What if Harry and Voldemort Could Share Dreams from the Beginning?
Every night Lord Voldemort's sleep is interrupted by the boy that holds a great shard of the Dark Lord inside him, babbling as a baby before graduating to asking V blunt, infuriatingly endearing, questions.
They formed a bond instantly. Voldemort was a wraith in Albania while Harry only conferred with spiders in his cupboard, so it was only natural that they would find themselves laying down at two in the evening, waiting for darkness with bated breath. When Harry was finally of the age to learn of You-Know-Who through a wizards mouth, he had already spent eleven years of dreams the the monster. Of course, Harry was horrified to learn of the atrocities Voldemort committed, but it didn’t affect his dreams.
Harry didn’t know he was having them; he didn’t know he’d met Voldemort at all.
He couldn’t remember the dreams he shared with Voldemort in the waking world—just like he couldn’t remember the waking world in his dreams. None of the conversations they had survived the rising sun. So, while Harry found himself growing closer to Voldemort every night, he regarded him as a faceless entity during the day, some frightening thing he had yet to meet.
Voldemort didn’t have this problem. He remembered their dreams and would kill anything that tried to take those memories away. They rehearsed all sorts of tricks to jog Harry’s memory in daylight, but it never stuck. Harry always forgot, and then he admonished himself for this weakness in the dark, pouting until Voldemort thumped him on the head.
Voldemort latched onto Quirell, but it was the meeting in front of the mirror that sealed Harry’s fate. Voldemort couldn’t stand to see those green eyes full of defiance but bereft of their familiar warmth. Having Harry cherish him 50% of the time was intolerable, he needed it all.
Harry killed Quirell, and in turn he killed Voldemort once again. He cried about it in his dreams, forcing himself into the weak, pained cradle of Voldemort’s arms, wondering who would do such a thing. Voldemort was his best friend, of course he wanted to meet him in real life! Although, he could never quite pin down why his waking self thought it was a bad thing…
When the Triwizard Tournament came, Voldemort was ready. As Harry lay panting against the stone, watching with fearful eyes as Voldemort became whole once more, the last thing he expected was a sleeping potion to be thrust down his throat.
Harry’s memories of the dream world would be restored forever. Voldemort the only one who understood him: his only friend. What want could he have to leave?
Harry’s waking self wasn’t around to be horrified.
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