So I have some people who've seen me ghost on this site in awhile and I return with a story that's in an entirely different realm to my old ones. In my defense, this idea has haunted me for awhile. This is just my take on a theme.
Author note: Definitely do not own anything to do with Harry Potter at all. This is me just having my silly ways with it.
Chapter One
Possession. To say it hurt would be an understatement. Harry had been cored from the inside and all that was left was fire. A fire that burnt through him and twisted about him in a snakelike vice that used his mouth as his own.
"If Death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy."
Through the pain Harry could barely focus on the words, but he agreed with them. Death could be nothing compared to this. Let it kill him, us. Anything. At least then he'd be with Sirius and any will to survive this drained away along with his life. Yet the end he so desired didn't come.
Something stirred in the depths of his being. Something dangerous and angry; filled with a will of its own. A will that screamed for life and wrapped about the intruder. Yet matched it at the same time. Harry caught between them like a boat in a storm and left to drown in the power that fought over him. A force so blinding he could barely think even as the pain settled into an unnatural calm.
It was a calm he had never felt before. Not at his time at Hogwarts filled with adventure, mistrusting friends and danger. Certainly not at the Dursleys. It was a new form of drowning, but he took it gladly. Ages could have past before he felt the grass beneath his fingers, even though it could only have been seconds.
Shock pulled him from that calm and his eyes flew open into the brilliant light of a blue sky without a single cloud. Harry almost relaxed again but the black robe that caught his eye had him scrambling up to stare at the figures at the cliff edge. It was a figure he'd have known in the dark, he'd dreamt of it enough. Voldemort. Even if now there were two of his enemy watching the storm that raged around their small island.
"We have both been played."
"Expertly too."
"Well he always was one for the dramatic."
"No doubt he liked the theatrics of the plan."
"He'd even been prepared to sacrifice him."
"That I didn't expect Dumbledore to have in him."
"They will need to be moved though."
"Of course."
The two before him talked as if Harry's presence was inconsequential to him, them. Harry found himself baffled with the language he needed for this… let alone being here, alone, wandless. As if sensing his thoughts both Voldemort's turned to raise equal brows at him in cold amusement before turning back to the view out over a sea that still boiled with storm.
"Well Harry, nothing to say?" the one on the left asked, and Harry frowned as the other gave a small sound of amusement. He'd never call it a laugh.
"You seemed to be getting on well enough by yourself." Harry managed, applauding his Gryffindor bravery keeping his words steady.
"Yes, well if you want a sensible conversation it's possibly for the best, but I've done all the monologuing I intend to now," the same Voldemort scoffed as he continued, and both turned to face him. "Tell me Harry, how much do you want to be in this war?"
It was a question he hadn't expected, and Harry felt his mouth hang open in shock at this. Only to frown at the sound of derision from the other Voldemort who seemed content to watch so far.
"You put me into this war, I didn't really get a choice." Harry retorted and the image of Sirius flashed hot through his mind. "You also just took someone from me that gives me a lot to fight for."
"Yes, your godfather, an unfortunate situation that," Voldemort said in a tone that held little emotion, "But while I cannot change the past. I will enforce your future. I'm taking you out of the war Harry, and everyone you care about. Unless they choose to fight me of course. I'm not an idiot."
"What?"
"I'm sure you heard me," the Voldemort that continued to be spokesman commented taking a few steps towards Harry while the other gave a long-suffering sigh. "I no longer desire your death, in fact your life has suddenly become rather important to me."
Words kept failing Harry. Caught between indignation, confusion and a shiver of relief he tried not to notice. His mouth opening and closing a little as he searched for something to say.
"I'm inhabiting a goldfish."
"Hush now," Voldemort murmured to the figure behind him, but the damage was done.
"What do you mean inhabiting?" Harry asked, and his words were slow despite his racing thoughts.
"You may as well tell him what I am." That other figure of Voldemort said, drawing closer with every word. It put Harry in mind of a tiger he'd seen at the zoo so many years ago. "and where I am."
"We don't have time for that," Voldemort hissed, gesturing sharply to the storm behind them. If the situation hadn't been so dire Harry would have laughed. Voldemort could be annoyed even by himself. He also seemed invulnerable to his own ire as that other Voldemort stalked closer and gripped Harry's chin to stop the teenager from stepping away to a pretend level of safety.
"What he's refusing to tell you is that you will truly never be able to escape me," The words washed over Harry with the same confusion as why Voldemort touching him didn't hurt any more. "I've been hiding inside you for years, albeit more unremarkable than now, but now I'm finally what I was meant to be. A piece of a greater whole that gives us all immortality. And while you wouldn't be my first choice as a host, it does seem oddly fitting."
"Dumbledore will find a way to get you out." Harry spat, and he tried to pull that hand away but stilled as the face all too close before him laughed.
"Oh, but he has. Do you think he doesn't know? Dear Harry, he expected you to die."
"And why should I believe you?"
Harry had expected Voldemort to at least show a flicker of frustration at his continued resistance, but the one that gripped his chin just continued to smile in a way that chilled Harry to the core. The calm of the land about that slowly disintegrating as the storm rushed closer.
"You don't, the headmaster will do it himself soon no doubt."
"I don't –"
"Don't believe me," Voldemort sighed from the side-lines as he watched his Horcrux and Harry argue, "And I wouldn't expect you to either. Though before I go, I must thank you, Harry. Today has been a rather good day."
Voldemort turned and walked into the storm before Harry could find any retort. Then the storm consumed Harry and stole his breath, his sight and flung him from the ground.
The floor of the ministry atrium was a brutally cold awakening after the grass. One pained hand reached for his glasses to force them back onto his nose. The voices of people too many people unimportant beyond getting off the cold floor. His heart nearly stopped as he came face to face with Dumbledore as he tried to rise.
"Are you alright Harry?"
"Yes," said Harry, shaking so violently he could not hold his head up properly. "Yeah, I'm- where's Voldemort, where- who are all these – what's-"
"Goldfish."
The word cut through his mind and Harry felt silent from the shock of it, letting Dumbledore pull him to his feet. Barely focusing on the rest of what was said as the Minister and Dumbledore did their usual arguing; instead staring at the apparition of Voldemort that seemed to be watching Fudge and the Headmaster argue with growing amusement.
He needed to tell Dumbledore what was happening, had to. The words forming on his lips as Dumbledore handed him that portkey. Yet they died as that spectre of Voldemort raised a finger to his lips. Then the portkey activated, and he lost his chance.
Harry's knees almost buckled as he landed, dropping the statue's head to the floor. Barely noticing that he was in the miraculously repaired headmaster's office. His feet taking him mindlessly forward to the window as fear warred with his grief. Sirius was gone and that was his fault, his friends being in danger had been his fault, and not telling Dumbledore about what Voldemort had said, was his fault.
Harry's hand rose to the glass of the window as he stared out at the pale light of the dawn that coloured the horizon. His own face turning as pale as a form he had hoped had not been real came in to view behind him in the glass.
"Yes, Harry I'm quite real," that spectre of Voldemort that used him as a host murmured softly. If it hadn't been Voldemort Harry would almost have thought the tone sounded soothing. From the man behind him it felt anything but, yet as those hands rose to rest on his shoulders that same peace from the cliff returned. "And if I have my way there will never be another day like today again."
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