The next morning, when Harry wakes up and after he's dressed, he almost starts crying again. He can't believe he's doing this. He can't believe he's actually doing this. God.
He steels himself, takes a deep breath, and opens his door. Malfoy is standing outside, hand poised to knock, and they both stare awkwardly at each other for a moment before Malfoy slowly lowers his hand again. "Good morning, my Lord," he greets.
"Malfoy," Harry says coldly. "I wanna eat in the Dining Hall today."
Malfoy is apparently very apt at concealing his emotions, for he doesn't even twitch at the near-order. Instead, he nods, turns in a flurry of robes, and stalks down the hall. "Follow me," he throws over his shoulder, and Harry hurries to stumble after him.
They follow more or less the same route as Harry took a few days prior, but when they come to the large portrait of Mr. Pig-Man (not his real name, but honestly he looks like a damned pig) they go left instead of right. A few minutes later, after a trek through unfamiliar parts of the manor, Malfoy knocks harshly on a seemingly random door.
It swings open, and Harry immediately regrets his decision to tell Riddle here.
At the table set in the center of the room sits a few Death Eaters, and when the door opens they all turn to look expectantly at it. By the far-end of the table sits Voldemort – or, no, it's Riddle-as-Voldemort, isn't it? If the monster from the first War is gone, the person at the end of the table must be the man Harry talk to some days earlier. Riddle-as-Voldemort, then.
"Ah," Riddle-as-Voldermot says, the voice again the raspy and worn from Harry's first year. "James. Come." He beckons Harry closer, and while Harry is both terribly confused and horribly horrified, he scurries over to the table. He might not like Riddle, but he's the only object of familiarity in here, and so he prefers to be over by him, rather than an unfamiliar Death Eater. The chair to Riddle's right is pushed out from the table, either by Riddle's foot or magic, and so Harry hurries to sit down on it.
The Death Eaters soon lose interest in him and return to their food, some of them muttering between themselves and discussing who the newcomer is. Strange.
"You're under a delusion," Riddle says matter-of-factly, not looking at Harry but rather his own food. "Only Lucius, you, and I are keyed into it. Anyone else sees you as a blond man in his thirties."
Harry nods wordlessly and reaches for the bread. He's unused to getting explanations when he doesn't ask for them, but he's not about to be complaining.
"Is there a reason for your visit?" Riddle asks, after a brief pause, and – is Harry imagining things, or is there a trace of amusement in his voice?
"I…" Harry trails off, hand hovering above the breadbasket. "You said you wanted me on this side of the war," he says quietly. He pulls back his hand from the basket and tucks it into his lap, some mild color rising in his cheeks. "I won't murder or torture or anything, but if what you say is right, we're on the same side."
He's doing it. He's actually doing it. Right now.
Riddle stops chewing and stares at him. The seconds grow longer and more awkward as they tick by.
Harry fidgets. "Er," he says. "Are you – "
"Great," Riddle interrupts him, swallowing and nodding quickly. "Good, that's that. I'm going to teach you."
"Wh – I'm not returning to Hogwarts? I have to go back to Hogwarts, I'm not betraying my friends completely!" Harry complains.
Riddle scowls. "Of course you're returning to Hogwarts," he says, "I won't have you running around here the whole year. Besides, I need you out there."
He – does? The bond swells at the thought of Riddle needing him, but Harry very resolutely clamps down on it. Damn it all. "Why?" he asks, perhaps a bit too harsh. Then again, it's Riddle. Nothing's too harsh on him.
"Spying," Riddle explains promptly. He shoots a pointed look at the closest Death Eater and leans towards Harry. Harry unconsciously leans closer, as well. "Let's say I need Harry Potter on my team, hm?" Riddle whispers.
And what the fuck is that supposed to mean? What's up with the emphasis on his name? Even though his last name is Riddle he doesn't have to act like one!
Apparently noticing his confusion, Riddle sighs impatiently. "The public you," he hisses. "Come to my office later. We have to talk about this."
"Alright," Harry mutters, going back to his food once it becomes obvious that Riddle isn't going to say anything else.
The rest of breakfast passes without much hassle. On the plus side, the curious glances thrown in his direction stop when Riddle glares at his followers. At least they listen to him.
Not that he'd been expecting anything else from a Dark Lord.
Later, when Harry knocks on Riddle's office, his nerves aren't nearly as frayed as they were the last time. Could be the bond, but it could also be Harry settling in with the idea that Riddle isn't out to hurt him – at least not anymore.
Riddle greets him with a nod and gestures for one of the chairs opposite of his desk. After Harry sits down, he summons a box from the room next door. He guides it over to Harry with a soft flick of his wand and proceeds to drop it into Harry's lap without a word.
"Wh – " Harry begins.
"Death Eater robes," Riddle interrupts. At Harry's horrified look he rolls his eyes. "I'm not saying you're supposed to take the Dark Mark, you idiot. The other Death Eaters are confused. By wearing this they understand that you're not an intruder."
Harry puts the box on the floor and nods. "Okay," he hurries to add when Riddle throws him a murderous look.
"Otherwise… hm," Riddle continues, tilting his head and tapping his chin with the feathered end of a quill. "When school starts again you are going back. Having one of mine inside of the castle will be very useful, but I also need your publicity to help have the Ministry realize the threat Muggles pose."
"And how am I supposed to help with that?" Harry asks, more out of confusion that curiosity. "I'm not murdering anyone."
"I don't need you to murder anyone," Riddle reassures him, only appearing a tad impatient, "and yes, that includes torture," he adds, when Harry opens his mouth to ask about that very thing. "I need you to… shall we say push… the Minister, concerning the Muggle threat. You have a massive following and hold far more political power than you think," Riddle explains.
Harry sinks into his chair with a sigh. Politics. Great. "Alright," he says. "Say I agree. How am I supposed to do it?"
"It's certainly a long-term project," Riddle says. "First of all, make sure you're on the Minister's side."
" – Fudge?" Harry repeats. "But how?"
"Send letters, contact him," Riddle says, waving a hand lazily as he explains, "make sure he knows he has your vote, set up meetings, tell him you agree with his views, and so on. I can have Lucius tell you a thing or two about manipulation if you want."
Still unsure about exactly how he's supposed to do it, Harry nods. "Do you… do you want to be Minister of Magic?" he asks slowly, after a brief pause.
"No," Riddle scoffs. "I want safety for wizarding kind. I don't want to rule, only have a powerful position."
Sure. Whatever you say, Riddle.
"Because of our bond," Riddle continues, still grimacing at the word, "you will have a position as my right-hand. Which is why I will teach you."
"Right-hand?" Harry squeaks. That is not what he expected – he – the right-hand of Voldemort, what is he doing –
Riddle, a small part of him forcefully whispers, the right-hand of Riddle.
Ah… right. Voldemort doesn't truly exist anymore.
"Yes," Riddle confirms. "I'll require you to attend most, if not all, Death Eater meetings and to stay updated on recent happenings in the Wizarding World and my – our – progress."
"And you?" Harry asks.
Riddle blinks. "Me?" he repeats. "What about me?"
"What are you required to do?" Harry clarifies. He's not letting Riddle have the upper hand in this arrangement, even if he isn't the murderous mad-man he believed him to be.
"As your Lord? Nothing. As your – " – he frowns unhappily – " – bonded, I will answer almost any question, give you sound advice to the best of my ability, and offer you protection as well as a home."
Harry shudders at the thought of ever calling Malfoy Manor home, but he nods nonetheless. "Does that mean we know what sort of bond it is?" he asks, eager for it to be broken and for him to be free. Fair, he might be willing to fight on Riddle's side, but no way is he willingly staying bonded to him!
"Not yet, no," Riddle says, shaking his head, causing the spark of hope to die out as fast as it came. "I have Wormtail searching books in some of the Death Eater libraries, however."
"Wormtail?" Harry repeats, scrunching up his nose in disgust at the traitorous name. Although… maybe he shouldn't talk too much about being a traitor. "Can he even read?" he asks, partially in genuine curiosity and partially to make a joke.
Riddle snorts. "Sometimes I doubt it," he admits. He then changes subjects. "As to how you should act here in the Manor…" He trails off, looking into the distance as he takes a moment to think. "Do whatever, I guess. Don't tell anyone who you are, don't break anything, don't speak Parseltongue, don't start a fight…"
Harry rolls his eyes and nods. "Who would I even speak Parseltongue to?"
Riddle gives him a scrutinizing look. "Well, Nagini has been complaining about feeling lonely lately…"
"Your - your snake?" Harry splutters. "God."
Chuckling, Riddle shakes his head. "No matter," he says, before again changing subjects out of the blue. "I will tutor you in Defence, as I refuse to believe that Hogwarts offers anything half-decent in that area. Other than that I will teach you how to behave in the world of politics." Here his eyes take an evil glint, and Riddle grins before rubbing his hands together while chuckling darkly. "Oh, politics…"
"Er," Harry says. "Right. I'll just… be on my way, then." He's about to stand up when Riddle holds out a hand, glint suddenly gone.
"Wait," he says, "I'm not done. We still haven't discussed the bond." Ah, yes. The bloody, fucking, bullshit bond. Harry sits back in his chair with a grunt. Riddle doesn't look very pleased with having to discuss this thing they both obviously hate. Which is a relief and comfort. At least Harry isn't alone in that department.
"What about it?" Harry grumbles dejectedly.
"Based on other bonds – especially soul-bonds – and other's experiences, we may expect our bond to change over time," Riddle explains. "It will need us to be in closer proximity to each other, for one – "
"-CLOSER PROXIMITY?" Harry shrieks, interrupting Riddle before he can complain and sitting straight as a ruler in his chair. "What!? No way – "
There's a beat. Riddle slowly arches an eyebrow. "Calm down," he drawls drily. "I didn't say we were going to have sex."
Harry blushes furiously and sinks back into the chair. "It bloody well sounded like it," he mutters. The blush intensifies when Riddle doesn't give an immediate reply.
Riddle rolls his eyes. "I meant that we will have to sit closer to each other. Casual touching will also play a major role."
"Like, what? Holding hands?" Harry asks, eyes growing wide again. Imagine – taking a stroll in Malfoy Manor while holding hands with the Dark Lord! Sex would almost be better, for God's sake!
"No," Riddle sighs impatiently. "Like patting the other's shoulder, placing a hand on the other's elbow while talking… not shying away from touch but not initiating it, either."
Goddamnit. Harry, who's never been a fan of touching, now has to hold up with it on the daily. With the bloody Dark Lord. Hermione is going to kill him.
Harry grumbles something darkly but doesn't reply.
"Well," Riddle says, "since you're going to be my right-hand, I suppose you'll have to learn my plans." He looks distinctively uncomfortable at this. "To begin with, I'm planning on breaking my Death Eaters out of Azkaban."
"Why?" Harry interrupts. He frowns. "If your goal isn't to rid of muggleborns and half-bloods, why do you need those pureblood fanatics?"
"There's strength in numbers," Riddle explains. "Besides, having them on my side – somewhat – helps tons when it comes to political power and the likes. I'm not saying I agree with them," he hurries to add when Harry opens his mouth to speak. "I'm just saying that I need their numbers."
With a small sigh, Harry waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Fine, whatever," he mutters. "Continue."
And Riddle does.
A… traitor?
Is that truly what he is?
Harry turns in the mirror to inspect himself from another direction. He has to admit, the Death Eater robes look good on him. Strikingly good, actually. The hint of green at the neck compliments his eyes.
Okay, so maybe he still feels bad for doing this. But… this far there hasn't even been any mentions about murdering anyone. Just some light torture, and Harry is a liar if he tries to tell himself that the Death Eaters don't deserve it. He just doesn't want to hand out the torture himself, which Riddle has assured him he doesn't have to.
Yet.
Turning to the other side and throwing a look over his shoulder, Harry realizes that he's changed. Or more correctly, he's changing. If it's the bond making him softer and easier to meld or if he genuinely wants this change isn't easy to tell, but… well, if he wants it, he wants it, yeah?
Smoothing down the front of his robes, Harry frowns. He's not siding with Voldemort, he tells his consciousness for the umpteenth time. He's siding with Riddle. He's not siding with an insane murderer wanting to take revenge. He's siding with someone who wants safety and peace for the Wizarding kind and is prepared to take a slightly dirtied path towards it.
He looks away from the mirror.
He still feels bad.
He can regret it all he wants, it's too late to go back now.
The next day Harry stands in front of the small group of Death Eaters as Jakobus "James" Joubert, Riddle's right-hand and apprentice.
It's weird to see Malfoy Junior – Draco, as he should probably be calling him, now – hovering by the door, where Malfoy Senior – Lucius? – has told him to stay. There's awe and fearful jealousy in his eyes, along with a deep horror that hasn't quite breached the surface yet.
Harry is surprised he can see it in the tenseness of his shoulders but supposes that he shouldn't be too surprised. He received a lecture two days ago about body-language, after all, and he's always tried his best to learn as fast as possible. Not that weird that he can read Mal – Draco like an open book.
A few weeks pass like this. The bond strengthens, and while Harry is disgusted when he thinks about it, there's not much to do. There's no use fighting it before they can find a way to cancel it – if such a way even exists –, and so Riddle and Harry go along with it. Although, to be honest, there's a fair amount of kicking and screaming. From both parties.
They strike up a somewhat friendship, to their great surprise and horror… although the horror fades after a day or two. Harry even slips up and calls Riddle "Tom" on an occasion or two, and while he blushes afterward, Riddle doesn't seem to mind.
One evening, just after dinner, Harry storms into the library and throws himself into the couch Riddle's sitting on. Without waiting for his reaction Harry silently grabs Riddle's hand before glaring in the opposite direction. He blushes the most furious blush he's ever blushed, his neck and ears reddening until they're almost the same shade as Ron's hair -
but Riddle, apparently understanding, only returns to his book and lets Harry sit by his side for as long as the bond requires.
(He's not ashamed to admit he's grateful Harry takes the first step.)
They – for it is they, Harry stands by Riddle's side throughout the entire thing and watches, only mildly uncomfortable, as two Aurors die – manage to successfully break the remaining Death Eater's out of Azkaban. Then follows another round of introducing-James-the-apprentice, which leads to a pissed Bellatrix LeStrange glaring at a table until it's set aflame.
Harry watches, faintly amused, as Riddle berates her and has Wormtail strip his shirt to put out the fire – solemnly to humiliate the bastard, of course. Riddle's fully capable of putting out the fire himself. He just likes to watch Wormtail struggle.
Although Riddle had probably been joking – and isn't that a shock when Harry realizes the man actually has a sense of humor –, Harry somehow manages to strike up a friendship with Nagini. Of course, he can only talk to her behind closed doors, but when he walks through the halls of Malfoy Manor she still drapes herself around his shoulders, hissing sarcastic commentary along the way.
This, of course, serves to have the Death Eaters slightly terrified of him. Nagini hates everyone, according to them, and anyone who manages to not be strangled by her must, therefore, be EvilTM.
(Harry doesn't bother correcting them, and Riddle laughs himself silly when he mentions it.)
While Harry slowly comes to terms with this new, strange life he's sort-of-chosen for himself, he still has nightmares. He still misses his friends. There are still the brief moments where he catches his own gaze in the mirror and has to hurriedly look away, eyes burning with unshed tears. There are still moments where he doubts, where he hates, where he's disgusted.
But the moments of quiet peace in the library or the swoosh of robes around his ankles or the soft voice of Riddle as he explains another dueling stance are far more frequent than the moments of pain –
and soon those fleeting moments of pain will be completely gone, as, during one of their searches in the Malfoy Library, Riddle stumbles upon a book on past lives and reincarnation.
