Big thanks to haisekai for inspiring me two write this chapter in like two days lol. Nothing makes me write 20k quite like a good review does
/
Harry surfaced from the memory with a sobering expression, completely ignoring Voldemort's annoyance at him for dawdling.
"I'm done for the day," He decided abruptly, cutting the other man off without even meeting his gaze. He turned away. "You can continue without me, if you want." And with that, he walked out of the room.
Saiph's eyes widened, and he immediately leapt off his stool and bounded towards Harry, who was already making out the door.
Harry hadn't moved very far, though. He was just outside in the hall, leaning against the wall next to the door, a soft frown on his face. Saiph was relieved to find he hadn't went very far, but grew concerned when he caught sight of his expression. He swallowed thickly, fearing the worst. Just what had Harry seen?
"Mum," he said accidentally, before hastily correcting himself, "Harry. Are you okay?"
Harry stirred to attention at his name, as if finally realizing Saiph was next to him.
"Sai," Harry attempted a smile for him, but Saiph wished he hadn't.
"Harry." Saiph frowned. "What did you see?"
Harry didn't say anything - instead he swooped low, wrapping his arms around Saiph tightly. Probably too tightly, but the young boy didn't complain at all. For a long moment, Harry didn't say anything, looking off down the hall, at something far away from them.
Finally his gaze seems to focus again. "I guess you knew the whole time, huh?" Then he shook his head. "Wait, of course you did. These are your memories, after all."
If anything, this only makes Saiph even more alarmed. "Harry," he started again, pulling away so he could face him, but Harry interrupted him with a hand in his hair.
"It's okay, Sai." Harry assured, although Saiph wasn't entirely sure who he was trying to reassure here. "I'm perfectly fine." He added, cheerily, and Saiph couldn't help but wish he would just stop.
The little boy latched onto Harry again, his embrace as fierce as Harry's was just a mere moment ago. Harry could only hold him just as close, still wholly at a loss for words and trying to make sense of things.
"Sai…"
"I don't believe you." The boy said, stubbornly, gripping Harry tighter.
Harry sighed softly, his hands raising to thread themselves in the boy's impossibly soft hair. "It's okay, Sai, really."
Saiph didn't say anything in response. Harry frowned out into the hallway, gazing sightlessly at the long line of windows and the beautiful summer day beyond. He still couldn't… quite come to terms with it all.
He knew what it meant. It was obvious, now. Saiph's occasionally nervous demeanor, the way he would look at Voldemort and Harry warily, as if waiting for them to fight, his endless fear at the idea of them going through his memories.
At any rate, it was glaringly obvious that something was wrong before for a lot of reasons, and even more so now. The memory was damning evidence enough.
And Harry… Harry wasn't entirely sure how to feel.
He couldn't even wrap his head around marrying Voldemort, let alone divorcing him. And quite frankly, he just didn't know enough about the situation to come to any conclusions. Maybe they had a happy marriage, and this was just a horrible, completely blindsiding turn of events. Or maybe their relationship had always been rocky, and this was just the inevitable ending to two very incompatible people. Harry wished he knew. If he was being honest with himself, he had to admit he wasn't surprised to hear it. The idea of a happy marriage to Voldemort was bewildering; a tumultuous future and inevitable break up seemed more likely to him.
Still, he had just been thinking earlier about how pleasantly surprising the future had seemed just a few scant hours ago. It left a bitter taste in his mouth when he came to the resigned realization that nothing about his life was, and would never, be particularly pleasant. That being said, future Voldemort and Harry's problems aside he can't imagine raising his children to be anything but an absolute joy - so perhaps it wasn't all pleasant, but it certainly wasn't all unpleasant, either.
Harry looked back down at Saiph, still staring up at him with concern.
He squeezed the boy one more time. "That's enough memory hopping for today, huh?"
He mustered up another smile for the boy, as he moved to stand.
Saiph frowned at the sight of it. Harry was never very good at lying. Or hiding how he felt, "I don't think father will agree," He said, after a beat.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah—no surprise there." He shook his head. "A break for lunch, then? I'm pretty hungry."
Saiph nodded hesitantly, tossing another look towards the door. Harry followed his gaze, leaning around the doorway to pop his head on the other side.
"Tom!" He called. "We're having lunch. Are you going to join us?"
Saiph didn't need to see him to know his father was sporting a scowl. "In a moment." Was his noncommittal reply.
Harry shrugged, tugging him along.
They walked in silence. Harry looked deeply lost in thought; Saiph tossed him wary glances every once in a while, biting his lip fiercely. He wondered what was going on in Harry's head. What had he seen?
"Harry…" He started slowly, just as they rounded the hallway.
"Hmm?" Harry answered, absently.
"What…" Saiph swallowed with difficulty. His hand squeezed Harry's, as he ducked his head. "What did you see?" He asked, in a small, uneven voice.
Harry looked down at him pensively. Then he sighed. "It was a memory of you and your sister." He revealed, after a beat. "You were asking to learn Necromancy. Because… well, because you wanted to see me, I suppose."
Saiph looked down guiltily. "Oh." He knew exactly what memory that was.
Harry smiled wanly. "You don't have to tell me anything," he assured, "I'm sure whatever is going on it's… not an easy thing to talk about."
He was biting his lip so fiercely Harry was surprised he hadn't drawn blood yet, averting his gaze, looking anywhere but Harry. "Yeah," he said, voice breaking a little.
Harry stared down at him sadly, feeling hopeless and impotent. His heart ached at the very sight of him, looking so forlorn and lost, even as he held Harry's hand tightly.
Saiph stopped, suddenly, in the middle of the corridor. Harry paused as well, turning around curiously. "Saiph?"
Saiph didn't say anything; his hand curled tighter around Harry's.
"I—… I don't want this." He whispered, so quietly Harry had to strain to hear it, yet his words seemed so loud and final in the damning silence around them. "I don't want you to leave. But I don't want you to be unhappy, either." He croaked out, blinking furiously.
Harry's eyes widened. Then he was dropping to his knees, hugging the boy tightly. "Oh, Sai…" He didn't know what to say. The boy clung to him fervently, as if he was half afraid Harry might slip through his fingers. And perhaps his fears weren't all that unfounded.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled into Harry's shirt, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn at the back of his nose.
"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for." Harry replied, tone absolute. "None of this is your fault."
He pulled away to get a better look at the boy; Saiph met his gaze unwillingly, eyes wet.
Harry smiled sadly, thumbing away his tears. "I'm the one who should be saying sorry." He returned, quietly.
Saiph shook his head furiously. "No!" He insisted, rubbing at his eyes. When he pulled his hands away the brilliant green gaze was devoid of tears, but the edges of his eyes were still a bit red. His expression was determined. "It's no one's fault." He said, with conviction.
Harry's smile faltered slightly. He wanted to believe that, truly. But he couldn't imagine he was blameless in this situation. It took two people to start a relationship—and it took two to finish one, also.
"Please don't be sad, Harry." Saiph continued, voice wavering slightly. "I don't want you to be sad."
Harry tilted his head. "I don't want you to be sad, either." He returned, wanly. He stared deeply into the little boy's eyes, involuntarily seeing just as much of himself in him as he did Voldemort. It always came back to him and Voldemort, didn't it? How could one man be such a blessing and a curse in his life?
Saiph nodded. "Okay." He agreed.
Although they both knew it wasn't that simple.
Harry looked up then, catching sight of the man in question rounding the corner as well. He stopped abruptly when he came across them, looking mildly uncomfortable and annoyed at the scene.
"What's going on?" He asked, frowning.
Harry shook his head, standing up quickly. "It's nothing." He lied, reaching for Saiph's hand again.
Voldemort's frown deepened, but he didn't call Harry out on it. Instead he followed them to the dining room without further remark, leaving Harry with a few moments to collect his thoughts.
By the time they were settled at the table, Saiph's features had closed up into something stoic and distant. Harry noticed the change in expression with no small amount of worry. He didn't comment on it, though. Voldemort was watching them both shrewdly. Saiph didn't stray too far from Harry's side, continuing to hold his hand under the table until he had to let go to eat. He couldn't even begin to imagine what was going on in the boy's head, even though he desperately wanted to know.
On his part, Harry was equally as lost in thought. Really he should be concentrating on getting Saiph home, but instead he was wondering all sorts of things about himself.
"Master of Death," Voldemort startled them both out of their silence. "What does that entail?"
Harry blinked, before turning to Saiph. "Yeah," he agreed at length. "Actually I was wondering the same thing."
Saiph frowned, looking momentarily at a loss. "Well, to be honest I don't really know how to explain it." He admitted. "It always sounds scary and confusing."
"Scary how?" Harry asked, finding himself holding his breath in anticipation of learning more. He'd sort of lost track of this whole 'Master of Death' thing in the face of his more personal problems, but that didn't mean he was any less invested in knowing about it.
The little boy shrugged evasively. "I dunno. I guess it's scary because I don't understand it, but it seems very important."
Harry brow furrowed pensively. From Voldemort's expression, he was equally as bewildered and confused by this explanation.
Saiph darted a shy look between Voldemort and Harry. "Ceph said that Father keeps the Wizarding World running - that it's his job to rule everyone and maintain order and stuff. And he said Mum's - err, Harry's job is a little different." Saiph amended hastily, flushing slightly. "Because Harry has to keep the world running."
Harry ignored the odd tightness in his chest, still not used to hearing himself referred to as a parent. Then he shook his heads, returning his thoughts back to the topic at hand. "Running?" He asked. "The world running?"
Saiph scratches his cheek. "I think you keep everything running." He said.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "In the most recent memory we saw, you were reading a book." He started, as if on a different tangent, scrutinizing the boy closely. "What was it?"
"Book?"
"A book you weren't supposed to be reading," Harry added, drily.
Saiph looked a bit sheepish. "Oh. That was the Apophthegmata Patrum." Harry stared at him blankly. Fortunately Saiph soon elaborated; "It's also known as the Sayings of the Desert Fathers. It's not really a spell book. I guess it's more like -
"A collection of wisdom stories," Voldemort finished for him, expression shrewd. Saiph nodded.
Harry still didn't quite understand how a book of stories would be connected to Necromancy and dimensional traveling. "Well, whatever it might be, it was also clear you weren't supposed to have it." Harry pointed out, causing Saiph to laugh nervously. That was another thing; why would he (or Voldemort) have kept the book separate for safe keeping, if it was just about mythological stories?
"That's true." Saiph admitted bashfully.
Harry tilted his head curiously. "And why, exactly, are you not allowed to read it?"
Saiph paused, frowning. "Well, after reading it, I'm not really sure why you guys had it locked up. It was interesting, but kind of useless."
"Useless?" Harry repeated.
"Yeah - it's just a bunch of stories." Saiph scrunched his nose. "Honestly it was a lot like reading the Bible or something."
Voldemort tented his hands on the table, looking both fascinated and contemplative. "Ancient Egyptians are considered the forefathers of Necromancy." He began, once again as if he was going on an entirely different tangent. "The Desert Fathers, and the sayings themselves that are recorded in the text are not particularly useful, that is true, but they are the basis for many dark rituals."
He leaned back, adding seriously, "It might not have seemed like it, but those words have a power of their own; the original text is in the Coptic language, a language related to Ancient Egyptian. More likely than not those passages are actually incantations for very dangerous rituals."
Saiph looked at him with wide eyes. "Oh." He said, at length.
He narrowed his eyes. "You didn't try any of these rituals for yourself, did you, Saiph?" His tone is deceptively calm.
Saiph shook his head rapidly. "No, I swear I didn't!" Then he frowned, looking down at his plate with a worried expression. "But I guess… I might have, right? I might just not remember."
Harry frowned, equally as worried. That didn't sound good.
Voldemort looked less than pleased. "Then we are once again left with nothing but speculation." He said, annoyed.
Harry let out a breath, not as irritated as Voldemort, but disheartened nonetheless. Saiph looked down with a guilty expression; Harry caught it out of the corner of his eye, moving quickly to reassure the boy.
He smoothed a hand over his forehead, brushing the hair out of his eyes as he smiled down at him. "It'll be fine, Sai." He promised, warmly. "You don't have to worry."
"It's all my fault," he mumbled.
"Of course not." Harry replied, looking amused. "It's not your fault at all - people make mistakes, Sai. Accidents happen. It's okay."
Saiph smiled unwillingly at that. That was such a Harry thing to say.
He knew that was true, but he couldn't help feeling a strange knot in his chest. It felt like guilt, maybe, or regret - mixed with an unhealthy amount of fear and terror. As if a part of him he couldn't remember was trying to warn him of something.
He pushed his plate away, suddenly losing his appetite.
"Sai?" Harry asked, worried.
"I'm not really hungry." He explained, weakly. "Um, I think I'm going to go lie down."
He hopped off his chair, making himself scarce in record time. Harry could only blink after him, bewildered. Were all small children this mercurial, or just his own?
The wizard shook his head. At any rate, leaving Saiph alone right now sounded like an awful idea, so he set down his utensils as well, pushing his chair out from under the table. Voldemort frowned at him. "What are you doing?"
Harry spared him a nonplussed look. "I'm going to make sure he's okay."
"Why wouldn't he be?" Voldemort asked, confused - completely missing the point, as usual.
Harry just shook his head, unsurprised to find the man unable to understand emotional turmoil when he saw it.
"Where are you going?" He demanded, when Harry turned away without a word.
"I'm going to go check on him." Harry repeated, simply.
"What about his memories?"
"I'm sure you can handle them yourself." Harry returned dryly.
"Potter," the dark lord frowned. "If both of you are just going to run off gallivanting who knows where and no one else is going to put forth any effort, I'm not going to waste my time with this endeavor either."
"Not put forth -?" Harry repeated, blankly. Then his expression turned cross. "I'm not doing this because I want to slack off," he snapped, impatiently. "I don't know if you're just blind or willfully ignorant, but that boy is not okay right now. And when someone's hurting like that - especially someone you love - you don't just sit here and brush it off and continue on with whatever you're doing."
This causes Voldemort to frown. It looks as if he doesn't know whether to berate Harry or not. Harry couldn't tell.
To be fair, neither could the man himself.
The dark lord was not a fan of affectionate sentiment. He found it all to be droll and disturbing. He hated seeing it, he hated whenever people tried to fawn over him in the same manner, and he refused to believe he had it in him to ever debase himself in such a crude and loutish manner. And he could proudly say for the entirety of his life he'd never once ever thought of love with anything but disgust.
And yet, seeing it passionately blaze in Harry's eyes made him feel very peculiar.
He was sure it had less to do with the sentiment and more to do with who that sentiment was aimed towards. It was all too personal - too close to home. Saiph was his. Obviously. Contrary to whatever Harry was accusing of him now, he was not blind or willfully ignorant. There was no point in denying what they both knew to be the truth; at some point in the future, they were going to get married and have Saiph and all his siblings. But it was this same truth that was making Voldemort have mixed feelings.
Saiph was his son, so it seemed reasonable that he would be pleased to see Harry so protective of him. That was human nature, was it not? Of course he would want Harry to love him, because if he loved him he had more incentive to want the boy alive and see him into a healthy adulthood. So really he was just protecting his lineage.
It had nothing to do with the fact that Saiph looked so much like him, and every time he saw Harry and him together he was always struck with the odd impression of seeing his younger self. Except a young Tom Riddle would never have anyone shower him with this much affection and concern. There had never been anyone who would stop the whole world just to comfort him. Who would immediately run after him when he ran off to cry.
But it wasn't as if he was jealous, so he wasn't sure why it always felt so strange.
"Fine," he sighs, finally. "I suppose the boy's wellbeing must be seen to first."
Harry doesn't look all that surprised or satisfied with that answer, but he only turns to escape through the doors before the man could attempt to call him back.
/
Harry found the boy in a mostly unused sunroom, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, sprawled across an ornate chaise. It didn't take much to coax the boy into doing something else. Harry wasn't sure what else to do, so he suggested they go outside.
"...Outside?" Saiph repeated, blankly.
"Sure," Harry nodded, smiling in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. "It'll be fun! It's such a nice day outside."
"What are we going to do outside?"
"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "But at the very least, we can mess up Malfoy's lawn."
Saiph grinned at that, and summarily agreed.
This was how Harry and Saiph spent the rest of the day outside, which ended up brightening both their spirits. They didn't actually get around to ruining the Malfoy gardens - the breeze was pleasant enough but that much physical activity in this heat sounded exhausting. The incorrigible humidity has burned away with the afternoon heat, so they take refuge under the shade of Malfoy Manor's many awnings, whittling the daylight away lounging on the patio.
Saiph was a big fan of Wizard's chess - Harry knew enough about it from Ron to at least attempt to humor him with a game, but it's fairly obvious Saiph is far better than he is.
I wonder if he and Voldemort play a lot in the future, Harry can't help but wonder, as Saiph tried to teach him the basics. Or rather, the basics if you were already an astounding genius and regular player.
"Harry," Saiph whined, when it became clear Harry was once again distracted. "I told you, it's always better to move your knight here when someone plays directly in front of you." He taps the spot in question with his own knight.
"Huh?" Harry blinked out of his thoughts, before smiling sheepishly. "Right, right. Sorry Sai, I'm not much of a chess player."
Saiph harrumphed. "Yeah, I know." He agreed, moving Harry's piece for him. "The only thing you like to play is Quidditch."
Harry brightened at the thought. "Do you want to play?" He asked, excitedly.
Saiph spared him an odd look. "Right now?" He said, grimacing. "It's so hot."
"Oh." Harry deflated a bit. "Good point." Playing Quidditch right now would be miserable - cooling charm or not.
"Do you like Quidditch?" He asked then, because he realized he actually had no idea whether the boy even liked the sport or not. He'd just sort of assumed.
Saiph looked a bit pained. "I like flying." He offered, meekly.
Harry smiled wanly. "Not Quidditch, though."
Saiph shrugged. "Seeker is okay," he allowed. "But I don't like having to bother with bludgers all the time - they're so annoying."
That startled a laugh out of the older boy. He leaned back in his chair, as a fine summer breeze swept them by. "Fair enough." He agreed. "Do any of your siblings play?"
"Not really." Saiph replied. "Aster thinks sports are a waste of time and effort and Ceph would rather stay inside and read."
He paused for a moment. "Cassi likes playing." He revealed, after a beat. Then he scrunches his nose. "I think she only likes hitting people, though."
Harry laughed. "Got a bit of a mean streak, has she?" He's a little charmed by the thought. He can imagine a little girl version of Voldemort, standing with a beater's bat in stockings and a dress. He's not entirely sure why he finds the thought so endearing - Voldemort as a little girl should sound horrifying, not cute.
But it does make him wonder about his youngest. Asterope had light hair, although her eyebrows were darker so she may very well just like to dye her hair. He wonders what his younger daughter looks like. He supposed she would look a lot like her older sister, although to that end, Harry wasn't sure about how Aster looked, either. She didn't look like either of them. Well, she had the same striking, ice blue eyes as her twin brother - which he assumes she inherited from Voldemort. They definitely weren't identical twins though, because Ceph was certainly a Potter through and through and he couldn't really see much of himself in her.
He sighs, giving it up as a lost cause.
With Ceph and Sai it was very apparent what features came from whom, but with girls it seemed to be a whole different story. He always thought of girls a lot like he thought of aliens, so it was no surprise the idea of having girls of his own was so hard to wrap his head around.
Saiph looked at him with a deadpan look. "You have no idea." Was all he had to say on the matter, returning Harry to the topic at hand.
He supposed he would simply have to continue his fruitless and endless guessing on his youngest, or just wait until he saw her for himself, since it was clear he wouldn't be able to figure it out on his own.
Harry fiddled with one of Saiph's many captured pawns, giving up the pretense of playing entirely. "Who do you usually play Wizard's chess with?" He asked, off-handedly. "Your brother?"
"Sometimes." Saiph allowed. He looked mildly uncomfortable, fidgeting in his chair. "I… usually play with father."
Harry looked up, surprised. "Really?" He supposed he could see that. He couldn't imagine Voldemort being bad at the game, and it sounded like the sort of refined extracurricular activity the man would indulge in.
Saiph nodded looking happy at the thought, a tiny smile on his face
"Well, that's nice." Harry smiled sunnily, genuinely meaning that. He could imagine that it must have been nice for the both of them.
He was just about to ask more on the subject when he looked up and saw Sai's nostalgic smile drift away, leaving him looking conflicted and uncomfortable. After a beat Harry's own smile fell, and he looked away awkwardly. He'd forgotten about the less desirable parts of the future. From Saiph's expression, it seemed as if it had been on his mind this whole time.
"Yeah," the boy agreed after a while, still looking uncomfortable.
Harry steeled his determination. He knew he had said he wouldn't bring it up… but he also couldn't stand to watch the boy struggle and not try to help.
"Listen, Sai." He started, after a long beat of tense silence. "Whatever is… um, going on between Voldemort and I - whether now or in the future - it's… it's between us, okay? You've done nothing wrong. It's okay to still like him. It's okay to say you like playing chess with him. You're not betraying me or anything."
Saiph blinked at him.
Then he ducked his head, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. "Why do you always have insightful things to say, even when you don't know what's going on at all?"
Harry recoiled immediately. "I'm sorry," he rushed to say. "I'm not trying to sound insensitive or anything, I really just -
Saiph jumped out of his chair, rushing over to crawl into Harry's lap and throw his arms around the older boy, abruptly cutting Harry off. He wasn't sure if this was a good response or a bad response, so he just wrapped his arms around the boy and didn't say anything.
A sad look crossed Harry's face. He was starting to notice that Saiph needed a lot of reassurance and affection - now he knew why. Truth be told he was starting to severely dislike his future self. And Voldemort. Both of them, really. Couldn't they see how much damage their own internal conflicts were causing to their kids? Maybe not the older two; they were grown up and out of the house for the most part. And it sounded like Saiph's little sister was too young to understand it, but Saiph was at the perfect age to be fully aware and caught in the middle of it.
Saiph didn't have to say it out loud, but Harry could see it all anyhow. Mainly because he could relate. Eleven was such an awful time to be starting school; the whole process was overwhelming enough as it is, what with growing older and more conscious of the world around you, losing the naivety and innocence of childhood. And on top of that he was starting at a new school, away from everything he's known so far in his life.
Anyway he wasn't trying to make the boy feel bad, or bring up any sad memories - he had just wanted to make sure the boy knew he loved him. And he was sure his older self felt the exact same way, despite whatever misgivings he may have with the boy's father.
"I know all that," Saiph murmured, into his neck. "You've told me that before… but I still feel like…"
"Like you have to choose?" Harry filled in, gently. He'd never been through a divorce, but he could imagine that seeing his two parents fight with such animosity between them would cause Saiph to feel like he had to pick a side.
Saiph nodded silently, his forehead resting against Harry's shoulder.
"Sai, I guarantee you that's not the case at all." He promised. "The last thing I would ever, ever want is for you to have a bad relationship with your father. I'm sure you know I love you very much, but that doesn't mean I want you to only love me. He's your dad, you know, and he loves you too."
Saiph made a vague noise of assent, tiny hands clinging to Harry's shirt like a lifeline.
It seemed like Saiph really needed to hear this, although Harry could infer that he's heard it all before. Harry supposed he just had to keep telling him and showing him until he believed it; and he was sure his future self must think something similar. Recently he's begun to think he doesn't understand his future self at all, but he's pretty sure that despite all this master of death business he doesn't understand, and whatever else his future self has been through, his stance on family wouldn't change.
Even now. He could hate Voldemort all he liked, but he would be devastated to hear that Saiph felt the same. He certainly was no fan of the man, but Saiph was his son too. And he couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have your own kids hate you. Or what it would feel like to think that the person who was supposed to love you unquestionably and irrevocably didn't actually care about you at all.
"You understand, right, Sai?"
"Uh-huh." Saiph agreed, quietly.
Harry continued to tenderly stroke the boy's back. "You can tell me all about your father. I'd be happy to hear it."
/
Unbeknown to both of them, the man in question had been there the whole time.
He'd went off in search of his wayward…charges (family) when it became clear they weren't going to return in a timely fashion. The dark lord had assumed Harry would be able to handle whatever tantrums the boy might be having, but as the hour grew later he began to have his doubts. He wasn't worried. Of course not. He was just… curious. And annoyed. And maybe, unwillingly, perhaps a little apprehensive. Harry had made it sound like such a big deal, after all, even though he was sure children were prone to overly dramatic tantrums at that age.
As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Harry proved himself to be oddly capable of handling the situation, even being the sixteen year old boy he is, who shouldn't have any insight into the minds of full grown adults.
He found them on the patio, striding over just in time to catch the tail end of whatever Harry was saying.
"The last thing I would ever, ever want is for you to have a bad relationship with your father," Harry was in the middle of saying, which already put him on alert.
They're talking about him?
He drew closer, making sure to keep to the shadows of the grand pillars behind where the two of them were lounging. Harry was speaking so softly it was difficult to make out what he was saying.
"- He loves you too, you know." Harry continued.
The boy nodded from where he was gathered up in Harry's arms.
He's not sure if he wants to hear the rest of this conversation - scratch that, he's fairly sure he doesn't want to hear it, at all - but he's also not the kind of person who would ever choose to remain ignorant, even if that meant knowing things he would never want to know.
"You can tell me all about your father," Harry was saying, when he tuned back into the conversation, "I would be happy to hear it."
For a boy who hated him so deeply, he seemed very genuine about that.
Saiph made a noncommittal noise.
"So, you guys play Wizarding Chess?" Harry prodded delicately, trying to help the conversation along.
"Yeah," Saiph agreed, still sounding somewhat unwilling to elaborate.
"What else do you guys do together? You went to Wizarding primary school, right?" Harry confirmed.
"Uh-huh," Saiph concurred.
"Did he ever help you with your homework?"
For some reason, this made Saiph start to shake with laughter. Saiph pulled away, looking like he was fighting a smile as he rapidly shook his head. "No," he drawled, looking mischievous.
"No?" Harry smiled back. "Why not?"
"Well, he's not very good at being patient." Saiph pointed out.
Voldemort couldn't really deny that.
"Yeah, I can imagine." Harry laughed.
"I think he gave up on that with Ceph and Aster," Saiph confided. "Ceph said Aster used to make him so mad, because she would never take it seriously. Neither did Ceph, but I guess she never bothered to hide it."
Harry looked very amused. "Is that so?"
"Cepheus never took it seriously because he was always far more advanced for his year. So he would sleep through all his lessons. Asterope was the same way… but Aster tends to… not really care about being subtle if she thinks it's not worth the effort." Saiph revealed, sheepishly.
Harry nodded along, relieved to see that talking about his older siblings seemed to have relaxed Saiph somewhat. He was no longer clinging desperately to Harry, but was instead simply lounging on his lap, looking content.
"I'm sure that simply delighted your father," Harry commented, drily.
"Aster always makes him mad." Saiph sighed. "I think she does it on purpose."
From his spot behind the pillar, the dark lord's brow twitched. Was that so?
Harry blinked. Then his lips curled up, eyes sparkling in understanding. "That's how they show affection for each other, huh?"
"Apparently." Saiph shrugged. Then he looked away, reverting back to his earlier shyness. "...I don't really like it when he's mad." He said, quietly.
This gave Harry pause. He brushed the hair out of Saiph's eyes - there was always this adorable piece that curled right across his forehead, that Harry couldn't help but always smooth out.
"Does it scare you?" Harry asked softly.
Saiph nodded.
They were quiet for so long that the dark lord actually peered around the corner to see what they were doing. Harry was simply staring at the boy, looking conflicted as he frowned slightly.
"But, he's never…" Harry trailed off. "I mean, he doesn't -
"Oh, no." Saiph seemed to catch on to what Harry was trying to say. "It's not like that. He doesn't curse us or anything. He's just… really scary when he's mad."
He was a little annoyed that Harry thought he would just toss dark curses at his own children like that. But then he realized he had never really given Harry any reason to think otherwise.
"He yells a lot." Saiph added, meekly.
Harry looked relieved. "Well, that sounds normal to me."
Saiph shrugged. "Yeah," he agreed, evasively. "Sometimes it's really scary though… but he never gets that mad because of us. Err… but maybe that's normal too? Well, there was this one time he was so angry he broke all the windows in the house - ah, but Cassi did that too once, when she was throwing a temper tantrum. It was scary, but I guess it was just really startling. I don't know how angry you have to be to make windows break like that."
Saiph cut his rambling off when he noticed Harry staring at him with wide eyes. "Um… or we might also just have very weak windows?" He added, sheepishly.
Harry seemed to drag himself out of his stupor, shaking his head. "Maybe you're right," Harry agreed, although from his quirked lips it was clear he wasn't being very serious. "Maybe the house just has bad infrastructure. After all, your older brother managed to blow the roof off, right?"
Saiph giggled. "There was also the time he flooded the basement, and caused something called 'dry rot', and made us all have to move out of the house for a whole week while it was getting fixed. He said he was trying an experiment with sharks? So he turned the whole basement into an aquarium because I guess they need a lot of water."
Harry laughed hysterically. Voldemort was not nearly as amused.
"Oh no!" he exclaimed, as he wiped his eyes. "Well I guess that's no surprise - they do live in the ocean after all."
"Yeah! He and Aster snuck out and went all the way to Mozambique to go get them, so they got in trouble for that too."
Harry snickered. "Well what ended up happening to the aquarium?"
"Father had to return all the aquatic animals to their original homes… Ceph had a whole ocean going on, because sharks need little tiny fish to eat and the little fish need coral and the coral need… pollens? Polyps? Well anyway, so there were a lot of animals that had to be put back."
"They got in a ton of trouble," Saiph ended, hiding his laughter behind his hand. "But I got to keep a seahorse! He's in my room."
"I guess at least one good thing came out of it," Harry remarked, with humor. "And what happened to the poor sharks?"
"Oh. Well it was really only one shark. It was a whale shark -
"A whale shark?" Harry interrupted, balking. "Merlin! How did he even get it in there in the first place?"
"Well it was a baby at first." Saiph explained. "Ah… but then… it grew."
"I'm sure it did." Harry guffawed loudly. "How exactly did he get it out of there?"
Saiph scratched his head. "Well…"
The dark lord moved away then, as Saiph began to attempt to explain how his future self would manage to get a twenty-foot, forty-thousand pound animal out of his basement. Whatever problem was bothering the boy from earlier seemed to have been solved.
Voldemort shook his head with a sigh. Future fish catastrophe notwithstanding, it appeared he had nothing to worry about.
/
It occurred to Harry after the fact that this was the most he and Saiph had ever discussed Voldemort in depth. Sure, they talked about him in a roundabout way; it was hard not to, since he was part of the family and all. But Harry had never really made it a point to ask about him, mainly because Harry himself really didn't want to know.
But it was clear the afternoon had done a lot of good for Saiph's relationship with the man. Being reminded of all his humorous and fond memories of his father seemed to make the boy more at ease in his presence. At dinner that night he was far more talkative than usual, and Harry was struck by how… familial it made everything seem.
He had never experienced it for himself, but he assumed this was what a normal family dinner must feel like. He'd never had a family, so he wouldn't really know.
It was - really nice.
Voldemort seemed to be on his best behavior - or at least, he was not as uncharitable as usual - and even indulged the boy with a question or two. For some reason, the dinner topic was revolving around medieval historical figures, a topic Harry found as interesting as drying paint. Still he was more than happy to simply sit there with them and enjoy the moment. And Saiph was apparently very interested in the medieval era catholic church - although it seemed to be more of a morbid fascination. Either way the young boy looked relaxed and content, making Harry realize that Sai must have been anxious this whole time. Harry was sure he probably was still anxious, what with being stuck twenty years in the past, but he seemed to be in far better spirits about it knowing both Harry and Tom loved him very much and were here to support him.
Harry eyed the man across the table from him with a speculative look. He was halfway into a lecture on the greediness of the Vatican, completely oblivious to Harry's gaze. Oh, Voldemort could deny it all he liked, and Harry was sure he would, loudly and frequently, but Harry knew without a shadow of a doubt that Saiph's father loved him. He appeared to have a very roundabout and odd way of showing it, but he made an awkward attempt all the same. The dark lord might not even know it himself yet, but Harry was not nearly so ignorant in matters of the heart.
Despite the astounding lack of progress on the time-traveling front, Harry thought he had a very fulfilling day anyhow.
Voldemort makes noises about sorting through more memories after dinner, but both Saiph and Harry are reluctant to do so. He knew they have to do it eventually, but for right now he doesn't want to interrupt the moment. Saiph looked infinitely relieved when Voldemort eventually gave up and conceded to starting first thing in the morning.
"Sai, why are you so concerned over what we'll find in the memories?" Harry asked quietly, when Voldemort had retired to his study to attend to all the matters he had pushed aside in favor of spending time with them. It actually made Harry's chest grow very warm, when he realized that Voldemort had, more or less, completely discarded his usual dark lord business in favor of them.
At any rate he was not here now, and Harry took the opportunity to ask what had been on his mind for some time now.
He hadn't wanted to bring it up with Voldemort around because he felt reluctant to reveal to him the real circumstances of their future. Quite honestly he didn't know what he should do; should he follow Saiph's lead and speak nothing of it? Or should he confront the dark lord now, and see if maybe they could work together to come up with a solution to a problem that hadn't even come up yet. Harry didn't know, so he thought it best to avoid that whole scenario entirely.
Saiph fidgeted in the way Harry was starting to realize meant he was nervous or reluctant. "Well… to be honest, I don't really know." He admitted, quietly, as they strolled their way through the gardens.
Harry knew nothing about stars, and seeing as though all his children were named after stars or constellations, he figured it might be a good idea to get acquainted with them. Fortunately Saiph was pretty well versed in constellations, so he offered to teach Harry. The night sky was clear and bright tonight, so they decided to see what else Malfoy Manor's lawns had to offer.
Harry turned to the boy. "You don't know?"
"I just get a bad feeling whenever I see it."
"What, the memories?"
Saiph shook his head. "Yes. No. I don't know - all of it. The little glass jars with smoke in them, the big bowl swirling with memories, the cabinet full of vials…I'm not sure why."
Harry pursed his lips. He didn't think that was a normal reaction. It sounded as if Saiph's subconscious was reacting to the memory hopping quite negatively, even though the boy himself didn't know why. Maybe Saiph had a bad experience he had buried in his mind?
Or maybe this was one of the things he had forgotten when he lost his memories to time travel?
"That sounds important," Harry remarked, after a beat. "It gives you a bad feeling, huh? We should probably tell Voldemort. Why didn't you say so before?"
Saiph shrugged. "I thought it would seem silly to say I had a bad feeling about it, without any reason why."
"I think, since you don't have your memories, your feelings are going to be very important." Harry advised quietly. "You might not consciously be able to remember what happened before you came here, but it seems as if there's a part of you somewhere that does."
Saiph nodded silently, biting his lip. "I've… had a bad feeling this whole time, really." He admitted.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"I dunno, I could just be anxious because of, you know, like accidentally time traveling. But I keep getting this feeling like I'm forgetting something very important." He paused, brow furrowing. "You know that feeling when you're in a hurry and you feel like you've forgotten to do something?"
"Absolutely," Harry answered with total understanding. That was exactly how he felt after end of term exams; he spent every waking hour prior to them cramming for the tests, to the point that he didn't know what to do with himself once they were over. It always felt as if he should be studying or something, even though he didn't have to study anymore.
"It feels like that." Saiph disclosed, frowning deeply. "I keep getting this urge to do something, but I don't know what."
Harry observed the boy, considering him thoughtfully. It was really starting to sound like Saiph had come here on purpose. It was just a hunch, though, so he could be wrong. And not to mention, even if it was true Saiph sent himself back in time intentionally, they still didn't know why he did it.
Harry sighed heavily. "Saiph, do you think you did this to yourself intentionally?"
The boy stiffened, looking away. Almost absently did Harry reach for his hand, walking together silently through the garden, holding hands. It made Harry feel oddly wistful; he wondered if his future self got to do this often. He hoped he never, ever learned to take this feeling for granted.
"I dunno," the boy whispered. "In some ways I think so, but I can't imagine what could have driven me to do it. I just… time traveling seems rather extreme, don't you think? And as far as I know, they've yet to figure out a way to do it—and I certainly wouldn't know it even if they did, so it must have been an accident."
Harry could see the truth in that logic. Anyhow, an eleven-year old finding a way to time travel where all other wizards have failed seems a bit excessive, even if the boy in question happens to be a genius.
"I'm sure we'll figure it out." Harry assured him. "Quite honestly, I'll be surprised if Voldemort doesn't have it solved in a week."
Saiph ducked his head. "He does like solving things," Saiph said in agreement.
Harry smiled. "See? You have nothing to worry about, whether it was an accident or intentional—it'll all work out okay."
They spent a little longer out in the gardens, enjoying the cooler temperatures. Harry didn't get to spend as much time stargazing as he would have liked, although he did learn that Saiph is a star in the constellation Orion. Saiph didn't really know why he was named that, but he did know that the name comes from the Arabic phrase saif al jabbar—the sword of the giant. He knew quite a bit about the star itself, more than Harry even knew what to do with, and seemed really excited to talk about it. Harry didn't know the difference between stars; they all looked the same to him. Well, some were brighter than others he supposed.
Saiph insisted that there were lots of different stars; there were red stars and white stars and blue stars—but the blue stars were always the biggest, which was why they were called blue giant stars. He said the sun was actually tiny in comparison to stars like Saiph or Asterope; he explained that it was the same as comparing a snitch to Malfoy Manor. Harry had never taken Astronomy, and whatever he remembered from his muggle science classes was minimal at best, so he had a hard time understanding that. He supposed one day he would understand stars and space and galaxies quite well, but for now he was just a human on planet Earth staring up into the night sky and trying to grasp just how big everything was up there.
At any rate, Saiph appeared well versed in stars and astrophysics, spouting off all sorts of equations that Harry didn't even bother to keep up with. He wished they could stay out here all night, but it was getting rather late, and Saiph was looking sleepy despite his protests to the contrary.
It was an oddly exhausting day; by the time Harry had readied for bed he'd realized he was just as tired as Saiph. The boy snuggled in beside him when he crawled under the covers. He had his own room but he seemed to prefer having Harry close by, and quite honestly Harry couldn't say he was complaining. He liked having Saiph close by, too.
Harry watched the young child drift off to sleep, eager to follow him.
He found himself turning restlessly in his bed that night, despite his efforts to fall asleep, his head too full from earlier today. He couldn't stop thinking about it - about any of it. All the questions and confusion and realizations overwhelmed him, had him staring up at the ceiling for hours. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, think of nothing for a while, just a few hours of relief before he would have to open his eyes and face all of it all over again in the morning. There was still a small part of him that wasn't quite over the fact he was going to marry his worst enemy, one he didn't think would go away any time soon no matter how much he tried to consciously accept it.
When he finally did find sleep though, it was the farthest thing from a reprieve.
/
Harry finds himself reluctant to return home.
He damns himself for it, but he feels something maudlin and forlorn blossom in him regardless at the mere thought; something that makes him feel uneager and unwilling no matter how much he hates himself for thinking it. It's his home. He'd never had a home before, not like this. His home is his haven; the only place he always wants to be, the only place he belongs. It's the place he longs for when he finds himself lost between worlds, with nothing to hold onto but his forever fading sense of self.
But home is intangible—transitory. It exists as both a feeling and a place, tied to the floating strands of cherished memories, people, and love.
He wonders if he's lost that place. If home is somewhere he can't return to anymore, even as his feet land soundlessly on the balcony outside his bedroom.
Harry stares up into the night sky, tracing the familiar patterns of diamond lights; he looks for the places lost in space, the places he's been, the places he knows he must go.
Finally his gaze drops from the infinite sky, to the dotting trees and winding garden paths below. He smiles fondly as his eyes catch on the wooden swing tied to the eaves of a sprawling willow tree—he can see Cassiopeia's form in the fading light, reading a book by wand light. He should call her inside—it's already dark out and far past the time she should be in bed, what is Tom doing, letting her stay up this late?
The smile disappears at the thought of him.
His stomach feels tied in knots. At the thought of Tom, all his thoughts seem to be thrown into turmoil. He doesn't know how to feel about him. Harry turns around, a familiar presence alerting him to the other man entering the room.
He meets Tom's impassive gaze with a cool look of his own, watching him from behind the glass balcony doors. The dark lord narrows his eyes, in what could either be considered a greeting or dismissal, before he turns away. Harry sighs, and opens the doors. They don't speak as he unfastens his cloak, releasing the golden clasp from around his neck. Death's cloak pools in his hands like shimmering water. He folds it carefully and throws it over the back of a nearby armchair. The rest of his garments come off in a similar fashion, though they are tossed into the laundry basket for the house elves to take care of as he walks into the bathroom. Even dressed in pajamas, his identity as Death is unavoidable. He glances briefly at himself in the bathroom mirror; haunting, inhuman green eyes stare back.
He shakes his head, exiting the bathroom. Tom doesn't look as if he intends to go to bed any time soon; the glass doors to their personal library are wide open, a light on somewhere in the depths inside.
Harry deliberates for a moment, wondering if he should just leave the man be and go to bed.
In the end his feet carry him into the library, drifting past towering shelves in search of the dark lord. It's not hard to find him; not only because their library isn't that big, but also because it's never hard to find him, ever. His soul is always calling to its other half. They are always connected, no matter what dimension he's wandered into, what plane of reality he's found himself in.
He leans against one of the shelves for a moment, simply watching the other man as he scrutinizes the contents of a book, bent over the desk in a way that signifies he's intensely engrossed in his current train of thought. Harry waits until he's straightened up, before speaking.
"Are you coming to bed any time soon?" He asks, folding his arms.
"In a minute," Tom replies, distracted.
Harry waits for another moment, before he pushes off the shelf, heading back for the bedroom. He takes one look at the empty bed, and promptly decides that's the last place he wants to be. Instead he pivots towards the door, exiting into the hallway. He stops by Sai's room, head tilted slightly to listen for any noises on the other side. The lights are off, and when Harry peeks in, the boy looks fast asleep. He can still hear music from Aster's room, despite her muffling charm, and the light shines through the bottom of Ceph's door.
He walks passed them all, heading for the grand entry way, curling staircase lined in a magnificent gold radiating off the opulent chandelier. He can admit it is all beautiful, if not overwhelmingly empty. From there he descends down the stairs, heading for the door to the balcony. This too is palatial and glowing in warm light; glass baubles float in quartets by the ceiling, bright and illuminating. With a snap of his fingers they dim as he walks past them, rounding the water fountain and down the steps into the yard. It's not hard to make out Cassiopeia's small form, her lumos floating beside her like a beacon in the night.
Harry nears, shaking his head fondly to see she hasn't once looked up from her book.
"It's way past your bedtime, young lady." He interrupts her voracious reading, making her leap up in shock.
She blinks wide eyes at him, before she leaps up with a beaming smile. "Mum!" She darts into the circle of his arms, squeezing him tightly. "Hi!"
"Hey kiddo," He says, smiling down at her softly. "What are you doing up so late?"
She quickly hides the book behind her back, as if Harry could have possibly missed it. "Just reading," she answers evasively.
Harry is not fooled in the least. He notices the tree she picked not only has a swing tied to one of its branches, it also happens to be conveniently just outside the limit of the house's wards. He raises an unimpressed brow. "And is it something you're allowed to be reading?"
She just stares at him with wide eyes. "Yes, of course."
Harry shakes his head fondly. Who taught her to lie like that? He swoops down to pick her up in his arms. She protests loudly, especially when he plucks the book right from her fingers. She was at least smart enough to slip on a different book cover. The sleeve says 'Tales of Beedle the Bard', but the inside is certainly not a handful of fairytales. He scans the first few lines of dense writing on the page he's opened it to, wondering if she can even comprehend this sort of stuff at her age. Well, he wouldn't put it past her to try anyway. It's certainly what Tom Riddle would have done, and Cassi shares quite a few similarities with him.
"No more stealing books from the library," Harry tells her sternly.
She, of course, immediately protests. "Sai does it all the time!"
Does he now? "I don't care," Harry says instead, although he files that information away for later. "It doesn't change the fact you're not allowed into the back of the library."
Cassi pouts. Harry remains unmoved, although privately he can admit it's an adorable sight. But he's had more than enough practice with manipulative doe eyes - all of his children have tried it at some point, to varying degrees of success. Though none of them had ever tried as often as Cassi, and to that end, none of them were ever as successful. She has always been the most manipulative of them all. Harry inwardly rolls his eyes. His children are all manipulative and cunning. Big surprise there.
Cassi sighs dramatically. "I'm very sorry, Mummy." She apologizes in what could possibly be the least apologetic tone in the world, "I won't do it again."
"Uh-huh." Harry nods skeptically. "I'm sure."
She just turns her big eyes towards him again. "I promise!" She insists. "So can you let me down now?"
"And let you run off in search of more mischief?" Harry raises a brow, smiling.
She scowls. "No."
Harry definitely does not let her down. She'll bolt off somewhere before he can even try to catch her. Not to mention, it's won't be long until he won't be able to do this anymore, and he wants to savor the opportunity. She'll be too big soon enough. The thought makes him a little nostalgic. He always loved toting them around. Not as much as Tom, though. Harry smiles slightly; when they were all just young toddlers the dark lord used to disappear to take long walks through the garden, just to hold them without anyone seeing. It was so like Tom to think that was something he has to hide.
He's reluctant to place her down on her bed, but at this point she's kicking her feet out mutinously, and he has no choice but to let her down. He buries his nose in her hair one last time, giving her a quick kiss to the temple before finally letting her down.
She pouts at him from her place on the bed as he rummages through her drawers for a set of night clothes. He finds an acceptable nightgown, turning around to wave his wand at her. Her dirty romper is replaced with the nightgown, and Harry moves to toss it into the hamper. Afterwards he goes about tucking her in. Cassi says nothing, forever defiant even as she settles under her covers.
Harry leans down, smoothing her hair out of her eyes. "It's time for bed now, okay?"
She grumbles.
Harry huffs fondly, before leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead. "No more reading for tonight."
"Fine," she sighs dramatically.
He runs his fingers through her hair again, feeling as if he's finally come home, now that he's here. It's still fine and soft like a baby's, slipping through his fingers. At least all of his children were spared from the curse of the Potter hair, he thinks wryly, smiling slightly at the thought.
He wags his finger in front of her face, as he moves to stand. "And no disappearing acts, young lady."
Cassi gives him an adorable moeu in response. "No disappearing acts for mum, either." She parrots back to him.
Harry drops his hand, surprised. He smiles, but this time it doesn't meet his eyes. "Okay, it's a promise." He agrees, as he drops down to kiss her nose.
He moves to straighten up, but she catches him tiny fingers, grasping his sleeve. When he looks down, her green eyes are very imploring. "One more story?"
Harry huffs. "Didn't I just say that was enough reading for tonight?"
She shakes her head rapidly. "No, Mum reads the story, so I'm not reading it so it doesn't count."
Harry is not impressed with that seven-year old logic, but he gladly settles back down anyhow. "Okay, one story. Nothing from this book, though." He taps the dark tome masquerading as a story book with a nonplussed expression, setting it behind him on her bedside table, far out of her reach.
She at least has the good decency to look somewhat sheepish. "But what about Tales of Beedle the Bard?"
"The real one, right?" Harry confirms, drily.
Cassi nods, looking vaguely chastised. "The Tale of the Three Brothers!" She insists.
Harry blinks down at her. "Really?" He asks, skeptically. He's fairly sure all his children know that one by heart, if only because it's so infamous in their family.
"You have to tell it as yourself," she adds, resolutely.
Harry is momentarily taken aback. Then he shakes his head with a sigh. "Alright then," he acquiesces, before grinning roguishly. "Well, once upon a time I was just wandering around, minding my own business, going about doing my Death thing -
Cassi giggles.
"When I noticed these three brothers trying to cross a very dangerous river. It had just rained, so the current was very strong, and there was no bridge. They seemed like easy pickings to me, so I stood and waited for them to idiotically do my job for me."
Cassi hides her smile under her covers, pulling them up to her nose. "And then?" She urges, exciting.
"Well," Harry gives a dramatic sigh. "It turns out they were all wizards, so they conjured a bridge and crossed safely."
"But that was no good." She interrupts, blinking, anticipation sparkling in her eyes.
"No not at all." Harry agrees. "It made me very irritable. I decided I would approach them and pretend to congratulate them, offering them something as a prize for cheating me. Now, any dark wizard worth their salt would know not to take such a duplicitous offer, but these wizards were not practitioners of dark magic, so they took me up on my offer."
"Now, one of them was very ambitious and combative; he asked me for an unbeatable wand. I took a twig off of a nearby elder tree and fashioned it into a wand that would never lose. The second brother was an arrogant and self-centered man, and he asked me for the power to defy death, and recall those from the grave. I took a pebble from the river and turned it into a Resurrection Stone."
Cassi's eyes were wide and captivated as she peeked out from her bed covers. "And the last brother?" She asked, eagerly.
"Well, the last brother was a shrewd and cautious man. He was humble as well, so when I asked him what he wanted from me he very carefully asked for a way to go forth with his life without me. And so I handed him a piece of my own Invisibility Cloak, and they went off on their merry way."
Harry clears his throat. "Later that evening, the first brother made his way to the -
"Not that!" Cassi interrupts, petulantly. "What did you do?"
"What did I do?" Harry blinks.
"Yes, while you were waiting for the brothers to die," she adds impatiently. "Death couldn't have just been waiting around."
Harry laughs. "You're trying to get a second story out of this, aren't you?"
"No," she denies, stubbornly.
Harry only rolls his eyes. "What was I doing? Well, I was biding my time, telling bedtime stories to little girls who refuse to go to bed."
"That's not true," Cassi whines.
He laughs. "Alright then - what was I doing? Who knows - maybe I was dealing with the Jotunheim rebellion, or maybe I was here on Earth for the vampire wars, or traveling to meet the great Monkey King. The first brother died very quickly, as you know, so I didn't have to wait long for him. And the second was quick to follow."
"But the third was smart," Cassi remarks.
Harry nods sagely. "Very smart," he agrees. "He eluded me for a very long time, but that was okay."
Cassi blinks. "It was?" She asks, skeptically. "But he cheated you!"
"Sure he did, but in the end, I won anyway." Harry raises a brow. "No one cheats death for very long."
"Except daddy." She points out, giggling.
Harry rolls his eyes. "He's a very special exception," he agrees, wryly, before continuing on; "But you know, I actually tend to think of the third brother quite fondly. You wouldn't be here without him - and neither would I."
"...Really?" She asks, not looking convinced.
"Sure - he's your ancestor, you know. That invisibility cloak is the exact same one I have now."
Cassiopeia looks captivated. "No way!"
Harry laughs. "Well anyway, there's your bedtime story. None of them lived happily after, but we wouldn't be here without them, so I think it's a good ending anyhow."
Cassi protests this, insisting for more stories, but Harry puts his foot down this time. Truth be told, thinking about the three brothers and the meaning behind them has made Harry feel a bit maudlin, and he doesn't think he's capable of weaving anymore stories tonight. That and she really does need to be getting to bed. So Harry spells the lights off, tucks her in, and makes sure to kiss her goodnight and run his fingers through her hair until she unwillingly falls asleep.
His expression drops into a pensive frown the moment he's left her room and enters the hall, a far off look in his eyes as he stands against the door.
Finally he lets out a long breath, before pushing off the doorframe to return to his own room.
"Please tell me you didn't give her that book." He says when he gets there, and Tom is readying for bed.
"What book?" He asks, turning off the faucet.
Harry holds it aloft. "This grimoire on demonology."
This gives Tom pause. His eyes meet Harry's in the mirror. Then he shrugs. "It's harmless." Otherwise, they wouldn't have kept it in the main library, but their own personal one, where it was far less likely to be stolen. That much was obvious.
All the same, Harry frowns. "She's too young to be getting involved in that sort of thing." He disagrees. "She's not even in Hogwarts yet."
"All the better for the head start, then." Tom returns, unworried.
Harry scowls, before sighing, not agreeing in the least but also not up for another argument at the moment. He wanders back into the bedroom, crawling into bed. He never realizes how exhausted he is until he's lying down. The faucet turns on again. Harry's eyes slip shut. He waits until it turns off to call, "And she shouldn't be staying out that late, either."
He's sure that will start an argument; it always does. Voldemort is never insecure, plagued with self-doubt, or filled with uncertainty - unless it's about parenting. In which case he reacts with defensive anger without fail.
"That's not an accusation," he adds, before the other man takes it as one. Which he will. Harry understands this is all some convoluted response to the man's own father, or lack thereof. Some subconscious terror that he'll end up just like him somehow; that he'll end up as awful a father as his own. But knowing this doesn't make it any easier to deal with.
Harry's eyes slide open a little. Tom's expression is difficult to read when he exits the bathroom. "I'm just pointing out we should probably keep a better eye on her," he says, as neutrally as possible. "She's becoming quite the escape artist - and she's made disappearing on the house elves into a minor art form."
Tom remains silent, leaning against the side of the bed. "It's not as if she's going very far," he refutes. "I have no issue with it, as long as she's not injuring herself."
Harry grits his teeth as he makes a valiant effort not to just snap at him. There are a lot of dangerous things that she can accidentally get herself into, whether she's wandered far or not. The wards are not infallible, and trusting a seven year-old to their own devices like this is a little naive.
But, snapping at him will get them nowhere. More to the point, it also won't solve the problem.
"Maybe we should look into a full time nanny." Harry suggests, genuinely giving the idea some thought. Or boarding school, even. Even with regular primary school, there are far too many unwatched hours in a day.
"That would be pointless." Tom dismisses the thought without missing a beat. "She doesn't need the supervision."
Harry rubs his temples. He'd just been thinking earlier how strikingly similar Cassiopeia Riddle and Tom Riddle are turning out to be. And at that age, Tom Riddle probably valued his solitude and his independence. And Tom would know that, wouldn't he? He probably relates to her quite easily, as opposed to Harry, who spent his own childhood neglected and without any supervision, constantly wishing for a guiding hand to help him when he was lost and didn't know how to proceed.
"Okay, I agree she's very independent and doesn't need to constantly be watched." Harry says, patiently, "But I still don't think she should be home alone, now that the house elves can't keep up with her. She's still a child, Tom, even if she doesn't often act like it." He never really liked using house elves as babysitters or nannies, but he could at least feel secure in the knowledge that Dobby would rather die than let anything happen to them.
Honestly his levels of devotion were unsettling sometimes.
Tom is unmoved. "She runs off to roam the forest constantly, and she has taken care of herself thus far. Rest assured there is an elf watching her out of sight at all times, but nonetheless she appears to value the solitude and the freedom."
"She does this often?" Harry's eyes widen, as he sits up. The magical forest behind their house was practically as bad as the forbidden forest; Harry was fairly sure there was a growing nest of Acrumantula in there. And that was to say nothing of the other dangerous creatures that called that forest home.
Tom crosses his arms. "Yes, almost every day. But then, I suppose you wouldn't know, would you?" He replies, stonily.
It hurts more than Harry expected - and all the more because it's true. Corrosive guilt burns like acid in his stomach. Then a hollow anger rises in his throat. How dare he throw that in Harry's face.
Harry's gaze is just as cold. "Don't act like you would know either." He points out, darkly. "You're away from home almost as much as I am."
Tom snorts. "There's not even a comparison. At least I'm still somewhere in this dimension. Merlin knows wherever the hell you are, or when you'll be back, for that matter."
The barb hits home. "Do you think I want to be that far away?" He hisses, lowly. "That I want to leave at the drop of a hat, never knowing when I'll be able to return?"
Tom's eyes flash. "You have no one to blame for this but yourself."
This too, is an old argument. So old Harry has analyzed it back and forth. They say understanding the situation is already half the solution, but that saying is wrong. Figuring out the problem is not half the battle. It's barely even the beginning.
Tom might rule the Wizarding World, and people might think him god-like and infallible, but between the two of them they both know that's not the case. Only one of them is a god in this room, and despite how much he covets that power, it's not the Supreme Chancellor of Wizengamut. But Harry didn't wish for this fate anymore than he wished to be cursed with this scar on his forehead. And Tom knows it. Harry doesn't understand why Tom obsesses so much over immortality, but Harry wished he could discard it like a used cloak. His continued lack of dying was appalling, honestly. There were far too many instances where he should have just died and been done with it; it was truly unfortunate that that was never the case.
"You know damn well that's not true." Harry returns, icily.
"You know I didn't choose this," Harry continues. "You know there's nothing I can do about it, and you know that if I had a choice in the matter I would never want to leave like this all the time, that I'd rather stay with all of you!"
He exhales sharply after that, belatedly wondering how they always manage to end up shouting at each other like this. He scrubs a weary hand through his hair, ruffling it into something more untamable than usual.
"Don't act so innocent." Tom sneers. "I don't know who you're trying to fool; we both know it's more than just your peculiar career path keeping you away."
Harry stiffens, before scowling darkly. That too hits home dead center. He wishes he could deny it, but it's somewhat true. He has been avoiding coming home. He makes it a point to see his kids as much as possible, spending every minute of his blessed free time with them. So perhaps he's not avoiding home - he's just avoiding him.
"It's not a fucking career path and you know it," Harry retorts, intentionally ignoring what he knows Tom is trying to say. "And I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I've been sort of busy keeping reality from falling apart." He adds, sarcastically.
"Spare me your dramatics," Tom says snidely. "I'm in no humor to entertain them today."
"I could only wish that was an exaggeration," Harry sighs under his breath. He knows Tom meant it as an insult, but it only serves to remind him of the very real responsibilities that rest solely with him - namely, keeping reality from falling apart.
Harry honestly doesn't know what more Tom can want from him. What else there is thatHarry can do to make the man happy again. He has literally ripped worlds apart for this man, helped him become all but king of the world, and yes he may have fought Tom on just about every big policy he wanted to enforce, but even Tom can't be unsatisfied with the results. Together, they have made all his goals come to fruition. Harry gave this man everything he has, and he did it willingly. He would still give Tom whatever he wants. And by Merlin would he give this power to Tom, if he could.
But he can't. No one else but Harry can be the Master of Death. There are some things in this multiverse you can't change, and unfortunately that's one of them.
Harry sighs wearily. "Look, I don't want to fight," he says, sounding exhausted. Not about this. Not again.
He slumps back down against the pillows. "If you think she's fine how she is, I'll take your word for it. We both know she takes after you, so if you think that's the way to go, then I trust you." He continues, resigned. "If it turns out she's not mature enough, then we'll figure something out. Deal?"
"Agreed." Tom says, shortly, and it's impossible to get a read on him. At this point, Harry should just stop bothering to even try.
He pushes off the side of the bed. Harry thinks he's going to walk around to get in, but instead he moves forward, closer to Harry. Harry blinks at him, not quite feeling threatened, but not foolish enough to be fully relaxed, either. He sits on the bed next to him. Harry sits up a little more against the pillows, frowning slightly.
"I don't want to fight either." Tom admits, quietly.
Harry blinks, not expecting that. He nods wordlessly, a little too overcome with emotion to formulate a response. Fondness swells in his heart, and in this moment, he can remember exactly why he fell in love with this man. Harry leans forward slightly, closing the distance between them.
His eyes slip shut as their lips brush together. It's so soft he could melt into it, warm and chaste. After a moment he pulls away.
"Good," he agrees, after so long has past he almost forgets what they're talking about.
Harry doesn't know how he feels about this man, but he knows he loves him. Wholeheartedly and irrevocably. Tom is the other half of his soul; by definition they're soulmates, as much as Tom might disagree and complain about idealistic romantic fairytales.
He will always love Tom, is the thing. Even if he's not in love with him, he still loves him. He doesn't know what place they're in anymore, where they stand, but Tom will always be the other half of his soul, the father of his children - his family.
He wraps his arms around the other man before he can move away, surprising him. Harry presses their lips together again, more insistently this time, coaxing Tom into fighting him for dominance. It's only a matter of moments before Tom has him pinned to the bed, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss, a possessive hand tugging at his hair. Harry wraps his arms around the other man's neck, feeling something far too close to relief ease the tension out of his shoulders.
Tom pulls away to kiss a trail of molten heat down Harry's neck. He arches into it, wanting more even when Tom mouths at the hollow of his neck in what he knows will be a spectacular mark by tomorrow. Usually the thought would annoy Harry, but right now he feels like he wants it. He wants to be marked.
When they break apart, Harry clutches him tighter, refusing to let any space between them. He buries his face against Tom's shoulder; he doesn't know what he's doing right now, but he doesn't want to let him go.
He has to eventually though, if only because the position is rather uncomfortable. Tom seems equally as unwilling to part, his lips lingering in Harry's wild nest of hair for a moment longer before he pulls away.
Harry stares at him with luminous eyes.
"I really have been busy," he says, which is just one big white lie and a bald-faced truth all wrapped up into one giant ball of guilt.
"I know." Tom replies, begrudging. "But would it kill you to send one of your demon lackeys with an update every once in awhile?"
"Demon lackeys - ?" Harry repeats, annoyed. He shakes his head, dropping the subject with a sigh. "But yes, I can. And I'm sorry I didn't send one earlier." Or at least, haven't sent one to him. They've all taken a shine to Cassi lately.
Tom simply nods, getting up to walk over to his side of the bed. "Oh, and you'll need to send one of them to be the new gatekeeper for the Himalayan portal." He adds, as he pulls down the covers.
Harry frowns as he gets under them himself. "Why? What's wrong with it?"
"It's been experiencing high volumes of traffic." Tom explains, and Harry is infinitely grateful for this segue; it makes everything feel normal, talking to him like this, about problems they can solve together, not problems that tear them apart. "And if both Cepheus and Asterope can find a way past the guards, it clearly needs more security."
Harry snorts, smiling fondly. Why is he not surprised? "I'll find someone. But I highly doubt that will stop them."
Tom gives a noncommittal grunt in response. Harry's smile disappears slowly, as he turns to his side, facing the other man. Now that they're not arguing, he can see just how tired he looks. Unsurprising, really, considering the vast problems he must attend to every given day, and the man's tendency to work the night away. His breath has already evened out with sleep.
Harry lets out a long breath, nosing into his pillow. He may as well get some rest too. Everything wrong with the world will still be there when he wakes up.
/