Harry Potter and the Trelawney Prophesy

AN: This chapter is dedicated to Sherlock, who has more than once asked about the scene I had mentioned that I might post way back when I was posting Slytherin Connection. It contains the scene which is the only one in the trilogy which isn't in Harry's POV.

Chapter 17

Voldemort's Options

Harry hit the ground at the surge of power that hit him but he felt no pain. He pushed himself to his feet and took stock. Staring at his hands, which were tingling with a muted sensation of pins and needles he realized...

"It worked," said Harry softly.

He looked at Voldemort who was on his knees and looking up at Harry with wide incredulous eyes. Harry couldn't help his grin.

Lucius moved towards Voldemort to help him up, but Harry stopped him.

"No, don't touch him," said Harry. He looked back at Voldemort. "How's it feel?"

"What did you do?" said Severus.

Harry squatted down before Voldemort at the flinch point and looked at him with a smile. "I took his power," said Harry. "Just like he used to steal mine and it drained him." Meeting those red eyes, that looked merely curious, he continued, "bet you'd love to get your hands on me now."

Voldemort actually grinned. "No, Harry."

"Oh? Why?" said Harry curiously.

"Because you look very pleased," said Voldemort. "What pleases you, pleases me, my son."

Harry smirked at him. "I could kill you right now, you know," said Harry.

Voldemort nodded. "I don't think you will."

"Why is that?" said Harry, smiling again. They had the Death Eaters' complete attention.

"I know your sense of honor, Harry," said Voldemort. "You won't curse a wizard who is down."

"Maybe," said Harry.

"I also know that you don't think you're ready."

"Maybe," said Harry again. "But that isn't why I won't."

"Tell me, Harry," said Voldemort with a knowing grin.

"Because I don't think you're done teaching me yet."

Voldemort chuckled softly. "Very good, Harry."

Harry stood up and glanced at Lucius. "Help him," said Harry.

Lucius helped Voldemort to his feet. Voldemort was still smiling.

"So how did you do it?" said Severus on Voldemort's other side.

Harry watched as Voldemort pulled his arms away from his Death Eaters then met his gaze.

"Anything I ask him, he will do," said Harry.

"You just asked him?" said Lucius with surprise.

"Yes."

Voldemort laughed with delight. "Ah, Harry. I have taught you well."

Then he did the unthinkable.

Stepping into the flinch zone, he took hold of Harry's head, pulled him forward and kissed his scar.

The world went instantly black.

****************

Voldemort looked down at the 17 year old wizard unconscious at his feet then across the room at the one year old baby on the floor next to his dead mother.

"Are you going to kill him, my lord?" Voldemort heard Lucius behind him just as he had 16 years before.

Voldemort looked back down at the 17 year old boy, which Lucius didn't seem to see. He had a choice.

"You have a son, Lucius," said Voldemort. "Do you not?"

"Yes, my lord," said Lucius.

Voldemort smiled. "Bring him," said Voldemort. "I will make him mine."

Images, memories, sights, sounds flew around Voldemort's mind like fallen leaves on a blustery autumn day. Teaching Harry, scolding Harry, testing Harry, punishing Harry. But never touching Harry. Voldemort hadn't had the urge to, unlike before when his touch put Harry in agony and he desperately wanted to be able to touch his son without him feeling pain. Now he simply didn't want to.

The swirling stopped and Voldemort looked down.

A 17 year old wizard pushed to his hands and knees at Voldemort's feet.

"I'm sorry, father," said Harry, breathing heavily.

Severus hit Harry with the Cruciatus Curse again and Harry hit the ground, screaming. He couldn't counter it.

"Maybe now, you'll do as you're told," said Severus, raising his wand again.

Voldemort frowned and raised a hand. "That's enough, Severus," said Voldemort.

He peered down at Harry as he tried to stop the shuddering of his body from the curse. This Harry had grown up spoiled and arrogant. The Dark Lord's only son. And although his powers were strong, they did not come close to those he had before Voldemort had chosen a different path.

This Harry was not so amusing either. Being raised amid Death Eaters through Voldemort's reign of terror, which continued because the boy had not stopped him, he had known only darkness and fear. Had seen murder and anarchy.

Voldemort bent down before the boy and he looked up. There was fear in those green eyes. He wasn't the brave boy who defied Voldemort with sarcasm and mockery. In fact, this boy went out of his way to please Voldemort. He wasn't the cynical pessimist who made Voldemort laugh.

Where was his curiosity, his perseverance?

Voldemort reached up and brushed away the black fringe over his eye. There was no scar - no connection.

This was not The Boy Who Lived. This was not his Harry. Frowning, Voldemort shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Harry. This will not do."

Voldemort reached out and again kissed his forehead where the scar should be.

In the house in Godric's Hollow, Voldemort found himself faced with the choice once again. 17 year old Harry was again unconscious at his feet and the baby was across the room.

"Are you going to kill him, my lord," said Lucius.

"No," said Voldemort. "Leave him."

"But-"

"Come, Lucius," said Voldemort. "I will deal with him later."

Again memories flew like a torrent within him. His reign, very boring with little to do but cause mayhem and hunt down The Boy Who Got Away.

Such sheer boredom. His only ambition was to right the mistake he had made in not killing little Harry Potter. Not that the boy was any threat to him. It was merely something to do.

Two Death Eaters approached, dragging a dark haired youth and they dumped him at Voldemort's feet.

"We finally caught him in Hogsmeade," said Lucius.

Harry pushed himself to his hands and knees and looked up at Voldemort with sheer terror in his eyes.

"What do you want?" he said with a voice that shook.

I'm here, Voldemort. What do you want? That other 15 year old wizard had said bravely as he clutched his Firebolt and his Invisibility Cloak. That boy had been forced to defend the Sorcerer's Stone (which Voldemort hadn't needed now) and he had faced the memory of Tom Riddle (But Voldemort still had that diary) and kill the Basilisk.

Voldemort lifted this boy's chin with a touch that didn't cause the boy pain. Although this boy had a certain strength from living with his Muggle relatives, he had faced none of the dangers which made Harry Potter famous. He was ordinary. Just the lucky boy who got away due to the Evil Dark Lord's whim.

Again, no scar, no connection.

This was not his Harry either.

Voldemort kissed his forehead and again came face to face with his choice.

"Are you going to kill him, my lord?" said Lucius.

"Oh, yes, Lucius," said Voldemort. "Yes. I must."

Voldemort raised his want and cast the curse.

The world righted itself and Voldemort looked down at the 17 year old wizard again at his feet.

Harry pushed himself to his hands and knees and took a hoarse breath.

Voldemort waited breathlessly. Was this his Harry?

The boy looked up. The scar shown bright pink against his pale skin but it wasn't bleeding. His eyes were narrowed in wonder as he looked back at Voldemort.

"Well, that sucked," said Harry.

Voldemort chuckled. "Always the cynic, my Harry."

*************

Memories almost smothered Harry as he tried to order them. What the hell had happened?

The memory of himself as an arrogant spoiled brat, hanging out with Draco and joking about Mudbloods started to fade.

Hogwarts had been closed. Harry had never met Ron or Hermione. He didn't play Quidditch, even if he did occasionally fly with Draco, his only real friend.

The memories of being Voldemort's son were slower to fade. The Death Eaters spoiled him, being Lord Voldemort's son, but Harry was scared to death of his father. Had wanted to please him, but somehow always fell short. And Voldemort never touched him - even though he could. He never laughed, never talked to Harry.

The memories of being The Lucky Potter Kid were almost painful. Only an average kid who never did a daring thing in his life because he was repressed by the Dursleys. He just existed in the shadow of his parents who had died.

And when he had finally come face to face with Voldemort, he had been so very afraid. Ready to beg for mercy...

Harry looked up as Voldemort bent to his level before him.

The red eyes glowed curiously and a hand reached out to hold his chin up.

"Well that sucked," said Harry.

Voldemort chuckled. "Always the cynic, my Harry."

He rose and Severus and Lucius helped him to his feet. Harry pressed a palm to his scar. It was still burning. He glanced at the hand. No blood.

"How much do you remember, Harry?" said Voldemort.

Harry looked back at him. "Everything is fading," said Harry. "What happened?"

"Choices, Harry," said Voldemort. "Those were my options."

Harry nodded.

"Do you understand why I had to curse you?"

Harry nodded again. "Yeah," said Harry softly. "I didn't like me much either."

Voldemort chuckled again. "My cynic."

"Not in those other worlds," Harry challenged.

"Mm, no," said Voldemort, raising a hand. He stopped although it looked as if the urge was there.

"What's stopping you, Voldemort?" said Harry.

"You know it distresses me."

"But all those other times you could, but you didn't."

"I didn't want to," said Voldemort.

"Why?"

"Harry, you should rest now," said Voldemort. He dismissed his Death Eaters.

Harry waited for them to disperse, which they did, hesitant and curious.

"Why, Voldemort?" said Harry. Voldemort turned back to him. "I'm asking. Why?"

Voldemort reached up and let his fingers run down the side of Harry's face. Harry endured it, challenging Voldemort with his gaze.

"Why?" said Harry softly.

"Because I didn't care."

Voldemort turned and strode away, leaving Harry alone in the middle of the compound.

Harry recalled Draco's words.

"You've gotten to him."

Did Voldemort care? Was he capable?

This is too weird.

What's weird?

Harry knew it wouldn't be long until he heard from Draco.

Nothing, Draco. Go away.

Nothing, eh? Must be good. Tell me.

Before he could stop the thought it came out.

I think he cares.

Harry heard the snort.

'Course he cares, you Pathetic Gryffindor Moron. I told you that. And it's going to be his down fall.

So suddenly Draco Malfoy has all the answers?

Yup.

Care to clue me in?

Can't. Sorry. Choice is yours, my friend. I can only speculate.

Thanks a lot, Draco.

Well, if it's any consolation, I'll be there.

Harry stopped walking half way to his tent.

You will?

He felt Draco struggling with his thought as if trying to be flippant or sarcastic. He failed.

Yes, Harry. I'll be with you.

Thanks, Draco.

Harry heard random thought about morons and tragic heroes and laughed as he entered his tent. At least he was getting an idea of who he could depend on when he was out of time.

It felt like his time was up a week later.