beta by the amazing Vanillaghost
They were going to be apart for a while again. Voldemort's birthday had passed in the same manner as their fairytale place by the lake. It struck Harry like lightning. He had no proper sleep the night before his departure. Not that he usually slept much since the horcrux.
But Hogwarts… Hogwarts was both the punishment and the test.
"I want to go for a walk. Not around the mansion or the summer place. Just around," Harry said. "Explore for a bit."
Voldemort did not appear to be in any mood for such a thing but he complied. After all, Harry was leaving for Hogwarts in little over two hours. It was a small price to pay for being together for a time.
The woods were white, the winter sky nearly so, and Harry's thoughts the complete opposite. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Yes, he should be downhearted, but he shouldn't feel this panic. This arising stubbornness at the thought of leaving. Yet how could this silent war come to an end if Harry didn't see to his part of the deal? This irrationality… it had no importance, no solid ground to stand upon and justify itself to himself and Voldemort. Everything would be just fine. It had to! Yes, he will retrieve Voldemort's soul and then be gone. Albeit with Snape's help, but still. As long as Harry got back to the Dark Lord it was perfectly all right either way.
Their eyes met. "We ought to go somewhere after we win this war," Voldemort shared as they took the slowest route back home, delaying the inevitable.
"Where?"
"Places," came the anti-climatic answer. "Places I lived periods of my life in after leaving Hogwarts. Albania, Germany, Austria… perhaps in the East somewhere."
Harry laughed. "Now you got me dreaming about such a time. It'll be like… like —" The forbidden word almost left his lips.
They carried on with their stroll but Voldemort's gaze lingered on him with no pretence of subtlety. Just genuine curiosity and maybe the faintest bit of worry in those grey orbs which shimmered in the morning sunlight.
"Like what, Harry?"
"Like…" Harry strived to keep his voice steady, searching for a believable lie only to end up confessing the truth. "Like a family on vacation, I think. I mean, it's not as if I've participated in this type of activity before…"
Voldemort's observing gaze grew sharper, expression neutral as a faint wind blew through his black hair. Were Harry's thoughts that childish to him? That petty? Or perhaps he was terribly amusing to the older man. But the Dark Lord must have felt something. It always happened this way when it came to Harry, to his very soul.
"You say the strangest things," Voldemort fondly spoke and yes, there it was. The mirth creeping in at the corner of his eyes. "Family, partner, mentor…. husband. I am everything and so much more. There are many names for the same thing, or at least that is my philosophy. So why should I deny you?"
Harry grinned into the collar of his coat and tread near the older man, fanning his breath over cold skin. "Even if I call you Tom?"
"My precious soul… I get a great deal of pleasure out of your voice yet this one thing falls into the wrong side of the river."
With that, the conversation was over and, with the faintest regret, Harry gave up and followed by brushing his lips against Voldemort's. Neither found any offence in this, at least.
Just as last time, Harry arrived at Kings Cross by himself. Voldemort was supposed to accompany him as Harry's secretive lover whom everyone was dying to know about, but something occurred at the Ministry so here Harry was, alone. Watching people as they boarded, and the scenery flying by while the train raced back to Hogwarts. Harry was forced to listen to Neville, Luna, and Ginny discussing the Dark Lord as he missed the man. At least Ron and Hermione were away on Perfect business.
"He's scheming, I just know it. Doesn't show his face, doesn't feed the rumours that he's back, but he schemes. Mocking those who doubt him."
Neville exchanged a look with Harry at Ginny's firm words. The boy was turning whiter with every passing mention of Lord Voldemort. Been there, done that, Harry noted with amusement. As of now he could finally be in the other boy's company and not have an existential crisis. There was nothing to worry about anymore, absolutely nothing Neville or Dumbledore could find out from Slughorn because Slughorn did not remember. Just picturing the two in a grave conversation with the amnesiac professor was enough to make Harry dissolve into laughter. But he managed to refrain at that moment, though the imagining of it…
"Yeah, well… Dumbledore is still here."
How easy it was to offer up hope.
And it was Luna, sweet Luna, who spoke next. As tactless as ever. Harry needed to buy her a chocolate or something.
"Harry, can you tell us about the vacation with your boyfriend? Did you build a snowman? Have snow fights?"
Now the three smiled, maybe at her words or at her questions. Not realising the subject had remained the same. Harry indulged her and began his tale. It most probably was one of the last times they would truly find joy in each other's company. Or at least… the last time they would see Harry as they did now. There was some nostalgia in it. But no regret.
By midnight Harry felt terribly impatient. This was it, it was finally happening. All that was left was to wait for the first year Gryffindor who was dragging herself up to the girls dormitory so terribly slowly. Snape had been informed about meeting him in Hogsmeade forty minutes from now and finally his housemate's pale head disappeared around the corner.
Harry was on his feet and out the common room in the blink of an eye, invisibility cloak acting as a shield from any unwanted attention.
He would see Voldemort soon!
Snape must have already informed the Dark Lord of Harry's arrival. Truth was, he hadn't been expecting the right occasion to occur so soon, and on the very first day back at Hogwarts. Only Dumbledore was not at school, most probably spending his remaining days in a fruitless search for the remaining horcruxes, not grasping that one hid right below his nose. Life had the most peculiar sense of humour sometimes. Point was, Harry had no one to trouble him and his business.
The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy awaited like an old friend, torches illuminating the intricate shapes upon it. One time, two times, three times Harry shut his eyes, imagining the diadem and Voldemort's familiar face, his silhouette. I'm here for Tom's soul, I'm here for Tom's soul, I'm here for Tom's soul. Then a door appeared to which Harry ran to, placing the clock in the crook of his arm.
So much dusty furniture met his gaze, so many unnecessary objects never to be needed again. Colorful jars in different colours, cheap-looking jewellery, even something that resembled a miniature set of trains sprawled over a vast portion of the floor. To think this was the same place Harry taught last year… how wonderful magic was! Yet he was growing impatient and there was no time to lose, least of all to being in awe.
Harry stopped and listened, and at first nothing met his ears but silence — and, of all things, the merry sound of birds somewhere nearby.
Tom, Tom, Tom and the diadem.
The familiar humming arrived when Harry was on the verge of losing hope. Just like the locket, its soft muttering lead Harry closer and closer, stepping over the compact train tracks and straight to one of the overcrowded tables. He did not glimpse the diadem but saw its box. Brown and ancient, collecting dust where once it had collected blood. Harry's fingers hurried in pushing the lid back and he grinned.
Lord Voldemort's soul indeed. It was pretty, all curved silver lines with a sky-blue jewel right at the top. Only this beauty was not the reason it was so remarkable. The power is what glorified this diadem, made it seem divine. Promising supremacy if you'd only reach out and take it. Just like the diary, just like the locket. A clever trap. But Voldemort's soul was his very own and the diadem belonged to him. So it was picked with fingers edging at the precious stone when Harry's blood froze in his veins.
"My boy… would you believe me if I said I had hope for you until the end?"
Dumbledore had been behind him, wand in hand, looking crushed. Harry's ability to speak left him. Voldemort's soul was so nearly in his hands forever, but at the same time in such danger. The birds carried on their singing as Harry gripped the diadem and made to circle the table with his eyes on Dumbledore, the major threat. But there, like a black nightmare, Snape waited. He had no wand, his presence enough to lay waste to Harry's hopes. Traitor, traitor, traitor.
But the end? Here? No.
In the middle of this thought Harry fell, cheek smashing against the floor and brushing one of the miniature trains. Both his face and his left palm stung and his fingers grew warm. Blinking among the dark spots clouding his vision, Harry saw blood dripping from where he had pricked his fingers on the diadem. It collected blood yet again.
There were no chains to hold him. Only a cell, darkness, and himself for company. How much time had passed… Harry did not know. A few hours? Maybe a few days, maybe more. Harry felt alien in this place in which he woke up, in this cavernous space bare of anything except for the sleeping mat. Oh, how he missed his room in Voldemort's manor, the library, the summer place in which they had their breakfast. The deep blue waters of the lake in which they swum as the curtain of snow descended outside…
Hot anger filled Harry at the thought of never catching sight of it again. Of never seeing Voldemort again. Of the reality of losing their soul, of failing. He exhaled loudly, blinking back tears. What if they killed Harry? What if they killed him and the Dark Lord did not even know? After all, none had ever felt the destruction of a horcrux on their skin. So he could die, he could be buried in the rotten ground or scattered in the wind and Voldemort would calmly live his life for just a while more. The traitorous scum, Snape, would see to it. How badly Harry burned to scream I told you so at his lover… yet, for now, all he had were these walls. Not Azkaban, he noted. There were no Dementors near. Just a barely lit cell with a grand view to a interminable corridor and his rising panic to keep him company.
Horcrux or not, Harry was terrified of dying. A shudder shook his body. No, no matter what, he will live. Live and live or die and live again, the end was the same. Strong, he could be strong. He needed to. Harry will eat his food and wait. Eventually Voldemort would realize something was wrong and he will search for Harry… But if he continued to trust Snape, this could be months away. And even if by some miracle he did find out, how could he know where Harry was held? Perhaps that was the whole reason behind choosing this place. Azkaban was too obvious. Uncertainty was better when fleeing the wrath of a Dark Lord.
"Please think about me," Harry whispered, not caring that his captors might be listening. And they did since, not long after, steps echoed and the dreaded figure of Dumbledore inched closer to the bars. Coldness was in both their gazes and Harry nearly averted his eyes when the old man threw something right at his feet.
Half-melted and gray, and terribly empty. The diadem was now just another piece of trash. Crushing misery spread like a green vine, sinking its roots into Harry's flesh. The sense of loss physically hurt. It was done, it was gone, it was over. He had lost.
"Harry… what you did was a terrible, terrible thing," Dumbledore was saying to anybody who may be listening. Harry did not answer, breathing through his mouth, not crying. Their soul laid shattered at his feet and the fool was still babbling, as if Harry's world was not one step closer to its end. "—you did yet we destroyed it. Your horcrux is no more but your crimes still are. Harry, I deeply care about you and it's precisely because of this that I cannot hide the blood you've spilled. Your punishment is—"
Destroyed his horcrux? Harry blinked tears away while Dumbledore trailed on and on about trials and prison and rehabilitation and second chances. His horcrux? It made no sense at first but then it settled. They believed the diadem had been Harry's horcrux. So very wrong this assumption was, so far stretched it almost snapped in pieces. And Harry… Harry remained silent while Dumbledore painted the future in bright colours, as always, not asking for permission. Harry still didn't comprehend how to process the information. Their stupidity and confusion should offer joy but the fact still remained. Voldemort had lost yet another horcrux.
"I blame myself for your weakness."
"Good. I blame you too." So much resentment in Harry's voice.
"Harry," Dumbledore pleaded, dying hand settling on the bars. "I wronged you yet again. I disappointed yet another person I care about. It has become a talent of mine, you know? Turned my back on you when I should have been there to answer your questions, to offer love and support. A failure on my part, I confess, but… this does not offer absolution to your wrongdoings. A great number of people are suffering but they do not run to their parents' killer. And the horcrux? Harry… the boy I held in my arms when he was a baby, who has tainted himself so and consumed another human… Who has shut his eyes to all that is good and just and turned the other way. Not even once have you thought of turning back to us? To the people who truly love you? Even now, when faced with your failure?"
"I have nothing to apologise for. Go back? Repent?" Harry shook his head, fury boiling in his veins with each word that left Dumbledore's mouth. "Go back to what? Repent for what? How very pointless. It's too late for any of that. If I go back now, I throw aside all my suffering as if it was nothing. I — No, I can't let it end this way… I just… continue on the same road, no matter the destination. Is death the end? I don't know. But I'll never turn my back on my very soul."
Sadness swam in those blue eyes. "Do you think Voldemort will do the same for you?" came the question.
"Are you asking if he can live without me? Because we both know the answer to that. Literally and figuratively."
"Harry… Tom kindly gifted the necessary means of destroying your own life. And you acted on it without a single question."
Was there any point to this conversation? Nonetheless, Harry would be punished according to his will. Forced to listen to the wise Albus Dumbledore who held the absolute truth now and forever. How Harry had done all wrong, how he was weak, how Voldemort was playing him, how Harry was a fool who was to pay for his foolishness. No one, least of all Albus Dumbledore, could hope to understand the two of them. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, perhaps not even months away… but Voldemort would find him. He would not rest until Harry was back in his arms, laying waste to all who had dared separate them. Who will be killed first? Snape or Dumbledore? Whatever the answer, he and Voldemort would never let go of each other.
"I've devoured human flesh, I've killed, I've deceived you all, so don't presume to know me or my choices. I've engaged in terrible and great things… there's nothing I wouldn't do anymore. Absolutely nothing. So kill me, punish me, torture me, but shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone."
There was a desperate kind of quiet after his words. And finally, finally, Dumbledore looked just as defeated as Harry with tears in his eyes. Mighty Albus Dumbledore, on the verge of crying. How proud of Harry Voldemort would be! A hollow breach was being dug between him and the headmasters. Both spoke yet the message never truly reached its destination. Only empty sounds and desolation. Strangers would be kinder to one another. And Harry… Harry had more than enough trust in himself and in Voldemort to stand his ground and speak back. He was proud of who he was, of all the things he had learned and did. Of his supposed wickedness and his strength. And he would be so even after Dumbledore and his false wisdom died with him.
Harry began to patiently stare at the wall, waiting for the man to leave.
"This is one of the saddest images I ever witnessed," Dumbledore confessed, statement like a goodbye.
But what about Harry? What about his sadness? How keen everyone was to ignore it. The splintered horcrux was at his feet and, once again, he was alone. At least Harry was at peace with himself. Living, waiting, obeying. For now. But then would come Voldemort and revenge. The Dark Lord always got what he wanted in the end. And oh, did he want Harry. This promise was enough for now.