A Change of Heart

Chapter Eleven

It was the noise that woke Voldemort. The noise of someone banging at the door. He was about to curse whoever it was to kingdom come when the thrum of the magic reminded him where he was. He got up from the bed, careful not to wake Harry. Dawn was just breaking, he could see.

There was a banging on the door again and a woman was calling from outside, "Get up! Boy!"

Voldemort bristled at her peremptory tone. He would have liked to stay there and give that woman-Harry's aunt presumably-a piece of his mind. But Harry was stirring, calling out groggily. "I am getting up."

Voldemort knew he should leave. He could not push his luck. If Dumbledore learned he'd been here, in this house, he might change the enchantment to keep him out altogether, whatever his intentions. So he disapparated silently, just as Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Back in Malfoy Manor, Voldemort was frowning heavily. He did not like his situation one bit. He was being affected by the boy and he did not want that. But he also seemed unable to stay away. Already, he was feeling the urge to go back to Privet Drive, to ensure Harry was all right. The way his aunt talked to him did not inspire much confidence as to Harry's well-being. And that explained why the room had felt just like a room. There was not a bit of Harry there.

He wondered why Dumbledore entrusted Harry's upbringing to his muggle relatives. Of course, the blood magic that protected Harry could not have worked anywhere else, but surely a wizard would have been a better choice? Or Dumbledore could have taken care of Harry himself. If protecting Harry from his hands was the overriding concern, that could have been served just as well under Dumbledore's guardianship.

But, thought he, lips twisting, if Dumbledore had chosen to assume Harry's guardianship, he might not have been able to keep the truth of the prophecy from Harry. That Harry was not even aware of the prophecy was evident from his bewildered and blank stare the other night when he'd hinted at it. Harry was more than honest. He was quite transparent. He could not have faked that look.

Voldemort sighed. He would do better to bend his energies to retrieving the prophecy than to obsess about the boy. He sat down, pulling towards him the large tome that dealt with the room of prophecies. The ministry maintained records of almost all prophecies. It was inside the Department of Mysteries and not accessible to anyone. And the only ones who could actually retrieve it were the ones about whom it was made. Which meant either Harry or he would need to go there.

His going there was out of the question. And he could not envision any scenario in which Harry, if he chose to retrieve it, would share its contents with him. No, he had to find another way. Perhaps it was possible for one of the Unspeakables to retrieve it. After all, they worked in the Department of Mysteries.

He rang the bell. He would need to talk to Malfoy. The man had contacts in the ministry. He could find a way to make an Unspeakable to get it.

But first, he had an owl to send.