The Lost

Getting Answers

Harry took a deep breath, he was still facing the door but he was wound tighter than a spring."Let me speak to him, Quirrell." Harry said clearly, his voice strong and unwavering and there was a small intake of breath from behind him.

"W-what are y-y-you talking about P-Potter?"

"I wish to speak with the Dark Lord, or is he back to Mr Riddle now?" Harry felt the wave of power that came as Voldemort took control of his host.

"How do you know that name?" Quirrell spoke again but his voice was different, it was smoother, colder, and darker.

"I knew that name before I connected it to you. I found out someone called Tom Marvolo Riddle was around Quirrell permanently, it took me a while to figure out how especially when there was no heat marking another person in the room. You are rather famous for your ability to possess people."

"Very clever, Mr Potter," He murmured, "Very clever indeed. Such knowledge of one's enemy can be beneficial."

"Enemy?" Harry repeated, turning around to face him, "Hm. That would depend on your viewpoint."

"Oh?" There was the barest trace of interest in his voice as he spoke, looking the boy over slightly, "what of your father?"

"My relations with my family have nothing to do here," Harry said, "You've noticed the recent appearance of me, I am sure."

"Ah yes, Harry James Potter, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter and Black. Was reported dead, after eleven years. I hear they are doing rather well for themselves now."

"Yes, they are." Harry agreed candidly, "As sudden as they may appear, it was always heading in this direction. It's a side effect of one leader tarring a family apart. Leaving one of them on the doorstep of a magic hatting muggle house."

Harry felt a surge of anger that wasn't his own, and the Dark Lord hissed, his magic suddenly snapping around him before it settled again.

"They did what?"

"Yes, you see after that night I lived with them, dropped off one night with a single note and my name. Ruffly five years I was their slave, and punching bag. Till I ultimately died." Harry told him blandly.

"He dares cast away a magical child!" He seethed, "he sent one blessed with Lady Magic's gifts to filthy muggles?"

"By Dumbledore, of course."

Harry felt a surge of anger that wasn't his own, and the Dark Lord hissed, his magic suddenly snapping around him before it settled again.

"That loathsome man would see others suffer for his so called greater good." The Dark Lord spat, "To do what happened to a.. a child... if any of my Death Eaters would have done such a thing they would have burned."

"As it is, I am sure you haven't missed the obnoxiously bearded individual currently holding reign on this castle." The Dark Lord snorted at the boy's description of Dumbledore; obnoxiously bearded, he would have to remember that one.

"You have worked out who I am and then still approached me; why? You must have a purpose, by your actions today no one other than your friend knows you are here."

"I have a proposition for you." Harry told him bluntly and Voldemort blinked slowly.

"You have a proposition for me?" He could not have sounded more incredulous if he tried. Harry didn't know whether to be affronted or amused by his reaction.

"You are eleven."

"Its funny that I should be aware of that already given that I have lived those eleven years." Was Harry's deadpanned yes highly sarcastic response and Voldemort smirked, the brat's audacity amused him.