Dabbling With The Dark

Chapter 1

" regular speech "

Italics is telepathic talking between Harry & Voldemort

Bold is Parseltongue

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Standing in his bedroom at the Dursleys angry beyond belief, Harry crumbles up the letter from Dumbledore in his hand before throwing it clear across the room where it splats on the window before dropping to the ground. His copy of the Daily Prophet gets thrown off his bed, too, before he plops down on his back and buries the heels of his hands into his eyes. Bullshit. It's all just bullshit. The Ministry is in chaos now that they know without a doubt that Voldemort is back, the wizarding world is in a panic knowing the same, and he's stuck at his aunt and uncle's house because according to Dumbledore it's the safest place for him. The protection of living with his mother's sister will keep him safe from Voldemort. Right. Last time he checked he had his mother's blood in his veins and that protection didn't work so well the night of the final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Voldemort had already proven that protection isn't one anymore when the bastard pressed a thumb into his scar and made his skull feel like it was going to explode. Then there was always Voldemort taking over his body in June with Dumbledore standing right there, but he's perfectly safe living in a house with his Muggle relatives. Oh, but Dumbledore said that Order members are keeping watch over his relatives' house while he's there. That makes him feel loads safer. After all, Voldemort and his Death Eaters are absolutely no match for Dumbledore and the Order, just ask Sirius.

Sirius.

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter under his hands digging the heels of his hand harder into his eyes. If he'd known, if Dumbledore had just fucking told him shit sooner he would've been more careful. He probably still would've gone to the Ministry, but would've-he's not sure, but he knows he would've at least thought that there was a good chance it was a trap and maybe Sirius wouldn't have died. If he'd have known everything Dumbledore told him the night he's trashed Dumbledore's office sooner he would've studied harder, learned more than just the shit he was taught in classes. If he'd known it was either him or Voldemort in the end sooner, he'd have been more like Hermione and studying things on his own. She knew all kinds of advanced spells because she's a bookworm who's motivated to learn more. If he'd known about the Prophecy sooner, he'd have been motivated to learn more, too. Fuck, if he'd known sooner he might have even tried doing better in those fucking Occlumency lessons with Snape.

And finally, my proof that Severus is the traitor I have believed he is for so long.

He hissed sucking in a hard breath, the heels of his hands moving from his eyes to his scar and pressing hard at the voice in his head. Fuck, what did Snape say to do to block the bastard again?

Now, now, Harry, you'll only make your head hurt even more trying to do that and you aren't even remotely skilled enough for it to work regardless if you tried.

Maybe not, but there was something he could do. One hand still pressed to his scar, he staggered out of bed and over to his desk. Sitting down, he pulled out a piece of parchment and quill to write Dumbledore and warn Dumbledore that Voldemort knew about Snape and was in his head again. Maybe that would finally convince Dumbledore to get him out of his relatives' house.

It will not and you already know that as well.

Fuck, he's probably right, he thought.

I am, right, Harry.

The quill shook in his hand, but he didn't put him down. Voldemort was in his head listening to his every thought. Which meant Voldemort knew everything he'd just thought about Dumbledore and the Order.

Your trust in Dumbledore is misplaced. How many times has he left you alone when it suited his purpose? How many secrets has he kept from you when knowing would have made a difference? How many secrets does he still withhold from you? A great many I can assure you. Open your window if you wish to know one of them.

The pain faded from his head enough for him to lower his hand, the quill still in his other hand. The next sound he heard was wings flapping outside his window. Standing up still on shaky legs, he pulled back the curtain to see an owl hovering outside his window that he didn't recognize, a strap of leather in the bird's claws with a book bound in the strap. Voldemort telling him to open the window told him whom the owl was from. He backed away from the window swallowing hard. Voldemort sending it meant the book was probably cursed.

"Potter!" His uncle's shout made him turn towards his bedroom door a second before it flew open. "I told you that I don't want those blasted birds around this house! Get rid of it before I chuck you out of here!"

"But-"

"Now!" He still didn't move and his uncle went to the window.

"Uncle Vernon, wait-"

He was too late. His uncle opened the window and the owl flew in carrying its package. He backed away towards the door, but the owl just hooted loudly, dropped the book on the bed with the strap still around it, and flew back out of the window. His uncle slammed the window closed again yelling about the owl and 'those freaks like him' again, but he just stared at the book on his bed not wanting to get near it.

"Causing me all this embarrassment to send you another ruddy book! As if you need more!" his uncle yelled walking towards his bed. "And what is this one about?" He sucked in a hard breath opening his mouth to warn his uncle when his uncle reached for the book. He didn't get a sound out before his uncle ripped the strap off and held the book. He expected the glow of a curse spell to enact, but nothing happened and he let out the breath he was holding. "More freaky rubbish, that's what," his uncle said angry and tossed the book back down on the mattress before turning towards him. "Keep those owls away from my house, Potter. You're allowed one of those blasted birds and only to send your letter off every three days so none of those freaks show up at my door. Do I make myself clear!?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he said, more to get the man to leave than anything else. If his uncle touched it and didn't get cursed then he supposed there wasn't one on it. That raised his curiosity as to what the book was tenfold. Why would Voldemort send him a book that wasn't cursed? His uncle slammed his door again leaving the room and he heard the lock set into place. He paid no attention to that cautiously inching over to his bed and looked at the title of the book.

Magical Vessels

With a shaky hand he reached out, poked the book, and quickly yanked his hand back. He jumped backwards, too, with a gasp when the book flipped open on his bed to a page with a thin black cord in the crease. The Horcrux: Keeper of the Soul was on the chapter heading and he cautiously took a step closer, but only close enough to read what was on the first partial page under the chapter heading. His stomach tightened with each sentence he read. At the end of the page, he reached forward and picked up the book flipping to the next page. By the end of the chapter, his eyes were stinging and he lowered the book to his lap.

Do you understand the connection between us now, Harry? Tell me, when do you believe Dumbledore was going to tell you? Yes, I can see why you trust him so much.

The book dropped from his hands to the floor, he bent forward putting his elbows on his knees, and buried his head in his hands. He had a piece of Voldemort's soul attached to him, which meant that Dumbledore had been setting him up all these years just to die. And of all the people to tell him, Voldemort had. Feeling betrayed and sentenced to death by his supposed greatest ally and his worst enemy, he swore that he'd outlive them both.

By any means necessary.

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