The Bitter Hug of Mortality | R | Chapter Five

[meh_forget_it]

Chapter Five

Through most of July, Marcus became quite the regular in Harry's bakery, even going so far as to flatter Mrs Lovage and actually get Mr Plimkin to greet him once, which really was quite the accomplishment as it took Harry working every day after school for five years before the man even acknowledged him. If he didn't know better, Harry would have suspected that Marcus had put a spell on the habitants of Little Hangleton.

Actually, he didn't know better and that was a good possibility, but regardless of that fact, Harry was finding it really hard to dislike the man. He was sarcastic and snide, but so very hilarious with that caustic personality. Plus, he really seemed to like Harry's pies, and anyone that liked his food was good by Harry.

The only downside was that he was a wizard who possibly wanted to kill Harry. That would really clash with Harry's plans to have a long life. If he ignored all that though, then Harry was quite happy to finally say he had a living friend. Or at the very least someone alive who went out of their way to talk to him whilst paying for and eating baked goods.

Really then, it was just Fate's dodgy sense of humour that made it all come crashing down around him and forced Harry to show some of his cards.

It was the fourth day of August and Harry was enjoying a lie in for once, not having to wake up early to get ready for the shop as it was a Sunday and making the most of it. Unfortunately, a wave of freezing air washed over him, waking him up earlier than he had to and confusing him because it was currently sweltering outside.

"You need to wake up now!" Harry jerked to sit up, sleepily blinking his eyes open when Antioch shouted at him.

"Wait, what? What's going on? It's Sunday, I don't have to get up," Harry whined, falling back down into his pillows and trying to get away from the evil dead waking him.

"You need to wake up and get to Riddle Manor. It's time to decide! Dumbledore has found you and it is only a matter of time before he brings people here. It's only the early hour that is hindering him. Quickly now. You're not safe."

"Well shit! What do I do? Where do I go?" Harry asked, and if asked later, he would fully admit that he was shit in tense situations and apparently lost all common sense.

"Calm down. You have a bit of time. Dumbledore has only just called for reinforcement. Now, grab all your tools, books and crystals. Don't leave behind anything that could tip them off that you know about magic. That includes Horus. He needs to go live in the woods. You're lucky he's an indigenous owl."

"There is nothing lucky about owning that owl. Besides, I'm fully aware that he owns me. What kind of barn owl just decides to live with a random human?"

"You don't have time to rant, idiot boy!" Aunty Sylv hissed, making Harry flush guiltily and jump out of bed. He grabbed the first clothes he found that were clean - baggy black trousers that were at least two sizes too big and he really had no idea where he got them from, a black t-shirt and strangely, a pair of lime green trainers. He really had no clue as to when he got those.

Once he was dressed and his hair was brushed - causing a brief moment of pain when he forgot that he had beads in his hair and didn't move them out of the way, making him feel like he'd scalped himself when he dragged his brush over them. Tears were definitely brought to his eyes - he grabbed his backpack from the chair next to his bed, threw all of his knives in there - including the few he had yet to use - and the few candles he had, then ran down the stairs to his kitchen.

In there, he opened his clutter drawer and took out all the chalk in there he could find, the blood-soaked silk cloth he used on some rituals - not the same one used during bead rituals - all the crystals he had bought on whims, and any herbs and incense sticks he kept on the sides and then he finally made his way into the living room, grabbing another bag on his way past.

When in there, he grabbed every book he had managed to buy on necromancy, death arts, death gods and death in general. He took the experimental voodoo dolls - not that he was a voodoo specialist, he just thought they were nice to look at and fun to make - from his desk and finally grabbed his authentic Venetian Plague Doctor mask that his aunt had bought him on his eighteenth birthday from where it was placed on the wall and slung it on his head before darting out of the front door.

"Run to Riddle Cemetery! You'll be safe there! Run now!" Harry jerked in shock at hearing the voice of Severus for the first time in a couple of weeks before he nodded and ran towards his favourite cemetery, keeping to the slowly receding shadows and taking all the well known shortcuts and alleys until he finally reached the small family cemetery belonging to the creepy and intimidating Riddle Family.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he felt a slight pressure pushing against him before a shudder went through him and he stumbled forward, grabbing onto the nearest headstone to stop his fall.

"That's never happened before."

"It was the wards. However, no one can prevent a necromancer access to a cemetery or burial plot. In the days when people knew what we were, no one was foolish enough to prevent us access to the dead," Antioch added bitterly, which made Harry roll his eyes.

"That's great and all, but someone's going to know I'm here and I have no idea why I'm here other than the fact Dumbledore's found me," Harry hissed, tapping his fingers against the grave he was leaning on and shaking his head when he felt an eager tug on his magic. "Not now, Ernest."

"I would also like to know why you are trespassing on my land." Harry was ashamed to admit he shrieked like a little girl, jumping in the air and spinning around to face whoever had spoken, paling when he saw it was the Dark Lord himself.

"Tell him you came for sanctuary."

"Sanctuary?! Are you serious? This isn't the seventeenth century and he isn't a bloody monk!" Harry hissed, before a cough drew his attention back to Voldemort, who now had his wand out and was tapping it against his free hand. "Right. Sanctuary. Great. Look, that barmy old man, Dumbledore, has finally found out where I live. I have no idea how, but he has. Uncle Antioch told me to come here."

"And I'd help you, why? What makes you think I care that you are hiding from Dumbledore for whatever reason it is?"

"Er…"

"Tell him you can help him!"

"I can help! You. I can help you! In this war! I can help you in this war?"

"How? By baking our way to success?"

"Oh, that was low. I mean, it was a good shot, but mean at the same time. Look, I know you've been keeping an eye on me. Looking into my background, making your lackeys make friends with me in hopes you'll find out more. Well, here I am! Now you can find out more! Just, please, don't let that insane fool get me!" Harry pleaded, flinching when Voldemort took a step forward, wand held at his side as though to give false hope he wouldn't use it.

"You need to tell me how you can help me. And do it quick, I don't have much patience and it's coming to an end."

"Tell him you can hear the dead! Don't tell him anything else, just that! They know you seem to hear voices, he should believe you."

"I can hear the dead. Everyone that has passed away, whether naturally or not, within twenty-five miles of here, I can hear."

"How will that help me?" Voldemort asked after a second in which he narrowed his eyes at Harry suspiciously.

"Yeah, how will that help?!" Harry asked hysterically, throwing his hands in the air and glaring at nothing when he noticed Voldemort had raised his wand slightly.

"Tell him the dead have no secrets! We have no need for them. Nothing tends to be worth protecting once your are dead and whatever we were hiding in life, you can't take with you in death."

"Right," Harry nodded his head and swallowed loudly, before straightening his back and staring at Voldemort, "the dead don't care for secrets. Whatever they knew in life, they'll willingly tell me. And what they tell me, I'll tell you."

"How will that help me?"

"Look, when you're dead, things like magic and pureblood bollocks doesn't matter. You can't take the magic with you. You can't take the family properties or the heirlooms. Most importantly, when you're dead, you don't tend to hold grudges. I can tell you what the other side is up to. Plus, the dead gossip worse than little old ladies in the laundrette."

"You said that you only heard those that have died within twenty-five miles. How will it help me if no one with information dies near you?"

"I told you, the dead gossip! Just because I can't hear them, doesn't mean they don't speak to each other as well. They tend to tell me what they've heard. How do you think I know Dumbledore has found me? They told me!" Harry told him, pouting and crossing his arms over his chest petulantly when the man just raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not impressed. Harry was less impressed with his impending death.

"I give you a safe place to live, you will tell me anything important the dead tell you about?"

"Yep."

"Very well. Follow me," Voldemort told him, turning on the spot and walking back towards the manor, robes whipping around him in a dramatic way and making Harry wonder if he was just walking towards a holding cell.

Harry just took a deep breath however, and followed after the imposing man, really hoping that the man hadn't renovated and made his home the first manor in Yorkshire to have dungeons.

"There ain't no dungeons in that house, lad."

"Great. That's good then," Harry muttered, not bothering trying to be discreet when talking to the anymore as he really didn't see any point. "Fuck!" Harry hissed just as someone grabbed his ankle and he fell over, only just missing taking Voldemort down with him, which he was sure would have been a sure fire way to die very quickly.

"What are you doing?"

"Er… I tripped on something," Harry told him nervously, smoothing his baggy trouser leg down and covering the skeletal hand that was now stroking his ankle.

"Get up, I don't have time for your dithering."

"Right. Got it. No dithering. Um… I'll er… be back. No, really, stop it. Please? Oh god, I'm going to be killed because the dead are chatty," Harry muttered, slapping at the hand still holding his ankle, before he heard a whispered apology and the hand disappeared back into the grave. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Harry quickly scrambled to stand up and once more moved to follow behind Voldemort, who's irritation was practically palpable.

When they finally reached the Manor, Voldemort pushed the doors open and strode through them without a backwards glance, leaving Harry to pause at the door anxiously and glance back the way he'd come, hoping he wasn't about to make a big mistake.

Marcus wondered why they had all been called for a meeting early on a Sunday morning and why the Dark Lord looked a cross between excited and infuriated.

"You may be wondering why I have called you all so early. It is about Horatio Waterhouse. I have come across quite the informant."

"Do you need us to find out more about him then, My Lord?" Barty asked, apparently not listening to their lord, Marcus thought with a roll of his eyes. Though he was curious as to what the Dark Lord had found out about Harry.

"No, Barty. There is no need. Mr Waterhouse came to me about an hour ago. It would seem that Dumbledore has been searching for him and finally found out where he lives. He came to me to hide him from Dumbledore."

"My Lord, may I ask why a muggle would need to hide from Dumbledore," Lucius asked, distaste of Harry clear in his tone.

"I have discovered why he is so strange, and yes, Lucius, if Dumbledore were to know about it, then he would want to control the boy. Apparently he saw me as the lesser of two evils," the Dark Lord told them, his amusement over the irony clear in his tone.

"May I ask what is so special about the muggle, My Lord?" Marcus' father asked, the man hadn't been all too impressed that his son had been told to befriend said muggle and Marcus hadn't told him that he'd actually started to like the man.

"The dead talk to him. He has told me that, in exchange for safety, he will tell me everything the dead tell him that he deems important," the Dark Lord told them all, making each of them gape at him.

"Surely he lies, My Lord!"

"Amusingly, he said you would be the one to say that, Lucius. Apparently Severus has taken a liking to him and has told him quite a bit about us all. He has said that the dead do not feel a need to keep secrets from him and that they like to gossip, so you should all take care not to annoy him. After all, there are plenty of dead people in all of your families that would seemingly be happy to tell him whatever he wants to know," the Dark Lord told them with a malicious smirk. Marcus grinned as he glanced out the corner of his eye at his father and the Malfoy's all looking a little pale.

"You're kidding, right? That muggle can speak to the dead? And why would Severus like him? He's insane!" Draco whined, making Marcus roll his eyes and wonder if it was an impossibility for the idiot to think before he spoke.

"I get the impression that Horatio doesn't like you. And considering he has already been told several family secrets by Abraxas, I would be very careful on how you treat him. Now, as he asked for safety, I granted him it and that means safety from you as well. If you cannot restrain yourselves from harming him in anyway, then do not go looking for him. And do not whine to me when it backfires. That man has the dead on his side, I would say you should all be very wary around him," the Dark Lord told them, smirking when many of the Death Eaters looked at one another anxiously. "You are all dismissed."

Slowly they all left the room, some talking to each other anxiously, clearly worried about what secrets the no longer harmless muggle baker could find out. Marcus watched them go before he was the only one left in the room and walked forward, bowing slightly before straightening.

"Marcus, is there a reason you are still here?"

"I was just going to ask where Harry is. I wouldn't mind going to see him. I have actually found that I quite like him. He might be clinically insane, but he's amusing and very intelligent."

"Very well. He should be either in his room on the third floor, the large room on the end of the corridor of he left wing, or he may be in the library. He seemed interested in that when it was mentioned."

"Thank you, My Lord," Marcus said, turning to leave the room, not wishing to stay in the Dark Lord's presence for too long in case he annoyed him somehow.

"Marcus," Voldemort called out, making Marcus stop before he left the room and turn to look at him, "keep an eye on him. If need be, protect the younger Malfoy from him."

"Er… Protect Malfoy from Harry, My Lord?"

"Yes, Draco may believe he is the better because he has magic, but there is a feeling to Harry that tells me he could be very dangerous if pushed. Draco is well known for antagonising the most saintly of people."

"You have a point, My Lord. I'll make sure to keep an eye on him."

"That is all I ask, Marcus. You may leave." Marcus nodded his head, then left the room and made his way to the library on the second floor, figuring it was on the way to where Harry's room was anyway.

"Right, so where is that then?"

"It's the wall at the end of the third row of shelves on the right. I don't know what books are on them now admittedly but the layout of the library hasn't changed."

"Okay. Why am I doing this again?"

"You said you were bored. I told you about the secret room. Even if no one has found it yet, there isn't anything of import in there."

"It could be a good place to hide if no one knows about it," Ignotus pointed out, making Harry nod his head and then head towards where Tom Riddle senior told him the secret room was.

"It could be a good place. So, any recommendations of books to read?"

"I'd answer, but I don't actually think you're asking me." Harry, for the second time that day, yelped and jumped in the air, before turning on his heels to face who had spoken, coming face to face - more like face to chest - with Marcus.

"Marcus! How are you? Fancy meeting you here? Um…"

"My Lord told me about you. In fact he told all of his closest followers. We've been warned not to harm you and told that you might be able to find out secrets about us?" Marcus asked, grinning down at Harry, who fidgeted where he stood and then moved to, what he hoped looked casually, lean against a shelf.

"Oh? Thats… okay, yeah, I know. You'll probably learn that's there not much I don't know. It's hard to keep secrets from me. Apparently Abraxas Malfoy was quite amused by his descendants reactions. Actually, Severus was amused."

"I was amused. So, you can talk to the dead, huh?"

"Yep. Honestly, it's not all that great. They're really quite annoying. Always bickering and nagging at me. Though, they do help. I mean, it's thanks to them that I always made sure to have a cherry pie ready for the days you'd be coming by. And they tell me the favourite cakes and sweets of all the people in the town that might visit the bakery."

"Explains why you always seemed to have what I wanted. Except that one time."

"Yeah, I totally thought you'd want cherry pie. So, how come you're in here? You do know you don't have to pretend to be my friend now, right? The Dark Lord knows my secrets now."

"Not all of them, I'd wager."

"Nope, of course not. That wasn't the deal. The deal was the secrets of the dead, not the secrets of the living. And I'm still alive. And don't think I'll be telling you any either. You'll just run back to your lord and tell him," Harry said, trying to make a joke of it, but fearing he hadn't quite been able to hide the hurt he felt knowing that Marcus really had no need to talk to him anymore and so didn't need to pretend to like him either.

"That's fair. Though, I'm here to talk to you because I wanted to, not because the Dark Lord told me. I know I don't need to get close to you anymore, but I still want to. You amuse me."

"Fine. Though I get the feeling there's more to it than that."

"Well, the Dark Lord did tell me to stop you from maiming the Malfoy brat."

"Your Dark Lord is a clever guy."

"I'm still not entirely sure how someone without magic could best someone with it, but you're right, the Dark Lord is intelligent, so I'll assume he knows."

"Well, beside the fact a bullet moves just as fast, if not faster, than a spell, I have other ways to defend myself. So what do you actually do around here?" Harry asked, following Marcus to where there were a couple of comfortable looking chairs and sitting down in one, placing his bag that he refused to leave alone besides his feet.

"I'm the heir to a prestigious family, so I'm training to take over the family business and so on," Marcus told him, eyes glancing at Harry's bag curiously before drifting back to Harry.

"Sounds thrilling," Harry said, tone of voice telling that he thought it was anything but.

"Yeah, it's really not. But it's got to be learnt. So, what's in your bag?" Marcus asked him, smirking when Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

"Nothing," Harry told him defensively. Given everyone here just thought he could only talk to the dead, they'd be a little suspicious as to why he had the stuff he had in his bag.

"Really? Seems pretty full for there being nothing in there," Marcus pointed out with a grin, which just widened when Harry glared at him.

"Fine, there's stuff in there. It's none of your business what it is though," Harry told him snappishly, feeling irritated that it only made Marcus grin.

"Okay, I'll stop asking. How come you didn't go to Dumbledore? Most would choose the so called Lord of the Light over the Dark Lord."

"Most people are idiots. And also, most people can't talk to the dead. The main reason though, is that, considering they don't tend to carry their grudges over, the dead really don't like Dumbledore. They told me to come here. Dumbledore would have resented and hated my talent but he'd have used it and made me do things I don't want to do. Your Dark Lord respects death, to an extent, and he certainly wouldn't want to piss Death off."

Later that night, Harry quietly opened his bedroom door, wincing a little as it creaked but hurrying through it anyway. He carefully held his bag to his chest so that it didn't make any noise or bump into anything as he made his way through the shadowy corridors and down the stairs until he reached the door he had come in through. Glancing around him, he slowly pushed the door open and then slipped out through the gap when it was wide enough and slowly let the door close behind him silently.

Giving a happy sigh of relief that he'd made it through the foreboding house without being seen or stopped, Harry walked down the stone steps and made his way swiftly and silently to the cemetery.

In no time at all, Harry made it to his favourite grave - ironically the grave of Voldemort's father - and sat down, leaning against it with his bag resting against his thigh.

"It's quite tense in there, isn't it?" Harry pointed out, focusing his energy into the air around him for the first time since Voldemort had moved to Little Hangleton and grinning widely when the only family that were happy to acknowledge him appear before him as slightly smokey apparitions.

"What exactly did you expect from the home of a Dark Lord?" His aunt asked him with a roll of her eyes, moving to sit carefully on a small headstone. Antioch, Ignotus and Cadmus all just rolled their eyes, as though nothing Harry came out with would shock them anymore.

"Well, I didn't expect kittens and candy canes, but, you know, I figured I wouldn't constantly be wondering when someone would try to curse me whilst screaming about magic eaters or something."

"Magic eaters?" Antioch, strangely the brother Harry most looked like with his short bob of jet black hair and pale skin, and also the tallest of the three brothers at five foot five, asked him, looking as though he regretted it immediately.

"Well, I just figured there had to be a reason for the whole muggle hatred thing and thought maybe wizards believed muggles ate magic. Or something. It could happen," Harry muttered sullenly, looking down at his trainers and not seeing Cadmus pinch the brigade of his nose and sigh.

"I sometimes worry about your mind," Cadmus admitted, he, like his younger brother Ignotus, had dark brown hair in a bob and pale skin. He was also the shortest brother and the same height as Harry at five foot three. Ignotus was only a couple of centimetres shorter than Antioch.

"I've always worried about his mind. But then I wonder if it's not a family thing. My sister was completely off her rocker," Sylv told them with a shrug, looking around her and rolling her eyes when she saw a hand poke out of a nearby grave like some macabre submarine periscope. "Why do the Riddles always think they can hustle in on a private conversation?"

"Common blood."

"The manor behind me would suggest their blood is anything but common. You know, in the rush, I forgot to bring any spare clothes with me. Think I'd look good in a robe? I could totally carry off a robe. All swishy and shit," Harry added with a grin. "Plus, it would add something to the whole 'speak with the dead' feel I've got going, don't you think?"

"I think speaking to thin air is all you need to give a strange impression. What are you doing out here?"

Harry choked on nothing as he scrambled to stand up and face Voldemort, who was standing behind him looking bored and yet also lethal.

"Sweet googamooga! What the hell? You were facing him! Tell me when someone's creeping up on me like some sort of creepy stalker!" Harry exclaimed, turning to glare at his amused family. The dead really did suck at times.

"But it's so amusing see you squeal like a little girl every time he manages to sneak up on you," Sylv said, not an ounce of sympathy in her tone.

"You all suck!"

"What are you doing out here, Mr Waterhouse? I won't repeat myself again," Voldemort hissed, making Harry sneer at him before huffing and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I was having a family get together! Talking to my aunt, uncles and grandfather. That okay with you?" Harry asked sullenly, stretching the truth a little when it came to their relation to him and grinning when Antioch glared at Voldemort.

"There was a time when necromancers were respected, you know. I think you should start reminding people why," Antioch pointed out, whilst the other three just rolled their eyes, used to this rant.

"Why are you doing it out here? Can you not speak to the dead anywhere?" Voldemort asked him, unknowingly interrupting Antioch's rant and thus gaining an even more venomous glare from the dead necromancer.

"Actually, funny story there! See, apparently there are certain temples that the dead can't actually enter. Like Buddhist temples. Uncle Cad says that it's because all the dead people that would want to go into a buddhist temple are already being reborn. Of course, Uncle Ant says that Uncle Cad is an uncultured swine and he wouldn't be able to tell his arse from his elbow. No one actually knows why though."

"You called me an uncultured swine?! You?! The man who gloated about his unbeatable wand, got drunk and got his throat slit! Oh yes, I'm the uncultured one!"

"I didn't gloat! I beat several men in duels in a row and one of them claimed I'd cheated because my wand was unbeatable! I didn't claim a thing though!"

"Technically, the stories all say it was you that gloated," Harry pointed out, turning his back on Voldemort as he was dragged into the conversation with his uncles. Ignotus and Sylv just distanced themselves a little from all three of them and watched like they were watching the final of Wimbledon.

"Yes, well, the stories were all written by liars! Liars and thieves!" Antioch yelled, cheeks becoming flushed with his anger and hair somehow gaining volume.

"Bit harsh. You don't know they were thieves."

"Never gave back my bloody wand, did they?!"

"Well, you were dead, weren't you? What were you gonna do with it? You're always going on and on about how you can't take it with you when you're dead, so why are you now bitching about thieves?"

"The boy has a point, Antioch."

"The boy is an imbecile!"

"Oh hey now! Don't go insulting me just because I have a - ow! What the fuck was that?!" Harry exclaimed, spinning around to glare at Voldemort whilst rubbing his lower back that was now stinging.

"That was a warning. Do not ignore me or I will do much worse to you next time," Voldemort warned him, eyes narrowing when Harry just pouted and rubbed his back.

"Fine, fine. You try to ignore them though. So what else did you want, besides to hustle in on a family meeting. A family you are not a part of," Harry pointed out, silently agreeing with his aunt about nosey Riddles.

"Technically I did marry his great-great something aunt. Why her nephew turned my stone into a ring, I don't know. Clearly he had no idea what it was."

"Shut up! Let's try not to get me cursed, okay? So, you were saying?" Harry asked Voldemort, smiling inanely when he saw the glare on the man's face.

"You are trying my patience, Muggle. Now tell me, why do you have to talk to them here, where you are constantly setting off my wards, instead of in the room I gave you?"

"Oh, right, well, I guess I feel more comfortable here."

"You feel more comfortable here, in a cemetery, than in the large bedroom I gave you?" Voldemort deadpanned, looking like he didn't believe a word Harry was saying. His family snickering behind him didn't help.

"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound a bit weird. But well, I grew up here in this town. And the living tend to steer clear of me, or they did when I was younger. So my only friends, if you like, were the dead. Their voices are louder in graveyards and burial grounds, and those that were buried there tend to accept that I want to have a conversation with my family, so they leave me alone," Harry admitted with a shrug.

"You should probably tell him that the Ministry is planning a surprise raid on Malfoy Manor due to a tip off that they were harbouring the Lestranges there," Ignotus suddenly spoke up, having faded away for a second, clearly to find out about the raid. "He did want you to tell him anything important, after all, didn't he?"

"That's true," Harry agreed with a nod before he turned to face Voldemort once more, "Apparently the ministry are going to raid Malfoy Manor in hopes of finding the Lestranges there."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him, before nodding. "Do they happen to know when the raid will take place?"

"Abraxas thinks it will be in about four hours time. They aiming for five in the morning to catch them off guard," Harry told him after Ignotus got the information from Abraxas. He had no idea where Abraxas had found out the information.

"I shall inform the Malfoy's then."

"Oh! If you don't want to tip off the Ministry that you have someone on the inside, so to speak, then you should probably make sure the Malfoys are in their manor at the time of the raid. Just make sure anything incriminating, like escaped convicts, aren't found," Harry told him with a wide grin, which just grew when Voldemort glared at him.

"Strange as it may seem to you, Mr Waterhouse, but I am not completely incompetent."

"I never said you were," Harry muttered, watching as Voldemort just sneered at him and then stormed off back to his manor. Harry just snickered and then turned back to his amused family. "I feel it is going to be amusing living here. Scary as shit, admittedly, but still amusing.

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A/N - Another chapter! And, though I may be seeing things, I do believe there are hints of an actual plot! I know, shocking, right? If anyone's wondering why Voldemort is calling Harry a muggle, well for all he knows he is one. They've got suspicions that he might be a squib, but given they've found out Harry can speak to the dead, it's also highly likely that he's just a very talented (and weird) muggle. And no, they don't know for sure that he is a Potter. Voldemort suspects he might be, but they don't have any solid proof either way other than the sunglasses. Which is pretty shitty proof.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the ritual that brought Voldemort back didn't take place in Little Hangleton in this fic. It'll be explained a bit more later, but for now, just know it couldn't be done here. Frank was still killed and he did take a bone from his father's grave though.

Also, someone reviewed to let me know you can get prosthetic contact lenses for photophobia. That may be true, but I don't know about them and they're probably expensive - I'm doubting the NHS will give you them. Plus, Harry's photophobia is part of his species, those contacts may well hinder him. *Grins* Thanks for the info, but they won't work for Harry.

Well, you know the deal, let me know what you think! :D