Story: Prelude to The Not So Black Letters

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any part of the Potterverse. I do not make any profit from this.

This is a bonus chapter for The (Not-So-)Black Letters, dedicated to all my reviewers (you are great guys!!! you make this worth it!), and specially to bookmadabs, who's been quite curious about how Harry got into an allegiance with Voldemort, and how he got so angry at Voldemort, and Skullprincess46, who at the very beginning asked how Harry could have possibly gotten out of Hogwarts without anyone noticing.

Hope you enjoy it!

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Harry stared at the letter in his hands blankly.

Just as it had every single year since he started Hogwarts, as soon as Harry was alone in the gryffindor rooms a creepy black owl had entered, carrying in her beak a black letter, and dropping it on his lap she had promptly flown out. The letter was inside a muggle-looking black envelope, and the parchment was black too, the elegant silver writing seeming to glisten in the candlelight.

The words were the same, year after year. And the signature at the bottom too. His eyes traced absentmindedly the delicate curves that made up the "L" in Lord Voldemort.

He would have stayed that way for hours, entranced by the glistening words and deep in thought, if not for the approaching sound of footsteps –well, what he supposed were footsteps, because it sounded more like an stampede to him. Startled, he crumpled the letter in his hand guiltily, and with a whispered charm the letter was gone.

He had felt anger, at first, when he had received the first letters. Voldemort could be as reasonable as he wanted in them, he still had killed Harry's parents, and by the time the second letter came, he had made obvious his intentions of killing Harry too.

Yet every single year, always punctually, the letter came.

Offering him a way out, or an allegiance, depending only on what he wanted. An offer of peace, of power, of anonymity, of riches, of fame... of anything and everything he could dream of.

He had never answered them.

Yet with every passing year he felt the anger at the letters slowly fade away, leaving only blank contempt, and a glimmer of doubt –doubt for what he couldn't have, doubt for what he could have –if he did the unspeakable. He wouldn't betray his friends, he wouldn't betray the Light; that much he owed them. Even if he sometimes just didn't agree with their ideas, or their methods, or their so-called "sugar-coated-thruths", which he knew to be plain lies.

He owed it to his parents, to Sirius, to his friends, who had stood by him each and every time. To Dumbledore, taking him away from the Dursleys. To Molly, knitting him Weasley jumpers every Christmas. He owed it to them, to remain faithful.

He wouldn't be the betrayer.

When Ron burst through the door, chatting excitedly about quidditch, Harry forced a smile and banished the ashes that remained from the letter.

He would be no traitor.

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Harry walked down the corridor quietly, absentmindedly checking his cloak and making sure no part of him showed.

He shouldn't be up and about after curfew, but his whole day had been stifling, and he had decided to take a much-needed stroll around the castle to clear his head before heading to bed.

Today was one of those days when he found himself half-seriously considering taking Voldemort up on his offer.

The classes had been ok, he guessed, nothing too difficult, nothing too showy, just trying to stay awake and pretend to listen to stuff he already knew by heart.

He wasn't as dumb as everyone made him out to be –but far be from him to deter them, as the information would, no doubt, work its way to Voldemort's ears –well, or whatever he had for ears now. Did snakes have ears at all? He didn't remember fleshy appendages hanging from Voldemort's bald head, now that he thought about it.

The real problems –and his Kansas-sized, painful headache- had started at the Order meeting. There had been nothing but ordered chaos, loud shouting, screaming, and an altogether unprofessional attitude that gave Harry little hope for the Light Side in the upcoming war. And that hadn't been the worst of it –there were a couple members of the Order who had managed to maintain their composure, such as the paranoid, always unruffled Mad Eye Moody- but then they had started to discuss their last political moves, and Harry had had to consciously stop himself from puking or jumping from his chair in a screaming fit. Dumbledore and the Order had decided to support two new upcoming laws, both of them regarding semi-humans rights. The first one was about vampires, and the restrictions it placed on them were not only criminal, but would soon lead to them being hunted down to extinction by the bounty hunters. The second one involved centaurs, and it made punishable with a two-years stay in Azkaban the refusal of military enrollment in the newly created MMF (Ministry Military Force).

It had all been neatly explained –that way they would not only gain strength for their army –which they were solely lacking- but they could incarcerate and/or kill any dark creatures willing to side with the Dark Lord.

Now, Harry had been bullied during most of his childhood, and that had left the distinct sense of belonging to a minority, whose rights could be violated just as easily as the Order wanted to do with the vampires. Add to that the invaluable help he had gotten from magical creatures and beings, and what the Ministry considered semi-humans, during many of the trials he had had to face since he was eleven, the utter repulse he felt towards the laws was a given.

He couldn't argue directly in front of the Order, though –he'd been instructed so by Dumbledore to make sure dissension didn't break among the ranks- but he'd make sure to take his concerns to the Headmaster as soon as he possibly could. Specially taking into account that, while the Order and the Headmaster were the ones to push the laws' approval, the visible face would be his, as was expected from the poster-boy of the Light.

Looking at his watch, Harry was startled to see it was already six a.m. –late enough that Dumbledore would be already up, Harry mused, deciding to head to the Headmaster's office. The sooner the whole mess was dealt with, the better.

He was surprised when he found the entrance to the Office already open, the gargoyle sleeping in its new position, but he shrugged it off as one of Dumbledore's quirks –the man loved to come across as all-knowing, and eccentrically barmy. Leaving the door open would fit both.

However, the door to the Office wasn't open, as he found as soon as he got to the top of the stairs. He was about to knock when loud cursing erupted from the room, stopping his hand in mid-movement. Had that been Snape's voice?

He waited another minute or so, listening to the deafening silence, and when he was going to knock again another shout made it through the door –though this time it wasn't Snape's, but Dumbledore's. Since when did Albus so something as mundane as shout? And was that his name he'd heard?

Very slowly he placed his ear against the wooden door, feeling slightly guilty for listening on the private conversation. Still, as the subject of said conversation seemed to be himself, he wasn't about to beat himself over such a small intrusion.
He could hear only a couple muted sentences, but what he heard was enough to send his brain desperately scrambling for an answer.

'...he'll be going back and that is final, Severus!'

'...he will DIE if you send him there, Albus! What good does a dead savior do to...'

'I told him of the prophecy. He will fight. The boy's practically eating out of my hand...'

'...he will not question it. I made sure and dropped the right words here and there... We'll get the vampires and the centaurs, and from their example the werewolves will learn not to oppose us. Had they been less stubborn they...'

'...I still don't think it's such a good idea to... if the brat finds out he's been played...'

Having heard enough, Harry turned abruptly and tumbled down the stairs, feeling suddenly grateful for the cover the cloak provided.

He'd been played?

How?

And by who?

Who had betrayed him?

Who was the traitor?

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Though it had been difficult, Harry had managed to prevent himself from punching his friends the following morning, and instead had forced a smile through his contempt.

He had little time to figure out what was going on –and in this case, discretion was the better part of valour. In less than three days he'd be asked for his support for those despicable laws, and seeing as he had no intention of ever doing so he had just as much time to investigate on the whole "being played" thing. Determined to let the Slytherin inside him shine, Harry snooped, subtly coaxed and masterfully eavesdropped as much as he could, even giving up sleep for the shake of knowledge –knowledge that could easily kill him if he wasn't careful.

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Shaking in rage Harry cast a notice-me-not charm and a Silencio, and he added a light sleeping charm over his roommates just to make sure no-one would notice his departure from Hogwarts. He shrunk his trunk, placed it in his pocket, and conjuring some paper and a quill out of thin air he quickly penned a letter to Voldemort. It contained few words –they could work things out later- but time was of essence, and he knew that if he wanted to escape before anyone noticed he'd need the Dark Lord's help.

"Lord Voldemort,

I accept.

Please do send me a portkey.

HP"

He handed it over to a grim-looking Hedwig, trusting her to take good care of the priceless letter.

Covering himself with his invisibility cloak and casting another Silencio over himself he made his way down Gryffindor Tower, walking non-stop until he was facing a very familiar sink, one with the image of a snake engraved on it.

Hissing softly he slid into the Chamber of Secrets, the only place in Hogwarts from where a wizard could use a portkey right through the wards. While neither apparition nor portkeys were theoretically allowed by the wards, the paranoid Head of Slytherin had devised a double-ward that wrapped the castle's own blood-based wards to make the use of portkeys possible, though it only worked one way, unfortunately. Only outgoing portkeys worked, and even then, they only did so in a special section of the Chamber.

Of course that wasn't common knowledge around the school; in fact, not even the current Headmaster knew about it, as the information had been left in written parseltongue and protected with parselmagic, and thus only parselmouths could know and use the secret escape route. Harry had come across the dusty book in one of his midnight perusals of the library, studying once his friends were already asleep, as nightmares had refused to let him rest.

He would have told someone about it, but the parsel-cast privacy spell insured the information could only be shared with parselmouths, and anyway, the others had no use for it.

Now he was glad for the protection, as no-one would ever think of guarding Myrtle's bathroom.

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Roughly an hour later, Harry grasped the portkey and disappeared from Hogwarts. Seven hours from then, after some quick thinking and with many issues still left unsolved, the first black letter was carried into the Great Hall.

R&R? Pretty Please? (no cookies this time, sorry ^.^)

Regular updates will continue on the arranged day (that's sunday pals!) and will not be affected by this little one-shot.