Secret Agent Boy-Who-Lived

Writer: Watermelonsmellinfellon Ship: Tomarrymort TAGS: AU-HBP, Humor, Crack, Voldemort/Horcrux Shenanigans.

~.O.~

‘Subtly inquire about his plans for the future and his thoughts regarding blood status.’

It wasn’t a difficult task. It wasn't something that Harry could not achieve. But could he achieve it with the best results when he was trying to be sneaky?

No.

If his life or the lives of others weren’t in danger, Harry was abysmal at pretending/sneaking. He usually got caught when he did so.

Dumbledore had asked it of him because of the new student. Well, ‘new student’.

Marvolo Slytherin, who was sorted into Slytherin. Harry had recognized that face anywhere. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Apparently, Voldemort had either gotten a new body, or he had made someone take the shape of his younger self. Either way, a young Dark Lord look alike roamed the halls of Hogwarts freely, having been sorted into Slytherin and taking up reins there.

Dumbledore had been rightfully wary and had asked Harry to befriend the ‘teen’. Voldemort should not know that Harry knew what his younger self looked like, according to Dumbledore. Harry should definitely be able to slip into the ‘teen’s’ life without much trouble.

Problem. Slytherin and Gryffindor were opposites. Their tables rested on opposite ends of the Great Hall. Their dorms on opposite ends of the school. Even in their shared classes, they sat on opposite sides of the room because Merlin forbid the students tried to mingle, let alone those from the most competitive Houses.

Harry knew he would have his work cut out for him. He contemplated the various ways he could stalk the teen but came up with nothing that wouldn’t get him a face full of flying bogeys or something worse.

Certainly the Slytherins would notice the Boy-Who-Lived skulking about them. He needed a way to insert himself into Slytherin’s day to day life. A way that actually made sense

And so he had come up with this plan. He was a Gryffindor and he was known for diving right in while the water was boiling. He couldn’t think of anything else to get him the results he desired, so this plan would have to do.

He had a map of Hogwarts, an Invisibility Cloak, and knowledge of secret corridors and tunnels he’d found on his own that weren't listed on the map, because they changed often.

In the middle of the lunch hour, when the students were stuffing themselves silly, Harry stood from his position at the Gryffindor Table and made his way across the Hall. Some people quieted down when they noticed he was going into ‘dangerous territory’. Harry ignored them, because he had to get this introduction done before he lost his nerve.

Stopping a foot away from the group of Fifth Year Slytherins who had all been in quiet discussion before his interruption, Harry waited until he had all of their attention, before speaking.

Voldemort - or should he just call him Marvolo for now? - was also looking at him and his dark blue gaze held obvious interest and some confusion, which was perfectly understandable. This wasn’t Harry’s usual behaviour after all.

“Hello, Mr. Potter.”

Slytherin’s voice was incredibly smooth and sounded so much like the Diary had. Harry took note of how equally handsome he was as well. Voldemort was an attractive bloke, that was for certain.

Fixing the act onto his face, Harry allowed a bright and beaming smile to shine down upon the Slytherins. “Hi!” he said, enthusiasm almost too much for him to control.

The Slytherins exchanged wary looks. He’d never acted in such a way toward any of them before, so he couldn’t blame their mistrust.

Keeping Slytherin’s gaze, Harry added, “I’m going to be spying on you.”

There was a collective hush at the table, which made the rest of the hall quiet down. Everyone was watching the interaction.

“O-kay?” Voldemort nodded, though he sounded questioning.

“Just thought you should know that I’ll be watching your every move!” Harry gave another blinding grin and traipsed back to his table, ignoring the looks, the whispers, and the questions his friends were shooting at him.

From his seat, he could see the shaking heads of the fellow Slytherins. Malfoy rolled his eyes for good measure. Marvolo Slytherin did not look worried in the least.

That was the idea. If Harry blatantly said one thing, but did another, it would cause… suspicion. Hopefully, they’d be too unnerved by his declaration to consider he’d have ulterior motives. He was a Gryffindor after all. He couldn’t possibly be capable of thinking that far ahead.

~.O.~

Harry began his journey on the weekend. After he was called into Snape’s office and pretty much taken to task over his lacklustre plan and ‘completely idiotic ruination of the original plan with his Gryffindorish tendencies’, he set to stalking.

Harry slipped the Invisibility Cloak on and opened the map. Voldemort’s name - which actually came out to Tom Marvolo Riddle-Slytherin - was in the library. Not shocking, as the man most likely wanted something in the Restricted Section. Also, from how he’d sounded back in Second Year, the man was probably a swotty know-it-all.

Harry traversed the corridors silently, avoiding groups of students and any ghosts. They could apparently feel people when floating through them and would know he was there, even if under the Cloak. He was not taking risks with this.

Harry ducked behind an aisle that was a few feet from Voldemort. He slipped the Cloak and map into his bag and made it look as if he was browsing like others normally did. He nabbed a book on Runes and flipped it open to a random page.

Sowilo. Sigil. Sol. Something to represent the Sun. The shape of the rune on the page made him think of his scar. How interesting that this was the page he opened a random book up to. In fact, he’d never wondered why his scar was the shape it was, and suddenly wondered if there was a deeper meaning to it.

“Potter?”

Harry looked up, finding himself confronted with Slytherin. The other ‘teen’ looked surprised to see him there. Like it was impossible for Harry to set foot in a library. He withheld a scoff, because he’d set foot in this particular one, seven times, including this time. That was way more than the typical Gryffindor.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully, masking his annoyance with practice he’d learned from dealing with the Dursleys. “What are you in for?”

His eyes landed on the book about… Magical Illness? Why did Voldemort need such a book?

“Some light reading.”

For a second, Harry thought of Hermione. The book in those slim hands was not ‘light’ in any way. It could probably knock Hagrid out if thrown hard enough. Probably over a thousand pages as well. He shivered in terror at the thought of sitting down with such a book.

“And you?” queried the Slytherin.

Harry’s arms were already moving to turn the book around, displaying the rune for the man/teen to see. “Doesn’t this look like my scar?”

It was the best he had on such short notice. Lying on the spot wasn’t his best when he wasn’t in a hurry.

“Indeed. It could mean that you are blessed with great luck or success.”

Harry snorted. It didn’t specify which kind of luck though, did it? And his luck had been historically terrible.

“You don’t concur?”

Who even said words like ‘concur’ anymore? Unless it was Snape, Harry was definitely sure that this was Voldemort.

“No, I think it pretty much spells out the story of my life. Just that it never specifies what sort of luck I am ‘blessed’ with.”

With a shake of the head, Harry placed the book back on the shelf, uninterested in pursuing anything on Sowilo further.

Marvolo gave a nod. “As long as you’re certain.”

Yes, he was.

~.O.~

Slytherin had just left the Great Hall to head to Double Potions! If Harry was quick, he could make it there before him!

To the left of the Entrance Hall was a secret passageway that opened when someone sang Little Miss Moffat. The passage led to a portrait that was about ten feet away from the Potions Classroom. It was not common knowledge and Harry intended to keep it that way.

He brushed himself off and skipped ahead to wait in front of the door, knowing it would be baffling to see him already waiting. A moment later, Marvolo rounded the corner and paused mid stride to take in the fact that Harry was already there when Harry had obviously just been at breakfast and had even caught his eye as he was leaving.

Harry had to withhold his giggles because this was becoming fun! Who knew stalking Voldemort would bring him such entertainment?

This should have been a relatively serious situation, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit light over it. It’d been a while since Hogwarts was this fun.

What else could he do to throw the Dark-Lord-Turned-Teenager off his guard?

~.O.~

On Hallowe’en night, Harry had trailed after the Slytherins and managed to enter their Common Room with a group of First Years. He then stood beside the fireplace - which was alight with green flames - and waited for the perfect opportunity. Never had he been more grateful for his Invisibility Cloak.

In fact, he realised that he, Hermione, and Ron could have just used that to get into the Common Room in their Second Year and probably should have done just that instead of stealing potions ingredients.

Well, it was in the past so he couldn’t really do anything about it now.

This part of the operation included subtlety. As subtle as Harry could be really. Every now and then he would reveal his head and then hide it again, while he chose a new side of the room to hide in. It was funny to see people double take or even triple take.

Of course, there was no chance of the possibility of Voldemort summoning the Cloak, even if he knew about it. The Cloak could not be summoned. A nifty little feature that Harry was ever so grateful for.

Eventually, someone went to a Prefect, which got a wider level of attention, and eventually, Marvolo became involved as they searched the room for the mysterious Harry Potter head.

Harry snickered quietly to himself and proceeded to wait by the door for someone to leave so he could sneak out. It was far too easy to rile the Slytherins up.

Distantly, he was aware of how this was not the plan to get information out of Voldemort, but it was the most interesting things had been since Fourth Year, so he’d rather keep doing things his own way and hope for the best.

~.O.~

A/N: An idea from a very long time ago. I decided to share it here to tide everyone over while I have to deal with personal problems irl.

relent

Harry gaped as he watched Ron disapparate, his heart shuddering and squeezing tight in his chest. The actual audacity. The fucking cheek of Ron.

Harry stood in the middle of the Forest of Dean, mouth agape, as Hermione quietly began to cry. Every molecule in Harry's body burned and his vision blurs; it's not until he feels the hot splash of tears against his cheeks that he realised he had begun to cry silently as well.

Hermione's fingers threaded through Harry's and he held her hand tightly. It seems like it's just going to be the two of them.

It is fine. They can do this.

They’ll have to.

"I guess it'll just be us against Vol – " Harry began sourly before Hermione's hand squeezed tightly.

"Don't say his name, Harry," Hermione whispered. "I don't know why, I can't explain it – but just, don't say his name."

Harry sealed his lips in a tight line, frowning, as they looked at the spot Ron had once stood.

— — — —

"Do you remember, Harry," Hermione began pensively, rolling her wand in her hand, "When Dean Thomas nearly ran into us in the forest?"

Harry looked up from his spot near the fire, pulling himself from his dark thoughts. His chest still ached from where Hermione had cut the locket off his flesh the night before, the searing oval scar shiny and tingling.

“I do," Harry answered at last. He tossed the sealed Golden Snitch between his hands, finger pads gliding over the engraved gold. He used to play with his wand this way, before – before it was splintered into shards. The wound of losing his wand sears hotter than the locket scar, than Nagini's venom-less bite.

"Remember when Dirk said... That he thought you'd run off?" Hermione continued slowly. “Abandoned the wizarding world?”

Harry was too tired to bristle at her carefully chosen words, too exhausted to get annoyed at her slowly leading questions.

After the last twenty-four-hour's events, Harry would very much prefer to not go into the subject of eavesdropping on Thomas and Dirk, as the immediate nasty row that occurred following said eavesdropping had resulted in Ron leaving. Abandoning them in the Forest of Dean.

That's a subject both Harry and Hermione are too raw to broach, despite all of the time that had since passed.

Ron’s cold laughter echoed in Harry’s head. 'I get it. You choose him.'

Harry sighed and nodded.

"I think... I think maybe Dirk had a point," Hermione whispered, brown eyes glazed as she stared into the inky forest.

Harry's head jerked up at that, mouth dropping open. "What are you suggesting?" Harry asked through a rushed exhale, shocked.

Hermione did not look at Harry as she laced her fingers together and gripped until her knuckles grew white. From her seated position on the log across from the fire, Harry could see the dark bags under her eyes, the sallow dip of her cheeks.

They've been in the forest too long, lost as to what their next step should be. They’re starving, scared. Barely no longer children in a world that is too dark and cold.

"It's a zero sum game, Harry,” Hermione said slowly. “The muggles are war driven. As are the wizards. Once the muggles discover the threat You-Know-Who poses, they'll deploy their armies. They'll attack. And the wizards will fight back just as hard. Muggle weapons are stronger than any single spell, but magic will disrupt their systems. It'll be a standstill and yet they'll just keep fighting," Hermione whispered, lips pale from cold and fear. "The wizards and the muggles will treat you as nothing other than a threat."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, words heatless. He genuinely didn't understand her point.

"You're... You're a horcrux, Harry," Hermione answered so quietly he barely heard her over the sound of the crackling fire.

Harry's heart froze for a timeless moment and then it near exploded in his chest, beating with the frantic tempo of a startled rabbit.

"How do you – what are you – " He began to stammer, horrified, before Hermione quickly continued.

"It's just a theory," Hermione said sharply, voice growing louder as she began to rally her resolve. "But please, just think about it – the connection you have with him, your ability to speak Parseltongue, Dumbledore's insistence that it has to be you to fight him. I think Dumbledore knew, that he's been raising you to fight Him to the death. That you won't survive this war."

Harry felt something shift inside him, like a cog sliding into gear. The idea fit too well; within a moment, Harry could see it all through the eyes of the new perspective. The Parseltongue, the mood swings he feels and unintentionally acts upon, the dreams.

In his mind’s eye, Harry sees the strange way Dumbledore introduced the horcruxes to him, carefully and gently, leading Harry down a path to knowledge.

"I have to die," Harry whispered weakly. It feels true, like everything Harry has ever been taught, like everything Harry has ever known has suddenly accumulated in this single, morbid epiphany. "I am going to die."

The Snitch breaks open in his hand.

Harry jolts, surprised, and in his shock he drops the small thing on the ground. At his feet, a gold ring with a cracked black rock falls out of the snitch.

Harry looked up at Hermione and was startled by the look of icy anger on her face.

"He charmed it to open when you accepted your death," Hermione stated blankly, appalled. She stood abruptly and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

Harry knew this look – she was attempting to console two opposing thoughts in her head, cognitive dissonance burning her logical mind to the ground. "Dumbledore knew you had to die. He knew. And he made it so that you could only inherit the ring once you accepted it."

A feeling of complete, overwhelming betrayal stabbed through Harry's heart. Was that... Was that all Harry had been to Dumbledore? A martyr to a cause? A weapon, his grand Chosen One?

For the Greater Good.

"We have no help. Ron is long gone. We led Vo-ugh, You-Know-Who to discovering the identity of the thief," Harry hissed quietly, reeling, "We're being hunted. I have no wand and no idea where to look for the next horcrux – well, we know where at least two horcruxes are," he said, waving at himself and to the tent where the locket had been stashed. Harry released a barely-human noise disguised as a brittle laugh, a sound he'd never made before. It was high pitched and weak, bursting through his throat without warning. "Hermione," Harry said, turning to his best friend. "I – I'm going to have to die."

Hermione looked as if he had physically slapped her. "No. No, that's not going to happen," she protested vehemently.

"But it is," Harry answered dully, sitting down at the fire. "There's no other way."

Just as Harry said those words, something strange shifted inside of himself. Something oddly feral and desperate, an idea borne from a creature backed into a corner.

"We'll figure something out," Hermione promised solemnly.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, mind whirling with the new idea, breathless. "Yeah we will."

— — — —

That night, after Harry finished his lookout shift and was tucked into his chilly cot, he thought of the people who had supported him over the years. He thought of the names that well wishers carved into his dead family home's miserable epitaph in Godric's Hollow. He thinks of Remus' quiet support and Sirius' wild grin. He thinks of Hermione and Luna and Ginny and Neville and Ron –

The memory of Ron sours the growing feeling of happiness in Harry's heart. Harry thinks of Ron's betrayal, his best friend's cruel words and demanding that Harry do something. As if Harry was supposed to know it all, as if he were failing them. Harry thinks on the fury Ron had expressed that Harry had no plan. Harry then thinks of Sirius' glazed eyes, when he called Harry James. He thinks of Remus disappearing from his life after Sirius' death, of Dumbledore avoiding Harry in fifth year, scared he'd see Voldemort lurking in Harry's eyes. Of Dumbledore hiding secrets from him, that Harry is a horcrux, even after he promised no more secrets. Harry thinks of the Dursleys, being left at their doorstep. Of the teachers who saw his skinny body and bruises and never said a word.

Harry got out of bed and relieved Hermione of her post. She was so dead on her feet that she nodded off immediately.

Harry lifted her wand and strengthened the spells around the camp-site, makes sure no one would ever be able to find it from the outside. He laid Hermione's wand at her side and slipped off into the night, passing through the camp wards. He turned back to where he knows is a warmly-glowing hearth, a spacious tent, his best friend – but all he sees is dark vacant forest. Harry turned his back on his closest friend and walked deep into the Forest of Dean.

Only when Harry had walked far enough to feel confident Hermione wouldn’t be caught in the cross-hairs, Harry parted his lips and whispered, “Voldemort.”

— — — —

The capture was swift and merciless. Harry was taken to Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire and Harry can only feel relief that Draco Malfoy isn't there to laugh in his face, though the cold look of darkening glee on Lucius Malfoy's face raises the hairs on Harry's neck.

They ask him questions, try to make him speak. All Harry lets himself say is, "Voldemort."

They grow tired of shooing away summoned Snatchers when the tabooed name calls them over and over, and they stop asking him questions eventually. The cruciatus hurts, yes, but it does not make Harry speak.

After, Harry sits in the dank dungeons of Malfoy Manor, fingers pressing against the thick fabric of his battered coat hems. They've searched him for weapons and only found a golden snitch. That had been taken from him, yes, but the ring on his finger wasn’t. Harry wondered why – does it have something to do with how their eyes skate over it, unseeing? Can the ring hide itself from others?

Harry didn’t know but he struggled to care.

— — — —

Harry's scar has always been a better Voldemort detector than any Sneak-O-Scope, than any seer ability or omen. Harry flinched as his scar sears and he looked up through his eyelashes from his dozing spot, seated against the wall in the dank dungeon.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered from the other side of iron ore bars.

"Voldemort," Harry greeted him quietly, eyes flicking down. He has no interest in testing how long his terrible Occlumency wards would last against the greatest mind reader of the millennia.

"Have you come to surrender?" Voldemort mocked, his terrible voice burning shudders of disgust down Harry's spine.

"Never," Harry replied with defiance he does not feel, tilting his head back against stone and glancing up at Voldemort with wry amusement.

"You are pathetic," Voldemort snarled.

"That only reflects poorly on you," Harry countered, laughing.

Voldemort hissed, low and dangerous, and he raised his wand to Harry’s chest.

Harry closed his eyes, the magic burning so luminescent at the end of Voldemort's wand, so bright, that Harry can see it through his closed eyelids – soft relief echoing in his mind, it's over its done he can rest now –

The wand lowered. Harry opened his eyes in surprise. He's... Alive.

"Relief," Voldemort said abruptly, head tilting eerily in a mockery of a human behaviour. "Why do you feel... Relief?"

Harry closed his eyes once more. "Because I know without a shadow of doubt that if you try to kill me, you'll just fail again. And again. And again. Like every other time. In fact, I'm safest when you try to kill me," Harry jibed back, unsure why Voldemort has stopped. But Harry found himself unwilling to play games with the monster. The quickest way to return to course is to insult Voldemort.

For the first time in Harry's life, the monster does not let his wounded ego get in the way of thought.

"You want me to kill you," Voldemort said. There is a strange quality in his voice, contemplation perhaps. "You, Harry Potter, are many things, but you are not a coward. You would only willingly come to me for one reason: self sacrifice." Voldemort spat the words as if they burned his thin lips as he spoke them.

Harry jolted, surprised, eyes opening as the words hissed to him grew near. Harry flinched back in horror as he realised Voldemort was right there, directly in front of him not two feet away, crouched and boring his hellfire red eyes into Harry's wide, blown pupils. Voldemort had melted through the bars of Harry's cell silently, a ghost with no presence.

'What is your secret, Harry Potter?' Voldemort hissed.

'Not everything is a conspiracy,' Harry replied sharply, his running mouth barely audible over the sound of his thundering heart in his ears.

'Nagini was correct – you can speak Parseltongue,' Voldemort whispered, his vertical pupils dilating, 'But you are no Slytherin ancestor.'

Harry felt his heart freeze in his chest, terror race through his blood – did he figure out – could Voldemort know he is a –

There's a rough, jagged glass-shard scrape of Voldemort's mind brushing against Harry's own and it catches his thoughts, brutally sharp in its cruelty, diving deep into Harry’s mind with reckless need to understand.

'It cannot be,' Voldemort breathed, red eyes flaring bright, reptilian pupils lost in sea of fire.

Before Harry can respond, can attack, Voldemort strikes out, presses his fingers against Harry’s forehead, pain searing burning agony, and all Harry knows darkness.

165 notes View Post

freezingflames7

1 year ago

As you should

Tom: If you like me, raise your hand.

Harry: And if we don’t like you?

Tom: Raise your standards.

591 notes View Post

freezingflames7

7 months ago

tom, at 3am: harry wake up

harry: *sighs*