beta by the amazing Vanillaghost đź’–


Harry stood there, peering at the spot where Sirius was supposed to be. For a moment he could not comprehend how this was even possible. He had to be there, Harry's vision showed him he would be. Only he wasn't.

In heavy silence Harry faced his friends. They seemed to be waiting for him to say something but he found himself unable to do so. Hermione had been right, and now Harry felt like a fool for not listening to her in the first place, for leading all of them here without any proof other than his vision. Voldemort's vision. Their vision.

"Umm, Harry?" Ron dared, breaking the uncomfortable hush unfolding in the unlit hallway.

"What?" he snapped at the redhead.

It came out ruder than Harry intended. He almost apologised.

"Y — your name ..." His best friend pointed to one of the many small glass spheres placed on the shelf next to Harry. "Your name, it's written on that."

Harry moved his gaze from Ron to the glowing sphere. He closed his eyes for a second yet his name was still there when he opened them. On its label was scribbled a date from sixteen years ago and below that he read:

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.

Dark Lord

and (?) Harry Potter

Without thinking he stretched out his hand, fingers coming to a halt a few centimetres away from the blue sphere, reluctant to touch the small globe.

"Don't!"

Hermione's voice startled him.

"We don't know what could happen once you touch it," she reasoned in a grave voice, catching his eye before nervously looking around. "Let's just leave. I have a bad feeling about this."

Harry frowned, his hand still raised. "But it concerns me," he argued. "One way or another. Why else would it have my name written there?"

Neville's gaze moved between him and the bushy-haired girl as if watching a muggle tennis match, not yet sure who was going to be crowned winner. "H-Harry, I think she's right…" He appeared ready to faint any second now, his whole body trembling.

"No," Harry found himself protesting, and moved to grab the sphere. But his fingers were prevented from touching it, meeting the flat surface of something hard and solid. Only there was nothing. Just air. Shoving his palm against it was like trying to move a mountain with his bare hands. Absolutely nothing happened.

The others shifted behind him, trying to understand why he wouldn't take the glowing orb already.

"Hermione, I—"

Then a far too well-known voice called out his name, breaking the last piece of Harry's remaining calm.

"I must confess, Harry, I was not expecting this."

Harry spun around and heard everyone hold their breath as they saw the Death Eaters in front of them, behind them, surrounding them. Everywhere. But something was amiss. The voice belonged to Voldemort, he was convinced. Yet Harry couldn't catch sight of him in the group of masked faces right before his eyes. Lucius Malfoy's shiny hair made him easy to spot, like a flame in the darkness. But the others remained a mystery.

There was only one person without a mask, he noticed now; coming from behind the gathered Death Eaters with slow, relaxed steps. A man Harry recognised at once even if he wasn't as young as the boy who came out of the diary.

Voldemort, or rather an older horrifying version of Tom Riddle, was staring right back at him, twirling his yew wand between long spidery fingers and strolling through the throng of his followers as if on a leisurely walk. A dangerous smirk danced on his lips as he regarded the small group of teenagers. Like a cat setting its sights on a mouse.

Harry had not a single clue what to do. It was the graveyard all over again, only this time he wasn't alone. His friends were here with him, their lives in as much danger as his own. Maybe more. And he wasn't confident he could safely get them out of this unscathed, or in any other condition. All because of his dream. Because of Harry.

"I believe both of us had our fair share of surprises this evening, wouldn't you agree?"

Ginny gasped from behind, undoubtedly recognising Voldemort now despite his twisted features, a puzzling yet enchanting combination between the snake-like monster and the handsome Tom Riddle from long before they were even born. The sight was horrifying. The man had eyes only for Harry, as if the others weren't worthy of his attention. He didn't know if he should be relieved by this fact or not. Harry clutched his wand tighter. "Sirius isn't here," he said, yet it sounded more like a question even to his own ears.

"No, he is not," Voldemort confirmed, stopping in front of his minions. "You only saw what Lord Voldemort wanted you to see. Nothing more and nothing less."

The Death Eaters gathered closer, making Harry and his friends close ranks.

"You wanted me here," Harry concluded, keeping his eyes only on the Dark Lord and taking in every move he made. Or did not make. "But why? To kill me?"

Voldemort's lips stretched into a grin as he inched forward with each passing second, a walking and talking nightmare ready to strike.

And Harry was dead terrified.

"Not quite," chided Voldemort, this time in Parseltongue. "But I suppose it will have to come to that as well. No, my dear Harry, the reason for your presence here is right behind you. The very object you had previously tried to take for yourself and, to my immense surprise, were unable to."

"Why do you need a prophecy you already know? Why do you need me to pick it up for you? It looks like you and your minions have no problem walking into the Ministry whenever you want."

Something gleamed in Voldemort's eyes but it was immediately replaced by his usual cold stare.

"I needed the Chosen One to take the prophecy concerning himself and the Dark Lord. Only the Chosen One — namely you — could have picked it up. So, imagine my surprise when your tiny hand wasn't allowed to pass through the enchanted wall."

Understanding crashed over Harry all at once like a cold shower, his mind putting together the pieces of what Voldemort confessed for his ears only. Fear was immediately replaced by confusion. "But I am the Chosen One," he argued, mimicking a stubborn child. His friends fidgeted around him, unnerved by the two of them speaking in the unknown language.

"The last few minutes has proven otherwise."

"But how?" Harry asked, conscious of the fact he was having a rather civil conversation with the Dark Lord. And he hadn't tried to kill Harry just yet.

The now black-haired man tilted his head in a manner so human that Harry could only stare. Both the Death Eaters and his friends were expressing signs of impatience yet still waited in silence for him and Voldemort to finish talking, the only alternative being death.

"A mistake, an error of communication… Call it whatever you desire," Voldemort explained. "And from my part, no less. But this ends now. Tonight."

Harry discerned Voldemort's mood rather easily despite the fact that his anger was far more contained than how it had been in the cemetery. The eyes were what gave him away.

Harry knew he should think of a plan to escape. However, his mind buzzed with unanswered questions; the same questions Voldemort himself harboured apparently. Wasn't he the Chosen One? It didn't make any sense. And the monster still hadn't attacked him.

Harry's heart was beating like crazy, so loud Voldemort himself must have heard it.

Hermione's hand touched his the same moment the fight broke: Only three beats later. Suddenly spells were flying all around, in front of them and behind. Harry turned, eyes widening at seeing Sirius, Remus and a good part of The Order all clearing a path at their backs, attacking the taken-aback Death Eaters.

"Go!" His godfather screamed and he was dragged off by Hermione.

Voldemort was nowhere in sight and that alone made Harry's blood freeze. The Dark Lord was many things but a coward was not one of them. Where was he as his followers fought?

Harry caught sight of Bellatrix making her way toward Sirius and only his godfather's words made him keep running behind the rest of his friends. Luna's light coloured hair danced in his vision as they sprinted through the lengthy corridor toward the Minister's atrium. They needed to leave this place. If The Order was here it could only mean others will soon arrive as well. Everything was going to be fine. Harry periodically looked behind his shoulder but there was no one following. Only the sound of their hurried footsteps echoed in the dead silence from the hall.

As soon as the line of green fireplaces came into sight, Ron let out a loud laugh and none of them slowed down for even a second. The entire place was deserted. Ginny and Luna got there first, staring back at Harry for instructions.

"Go! We'll be right behind!"

The girls disappeared a moment later into the flames, quickly followed by Neville and Ron. Hermione's hand found his as she stepped into the fireplace. Then Harry felt the familiar hook in the back of his navel when someone seized his free hand and his head split in half. It went downhill from there. His grip on Hermione loosened, their hands separating in an instant. There was a blinding light and then Harry's body hit the ground. The pain had vanished.


Even before he inhaled, Harry's nostrils filled with the salty smell that could only belong to the sea. Waves could be heard crashing against the shore somewhere very close to him… like they were… directly below?

Thankfully, his wand was still in his hand. He would have tried to Apparate, but surely Voldemort had been smarter than that? There would be wards surrounding him by now.

When he opened his eyes, Harry wasn't in the least bit surprised to see Voldemort there, mere steps away. White wand pointed downward, imposing body motionless. As if waiting for Harry to say or do something first. The wind blew black curls in his eyes yet Voldemort seemed unbothered.

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry rose from where he laid on the wet grass. If he were going to die on this island in the middle of nowhere, he was going to die fighting, not quivering on the ground like a weakling even if his insides were clenched in fear. He hoped his friends were safe at least, wherever they were.

Voldemort's wand still did not raise. If that was a good sign or not, Harry could only guess.

"What now?" Harry asked, raising his voice a little in order to be heard over the crashing sound of the waves. "Are you going to try and kill me? Again? Throw my body into the sea? Throw a feast for the fish?"

Voldemort's grey gaze flickered to his forehead then to his eyes, as if he were able to see right through the empty bravado. He strode forward as if he owned the place yet Harry did not move back an inch. Just to defy him. To show him he could.

"Don't be so cocky, child," Voldemort warned. "You wouldn't be the first to die in here."

He spoke in english this time. There was no need to keep the privacy of their conversation anymore. They were all alone. Harry gulped. Nobody knew of this place, not even Harry himself.

"But do not worry, Harry Potter," Voldemort kept on speaking, stopping dangerously close from where Harry stood trembling despite his previously strong resolve. "I'm not going to kill you this instant. That would leave a great deal of questions unanswered and I'm not making the same mistake twice."

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed without a single trace of humour in his voice, the adrenaline making it hard to control himself and this bizarre urge.

Voldemort stared down at him with something akin to disgust but not quite. More like he was seriously doubting Harry's mental sanity. Which was rich coming from someone like him.

"And I'm supposed to believe you? Just like that?"

The corner of Voldemort's mouth twitched. "You're alive now, aren't you, Potter? If I wanted you dead you would have been the moment you weren't able to take hold of the prophecy. Now cease your foolish trembling before I change my mind. I wouldn't want to go tumbling off this cliff if I were you. The water is rather cold, or so I've heard."

His words were full of sarcasm and unconfined malice, and if someone had told Harry he was going to spend his evening this way he would have laughed once again. The entire situation was more than peculiar. Voldemort didn't have the right to be anything other than a monster, both in appearance and words. So why did he act so very human as they spoke?

Harry stole a quick look behind, only now noticing they were rather close to the edge of the cliff. Something like a cave came into view ahead of them. The sky had darkened, the air was chilly, and it made no sense why they were here of all places. It certainly wasn't his idea. Harry hadn't been able to think of anything back at the Ministry when the Dark Lord had touched him. Which meant Voldemort had brought them here. Was this place even in Britain? Harry would have asked, but he wasn't sure the older man would tell him the truth. Or provide an answer at all.

"Fine," Harry breathed out. "For the sake of this conversation let's say I believe you. Why else would you have kidnapped me if not to take my life?"

One of Voldemort's perfect eyebrows rose at his words. "I wouldn't call it a kidnapping, more like a forced meeting of sorts. Details are quite important." He took a small pause as if to see whether Harry was going to argue or not. To humour him. "I took you to this place to talk, without being interrupted by mindless fools. The two of us needed to do that for a while, and in light of recent events it cannot wait anymore."

Harry looked at him, still waiting for Voldemort to throw an 'Avada Kedavra' at any second. The man did no do such thing, and Harry was beginning to think he really meant what he said. Maybe the Dark Lord did desire only to chat? And maybe he was going crazy now.

"Talk then."

Harry wanted to ask what was going to happen to him after 'the talking part', when this was going to be over. But Harry found himself unable to speak the words. Some part of him still couldn't grasp this was actually happening. He was really here — wherever 'here' was — with Voldemort alongside him, of all things, demanding a conversation. Harry could only imagine Dumbledore's face. Would the old man even believe him? Would anyone? That the monster and the boy were conversing with one another by the sea?

"I was almost as staggered as you were when I discovered you weren't the Chosen One. Because you know what this means?"

The sudden question may have been rhetorical but Harry answered it anyway. "It means you gave me this scar for nothing. It means my parents died for nothing." All these years he had lived with the Dursleys, for absolutely nothing. "You destroyed my life for nothing."

"Yet you still survived my Killing Curse," Voldemort argued, gaze travelling to Harry's scar once again with something akin to pleasure, excitement even. As if his mark on Harry's body was the most wonderful thing in the entire world. "You're The Boy Who Lived. My Boy Who Lived, not the Chosen One."

"I'm not anybody — "

His head split in half. Not by pain this time, but by images. Vivid, solid images. Of himself; his limbs being severed from his own body, so real that Harry screamed both in his head and in reality. Blood decorated his hands and clothes, chunks of meat hanging from his white-as-snow bones and there stood Voldemort over him, monumental and formidable in his wickedness and then —

Harry floated in water cold as ice, his breath coming out in white puffs and painting the blackness closing around him. Something even colder touched his bare feet from under the water but Harry was not startled. Three gulps of water later strong hands settled on his bare hips and there stood Tom Marvolo Riddle, drops of water staining his perfect face, sliding across his lower lip like tears. A smile, a touch, and that was all.

Voldemort was still looming over him when Harry came crashing down to reality, stumbling a few steps back and almost falling on his ass.

"You are mine, Harry Potter," that menace of a man hissed. "Every insignificant part of you belongs to me and me only. Your mind, your body, your everything. Next time you forget this, I won't be as merciful as today. No more pretty pictures to stare at."

Harry was gasping for breath, his wand useless in his hand. There was no defence against Voldemort, not when he wasn't able to trust even his own mind. "I don't understand what you want from me," he lashed out in a desperate attempt to regain some dignity. "I don't know anything and… nothing makes sense! Enter my mind, see it for yourself! I know nothing!" He was yelling now, despite himself, refusing to even acknowledge the previous invasion of his mind.

Meanwhile Voldemort was the personification of composure, a strange intensity in his gaze. "Have you ever wondered why we can so easily slip into each-other's minds?" the man calmly inquired. "You, who has proven unable to even skim the surface of an average wizard's thoughts? Slip into the conscience of Lord Voldemort himself?" There was repugnance pouring from his tone and his spidery fingers grabbed hold of Harry's chin, leading him closer. Touching him. Voldemort was touching him. And Harry wasn't screeching his lungs out from the terror of it. Talk about development. "Tell me, did you ever wonder about this small and crucial fact?" The silence from Harry's part seemed to both disappoint and please. "Of course you did not," Voldemort answered his own question. "Let me educate you then. Both on why that is and why you belong to me. Child, you carry a little piece of me deep inside of you…" he whispered in Harry's face, his eyes gleaming like the cloud-filled sky. "My soul, you are a keeper of my soul. In scientific terms you are what one calls a horcrux."

Harry's words died in his throat, the yew wand falling away from his icy fingers. Instead of horror and disgust, numbness spread through every inch of his body. Voldemort drank in every second of expression, still not letting him go. In a strange way, Harry was glad. If not for the older man's touch, he would have fallen. The weakness in his knees was proof enough.

It hurt because it could be nothing but the truth. Voldemort had never lied to him.

As if someone had suddenly turned the lights on, it brought everything previously hidden into plain sight. So many unanswered questions now answered. He shared Lord Voldemort's soul. It surpassed any other form of intimacy. What was touch when a part of Harry's very being was a personification of the Dark Lord? Of course he could talk with snakes — Voldemort himself did! Of course Voldemort hadn't succeeded in killing Harry. After all, it would be like killing himself and —

Did Dumbledore know? This was Harry's first question, and he attempted to remember — to put together numerous conversations and half-answers from the headmaster in the span of so many years…

"I do not know."

Harry raised his gaze to meet Voldemort's own when the man seemed to pluck the question directly from Harry's mind. Like one would from a page in an open book. When the fingers left his chin, Harry's face felt strangely bereft. Lacking. He stumbled back, though he fortunately managed to maintain his balance. The sharp wind of the sea stung him, not unlike the blow his traitorous body experienced by missing the warmth of Voldemort's touch. Or was it because of the man's soul that it ached? Possibly his own? Horcrux, horcrux, horcrux. So intricate yet so simple. How it had come to this, Harry had no idea, but he shared Voldemort's soul. They were… they were soulmates, as muggles would call it. The newly found knowledge brought some amusement though Voldemort's expression remained the same; cold and uncaring. As if Harry's existence was irrelevant to him — which was a lie. If this were the case, their lovely conversation would not be taking place at all.

"If you jump into the water I'll save you," Voldemort announced, his voice clear above any other sound.

"Are you scared?"

Brows furrowed at him and — oh. Voldemort was scared. Harry saw his fingers clench around the white wand. He took two, then three, steps closer to Harry and towered over him. Striking.

"I'll save you and then remove your limbs one by one before placing you back together. We can repeat the process time and again, if you will. And then you will learn."

Voldemort was scared, yet so was Harry. Two frightened beings playing at pretend, both aware of what the other felt. So they threatened and listened behind the actual words cruelly thrown around.

Harry learned rather quickly though. No lessons needed. "You could lock me up," he stammered, heart pulsing with the close proximity of the Dark Lord. "So why don't you? What are we here for?"

Having a face like that must be punishment for Harry. How Voldemort pierced him with cold eyes and, aside from fear, Harry's mind could not help but concentrate on how handsome Voldemort was. And damned be all… Voldemort knew. His lips tightened ever so slightly that Harry almost missed it. But there it was. And Voldemort still stood so close, a predator hypnotising its prey. Yet Harry was already in his clutches. The hunt was over and he lived. Which meant there was a higher purpose to all of this.

"Our soul is shattered, Harry," Voldemort finally spoke, voice full of secrets and the wonder of sharing them. "You are a part of me. Being on the same side is a necessity in order to survive." The Dark Lord cut Harry off when he made to open his mouth. "Denying your will to live is futile, and far too late. Otherwise you would have leaped off this cliff as soon as the chance presented itself. With or without my honest promise."

The breaths they shared felt like they were conspiring. Harry dared not to look away from Voldemort who waited in silence. Waited and waited and did not retreat an inch. Did he not notice what his presence did to Harry? Did he not care?

"What is it you want from me?"

Voldemort's expression shifted. Still cold, but now more pleased. Like a teacher whose favourite student had given him another correct answer. The corners of his cruel mouth lifted up at the same time his left hand did. Fingers traced over Harry's scar and Harry sighed, a needy sound bubbling up from the back of his throat. Wasn't it supposed to hurt? So why did it feel so good? Better than anything else, electrifying enough to make Harry forget himself. Accompanying it was Voldemort's triumphant smirk, as if discovering something precious, as if he'd won.

"What I want?" Voldemort echoed, tasting Harry's words with his tongue. "I want you to be my eyes, my ears, my hands in Hogwarts. I want you to be me as you already are. Help me take our soul back."

"I could say no," Harry let out on a shaking breath, shivering with every touch against his scar.

"You could, but the choice is not to be made now."

Voldemort abruptly stood back and Harry ached. They regarded one another while Harry watched him twirl the ashen wand. His pulse raced but not out of fear for his life. Not anymore. It was fear of the unknown, of being left in the dark with Voldemort. A Voldemort who now desired so much more from him. Something Harry may or may not want himself.

"You said you expect me to help us, but I'm not — "

The wand directed itself at Harry's chest this time, its tip bright.

"Far too early… Dumbledore must be losing his mind searching for his pawn. Rest assured, my soul. We'll meet again. And do not fret about your unguarded mind for now. Lord Voldemort takes good care of the things which belong to him."

The spell did not hurt as much as the landing. The smell of the sea was gone and when Harry scrambled to his feet, the tall gates of Hogwarts stood before him. The castle loomed above and Harry remained frozen to the spot for a while, thinking, going over the past minutes over and over again. But he still did not reach any conclusion by the time Filch came into sight.