My Favourite Story's On The Internet

Findable On: Archive of Our Own (Ao3)

Author: withasideofangst

Summary: "Harry Potter," Voldemort began, and then was surprised yet again when the boy had the audacity to interrupt the dark lord.

"Sorry to disappoint, but Harry's not here right now," Potter said, smirking slightly.

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Harry Potter is not an Obscurial.

Harry Potter is an Obscurial.

Both are technically true-- because in a version of reality where his life is just that little bit worse, Harry Potter is not alone in his head. He's not even the original.

Canon Harry Potter is the split personality, and has no idea there's another personality in his head who is both an Obscurial, and very, very done with all of this nonsense.

---

When Voldemort had finished examining his freshly-robed new body, he stepped out of the cauldron that had facilitated his resurrection, and his attention turned to the boy who had caused him to wander as a wraith for thirteen years in the first place-- and almost immediately his eyes narrowed.

For a moment, the boy looked rightly terrified-- and then suddenly, his body sagged and his head dropped to his chest like a marionette with its strings cut.

A moment later, and the boy raised his head again, but the boy wasn't showing fear, as he had been, and as was expected-- as was only reasonable .

No, instead the teenager, despite being roughed up from the maze, and then captured, used against his will in a ritual, and held against a tombstone, was staring at him, head tilted slightly, and his expression only held detached curiosity.

Voldemort looked the boy over, but other than his change in expression and more confident posture, nothing had changed. He was still bound, still wandless .

And the boy even had the audacity to study Voldemort in return, blatantly tilting his head as his eyes raked over Voldemort in return, looking merely relaxed and slightly curious.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort began, and then was surprised yet again when the boy had the audacity to interrupt the dark lord.

"Sorry to disappoint, but Harry's not here right now," Potter said, smirking slightly.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed in anger as he strode past the whimpering mass of wizard that was Wormtail, still crying over the stump of his arm, to approach the boy.

"You are Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed. "Do not think to try and deceive me, Potter. My spy has been at Hogwarts all year, reporting your actions back to me and that of your precious headmaster."

And yet, his only reaction was Potter shrugging as best he could while still tied to a gravestone.

"Well, if your spy was any good at his job, he should have noticed at least something about me," the infuriating boy replied dryly. "And the headmaster isn't my precious anything. "

Potter met the dark lord's gaze steadily, and Voldemort's nose flared again slightly as he stepped even closer, and then he reached out and grabbed the boy's face.

Instead of the burning sensation which he'd felt through Quirrell, Voldemort felt nothing except satisfaction as the boy's face screwed up in pain instead-- although he did not scream like he had the first time.

That would change, Voldemort thought, as he tilted the boy's head to force Potter to meet his eyes, jade green staring into scarlet red, and Voldemort used Legilimency to force his way into the boy's mind.

However, the boy's mind, while as disorganized as Voldemort had expected, felt wrong somehow.

Even as the dark lord flickered harshly through his memories-- seeing flashes of what appeared to be uninteresting muggles, Hogwarts classes, and other trivial memories of an average young wizard-- something changed.

Voldemort could tell something changed inside Potter's mind, and he realized both that there were more memories hidden behind some sort of mental shield or barrier, different from any he'd encountered before, and beyond it, something darker .

Not dark like typical-- or even rare-- dark magic; Voldemort had seen plenty of that, and feared none of it.

No, this darkness was a void .

Voldemort's magic itself seemed to scream out that this void was wrong; unnatural .

It was terrifying, to his shock, and he instinctively withdrew from the boy's mind, although he refused to take even a single step away from the child.

It only took a moment for the dark lord to recover, and then his eyes swept over Potter again.

" What was that? " Voldemort hissed, nearly slipping into Parseltongue, his hand tightening where he still gripped the boy's face.

Potter had the audacity to smirk slightly, again.

When the boy didn't respond otherwise, Voldemort found himself distracted by the increased wailing of Wormtail, who had crawled his way over, begging and cradling his bleeding arm.

Pathetic, Voldemort thought. The miserable wizard hadn't even attempted to heal the wound himself.

"Wormtail, your arm," he commanded.

"Oh Master... thank you, Master..." The rat replied, extending his bleeding stump, and Voldemort absently waved his wand, and a silver hand formed over the stump. Wormtail gazed at it in awe, flexing the fingers, before throwing himself at the hem of his robes again, sniveling in gratitude this time.

Unlike the groveling of most of his Death Eaters, Voldemort only felt irritation with the pathetic gratitudes spilling from the wizard, and quickly stunned the wizard to silence him, before returning his full attention to the far more interesting-- and aggravating-- boy.

Voldemort's nostrils flared slightly and his tongue flicked ever so slightly as he scented the air, trying to sense if the boy was simply faking his cockiness.

To his surprise, there were no signs of fear from the boy anymore, in his scent or otherwise.

"You aren't afraid of me anymore," Voldemort finally concluded out loud, looking over Potter again.

One corner of the boy's mouth twitched upwards.

"No, I'm not afraid. Wary, sure, I'm unarmed and you've tried to kill me at least four times before. But no, I'm not afraid of you." He replied.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"You were afraid, when you first arrived. What has changed since then, Potter?"

The boy only shrugged as best he could.

"I probably would be afraid, but I have... an ace or two up my sleeve. If I survive tonight and we meet again, then I'd be more likely to be afraid."

"And what would stop me from simply killing you right now? Can this... secret of yours prevent your death now?"

Voldemort pointed his wand at the boy, directly between his eyes, and yet the boy merely shrugged again.

"No. But I've heard you were one of the brightest wizards of our time, and I figure that means you're curious about things you don't fully understand. Like me . Besides, I'm fourteen . Really, what threat do I pose to you? I don't even know why you wanted to kill me when I was a baby, but I've never done anything to you personally other than defend myself."

Voldemort tilted his head as he stared back into Potter's steady gaze, feeling a flash of bitter amusement.

"You don't know? The headmaster really hasn't told you? How predictable of him, to send his champion in without even the slightest preparation. And in fact, Mr Potter, you were the one to retrieve the stone from the mirror and kill Quirrell, three years ago."

Potter rolled his eyes.

"Of course Dumbledore doesn't tell me anything. That would be too easy . Not that I'm his anything , I told you already. I suppose you also believe he's been training me to be his little soldier, and I'm as pampered as Draco Malfoy, like the Slytherins all seemed to believe?" The boy snorted. "None of that is true, and I can prove it. As for Quirrell, well... that was partly due to peer pressure, but also... wasn't exactly me."

Voldemort reached out to grip the boy's jaw again.

Potter's response surprised him, and frustratingly dangled hints of knowledge in front of him, and Voldemort knew that the boy was doing it on purpose. However, there was one detail he wanted to know before any others--

"That is not the first time you've claimed to be someone other than Harry Potter," he hissed. "And yet you are Harry Potter."

Harry Potter just smiled.

"Tell me when you figure it out, would you?"

Voldemort's fury flared, patience gone, and he coldly intoned, " Crucio! "

Watching the boy writhe against the headstone was satisfying after his glib remarks and lack of fear. Although he still didn't scream , to Voldemort's faint surprise. Even as his body twisted violently against his bindings and his flailing hands clenched into fists, no noise passed his lips.

When the dark lord finally released the spell, and the boy met his eyes again with grim defiance, Voldemort felt a flare of irritation before he spun around and gripped the unconscious Wormtail's arm-- his still-intact one-- and forced back Wormtail's sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark on his skin, like a slightly-faded tattoo.

When Voldemort reached out and touched the mark with his finger, it seared jet black, and if the marked wizard had been awake, he would likely have screamed.

The dark lord paced back over to his captive when the call was complete.

"We shall see if your foolish overconfidence remains in the face of my Death Eaters, Harry Potter... And we shall see which among them is brave enough to return, and who will be foolish enough to stay away..."

They didn't have to wait long, in silence, before the first Death Eaters appeared, cloaked and masked, Apparating among the graves.

Each one in turn stiffened slightly as they spotted the pale figure of their lord, before they slowly began to approach, forming a wide circle around himself, Wormtail, and the boy.

Voldemort greeted his followers-- those brave enough to return after having renounced their lord-- and afterwards, turned back to the boy, only to note that his attention seemed to have wandered.

Another Crucio fixed the inattention.

The boy still did not scream, however, and both the dark lord and the watching Death Eaters were confused by his high pain tolerance. Most of the Death Eaters present couldn't withstand so long under Voldemort's wand without a sound.

It made no sense that a child would be able to do so.

When Voldemort ended the curse, he also vanished the ropes binding the boy, who immediately slumped against the ground.

The boy gathered himself and glazed upwards at Voldemort, who was still silently studying him, before glancing rapidly at the Death Eaters surrounding them in a circle, before returning his fearless gaze to Voldemort.

" You are still not afraid, " Voldemort hissed at him, thinking out loud in Parseltongue.

He used Parseltongue partly to enjoy the flashes of fear he sensed from his followers, and yet the boy still did not twitch away in fear like most of wizarding Britain.

Instead, the boy continued to stare blankly at the dark lord.

"You are not what I expected, Harry Potter," Voldemort finally said in English, breaking the silence.

The boy only smirked again.

"I told you before, Harry's not here right now."

This time, Voldemort noticed the careful emphasis, and fixated on it.

"Explain," he demanded, glaring at the boy while idly smoothing his free hand over his wand, clearly willing to use it if Potter wasn't forthcoming. "You are different than you were three years ago."

"Of course I am," Potter replied. " That was Harry, who fought you three years ago."

"But you are not him, or so you claim." Voldemort stated.

"No, I'm not."

After a moment of silence, the boy continued to meet Voldemort's gaze despite the repeated legilimency probe, only for the dark lord to once again sense that unnatural void on the edges of his mind.

Having again failed to discover any of the boy's secrets, Voldemort tossed Potter's wand at him, and watched the boy catch it just before it could hit his eye.

The boy eyed it, before slowly pushing himself to his feet.

"Not that I'm not grateful to have it back," he said, "but why do I have my wand back?"

Voldemort stepped back a few paces, and the Death Eaters understood his unspoken command as they widened their circle, leaving plenty of room for Voldemort and Potter in the gaps between the gravestones.

"We shall duel, Potter; Dumbledore's Golden Boy against the Dark Lord Voldemort, and see if you can survive again, as Harry Potter did three years ago," Voldemort stated.

Yet again, the boy only smirked.

"Oh, this will be much easier than back then," the boy replied.

Voldemort's anger flared.

"So brave , so overconfident ," he hissed. "Your mother's protection saved you last time, but now I can touch you. So what is this 'ace' that will save you this time, Potter?"

The boy's smirk grew teeth.

"Several things could, but at least this time I only need one," he taunted the dark lord. "Remember how I said I could prove I'm not Dumbledore's pampered little hero?"

Before Voldemort could curse him for it, or even respond, the boy doubled over, grimacing in apparent pain as he slumped back to his knees.

The boy's sudden collapse shocked Voldemort, and he had not gathered himself before the boy exploded into a large mass of writhing black smoke.

Shouts rang out from the Death Eaters as they backed away, wands raised, but Voldemort didn't move, although his wand remained raised and pointed in the direction of the smoke.

Harry Potter was an Obscurial?

None of Crouch's reports had even hinted at such a thing. To most adult wizards even in the years before Voldemort's temporary disembodiment, Obscurials were nothing more than a dark blight on wizarding history, unheard of in recent years in Britain.

And yet in front of them, Potter's Obscurial form writhed around the circle of Death Eaters, floating a little in the dark lord's direction, though not close enough to be considered an attack. A distorted scream echoed from the smoke for a moment, before the smoke swirled and compacted closer together and then burst upwards, over and out of the Death Eaters' now-scattered circle.

For a moment, Voldemort thought the boy was mindlessly fleeing, until he saw Potter re-form next to the dead boy, near the--

Near the portkey, Voldemort realized.

The boy smirked in the direction of the dark lord and his followers.

"See you next time," he called back, before quickly summoning the cup lying a short distance away.

The last thing Voldemort saw of him was a sudden expression of fear sliding over the boy's face, as he, the dead boy, and the cup vanished back to Hogwarts.