Summary: After being turned into a snake by Snape and Dumbledore and unable to change back, Lord Voldemort has no choice but to turn to the only other living Parselmouth, Harry Potter. After making a deal with each other, Harry agrees to help the Dark Lord return to his human form. Forced to work together, how will Harry deal with having Voldemort live around his neck?

Rating: M for slight language and eventual slash

Warnings: Eventual Harry/Voldemort SLASH (please don't read if you don't like), Grey(ish)!Harry, Slightly-manipulative but not "evil"!Dumbledore

Disclaimer: I don't, and never will, own Harry Potter. All it's plots and characters belong to J.K. Rowling and company.

A/N: As always, a big thank you to all my readers! And I have more fanart (thank you!)! Check out Shinonaru's work at shinonaru. deviantart. com/art/ A-Snake-Named-Voldemort- 214840419 (remove spaces)

Well, I think this is the chapter you've all been waiting for!

This chap is not beta-d yet so any spelling/grammer mistakes/stupid ideas are still mine ;)

Enjoy!

"Regular speech"

:Parseltongue:

'Thoughts'

"Spells"

:Spells:

Harry landed on his back with a harsh thud onto a dark hardwood floor, and he swallowed heavily to keep the contents of his stomach down. He groaned and lifted his arms into the air above him, checking to make sure that they were, in fact, still attached to him. Next he wiggled his toes, assuming that if they were still there then the rest of his legs would be too. That done, he took several even breaths, eyes closed, as he calmed himself down. Only moving his eyes in an attempt to keep his head from spinning, he looked for Voldemort. The Dark Lord was twisted around himself next to Harry on the floor, his head pressed into his coils and looking quite pathetic.

:Voldemort? You alright? Nothing splinched?: Voldemort's initial response was to twitch a bit.

:Ugh. That was the worst example of Side-Along Apparition I have ever experienced. Never again, Potter.:

Even in his shaky condition, Harry had to roll his eyes. :What is with you in insulting me every time I save your bloody life? I'll stop, if you want. If you can't do something right, then don't do it at all, isn't that what they say?:

They fell silent, both trying to put their molecules back together after Harry's first-time Apparition attempt.

:Thank you,: the snake said quickly and lowly before grimacing as if the words tasted bad.

Harry froze; literally everything stopped—heart, lungs, brain, everything.

:Wha—what?: He didn't imagine it, did he?

:Don't make me say it again,: Voldemort complained with a sigh. It took a moment for Harry to learn to breathe again.

:You're welcome,: he eventually murmured. He lay for what felt like hours on the hard floor, merely staring up at the ceiling, trying to put his thoughts together. Harry could tell that Voldemort was just about as confused as he was over the previous events, so that meant they weren't going to get any answers from each other.

Finally, Harry heaved a sigh and sat up slowly, wincing from his bruised muscles. He combed his fingers through his hair and looked around.

:Where are we?: Voldemort finally asked.

Harry and Voldemort were sitting in the front foyer of a small house. Like Grimmauld Place, the house was decorated in a way Harry would call modern gothic or maybe Victorian, with dark wood floors, lush furniture, and ornate trimmings. The visible walls were painted a deep crème, and supported several old tapestries and scenic paintings that moved with an invisible breeze. To the left appeared to be a sitting room, and down the hall to the right Harry could just make out what looked to be a red-walled dining room. Unlike Grimmauld, however, was the condition of the house. There wasn't a cobweb or speck of dust in sight.

Harry crossed his legs, picking Voldemort off the floor and setting him around his shoulders in the process as he leaned gently against the wall.

:We are in one of the Black family houses out in the country. Sirius Black, my godfather, made me heir to all their holdings. Dumbledore doesn't know about this place. No one knows, really. Sirius wanted me to have a safe place to go, if I ever needed it. He never really got to take care of me, so he did what he could.: Here Harry paused before quietly saying, :He snuck me here last holiday break.: It was more or less exactly a year ago. Harry was glad he did, so he could Apparate here.

:He was killed at the Department of Mysteries. By Bellatrix.: Harry wasn't going to wait for a reply from Voldemort. They both knew he wasn't going to say anything like "sorry". His thanking Harry for saving his life was far more than the teen ever expected from him.

Maybe it was because his wits were still somewhere in orbit, but Harry was in a bit of a chatty mood.

:Out of curiosity, how much of my life have you seen in my head? For instance, did you know I lived in a cupboard under the stairs for ten years?:

Voldemort seemed rather shocked, if the strange hissing coming from his throat was anything to go by. :The Muggles put you under the…stairs…: Voldemort repeated, disbelief coloring his voice.

:Ah, so you know about my Muggle family, but you really didn't know that?: Harry asked. And here he thought his mind was like a freaking open book to the man.

:Of course I would know about the Muggles, just as I know where you live in the summer.: Harry arched an eyebrow. :There are some rather irritating wards around their home,: Voldemort added rancorously. Harry shrugged, not really apologetic.

:Ah, and here I thought I was being all sneaky living in the Muggle world. So why did you never bother prying all the juicy details of my life from my mind?:

Voldemort made a disgruntled harrumphing sound. :There is only so much of your mind I can see. You may not be skilled in Occlumency, but that doesn't mean your mind is an unprotected, open book for anyone to read.: Harry nearly laughed at Voldemort's wording, since he had just thought them to himself. Voldemort cocked his head at Harry's seemingly inappropriate expression, and the teen just waved his hand dismissively and schooled his face.

:Tell me about your life, Harry.:

Harry hadn't really expected such interest and shrugged. :It really is quite funny how much we actually have in common. The Horcrux from the diary even told me so. We both sorta look, er, looked, alike, both parentless, Parselmouths, and we were both raised by Muggles who hated us and treated us like freaks. I can see whyyou could be so hateful, jaded, and angry. That sort of life really, really sucks.: Now, Harry wasn't one to willy-nilly share his sob story of a childhood, not even with his friends, but for whatever reason he felt it was important for Voldemort to know, to realize that Harry understood. And, in a way, for Harry it was okay to share because he knew Voldemort might understand, too. He suddenly chuckled. :Interesting how you got all vengeful while I'm all for forgiveness.:

Voldemort was still for a moment before he stretched around Harry's shoulder so they could see eye-to-eye. Harry held the red-tinted gaze steadily.

:You really confuse me, Potter,: Voldemort admitted solemnly. :How is it that, as alike as we are, that in the end we have turned out so different?:

Harry thought for a moment before he tilted his head to the side. :I know you don't think much of love and all that mushy stuff, but maybe it's because I at least spent the first year of my life with people who cared. I doubt you had that. I knew how it could be…and you never did. I'm sorry you didn't,: Harry added quietly. Voldemort studied the young wizard a moment longer before he retreated to the side silently. Perhaps he just didn't know what to say.

Feeling like a solid person once more, Harry stood and walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. Here there were clean, grey tiled floors and dark marble counters and all the usual magical appliances a wizard household would need. Harry snapped his fingers. With obedient promptness, a small House Elf with a bulbous nose popped into existence.

"How can Scavy assist yous, Master Harry?" Harry smiled at the little elf. Unlike Kreacher at Grimmauld Place, this elf had a far better temper and way more sanity. It probably helped that he was living here with his mate instead of alone with a whack job of a portrait.

"Hello, Scavy. I will be staying here for…" Harry really wasn't sure how long he'd be here, so he settled for, "…sometime. I won't require much, just a few meals a day and some general housekeeping things. Is that alright?" Harry didn't have to ask, he knew, he just thought it was polite.

"Oh, yes, Sir! Scavy and Jip takes good cares of yous," the elf exclaimed.

"Thank you, Scavy. I'll be up in my bedroom now, in case you need me."

The elf bowed and left with the usual pop. Harry left the kitchen and found the stairs, climbing them to reach the second floor. Down the hall, he knew, was the Master Bedroom. He didn't feel entirely comfortable sleeping in such a big room and bed—he was used to something ten-by-ten and smaller or a dormitory, after all—but he was the Master of the house, now, and that was where he was expected to be. He went there now, walking through the open, teak-wood doorframe and into the elegant bedroom. The color scheme was neutral blues, browns, and greens, and the flooring was the same dark wood as the rest of the house.

Commanding the attention of the room was the large, four-poster bed carved from cherry wood, silk blue and crème sheets neatly tucked under the mattress. There were matching cherry wood nightstands and an armoire which Harry intended to someday fill with clothes that actually fit him. Other than the main door, there were two others in the room, one that led to a grey marbled bathroom with a shower and a bathtub, and the other door led to a closet. The only additional object of significance was the brick fireplace, but other than that the room was pretty bare. The Black family hadn't actually lived here in quite a while, and thus only the bare essentials were kept here. There weren't even any portraits left.

:Well, what do you think?: Harry asked cheerfully.

:Quaint,: was Voldemort's unenthusiastic reply.

:Oh, so sorry it's not decorated in Slytherin green and sliver with human skulls hanging from the ceiling.: From what Harry understood, this house was inherited into the Black family from one of the families married in. It probably explained the cheerier décor as opposed to the house in London, which was a Black house through and through.

:I resent that, Potter,: was Voldemort's response to Harry's jibe. :What kind of Dark Lord do you take me for? You forgot to mention the blood dripping from the walls.:

Harry gaped, shocked by the joke, before he burst into a fit of laughter. :I've corrupted you!:

:Hardly.:

Harry continued to have a grin on his face before it faded from his expression as he noticed the weight of the potion vile in his pocket and he remembered the events that led him to being here. He reached into his pocket and pulled the vial out.

:Well, are you ready to try again?:

From his place on Harry's shoulders, Voldemort nodded, never having really gotten rid of the human gestures throughout his time as a snake. It didn't matter, Harry supposed, because he would be getting his body back as soon as he drank the potion. Or, that was the theory, at least.

Harry, perhaps as an escape from the nervous churning of his stomach, said, :You know, you'll probably end up as ol' snake-face again, sure you want to take this potion?: Even to Harry's ears the joke didn't have as much luster to it. Harry decided to blame it on his being still a bit woozy from Apparating.

Voldemort was unmoved. :Let's just get his over with.: Nodding numbly, Harry set Voldemort on the crème rug that spread out across the floor and knelt beside him. He uncorked the vial.

:How much?:

:A small sip should work.:

With a far steadier hand than what Harry thought he should have if his nerves were anything to go by, Harry poured a small amount of the silvery potion into Voldemort's waiting mouth. The reaction was instantaneous.

Harry was tossed backwards by the force of the magic at work. He landed in a heap, dazed, the potion in his hand flying free from its bottle to splash across Harry's clothes and face. In a reflexive action of getting his breath back, he swallowed, unaware a single drop of the molten silver liquid had landed in his open mouth. He pushed himself back up, bruised back muscles now even worse than before. The abused wizard winced both simultaneously from the pain and from the sight of the empty crystal vial in his hand. He wiped his face clean with his upper sleeve and looked at the spot where a white cobra had last been.

Now, kneeling on the floor and propped up with his arms, was the Voldemort Harry had seen rise from the cauldron in Fourth Year. Like last time, he was naked. Harry noted the pale, gaunt body, the almost scaled, hairless skin, the sunken, snake-like nose and, finally, the burning scarlet, slit-pupil eyes of the Dark Lord. His breath caught, but not quite in fear. Instead, it was from the look in Voldemort's eyes as they stared into Harry's. It wasn't hate, nor anger or disdain, but a sharp glint of greed and confident determination. It was almost smug in its fortitude.

As quick as the snake he once was, one of Voldemort's hands reached out and snatched the fabric of Harry's robes and reeled the boy in closer. Harry's eyes widened in shock as he came face-to-face with the enemy.

"Mine," Voldemort forcefully whispered, and before Harry could do so much as process what the hell was going on, he was pulled in even closer and his lips covered with Voldemort's smooth, nearly lipless mouth. It was like all the air in his lungs was sucked away as Voldemort kissed him vehemently, possessively. Harry, to say the least, was shocked, stunned, flabbergasted, dumbfounded, and all other manner of surprised by Voldemort's actions. He couldn't focus on anything, save for the cool lips against his own, the clawed hand wrapped around his one shoulder, and the breath against his face.

After what could have been a mere second or a whole hour, Voldemort pulled away enough that Harry could, for one, breathe before he looked again into the other's eyes set in a face filled with confusion. Like before, they seemed to glow with some emotion, this time with something akin to fear, or something Harry couldn't quite identify. There was one thing he could identify: the Dark Lord was feeling…

"Harry," Voldemort said softly, his voice once again high and ethereal, but now it held none of the cold arrogance. With slow, trembling movements, Voldemort lifted his pale, long fingered hand to Harry's forehead and gently caressed the famous lightning bolt scar. Harry nearly flinched, in preparation for the pain.

But there was no pain. The kiss hadn't exactly hurt either…

And in the end, it was Voldemort who suddenly gasped in discomfort, wrapping his arms around himself as if he was holding himself together. He cried out again, this time falling forward and into Harry. Pulled from his stupor, Harry barely had time to catch the Dark Lord with his arms. His hands pressed into Voldemort's cool flesh, but despite the skin's temperature the man was sweating. Harry could feel Voldemort's sides heaving as he panted for breath, the hot air brushing Harry's neck where the man's face rested. Harry felt acute panic, completely clueless of what was happening to his enemy and unable to help.

Having not been able to think of anything else, Harry dove into the link, hoping to find answers there. In hindsight, that might have been a bad move. Instead of answers, what he found in Voldemort's unshielded mind was pain pain pain pain.

Harry also felt what could only be described as several other presences, and yet they weren't foreign because they were also Voldemort. It was all very confusing and Harry couldn't make sense of any of it, and all the while the panic kept rising. And suddenly, he was screaming along with Voldemort as something pulled within his core. It pulled and pulled until Harry thought it would break but still it stubbornly refused, so all Harry could see was white as the agony increased. He simultaneously clutched Voldemort's body as well as clawed at his forehead because it hurt…

'Please stop, please stop, oh Merlin it hurts!' Harry chanted in his mind since only harsh cries could be forced past his lips.

Just as Harry thought for sure he would die, because nobody should be able to survive this pain, it did stop. All of it. Harry collapsed to the side, Voldemort still wrapped weakly in his arms, unmoving. Only, when Harry looked, it wasn't Voldemort anymore but Tom Riddle, not quite the same as the Horcrux from the Chamber of Secrets but still, it was him.

'How…?'

"Sca-scavy," Harry called out weakly, throat hoarse from screaming. The elf popped into the room, gasping in shock at the sight of the two wizards on the floor.

"Help…get us to the bed…" Harry coughed, unable to speak further. A moment later he felt his body rise up off the floor and return to something much softer and then he knew no more. He fell unconscious, unaware Voldemort still lay within his arms, held to his chest.

Harry woke slowly the next morning, having slept through the rest of that day and all of the night. He ached all over, but despite that small discomfort he was surprisingly comfortable where he lay. Scavy must have placed the comforter over him yesterday after he'd passed out, because Harry was quite toasty snuggled in the sheets up against an especially warm pillow.

A pillow that breathed.

Harry opened his eyes to a blurry image of the world. The window curtains were drawn, but it was daytime so there was enough natural light seeping through and Harry was close enough to his companion so that when he looked upwards he could make out the aristocratic features of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Who was pressed to Harry's chest. And was still naked.

Blushing furiously, Harry gently pulled away, sitting up and feeling the nightstand for his glasses, assuming Scavy would have placed them there. House Elves were very thorough. Once found, he put them on and studied the man who spent the night with him in bed.

Somehow, someway, Voldemort, the old snake-face, no longer resembled the awkward hybrid of a human and reptile. His skin was still pale, but naturally so, not the bone white of before. He had a nose, for one, and hair for another. His nose was straight and streamlined, while his hair was a similar shade of black as Harry's, and currently looked about as unruly as his as well. All in all, Harry could find not much different other than age between this Tom Riddle and the one from the diary, and even then it was hard to tell just how many years separated them. Voldemort's current face had an almost timeless appearance, and while in reality he was well over fifty years old, he looked like he could be anything from twenty to his actual age.

Harry watched as Voldemort's bare chest slowly rose and fell, appearing to sleep peacefully save for a slight worry line in-between his eyebrows. Harry turned away and as carefully as he could so as not to disturb the sleeping Dark Lord he slipped out of bed. He wasn't sure, but as he was heading to the bathroom, he thought he heard what could have been a whimper, as silly as it sounded, come from the older wizard, but when he stopped to see if it would happen again he was met with silence.

Downstairs, Harry snapped for one of the House Elves and this time it was Jip who showed up. He asked the petite-featured Elf for a small breakfast, which she readily provided for him. Harry opted to simply eat at the modest-sized breakfast table in the kitchen, not worried about the formality of eating in the dining room.

Spooning some oatmeal into his mouth, Harry contemplated how yesterday was the weirdest day of his life. And that was saying something, considering the life he has had. First, he finds out that Severus Snape—the greasy git from the dungeon—had been friends with his mother. Then, it turns out that the whole time he spent with Voldemort, both Dumbledore and Snape had known, or at least suspected, it was the Dark Lord he was harboring. And that leads him to the event that Harry was still trying to wrap his head around: Voldemort kissing him. Who would have guessed that would ever happen? And it wasn't like it was a friendly kiss on the forehead…no, there hadn't been much of anything chaste about it. And, well, the problem became…how come Harry wasn't completely appalled by it? Compared to the kiss with Cho Chang, he could name several other things other than it being "wet" to describe it.

Was that a good thing, or a bad thing?

And finally, the pièce de résistance, was the transition from snake-face Voldemort to Tom Riddle. He definitely wasn't quite sure what happened there.

Harry felt like if he thought about yesterday much more he would break his brain. So he stopped, because at this point it was getting him nowhere, save for uncomfortable from the growing headache.

After breakfast, Voldemort still hadn't woken up, so Harry figured there was one thing he could do to pass the time: fire-call Albus Dumbledore.

Harry had a lot of questions for him.

With Jip's help, Harry connected the fireplace in the small sitting room to the Floo Network and stuck his head in, the appendage appearing in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry called out softly, unsure of whether the Headmaster would even be in. If anything he could be out looking for the same student whose disembodied head floated in the fireplace. When he didn't immediately get an answer, he tried again, and then a third time. He was about to give up when he heard the inner door swing open.

"Professor?"

There was silence at first, and then: "Harry?"

"Here, Professor." Dumbledore came into view as he walked in front of the hearth and crouched down. Before he could say anything, though, Harry blurted out, "I want you to know I haven't done anything just to help Voldemort. He made a deal with me in exchange. I just wanted to let you know that, in case you thought I was a traitor or something." Harry hadn't really meant for so much desperation to leak into his voice. After all, he really didn't regret his actions, so what did it matter if Dumbledore approved?

Dumbledore just shook his head genially. "Harry, it's ok, I understand. Where are you, my boy? Please tell me," the old man said beseechingly. Harry merely shook his head sadly, refusing because this was his private place, his safe house.

How contradictive that he brought Voldemort here.

"I'm sorry…I can't."

"Why, Harry? Is Voldemort keeping you somewhere, is that it? We can help you."

"No, no, that's not it," the young wizard said dismissively. "I'm not his prisoner or anything. Although now that I think about it, it may actually be me who's holding Voldemort captive. He's a bit…indisposed."

If Harry thought Dumbledore would be surprised or curious, he was disappointed. In fact, the Headmaster's worried expression actually faded and was replaced with a look of utter calm and nonchalance.

"He took the potion," Dumbledore said in such a way that he already knew the answer. Harry would almost say he was pleased. The young man frowned, confused by the reaction and complete unconcern Dumbledore seemed to express.

"Sir, do you want to know what happened?"

Dumbledore actually smiled. Now Harry was really confused.

"Voldemort appears quite human now, yes?"

Dumbly, Harry nodded. Dumbledore's smile widened and his eyes were blazing blue and clear as the afternoon sky. How did he know…?

"Then I believe, dear boy, that when Voldemort took that potion, it gave him his soul back." Here the Headmaster suddenly reached into his robes and pulled out a golden ring with a dark stone set into it. He held it in his palm, contemplating it while Harry wondered how it was suddenly Dumbledore who was explaining the events of yesterday.

"Hmm, yes, I do believe I am right. I was going to destroy this, but there is no need to now. Harry, do you know what this is, or perhaps more accurately, was?"

"A Horcrux," Harry immediately answered, recognizing the ring as the one on Marvolo Gaunt's finger in one of the memories Dumbledore showed him. A sudden epiphany made Harry realize what the true purpose of his seeing those particular memories were; Dumbledore was showing him the clues to figuring out what Voldemort had entrusted pieces of his soul to.

"Very good, my boy. I think you know what a Horcrux is by this time then, yes? Well then, as you said, this ring was one of the objects Voldemort placed a piece of his soul in. I can feel it is, however, no longer a Horcrux. The soul piece that resided in here is gone."

Harry stared at the ring. "And…you think it returned to Voldemort? Because of the potion?"

The Headmaster nodded. "The others too. I am unsure about the piece from the diary you destroyed in your Second year, but it is my belief that all the soul pieces Voldemort had split from himself have recombined to give him, more or less, a complete soul. He his mortal now."

Harry's eyes widened and his body went numb with shock as realization dawned within him. Voldemort, without his Horcruxes, could be killed permanently. There would be no way for him to resurrect himself like last time.

"I don't think this was what he had planned when he took that potion," Harry uttered, somewhat dazed.

"Tom always did underestimate the worth of being capable of emotion, of having a soul that was whole."

Even as Dumbledore said that, Harry remembered the hesitation and uneasiness from Voldemort while they were in the Shrieking Shack before Harry was about to give him the potion. Maybe he wasn't as clueless as Dumbledore thought. Suddenly, another thought struck him, and his brow furrowed as he searched Dumbledore's twinkling eyes.

"You planned this, didn't you?" Harry asked softly. Dumbledore, it seemed, was far too at ease with the situation.

Expression fading to something more serious, though there was still a slight smile on his lips, Dumbledore shook his head. "Not entirely," he said in a way that suggested that if anything had been planned it certainly didn't turn out the way he had intended. "His being transformed into a snake was never an outcome I had expected."

Harry nodded. "He said the potion probably reacted with his magic strangely. That's why he got turned into a snake, as it truly was his most weakened state, having to rely on me to help him."

Nodding himself, Dumbledore said, "Yes, that is what I suspected myself. That little result changed our original plans, among other things," he said almost dryly. "If there was anything I would have predicted, it would be the prospect that Voldemort would have identified that it had been a potion in his tea that caused the change and it would have only been a matter of time before he contacted Professor Snape for help."

"But that didn't happen, because as a snake, the only possible person he could contact was me." Harry was feeling a little stupid. It almost sounded like he could've gone straight to Snape and asked for the potion. Granted, in a way it should have been Dumbledore or Snape who came forward. Harry, after all, was just a student, and they were the responsible adults. Harry wondered what Snape thought about all of this.

"Knowing what had happened from Severus' report, when I saw you with that cobra around your neck," Dumbledore told him, "I must confess I nearly had a heart attack. I had a mind to end it right then and there…but I didn't. I do trust you, Harry. I wanted to see what would happen."

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand why you didn't do anything. Why the set up?" Harry asked, a little miffed.

"Well, there still was the benefit of the doubt that it really wasn't Voldemort. But after you tripped the wards in Snape's office, we knew with some certainty that our intuition was correct. I find that this result was far more preferable to the one I had originally intended," was Dumbledore's conclusion.

Harry blinked, calamitous thoughts rolling through his head. "How can you say that? I had to live with him around my neck every day for the last few weeks. How could you even let that risk slide by? You knew it was him, and yet you let him into Hogwarts, and even let me help the man who murdered my parents. I'm sorry, Professor, but to me that seems too risky of a gamble to take." Of course, Harry was also thinking back to his First Year, when Voldemort had hitched a ride on the back of Quirrell's head. Now it somehow seemed unlikely Dumbledore had been oblivious to that either.

"And yet," Dumbledore said, "it was a gamble that I believe paid off in the end."

"But," Harry protested, "why did you do any of this in the first place? And I don't understand why you didn't just give him the potion that would give him his soul back instead of the weakening one, if you were so sure that would have been the result."

Dumbledore shrugged almost sheepishly. "I must confess that, while I had a plan from the beginning, virtually none of it really came to fruition. To start with, apparently the information Snape had on the potions was wrong about which was which."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Oh." Well, he supposed it would have been an easy mistake to make. Even Voldemort had only read about the potions once, and that was in a thousand year old library, and from Snape's stores there had been further motivation for picking which to take from it being the silver potion that was completely full. "But after that, how come you didn't just lock him up?"

"I did, in a way. I bound him to you."

Harry tossed him a dubious look. Dumbledore just acted the wistful old man.

"And, what you may not know, is that I also put a charm for if he ever lay a, ahem, fang on anyone, he would have been instantly incapacitated." Dumbledore looked at Harry's head in the fireplace over the rims of his glasses. "I know you, Harry, and I trust you enough to discern that if you were helping Voldemort, you must have had a good reason. It warranted seeing things through."

Harry was silent for a long time. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this?" he finally asked softly, fed up of being left in the dark all the time.

Dumbledore looked at him with sad eyes. "Harry, please know that I did not make the decision lightly, but in the end I realized I had no choice. I think, ultimately, it always had to be you to complete the task I began. Voldemort is now mortal, and like you said, in your possession. You can defeat him now, as prophesied."

Harry blanched. Dumbledore still intended for him to kill Voldemort?

A dark voice inside Harry's head said, 'Of course he does…isn't that your destiny?'

Harry's stomach recoiled at the thought. But why did the idea make him react so negatively? It was Voldemort, and he was entirely vulnerable right now. It would be quick, and in all probability very easy to do. While Voldemort lay asleep, he would be unable to stop Harry from aiming the Killing Curse at him. Yes, it would be so simple, and then the threat of the Dark Lord would be no more, and the Wizarding World would be free from fear and oppression.

Except… in reality, Harry doubted it would be that easy. From just the thought of killing the man, Harry knew it would be hard—very hard—for him to actually complete the action. And Harry knew—with his very soul—why it would be so hard.

It was very simply: he cared for Voldemort. Somehow over the last few weeks, the evil bastard had wormed his way into Harry's good graces and now Harry didn't want to kill him. He had found there was much more to the man other than the evil, heartless, overlord persona Harry had originally painted him with. And while, yes, Voldemort was quite a bastard, and has done many terrible things, and was terribly wrong about so many others, but he wasn't simply a monster; he was a man who's made bad choices in his life. If there was anyone who needed a savior in their life, it was him.

And it just so happened that Voldemort had one at his disposal.

"I won't kill him," Harry said quietly, so quietly that Dumbledore did not hear him.

"What was that, Harry?"

Harry swallowed, before saying, "I won't kill him, Professor. I'm sorry."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed as he studied the face of Harry Potter in the green flames before a soft smile graced his lips and he nodded. "I understand, my boy. Just tell us your location and we will come and do the job. You've done enough, I think, if that is your choice."

But Harry simply shook his head. "No, you don't understand. I'm won't let him be killed."

At Harry's words, Dumbledore dropped his small smile but still didn't seem that concerned, merely curious. "What do you mean? It is the prophecy, Harry. I abhor the idea of killing just as much as you do, but I think in this case we both know it's necessary. He may have his soul back, but Tom Riddle was always Voldemort."

It was there that Harry wondered if perhaps he understood Voldemort better than even Dumbledore did. "I don't think so," Harry whispered, almost as if he was talking to himself. "I think…I think that if I worked with him, if I just got him to understand…"

"Harry," Dumbledore said with quiet urgency. "You know he cannot be reasoned with. No matter who he is, either Tom Riddle or Voldemort, he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He will destroy us all in his path of destruction. You know he must be stopped. Don't let what he's told you cloud your judgment. Harry," he said, his voice morphing into something more gentle, "I had not told you this, but now that you already know about them, I think you should know that on the night he murdered your mother and father and tried to kill you, he accidently made you one of his Horcruxes. For the past fifteen years," the Headmaster said gravely, "up until the time you fed him the potion, you carried a piece of Voldemort's soul within you. Such an impossible, unexpected result of what happened that night, but nonetheless, it happened. Harry, that was the source of your connection, how Voldemort marked you as his equal. Tell me, can you still speak Parseltongue, or sense the connection anymore?"

Harry, to say the least, was utterly stunned. He was a Horcrux? All this time, his soul had existed alongside a piece of Voldemort's, and he hadn't known? Or better yet, why had Dumbledore never told him? And then Harry had another thought: how had Dumbledore planned for Harry to overcome Voldemort if the Horcrux in Harry would ensure he couldn't die? What could they have done?

But Harry didn't voice the question aloud, because deep down he knew. He knew that in order to destroy Voldemort, he would have had to be destroyed as well.

Dumbledore seemed to sense Harry's roiling thoughts. "Harry, my dear boy, I know what you are thinking. You believe that I had intended for you to die at some point. In some sense, you are right, because if the Horcrux within you had continued to survive, than Voldemort would be able to come back. But that is why I came up with an alternate plan; I did not wish for you to die."

Closing his eyes, Harry felt the press of tears under his eyelids and he nodded to Dumbledore to show that he understood. Of course Dumbledore, a man who was his grandfather in all but name, would have looked for some other way, so Harry didn't have to die. The young wizard may not fully trust the man to make all the right decisions, but he simply had to trust him in this.

But, in the end, Harry also realized that if it had come down to it, he would have willingly sacrificed himself if it meant the people he loved had a chance. But now he was wondering if that really was the chance they needed….

And then Harry thought: was the Horcrux truly gone? Like Dumbledore said, one method would be to see if he could still speak Parseltongue, but that might be misleading incase that particular skill had gotten incorporated into his own magic and didn't need the soul piece anymore. No, the best method would be to see if he still had a mind connection to Voldemort.

Still with closed eyes, Harry reached deep within himself, a familiar action he had become accustomed to over the past weeks, as he searched for that tunnel that led to the Dark Lord's mind. Expecting to find nothing where that link used to be, Harry nearly fell over in shock at what he did find.

That mysterious connection, the one that allowed he and Voldemort to see into each other's minds, to share their dreams, a connection that was created with unintentional and unprecedented Soul Magic, the one that should have been gone…was still there.

What the hell did that mean?

Well, what did you think of Dumbledore's explanation? If there are still any questions (some you may not realize you should ask yet) those will all be answered later ;) Thanks for reading!