HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY POTTER

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY POTTER

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Was Harry's inability to master Occlumency truly a flaw, or was his magic already using those very shields to keep something far more dangerous at bay?
In the summer following Sirius's death, Harry's mental state deteriorates rapidly. The prophecy only makes things worse, feeding the crushing guilt that already consumes him. Night after night, he's haunted by nightmares of his friends dying, by his family blaming him for their deaths, by the order failing and being disappointed in him.
Unable to endure them any longer, Harry turns to the little Occlumency Snape had managed to teach him. He concentrates with everything he has, trying desperately to empty his mind, but nothing works.
Still, he refuses to give up. And eventually, his persistence pays off.
After countless failed attempts, Harry stumbles upon another way to clear his mind completely. Instead of forcing his thoughts away, he finds himself standing in a vast white space, endless and empty, with nothing around him but the faint scent of a rainy night. Harry can't help but curse Snape—obviously this is a far better way to block everything out.
Even if there is nothing to do in that empty dreamscape, it is infinitely better than reliving his nightmares.
Then, during another peaceful night, something changes. A strange shadow appears in the distance.
Its presence carries an unsettling aura, and it reeks an overwhelmingly unnatural smell that somehow feels disturbingly real. Before Harry has the chance to observe it any longer, he jolts awake in a cold sweat, his entire bed soaked through.
The next night, the same shadow appears.
Harry focuses on it, and the moment he tries to get closer, it vanishes instantly—forcing him awake.
The following nights are no different. The blurry silhouette is always there, standing silently in the distance during his peaceful dreams, as if it was watching him. Harry stares back, trying to make sense of it, but nothing helps. No matter how long he observes it, he can't figure out what it is.
Then, in the middle of the summer, while lying in the endless white expanse, Harry is certain he catches the shadow moving from the corner of his eye.
He immediately looks toward it, but nothing. It stands exactly where it always has, perfectly still.
So the routine continues. Harry watches the shadow every night, but it never moves again, and eventually he begins to abandon the idea of ever discovering what it is.
The summer finally end, allowing Harry finally returns to Hogwarts for his sixth year with his friends. And life goes on normally.
That was until Halloween come.
That night, Harry slips back into the familiar white dreamscape. But the instant he opens his eyes, a pair of glowing red eyes stare back at him from only a few centimeters away.
His lighting bolt scar erupts in a blinding pain. Harry instinctively tries to scramble backward, but he can't move. None og his limbs are responding.
Slowly, the figure smiles—a dangerous, predatory smile—as it leans back just enough for Harry to finally see its face, making Harry completely freezes.
He recognizes it. He recognizes this face
Tom Riddle—Voldemort.
But... it can't be.
It doesn't quite look like him. If anything, it resembles an older completely changed Tom. His hair is different. They are not neatly combed anymore, but tangled and unkempt. And instead of being dark brown, it is jet black.
As Harry continues staring into the stranger's eyes, he realizes something even more disturbing.
The eyes looking at him aren't truly red. They're an impossibly deep green, just like his own.
Harry's eyes widen as the horrifying realization dawns on him.
The person standing before him is himself. Or... something wearing his face.
One last time, Harry struggles to pull away.
But the creature catches him effortlessly, gripping his jaw with surprising strength before letting out a low, dangerous laugh.
Just before everything fades to black, Harry hears it whisper two terrifying words.
"My turn"
Tom Marvollo Riddle x Muzan
Merope, who had fled away from her abusive family, was just abandoned by her bewitched husband that had finally broke free from her love potion. Since she was gravely ill, she ingested every medicine she could find in a desperate attempt to save her unborn child.Ultimately, she found a rare mysterious plant, the Blue Lily Spider. This flower worked like a miracle, allowing her to successfully give birth and surviving.
Astonished by its power, Merope fed the flower to Tom throughout his early childhood to shield him from the illnesses that had plagued her. Unfortunately, the great plant could not save Merope eternally. She died, leaving leaving her 3 year old alone.
Tom found himself growing up in an orphanage and grew up as a very isolated and weird child. But, Tom didn't really care about it, he was a very brilliant kid and had great plan for his future. They could bully him all they wanted, but he just knew he was better. He had to be better than these ignorant disgusting orphans, who only knew how to play in the dirt like pigs.
Actually, he was also undeniably better than those stupids adults, they were so annoying bossing him around and telling him he ought to try socializing with other children instead of reading books. They always thought that their opinions were more valuable because they "knew better" and had far more experience than he did.
Still, Tom told himself it didn't matter, he was going to teach them, the hard way, to think twice before crossing him.
Everything changed with the outbreak of the Second World War. Struggling to survive the bonbardment, the orphanage relocated to a major bustling city where food was easier to come by. Unfortunately, that same city was targeted by the most destructive weapon ever created by mankind— the atomic bomb.
In a mere fraction of a second, Tom witnessed the deaths of thousands people. It was a strange experience, he thought that people should have at least cried in despair— but no, they all died without even making a sound. Stranger than that, none even left a corpse. The only thing remaining was strange shadow seared onto the stone ground.
Tom questioned himself if the same had happened to his mother, but he didn't had time to fully process that thought because he was starting to fell an atrocious pain. He was in excruciating agony and was completely unable to move any of his limbs. It was as if his entire body were under intense heat. He even felt his body crackling.
At some point, Tom could now move his eye again, but as he let them lingered at his arms he saw something weird. His arm was... growing back? How that was even possible?
Feeling his legs again, he slowly and painfully stood up. He was covered with fifth degree burns. But soon enough, all of his injuries were rapidly disappearing under a regenerated skin.
At that horrific moment, surrounded by the ghosts of a vaporized city, Tom understood that he was right, he was truly unlike the others.
He was immortal.
Upon this realization, he started to entirely fulfil his wishes. None could stop him, he was the ultimate being.
After years of using other British humans being as servants, he wanted more. He needed more. It wasn't enough for him.
Searching a way to completely submit all of the world, he discovered that a secret world of magic existed. He also learned of a magical school within Scotland, Hogwarts, and he soon learned that he was never asked to attend because he was entirely devoid of any magical ability.
But who were they to decide his worth? Who were they to look down on him?
He was so much better than them. They called him a mere Muggle, yet he was a being who had conquered death itself at only eight years old. He didn't need their wands or their spells.
He didn't even need magic—he was the magic. And they would soon learn to never disrespect him again.
Tom started weaponizing his own immortality and discovered strange new powers. He could manipulate blood, his blood. He could move at high speed and he now had great strength.
Seeking revenge on these magical people, he created a terrible reign of terror. He was able to submit them easily enough. He was even able to transform countless individuals in some kind of... demons by forcing them to ingest his own blood to bend them completely to his will andanchor them under his absolute control. By drinking it, it allowed him to violently shatter them from the inside out with a thought.
He wasn't a wizard. He wasn't a Muggle. He wasn't a squib. He wasn't a human being.
He was his own specie. He didn't need anyone.
He was VOLDEMORT.
Centuries passed, and Voldemort achieved absolute dominion. He had everything, yet he was extremely bored. It had been too easy for him to slaughter everyone who dared oppose him.
.
.
.
Actually... he wasn't even bored, he just didn't feel anything at all. Even if he wasn't an emotional person before, he had always had anger beside him. But now, he was deprived of everything. For the first time in his entire life, Voldemort was feeling lonely.
Until, during a random night, something ignited his soul for the first time in an eternity.
Standing before him, the new Divination Professor, Sybill Trelawney, fell into a harsh, rattling trance. She spoke words that should have terrified any tyrant, but instead, they filled Voldemort with a dark, intoxicating thrill.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."
The concept of Harry being able to sense Voldemort's wraith form...
The Dursleys won a vacation to Albania and were forced to bring Harry along with them. Not wanting to deal with him, they told him to figure out how to survive on his own and to make himself invisible.
While trying to find food, Harry wandered close to a large forest. A sharp pain exploded through his beloved scar. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to get the fuck out. He was going to die.
Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. From that day on, a strange black smoke followed him everywhere.
Harry couldn't let it know he could sense it because of how menacing the wraith was. This thing, person, hated him with every fiber of its being.
It attacked him with incredible force and tortured him in every way possible. Every chore he did ended in disaster. The Dursley's hatred of him increased in the blink of an eye.
No one believed him... Not that anyone had ever believed him before...
Maybe that thing was God, hating him with such passion because of how freakish he was.
Maybe it was the Devil himself, disgusted by someone even more evil than he was.
Maybe it was his parents, furious that he was the only one who had survived.
Harry could only be grateful that something was truly his, something entirely focused on him.
But over time, the smoke seemed to become less and less aggressive. It even began wrapping itself around Harry's bruises as though it wanted to heal them.
Like the sudden shift of a thunderstorm's winds, the wraith's curse slowly turned toward the Dursleys instead.
It started with ruined meals and broken belongings.It ended with them being left bruised, disfigured and terrified.
Unfortunately, when Harry first spoke to the snake at the zoo, he felt the smoke's shock.From that day on, it became distant, as though it were thinking.
Then, around his eleventh birthday, the wraith disappeared completely.
Harry couldn't stop himself from mourning it because, despite its sinister aura, it had always treated him better than the Dursleys ever had. Even without ever talking to it for all these years, it was his only friend.
He could only blame himself. Maybe the wraith had forgotten that Harry was a freak.He shouldn't have talked to that bloody snake.
That was until he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. There, he met his strange DADA professor and immediately felt that exact same aura.
It didn't matter that his scar felt like it was being stabbed whenever he stood near him. All Harry wanted was to feel the wraith surrounding him once more, wrapping itself around him and filling the emptiness it had left behind.
No matter what, he wouldn't let it escape again. Even if the wraith begged him, he would never let it go. It was his and his alone. He wouldn't let that pathetic Quirrell have it.
Maybe Harry wouldn't have been that possessive if the smoke never came to him. Maybe he would be shy and all flustered because of the Dursleys' abuse.
But he had grown up around something devilish, he couldn't, wouldn't, let himself feel worthless. It seemed that developing the Horcrux connection had strengthened the parasitic soul fragment.
Hope you liked it <33
Let me know if I made errors, English isn't my first language 😞