Chapter 2

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Harry opened his eyes and realised that he was someplace where everything was dark. Another thing he noticed was that he felt very light and pathetic. He hadn't felt this powerless in years. After the war was over, one more thing he did was to maintain his body and become powerful because he didn't want to feel like what he felt when he was younger, beaten by his cousin, pathetic.

Then he noticed his surroundings more closely and his eyes widened. He was back in his room. He clearly remembered the place where his uncle took them when he was 11, the place where Hagrid came and told him that he was a wizard.

Before he could panic or think about what the fuck, suddenly a voice in his mind spoke.

Young Peverell, I am Death and by collecting the three heirlooms that I gave to your ancestors, you gained the title of being my master. As your deepest regret is that you can't save the people you loved, including your beloved, I have granted you a chance so that you can do things right. Save anyone you want, but you have to give me that bastard's soul who cheated me. You have to give me Tom Riddle and his minions with him. I expect you to deliver me a piece of soul soon. And your beloved is the one you loved, but her memories are locked and she will get them back when you want, but make the mistake of making the decision now. Think about it to a great extent. Good Luck.

Harry sat there for a few minutes and thought about what the voice inside his head said. He considered how many things he could change, how many people he could help, and, most importantly, how he could reunite with his Queen.

When Hagrid knocked on his door, he acted exactly like his past self; he pretended to be as amazed and surprised by everything as he should be. And everything went like the last time. But before leaving the Dursleys, he cast a confundus on them to believe that they were going on a vacation in a week and to tell all of their neighbours that their nephew was taken by his father's living relatives to Scotland to live with them, a week after Dudley's birthday because no one had seen him after Dursleys' birthday.

Harry did his best to act like a normal eleven-year-old seeing Diagon Alley for the first time. He allowed everything to happen as it originally did. The only thing he changed was that upon meeting Quirrell, he had his Occlumency shields up just in case. Luckily, the Voldemort-possessed freak didn't bother to read his mind. He was grateful for the acting and manipulating skills he perfected in his years as a Dark Lord; they surely came in handy now as he feigned the excited eleven-year-old persona. After all, if Hagrid ended up suspecting something strange about him, Dumbledore would get hold of that information right away since the gentle half-giant could never keep a secret.

After he got some galleons at Gringotts and Hagrid claimed the Philosopher's Stone, Harry made his way to Madame Malkin's to implement the first major change he was going to make. He would establish an alliance with Draco Malfoy at the onset. The ferret proved to be a reliable and decent follower during his first reign as a Dark Lord. In order to rebuild his empire, he had to start gathering his minions and eradicating problems, namely: Voldemort, Fudge, Umbitch, and the old bigoted purebloods.

Draco Malfoy was as pompous and arrogant as he remembered. This time, however, Harry knew just what to say to make his future minion tick. When Malfoy asked him about his parentage, he already had the perfect reply in mind.

"I am Lord Potter, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter." He extended a hand to the blonde.

"Are you really Harry Potter? Lord?"

"Are you questioning my ascension?" Harry demanded coldly. Draco's mind screeched to a halt with that annoying question, and he quickly began to panic.

"No!" Draco exclaimed, before rapidly backpedalling. "No, certainly not! Forgive me, my lord, I meant no offence..." Harry stared at Draco, enjoying the small beads of perspiration on his forehead as he waited for his response, before nodding curtly.

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