The Darkening of Your Soul

Chapter 2

The moment Harry woke up in a too small body inside the cupboard under the stairs, he started doubting. Everything had seemed so simple, so reasonable when he was dead. Now, back in the land of the living, Harry felt the weight of his decisions crushing him.

What was he thinking, giving Voldemort his memories and his soul back. There was no guarantee that this changed anything in terms of Voldemort’s motivations. Yes, Harry could relate to an 11-year-old Tom Riddle, but he reminded himself that a teenage Tom Riddle, before he ever split his soul, was already manipulative, greedy, a thief and a liar and most certainly capable of murder.

So what had Harry created by giving the Dark Lord back his sanity?

Then again, according to Death, Harry could simply want Voldemort to die and it shall be done. So he had that failsafe to fall back on should things really go wrong. If Voldemort proved as unreasonable as before. But Harry didn’t think he would be.

To be perfectly honest, Harry was curious what would become of an adult Tom Riddle with his soul intact and memories of his defeat and death fresh in his mind. Is it any wonder that Harry wanted to see this, when a part of himself was once a part of Voldemort? Harry didn’t think so. He made himself no illusions that Tom Riddle would suddenly turn ‘good’, whatever that even meant. People would get hurt, people would die, the world would change.

But perhaps the world needed to change. The wizarding world, for all that Harry loved it and considered it his home, was a mess. It could use someone sweeping through it to clean it up. And Harry believed he would at least be able to reason with this new and improved Voldemort to abandon the ideas of muggleborn registration committees and the like.

Aunt Petunia’s steps echoed through the cupboard as she descended the stairs, sending both feelings of nostalgia and an ingrained sense of dread through Harry. He really hadn’t planned this through, had he? Now he was stuck at the Dursleys again, who knows for how long, when he’d only escaped them for good last year.

If Gryffindor had house words, they would be: ‘We do not plan’, Harry mused as he tuned out Petunia’s chatter about breakfast while he climbed out of the cupboard. He got breakfast started with an ease that didn’t even surprise him. He’d spent years cooking for his relatives, after all, to the point that getting the frying pans and bacon, eggs and butter had become so routine Harry could do it blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back.

His Hogwarts letter would come that day, and Harry knew what he wanted to change about that situation. Beyond that, Harry wasn’t sure. He’d give it some more thought as the day progressed.

Sometimes, Harry truly cursed his impulsive mind. Why couldn’t he have gotten some of Tom’s calculating cleverness when he got some of the man’s soul? Hermione and her extraordinary ability to plan everything would have been a great help, too, right about now. But thinking about Hermione sent a sharp stab through Harry’s chest. Oh, he understood why Hermione had done what she did on the stand. She’d always had great respect for authority and she had told no lies.

Yet, Harry expected more of her. Ron had proven himself an untrustworthy friend over the years, shunning Harry at the drop of a hat, abandoning him when Harry needed him most. And Ginny... aside from her incredibly traumatic experiences with a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul, the same soul that is part of Harry’s own, Ginny hadn’t talked to him since Harry turned her down a week after the final battle. He cared for her, liked her better than he did most people, but after all he’d been through, Harry needed peace and quiet in his mind and his body and his heart, at least for a while. Ginny hadn’t taken it well, and she had a vindictive streak a mile wide, so Harry wasn’t surprised by what she had done. Hurt, tremendously, but not surprised.