Author's Note: old ass story, what are you doing reading the Author's Note?
Young Harry Potter ended up a little differently from how it was expected. The world is about to be turned upside down.
The Guest's Confusion and the Lord's Return
It was hot.
Sweating was a given on a day like this, when the birds dared not fly lest their wings burst into flame from the pounding heat of the accursed thing called the Sun.
But a young Harry Potter was, at that right moment, thinking that if he were a bird he'd fly up and away and take the damn chance with the unholy Sun. He would at the very least be free of the Dursleys.
"Potter! Potter get inside this instant!" The incessant shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia called from the back door. He had been weeding the area around the shed under her demand, so why would she be calling him back in? She never gave him breaks. There was also something- off in her voice.
It wasn't the same harsh tone- still harsh- but not as much as expected from the likes of her, and she called him by his name. His last name, sure, but still his name. Was Vernon home earlier, and so she was displaying a facade of kindness until he came inside and the walrus of a man beat him senseless? Harry nearly shuddered at that.
Nonetheless he stood, brushed his hands off on his dirt-smeared pants, and walked into the house with head held tall. As soon as he made it in Petunia yanked him aside.
"We have a guest," she whispered furiously. Harry didn't see what this had to do with him. "A man is here to tell you about his school," she continued looking almost pained, "and you need to look presentable." Harry was about to open his mouth and say how he didn't have anything presentable, but his Aunt swiftly plowed on. "I thought this day might come, and there is an outfit waiting in the laundry room. Be quick about it!" She hissed at him impatiently.
Harry was dumbfounded, Petunia bought him something. This person has to be very important, and from the way his Aunt Petunia talked she knew either about this school, that man, or both.
Harry narrowed his eyes shrewdly. Who was he going to be today?
Harry was particularly proud of his acting. He debated in the laundry room what to go with as he changed (Petunia's clothing for him wasn't half-bad, if a bit mature for his age group). As he put on the dark jeans, that looked a little business-like, and the black button-up shirt, he chose to be standoffish until he knew what was wanted of him. If it was some sort of door-to-door lot he had to freak out for Petunia so be it.
Yes, Harry James Potter found scaring people fun. Not always, just sometimes.
Spinning around in the long laundry room mirror, Harry grinned convincingly at his double before walking out.
It was a walk that was ethereal, as if he were floating instead of using his two feet. Mind you, this was without the concealing nature of wizarding robes, so feel free to be impressed. He entered the living room and calculating eyed the strange man in front of him, that seemed to be doing the same right back. He stood to an impressive height (Harry would guess about six feet).
"Mr. Potter, I presume? I am a part of the staff at Hogwarts School of WitchCraft and Wizardry. I'm here to oversee your shopping."
It took all of Harry's composure to not react to that, to maintain a cold, blank look.
"Would you like some tea?" He said, perching on the couch seat with the best posture he could, back ramrod straight. "It seems we have something to talk about, you and I." The strange man eyed Harry in a way that Harry didn't like. Then again, Harry didn't like much. But also, Harry was rarely wrong about this sort of thing. He was used to bad looks.
"And why is that?" The staff member from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry asked. "What is not explicitly clear?" Harry smiled.
It was small, polite, and most of all deceiving.
It was layered so that he was sure few would even see past the simple action of a child smiling. Being like this made him feel safe. When nowhere was safe, Harry was always safe in his head.
And this odd boy's face was eerily familiar to one Severus Snape. So, as a nervous, flitting Petunia poured tea into cups, the dour man tried to place where he had seen that truthful lying smile before. He'd never seen such a look on Lily Evans or James Potter, he thought.
All the while Harry stewed in the safety of his own mind.
Wizardry, he thought. Oh Petunia, how we've kept secrets.
He went back to watching the stranger try and decipher that which was Harry. Well, he decided, if people can keep their secrets- then I'll keep mine.
Even when I tear yours out from your mouths you'll never penetrate that which is my mind, my fortress, my secrets, he thought viciously- simultaneously taking a gentle sip from the chamomile tea.
Somewhere in the dark of Deutschland Alley, sat a pair of old companions.
"Would you fancy some tea?" Said the taller man, not knowing that he was echoing the words of another, far away."It seems we have quite a lot to discuss, you and I."
The second bowed his head slightly, and the faint light of the street lamp lit upon his silvery hair. "Yes, m'lord. Yes, m'lord, we certainly do." The silvery head rose now, and grey eyes met sanguine ones. He held out a tentative arm and said, "But perhaps we would enjoy such a lengthy converse to take place in more comfortable a surrounding?" The Lord let a small lifting of the corners of his mouth answer the man.
So with a soft pop, the old companions vanished, and reappeared in a lavish sitting room.
The man with the shining hair sat gracefully into an armchair.
"Welcome back, m'lord, to Malfoy Manor." The crimson eyes of the Dark Lord met the ones of Lucius Malfoy once more.
"I am glad to be back, Lucius. So very glad indeed.
Now, shall we be having that tea?"
Back in the drab living room of number four Privet Drive, someone felt a slight twinge in an old scar.
But he ignored it, and moved on.
Probably just a figment of his imagination, right?
Author's Note: So, in this one he'll have a lot of struggles with doing what is right and what he wants to do. Darkish Harry, I guess.