Noble

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Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Noblesse.

Summary: Things didn't go exactly as Voldemort had planned in the graveyard. Instead of a whimpering teenager, he was met with a powerful man. One that truly instilled fear in the Dark Lord. Where Harry is a reincarnation of the Noblesse, Cadis Etrama di Raizel, also known as Rai.

AN: Hey all! So, I've been back at Fandom Central, aka Harry Potter for a while, and the fics have been getting samey-samey. Not that I don't have fics I like. Anyway. I think a Noblesse/HP crossover is long overdue. So, since I'm not sure if many Potterheads are into Noblesse, I've decided to write one myself! So fingers crossed for this one. And the reason it's not marked as crossover is because Noblesse doesn't have it's own category.

Some basic for the back story will be explained in the first chapters.

Enjoy!

§ 24th June 1994, day of the Third-Task, Little Hangleton Graveyard §

Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Voldemort, He-who-must-not-be-named, You-know-who, and undoubtedly many other crasser forms of address he couldn't care to list, was as of now, very confused. Which was alarming, to say the least, because the last time he had been confused, he'd been nearly killed by an infant. Said infant, now teenager, was still the cause of his confusion.

There were two causes for his confusion; the first being that he, Voldemort was resurrected to what he'd been before he underwent several transformations courtesy his fascination with admittedly unnecessary Dark rituals. By his calculation, he should have gone back to being a somewhat humanoid looking snake. But here he was, looking like he was a twenty-something version of himself. For the first time in a long time he felt whole. Like he'd been missing some unnameable thing. Voldemort furrowed his newly re-introduced brows. He hadn't felt like this since- his eyes widened in realization as it dawned upon him. He hadn't felt like this since his Sixth year at Hogwarts, when he made his first horcrux! That meant his soul was whole again!

He narrowed his, and flared his magic outward, causing the whimpering rat of a follower he had to flinch. He turned to face his prisoner, one Hadrian "Harry" James Potter. There was his second cause of confusion. The boy looked wholly unperturbed by the turn of events. In fact, he looked almost comfortable in his position tied to a statue. There was also the fact that he was bleeding, or rather, black ooze was coming from the scar that the Dark Lord had given him when he suffered that embarrassing defeat. Not to mention the other injuries that the boy had suffered. Yet he was looking...bored. The Dark Lord studied his...rival, or equal, as the prophecy would have it.

The boy had always been a mystery to him, when he in the boy's first year took home in the back of Quirrell's head. Firstly, the Hat had placed him in Ravenclaw, to the surprise of absolutely everyone but the boy. He then proved his Sorting by placing first in every course he took. Even Severus had grudgingly praised the boy's accomplishments when it came to Potions. But it became even more clear as to why the Hat had placed him in Ravenclaw. The boy was totally socially inept. In fact the only time he spoke was when he was asked questions in class, to which he responded to with prompt answers, thankfully not direct quotations from a book, like that annoying know-it-all Granger girl would.

Despite that, he managed to only increase his fan-following. The Dark Lord supposed it was due to how he looked. According to the Horgwarts' female population, the boy was good-looking. He'd unfortunately overheard several inappropriate conversations about his looks while passing by cliques of girls. He'd almost pitied the boy. Almost.

He could understand where the appeal came from, although he was reluctant to admit. The boy had aristocratic features, all sharp angles and a straight nose. He had, by some quirk of fate, evaded the curse of the Potter hair. Instead, he had straight hair to his shoulders, which curled ever so slightly at the ends. It also always fell into those eyes of his, which were emerald green in colour. Curiously, the boy wore a single earring, which had a cross dangling from it. Some mudbloods had assumed that he was a Christian because of it, or more creatively, a second coming of Jesus, ignorant as the were. Voldemort could always sense a strong magic from the cross, though

The boy had always held himself with an air of aristocracy and nobility. He did everything with a silent, effortless grace the upper crust of society trained for years to have. The theory that he was a Veela had become very popular, and amused Voldemort to no end. But the boy was, as stated before, completely and utterly socially inept. And therefore had only tilted his head in silent confusion when asked the question if he was a Veela, before promptly answering that Veela could only bear girls, and that he could provide some books on the subject if they were that interested. McGonagall had looked extremely amused while retelling her favourite student's consternation.

Therefore, he'd been extremely surprised to find Potter waiting for him, or rather, Quirrell when he'd finally managed to get through the-were they even considered obstacles? He'd greeted them rather calmly. Individually. Quirrell had of course stared at him for a good ten minutes, before the boy the reminded him of the Stone, to which Quirrell had responded rather stupidly with a blink. Finally, Voldemort, who was equally as surprised at having been discovered, ordered the idiot to let him speak to the boy. Before he could have initiated conversation, however, the boy gave him a critical once-over, before nodding to himself, and then greeted Voldemort with his given name of "Tom". Voldemort had of course lost it, and had attacked him with his fists, of all of things, like a muggle, and had promptly disintegrated to dust. Now that he thought about it, it was the single, most stupid thing he'd done.

Voldemort was brought out of his musings by something wet touching the hem of his robes.

"What is it, Wormtail?" he snapped irritably. He didn't have time for the rat. Potter was giving him a headache by existing, and he'd rather not deal with the bumbling band of baboons that were his Death-Eaters on top of that. All of them were either insane, dead or had deserted either way.

"M-M-M-Master, please..." the blubbering fool finally uttered on his seventh attempt, before holding out his stub where his hand had been. Voldemort sighed internally, before stunning the nitwit and returning his attention to Potter. He blinked.

The boy had freed himself from the bindings, and had conjured two cushy chairs and a table that looked extremely place in the graveyard. Potter gestured to the empty chair beside him and raised an eyebrow in question. Voldemort stared. And stared. And stared some more. Finally giving up on making sense of this ridiculous situation and Potter in general, he pinched the bridge of nose, and almost fell into the offered chair.

"Tea?" Potter asked, still completely unperturbed. Voldemort almost snapped at him to explain what the hell he was thinking and that they were enemies not bosom buddies, before his stomach gave a rather loud growl. Silence like no other descended upon the Graveyard.

"Dinner, then" Potter said, still looking goddamned unperturbed. Voldemort meanwhile debated what he could have done to deserve such treatment, both from Potter, and from Fate.

"Dobby." The strangest House-Elf Voldemort had ever seen popped into existence, wearing at least twelve pairs of mismatched socks, and twenty pairs of woollen hats.

"Master Hadrian Potter called? What could Dobby do for the Noble master?" The elf said with a bow, the hats miraculously not falling of his head in the process.

"A full dinner for the two of us, and tea afterwards. Anything you would like?" Potter said, and raised an eyebrow in his direction. Again. Voldemort, having been surprised enough for at least a lifetime in the span of half an hour, decided to just go with the flow.

"A cup of hot-chocolate for me. With cream. And crumpets. And chocolate-cake." the darkest Lord in Wizarding history said in a monotone voice. Potter didn't even bat an eyelash. Instead he turned to the elf.

"Oh, and don't forget, Dobby, you're not to tell anyone. Alright?" The elf nodded eagerly, and disappeared with a pop, and almost immediately returned with everything that he was ordered to. Dinner, it turns out, consisted of every dish available in Hogwarts. Though he did see that Potter only poured himself a bowl of ramen, much to the disappointment of the elf-Dobby, it seemed. Voldemort had of course noticed the boy's dependency on ramen, as had the rest of the school in the boy's first year. It seemed that it hadn't changed.

After they were well fed, Potter initiated the conversation on the topic of what the hell he was doing having a congenial dinner with the murderer of his parents.

"I understand that you are somewhat...surprised by today's turn of events." He started, but was interrupted by Voldemort snorting in derisiveness.

"Understatement of the century, Potter. Why are you so calm about my return? For that matter, why are you always so calm? Why are you talking to me right now instead of throwing curses at me? And why the hell is my soul whole again? Why is there some sort of black ooze still dripping from you scar? Why are you still awake after losing at least a gallon of blood from your wounds? And why the hell does that bother me in the first place?" the Dark Lord had worked himself up, and was letting his frustration be known.

Potter only took a sip of his tea, before answering.

"Well, let's start with the easiest. My blood, is...special. It wouldn't have worked with a splitted soul, so the magic in my blood caused your soul to come together. My scar was holding a soul-piece of yours. So when your soul assembled, it left my scar. The black ooze is the result of the Dark magic finally flushing out of my system. As for my calmness...that's just my...personality. When you have lived as long as I have, most thing don't really scare you, or do anything to you, really. As for why I haven't passed out, my kind is much more resilient than humans. And as for your...concern, a bond occurred when you took my blood. In the Olden days this bond allowed my kind to control humans. I forbade it of course, when it became clear that our species couldn't intermingle without disastrous results." Voldemort stared slack jawed at the teenager. That gave him as many questions as answers!

"What do you mean 'lived as long as you have'! You're fourteen! And what about 'your kind'? And control humans? How?!" Voldemort was more incredulous than frustrated now. Potter poured himself another cup of tea, and added as much sugar as there was liquid before answering.

"To put it simply, I am a re-incarnation. My former body didn't live in this dimension, but another. Therefore you won't find any History of my kind as long you're here. But I will tell you. Millions of years before humans were even a thought, my kind came to be. We were powerful, and virtually immortal. We called ourselves 'Nobles'. Our form of government included one Lord, to lead the Clans of Noble, and the Noblesse, the judge, jury and executioner, and ultimately the Guardian of my people. " Potter took a sip of his tea.

"I am, or rather was, the Noblesse. My former body died in battle, you see, with my resurrected twin brother, but let's not talk about that. I was reborn here, in this Universe because Wizards are destroying Magic. As the Guardian, I was tasked to come to this world to save it. Now, enough about that. Ah, as for your question about controlling humans...if a human willingly takes a Noble's blood,he is immediately bound to him as a servant. Thus, your talents, all of them are mine to use. In return you receive a form immortality. You'll probably live as a twenty-something year old for the rest of eternity. As long as you don't die in battle. Or try to kill the Contractor, which in this case, is me."

Voldemort looked rather faint at hearing the news. He was bound to serve for all eternity. To Potter, no less. He stared into Potter's eyes, looking for a hint of a lie. But he knew it was useless. Potter couldn't lie, socially inept that he was.

"So...what do I address you as, then?" Voldemort looked like he was trying very hard not to have aneurysm while uttering these words. The Noblesse hummed into his teacup.

"My former servant always called me 'Master'. But I find that it will strange coming from you, instead of Frankenstein." A look of longing crossed the Guardian's face, gone before Voldemort could identify it. Potter turned his head towards Voldemort with a slight smile. Voldemort blinked. He had no doubt he was the first person that the Noblesse smiled to. He couldn't help but feel a little honoured.

"My name is Cadis Etrama di Raizel. My human companions called me 'Rai'." Voldemort stared at the Noblesse, knowing that he was the first person in this reality to know the man's name. He bowed.

"Lord Rai, please address me as Marvolo."

Raizel's smile widened slightly.

AN: This idea's been in my head for a year now. As for those wondering why Voldemort is so readily acceptable, it's because he's in shock. Also because his soul is whole again, he's more or less sane. Review if I should continue.