. The man was angry, very angry. His whole face had gone chalk white and his eyes had started to bleed into a bright shade of red. His wand was in his free hand, and he had it pointed between the woman's shoulders.
"Get away from my partner," he ground out, his words only half in English.
She didn't even turn to look at him. Instead, she pressed herself up against Anathema, ignoring his attempts to push her away without hurting her, and whispered into the man's ear. "Tell your prude to go home, or tell him to let me share you."
A hiss escaped Tom's lips, and in a flash of green light the prostitute slumped forward bonelessly. Ana grunted as the weight landed heavily on him, but Tom grabbed the body by the shoulder and flung her to the ground, away from Anathema.
In Tom's hand, the Locket glowed white brightly for a moment. When the light faded, even Ana could tell there was something different about it now. Something evil, that hadn't been there before. 1
Harry jerked forward in the bed. He gasped loudly, his hand pressed to his mouth to muffle any sound louder than his breathing for fear of waking his relatives up. That wasn't the first time he had watched Voldemort kill someone while he was sleeping. But it was the first time Harry could ever remember, including the times he had watched Dumbledore's memories, where Voldemort had ever hurt anyone in someone else's defence. It was startling. It was almost as if Voldemort actually cared about something other than immortality.
Harry had dreamt of Voldemort and the stranger having sex before. He had seen them kiss, and speak, and plot world domination. But this was the first time, the first dream, where Harry could honestly say he believed Tom Riddle might once have been human.
July 23rd 1997.
Vernon Dursley could never be mistaken for a nice man. People might think he was kind and polite, but those who knew him, knew better. Harry knew his uncle very well, and the longer Harry spent in the man's company the more he hated him. Usually, Harry liked to pass the time by imagining how fun it would be for him to invite his Wizarding friends over to visit him, in his nice, ordinary, normal, Muggle household. He'd never dare, of course, Vernon's wrath wouldn't be worth the small moment of amusement, but it was nice to dream regardless.
Sometimes, Harry imagined what it would be like if someone came to take him away. Or if the Dursleys somehow ended up in prison, or killed in a car crash like they had lied to Harry and said his parents had been. He didn't think he had honestly ever, truly, wished them dead. In his first year at Hogwarts, didn't Lord Voldemort offer to 'take care' of his relatives, and Harry had refused them? After all, where else would he go? Of course, he'd probably also feel guilty about their deaths, but that hadn't been the eleven-year-olds biggest concern.
No, he might have imagined their dying, but when push came to shove, Harry had always hoped no one else would die for him.
Right now, Harry was glad he didn't have his wand handy. There was only so much of Vernon's bigoted bullshit that he could take, and Harry just wanted, needed, one more shove in the right direction and he would be happy to curse the Muggle to within an inch of his life. His wand hand was itching to be used, his feet tapped restlessly against the floor, urging him to go searching for his wand. But Harry stayed where he was, silently listening as uncle Vernon verbally ground the boy under his shoe.
"And don't get me started on your mother-!" The man said. He opened his mouth to continue, but Harry's hand was pointed at his face. It clenched at the air, and he imagined the feel of his wand between his fingers and his palm, heavy and familiar in his hand.
"Don't talk about my Mother." Lily Potter had always been a sore point for Harry. His father had died to protect them both, Lily and him, from Voldemort and Harry did love his father very much. But it always hurt more to hear his mother insulted, the same woman who died solely to protect him.
"Now see hear, you filthy piece of s-!" Again, Harry cut him off.
"Sectumsempra!" He cried. Vernon's eyes went wide, his face paled at the 'magical' word and he backed away hurriedly with his hands in front of his face. But that was the only thing that happened. Without a wand, Harry hadn't been able to cast the spell.
Harry dropped his arm, his fingers clenched at his sides. With wide green eyes, he looked upon the still living form of his uncle, who had now been joined by an equally horrified aunt and cousin.
"I didn't mean… I didn't mean to…" Harry stuttered, his jaw shaking as he tried to force out more words through the lump in his throat. He couldn't speak, he could barely breathe, he was that shocked. Why had he tried to use that spell? After seeing what it had done to Malfoy, he had still screamed it out, hoping it would work again and that no one would come to heal Vernon!
He turned away. Ignoring the family that huddled together as if to protect themselves from their own flesh and blood, Harry ran from the house. As if the Death Eaters were chasing him, Harry ran along Privet Drive, then Wisteria Walk, further and further until at last there was no chance of him seeing Number 4.
Then he collapsed to the ground. His scar had started to hurt, and Harry pressed one hand to it, while his right hand unconsciously mimicked the wand movement for the Sectumsempra Curse.
He sat there all night, too horrified to go back and face what he had almost done. How could he go back, knowing that when he returned he would be disappointed that the spell hadn't worked? Harry frowned, squeezing the fingers of his right hand into a tight fist to stop himself from practising the curse.
He promised himself, as the sun was rising, that he would go home, and he wouldn't try to hurt the Dursleys again.
Depending on your views about DH, this will have a happy (or sad) ending… happy for me though, since I hated DH.
Thanks for reading the first chapter.