Dealing with Children (is never easy)

A Harry Potter Oneshot

By: The Sea At Night

Everything had gone silent as everyone in the room stared in disbelieve at the scene in front of them. It would probably have been the perfect moment for the Death Eaters to finally finish off the light if they weren't standing there just as shocked. The little boy who was currently the center of everyone's attention looked around in fear. He didn't seem to know what to do or who to look at. He scratched nervously as the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his head and tried to find some escape route.

Voldemort could feel a headache coming on.

"Harry!" Someone from the light side finally yelled, bringing everyone out of their shocked silence. Spells began to fly as battles resumed. Some of the lights solders were desperately trying to get to Harry while some of the Death Eaters were trying to hex him.

It didn't work though, much to Voldemort's annoyance. Not only were the curses bouncing off whatever protective spell was surrounding the boy, but so were people. Any time anyone on of the light tried to grab him they would be thrown back a couple of feet. It would probably be hilarious if it wasn't such a waste of time. Finally one girl (the mud-blood with bushy hair) seemed to catch on to the fact that brute force wasn't working and was desperately trying to coax the now child Potter over to her. Others started to get the idea and joined in with words of friendship and promises of sweets that were enough to drive Voldemort up the wall.

The boy didn't seem to appreciate their effort anymore then Voldemort did. He was actually very slowly moving away from them with a fearful look on his face. For once Voldemort actually felt like he could relate to the boy. When you grew up abused and beaten you got used to people being mean to you, so when someone tried to be nice you knew right away you couldn't trust them. People were only nice when they really wanted to hurt you. It made him wonder if Mr. Potter had had similar experiences in his life.

The light side didn't seem to be catching on though and Voldemort was at the end of his already short patience. He was going to put an end to this pointlessness now.

"Boy!" He yelled and everyone in the room fell quiet, turning to him in shock. Harry quickly turned to face him too, looking a little bit frightened but also releaved that someone was actually talking to him. It seemed that his earlier thought had been right, at least to a degree, the child hadn't been responding to the calls of 'Harry' which probably meant he hadn't been called that at home. 'Boy' certainly got his attention though.

"Get over here. Now!" Voldemort hissed at him, pointing to his side. Harry's eyes widened for a moment before quickly running to Voldemort. He expected the boy to just stop and stand there, but instead he grabbed onto his cloak and quickly hid behind him, as if Voldemort was going to protect him from all the other people in the room.

Given that the protective barrier had apparently disappeared the moment he ran over to Voldemort it seemed like he might not have a choice. But now that he thought about it why would the protective barrier just vanish? What was the point? He concentrated for a moment only to realize that the barrier wasn't gone, but somehow transferred onto him. He could feel its magic tinging on his skin as if saying happily that he had been chosen. Somehow, it seemed, he had become the boys 'barrier'.

He glared down at the child clutching at his robes knowing that somehow this was his entire fault. The child was no longer paying attention to him though, but was instead looking fearfully at everyone else. Voldemort looked up to find the shocked and terrified faces of the Order members staring back at him along with some of his own Death Eaters. Some of them were starting to recover though and now had their wands pointed directly at him.

Voldemort sighed and from behind his legs Harry whimpered. He looked back down at the boy and made a split second choice knowing full well that he would likely regret it sooner rather than later. He held his hand out for Harry to take

"Stop rights there you bastard! Let -" someone was yelling at him but it was cut off the second that Harry took his hand and he apparated them both away.

The Death Eaters followed there Lords example and started to flea also, leaving only extremely confused and angry Order members in their wake.

"W-what the hell was that?" Ron screamed, which effectively summed up everyone else's thoughts on the matter.

Voldemort glared down at the child curled up asleep in his armchair. In his Spur of the moment decision Voldemort had apparated them straight to his own hidden home instead of the Death Eater base. For one thing he was the only person that knew of its location, and two it had less things for a child to kill themselves on. Not that he didn't want the boy dead, but given how many times that had failed before and the unknown circumstances surrounding the boy's current condition (and whatever the child had done to him) it was probably best to proceed with caution. He would treat the boy as normal as possible until they had the answer he needed.

So Voldemort had brought the young Harry to his own house where the boy had promptly been sick all over the floor.

Apparition sickness...right. The child looked appropriately embarrassed and apologetic that Voldemort decided to let the matter drop, he had more important things to think about anyway.

He had taken the boy into his small study, told him to stay put on the chair in front of the fireplace and quickly apparated away. He reappeared in his throne room surrounded by masked Death Eaters, all of which promptly shut up when he arrived. "My Lord," one of them started, "the-"

"You are all dismissed," The Dark Lord cut him off, wanting nothing to do with annoying questions that even he didn't have the answer to yet. "You will be summoned if you are needed." He watched as they all promptly moved to follow his order, disappearing to wherever it was they resided before he himself apparated again, reappearing with a crack into his study.

He looked over to make sure the boy hadn't moved only to find him passed out on the chair. It was surprising until Voldemort realized in was close to 2 am.

He collapsed into the chair across from the boy, studying him tiredly. "You just have to be a constant pain in my side don't you Potter?" The child didn't answer, but Voldemort hadn't expected one. He sighed and looked toward the fire "what am I going to do with you now?"

He had quickly started research on aging spells. There were a number of spells that could have done something like this but none of them fit the bill quite right, and that barrier that he could still feel against his skin was a continued mystery. There was nothing about it anywhere. He had to wonder just what it was there for and what it would do. Would it harm him if he harmed the boy? Or would it lend him power if someone else tried to hurt the boy? As much as he wanted to experiment with it his self-preservation instincts were telling him to leave it as is. At least until he knew more.

He got so absorbed in his studies that he hardly remembered the child until he felt a light tugging on his robes. He looked over to see the boy rubbing sleep from his eyes and wiggling next to him. He looked again at the clock above the fire, noting that it was now just a little after 7 in the morning. He had hoped the boy would sleep longer.

"I thought I told you to stay put." He grumbled at the boy which only made the child squirm more.

"'m sorry sir." He said in that terrible accent that all children under the age of five seemed to possess "I welly need da bafroom."

Voldemort's eye twitched. Of course, he really should have expected this. It also gave new light to the boys squirming.

"Fine, this way" he instructed as he stood up. The boy quickly ran after him and soon enough the boy was directed to the nearest bathroom. Voldemort stood awkwardly outside of the closed door for a moment wondering if he should just leave the boy and go back to his research. The child had to be old enough to do this on his own right?

Dear Merlin he hoped so. Either way he wasn't going to just stand out here and wait for the boy, so instead he walked back to the study.

The more minutes that passed though the more he found it hard to concentrate. What in slytherin's name was taking the boy so long? Had he flushed himself down the toilet on accident? Had Voldemort left something deadly in that bathroom? That...was actually a very good possibility and he was just standing up to check on the boy when the child walked in.

He looked the boy over critically before meeting the child's eyes. "You had better have washed your hands." He hissed out, annoyed that he had actually been worried. The child's eyes widened comically and he quickly disappeared again, likely back to the bathroom to wash up before he got into trouble.

Voldemort was starting to think he had bit off more than he could chew with this one. Why in Merlin's name had he not just let the light side take the boy?

The Order was in chaos as they tried to figure out what to do.

"We have to go and rescue him now!" Ron had insisted with the full support of the twins and his mother "we can't just leave him in Voldemorts hands!"

"Of course not Ron, no one said we were." Hermione insisted trying to be the voice of reason for the group "but we have no idea where he could have taken him or where to even start looking. We don't even know what spell or group of spells did this to him! "

"We don't even know if the boy is still alive." Moony pointed out like the kill joy he was. Everyone studiously ignored him. They needed to come up with a plan and fast; God only knew what Voldemort could be doing to the poor boy!

What Voldemort was doing was cooking breakfast. A good portion of people probably thought he didn't eat and another portion probably thought he fed on the flesh of his victims. The small portion of the wizarding population left who actually realized he was still human probably thought he was above such a mundane task as cooking, but most of them also underestimated his paranoia. He figured he had less of a chance at being poisoned if he made his own meals then if he trusted someone or something else to do it for him.

This was the first time he was cooking for two though, and if the child complained about the eggs then the boy could starve for all he cared.

The boy hadn't complained so far though and Voldemort doubted he was going to start now. In fact the boy had asked if he wanted him to help with the cooking. He had gone on to explain that he did most of the cooking at his Aunt's house and much to Voldemort's annoyance had yet to shut up.

"-and I have to cook pancakes sometimes but those and welly hard to do because you Hab to fwip them and if you don't dey burn and then Aunt-"

Voldemort had started to drown him out and instead focused on cooking. He knew that the fact that the boy had finally started talking was a good sign, it meant that he was actually starting to trust Voldemort (stupid kid), but if he continued like this Voldemort would be seriously tempted to cut out the boys vocal cords.

"-?"

Voldemort looked over at Harry who was currently watching him expectantly from his place at the small kitchen table. Voldemort quickly realized that he had probably been asked a question but hadn't been paying attention. Harry seemed to realize this too because he asked it again.

"Are you related to a snake?" He asked and Voldemort wasn't too sure if he should feel insulted, "it's just that chu look like one. That's okay though because my Uncle and Cousin look like Walruses and my Aunty is a horse. There is this crazy lady too who lives down the street she looks like a cat but -"

Voldemort once again stopped listening as it was obvious the boy had moved on to another line of thought completely. He had to wonder if all children were this sporadic with their thoughts, and if so how any parents ever managed to keep up.

By the time Voldemort had set their breakfast out on the small table Harry was talking about some beetle he had found this one time and Voldemort really didn't want to know how he had gotten onto this topic.

"Harry." He cut his off and the boy looked up at him startled "stop talking and eat your eggs."

Voldemort had grown up with about fifteen other kids, all of which he hated with every fiber of his being, but he had still been raised around them. Accompany that with the fact that most of his Death Eaters had kids and their kids had kids meant that he actually did know something about parenting. Sure he had never been a parent himself and had never wanted to be but the point still stands that he knew, in theory, what he was doing.

That didn't make the situation any easier to deal with though. "Harry, Boy, go. To. Bed!" He said as he pointed to the small bed that was currently the only piece of furniture in the small room. The bed itself had been left by the previous owners of the house and Voldemort had never bothered to move it. He was glad now because without it he would probably have had to keep the boy on living room couch or on the study chair like last night.

Harry looked at the small metal bed and then at the rest of the dark room and then turned back to Voldemort. He shook his head quickly indicated, in the way children did, that there was no way in hell he was going to be sleeping in that room.

Voldemort resisted the urge to run his hand down his face. "And why don't you want to sleep in there?"

Harry fidgeted "it's really big..." He said looking back into the dark room with a gulp "and dark..."

"It's supposed to be dark" Voldemort argued "you're supposed to sleep in it."

Harry didn't react to that and instead continued to stare into the room. "Maybe...maybe I can stay under the stairs?" He asked, looking up at Voldemort hopefully "I can just get some blankets and stay under there."

Voldemort studied the boy very carefully for a long moment before finally asking "And why, when there is a perfectly acceptable bed here, would you want to sleep in a cupboard?"

"That's where I sweep at Auntie's house." Harry answered as if it should be obvious.

Voldemort's eye twitched and swore that he would kill the horse and two walruses painfully and slowly for daring to treat a wizard like that, it didn't matter that the boy was supposed to kill him; no wizard should be treated like that by mere muggles.

Actually no witch or wizard should be allowed to be raised by a muggle period but the point was a bit mute right now.

"You are not sleeping under the stairs, you are going to sleep on that bed in this bedroom and you are not going to complain about it again." Voldemort instructed in a stern voice. Harry gulped before nodding slowly and once again turning to look into the room.

"Can...Can you stay with me? Just for a little bit?" Harry finally asked catching Voldemort off guard. He was about to say an automatic 'no' but paused. If the boy didn't sleep tonight then chances were that he would be intolerable tomorrow. If he wanted to get anything done without completely killing the child (of which, he had to remind himself, he was avoiding for the unknown repercussions the action might cause) he would have to make sure the boy went to bed.

"Fine" he said, "but only until you fall asleep."

Harry looked almost ridiculously relived at this and quickly tried to drag Voldemort into the room with him. "Hold on a second child!" He hissed as he took out his wand, a quietly mumbled spell and his chair from the study along with a book floated up the stairs. If he had to sit and wait for the boy to sleep then he was going to at least get some work done.

He woke to angry hissing and a scream. His first thought was that Nagini had just got back from hunting with something (one) that was not quite dead. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep when a painful electric jolt ran through his mind and over his skin. That sensation made him jump out of his bed and quickly storm down the hall.

He swore he would kill that boy again if he had somehow managed to get himself eaten by Nagini.

On the bright side, he now knew something about the barrier. It was officially a pain in the arse.

Thankfully Nagini had not quite killed the boy when he burst into the room; instead Harry was wrapped tightly in Nagini's coils struggling to pull in air against the pressure. Voldemort could feel the pressure on his own skin and the burning in his lungs and mouth as if it was happening to him rather than the boy.

It was very disconcerting.

"Nagini release him, now" he hissed frantically as his vision started waver and black spots danced before his eyes. Thankfully Nagini was loyal and quick to respond, loosening her hold on the boy and letting him drop back to the bed.

Voldemort took a deep gulp of air and tried to steady himself at the same time that Harry took his own. Voldemort watched silently (mostly because he was still trying to catch his breath) as Harry seemed to finally recover and started crying. Loudly.

The Dark Lord sighed; this was going to be a very very long night.

The boy had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep around 3am, though he had absolutely refused to let Voldemort even think about leaving the room again. Instead he had grabbed onto his left hand and pulled it with him as he lay back down, using it like a pillow. Voldemort should have been more annoyed then he was, but as it stood (and with tonight's new revelations) he was just too exhausted to bother. Instead he allowed himself to sit in the chair next to the boy's bed and think.

He must have fallen asleep at some point in the night because he suddenly found himself waking up. It was disorienting and it took him a long while to realize he wasn't in his bedroom or in his study, and he had instead fallen asleep in the chair in Harry's temporary room. He suppressed a yawn and looked over to the small bed to check on the current pain in his existence, only to find the bed empty and the boy gone.

'Shit!' Voldemort thought as he jumped out of his chair.

He had found the boy attempting, successfully, to cook breakfast, which was an impressive thing for a four maybe five year old. That being said the child was cooking scrambled eggs, far too many, and the dark lord wasn't sure if the two of them could even eat that much in a day.

"What do you think you are doing?" He asked, causing the boy to jump and almost drop the pan. He didn't though, and after a moment of making sure the eggs wouldn't burn (smart child) he turned to look at the Dark Lord.

"Um...cooking bweakfast?" He answered nervously.

"And just how many eggs did you use for this?"

Harry looked back at the empty carton of eggs and counted on his hand before holding it up. "This many."

Nine then. "And how, exactly, do you expect us to eat all of that?"

Harry looked confused for a moment then shy. "Uncle and Dudley always eat lots. I thought-"

Voldemort held up a hand to get the boy to stop before sighing and massaging between his eyes. He was already getting a headache and he had just woken up.

"Thank you for making breakfast Harry. But next time let me take care of it alright?"

It took him until noon to realize he had thanked the boy for breakfast and to wonder why he had, before pushing the thought to the back of his mind as unimportant.

That night, as he was once again putting the boy to sleep, and having made no progress, he wondered why he didn't just send the child to one of his subjects. But then again the child's life now seems tied to his own now, which was obvious after last night's events, and there was no one he would trust with his own life besides himself. So, given that, it seemed he was stuck caring for the boy himself. He shook his head and turned his attention back to his book as he waited for Harry to finally fall sleep.

Day three started better then day two or day one. It started with breakfast that he had prepared, Harry disappearing for a while to do...something which probably didn't matter too much as long as he was quiet and away and gave him room to work. The afternoon found him in a decent mood, having discovered a little bit more about what could possibly happened to him and Harry, and found a book that might help the situation. It had to be ordered though, which meant it likely wouldn't be delivered until that night.

Finding himself with a certain, and unknown, amount of free time he decided to see if he could find his annoying little burden. He first looked in the boy's room, which was empty. Not surprising given the child hated the place. The kitchen, he had missed feeding the boy lunch so maybe the boy was making something himself, but it was also empty. He started to get a little worried when the downstairs bathroom turned up nothing. He already knew the study was empty since he had come from there and the living room turned similarly up empty. His skin wasn't burning though so it meant the boy was fine, so...where was he?

Something from the first night struck a memory, something about the cupboard under the stairs. With a small smile he went over to the small door and pulled it open, and there he was, on the floor of the dusty and almost empty cupboard and playing with...

"Are those spoons?" He asked, slightly surprised at finding Harry pretending that two spoon were...cars perhaps?

The child jumped at the sound of his voice and looked up at him with wide-eyes before quickly trying to hide the spoons from view. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't...pwease don't be mad! I'll wash them and put them right back, please don't get mad."

The child looked close to tears at this point which had Voldemort slightly panicked. He didn't want to deal with a crying child again. "It's fine." He said quickly, moving away from the door to try and make Harry feel less crowded. "It's fine. You can...keep them. Just...why don't you go play in the living room?" The cupboard wasn't clean, at all, and the last thing he wanted was a sick child on top of all of this.

Harry seemed shocked at this and took a moment to process it. He seemed like he wanted to ask a question, but thought better of it. He quickly jumped to his feet in excitement, as if the Dark Lord had given him a great gift, before running around him towards the livingroom. It took Voldemort a second to realize he very well might have given Harry a gift. Had the boy even had toys before? (Not that spoons were toys but still). Or when had someone not gotten mad at him for stealing something? Or been given permission not to hide himself? Just how badly had this boy been abused at the hands of his muggle relatives that, even at this age, he was terrified of things like this?

And he had stayed with them until he was eleven. That would mean another six or so years of abuse.

He felt the heat of anger rise in his blood, at muggles, at Dumbledore, at the whole light side for leaving a magic child in such a situation. He almost wished he could ask the boy himself, but he couldn't, and he wouldn't either. Perhaps it was best if he didn't know, having too much attachment...to much similarity...it wasn't a good thing.

With a shake of his head he turned to wait for his book to arrive.

He was still making his way through the book when Harry pulled on his robe, breaking his concentration. "Sir...I'm sweepy." He said softly, the large yawn that followed his words punctuation his statement. He looked up at the clock on the wall, realizing it was close to midnight, far too long for a child to be awake. "Okay." he agreed, already knowing that Harry would ask him to sit with him until he fell asleep, so it was best to cut to the chase. "Come on, go get ready for bed and I will meet you up there." He wanted to finish this last chapter before heading up.

When he showed up to the room Harry was already sitting on the bed, which was certainly progress, and asked him if he could read his book to him. He was a little surprised by the request, but he didn't see the harm in it, and only after ten minutes of reading from the book about magical seals Harry was out. He stopped reading out loud then, but he ended up staying in the room reading until the sun was peeking through the window and he realized just how long he had been working. He didn't bother with sleep that night in the end and went to go prepare breakfast.

Day four went similarly, with Harry keeping himself entertained with little trinkets around the house, (though after an incident with a cursed box that tried to bite off his fingers he quickly started to ask permission to play with stuff) while the Dark Lord worked non-stop to find an answer. Making some progress, only to later find contradicting information. It was frustrating to say the least.

Day five found him drawing signs and signals out on some scrap parchment in an attempt to redesign a diagnostic spell that might actually be able to identify the spells that had caused the shield against his skin. He was half way through his fourth attempt (the first through third having been scrapped and tossed into the fire in flashes of light) when he felt his robe being pulled.

"What is it Harry, I'm a little busy." He waited for the answer, not looking away from his work.

" I'm sowy…I jus…Can I drwa too sir?" he asked, tugging again at the Dark Lords robe.

Voldement looked over at harry and thought for a moment before passing him some paper and a quill with never-ending ink. "I only have black ink, and you have to be careful not to punch through the paper, but i don't see why not." After all it was something for the boy to do, "go ahead and go draw in front of the fire."

Harry smiled happily and took the supplies, thanking him multiple times before going to draw, allowing Voldemort to get back to his work. It was almost an hour later (after what sounded like many attempts at trying to figure out how to use a quill) when a picture was (not so subtly) slid onto his desk and a voice from the other side whispered "I drew you a snake" Before disappearing again.

Voldemort looked at the picture and thought it wasn't so bad, for a five year old, and went back to work.

It wasn't until there were about ten drawings of different kinds of snakes on his desk that he finally decided to take a break and look over at the boy trying to sneak the eleventh drawing onto his desk.

"Harry, perhaps you want to draw something else?" anything else. What was he supposed to do with all of these drawings anyway?

"I…don't know how to dwa anything else." Harry admitted, looking down at his drawing. "snakes are just noodles with eyes. I can dwa snakes. But…I don't know how to draw anything else." He glanced up and then at the signs the Dark Lord was drawing before perking up. "Hey! Can you teach me how to draw other stuffs? Can you teach me how to dwa people!?"

Voldemort wasn't so sure that he could, but the boy seemed so excited about the idea that he figured it couldn't hurt to try. Besides, he thought as he moved to join Harry of the floor, a small break would probably do him good.

That night, after he put Harry to bed, he put in an order for an overnight delivery for a set of crayons and a sketchpad.

Day seven found him desperate. The book turned out to be somewhat helpful, but not enough to give him a full answer, now Voldemort was pouring over another book he had 'borrowed' from the Malfoys. There had to be something in here, anything. He had been caring for the boy for a week now and was about at his limit. If he couldn't find a way to change the boy back or break this curse (yes it was a curse by this point) soon he would be forced to kill the boy anyway, to hell with the repercussions. Not because the boy was annoying, in fact most of the day the boy took care of himself and hardly required any watching at all, but because, well...

He desperately turned the next page, skimming its text when he was suddenly distracted by a quiet 'pew-pew-pew' coming from in front of the fire place. Curious he looked over his desk to see Harry lying on the floor. Littered around him were a number of small half charred wood blocks and sticks that the boy had to have liberated from the edge of the fireplace. Voldemort was about to demand to know what the boy thought he was doing when he suddenly got his answer.

"Pew-pew!" The boy said again in a rendition of a muggle gun "you can't beat me! I'm the strongest person around!" One of the pieces of wood in Harry's right hand said to the one in his left.

"Nu-uh!" Said the left one in response "I'm gonna win because I have an army!" Harry indicated to the piled of wood off to his left.

"Ya well I have a fire!" The right one yelled back. There was a gasp from the army on the left side as Harry picked a few of them up and threw them into the fire.

"You will pay for that!" The left side said to the right and the shooting noises quickly started up again. It was obvious that the right side was winning.

Voldemort forced the smile from his face as soon as he realized it was there, but he couldn't help the slightly feeling of humor that washed over him at the situation. Who would have thought that Dumbledore's golden boy would play war games? And such gruesome ones at that? Burning a whole army alive? How very dark of him.

He found himself standing up before even really making a conscious decision to do so and moved over to Harry's side. Harry looked up at him startled as Voldemort sat himself down elegantly in front of him. He was even surprised by his own actions, maybe even more so then Harry himself, but he had found himself doing a lot of surprising things this week.

But he was stressed and slightly overwhelmed and maybe a small break wouldn't be a bad thing? Besides, It was never too late or early to teach the 'golden boy' lessons about war was it? So why not join in.

His hand grabbed one of the left side solders and quickly placed it in front of the block in Harry's right hand. "You think that we are going to give up just because you have a giant fire!" Voldemort said with his best impression of Dumbledore "you cannot defeat us for we have LOVE on our side!" and Merlin, he felt physically sick being so stupidly cheesy.

Harry's smile could have blinded people but he didn't break character once "I will show you!" He said happily "I am lots stronger then love!"

Harry's laughter filled the room as the battles continued. The left side (which Voldemort quickly took control of) fought Right and his evil Fire of Doom. But in the end, no matter what the left side did, they were just no match for the fire and were one by one gobbled up. Voldemort took a bit of childish delight in using his magic to carve the left side's leader to look like Dumbledore right before throwing him into the fire.

Harry clapped happily at his victory and had insisted on keeping the piece of wood that had won. "You can't feed him to the fire!" Harry had insisted "he won so he's gots to live!"

Voldemort agreed completely and took the little piece of wood to carve it into a coiled snake for Harry to keep as a trophy. Harry had been so happy with it that he had carried it around in his pocket for the rest of the day before placing it on his window seal as he got ready for bed.

That night, as Voldemort read him to bed, he could no longer lie to himself about what was going on. This is what had been worried about earlier; this was why he needed so desperately to find that answer. He was, somehow and very upsettingly, getting attached.

It was on day eight that the letter arrived: A request, desperate, for a trade. It looked like the light side was willing to give him almost anything to get the child back. Well, anything but surrender. Their condition was that Harry was returned to them alive and unharmed and they would ensure the release of as many of his followers from Azkaban as he wished. Not that he couldn't must break into Azkaban again but...it was tempting. That was, if it wasn't for the fact that he still hadn't figured out what was going on with the child and that shield just yet.

There was a yelp and the sound of crying and Voldemort quickly realized that it might not matter anymore.

He realized this and felt numb.

It took him two more days to get back to the Order, two days of thinking, putting it off, and slight experimentation, some of which involved stinging hexes (that probably shouldn't have made him feel as badly as they did), and small reassurances to Harry that he probably shouldn't have felt the need to make.

But after a few hours it became very obvious that he was no longer feeling the same pain Harry was feeling, he wasn't sure when or how this had changed but he had the vague feeling that it was about the time he had found himself actually caring for the boy. It was a cutting realization, and one that was accompanied with a second realization that he could kill the boy right now if he wanted to.

And that he didn't want to. (Though why the child was still five he had no idea and figured he could leave that mystery to the Order)

He wrote a letter back to the Order with a list of names and an agreement.

He hadn't realized how hard it would be to explain the situation to Harry, or how much crying it would involve. He awkwardly tried to pat the child's back which only led to the child clinging to his robe.

"Harry..."

"I d-don' wanna go! pw-pwease! I don wanna go!"

"Harry you'll be fine, you will see, it's-"

"No I'm not!" he screamed, causing the Dark Lords ears to ring painfully. "no I-I'm not. Th-they are mean to me at home. Aunty and Uncle and Dudley are mean to me and I d-don't want to go. Please, pwease don't make me go."

That caused his chest to hurt slightly, in ways it hadn't for a very long time, and he realized that perhaps the boy wasn't so ignorant to the abuse he had been facing. Maybe he knew exactly what was going on.

"I'm sorry Harry," And he was a little surprised that he actually meant it, "but I don't have a choice," if he kept the boy...if he kept him he knew, one day, he would be forced to try to kill him (right?). There would be no way around that (right?). At least not as long as the prophesy was in place. It wouldn't matter if he wanted to kill Harry or not it would happen eventually, or Harry would kill him. And now, after everything, both options were off the table.

So, the best plan now, after all of this, was for him to make sure they kept their distance from each other.

He put Harry to sleep that night as always, as he had gotten in the habit of doing. He sat in his chair and read out loud until Harry had stopped crying and his eyes closed. It took a little longer for the boy's breathing to even out after sobbing for so long, but eventually it did. He looked innocent then, as any child ever did. He didn't yet know, not truly, the full depth of the abuse those muggles were going to be subjecting him to nor did he know the damage those idiots on the light would deal to his fragile and wanting mind. Would they be sending him back to his relatives if they didn't figure out how to age him again? Would they send them back to them even if they did? Did they even know what that would do to the child?

"I suppose, in comparison to you, I was lucky" Voldemort said to the sleeping boy "I was nothing in the muggle world and when I found my way into the magical one I was still nothing. I had no one who expecting anything from me but myself, I could make myself into whatever I wanted, build myself up from that nothing into something far, far more.

You though, you were told, all your life that you were worthless, and yet when you found the wizarding world you were no longer worthless, but famous; wanted. You had a foundation already in place for you, as my 'vanquisher'" he pause, letting silence fall as he studied the boy with a frown "a big title to live up to, and one that quickly expanded to being the sacrifice, the child who would die for the light. And you took up that mantle without complaint didn't you? And why? Because you suddenly had these people, these light wizards and witches, telling you that your worth, the one thing you always wanted, could only be won by dying for them.

You were, are, so willing to see yourself dead just so you can prove to the light that you are worth something. They are the ones that are truly killing you, and those idiots don't even realize it."

He sat in silence for a while, staring at the far wall where a number of drawings now hung. His eyes fell to the semi stick figure of Harry holding a wand with a bright yellow lightning bolt coming out from the end. 'I'm gonna be a wizard just like you one day!' He had told Voldemort happily on day six as he sat on the floor in his office, drawing happily with his new set of crayons and paper. Voldemort had just nodded and told him 'I don't doubt it'. He had been the one to show Harry how to draw basic humans the day before, and for some reason he hadn't been about to curb the pride he had felt for Harry when he had presented him with that drawing the next day, having drawn it all by himself with no help from the Dark Lord at all.

"They are wrong." He started up again "and so are you, your worth does not come from what others tell you to do, it comes from the path you make for yourself. You want to prove to the world you are worth something, fine, just don't let the world tell you how you are to prove that worth. If you want to go out and sacrifice yourself then do so, but do it because you want to, not because some idiots tells you have no other choice. "

Silence fell again and He finally stood up, deciding that he had probably talked to himself for long enough. The boy would be leaving tomorrow for the light anyway, so it wasn't like his words would change anything. He found himself pausing at the door anyway. "You don't have to die Potter," he finally said keeping his back to the boy "you have no one to prove your worth to, no one but yourself." And then he left, feeling a lot more like an idiot then he had in a long time.

They were all glaring at him like he was evil incarnate when he showed up for the exchange, which in their opinion was probably closer to the truth then not.

But he handed over Harry without complaint (even though Harry clung to him for a moment, started crying again, and he literally had to force the boy to let go of his robe). The light side took him, only after he had confirmation that his followers had been released.

He watched Harry leave, being taken by the light side, not knowing what would happen to the boy from there and wondering if it was worth it. If, after all was said and done, anything would change or if they would be right back on the same track they had always been on.

Only now he wasn't so sure he was willing to be on that track any more.

He sat at his desk back at his house a week later (and he refused to think about how quiet the house was, after all the child hadn't been there that long and he had been a quiet child anyway), thinking about all of this when a white owl lands outside of his window, tapping lightly at it. He looked up at it and only just kept a smile of his lips as he saw it and let it in. He took the letter from the bird, checked it for spells and curses, and opened it. His smile grew, turning into a laugh when a stack of kids drawing fell onto his desk, all likely depicting Harry's last week of activities, along with a very badly written letter, telling him how much fun he was having, but also asking when he could go home because 'they don't cook good eggs here and their fire isn't always green like yours'(though with far more spelling mistakes to be sure).

Well, it seemed the light side hadn't yet figured out the aging problem. Oh well.

His smile stayed on his face as he took out a quill and some paper. He couldn't be sure just yet, but perhaps something had changed, and maybe if he was lucky it was for the better.