Chapter Text
Harry looked at his hands with incomprehension. They were chalk white with long fingers and fingernails which honestly looked like they hadn’t been cut in ages. He looked at the rest of him, hoping against hope this was all just a hallucination he was having, that the logical, obvious conclusion wasn’t actually happening. No such luck. Not only had he time traveled into the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts – literally the most traumatizing moment of his life – but he hadn’t even gone into his own body. No, he’d just had to jump back into the body of Lord Voldemort.
It hadn’t even been a year since he dropped Albus off for his first year at Hogwarts. In that time, Ron and Hermione had gotten divorced. It was the most amicable divorce Harry had ever heard of, honestly. The spark had slowly but surely been disappearing from their relationship for years, though they were still very close friends. Since the divorce had changed literally nothing except on paper, it had probably been the right decision. Harry’s own marriage was still going strong, though the two of them had developed an open relationship with both of them taking lovers and being cool with it. Sometimes, they even had three or even foursomes. Being the magical world’s savior and the magical world’s savior’s wife had advantages.
In any event, Ginny had been off on one of those assignations when he, Ron, and Hermione had been ambushed in Diagon Alley by a bunch of crazed neo-Death Eaters. The leader of that group, Anton…something or other, had come to the conclusion while Voldemort’s agenda was grand and lovely, Anton could have done it better if he’d been his shoes. Which is why he prepared a ritual involving a time turner, several sacrificed virgins, and way more monologuing than any person should be subjected to before they’ve had their coffee. The end result of the ritual would have sent Anton back in time into Voldemort’s body with all of his future knowledge so he could have unlimited power, immortality, and maybe unlimited rice pudding or something. Harry still wasn’t sure why he’d bothered kidnapping Harry and his friends. Maybe he just wanted to gloat to them.
Anton may not have been terribly good in the sanity department, but he was good at tying knots, so Harry wasn’t able to escape before he activated the ritual. Fortunately, Anton’s skill at Arithmancy appeared to be inversely proportional to his knot tying skill and something must have gone horribly wrong, which is how Harry found himself in the supremely awkward situation of standing in front of his younger self in the body of his parents’ murderer.
Harry wondered if he could explain all this to younger Harry. Yarry? Yes, that sounded like a good name for him. (Harry was superlative in naming things. After all, had he not named his son Albus Severus? Was that not proof no one could be better at naming things?) But he dismissed the idea out of hand. Yarry would never believe him. He wouldn’t believe a single word that came out of Voldemort’s mouth. Besides, the idea of giving the game away right away didn’t appeal. He had been sent back in time with no way to get back. He would never see Ginny again. Not his Ginny, anyway. The fourteen year old version of her was someone else entirely.
No, Harry wasn’t inclined to tell people just yet. He had total control over his worst enemy now and his mind was whirling with all the useful things he could do with that power. There wouldn’t be another war, for starters. He could also bump off all the Death Eaters or maybe force them to donate their fortunes to charity or something. He could also deeply confuse, even flummox Albus Dumbledore and a part of him was looking forward to that more than the rest of it.
Look, Harry didn’t hate Dumbledore. Dumbledore had the best of intentions. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to win the war with as few casualties as possible. And, unfortunately, that meant Harry had to be one of them. But Dumbledore’s plan had been stupid. It had worked, absolutely, but only due to chance. If Voldemort had decided to do anything other than give him a Killing Curse – beat him to death, drop a ton of rocks on his head, cut his throat, Crucio him to death – Harry would have died and the war probably would have been lost. And let’s not get into what would have happened if Harry hadn’t followed his little trail of breadcrumbs.
Even setting aside all that, Dumbledore’s scheming had a lot of collateral damage. Putting Snape in charge of Slytherin house had seemed like a great move from a tactical perspective. Having a spy in charge of the enemy’s camp meant damaging schemes could be stopped before they started. But Snape let the Slytherins run amok and created an environment where bigotry and evil could flourish, all because Dumbledore thought that was the role Snape needed to play as a convincing spy. Dumbledore forgot, in his age and arrogance, that life wasn’t a game, that these were people’s lives, children’s lives, which he was playing with.
And don’t even get Harry started on the ways he’d meddled with Harry’s life. Dumbledore had placed Harry with the Dursleys. He’d known very well Harry would suffer in that house. Ten dark and difficult years were the exact words he’d used when he had admitted it! Harry had to concede the blood wards could have been worth it. He’d never seen them in action, but he’d learned about other examples of similar wards and if they functioned in the same way, they would have been a potent defense against Death Eaters. But it was still a cruel thing to do to a child and Harry never could have done the same.
Anyway, Harry could go on and on about his complaints against Dumbledore. People learned rather quickly not to mention the old wizard when Harry was drunk. He didn’t hate Dumbledore, but Harry still wanted to get revenge on him. Not by hurting him. No, that wasn’t an appropriate revenge. The best revenge on Dumbledore wouldn’t be hurting him. Dumbledore fancied himself a man with all the answers (mostly because he often was), so the best revenge against him would be to confuse him.
“My lord,” Wormtail whimpered on the ground, snapping Harry out of his reverie. Harry offhandedly wondered if he should just kill the rat now. But no. He needed Wormtail alive for now so he could vindicate Sirius. “My lord, you promised. You did promise.”
“Ah, but I recall you making a promise as well,” Harry said, slipping instantly into Voldemort’s languid, sibilant tones. “You made a promise to Lily and James Potter, did you not? You promised to be their secret keeper. One broken promise for another. You will not get your arm back.”
“Master, please,” Wormtail begged. Harry didn’t have to hide his look at disgust. Ironically, both Voldemort and he would have aligned in their emotions at this moment: annoyance at Wormtail’s pathetic whining.
Harry grabbed Wormtail’s arm and pressed his finger against the Dark Mark, just as he’d seen Voldemort do all those years ago. Then he knocked Wormtail unconscious and left him bound and, just as importantly, gagged, by one of the tombstones.
Harry walked over to Yarry, who was staring at him with defiant hatred in his eyes. For the first time, Harry noticed the stone cold corpse of Cedric Diggory and couldn’t help but wince a little. “If he had not touched the cup first, perhaps he would still be alive today.”
“Or maybe if you hadn’t had him murdered,” Yarry shot back.
Yes, that was not the most winning of arguments. New tactic. “It is interesting, is it not, how much we have in common, Harry. We were both born without knowledge of magic. Both half-bloods. Both raised in environments where we knew nothing but scorn.”
“But I’m not a murderer and that means I’m better than you.”
“You suffered, Harry, but for what? I know about your childhood. I know about the Dursleys.”
This clearly gave Yarry pause. He could practically sense the wheels spinning behind his brain, trying to figure out just how “Voldemort” knew of the Dursleys. Harry wasn’t sure how he’d even answer that question if pressed later. Maybe he’d just say he read Yarry’s mind.
“They kept you in a cupboard under the stairs,” Harry went on. “They starved you, not just of food, but also of love. The basic needs anyone, Muggle or mage, should have, and you were denied it. Do you know who was responsible for that? The old Muggle loving fool Albus Dumbledore himself!”
“You’re lying!” Yarry shouted instinctively.
Harry let out an evil laugh. Voldemort’s evil laugh was pretty menacing already, but Harry had heard the laughter of many villains since and had been refining his own evil laugh, just in case he needed to use it for undercover work, for years. “Then how do you think you ended up there? Do you think Petunia took you in of her own volition? Ask her, if you would. Ask her how it happened. She’ll only be too happy to inform you of how you were dumped on her doorstep without so much as a word. With a letter from Dumbledore.”
There. That was enough to sow some doubt in Yarry, especially since it was all completely true. It wouldn’t do to go any farther than that, not today. Harry’s goal wasn’t to get Yarry to turn evil. It was just to get him to be suspicious of Dumbledore, so he wouldn’t follow Dumbledore’s words as if it was gospel. It would probably do him a lot of good in the long run.
A few more seconds of awkward silence ensued before the swishing of cloaks through the air were heard as the Death Eaters started Apparating into the space. For a second, Harry wondered if he should simply kill them all. A simple Fiendfyre spell would be enough to down all of them. But Harry wasn’t quite ready to end the game just yet and besides, the idea of premeditatedly killing dozens of people in one go was not an appealing one, even Death Eaters.
Just as before, one of the Death Eaters – Harry didn’t remember his name – went to his knees and kissed the hem of “Voldemort’s” robes. Ugh. Harry had no clue why Voldemort liked it when his minions debased themselves like this. It was just embarrassing. So Harry didn’t even draw his wand to deal with this Death Eater. He just kicked him in the face hard enough to knock him out.
“Show some decorum,” Harry spat. “We are the elite, the cream of the crop of pureblood society. We will not act like barbarians.” His eyes cast upon the Death Eaters. Yep, it was all the usual suspects from last time. Harry couldn’t be bothered to come up with better dialogue, so he just did the same monologue Voldemort did last time until Avery begged for forgiveness.
“I do forgive my enemies, Avery, as any wise tactician should…when they are dead,” Harry said instead of Crucioing him. “Do you wish to die, Avery? Are you begging me for death?”
“No, my lord,” Avery stammered.
“Then be silent when your betters speak.”
Harry was pretty proud of himself for getting into the swing of the whole Dark Lording thing. He often wondered why Voldemort had indulged in such unnecessary melodrama. It appeared that the answer was because it was fun. Who knew? Still, if Voldemort had wanted to indulge his dramatic streak, he should have joined the theater instead of becoming a mass murderer.
“Lucius, my slippery friend,” Harry began and then he faltered when he saw the look on Lucius’s face. It wasn’t calm and confident and smarmy like he had remembered from last time. It was panicky but resolute. And what’s more, Lucius hadn’t been where Harry had remembered him standing last time. He was much closer to Yarry. As if…as if he was planning on releasing him.
Harry reached out and grabbed “Lucius.” “I see you’re trying to end this little reunion just as it’s getting started, my friend. We must speak about a certain possession of mine I loaned you.”
He led “Lucius” a little ways away and cast a muffling spell. “Ron?” Harry asked tentatively, knowing he would look very stupid, if not suspicious, if he was wrong.
But a second later, Lucius’s lips moved in a bright smile, operated by Harry’s best friend just as Harry had suspected. “I can’t believe I ended up in Malfoy’s body!”
“Yeah, it’s a heck of a situation we’ve found ourselves in,” Harry admitted. “I’m glad you’re here. Where’s Hermione?”
“Well, think about it, mate. There’s a witch out there who’s utterly ruthless, passionately devoted to a higher cause, and is scary beyond all reason – and I have good reason to believe she’s now in Bellatrix’s body.”
Harry frowned. That meant she was in Azkaban. It could be days before she broke out. He could really have used her razor sharp wit right now. “Are you willing to follow my lead? I’m going to use this to our advantage. We’re going to topple the pureblood’s power base out from under them. We’re going to stop the war. We’re going to make sure Yarry’s taken care of. And we’re going to confuse the hell out of Dumbledore in the process.”
“Mate, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. Anyway, it’s not like we’ve got another choice. We can’t go back, right?”
“I don’t think so,” Harry admitted. “And we’re not going to put Yarry in the loop just yet, okay? I’d rather he stay out of it if he can.”
Ron made a face. “Yarry, really?”
Harry, as always, ignored any evidence, no matter how strong, that he had anything but the strongest skills in naming things. “Pretend I just Crucioed you.” Ron gamely gave a horrifying scream just as Harry withdrew the silencing spell. “Let that be a lesson to you all! Lord Voldemort will not be so merciful a second time.”
Harry continued the schedule monologuing. It was boring the second time around, though it was nice seeing all these evil Death Eaters squirming and begging for mercy. He hurt a few of them too, mostly the ones who had done the most damage in the war. Nothing too life-threatening, but they probably wouldn’t walk it off anytime soon. It was a good thing Harry remembered the monologue word for word from the last time. Well, he only remembered it because it had featured in constant nightmares, so perhaps good wasn’t the right word for it, but it was certainly helpful. Voldemort really loved the sound of his own voice. Harry had long thought the monologue had seemed to go on forever because the traumatic experience was elongating it in his memory, but no, it was just that long.
“Harry Potter is a boy, a mere child,” Harry said as he approached the end of the monologue. “It was not he who reduced me to such a state. That dubious honor goes to his M – his mother.” Even while acting as Voldemort, even willing to commit crimes in his form, it would seem calling his mother a slur was the one thing Harry could not do. “But Lily Potter lies still forever now, and this boy has no power. He is nothing. So send him back. Let him give warning. Let him take the Diggory boy’s corpse even if he wishes. Voldemort is a merciful lord.”
Harry strode over to Yarry, who looked bewildered and suspicious by this sudden show of mercy. “Tell Dumbledore,” Harry began whispering in his younger self’s ear. He was interrupted by Yarry attempting to bite him. Harry didn’t know whether to be proud or annoyed. “Tell him that you are my seventh Horcrux. He will know what it means. I am curious as to whether he will explain it to you. I strongly suspect otherwise.”
Dumbledore, of course, would do no such thing. This was the right choice, in Harry’s opinion. If Yarry knew he was the Horcrux, he would go and get himself killed, just as Harry had done before at Dumbledore’s behest. But it would be interesting to learn how Dumbledore would react to “Voldemort” knowing Harry was a Horcrux. He needed breathing room and this seemed like an excellent way to get it for the moment.
“If you think I’m going to join you, it’s not going to work,” Yarry promised. “I will never stop fighting you. Not until my dying death.”
“Anyone can die for a cause, Harry Potter. But not just anyone can live for it. You have ten seconds until I change my mind.”
At least Yarry had some self-preservation instincts, because he grabbed Cedric’s body and then the cup and then he was gone from sight. Harry turned to the Death Eaters, who were honestly looking befuddled. And with good reason, because Harry had just let Voldemort’s worst enemy escape with his life and hadn’t even tortured him first.
“We are so few now,” Harry mused. “Between the last war and the war against Grindelwald, our numbers have been decimated. We must avoid bloodshed where possible. There are more subtle ways to achieve our purposes. We will lull the old Muggle loving fool Dumbledore into complacency. We will make him think we want peace. And then when his guard is down, only when he has accepted we are ‘changed,’ that we have ‘seen the light,’ that we have ‘been redeemed,’ only then will we STRIKE!”
A loud cheering erupted from the Death Eaters. Though some of them wanted violence and slaughter, most of them just wanted to maintain their power and were in favor of any plan which could increase it and avoid risking their lives in the process. But Harry would have the last laugh. He’d made sure of it. For the first time in his entire life, he controlled the entire board. He was calling the shots. He was in command, and he’d enjoy every bit of it.
“Now you will return to your positions, acting as if nothing has happened. Except for you, Lucius. I have further need of you. And you, Wormtail, will leave with Lucius and be his servant. Lucius, you may not kill Wormtail but he is otherwise yours to do with as you wish.”
Ron bowed his head. “As you say, my lord.”
Harry waited until the Death Eaters were all gone before knocking Wormtail unconscious and finally dropping the arrogant façade of Lord Voldemort. “You think that went well? No one suspected anything?”
“Mate, I almost wondered if it was Voldemort in there, playing some sort of elaborate prank on me. Trust me, no one suspected a thing. So…are we really going to make peace with the Order? Cause I think younger me might have a problem with that.”
“We’ll see,” Harry said. “Right now, I don’t think we should make any long term plans until Hermione’s back with us.” He sighed. “I know it’s selfish of me to play games like this. I should have wiped them all out.”
Ron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry couldn’t help but wonder what someone would have thought, seeing “Lucius” comfort “Voldemort” in such a way. “Harry, with all the shit you’ve gone through, you’ve earned this. All three of us have. We have a golden opportunity to remake this society in our image, to destroy the rot which we’re still cleaning out in our time before it can spread. And we’re not going to squander it. I’m not going to let anything stand in our way.”
“We’re going to make a better world,” Harry vowed.
“So are you the Dark Lord Harry Potter now?”
“Only as much as you’re the prat Ron Weasley.”
“HEY!” Ron shouted, but he was smiling.