Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Harry zoomed through his paperwork and finished faster than he ever had before. He had no need for sleep when he was done, but he was extremely hungry. He stood and walked past a few bookshelves before seeing Voldemort on a chair reading the book he had set out for him as a kitten.

"Do you want something to eat?" The snake-like man stood silently and put the book down, using a coaster to hold his place.

The walk to the kitchen took no time at all and pretty soon Harry had two steaks done perfectly, both medium rare, and wine was poured into two separate glasses. They ate the main course silently. Only when Harry took the dishes to the kitchen and came back with desert did they talk.

"How are you? You seem dazed." Harry sat and poured the two of them another glass of wine as Voldemort looked up.

"I don't know what to think. I've never expected anything this crazy from you. I was thrown into being a cat, that bothered me. If I had a choice I would have at least picked an Eagle or something. Not a bloody cat. And then I was all hyper and wanted to do things and it took every ounce of my strength and determination not to attack your ear one day, and I really don't know what to think anymore! You helped me. You, knowing who I was, decided to help me. Why? And what's with Severus and all the other people? Why are they treating you better than they treat me?" Harry stopped him.

"Eat your desert while I talk, all right? I know what it's like to be thrust into something that you don't want to do. I never wanted to be a part of this bloody war and yet here I am. And now that I'm here I'm trying to make the best of it, although pretending to be someone I most definitely am NOT is seriously aggravating at times. That's why I wanted to help you. As for why my followers treat me better than they do you, that's simply because I'm more powerful than you. I could do things to them that would make anyone faint for weeks on end. And they know it. But I also reward them. Most generously too.

"Now, I know you must be wondering why I have followers at all. Simple. I'm sick and tired of fighting. I don't want to be on Dumbledore's side because he's done more damage than good. Encouraging seventh years to fight...preposterous! Most of them die within minutes while their parents either survive without them or put themselves in harm's way to get to their child. Idiotic. Nor did I want to work for you. Yes, I believe in punishment, but I also think that rewards go just as far as threats. Sometimes even farther."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "How can you argue that?"

"Eat. Is it better to love your ruler or to fear them?"

"That's a muggle saying anyways. How should I know?" Voldemort shrugged, as he had expected he would.

"Foolish!" Harry's voice was like a whip. "This is why you never get farther than Albus! Both of you are too blindsighted to see what's right in front of you!" He calmed himself. "It's a riddle with no right answer. The answer is in the riddle. It is not one or the other that is the perfect balance, but a healthy mix of the two. Your followers and subjects have to fear you to a degree so they don't make the same mistake twice. But they have to love you to be willing to do what you ask of them and to have a decent, long-lasting relationship with them.

"I seem to recall your followers had quite a few deserters, supposedly of your most trusted Inner Circle being just the beginning. You hurt them less than the others, but I'd say that almost half of your surviving Death Eaters were sought out and killed for treason or abandonment-isn't that right? If I disappeared for that long then I can guarantee that most if not all of them would come back to me. They don't ask questions because I'm not foolish with their lives." Voldemort looked taken aback.

"Now see here-"

"No I will not. You have not listened to me in the many years that I've tried to talk to you without curses and hexes aimed at the both of us. So now I'm giving you no chance to talk unless I want an answer. I want an alliance with you and your followers. In other words, I will either take over your ranks by force or you can hand over your alliance to me. I have more intel, better spies, the best assassins, endless supplies of information, and a position that you cannot deny. I'm right in Dumbledore's company most of the time."

"What will I get in return?"

"Basically, you'll keep command of your Death Eaters. But I reserve the right to punish or reward them as I see fit. Any traitors shall be made an example to the others and I have final say on who dies and who does not. No one shall join unless I say so. Other than that, you can remain in charge of your troops. Basically, you'd be second-in-command and I'd be the Head Honcho, if that makes it easier to understand."

He stood and smiled at Voldemort, his heart wishing that it didn't have to be that way. That he didn't have to be this cold. When he spoke next, his voice was soft and kind.

"I'll let you think on it. Tell me when you have an answer. Oh, and your bedroom is next to the library." He turned and walked away, letting his hair flow behind him as Severus's robes billow around his person, sadness piercing his heart and an impenetrable darkness following in his wake.

Voldemort didn't know what to think when he saw Harry walk away. He was overwhelmed with what he was just told-giving up his power wasn't what he'd worked his whole life for and yet given all the evidence, Harry was the one with more connections and knowledge at how to win this bloody war.

He was torn.

As he watched the hair whip around the corner and into the corridor, he

noticed the blackness so dark it was impossible to make out any form, shape or shadow anymore. He stared, intrigued and curious as to what could make that possible. He hadn't detected the other using magic, so that left either one hell of a dark corridor-which he knew it wasn't-or Harry Potter was some sort of dark creature.

And that would make sense. How many times had Voldemort seen Harry and know that he had been awake for yet another night? How many times did he wake from a nap, expecting the boy to be sleeping on the floor and had been baffled to see him as alert as he had been during the battle that he had saved him from? How many rolls of parchment had he seen him go through in a day? How many times did he wonder how he was able to keep the long-haired glamours up so effortlessly?

Now it added up, but only because he had simply opened his eyes.

Lost in his thoughts, he wandered around the ground floor. No need to be caught in the stairs and there wasn't any will to go anywhere. He just wanted to walk around a bit while letting his thoughts wander. It was only by chance that he happened to look outside the large french doors he had ended up in front of. They led to a garden of sorts, and he proceeded to the outside world rather eagerly.

It had been so long since he'd smelled anything so sweet. So long since he'd wanted to even consider going outside just for the pleasure of walking around in a garden. It had been so very long and he loved it.

The smell was intoxicating. Roses and daisies and wildflowers grew everywhere and little monkey faces littered the pathway. The grass was perfectly manicured, but longer than most people liked grass to be. Small stepping stones were in place along the edges of the path so one wouldn't have to walk through mud if the ground was too soggy. The tasteful and comfortable looking stone benches were placed every so often along the path and fountains were everywhere. Tiny little twinkle lights made the entire area surrounding him light up with a dazzling brilliance.

Everything was lavish and luxurious yet not overdone. It was tasteful but simple at the same time. He was finally able to think in peace and without letting his emotions get the better of him.

Harry had given him enough to figure out that he needed to open his eyes to what was painfully obvious, so did that mean that he'd been giving him hints to something else as well? What could he possibly be meant to find out, and was there anything to find out at all? What if he was overthinking this? But what if he wasn't overthinking it?

He decided to go along with the assumption that Harry had been giving him clues and hints to something so he started to think about everything that he had noticed about the other.

He was pleasant company. That thought wasn't much help and he shook his head. He had a terrible habit of staying up extra long hours-even days-to get to the bottom of a mystery. He always had energy, no matter how long he'd been up and how many things he had to do.

He was extremely focused. Voldemort had only seen two people so dedicated to being focused on one thing and one thing only. One was Severus Snape and the other was himself. The darkness that followed him earlier-now that was interesting and definitely worth remembering. He deemed it of great importance.

He noticed that Harry hadn't let anyone so much as look at his books, yet he had let him read what was clearly the oldest and most valuable book that he had in that study. Why?

That book was special, he just knew it. But whatever made it special had either escaped his attention or he hadn't gotten there yet. He knew that it had to hold some very valuable information, as each chapter was written by a different species about that particular race and all of the customs and behaviors and whatnots that most people wouldn't think important to know or would think that common knowledge was correct.

Was there possibly something specific in that book that Potter had wanted him to read?

He recalled a ribbon sticking out of one of the pages towards the back of the book and came to the conclusion that he would need to see what the ribbon was marking and if it was of any significance. He stood and took his leave from the gardens in favor of getting to the bottom of this mystery as soon as possible.

Two hours later Voldemort found himself completely immersed in the text. He hadn't found anything that could help him, nothing at all. Once again, he wondered what the ribbon was marking and decided that enough was enough. This was one book that he just wouldn't read in order, that's all. The thought irked him but not knowing what Potter was up to was throwing him off more than he'd ever admit-even to himself.

When he finished with the chapter he saw a figure walk slowly by the door. He squinted, just barely making out the long hair that he identified as Potter's. No one he'd ever seen had hair that long. It was simply too hard for most people to manage.

When he looked closer, he saw that the hallway was pitch black, but it was an unnatural blackness. He saw the figure slow and stop in front of the massive doorway and turn to look in. He knew that if he could make out features, he'd be looking right into Potter's eyes right now. And as creepy as that sounded, he found himself even more unsure and creeped out than before. He knew what the Potter boy was and he knew that Potter knew that he knew. He could feel it, but he could also feel his own apprehension and fear slowly make their ways to the surface from so deep within his body he forgot that he could feel those emotions at all. Apparently his body was fully intending to show him just how much he could feel those feelings.

Potter must have felt his fear, because he pulled his head out of the room and straightened, no longer leaning on the door jam. He hastened away, the blackness that had surrounded him disappearing as he walked by.

Voldemort took a deep breath and put the book down on the floor, noticing how his hands trembled. Voldemort took another deep breath and nodded once to himself. He needed to talk to Potter about what was going on and he needed to do that before he could even consider thinking about the offer that Potter had given him about his troops and loyalties. He just had to.

It wasn't even like it made sense. All he knew was that he needed answers and somehow those answers took over all of his priorities and every single spot in his mind. He just couldn't escape the feeling that he needed to talk to the other man about this, and he needed to do it now. It wasn't a choice that he had, more like a compulsion. An action that he couldn't control.

So when he found himself walking towards the dining room table where he knew that Potter was, he wasn't too surprised to find that no matter how hard he tried he simply couldn't get his feet to stop or turn in another direction-anywhere but towards Potter.

His body didn't listen to him.

Which was just as well. He knew that his body hadn't responded as well as his old one and that it would get worse, but he had no idea just how insanely suicidal this newer body was. Now he had a pretty good idea that he didn't want to find out just how insane the actions of this body could be.

Although he couldn't control where his feet were taking him, with a determination Voldemort himself didn't feel, he found that he could still move his eyes. They wandered around him, looking anywhere but where he knew that Potter would be. He wasn't sure if he could look him in the eye after reading the section of the text that the ribbon had marked. He wasn't sure what to do anymore-all he knew was that he damn well better not make Potter mad in the slightest, or he would risk being so horribly mutated that not even he himself would recognize his reflection.

Not that that made any difference. He already had issues seeing the pale skin with slits for eyes and red irises with a snake-like appearance as himself. He wasn't sure he wanted to add on another reason for his reflection to become more of a stranger.

Despite his eyes' roamings of the walls, the floor, his moving feet, and anything else they could land on, they eventually betrayed him and landed right on Potter's face. At which point, his feet stopped and he leaned on the doorway for support. He wasn't entirely sure what to do now, how to proceed and he feared making the other mad.

That thought was almost laughable. Seriously, the Dark Lord-afraid of a child? He shuddered as he thought about what Potter really was and promptly shut his mind up.

"Can I help you, Voldemort? You seem a bit lost." He slightly shook his head to rid it of any remaining silly thoughts and asked if he may join Potter for dinner. The other nodded politely, indicating that he take a seat wherever he felt comfortable. His feet chose a seat that was across from the one who had both helped him and scared him shitless. He was definitely going to need to see some kind of healer to fix whatever was wrong with his head whenever he woke up from this bizarre dream. And the only way he knew it was a dream was because there was no way that Potter was a-

"Voldemort? Are you alright?" He snapped out of his musings fairly quickly. The last thing he needed was to look like a fool.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you." He took an apple from the bowl on the table and started cutting it into pieces without much enthusiasm but lots of thoughtfulness. He wasn't too sure what he was supposed to do now, so he just let the silence continue on.

It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. More like a companionable one. They both sat there and thought, one munching away on the fruit and the other slowly demolishing an apple.

"Potter?" The long-haired annoyance looked up, his hair opening like curtains, with only a few tendrils hanging in his face.

"Yes?" He waited, clearly expecting something stupid to come out of his mouth regarding his Death Eaters.

"I know what you are." The pale boy paled even more, if that was possible.

"And? Look, whatever it is, it's clearly bothering you. So, out with it now. ALL of it, I don't care what kind of accusations you have or questions or insults or whatever. Just get it all out of your system right now. I promise you won't be hurt for anything that you may or may not say." Voldemort paused. He hadn't counted on the other knowing exactly what he wanted to do, he just expected to make his knowledge known and then he figured that he'd be dead within a moment after that. He wasn't sure which option he liked better.

"How is this even possible? First off, why did you have to look up a potion to fix me when you're clearly the most powerful being on the planet in the past hundred years?! And how come you're putting up with me? Or Dumbledore? You could take the both of us out without either of us knowing what had happened. No one would be the wiser, you're capable of killing off me and him with a few concentrated thoughts and you can make a battlefield that looks devastated and can put everyone under a memory charm so they think that we killed each other leaving you the only one standing and you wouldn't have to deal with this war or us ever again!

"Clearly we annoy you, that much is obvious, so why didn't you ever just kill us when you had the chance. You've had several so far! I don't understand you and I don't know why you want to keep me around. And why were you so nice to a kitten that wouldn't have made it under normal circumstances? Why weren't you able to protect yourself against your relatives when you were younger if you aren't human? And what, pray tell, do you really look like? I've seen you in three different glamours and I'm sure one of them is what you really look like and I'm tired of guessing!" He took a deep breath and suddenly felt blood rush to his cheeks. He just yelled at someone who could peel his skin off of his muscles just as easily as peeling a banana. What was wrong with him?!

When Potter replied, he was much calmer and his voice was soft.

"As I'm powerful, I'm not invincible. Certain things are beyond my limits and others are better not to mix with the kind of magic I can perform. I don't put up with you, I don't even tolerate you. I actually enjoy your company. Dumbledore is merely a way for me to hone my skills on manipulating the world around me as well as my acting skills. As for killing you two off, that's far too risky. I may seem like a reckless person, but I assure you every move I make is highly thought about and considered from almost every angle I can think of so I don't screw up. Dumbledore annoys me-you do not. I want to keep you around because I enjoy talking to you and I enjoy seeing someone that I can actually stand in my presence almost daily.

"The muggles have nothing to do with me anymore. Let's not bring them up again." His voice was icy cold before returning back to the way it had been before. "This is my real appearance. The others are for school and for other people that I want to get rid of as soon as possible. And by getting rid of I mean making them go away instead of pestering me with petty information that I couldn't care less about." He took a deep breath. "There's still something on your mind, isn't there?"

"Yes there is. A few actually. Firstly I can't give up total control of my Death Eaters. I can't and I won't. So everything must be approved by me."

"Agreed. They won't even know that I'm the one that's really in charge of them, I promise." He nodded, slightly appeased by this.

"And one more thing. The book said that your kind are able to control the darkness around you...what's that mean?" Potter sighed.

"That means that I'm a shadow demon."