Shattered Images

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

X

A raven-haired seven-year-old walked purposefully through the hallways of Riddle Manor, having just finished a dueling lesson with Rabastan Lestrange. The boy was dressed in black robes of the highest quality, with green silk trim that accentuated his emerald eyes. His father frequently likened the eyes to the killing curse, and Harry was rather fond of the comparison.

Harry slipped through the portrait which led to his personal wing of the sprawling manor, a section which very few people even knew existed. He loved his life here in Riddle Manor; he was trained in all the dark arts, as well as potions, wandless magic, and occlumency. Pulling open one side of a set of glossy, black French doors, Harry entered his expansive bedroom.

Glancing around, he snatched a sheath of streamlined throwing knives, as well as an intricate skull-like silver mask at the last minute. Harry wore this mask whenever he ventured outside of the domain of the manor where only his father's closet and most trusted were permitted. His father insisted it was for his own protection – they couldn't have his existence, let alone his true identity, getting out before he was ready.

Deciding he had everything he needed, the aristocratic child hurried from his room to go out to the training rooms. These rooms were used by all high-ranking death eaters, as well as some of their children, so though Harry had to be careful, as long as his mask remained in place no one was suspicious of his presence.

As soon as he entered the room, Harry grinned behind his mask. A platinum blond turned at the opening of the door and grinned as well. The two boys walked towards each other and exchanged the customary pureblood pleasantries, then they turned towards a private training room meant for duels.

"Ready to have your arse handed to you, Malfoy?"

"Ha! Just because you're a prince of darkness doesn't mean you're gifted by the gods, Riddle."

"Hmm we shall see," Harry withdrew a long black throwing knife and twirled it experimentally. He had developed his confidence and skills at an almost alarming rate since he'd been brought here two years ago. Gone was the shyly respectful boy scared of punishment at every movement. Replacing him was a true pureblood heir, the picture of perfection and elegance, just like his father.

Indeed, Voldemort had gone so far as to blood adopt him, meaning half his blood was that of the Dark Lord, and so, though he still bore resemblance to the Potters, Harry's appearance had changed a bit. He was tall for his age, with sharp, pale features and thick, wavy hair. His eyes and hair color were unchanged, however, and touches of James were still visible in his face.

Drawing back his hand, Harry flicked his wrist and released the knife, thus the duel commenced.

Curses flew thickly, blades occasionally thrown into the mix. The boys, though young, were acceptable duelers – though not yet at the level of an adult.

Dodging a cutting curse, Harry called, "that the best you've got, Draco? Pathetic."

"I'll show you pathetic!" Draco hurled a bone-breaking curse, quickly followed by a stunning spell at his friend.

Harry dodged the former while unexpectedly reflected the stunner back at the caster, ending the duel.

"Yeah, 'pathetic'," he muttered, enervating Draco, "C'mon Draco, let's get a drink."

The boys walked from the room and towards Harry's room. Once there, they snapped for an elf and asked for two glasses of pumpkin juice.

"You seem to be in an exceptionally good mood today," Draco commented.