A/N: A reader suggested I make a separate fic where Harry discovers Voldemort is a fellow philosophy nerd and they decide to be buddies, and I couldn't resist. So here goes, a spinoff to A Cloven Conundrum(in which Harry is a philosophical deer) that I'm starting to think might have been a mistake.
This is not canon to the motherfic.
They met in a desolate field.
Voldemort was clothed in black, so Harry could not see his face. Which was just as well: the Dark Lord had long since proven himself undeserving of something so splendid as a human identity.
Of all the people in the world Harry found there was not one being who disgusted him more than this one not-man, this arrogant little twit who sought to become immortal. It was human to fear death, Harry had learned as much from watching Voldemort's enemies fight to stay alive and their grief when someone they loved were felled. Life was precious, that much he could not deny, regardless of how he felt about his own. He would not begrudge humans for wanting to live.
But Voldemort, with his solipsistic world view, had become a perversion of self-preservation. No life mattered to him but his own, even though his was, without question, the most destructive and toxic one Harry had ever known to exist.
(Not that Harry had known many destructive and toxic souls, given that he was a deer.)
Because of this, nothing seemed more natural to Harry than to kill Voldemort. It was the closest he would ever come to suicide, and it would bring the world far greater relief than his own death ever could.
And for that purpose he had been given the only tool he ever needed to succeed in life: a voice.
For tonight, Harry could speak, and his words would bring peace to the world where none others could. This was his purpose; his destination; the answer to his every prayer.
«So this is what Dumbledore sends to fight me,» Voldemort said, and his voice rang out like he was an actor at a stage. His was a lovely voice. «A deer.» Harry imagined a sneer upon the Dark Lord's face.
«Yes,» he replied, and was pleasantly surprised to find that his voice was just as clear and lovely, though it sounded younger. So his was to be a young man's voice, then. He found that interesting.
«You speak?»
«Yes,» Harry said again. It was strange. In his days of pining for a voice he had thought that once he had one, he would never be able to stop talking. It would be like upending a bottomless well, an impossible feat but yielding unending water once accomplished, and that water would give life to a desert valley- but there he was, capable of human speech and all he had to say for himself was a single word.
«Can you perform magic?» Voldemort asked.
«No,» Harry said, and the vowel rang out queerly. Enchantment or not, his deer mouth could not quite twist itself around that perfect «o».
«Then how are you supposed to fight me?» Voldemort asked.
«With words,» Harry said.
Voldemort said nothing to that.
«Do you find me wanting?» Harry asked.
There was a slight pause before Voldemort replied. «I find you surprising.»
«How so?»
Voldemort started walking towards him. «I have made a name for myself based on power and mayhem. Death and destruction are my weapons. In response, I have always been met with firepower. That is what I expect, and in return what I know how to fight… words, not so much.» He stopped walking, and the hood tilted slightly as he regarded Harry. «How do we determine the winner?»
Speech or not, Harry found his own ability to communicate lacking nonetheless, as he could not shrug. «I think we'll know.»
«Sounds fair to me,» Voldemort said.
«I did not expect you to be so reasonable,» Harry admitted, and took a step closer of his own.
«I think you'll find I'm full of surprises,» Voldemort said in a somewhat playful tone, and Harry imagined a small grin flit across his face. The hood was more appropriate than he'd first realized: this way they were both hidden from each other, and the conversation would only be their words, with no superficial distractions.
«More so than I, the immortal talking deer?» he challenged.
«Immortal?» Voldemort asked. «Where do you get that from?»
Harry stared at him. «I don't know how this has escaped your notice, but you might recall getting vanquished when you tried-»
«Yes, yes,» Voldemort cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. «Hard to miss that one. No, I meant the term «immortal». Bit rich, isn't it?»
«I should be the one saying that to you. You're no true immortal, Voldemort— Tom.» Though the Dark Lord had been standing still, Harry could sense him freeze at that. «You were born a mortal human, everything that's happened since has been by your own insufficient hand in a pathetic attempt to outrun the inevitable…»
«That's not true!» Voldemort hissed.
«Oh, really? Enlighten me, then,» Harry said, and nevermind superficial distractions, in that moment he badly wanted to sneer at the man.
Voldemort began walking to his right in a slow circle. Harry follow his due. They circled each other. «I may have been mortal and human, I can't deny that, but you make me out to be just another brick in the wall. I am special, that much I have known for almost as long as I can remember.»
Well, that sounded familiar, if unconvincing. It was like listening to himself, had he been a delusional hack. «Because you can perform magic? There's a whole society of others, you kn-»
«That's not what I meant!» Voldemort snapped. His hands were clenching spastically, like a neurotic cat. «At first I thought the world was dull, I did not believe the childish stories told to me about Heaven or Hell - or Santa Claus, for that matter - to me the world was one of sheep and meaninglessness, where all I could do was exist.»
Harry was intrigued, in spite of himself. «What changed?»
«We went on an excursion. Into the woods. I got away from the others (on purpose, mind you), and I met a snake. And it spoke to me.»
Harry stared at him.
«It told me about its life, and when I tried talking to it in turn it obeyed my ever word. At first I just thought it was neat- but then I asked myself, how was this possible? As you well know, we are not made for inter-species communications, so obviously this ability was mystical in origin. And if the mystical is possible, a world of possibilities opens up before you.»
«It was magic,» Harry said dryly.
«I did not know that. And my other abilities were nothing compared to this. Manipulating people, making things move— those are parlor tricks. Any old wizard can do that if they know how. Talking to snakes… yes, that made me think. I gave those silly stories everyone seemed to believe in a second thought. And I decided that though the Muggles had had millennia to distort them, to make their own truth and miss the point entirely, one fact remained, and this fact was compatible with my own discovery. With my ability.»
His pace had quickened and Harry almost stumbled in his effort to stay on the opposite end of their circle. «The fall of man was not because women are stupid or any other preachy nonsense. The cause isn't even that important, the chain of events is. Someone spoke with a snake, learned the way of the wicked and their actions led to mankind being thrown out of the world.» He stopped walking entirely, threw off his hood and stared at Harry, eyes gleaming with a mad sheen. «It's a prophecy.»
Harry frowned, or would have. For once he was having difficulty following. «About what?»
«The apocalypse.»
Harry almost stumbled.
«The snake part, I always dismissed that as a metaphor, it's easy to do so, but it's important because it is what people will recognize. It's a clue, Harry, it's a bread crumb left out so that we'll know there even is a path to follow!»
«And who do you think put it there?» Harry asked, and he almost didn't want to hear Voldemort's answer. Almost.
Voldemort must have felt uneasy too, because his glowing enthusiasm seemed to falter slightly upon hearing that question, if only for a second. «You mean, do I believe in God?»
«Yes,» Harry breathed.
Voldemort tilted his head to look at him. It was a lovely head, Harry thought, crowned by black curls and perfectly shaped, as if God had reached down and sculpted it himself. Eve's sin had been temptation: could Voldemort be right? Was he, then, the Devil and Eve in one, come to seduce and destroy his way to the Reckoning?
«You believe too,» Voldemort said slowly. «And for the same reason, I presume. You looked at the world around you, at yourself, and only God and the thought of God having a divine plan for you could make anything make sense.»
Yes, Harry wanted to say, yes yes yes, but he was too overwhelmed to speak. Instead he stumbled forward, hoping his eyes could express what no amount of words could ever hope to.
«I'm right, aren't I?» Voldemort said softly, and his voice was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever heard. He wanted to cry.
«At least you know your purpose,» was what he ended up saying. «I know what I am, but have no direction. As you might have noticed, there's a distinct lack of intelligent, immortal deer in the Bible…»
Voldemort hmm-ed. «I don't know about that, there's the Golden Calf wrongfully worshipped in favor of God, for one thing. Maybe God left some clues for you, if you care to squint.» But he didn't sound very convinced. Harry didn't even dignify it with a response. «We are still not so different, though. You said you know what you are. I don't.»
«You just said…»
«I said I am Eve. Well, a dude, but Eve, and the Devil too, nonetheless. But could I also be the Original Sin?»
Harry tilted his head, curious to see where Voldemort was headed with this train of thought.
«The Original Sin is the point of the story, it is why the Fall even has an impact… it is the cross we shall bear, the eternal reminder and why we must do penance. It is why the Messiah was brought to us, to free us from it.» He started pacing. «I can't figure out what form it is going to take, whether it already exists - if I am it - if it is something I bring about. I am the rot in Paradise that spreads, this is my role and I accept it, I welcome it, but-»
«Why do you welcome it?» Harry asked. Voldemort sent him an ugly look that he'd been interrupted.
«It gives me purpose, Harry,» he said, as though this should have been obvious. Perhaps it was, as Harry himself had been desperate for purpose, not even willing to live without one, regardless of what it might be. «More than that, it is God's decision. God didn't just choose me, he created me for this purpose. In a way, that makes me God, and the rest of humanity— ants. You are the buttons I press, the strings I pull to fulfill my destiny…»
«I've misjudged you,» Harry whispered.
«And I you, as it seems. When you say you're immortal…»
«I mean it.»
Voldemort had somehow gotten close enough that Harry could see his eyes dull slightly for a few seconds as he turned the implications of Harry's admission over in his head, though they remained fixed on him.
Finally, the other man spoke again, though quieter. «What does that make you?»
«I don't know.»
Voldemort did not seem very happy with that answer, but Harry cut him off before he could say anything. «You're not going to think of something I haven't already, I've spent my life mulling over this. And I think I've made my peace with not knowing,» he added, surprised to find that the words rang true. He felt unresolved, yes, and he would always want closure, but at this point not knowing had become his nature. Asking, wondering and putting different theories to the test had become his life.
«You're living like I once did. Mindless, complacent, merely existing, never knowing happiness.»
«Better than to be tormented.»
The shadow of a grimace flitted across Voldemort's exquisite face. «I won't accept that.»
«Well, it's not up to you,» Harry said.
«No, I think it is, actually. We are connected, you and I, that much is clear. You think your purpose is not related to mine?»
Harry stared at him. «How so?»
«We're mirror images of each other, Harry, and fate has already tied us together, first with the prophecy that made me go after you, then with us both living forever…»
«I'm not sure that you count.»
«I have conquered age and survived my body's destruction, Harry. That is immortality.»
«Not like mine! Mine is true, Tom. I don't know why I have it but I have died countless of times, and each time I come back unharmed. You tore your soul to pieces and spent a decade as a wraith. You're an imitation of me at best.»
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. «So I should just succumb, when there is so much to be done?»
«If God has this great plan for you, don't you think he would have made you immortal like he did me?»
«We are not angels, Harry. Angels have immortality too, but no free will, no life of their own, everything they have and are was given to them because they could not have sought it out themselves. We, the living, are given autonomy, responsibility. God gifted me this life and this purpose, for me to fulfill however I wished, but at my own risk. Would you not rather say that God intended for me to make my own invulnerability, that it is my destiny?»
«What, shredding your soul? It's divine! How could God want that for you?»
«God tests all of his greatest believers. It is how he deems them worthy. How could I claim to honor God if I chose to shelter my soul and remain mediocre, rather than sacrifice the most valuable thing I have?» A deranged smile spread across his face. «Suffering is piety, Harry.»
Harry felt there were a lot of things wrong with that claim, but he could not think of anything to say. Worse yet, he found himself considering Voldemort's words. Could he be right?
Deer or no, Voldemort could see the hesitation on Harry's face. Harry, in turn, saw a predatory glint in his eyes as the man stepped closer and murmured, «I don't know how yet, but it seems to me that we are tied together. Your purpose, our purpose, whatever it is and however we are supposed to accomplish it, is not something we can do independently…»
«And what would you have me do?» Harry said, before Voldemort could get him to agree to something he shouldn't. «I won't kill for you, Voldemort, that can't possibly be God's plan. Besides, I'm a deer, remember, even if I could keep my ability to speak there wouldn't be a lot I could do…»
Voldemort dismissed that last bit with a wave of his hand. «God made you that way, whatever it is you are to do I think you'll find your deer form to be a perfect fit for it.»
«And the killing?»
Voldemort grinned wolfishly. «Gotta crack a few eggs to make an omelette, Harry. And why not? We are the chosen ones, God's appointed rulers… don't shake your head, Harry, you know it to be true. Why should their lives matter, anyway?»
«They are God's creation!» Harry snapped.
To his surprise, Voldemort's eyes actually widened a bit, but Harry did not give him the time to say anything. «God created the world, he created us, and he created them. They have a role to play too and I just don't believe that that role is to die at your wand. This new world you shall usher in, the new order, it won't matter if there's nobody to live in it!»
Voldemort had gone completely white. Harry stepped closer to him in a predatory move of his own. «You know I'm right. That doubt you feel right now, the search for a good counterargument, I get that. But ask yourself this,» and he made sure the Dark Lord's pure, undivided attention was on what he said next, «were you not destined to meet me?»
Voldemort gave a very stiff, forced smile. «You're getting a bit cheesy, even for me.»
«How can I have any purpose with you, if not to change your ways?»
He would not have thought it possible, but Voldemort went even whiter. «To what?»
«I think that is what we are meant to find out.»
Voldemort only shook his head, as if still in denial. «This would change— everything. My life, everything I have worked for—»
«But you said it yourself, you're immortal. We both are. We have all the time in the world.»
Voldemort appeared to have lost the ability to talk. But that was fine: Harry could speak for them both. «Our meeting here, my sudden, miraculous ability to talk… I think we have both been waiting for this all our lives.»
«I can't fight this,» Voldemort finally whispered shakily.
«Do you want to?»
Voldemort exhaled slowly, shakily. For the first time that night, his eyes flickered away from Harry's, and he looked at the trees lining the field instead. Mist was creeping up on them: dawn approached.
«It's not an option,» he said at last and he looked terribly lost.
Harry stepped closer, so that he could nudge Voldemort's hand with his mule. Voldemort stiffened, but did not pull away.
«I think you and I finally on the right path,» he said, and he felt the truth of the words as he said them, «a path that will take us wherever God wants us to be.»
Voldemort stepped away, ostensibly so that he could look Harry more directly in the eye, though there was no denying that his proximity had probably been making the other man uncomfortable. «It seems you win.»
Harry smiled with his eyes. «Everybody wins,» he corrected, and was rewarded with the smallest of smiles in return.
And for the first time he could remember, Harry felt happiness and hope for the future.
(«So, where do you suggest we start?» Voldemort asked.
Harry tilted his head to the side. «I've always wanted to leave England,» he replied, even if he doubted Voldemort had been talking about geographical locations.
Still, it seemed to work. Voldemort gave him a surprised look. «You've never even left the country?»
Wordlessly, Harry indicated his long, skinny deer legs.
Voldemort raised his eyebrows. «Want to go on a pilgrimage to Rome?»
Harry felt his heart soar with excitement. «And then Jerusalem?»
«I'll take you wherever you want to go, my deer.»
Speechless with joy, Harry could only nudge the man with his head and hope it expressed his love.)