Chapter 19-Thanatophobia

Chapter 19: Thanatophobia

Lord Voldemort was afraid. Of what? Of death. It was one of those fears that lingers in the back of one's mind, darkening one's thoughts, stirring into a toxic obsession in the black of night, when all else is silent. It usually lay dormant – after all, he was an exceptionally powerful wizard, and had horcruxes to keep him tethered to the land of living should his power and skill fail him. However...there were times when his fear would make itself known. And that had happened far too many times of late.

First there was the troll. His Gryffindorish idiot of a host decided that playing the hero was somehow a smart idea, and had nearly gotten himself flattened into pureed eleven-year-old wizard by a mountain troll of all things. To run off and risk himself for another person, another person who was virtually a stranger...well, it was unlike Harry, and went against everything he'd taught him. Harry was kind to a fault, yes, but he had learnt his lesson over the years – mind your own business. It was a basic lesson that the boy had picked up on rather quickly. But, suddenly, years of experience and self-reflection evaporated, and were replaced by a burning urge to ensure that that mudblood was unharmed. Foolish, foolish, incredibly foolish.

The only reason the punishment he doled out to Harry wasn't more harsh was that, as the boy had highlighted, while his actions were foolish, the results were...desirable. In more ways than the boy knew.

The boy had made his first kill – it was the first time the child had taken the life of a sentient creature, and, to his delight, was relatively unaffected by it. He had expressed disappointment at the troll's 'untimely demise', but was otherwise quite content with the fact that he'd decapitated a magical creature with its own distinct psyche and conception of self, complete with recognizable emotions. Given the sort of boy Harry was, there was no doubt that the fact that this creature was fully aware of itself, and was a living creature of intelligence (however meager that intelligence was), had crossed his mind, and was acknowledged...and then promptly ignored. The child was showing promise, and he was pleased to find that the boy's candid way of looking at the world could, in cases like this, actually work against his kind nature. He didn't have to kill the troll; it should have been possible to incapacitate it - but he did so anyway. He was ruthless, in a way, and he was so without any feelings of anger and hatred to spur him on.

If that hadn't been evidence of the boy's potential, his confrontation with Draco Malfoy would have been. He could not help but laugh gleefully when he recalled the burst of furious magic that had pulsed from the boy's body, matching his anger gladly. The boy had only been tired and irritated, and he had broken another child's leg because of a mere insult (and not even an insult directed at him; rather, at his mother). When truly angered into pure white, blinding rage, little Harry Potter would be positively deadly. Oh, how he was looking forward to seeing that. He was still...somewhat disturbed by the child's kind and innocent nature, but these recent events had indicated that it might not be as much of an obstacle as he had originally thought it might be.

And then there was his reputation. The whole affair had done wonders for the boy's reputation. To the rest of Hogwarts he was the Boy Who Lived, a Slytherin boy who had risked his life to save a muggleborn student - a Gryffindor, no less. He was kind, brave, considerate, and living up to the reputation his parents had set a precedence for. To Slytherin House, though, Harry Potter was now a powerful and somewhat volatile little boy, with the potential to be a frightening foe or valuable ally. It was perfect. Months of planning and scheming was condensed into the events of one night.

The final reward Harry's actions had wrought was his friendship with the muggleborn witch. While he wasn't too keen on the friendship himself, Harry had now acquired a rival he could keep a close eye on, which would benefit him in the long run. Having someone to compete with - on an academic level at least; Harry's actual magical prowess would forever dwarf the mudblood's - would accelerate his academic efforts, and the value of intelligent conversation could not be discounted. Because despite what she was, the muggleborn witch was intelligent. There was no denying it. Not to mention, the girl had expressed an interest in learning occlumency, which meant he could finally begin teaching Harry legilimency. Yes, the boy's friendship with the mudblood had potential, that was for certain.

So, all in all, the events of Halloween night had not been entirely futile.

Not long after the troll incident, however, came the Quidditch incident. He had tried to tell him, Quidditch is dangerous – so many opportunities to die in such a short amount of time. The one behind the curse was most likely Quirrell, who was working for his master soul; of that he was quite sure. Moreover, considering the presence of Harry's headaches in Defence against the Dark Arts, it was likely that he was also carrying a horcrux – he didn't think Quirrell was a horcrux himself (indeed, he had come to believe that creating a human horcrux was impossible without the very specific conditions Lily Potter had created...conditions that he had yet to unravel in their entirety), but there was no other explanation for the headaches.

Well, of course there was another explanation; there is always another explanation – and this fact was not to his advantage, seeing as he and Harry really could not afford to confront Quirrell until they were completely sure he was on their side – they couldn't have him running off to Dumbledore and revealing their secret, after all. They needed to make contact at just the right moment, which was, as Harry had deduced, the time at which Quirrell supposedly intended to steal the Stone. Only then could they be sure that at the very least, the squeamish Defence against the Dark Arts teacher wasn't on Dumbledore's side. There was also the possibility that the whole thing was a trap. But what's life without a little risk? He hated risk, of course, the nasty little variable, but it was inevitable.

Quirrell...why his master soul had chosen the timid fool as his servant, he could not figure out. Surely there were other options. Severus was probably out of the question, at this point, but both Rosier and Avery had older children attending the school. Even they had to be more competent than that blithering fool of a professor. Of course, it could all be an act, which would be impressive indeed. Perhaps the Defence against the Dark Arts professor was simply an incredible actor of impressive skill. Yes, that had to be it...right?

Yes, now that he thought about it, it was definitely an act. It had to be. Even at his most desperate, he'd never trust anyone that weak.

Either way, one thing was for certain – Dumbledore had chosen his Defence against the Dark Arts professor poorly...but it was possible he was running out of options, at this point. Perhaps he shouldn't have hexed the Defence against the Dark Arts position...it was an important subject, and Harry would no doubt have to endure 6 more years of unsatisfactory instruction in it. Oh well, what's done is done. The boy had Lord Voldemort to teach him, and no one the old fool could hire would possibly measure up.

It had been quite a while since he had taught the boy anything, though. Legilimency was an important skill, and Harry would have a chance to practice once he started teaching the mudblood occlumency, but there was so much else the boy needed to learn. Fortunately, the invisibility cloak Dumbledore had given them provided the perfect chance to further Harry Potter's education.

Now that the child had access to the restricted section of the Hogwarts library, he could begin learning the dark arts. It was essential, after all, that he start early. Harry Potter's magical core was pure white, chaotic, and so potent it was corrosive; light magic would come naturally to him, as would powerful, forceful spells, light or dark - after all, the boy's magic was almost constantly begging to be released so it could wreak havoc. The boy wasn't aware of this, of course, but given his proximity to the child's magical core, he had a front row seat to the daily struggle between Harry Potter's subconscious self control and his magical core. It was amusing, but concerning nonetheless. Mastering the subtler, finer points of the complex dark magic Lord Voldemort favoured would require time and effort...however, he had no doubt it was possible, given how much the child's contemplative personality contrasted with the nature of his magical core. Indeed, with the strange combination that was the boy's determination, thoughtfulness, and power, he did not doubt that Harry Potter would accomplish anything he put his mind to. Well, almost anything.

The child wanted to master both light and dark magic. Really, Harry Potter's naivety was as endearing as it was irritating - even he had to admit that. Mastering light and dark magic - what a feat that would be. The problem with mastering any sort of magic is that it necessarily mutates one's magical core, which in turn influences one's personality. This is why those who master dark magic quickly become obsessed with the complexity, decadence, and allure of the dark arts; this is why skilled dark magic practitioners were so fixated on gaining power and control - it became a part of them. This is also why masters of light magic like Dumbledore were so deeply connected to positive emotions and, irritatingly, moral rightness. It was impossible to remain unchanged by the magic one practices, making it difficult to practice any other kind of magic.

Still, though, it would be amusing to watch the boy try. Who knows? Maybe Harry Potter's affinity for completely overthrowing his expectations would extend farther than he thought possible. And perhaps his tendency toward mental instability might actually prove to be an advantage.

Either way, though, the boy needed to start practicing the dark arts - the sooner the better. Although, he'd need a place to practice...

It was too dangerous to show the child the Chamber yet. Too much could go wrong. However, the Room of Requirement was a good alternative – in fact, it was perfect. Yes, he'd give Harry directions to the Room of Requirement, and have him practice in there. It could be...a Christmas present. Yes, a Christmas present. After all, he couldn't have Dumbledore giving the boy gifts when he did not. That just wouldn't do.

The invisibility cloak...such a useful, troublesome object...

The boy was extremely grateful for the cloak, and rightfully so, but as useful an object it was, it was already creating problems; it had allowed the boy to find the thrice-damned mirror in that abandoned classroom.

He wasn't sure what kind of treacherous magic it was, but anything that claims to show you your heart's desire is no doubt incredibly dangerous, particularly to Harry. He would have thought the boy would see in the mirror his parents, or the friends he hoped to make at Hogwarts...something along those lines. Something...sentimental. Something that would create distance between them; something that would loosen his hold on the boy. But no...once again, the boy had to go and throw his expectations out the window.

Apparently love, friendship, and family were not what Harry Potter desired most. What he desired was...well, he wasn't sure. The image he saw through the boy's eyes had been...grim; morbid. His older self, floating there, face pale; it looked like he was close to death, despite the content smile that had been on his face. And then there was the bleeding hand.

How could that be what the boy desired? What was that? Harry Potter was a twisted little creature, in his own sweet, innocent way; a strange child with strange thoughts and strange desires. There was something wrong with the boy, but he wasn't suicidal. He couldn't be. What about that heartfelt speech he gave in front of his parents' grave? His promise to survive? What happened to that? How could the boy want to die? What had gone wrong? What could have possibly gone so wrong?

No, he needed to calm down. What he had seen in the mirror...it was more than just a drowning boy. The smile, the bleeding hand, the water – it was extremely specific. If the boy wanted to kill himself, wouldn't he have seen himself hanging from a noose, or standing upon a great precipice? Something more...conventional? People don't drown themselves when they want to commit suicide. It would be extraordinarily slow and painful – Harry was old enough to realize that. No, there was something pointedly unique about the scene he had witnessed, and the reasonable conclusion to arrive at was that it was based on a memory, something the boy had experienced before he had awakened. What it was, he couldn't begin to guess, but the child had had some kind of experience involving near death by drowning, of that he was quite certain. What he wasn't sure about was why the boy would want to relive it.

Something had happened - what exactly it was was probably of little importance - and it had revealed to the boy that thin veil between life and death; the child had looked death in the face and wanted to do it again. Was it the thrill? The loss of control? Did Harry Potter meet someone at the boundary between worlds, someone he wished to return to? Did he see something, learn something that was crucial to him? There was something that lay at the border between life and death that Harry Potter desired. But what was it?

Moreover, why was it specifically as an adult that he wanted to relive this poignant moment? Why wasn't Harry Potter, the 11 year old boy, the one floating in the mirror? No, apparently the boy wanted to relive some moment from his past at some point in his distant future. Why, he couldn't begin to imagine. He'd given up on trying to unravel the subtleties of Harry Potter's mind long ago.

For now...it would appear that he was safe. The boy had seemed just as unnerved by the image as he had been, and had been quite insistent that it was nothing. The sentiment was sincere – he had felt the potent fear and confusion in the boy's mind as he said it. Whatever twisted dream Harry Potter subconsciously desired for his future, was still unknown to the boy himself; he had time. Time to change him. Time to convince Harry Potter that there was no worse fate than death.