Twisted Faerie Tales

Author’s Note: Many thanks to Deb and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter and thanks to all who have reviewed the story so far.

Snow White Part 2

With Harry Potter finally gone, Tom Riddle thought that he needed to rebuild what he’d recently lost. A Lord needed a Lady, and he figured it was high time for him to take a new bride. At first, no one appealed to him. His tastes were rather ambiguous, but he knew that he wanted someone that was the polar opposite of Lily Potter. She’d been strong willed to the point of being nearly belligerent. This time, he wanted a wife who knew the importance of obedience. Lily had been a Muggle-born witch, something that had always made his skin crawl, so, this time he wanted a pureblood witch with a prestigious family tree.

His expectations were high, and he didn’t think he would find someone as soon as he did, nor did he think that someone would be the wife of his most loyal Death Eater.

He didn’t make a habit of socializing with his lackeys; therefore, he had never looked upon the magnificent beauty of Narcissa Malfoy until she came to Riddle Manor to fetch an important document for her husband. Her lovely blonde hair and smooth, pale skin instantly enchanted Voldemort. More importantly, he admired the quiet voice with which she addressed him and the way she averted her gaze when she curtseyed, showing that she knew proper etiquette. Lily had been bold and brash, but this woman was pliable and would easily bend to his will.

That same evening, Voldemort had Lucius murdered in his bed, and Narcissa and her son brought to Riddle Manor. Unlike Lily, who had been petty and angry over her husband’s death, Narcissa seemed to take the news in stride, never showing any hesitation in adapting her role from Lucius’ wife to Voldemort’s. Her son, Draco, was another story.

Where Harry had been a bright and happy boy, Draco was dark, almost brooding in the way he carried himself through the halls. Voldemort suspected that he wasn’t taking his father’s death in stride the way his mother had, and he grew suspicious of the boy’s intentions. After observing him for a short time, he noticed that Draco was very strong in the area of potions, and began to grow paranoid of everything he was given to eat or drink. It was ridiculous for a Lord to have to live that way within his own home, so he summoned his next loyal Death Eater, Severus, to monitor the boy and ensure he wasn’t brewing anything unseemly.

He didn’t need another threat to his life wandering around his home. After all, he’d just gotten rid of the first.

Draco tried to keep his animosity for the Lord Voldemort well hidden, as his mother had quietly instructed, but he didn’t think he was doing a very good job of it. Still, it did amuse him to watch Voldemort test every goblet that neared his lips and every piece of meat placed on his plate. For Voldemort to think he had to be wary of a wizard who was barely of legal age made Draco wonder if the man had weaknesses he was unaware of.

Sure, he was advanced in potion making, but he hadn’t the skill to trick a man as powerful as Voldemort, or else he would have done so already. Draco’s father hadn’t been a kind man, or even a fair man, but he’d been wise and powerful and he certainly hadn’t deserved to die in his bedchamber like a coward.

He found comfort in the Potions Master assigned to spy on him, however. Severus had assured him that Voldemort had stolen from many people, and not just trinkets either. He’d stolen money, yes, but what Voldemort seemed to covet most was power. Voldemort would kill anyone who stood in the way of it, but he wasn’t discriminating. Tom Riddle, the man, would just as easily murder a young boy like himself as he would a loyal servant. He cared not.

Instead of curbing Draco’s skill, as he was no doubt instructed to do, Severus encouraged Draco with his talent. He taught Draco the right way to use every instrument, the proper method for stirring and by the time Draco would leave the potions lab every evening, he’d know more than when he’d entered that same morning. But it wasn’t until Draco’s second week at Riddle Manor that Draco found his true relief.

When straightening his bed linens one morning, Draco’s hand had slipped and crashed into the massive oak headboard. He cursed his own clumsiness and tried to shake off the minor pangs that stole through the injured appendage, but his pain was soon ignored completely when his eyes fell on a small door. His flailing movement and bump had opened up a little slot in the headboard that seemed to be the perfect hiding place. Draco reached his hand inside the narrow space and retrieved a tome.

His initial thought was to cast it aside, for what use could he possibly have for a dusty old book, but he quickly realized it was far more important than that. It was the journal of the room’s previous occupant.

After skimming a few short entries, Draco sent word to Severus that he wouldn’t make it to their lesson that day. He was too enthralled by what he’d found. Making himself comfortable, Draco settled in and read the entire journal in one day, marveling at how a boy could have grown up here of all places and briefly wondered where he was now. There were no dates in the journal, and it was quite obvious that Voldemort was powerful enough to counter the effects of time, so this boy could be twice his age by now for all Draco knew. More likely, however, was that the boy who wrote this journal was now dead, a though Draco was curious to learn made his heart ache.

Still, it was uncanny how similar this boy’s story was to his very own. This boy, this Harry, had been captured and taken here when his own father had been murdered and his mother made into his bride. Harry had hidden the fact that he was an increasingly powerful wizard, seemingly successfully. Although, since the boy clearly no longer resided in Riddle Manor, perhaps his powers had been discovered after all.

Most interesting was when the boy spoke of his hatred of Lord Voldemort, and the vendetta he harbored against the monster that ruined his family. Draco felt a camaraderie with this mystery man, regardless of the fact that they had never and would never meet. He imagined that the two of them together would have been able to vanquish Lord Voldemort, but now he would never know.

That night, Draco carefully concealed the diary where he’d found it and went to sleep, his first sound slumber since he’d moved to Riddle Manor. Throughout the following weeks, Draco felt increasingly smug. His confidence bolstered by Harry’s entries, as he reread them every night, and every day he would practice with Severus to perfect his craft. He had little doubt that when his time came, Draco would succeed in doing what Harry hadn’t been able to, and it would be a victory for them both.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the most powerful of them all?” Voldemort asked before patiently waiting his mirror’s response.

With the arrangements to murder Lucius Malfoy, the proceeding nuptials and keeping his eye on the young Draco, Voldemort had little to no time to himself. Certainly not enough time to sneak away to his private chambers and consult his magic mirror. He was eagerly waiting to hear his name in the bell-like voice of his reflection. It had been seventeen years since he’d heard the right answer to his question, seventeen years that he’d heard Harry Potter’s name instead.

But now that Potter was out of the way, he could finally take his rightful place again.

“Your magic, Lord, is more powerful than most, but Harry Potter still has the right to boast.”

“What?!” Voldemort shouted. “That’s impossible! I killed that insipid boy with my own two hands!”

The mirror’s voice seemed to sigh with annoyance but quickly shimmered to reflect an image of Harry laughing merrily with the lively ginger clan. “The Weasleys, I should have known!” Voldemort growled. “Their sheer numbers alone should have clued me in to the fact that they were the ones helping Lily’s brat.”

With power thrumming down to his very fingertips, Voldemort snarled his fury into the air and launched himself from the room, set on killing that infernal boy once and for all.

Harry whistled a happy tune as he cast several dusting charms around the Burrow. The Weasleys were all away at Diagon Alley, and after what had occurred on the last trip, Harry had opted to remain home and help straighten the place up. Molly was a wonder with the usual household charms, but she was a busy woman with lots of family to pick up after, so Harry liked to do his part when he could.

A sharp knock at the door brought him out of his reverie, however, and Harry bustled over to answer it. Outside was a smarmy looking man, obviously a door-to-door salesman judging by the large satchel slung over his shoulder and the case he toted. “Hiya, friend!” the man greeted, offering Harry a beaming smile filled with perfect teeth. “I ‘ave here an offer ya can’t refuse!”

“Um, I don’t really have any coin on me, Sir. Sorry. Best of luck to you though,” Harry replied and started to shut the door. The salesman was having no part in being quickly rejected, however, and swiftly placed his booted foot in the jam.

“I’m happy to take a trade,” he suggested and Harry had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“I’m really not interested,” he started, but the man’s spiel cut him off.

“I ‘ave here some of the finest combs in all of Europe, made from hand painted bone, guaranteed to tame even a wild nest of hair like your own!” he assured in a too-loud voice.

Harry again tried to stop him, but the man had already pulled out a sapphire blue comb and began to assault Harry’s ebony locks with it. Harry backed up and tried to put himself out of the salesman’s reach, but the man was quicker on his feet than he looked.

“Ouch!” Harry cried out when the sharp tongs of the comb nicked his scalp. He pressed a finger to the spot and came away with blood. “You cut me!”

“Terribly sorry, Sir. Perhaps if you hadn’t squirmed so much,” the man replied, but Harry’s vision was already starting to blur, and the salesman soon grew out of focus. “I believe I forgot to mention that they are tipped in poison as well. You only have a few moments left to live. Any last words, Potter?”

The glamour Voldemort had cast was quickly waved away, leaving Harry to stare blurrily into the face of his nemesis. “Riddle,” he gasped out. His throat was constricting, leaving little room to breathe, let alone speak. His extremities started to tingle and burn, weakening until he no longer had the strength to stand. He could hardly believe that he was going to die at the hands of this monster, this man who had murdered his father and ruined his life.

“Yes, your mother used to call me that, back before I killed her,” the man cackled, and Harry launched himself forward, clawing at the man with what little strength he had left. Fingernails hooked into Voldemort’s cheek and he sliced at the man furiously, but despite the injury, Voldemort quickly dodged a second attack with a series of shouted curses.

Harry’s breath was coming in ragged gasps and he collapsed back to the floor, unable to feel his legs any longer. “Rot!” Harry seethed with his dying breath. “I hope you rot.”

Voldemort kicked him harshly in the stomach, sending the last of Harry’s air out in one, violent whoosh. His fingers scrambled at the wood planks below him, but he couldn’t see anything or anyone that could help him now.

Voldemort stared down at the prone form of his enemy for a long time. He’d checked the boy’s vitals himself several times and Harry Potter was finally dead. Narrowing his gaze, Voldemort moved to heft the boy over his shoulder. He planned to Apparate him back to Riddle Manor and have him dissected and buried in different corners of the grounds, just to make sure he was good and dead this time.

Unfortunately, a noise from the fireplace cut his mission short. The Weasleys were returning from their trip and Voldemort was ill prepared to deal with them at the moment. Seven against one on the Weasleys home turf weren’t the best odds even for a wizard as powerful as he was. He quickly vanished, Apparating back to the manor alone and took a moment to relish in his victory.

The poison he’d used was sure to leave the Weasley family at a loss. He’d had Snape and Draco brew it especially for the task, though he’d been careful not to tell them whom they were helping to kill. He didn’t think Snape would appreciate having a hand in the death of the son of his beloved Lily.

Finally, the task was done and Voldemort could rest.

Molly Weasley worried at her apron, worsening the already frayed edges as she watched the local healer, Madam Pomfrey, cast spell after spell over the prone Harry Potter. They’d come home from their errand to find Harry on the ground, no breath in his body, the same as Ron had found him in the robe shop a few weeks before.

It was clear then that Lily Potter hadn’t been the least bit paranoid when she’d come to them more than a decade ago. Someone was out to kill Harry, and it looked as if they might have succeeded this time. She cursed herself for having ever left the boy alone. She could have gone without lemongrass for the roast that night or just sent one of the boys after it.

When the plump, old healer turned around, she looked grim and Molly nearly choked on a sob right then. “He’s been poisoned,” she announced, “but thankfully it looks as though these effects will wear off.”

“Wear off?” Ron asked from the doorway. “He’s dead!”

Molly shushed him with a violent hiss and turned back to Pomfrey. “He’ll get better?”

“The symptoms only mimic death. Whoever created this poison was clever indeed. I wonder if the attacker even knows that Harry’s only sleeping very deeply?” she mused aloud.

“Doubtful,” Molly chimed, her spirits suddenly brightened. “When can we expect him to wake?”

“A day or so,” Madam Pomfrey replied. “Although, the poison was obviously experimental, so it might be only hours, or it might be longer. Fetch me if he’s not awake by Wednesday.”

Molly nodded, thinking three days was too long, but she wasn’t going to argue with the healer. “Is there anything we can do in the meantime?”

“Just make sure someone is with him at all times. When he wakes up, he might feel very disoriented and he’ll need to see a friendly face. He’ll likely be very hungry and thirsty too, but don’t push it. He can’t eat a big meal after being asleep for so long without getting ill,” she explained.

Molly took notes and bid the healer farewell, thanking her for her work with one of Molly’s famous treacle tarts. She set to work immediately devising a schedule for the children and who would sit with Harry when. All but Percy was more than happy to help.

“He killed her.”

Percy jerked his head up from his book to see Harry’s eyes open and shining with unshed tears. He rushed to the boy’s side, offering a glass of water, which Harry deftly ignored. “He killed her,” Harry repeated and Percy glared at him with narrowed eyes.

“What are you on about? Who killed whom?” he prodded.

“My mother,” Harry sobbed, covering his face with his hands. “Voldemort killed my mother.”

A painful sting ran through Percy and he put a tentative hand on Potter’s shoulder. As angry as he got with his mother and her overprotective ways, he would gladly punish anyone who tried to hurt her. “I’m sorry, Mate,” he said softly, and to his credit, he didn’t even wince when Harry threw his arms around his shoulders and sobbed even harder.

Percy hesitantly patted the man on the back, not sure what to do in a situation like this one. Usually it was Ginny or Molly who bore the brunt of upset boys, but Percy found himself rather fond of feeling needed for a change. “It’ll be alright,” he assured, changing his patting motions to smooth circles. “I promise that you’ll get a chance to make things right someday.”

Harry nodded against his shoulder before pulling back enough that Percy could see his tear streaked face. “I’ll kill him,” Harry promised. “I’ll kill him for what he did to her.”

“No one here would stop you, Harry,” Percy confirmed, before coaxing the man to drink from the glass of water he still held.

Carefully avoiding his new stepfather, Draco mounted the stairs leading down to the Potions laboratory two at a time. He’d already been swatted at when Draco had the gall to ask about the cut on Voldemort’s face. He’d refused to answer and sent Draco into Severus’ care, no doubt assuming there would be some punishment in his near future.

Little did Voldemort realize, Draco was happy to have the assistance of the wise Potions Master. Without him, he would have never known what to brew when Voldemort had come asking for a deadly poison. Draco didn’t want to be the cause of some stranger’s death, but he hadn’t wanted to cut his own life short by refusing either. With Severus’ help, Draco created an elixir of Nod, a potion so powerful that even under heavy scrutiny, the poisoned soul would seem dead. It would take several days to wear off, so Draco was happy to have bought some time to continue his snooping of Riddle Manor and perusing of Harry’s journal.

Just thinking about the hidden diary thrilled him to the core. He only wished that this boy were still in the manor. Harry seemed so brave, so clever and even amusing as he composed each entry with a wicked tongue. It was one of the final entries, dated on the boy’s seventeenth birthday, that hinted to the area of the Manor that Draco should next explore.

Harry spoke of a chamber in the west wing. He said the door was made of ebony wood and it had more bolts and locks to discourage intruders than any other door in the manor, so he’d been sure something important could be found in that room. The west wing was off limits to Draco entirely, but he wasn’t going to let something as petty as ‘rules’ stop him.

Draco chuckled to himself as he realized Harry’s fiery spirit was already rubbing off on him. Perhaps the boy still roamed the corridors as a ghost, and that’s why Draco felt so connected to him, or perhaps it was something more. Draco felt as though he’d met his kindred in the ink of those pages, as if there was someone made for him alone, someone that would counter his every flaw and balance him completely. Alas, he tried not to dwell on it, or else he would feel only loss at the fact that Harry was merely accessible in his dreams.

A dark corridor loomed ahead, and Draco couldn’t help but think this was the place Harry had described in his journal. And sure enough, to his right at the end of the hall was an ominous black door, covered with latches and keyholes. Draco concentrated and cast every spell he knew on the door, waiting patiently between each to judge what the effect would be.

Eventually his perseverance paid off, and a few minutes later the door gave a mighty clank and Draco was able to heave it open.

Slipping quietly inside, Draco studied the room carefully. It was sparsely decorated with only a chair, a dusty old wardrobe and a tall, gilded mirror. Draco couldn’t see anything that seemed dangerous or suspicious. His heart gave a violent lurch as he heard sounds from the other side of the door. Draco scrambled inside the wardrobe and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself before peering out the cracks to see who had entered.

Lord Voldemort strode purposefully into the room - seemingly made of dark, billowing robes and scarily grinning lips. He stopped in front of the mirror and let his hand roam over the gold frame. “Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the most powerful of them all?” he whispered and Draco shuddered at the evil lilt to the man’s voice.

“Thrice now you’ve tried to see him killed, but Harry Potter is the stronger willed.”

A murderous snarl echoed through the room and Draco would have found himself cowering at the sound if not for the name the mirror recited. Harry Potter. Draco held his breath and watched as Voldemort threw a small tantrum, nearly shattering the mirror in the process.

“Show me,” he growled at last, and the mirror twinkled and shifted, showing a determined man, Draco’s age almost exactly. He was in a glade, dueling fiercely with a tall, gangly ginger-headed boy. Draco thought they were fighting at first, but after a few moments, the redhead held up his hand and clutched an arm to his gut.

“That’s enough for today, Harry,” the boy called, completely winded.

“If you’re done, see if Fred or George is available,” the dark haired man, presumably Harry, replied.

“Not likely after the walloping you gave them both yesterday. I swear, Harry, you get more and more powerful each day,” Ron praised, making the boy blush.

Draco thought that seeing Harry flush might have been the single most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed and all he wanted to do was make him do it again. He could hardly believe that this handsome, wild, powerful wizard was the same who wrote the journal entries Draco adored so much. And more than that, the revelation that Harry truly existed, living flesh and blood that he could see, touch and taste, well that nearly made him cry out with joy from his hiding place.

He had to meet this Harry Potter, he had to get to know the man behind the diary he’d been so obsessed with, and he had to warn him that Lord Voldemort was out for blood. He waited silently until Voldemort was done ranting before slipping off to his room.

Once there, he gathered everything he thought he might need and stole a broom from Voldemort’s stables. The man would be furious, but Draco wouldn’t be around to catch his wrath.

He was off to meet the love of his life.

Draco flew through the forest as fast as his broom would take him. The trouble was, he had no idea where the cottage was that he’d seen in the background of Voldemort’s mirror. He didn’t know this land well enough and he hadn’t seen much of the area around Harry in the mirror’s reflection, his focus had been all for the raven-haired man wielding his wand as if he owned the world. Power, humility, wit, charm and beauty – Draco knew he’d found the person he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. All the ruddy princesses his mother had been trying to force down his throat all paled in comparison to Harry Potter.

Still, he remembered a stream, or river or lake or something in the background, and he thought that was just as good a marker as any. So, the moment he came across a riverbank, Draco decided to follow it and see where it led. The only problem was, he must have gone the wrong direction. He soon came across a steep cliff and there was no possible way that there could be a cottage anywhere near. The land was too treacherous for the wide meadow and stream he’d seen in the magic mirror.

Having lost precious time, Draco spurred himself forward at a blistering pace, unwilling to lose out on the future he knew was out there for him. After two solid days of flight, at last, Draco could see the cottage looming in the distance. Plunging forward, Draco flew through the last of the trees and across the glen, leaping off of the broom so quickly that he nearly stumbled and ran, full force, to the front door.

He knocked as loudly as possible, waiting to see his love in person for the first time. He had no idea what he would say, and knew that he would sound like a madman when he tried to explain. But he was determined to press forward and confess to Harry how he felt about him, knowing deep down that Harry would return his feelings. He just had to.

Instead, a petite, flame-haired girl came to the door, her eyes as red as her hair. “Who are you?” she demanded, apparently stronger than she looked.

“I’m here to see Harry,” Draco rushed out, trying to peer around the slight girl further into the cottage. All he could glimpse was a gathered crowd of redheads, huddled around something Draco couldn’t see.

“You’re too late!” she sobbed. “He’s dead! There is nothing Pomfrey can do for him this time!”

The girl was easy to shove aside in her grief and Draco pressed forward, trying to see what everyone was staring at. As soon as he caught sight of it, he wished he hadn’t. There, lying prone in what looked to be a glass casket was his love, his Harry. Clutched in the man’s hand was the remainder of a shiny red apple, perfect teeth marks clearly visible.

Draco was too late. Voldemort had already been there and stolen his love away.

Author’s Note: So, many of you were wondering how I would incorporate Draco. How did I do? Oh, and this story will have 4 parts in total, unlike the rest.