A Change of Heart

Chapter Nine

Harry was nearly groaning under Dudley's dead weight when suddenly, he was aware of someone else in the alleyway. A man was there, on his other side, easing Dudley's bulk off Harry's shoulders. Harry could not see his face due to the hood he wore.
Mrs. Figg stopped and stared at him. "Who are you?"
The man pulled his hood back. And smiled. "I'm new to the order. Mundungus told me to have a look in here before I returned to Headquarters. Good thing too." He smiled at Harry. "Nice Patronus, by the way."
Harry was gasping. It was Voldemort. Except he looked different. He looked exactly like the Diary Riddle, but older. He smiled at Harry, lowering his voice, "Don't give me away just yet, Harry. Your friend can't do anything. Nor this fat lump you call a cousin."
Harry swallowed, but kept quiet.
"What is your name?" Asked Mrs. Figg.
"Tom," Voldemort replied.
Harry found walking a lot more easier now that Voldemort was carrying Dudley. But he felt as if he was in a nightmare. It did not feel real. First, the Dementor attack, then Mrs. Figg turning out to be a squib, and now, Voldemort- Voldemort, of all people!- turning up like this and carrying his cousin's limp form.
There was a loud crack and Mundungus Fletcher appeared. Mrs. Figg made him aware of the situation in a few choice words. Strangely, he too seemed to accept Voldemort and did not deny his cover story.
"I better get back to Headquarters. Dumbledore needs to hear of this," said he before apparating away.
"And I need to get back home too," said Mrs. Figg. "You will see him home safely, Tom?"
"Of course, Mrs. Figg." Voldemort gave her a thumbs up.
Harry wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Mrs. Figg not to go, but he held his tongue. What could Mrs. Figg or Mundungus Fletcher do against Voldemort? Voldemort waited till Mrs. Figg was out of sight, then he tapped his wand against Dudley, who levitated an inch from the ground and started moving forward. His face was slack and his eyes closed. But Harry could see that he was alive. At least, Voldemort hadn't killed him.
"That's better than carrying him," said Voldemort, startling Harry as he threw an arm around Harry's shoulder, holding him close. "And it allows us a chance to have a conversation."
"You're not going to kill me?" Harry wondered why Voldemort was holding him so close. It made walking very difficult. He tried to free himself, but that had no effect.
"No, I don't think so. I had to shelve that plan."
"Is that why you sent the Dementors?"
"I did not send them."
Harry stood still. Voldemort's arm dropped away from his shoulder. Somehow he believed Voldemort. But if he did not send the Dementors, who did?
"How," he cleared his throat. "How did you get Mundungus to agree to what you said? And Mrs. Figg... she accepted you far too quickly... and she left...."
"A combination of Confundus and a memory charm," Voldemort said. "Neither of them will remember meeting me. Mrs. Figg will believe she escorted you and your cousin home."
Harry digested this in silence. "Dumbledore will believe me," said he at last.
"Yes, if you tell him. But are you going to?"
And Harry knew that he was not going to tell Dumbledore about this. Not till he found out what was happening anyway.
He resumed walking. Voldemort made no further attempt to touch him, for which he was grateful. Then, he noticed something.
"My scar doesn't hurt," said he.
Voldemort gave him a thoughtful look. "I assume you should be grateful for that,"
"I am," said Harry fervently. "But I don't know why. I mean, you are here..."
"I guess the spell I used last time might have had something to do with it," he said. "Though I too am working out the details. Which is why I am here, actually."
"They didn't recognize you," said Harry.
"They haven't seen this face of mine," he replied. "They've seen only the other face."
"Is that why you are disguised like this?"
"This, unfortunately, is not a disguise."
Harry stared at him. "Oh..."
"Anyway, to come back to why I am here. I need your help."
Harry turned to face him. "No." said he.
"You haven't even heard what it is," Voldemort pointed out.
"I don't need to. I am not helping you. Ever."
"Unless you help me," said Voldemort. "I'll just keep hounding you like this all the time. You see Harry, that spell did something unexpected to me. It regenerated me, but it also changed my appearance, and... a few other things."
Harry was walking fast now. He was not going to help Voldemort do anything. Hound him? That's what Voldemort had been doing since he was one. That was not going to make him help the man who'd murdered his parents.
Voldemort's long strides were easily matching his.
"It seems, I have developed a rather unhealthy obsession towards you since that night," he remarked. "I am not certain I want that."
"You've been obsessed with me since I was one," grated out Harry.
"That was different," said Voldemort as he caught Harry by the shoulder and spun him around to face him. "This is not the same."
Harry looked at the man. He sounded sincere, but then, he was Voldemort. He would be able to fool anyone. But he, Harry, was not going to be foolish.
"I don't see anything different except that you are not trying to kill me," he said.
"And that doesn't tell you anything? That doesn't tell you that something has, indeed changed?"
"This could all be some elaborate ploy of yours," said Harry. "I will never trust anything you say."
"Fine," said Voldemort. "But the next time you see Dumbledore, ask him why I tried to kill you as a baby."
He disapparated and with a thud, Dudley came down to earth.
Harry swore as he heaved his cousin's bulky form up on to his shoulders. Dudley was conscious now but was still not able to walk under his own steam. Muttering curses under his breath, Harry half-dragged, half-carried his cousin the rest of the way.