A/N: Hello, people!

I don't own Harry Potter.

I have no beta.

ENJOY!

CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMEONSMELLINFELLON.

-I was going to save this for Mother's Day for my mom, but as
today is Beltane and it's mentioned in this chapter I thought it
would only make sense to post today. No I don't observe it, but
it is used in the fic.

-Prepare yourselves for all kinds of shit.


"My lord," greeted Severus with a deep bow. "Hogwarts has returned to its everyday life and the wards are ready to be updated."

Voldemort hummed as he withdrew the Elder Wand. The easiest time to update any kind of wards, was when there were as little living beings around as possible. Their magic tended to interfere with the process and make concentration more difficult. That was why doing this during the Easter hols, where everyone absolutely had to go home this time, was the best option.

With Herakles still at large, Voldemort wasn't going to take any chances on the children being targeted. He knew how the mind of a Dark Lord worked, and he would imagine it wasn't too different for a Dark Lady. Voldemort would have used the enemy's child if it had ever come down to that. Thankfully it hadn't because he actually knew how to plan things out, but still. Herakles would most certainly paint targets on the most unfortunate of people and Voldemort was going to limit that number as much as possible.

"Severus, I want you to remain outside the ward line until I am finished."

"As you say, my lord. Though…"

He sent the man a look. "What?"

"Please endeavour to not drain yourself this time, my lord. Mr. Potter would be terribly worried for you if you ended up bedridden afterward like last time."

Voldemort glared at the man. "Step. Back. Severus." His voice had taken on a near Parseltongue hiss.

He was going to pretend that he did not see the quirk of the dour man's lips. No, instead he was simply going to do what he planned to do, and leave as quickly as possible.

As if he would ever overestimate his own abilities. And Harry needn't know a thing.


"I'm sorry to bother you so early in the morning, Mr. Potter, but it is rather urgent," said Claude Mando, current owner of the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley. The man's wrinkled face was very obvious in the green flames of Harry's Floo, and he couldn't feel annoyed at the very early morning wake up considering who the man was and his occupation.

If he was contacting Harry, it involved an animal or creature, which meant business. Harry would put aside his own comforts for the sake of an animal or magical creature.

"It's fine," he assured the man. Behind him, the tea was already making itself along with a dose of Invigoration Draught in order to help him wake up a bit more. "What's the problem?"

Claude sighed. "Last year one of our Kneazles gave birth to a litter of nine. All of them were adorable and healthy, surprisingly. They were also purchased immediately. Unfortunately, one of them was returned last week because the owners were the sort to want something cute and fluffy, but didn't want the responsibility of keeping a long term pet once they felt the pet was no longer cute not fluffy."

It was times like these where Harry was reminded of his distaste for humanity in general. Things like this always happened and it was so inconsiderate to fill an animal with such hope and them cast them aside once they lost their use.

"The Kneazle is called Crookshanks, and he has been listless. He will not eat or drink anything we try to give him, and he simply lays in the back of the cage. I think he has Feline Depression, but I thought your expertise would be required just to be sure. We don't want to euthanise him if we don't have to, you see. He's a perfectly healthy feline."

"I'll be right over," Harry promised, waving his fingers so the kettle poured his tea/draught mixture in a to go cup instead of a mug.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Potter!"

It took only a few minutes, but Harry was out the door with his tea in hand, and rushing down the cobblestone street to the Magical Menagerie, where Claude greeted him at the door, jabbering on and on about how worried they'd all been and unsure of what to do, when his assistant Melanie remembered that finally there was a magical vet in the Alley.

The Kneazle in question was like all others, with an incredibly smushed face, and a large mane of fur around the neck, making it resemble a lion. He felt a pang of sadness for it, and wanted to smack the former owners for daring to abandon such a darling!

He approached the large age slowly, but the feline never bothered to look up from the floor of said cage. Even the bushy tail was laying limply against the metal.

φCrookshanks,φ he called quietly.

There was a minor twitch in the tip of the tail, and the beady eyes narrowed a bit, but nothing more.

φCrookshanks, my name is Harry Potter and Mr. Mando called me over to see if you are ill.φ

Everyone in the room waited in the tense silence for anything from the feline. Finally, a low rumble filled the room, far deeper than the noises Harry had made.

φI am not ill in body, but I hurt nevertheless.φ

His heart went out to the poor creature and once again, he wanted to smack someone. "He's says that he's hurting but not physically. They really need a good smack for this."

One of the volunteers, a young girl probably not even Hogwarts age, gave a whine and turned to wrap her arms around the tall woman behind her. Probably her mother. Both looked horrified.

φCrookshanks, everyone is worried about you. Would you please eat something? We don't want to lose you.φ

φNot everyone,φ the Kneazle remarked dully, eyes returning to the floor.

Damn it.

Harry settled himself on the floor near the back of the cage in order to put them on a closer level. With his body stretched out much like the feline's was, he could feel closer to the creature even if the other was emotional distanced.

φUnfortunately, beings like them exist.φ He didn't need to specify who the 'them' was. φNot just in humanity, but in other humanoid species as well. They didn't deserve you, Crookshanks. Just because they're horrible people doesn't mean there is anything wrong with you. They are simply greedy and lazy.φ

Crookshanks rumbled, tail flicking upward just a bit.

φDon't give up. I know of so many people who would want such a handsome Kneazle as their forever friend. My friend Hermione's been thinking of getting a companion and she'd love to have you. She wasn't able to have a pet as a child because her mother was allergic to cats, but she's been lonely at home recently.φ

The feline's fluffy head turned a bit so he could stare Harry down. φWould she want me even though they said I'm temperamental?φ

φ'They' are stupid, as a lot of humanity tends to be, and don't know anything about felines let alone you. Hermione would love such a brilliant friend by her side. She's smart, sharp as a tack, and fearless. She'd happily take you in once she was certain you're healthy enough.φ

Crookshanks hummed, before rolling over slowly. φI don't like bright lights,φ he warned. φThey made me stay outside a lot recently. I don't want to go outside.φ

φI'll tell Hermione. She'll listen, don't worry.φ

The rest of the morning was spent coaxing him out of his cage, and getting him checked over so a new diet could be set up.

And when he Fire-Called Hermione that evening, she was ecstatic over the possibility of getting a pet of her own. Harry knew he could trust Hermione because she was always good at keeping schedules and responsibilities. She would love the Kneazle, especially since he looked like his face had been squished somehow.

He could already envision Hermione laying on her small sofa, Crookshanks on her stomach while she read aloud from [The Pitfalls of Societal Expectations].


Luna Lovegood stared up at the Full Moon and wondered. Being a Seer had its highs and lows. She saw many things before they happened. Some that had the potential to happen but might not depending on the actions of others. So that were destined to happen no matter what.

It was a tricky business. What she had Seen was serious, but was meant to be.

Searching for a piece of parchment, Luna sat down at her desk and began the letter.

"Mr. Dumbledore, you don't know me, but I know you. And I know that what you've been preparing for will happen on one of your weekly outings. Beware of the Magpie."


"Would you like some tea?" Harry offered to both Dumbledore and Fawkes, who had visited him once again. It seemed like Mondays were the days they had decided to come by. To make the dreadful beginning of the week better. He had to admit, it was nice to have something to look forward to.

"Certainly. Fawkes really fancies your Oolong."

As if to prove him correct, Fawkes gave a trill of his own as he bobbed his head in agreement with his friend's words. ßI really do, young one.ß

Harry set the kettle on and went to fetch some cups. He was so glad Hermione had convinced him to get them. He hadn't expected to really be sharing his space with other people but she had told him that getting a full set of everything would be necessary down the line. More than he knew. She was right and he shouldn't have questioned her.

The sugar cubes and honey came next. Fawkes preferred his tea with honey instead of sugar. It would seem odd, if it wasn't already odd that a bird would want tea at all. But then again, animals and magical creatures always had something that didn't perfectly align with what magicals and muggles had 'observed' of them.

Dumbledore liked the Chamomile himself, and Harry just drank whatever he grabbed first. The box ended up being plain herbal tea. Some lemon and a chill and it would be fine.

"So what story do you have for me this week?" he asked as he summoned some spoons. It was a regular occurrence for Dumbledore to impart some form of history on him. He'd learned about how he and Grindelwald had met and had a falling out. He learned specific details about the witch burnings. He even got to hear about what affect the Magna Carta had on the magical community of Britain. So it wasn't a surprise that he expected something new this week as it had become a weekly occurance.

"I simply wanted to hear your thoughts on Herakles. Tom seems to find her an annoyance but he's made no mention of your opinions. He's a very forthright with his opinions. That is one thing that has not changed about him."

Harry shrugged. "I mean, I think she's mad no matter the reason for wanting the Philosopher's Stone. Either she's after never-ending riches or immortality and both seem pretty foolish desires to me. Why does she need to put her faith in a rock for those things, as well? Is she not magically powerful? Is she too lazy to search for another method? Or is this some form of revenge against her ancestor's family and she's just getting a super special rock in the process?"

So what if her grandmother or whatever the woman was in relation to her, didn't have magic? She had outcasted herself, not the other way around. Herakles had magic and was the first Dark Lady from Greece in the past millennium. She supposedly had a big reputation within that particular area and he couldn't believe that she had no other means at her disposal to acquire immortality. Voldemort managed when he was a teenager and Greece had always had loose laws about Dark Magic and its uses.

Either way, it was all stupid to him, relying on a rock that could probably erode if not properly taken care of. It just seemed so iffy. The whole Flamel story had always confused him when he was younger and it still did to this day. How did they have a continual supply of the Elixir of Life? Wouldn't the stone be gone by now if they had kept on making it to prolong their existence?

Dumbledore accepted his cup with a twitch of his long beard, and situated Fawkes' own cup more easily on the table. The bird crooned his appreciation before dipping in to his slightly warmed tea.

"She is indeed foolish, my boy, but to an extent that no one else truly knows."

He leveled the man with an expectant look, interested and confused at the same time. "Did the Flamels do something to the stone so it can't be used by anyone else?" That would be the smart thing in his opinion. So that way if it got stolen no one could actually make use of it and the secrets therein would be lost forever. It wasn't the kind of power he he thought should be readily accessible to anyone.

It was have been a glorious prank! While he might not be up to mischief all the time, Harry still had his moments of interest. Proven by him joining the twins as a third party/financial backer.

Dumbledore serenely sipped his tea, his great beard nearly glistening in the kitchen light. "Nicolas and Perenelle had immortality… but it was not because of the Philosopher's Stone."

Harry frowned as thoughts whirled around in his mind. They couldn't have had Horcruxes, because they didn't necessarily stop you from aging, they just anchored your soul to the earthly plane. So there was no way the two had decided to dabble in Soul Magicks, and Harry would have been disappointed if they had. That wasn't something to take lightly. After all, look at what happened to Voldemort! Such magical use had consequences and two of the most famous figures in magical history doing such a foolish thing would have caused one hell of a ruckus.

"It was during the beginning of their fifth decade as a couple," Dumbledore recalled, eyes distant as the tale came forth. He'd stopped stirring his tea by then, simply holding the cup and saucer. "They'd already been blessed abundantly with thirteen children, who went on to have dozens of children of their own. And the two were going to renew their vows. Half a century is something to admire after all and what better time to honour their connection?

"They had gone travelling right after. Nicolas was an alchemist and was always interested in the world, and Perenelle was glad to journey with him to collect experiments and such and to broaden their understanding. They had an unfortunate altercation with a vampire and while the vampire didn't walk away from the encounter, Nicolas and Perenelle were forever changed because of it."

He went silent as he lifted his cup to his mouth again, and Harry was left to put the pieces together. Some time during their seventies, the Flamels ended up being turned into vampires, which killed them in a sense, but kept them around. And their bodies were forever frozen at the state in which they were turned, as is the usual reaction for turned vampires, compared to born vampires.

"So if they didn't use the Philosopher's Stone, why did they tell everyone they did?" It made no sense to him.

The old wizard sighed. "The public perception of vampires back then, was even worse than it is now. You can compare the wizard attitude toward vampires, to the muggle attitude toward witches. However, everyone knew that he was a famous Alchemist, so the rumor spread, after a few decades of them never changing, that he successfully created a legendary Philosopher's Stone. Nicolas saw the chance, and enlisted the help of the Goblins, who were more than ready to fool the humans who caused them strife.

"The Goblins gifted him with a large ruby and Nicolas bewitched it to show exactly what people expect when turning their gazes upon it. So he described it as a gem born of fire, glittering and swirling with the power to turn any metal into pure gold, and grant everlasting life through a special potion he'd concocted. And the Goblins, every few decades or so, would borrow the fake stone and display it. Those who wished to see the legendary artifact, would pay a handsome sum, which is how the Goblin Nation benefited from this little charade."

He was gaping and didn't give a damn how unseemly it was. The existence of a Philosopher's Stone was a myth. It wasn't real and it had never truly existed. It was just a cover for the Flamel's to use so they could remain on the Earth without being hunted down and burned alive for what they had become.

It was baffling to know that one of the oldest legends in the Magical World, was false. But at the same time he could understand why. Prejudices hadn't gotten that much better even though they were on the verge of the 21 st Century, though Voldemort was trying his best. Harry couldn't hold the Flamel's actions against them and was disappointed that they had to create such an elaborate lie just to exist without threats on their lives.

One thing was still confusing him still. "The Stone was used in many demonstrations though," he pointed out, remembering reading an account of it in an old tome sometime in his early childhood. "It did turn any metal into pure gold."

A huffed laugh came from the older wizard, the twinkle returning to his yes. "That was an Alchemical Ritual of a more Darker nature that Nicolas wasn't the most proud of, but the sacrifices required were of known spousal abusers, so he didn't feel much guilt over using them to give the ruby the ability to turn metal into gold. Of course the enchantment had to be renewed every now and then to keep up the charade, but for the most part the Stone remained hidden.

"I can tell you that the Stone can no longer turn anything into gold. It is just a fancy, glowing red rock now."

Wow. Of all the things to happen during this visit, Harry hadn't expected to learn one of the biggest secrets in the Magical World!

"That means that Herakles is hunting something that doesn't exist," he realised. And she was going to be angry when she found out that it wasn't even real and she'd been chasing a myth all along. It truly was a foolish endeavour!

Dumbledore nodded. "Nicolas had told his many times great-granddaughter that she could become a vampire if she wanted immortality and a magical core. He'd been willing to change her, but she left before she could learn the truth, which is all for the better in my opinion. Someone like that would talk at the first sign of someone giving them attention. Not an ideal person for a family member or a secret holder."

Good Circe, this was one hell of a plot twist. All that murder Herakles had done, was all for naught. A pang of sadness throbbed within him, for the lives lost. While not humanity's biggest fan, he didn't want them to be murdered senselessly.

He could only wonder how she'd handle this information and if Dumbledore was planning on telling her or letting her rush around like a chicken with its head cut clean off.

Nicolas Flamel had played the greatest prank in Magical history, and Harry found it to be hilarious!

Should he tell Voldemort though, that was the question.


I am bored.

That isn't my problem.

You could let me talk to Harry.

Why should I do that? It won't benefit me in the least.

Because he promised that we'd speak again and you don't want
to make him break a promise, do you? He'll be so disappointed.

He's probably forgot all about you.

Just then, the door to his office opened and Harry Potter waltzed right in, looking slightly bored and tired. Of course that had to be the moment that his green eyes landed on the Diary on Voldemort's desk, and he brightened up instantly and those bags under his eyes seemed to disappear.

"Tom!"

He skipped on over, snatched the book off the desk and pulled a Muggle pen out of a pocket. "It's been ages and he is the perfect person for this!"

The smile on Harry's face made something twinge in Voldemort's stomach. Harry was smiling like that, over the Diary. As if it was a friend and had feelings. He'd come to see Voldemort, but ended up giving his attention to something that used to be a tree.

Sure a piece of him was inside it, but still…

He was not pouting. He was simply put out that his consort was so excited over a book. He hadn't even greeted Voldemort first. He always greeted Voldemort, and it was usually with one of his annoying nicknames. But not this time.

He sent the book a glare and made plans to hide it again. Harry wouldn't be able to devote any time to it if it went missing.


Hi, Tom! How are you?

Harry?

Yeah. I came to see Voldy but saw him with the Diary
so I decided to see how you're doing.

Thank Merlin. It's been so dull in here. I have nothing to do
but relive that which has already come to pass for me. It
gets repetitive after a while.

I mean, you are the one who decided to make a Horcrux.
There are consequences to every action. This is what you
get.

I know. I'm just so annoyed over it.

Maybe you can get Voldemort to reabsorb you again. He'd
still have two Horcruxes left after that.

Do you honestly think that he would be willing to give up one of
his failsafes simply because I'm bored?

Maybe not, but you never know. Maybe you'd give him a
power boost or something. You are half, right?

Yes. I do have powers of my own actually. He just forbade me to
use them on you. And I… like you. I would not use them on you.
If another happened upon me though, I could not promise to not
manipulate them however.

I wouldn't expect anything less. Nor would I blame you. If
someone was stupid enough to write in a book that talks
back without learning about it first, they deserve whatever
happens to them.

Indeed. As for re-absorbing a Horcrux, every method is a painful
one because they are supposed to be lessons on why you are not
supposed to use Soul Magick. The old man willingly putting himself
through pain sounds impossible. It just isn't done.

I suppose I just have to talk to you now and then to keep
you from metaphorically dying of boredom.

Such a generous offer, Mr. Potter. And how does my other self
feel about this? He wasn't exactly excited over the prospect of
us speaking again.

Voldy can deal with it. It isn't like anything can happen to
either of us. You won't hurt me and I have no means of
purposely or accidentally destroying you. There's really no
reason to deny us a chance to talk now and then.

Good luck explaining that to him. He's a very emotional fellow,
whether he wants to admit it or not. He gets jealous very easily
because he likes being the center of attention, and he likes you.
And not having your attention must be eating him up inside!

Don't be cruel, Tom. We can't really blame him considering
how you both grew up, can we?

You know about that?

Yeah. Some things I've learned have helped me understand
you both a bit more.

And you still talk to us anyway?

Of course. Why wouldn't I? No one is perfect, Tom.

Too bad I don't have a body. I would try to woo you away from
the old man, Harry. I'm much more attractive, I assure you.

You're such a tease, Tom.

Only for you, dear Harry. Only for you. Now, do catch me up on
everything that has happened recently. The old man is tight-lipped
and it's annoying.

Well, remember when I mentioned Herakles? Things have
gotten even more troublesome since the meeting with the
French Minister. As in she's getting even closer to Britain and
we are expecting her to attack us at any moment.


When Harry set aside the Diary finally, he looked up to find Voldemort pouting. And in all honesty, the man was pouting. The firm set of his jaw and the dip between his glamoured brows were example enough even if the downward turn of the lips was factored out. He was honest to Circe pouting all because Harry was giving his attention to someone else.

"Voldy, what's wrong?" It couldn't just be simple jealousy, right?

The man gave no reply, nor made any motion to acknowledge Harry's question. The pettiness level was up tenfold.

He's a very emotional fellow, whether he wants to admit it or not. He gets jealous very easily because he likes being the center of attention, and he likes you. And not having your attention must be eating him up inside!

Tom's words were a little more than true apparently. But to a more intense degree.

"Voldemort, I don't prefer Tom more than you. I like you both equally, but for different reasons. You don't need to be jealous of him."

That got a reaction, and it wasn't what Harry had come to expect. "Harry, do you realise just how many mistakes I made early on in my life? Out of my Horcruxes and myself, the Diary is the most normal and sane of us all. It has the largest piece of soul and is the most rational. It is also a blaring example of who I used to be, and a stark reminder of my failures.

"Its existence is necessary but that does not mean that I like it."

Voldemort did not refer to Tom as a person, but as an object. And from the way he sounded when he spoke of the Diary, he sounded envious, dare Harry presume. Was it because Tom Riddle was freshly turned sixteen in the Diary and was therefore naturally human in figure instead of glamoured? Or maybe he had the most magical control because he had the most of Voldemort's soul? Or he had the most magic? Or all of the above?

Whatever the reason, Voldemort wasn't just jealous that Harry was giving Tom attention, he was feeling… inferior. And it was so strange when he considered the overall reason, but he knew Voldemort better these days. He knew that the Dark Lord possessed a form of Dysphoria toward his own body, had Thanatophobia to the extreme, and that he cared very much what people thought of him even when he tried not to. His Horcruxes ensured less control over his emotions after all.

So the man experiencing normal, human reactions to situations, such as having an inferiority complex, wasn't a new thing. But still strange to come to terms with nonetheless. Voldemort didn't fit all the stereotypes about Dark Lords.

"Voldy," began Harry, shifting so he could lean closer to the desk separating them, "Tom and I were just talking about this. You have 3 Horcruxes. You don't need that many. You can re-absorb this Horcrux and regain the largest piece of your soul again. Your power and sanity would no doubt grow. Think about it. At your level you have already managed so much. If you were closer to being in one piece again, you would be capable of much more than even now."

Voldemort's glamour had paled at the very suggestion of accepting his first Horcrux back into himself. "Are you mad? That kind of ritual is worse than the ritual it took to make that bloody thing! It involves pain to the caster, which wasn't involved in the ritual to create the Horcrux. I am fond of neither pain nor death."

"You would still have two though," Harry pointed out, holding out his hand to show off the Gaunt Ring that he still wore every day for Voldemort's sake. "You gave one to me to safeguard me, and your other slithers around everywhere she likes. You have put numerous protections on them so nothing can harm them, meaning they're fine. No one else knows about them. You can give up one Horcrux for the sake of your own wellbeing. You won't kill Tom in order to get rid of him for monopolising my time, and if you re-absorb him then I would only have you to talk to and neither of us would be able to complain to you about missing the other."

It was worth a shot. Play on Voldy's jealousy and minute inferiority in order to help him heal, get Tom out of his self-induced boredom, and make the man happy again. Harry thought the whole situation was being blown a little out of proportion, but this was the Dark Lord and he couldn't expect normalcy when the man was involved. It would be entirely too jejune for one such as Lord Slytherin.

Slitted, crimson eyes watched him closely. Harry's musings were halted because as he thought about it, most snakes with slitted eyes were venomous. So did that mean that Voldemort was venomous? And if he knew the answer, did that mean he bit someone or something to find out said answer?

It would be another interesting attribute to his snakey form. The forked tongue had been on the list for a while and he shivered as he remember how Voldemort shoved said tongue in his mouth on a few occasions and how the man was very good with it. Such as having it curl completely around Harry's tongue because it was prehensile.

And his mind was going into a completely wrong direction!

Self-control. He really needed to work on it, he thought, adjusting his position in the chair and breathing in deeply through his nostrils.

"Having some questionable thoughts, Harry?" Voldemort practically purred, looking amused. He knew. Harry didn't know, but he knew.

Now he had a couple ways of responding. He could flush at the man's audacity. Or…

Chin tilting upward, Harry sent the Dark Lord a smirk. "Just thinking about your tongue all the skills it must possess."

Own it. He felt no embarrassment and he wasn't going to hide the truth. He hadn't hidden his interest before and wouldn't do it now. Though he really needed to control his desires so they weren't interrupting important conversations in the future.

More Occlumency training that meant. He hated Occlumency training too!

The slight humour in Voldemort's eyes faded, alongside his glamour. Harry felt himself smiling though at the sight of Voldemort's true appearance. The man was becoming more comfortable showing himself to Harry, and he liked having that trust.

Also, maybe it was just him, the slits where his nostrils should be, were kind of cute. Harry was overcome with the desire to kiss Voldemort, not only on his mouth, but all over his face.

Was this a normal reaction to one's significant other? Having no experience in this area was trying at times.

"The ritual needed to re-absorb a soul piece is very time-consuming and difficult. One wrong move and it can make everything worse," Voldemort said finally as he reached out to take the Diary bacl. "You would have to help me, and even then, you don't know anything about Dark Rituals."

"But I can learn if you teach me. You wanted to be a teacher once upon a time. Get to teaching, my dear Dark Twat."

He could see the war being waged behind crimson flames, and wanted to tell him everything would be fine, but Harry knew next to nothing about Horcruxes, and even less about how to reverse the process. He didn't want to feed the man false platitudes either. But he just wanted his fiance to stop being scared of something natural and to start living properly.

He already had to live with regrets. Couldn't he just have some peace for once?


The date of the ritual had been set for the following week. Voldemort wanted to use the ambient magic that would be thicker on the day of Beltane. All rituals performed that day, especially those borne of fire, were enhanced magically. It would hopefully enforce a success outcome to the ritual.

Neither Harry nor his family observed Beltane personally, so this would be a first for him. He was interested in seeing Voldemort's process and to compare it to what he'd studied before.

The requirements for the ritual itself included Voldemort's first wand, the Horcrux in question, and a piece of purified crystal that weighed more than a stone.

According to the book, which he'd been allowed to read only in the sanctuary of Voldemort's office, the creation of a Horcrux involved the theft of an innocent's soul. That was why it was so frowned upon. The soul was then locked inside the wand of the one who committed the murder for the ritual specifically, unable to move on. And the ritual had to be set up before the murder was committed.

Already, Harry was confused because Voldemort didn't personally murder Myrtle, nor did he perform the ritual while she died because of Alesandese. Was it even possible to create Horcruxes accidentally? Because it would explain so much but still leave many holes in his understanding.

Myrtle's soul wasn't stolen. A ghost was a soul that had lost its physical form and was partially bound to the earthly plane because of their emotions. But they couldn't interact with anything because they were caught between Life and the Afterlife. Half of their being was in one place and the other half was in the other place. That was why they were transparent. Like an afterimage, but with a bit more substance.

He'd known that thanks to Luna. So with this knowledge of how to make a Horcrux, and the knowledge Luna had shared about certain subjects, he was very confused. Did Voldemort know what Harry knew, or no?

Could he really expect a 15/16 year old to understand everything about Soul Magick and exactly what he was getting himself into?

"Harry, this is going to be incredibly painful," Voldemort said, drawing his attention. The man was standing in a large circle that was surrounded by flames. The crystal was at his feet, and resting atop it, was the Diary. Voldemort's first wand was in hand, and the bone whiteness of it was almost ominous compared to the darkness that Voldemort exuded.

So strange how an agent of Darkness has a wand so light in colour by Dark in creation. Yew, the wand of death. How apropos.

"I might even beg for assistance. No matter what happens, I cannot leave the circle, I cannot touch the flames until it is finished, and I cannot under any circumstances, touch anything that is outside the circle."

Harry nodded his understanding, but it didn't seem to be enough.

"I may ask for your help and you must not interfere no matter how much you want to."

"I understand," he swore, though he didn't like the sinking feeling he was getting in his stomach over it.

Within seconds, Voldemort was chanting in Latin, and his wand was pointed at his Diary.

The amount of power that rippled through the ritual room pushed Harry back, his shoes sliding across the floor. He had to lean forward in order to stay on his feet, but his eyes remained trained on Voldemort's figure.

The book began to glow white along with the tip of the wand. There was a dull ringing in Harry's right ear that grew persistently louder and louder until he realised that it wasn't ringing. It was screaming. High-pitched screaming sounding from every corner of the room, though he didn't know where it came from. His mouth was closed, and even Voldemort's was closed. Perhaps it was the Diary?

All the hair on his body was standing on end from the magic and the sounds. He shivered at how cold the room became.

All the while, Voldemort stood in the center of the circle, though his grip on his wand was much tighter than before. His thin lips were pursed with the struggle it obviously took to keep them closed. His crimson eyes flashed dangerously with anger and pain.

Harry could not nothing but watch. He couldn't and wouldn't leave because he'd promised to see Voldemort to his bed once all was said and done. He'd promised to be the emotional support necessary. And Harry didn't go back on his word.

Besides, he was the one to convince the man to go through with it, so he most certainly should be involved somehow.

The Diary was floating now, glowing bright and brighter with every passing minute. The process was slow going, but the pain seemed to be growing. Voldemort's teeth were visible now, but they were clenched together. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine what the man was going through and he felt a little bad over insisting that he re-absorb his soul piece.

But it would help him in the long run, which was what was most important. Voldemort would need all the power he could get if he ended up facing off against Herakles. He needed his mind to be as clear as possible. He needed to understand Harry's feelings for him.

By now Voldemort had to brace his wand arm with his other hand in order to get up with the constant output of power and force of which it poured from his wand. Beams of white light erupted form the Diary on all sides, casting odd designs on the dark walls of the ritual room.

Voldemort was shaking and his own body began to glow as well.

Light exploded through the room and Harry was momentarily blinded by it, his eyes burning from the suddenness of it. A loud wailing followed soon after, except it was different from the last noise. It was actually coming from Voldemort.

Harry was knocked off his feet by the next wave of power that pulsed through the room. His nose slammed into the marble floor and he was certain he'd felt a crack. The sharp pain afterward confirmed his assumptions and he reached up, grasped the area, and forced his magic through the break in a silent Episkey.

That didn't stop the blood from pouring down his face, but the break was healed and the pain was gone.

Unfortunately for Voldemort, his pain was still building, and his mouth was open now. Harry hoped the House Elves couldn't hear what was going on. He truly hoped they were unaware. They'd be so worried otherwise. Vashti would go all mother hen on them.

His thoughts were interrupted by the light disappearing instantly, and what remained was a faint glow coming from Voldemort's chest.

The man's bottom lip was bleeding profusely where his fangs had bitten clean through the pale skin. His glamour had vanished somewhere in the middle of the whole ritual, leaving Voldemort serpentine and extra dangerous in appearance.

All sound ceased, and the wand clattered to the stone as Voldemort crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Harry was tempted to rush to his side, but the glowing hadn't finished and he wasn't certain if the ritual was over or not. The flames had died down to the barest of embers, but that wasn't enough to be certain.

He waited and waited, feeling the worry mounting as the minutes passed.

Voldemort finally stopped glowing seven minutes later, and Harry was at his side as quickly as he could get there. The man was unconscious, his pulse was steady, his breathing fine, circulation good. He was however, magically exhausted and would probably be unconscious for a few days while his core readjusted to the sudden addition to it.

"Vashti!" Harry called.

The Elf appeared immediately, her ears tipped back as she took in her master. "Poor Master Voldy."

She snapped her fingers, and the Dark Lord's form was levitated instantly. "We bes going to his rooms now."

Harry allowed her to lead the way.


"So that's him?" Draco asked when Hermione stepped foot in her flat where he'd been waiting. In her arms was a massive Kneazle that Potter had rescued and she had insisted was going to be her 'fur baby'. It was ugly but he wouldn't tell her that though. The thing looked alert, with keen eyes narrowed dangerously.

Hermione was beaming at it though. "Yeah. We'll have to be gentle with him for a while. Harry said he was agitated when I picked up him just now. Crookshanks couldn't tell him why, just that something was making him uncomfortable."

Draco frowned. Kneazles, even half-Kneazles, could sense deception and danger. An alarmed Kneazle wasn't good. "Was Potter okay when you saw him?"

"He was fine. He was expecting Dumbledore, actually. The man visits every week so Harry was getting the tea ready."

While he found Potter's choice of companions questionable, he doubted Albus Dumbledore was enough to make a magical feline wary. The man was too goody-goody to be a danger to Potter.

Cursing his curiosity and the positive feelings he had in regards to the Potter Heir, Draco stood from the sofa. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

He kissed the young woman's head and slipped from the flat without an explanation.


When Albus had come for his weekly visit that morning, he hadn't had Fawkes with him this time. His long time friend had been off on a hunt and he wasn't going to interrupt. He could travel without Fawkes' protection just fine. One didn't reach his great age without attaining some skills.

The young Potter greeted him with a grin and offered him a seat in his kitchen.

Everything was like normal... except, there was an unfamiliar bird on the back of Harry's chair. Black and white, and with a sharp, beady gaze.

"A patient?" he asked the young man, gesturing to the bird in question as he accepted his cup of already prepared tea. Harry knew him so well.

Harry nodded and smiled. "Yeah. Her owner brought her by earlier. Said she wasn't able to fly because of an injured wing, and that he'd pay whatever it took to fix her up. He's set to return at noon. It didn't take long to help her, thank Circe. Magpies are pretty resilient and she didn't fight as I healed her up."

Dumbledore dropped his cup as he rushed to draw his wand, but he wasn't able to act fast enough.

The Magpie was gone, and in its place stood a grown woman who was smirking at him. "Hello, Dumbledore. You have something I want."

She fired off a spell at Harry, who managed to roll to the side and dodge it with remarkable speed considering the lack of time they had to process everything. Unfortunately, he didn't dodge the next three spells, which had him unconscious, bound, and gagged in a second with a ring of fire hovering about his fallen body.

"The boy probably shouldn't have an Invitation Ward keyed to his permission, on the building. You never know if an animal is really an animal or not."

Albus glared, lowering his wand. He couldn't act while Harry was threatened. Of all the times for Fawkes to be on a hunt.

"Let's talk go somewhere a bit more secluded for our talk, Dumbledore. Mr. Potter will hep me ensure your honesty."


A/N: Another is done!

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