Harry Potter and the Lost Prophecy

Chapter Two:

Seeds of Doubt

An icy coldness ran through Harry's body. Pulling his wand from his pocket he slowly spun around, dreading the sight that awaited him.

Lord Voldemort stood hidden in the shadows. Harry froze for a second, unsure, but as Voldemort took a step forward, he raised his wand.

"Stupefy!" he shouted, ignoring the searing pain in his scar. A blast of light issued from his wand tip, but Voldemort just laughed, blocking the curse with a wave of his hand.

"Tsk, tsk," he tutted, shaking his finger in Harry's direction "Underage magic- whatever would the Ministry say if they knew? It's no use wasting your time," he added as Harry raised his wand again "I'm not here to fight."

Harry glared at him sceptically. Quite frankly, he didn't trust Voldemort as far as he could throw a hippogriff.

"Somehow I don't quite believe you," Harry said sarcastically, not quite looking his enemy in the eye. Instead he glanced at the people passing by the alley. No one had reacted to his shouting or to the lightshow his spell had produced.

"They can't see us, can they?" Harry asked, feeling as though he'd just been hit in the stomach by a Bludger. He already knew the answer. There was no chance for help. He was alone with a homicidal maniac - one who seemed to be fixated on destroying Harry. If he tried to run, would he make it? He looked surreptitiously around him.

Voldemort seemed to sense his thoughts.

"If you try anything, I will kill them," he said, indicating the Muggles who passed by the alley, blissfully unaware of the drama enfolding within it. He waved his hand at them as if they were nothing more than flies and watched Harry's furious face with a sly smile.

"It is a simple shielding charm to keep out nosey Muggles as well as any members of the Ministry who may stumble by. No help will come if you scream. But such hysterics are not necessary on your part. I simply want you to listen."

"What do you want?" Harry asked through clenched teeth, standing straighter. He folded his arms across his chest, wand still clutched tightly in his hand.

"You are very young, Harry Potter. And yet you think you can defeat me?" Voldemort laughed at Harry's bravado. "I possess a great deal of power, more than you could ever imagine. But once I was like you are now. We are so much alike. The similarities are uncanny--"

Harry cut him off. "I know all this." Voldemort raised his eyebrows in question.

"Tom Riddle told me." Harry said quietly.

"Ah, yes," Voldemort said thoughtfully, "My old diary. I really must punish Lucius for that rather embarrassing episode. But Tom was, of course, correct. Even you must recognise the similarities. We share so much, so many qualities."

"I am nothing like you!" Harry spat. "I will never be like you! I would rather die!"

"Silence! Be careful what you wish for," he said menacingly. "I may grant that wish! But for now you will listen!" He waved his wand and Harry felt his mouth clamp shut.

"Mmph!!" Harry moaned, unsuccessfully trying to unclamp his jaws with his fingers. After a few seconds of struggle he gave up and glared at Voldemort. His enemy gave a strange laugh that was almost a giggle and continued.

"Now that I have your undivided attention," he began with a smirk, "Let me explain. I was once like you are now. Alone, parentless, stuck living in this pathetic world" His face was contorted in disgust as he watched the busy street in disdain.

"A prisoner in a world full of ignorant, uneducated Muggles. Useless vermin, who infest the planet, destroying that which they do not understand! Hogwarts was my only escape. I studied hard. I learnt a great deal, enough to ensure I would never again be forced to rely on those beneath me. I discovered powers that were not merely powers of a humble wizard. They were much, much older. Powers similar to those you too possess."

"Mmph??" Harry grunted, confusion and anger flitting across his face.

Voldemort looked at him strangely, then with a wave of his wand Harry's mouth sprang open.

"What powers?" Harry asked, massaging his jawbone.

Voldemort looked at him in surprise. "You mean no one has told you?" A sly smile spread across his face. "You really don't know? Why do you think I made an attempt on your life fourteen years ago? Why do you think I failed? Were you never curious?"

Harry fought the questions on the tip of his tongue and just stared at him indifferently.

"You faced me three times, unaware of your abilities? You truly are a Gryffindor aren't you? All bravery and action, with no brains, no thought for consequences."

Harry bristled and opened his mouth to retort but Voldemort cut him off with a shrill bark of laughter.

"They did not trust you, did they boy? They would not tell, would not explain?" He smiled cruelly, and then spoke as if to himself. "Ah, what a fool Dumbledore is! He has practically delivered you to me!"

"Why?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Why what?" Voldemort replied, "Why did I try to kill you?"

Harry nodded. Dumbledore had said he would find out the reason in time, but he could wait no longer.

"Simple, child! There is not enough room on this planet for two master wizards to rule. And being who you are, with your lineage, you would not have walked the same path as I. You would have become an opposing power. You may even have defeated me eventually. I assumed that as a child your powers would not have developed as mine had, not at so young an age. I was sadly mistaken and paid dearly for that oversight."

"So why tell me now?" Harry asked, feeling suddenly brave. "Why not just kill me here and now?"

"You have a greater purpose, boy." Voldemort hissed. "You will be useful in the times to come."

Harry stared at him in bewilderment. "What use?"

Voldemort smirked. "I'm sure you will find out in time. Your powers will manifest as you grow older. I know how it feels. I understand. I can help you to master those powers."

Harry glared at him "You're lying. And I don't want your help!"

"Perhaps," Voldemort said, meeting his eyes. "We shall see. Here--" he threw an object at Harry who caught it instinctively. He looked down and saw, to his surprise, an old and worn book.

"Some summer reading for you. It will make you understand."

Harry glared at Voldemort suspiciously.

"We will meet again soon, Harry. That, my boy, is a promise."

Harry's scar pulsed briefly with pain. He fell to his knees holding his head, and when he looked up, Voldemort was gone, and a familiar old woman was staring down at him.

"What are you doing down there?" Mrs Figg asked sharply as Harry picked himself up off the ground.

He smiled feebly at her, still holding his head.

"I fell." Harry answered as politely as he could muster under the circumstances. He hastily picked up his shopping and said goodbye.

"Wait!" she called. "You forgot something."

He turned around to see her gazing curiously at the book Voldemort had throw him.

"Oh, thanks," he said, taking it from her. She glanced at him suspiciously, then turned and walked away. Harry glanced around but Voldemort had well and truly vanished. With a worried sigh he headed for the bus stop.

As he sat on the bus he gazed out the window, desperate to get back to Privet Drive so he could tell someone. 'But who?' he thought. What if Voldemort was telling the truth? What if they did know something and didn't trust him? Did that still mean he could trust them? Thoughts swam around in his brain and he shook his head violently to clear his mind, attracting a few strange looks from the other passengers.

'No!' He told himself. 'I will not let him plant seeds of doubt in my mind!'

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost missed his stop. After he was off the bus, Harry all but ran down Privet Drive. He dropped the shopping off in the kitchen before he sprinted upstairs to his room. Once there, he hastily pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I'm sorry to have to bother you, but the strangest thing happened today. I went shopping for my aunt and on the way home I ran into Voldemort. He didn't try to hurt me -he said he just wanted to talk. He told me that we were a lot alike. He said I had special powers, just like him, and that you didn't trust me enough to tell me about them. Is this true?

I'll be in Diagon Alley tomorrow then I'm heading to The Burrow for the rest of the holidays, in case you need to contact me. I'm a little confused.

Harry

Harry bit his lip. He hadn't mentioned the book. He glanced over at the bed where it lay. He remembered something Ron had said in second year, about books that once you started reading you couldn't put down. But...surely if Voldemort wanted to kill him there were better ways to do so. Slowly he reached over and stared at the cover. It was bound in dark red leather with a green snake on the faded cover. Harry swallowed and opened the book. As he was about to glance down at the page, a shout like a sonic boom echoed up the stairs.

"Harry!" a shrill voice hollered, "Get down here this instant!"

Sighing, he dropped the book back onto the bed. He hurried down the stairs and found himself face to face with his livid uncle. Behind him his aunt stood looking extremely irate.

"I send you on one simple errand and you can't even do it right!" she shouted.

Harry gazed at her in bewilderment. "What did I do?" he asked uncertainly.

"It's not what you did; it's what you didn't do!" His uncle roared.

Harry thought for a second and groaned inwardly. "The dry-cleaning?" he asked hesitantly.

His uncle nodded. "We have an extremely important business dinner tomorrow night, and I no longer have a clean suit to wear." His voice was dangerously quite. "Thank your lucky stars that you're leaving tomorrow."

Harry looked at him in panic. "You-you'll still take me to London won't you?"

Uncle Vernon smiled evilly. "You must be joking--"

"Oh, well in that case I'll have to fly on my broomstick." Harry said slyly, cutting him off. "Or I could write to my Godfather- you remember, the escaped convict? - and ask him to take me."

Uncle Vernon paled slightly and Aunt Petunia looked around nervously in case any neighbours had heard talk of flying broomsticks and convicts.

"No!" Harry's uncle shouted. "I-I meant to say that even though you're completely useless, I'll take you anyway. Keep you out of our hair."

"Thanks." Harry smiled sarcastically. "I'm sorry about the dry cleaning, Aunt Petunia. Here's the change from the shopping."

She snatched the money from his hand, scowling after him as he quickly turned and headed back up to his room, intending to send the letter.

Shutting the door behind him he realised that Hedwig was still delivering his message to Ron and Hermione. Harry picked up the note and re-read it. Sighing he crumpled it in his fist and threw it into the wastepaper bin beside his desk.

'I'll contact Dumbledore from the Burrow,' he convinced himself.

Harry flopped down on his bed, feeling rather confused. Meeting Voldemort, and talking to him rather than fighting him had been strange and...disturbing. Were they really that much alike? He remembered with a shiver being in the Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle had scared him. Not for being powerful or terrifying, but for being a 17-year-old boy, a model student, head boy. And he'd become Voldemort. Was it so easy to go from being normal to suddenly becoming evil? Was there a turning point, or was it there inside you from the start?

'It could happen to me' the little voice inside of Harry whispered.

"I won't let it!" Harry shouted furiously. Realising he was talking to himself he ran his fingers through his hair nervously, making it stick up even worse than usual.

'What if it was true about the powers?' the little voice said

'Don't be stupid! Voldemort is my enemy!' he argued. 'Besides, in the Chamber of Secrets Riddle said there was nothing special about me...'

He had a sudden vision of the Chamber. The most terrible thing had not been discovering that Tom was in fact Voldemort as a teenager. Even fighting the Basilisk had not been as terrifying as seeing little Ginny Weasley lying unconscious at the feet of Slytherin's statue. He felt his heart twinge as he remembered the desperation and panic he had felt. Seeing her like that had been heart wrenching. He smiled now as he thought of her. Ginny had had a crush on him for the past four years. This usually made Harry feel rather embarrassed, especially when the twins teased him about it. But the thought comforted him now. With a chuckle he remembered the Valentine she had sent him during second year.

'His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad....'

Harry closed his eyes, smiling and fell asleep.

*

A hundred miles away Ginny Weasley sat up with a start. She was drenched in sweat and her nightgown stuck to her skin. She brushed her hair out of her eyes frantically, and glanced around. She was sitting in her own bed, in her own room. She was safe.

Still hyperventilating slightly, she began to recall the chilling nightmare that had awoken her. She had been back in the Chamber of Secrets, but she was no longer an eleven year old child. She was as she was now, fourteen and tall and willowy. Tom was there too; lovely comforting Tom who had turned out to be dark and evil. The boy who had listened to her pour her heart out and then twisted everything, using her like a puppet. She had stood glaring at Tom, the boy who had betrayed her. Then before she could stop him he had walked swiftly across the room and, grabbing her by the shoulders, kissed her. The kiss had deepened and Ginny had begun to melt into it.

Then she had remembered who she was kissing, that he was You-Know-Who, and she had felt for the dagger which had appeared in her pocket. Bringing her hand up between them she had plunged it deep into his chest. He had broken the kiss to cry out in pain, but when her eyes flew open, expecting to feel triumphant, she saw that it was not Tom after all, but someone who was remarkably similar.

Harry.

His green eyes were wide with pain and tears and he fell forwards, hands clutching the dagger in his breast. She had lowered him slowly to the ground and had cradled his head in her hands, her tears falling down to mingle with his. He looked up at her with wide eyes, unbelieving eyes. She had looked around frantically, hoping that the phoenix was coming, as she knew it had two years ago.

But it didn't come and she was forced to watch as Harry's blood flowed quickly through her fingers.

Then Harry had looked at her with surprise on his face, and said "What have you done?"

And then he had died. And she had sobbed and sobbed over his lifeless body. Then she had looked at her hands, covered in his life blood, and she had screamed.

Ginny screamed again, feeling the pain of remembrance. There was a bang as her door flew open and Fred and George burst in.

"What's wrong?" Fred asked, looking around the room, wand outstretched.

Ginny shook her head and continued to cry. After a few minutes Ron came running in, several inches of ankle showing below his too short pyjamas.

"Ginny!" he exclaimed, sitting down beside her. "What's wrong?"

"I had a dream," She choked out between sobs. "Harry, he died." She said no more, unable to explain that it had all been her fault. Ron put his arms around her.

"Shh," he whispered, rubbing her back gently. "It's ok, everything's ok."

He eased her back under her covers and stroked her hair gently.

Ron sat, watching over her and whispering soothingly until she fell back asleep, then he and the twins tiptoed back to their rooms, worrying about their little sister.