Book II:
Chapter 18: Ancient Rites
PLEASE READ: The following scene contains depictions of Celtic paganism and some ideas anathema to Christianity. If you're a Christian who finds some of these ideas offensive or a pagan who is offended by inaccuracies, please don't take them personally. I'm only using the ideas presented as a fictional prop and not as a reflection of my personal belief or understanding of religious custom or ideology. So please, PLEASE don't leave Bible quotes or links to pagan sites or angry missives in the review box. It's just a story.
Otherwise, I hope you all enjoy the chapter!
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"Alright, Draco, how do I look?"
Hermione spun around, her pale blue and white lace dress spreading out beneath her. Her hair had been curled into tight little ringlets and piled on top of her head and held there with a beautiful diamond tiara. Narcissa had put it on her, along with just a hint of blush, gushing shamelessly about how her beautiful little princess was growing into a majestic young queen. With her foster mother's approval obtained, she went in search of a more masculine opinion.
Draco watched her little twirl with some amusement in the reflection of his bedroom mirror. He was dressed almost entirely in black, the large silver buttons and other odd ornamentation standing out in striking contrast. The effect, he thought, hinted at a malevolence with good fashion sense.
"You always look lovely, sister. I have a hard time telling when you look more so," he said teasingly.
She rolled her eyes, but her blush made the flattery worth it.
"Draco..."
"Now, now, Hermione. I know you want to look your best for your boyfriend-"
"He is not my boyfriend."
"Oh... then can I have him?"
"Draco!"
"Just kidding! As I was saying, I know you want to look your best for Harry, but don't you think you're coming off as a bit desperate?"
She smacked him with a pillow.
"Ah! Not the hair!"
She smacked him again.
"You're gorgeous! Breath-taking! Helen of Troy was a hag in comparison!"
She tossed the pillow back onto the bed.
"Why thank you, brother."
He glowered at her, and tried to reset his hair in the mirror. He'd just managed to get it back into its immobile perfection when Narcissa appeared to hurry them downstairs. Malfoy Sr. was part of the Dark Lord's entourage that night, and would meet them there later. They took the bespelled door in the music room that usually lead to nothing but the wall behind it, but opened up into the entry way of the Hothwell Family mansion that night. They were lead to the ballroom, their presence announced, and as their mother made pleasantries with the Lady of the Estate, they quickly ducked out in search of friends.
They found Natalie flirting with a boy a good three years her senior under a statue of Aphrodite near the balcony doors. She abandoned him quickly enough when she saw them, finding more challenging prey.
"Draco, Hermione, thank Merlin you're here. This party is utterly droll. Not at all like yours. I swear, can't the orchestra play anything other than Shubert?"
Draco grinned, accepting her backhanded compliment with a gentlemanly kiss to her white gloved hand.
"Natalie, have you even been here for more than fifteen minutes?" Hermione asked, just as eager for disagreement as the other girl probably was.
"I don't know," the blond girl sighed, "It feels like it's been fifteen hours."
"I take it Harry hasn't shown up then," Draco said, baiting them both.
"Alas, no. And I'm solooking forward to seeing him in his new threads. Analeisse said she got to see him at that press conference a few days ago and that the newspaper photo doesn't do him justice."
Draco shrugged.
"That's Spindle for you. Fabulous fashion sense, even if he's a bit dodgy with the needle."
Hermione sighed.
"I hope Harry's alright. He has no luck, and that's sort of a necessity living with the Dark Lord."
"Nonsense, it's Harry," laughed Natalie, "What can't he do?"
"Brush his hair? Mind his own business? Get along with the Weasel?" offered Draco.
"Speaking of the Weasel, where is he? He's usually following you at the end of his leash."
Draco's expression turned disgruntled. The one thing he did not want to talk about was Weasley. If Ron had been insufferable before he dueled Potter, he was positively ... positively a bleed'n twat now. Not only was he openly disagreeing with Draco about things, he was arguing with him at the most inopportune times and places. The last he had spoken with the freckled menace was right before they'd left for the train, when Draco told him he wasn't inviting him to the Christmas ball this year and Ron said he frankly didn't give a damn. And by God, it appeared as if Ron meant it.
"Chugging eggnog with the rest of plebs most likely," he muttered. Hermione frowned at the use of the word 'plebs', but tactfully refrained from commenting.
The music suddenly stopped, and they turned their attention to the entry doors, where the Dark Lord was being announced, followed by several other prestigious names, and one Harold James Potter.
The Dark Lord himself was dressed in blacks and silvers (which pleased Draco immensely), the simple sharp cut of his robes drawing attention to the complex pattern of Celtic symbols embroidered into his sleeves and chest and back. Beside him, Harry was garbed in a similar style, only rather than silver, a network of bright amber topaz sprinkled over him. If one paid close enough attention, they could see the stones slowly rearrange themselves, giving the illusion of molten fire flowing over blackened stones . Standing beside one another, Voldemort and Harry made quite the pair.
Indeed, it wouldn't take much for one to wonder if they weren't in fact father and illegitimate son.
Hermione, as subtly as she could, made her way towards her friend as soon as the music started again and everyone went back to their dancing and chatter. At some point, Voldemort had seen fit to release his charge, and Harry immediately went in search of Hermione. They met each other half way, and she led him out of the ballroom. Lucius Malfoy marked their disappearance with some displeasure, before following the Dark Lord to the parlor for their usual private party.
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Severus Snape stalked into the parlor wearing black dress robes, plain and severe, and more suited to a funeral than a celebration. They rather suited him. Scattered about the room was the usual contingent of Death Eaters, their spouses, and the occasional offspring that was old and discreet enough to attend. The Malfoys sat side by side, their silent closeness a mockery to the trophy wives and their considerably older husbands who clung together in pseudo affection and the stony civility of those in arranged marriages. Lestrange, widowed now for four years, held the love seat with the only available seat in the room.
"I apologize for my tardiness," he said stiffly, striding towards Lestrange with only a moment's hesitation. The Headmistress gave him a cruel smile by of greeting, crossing her legs and drawing his eyes immediately to the wicked points of her stiletto heels.
"That is alright Severus," Lord Voldemort acquiesced. "I was led to believe you would no be attending at all tonight."
"Madam Umbridge owes me a favor. She agreed to monitor the alarms for me... ah, excuse me, for us..." he corrected, glancing towards Lestrange. "Over the next couple hours. Without McNair to hound, I dare say she has plenty of free time on her hands, but I am afraid I can't stay long."
"I'm glad you're here just the same, Severus. Every year it seems more of my faithful Death Eaters are gone from me. Damon, Gaius, Althea, and of course poor Rudolphus..." the Dark Lord said, lifting his glass to the aforementioned's widow. Lestrange smiled back demurely in acknowledgment, but then frowned when she noticed the bandage around his hand.
"M-my Lord, are you alright? Your hand-"
Voldemort glanced at his wounded hand, and chuckled a bit.
"Oh yes, that. Harry bit me."
Someone dropped their glass of champagne, but that was the only sound for almost half a minute. Snape felt decidedly less surprised than everyone else, and wished he had just stayed home.
"Dare I ask 'why'?" Snape said, deciding he'd rather move the conversation along so he could sort out a suitable punishment for when the boy returned to school.
"It was my fault really. I shouldn't have put my hand so close to his mouth. Lucius, you're a father. Have you ever had that happen before?"
Malfoy Sr. blinked, quickly recovering from his surprised stupor to nod.
"Yes, once, but that was when Draco was four, and rather adamant to convince me he was a real dragon."
There were a few amused chuckles, including Voldemort's, and the conversations picked up again and moved to other matters. Lestrange, however, did not join in, hearing what Voldemort had said and what he hadn't said, and stewing with a renewed jealousy. Snape, never a true conversationalist, watched her carefully from the corner of his eye while pretending to listen to the Dark Lord thank Narcissa for her recommendation of her designer.
They lingered in the parlor for about an hour, performing their typical routine of subtle insults, subtler alliances, less than subtle boasting, and invitations into various political dalliances mixed in with menial small talk. Eventually, even the dour Bellatrix was drawn in. Severus remained apart from, and yet aware of, it all, and kept his keenest observations for Voldemort.
The Dark Lord was more relaxed than he usually was this time of year. Being the leader of a nation, he was always rushed but the end of the year was always the most stressful, and with his latest project running behind schedule it was even more so. Yet the tension, the quick temper, the natural disdain for the Christian holiday in general was absent.
Was it Potter's doing?
"Severus, walk with me."
The potion's master was pulled from his musings by Voldemort's command, and quickly moved to obey. A few watched their departure enviously. To catch the Dark Lord in a good mood was rare and often rewarding event. No doubt they imagined Severus was receiving some sort of gift or offer. If only.
"How is the search going?" Voldemort asked as they entered the empty corridor.
"No progress, I'm afraid. It's abandoned Hogwarts for the moment, but I doubt it will stay away. The castle is the only place it is likely to find both food and shelter during these winter months. January, early February at the latest, it will have to return or die in the cold. Who ever is controlling it must realize this. Traps have been set all over the castle, but most will have to be removed once the students return. I believe that is when the final and most aggressive attack will occur, and the purpose of these attacks will be made clear."
Voldemort digested the information, and finding the reasoning sound, nodded.
"That must not be allowed to happen, Severus. You have taken precautions?"
"Both entrances to the Chamber have been bespelled to seal themselves once someone has entered. I have also thickened the ice around the moat and closed the boat entrance, so nothing will leave or enter there. All windows and entry ways less than two stories above the ground have been likewise sealed. This leaves only the front entrance. There are more traps there, but they will all have to be removed when the students return."
"You have been very thorough," Voldemort remarked, pleased so far.
"I can not take full credit."
"But you can take a great deal. No students have been hurt since you've taken responsibility over the school and even now these preparations..."
"Have yet to yield results. I will not considered the matter resolved until the culprit is caught and the basilisk is dead."
"I trust you, Severus."
An incredible chill ran down the potion's master's spine, thrilling and terrifying all at once. It was a rare privilege to have the Dark Lord's trust. It was an easy and unforgivable crime to betray it. A crime punishable by more than just death.
"Thank you, my Lord."
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"Harry, I'm so glad you came!" she said, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, feeling relieved to finally see a familiar face after the last couple of days. "I've been so worried about you, but all the letters I tried to send kept getting returned. I think there's some sort of protection on where ever you live."
"Yeah, I know. I tried to send Elsbeth out, but she can't fly beyond the grounds," he said. "So how are you?"
"I'm fine," she said, "but what about you? How are things going... where ever it is that you are? I've seen your picture twice in the paper already. What's going on?"
Harry shrugged.
"PR campaign. Sort of. I'm Harry Potter, symbol of the Dark Lord's care and concern for muggleborns and halfbreeds everywhere. Never mind I'm not really either and that I can speak parseltongue and am a witness in a homicide and an attempted homicide investigation. We make a pretty photo, don't we?" he said, his tone ironic.
"Oh, Harry..."
"It's fine, Hermione. Boring beyond belief most of the time, but fine."
Except for the fact I know what killed Sweety, paralyzed Angelina, and may have tried to kill me, and that I can't tell you anything about it because Snape is a clever son of a bitch.
"Oh, did you know we'll be getting new teachers next year?"
"Really?" she said curiously, accepting his words and his subject change at face value for the time being. For the next hour he told her about many of the things that had happened to him, and despite what he'd said about being bored there was in fact a lot going on. He told her about the forest estate, his new wardrobe, his useless tutor, the trips to the Bristol office, the various events Voldemort dragged him to, and his maid Victoria, but nothing about the Dark Lord himself. She seemed to sense his reluctance in mentioning the man, but when she found an opening to question him he distracted her yet again with a Christmas gift.
"It's for you," he said, handing her slender black velvet box like one would find a necklace in. "You should open now, since I won't see you again until the end of the holiday."
"Harry, you didn't have to."
"But I wanted to."
She gave him a smile, pulled the silver ribbon off, and opened it. Inside was quill, a raven feather with a obsidian pen head. Tilting it a bit made it gleam in rainbow colors.
"Oh, Harry, it's beautiful."
"It's a quik-quotes-quill," Harry said, "And not one of those shoddy tabloid ones either. It's Legal Court standard. I figured you could use one for the news paper."
"It's perfect," she said, a feeling trilled jolt when she learned it was more than just pretty. "How did you get it?"
"I convinced one of Voldemort's accountants to trade a half an hour therapy session with his American Corn Snake for it. Apparently, some snakes don't actually like rats."
She giggled at that.
"I got you something too," she said, pulling out a little bell from somewhere in the folds of her dress. "It's an 'Unsilencing Bell'. It's really clever. You can hear it ring even if someone puts up a silencing charm, and if you press it to your ear you can hear even if you're under a deafening hex. I thought you could use it more than me."
The bell jingled as she handed it to him, long and sweet like a crystal glass.
"Thank you, Hermione."
"Good grief, don't tell me you've been in here the entire time."
They turned to see Draco stalking in with a bemused Natalie. Natalie moved in like hawk, snatching up Harry in her painted talons and remarking how dashing he looked in his new robes, and how she'd seen him in the papers, and where was her Christmas presen?. Draco rolled his eyes and led them back outside to somewhere less 'tacky' than the cloak room. You never knew who was going to get drunk and stumble inside with some other random drunk and get frisky.
They ended up back in the ballroom, talking and laughing and Natalie managed to drag Harry off for dance when the band finally played something other than Schubert. He wasn't very good, but the dance floor was crowded with taller and drunker men and women, so chances were no one but a very amused Natalie noticed. And as full darkness came, everyone was invited outside for a fireworks display, the likes of which Harry had never seen. These were not the random flashes and streams of light he was used to, but a full on drama of characters played in fire across the sky. Savage warriors and beautiful maidens and Druids and Romans and castles and forests and strange beasts moving across the sky in a story he didn't recognize, but felt stir his blood.
"It's the story of Hogwarts, sort of a New Year's story for wizarding kind in Britain," Natalie whispered, her head resting on his shoulder as they stared up at the sky together. "It was the first castle ever built by magic, and it was the last refuge for those who were 'gifted' when Rome decided one God was plenty, and destroyed theirs and everyone else's. There's a saying, I don't know if you've heard it before. 'Fire, steel, and God are as rain to the stones of Hogwarts.'"
And my forefather helped build it, Harry thought, a feeling of pride and sorrow coming over him as he watched the scenes of tragedy and glory unfold. The firework druids fled from the Roman soldiers, more lost in the flight than those that reached the castle keep. Monsters rose out of the lake destroying ships and wolves the size of train cars rampaged through the forests (so much closer to the castle than they were now) and tearing apart all they found there.
Gradually, the foes departed or gave up or could no longer find the castle, and the lights faded out of the sky to leave only the stars. Harry found his hand clutching Natalie's tightly, pressed against his heart, and immediately released her.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize..."
She shook her head, her cheeks a bit flush.
"Don't be."
"Harry?"
He turned to see a rather miffed looking Draco and Hermione watching them.
"If you turtledoves are quite done," Draco droned, "I think your Daddy is ready to go."
Harry looked to Natalie, but she shook her head.
"Don't look at me. I have two mothers."
"Then who is he...oh! Not funny Draco!"
The Malfoy heir's smirk seemed to indicate that he disagreed.
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The next morning, Harry woke late. Victoria was not there to wake him for once, ordered from the house with the rest of the servants for reasons not specified. He entertained the idea of finishing some homework briefly, and then discarded it. The house was empty. He wanted to explore. He threw on his most comfortable clothes, a pair of slacks and a red jumper (compliments of Clyde and his 'uncles') and a thick pair of socks, and set about on his exploration.
He was met with an almost immediate delay when he tried to open the door and bumped something. He found a parcel addressed to him with a note from Victoria on top.
Harry,
This arrived for you yesterday. We don't celebrate Christmas here, so you may as well open it now. See you soon.
Vicki
There was no return address, but a familiar symbol of a crescent moon over crossbones was stamped on the corner. It was his godfathers' Christmas present. Grinning, brought it inside and opened it. There was a cloak inside, and Harry groaned. Oh Merlin, please not more clothes. Then nearly smacked himself for being so ungrateful. His godfathers loved him, but they didn't have the finances or the availability to go shopping like the average wizard. The cloak was probably handmade and the best they could do.
He ran his hand over the cloak and felt it was completely made of fur, black, and incredibly soft. Removing it from the box he found it to be overlarge, and a letter fell out of the folds. He set the cloak on the bed to pick it up, and when he stood up the cloak was gone.
Letting out a startled gasp he searched the bed and floor, and gasped again when he found the cloak right under his hands, now a the exact shade of the comforter it was resting on. For the next five minutes, he tested the new material by placing it on different colored surfaces. By far the most intriguing result was the checkered black and white pattern he got when he laid it on the bathroom floor.
Perhaps this is more toy that clothing after all, Harry thought delightedly.
He wrapped himself in the cloak, felt its warms and softness ensnare him, and then retrieved his letter.
Hey, Harry
Merry Christmas, or perhaps it's 'I hope you have a Merry Christmas', since more than likely you've opened this early. Good for you.
Harry chuckled.
Remus and I hope this letter finds you well. We have been hearing some disturbing rumors, which we thought you would have mentioned in your previous letter. Please write to us again soon, Remus is a hopeless worrier and I'm not very good with it myself.
If this was meant to guilt trip him, they did a wonderful job.
Well, enough parental nagging, and on to the fun stuff. We hope you like your present. Before you go 'oh no, not clothes!', let me assure you it's way better than an ordinary cloak. Your father had an invisibility cloak once upon a time, but that's still locked away somewhere. So until you find that one, this one should make a suitable stand in. It won't make you invisible, but the fur belongs to a Baluvian bear, which change colors to match their environment, and if you remain still you'll pretty much disappear. I imagine you'll have a great deal of fun with this.
The letter went on to describe holidays in the werewolf colony.They didn't celebrate Christmas per se, but there was some festivities surrounding the New Year. There were bon fires, Song Nights, Great Hunts (during which Sirius had killed the Baluvian bear), Athena and Greyback had their third son together (and he looked more like his mother thank Rhiannon), and end of the year maintenance they somehow managed to turn into a competition and game (trying to thatch a roof while avoiding tar being thrown at you was apparently a sporting event). Harry found himself laughing at Sirius' descriptions and longing to be there with them to see it all. It all sounded very coarse and even a bit brutal, but there was a warmth and comradery
in the undertones.
Feeling the beginning of melancholy set in, he quickly roused himself to do what he had been intending to do in the first place. He explored the kitchens, the ballroom, the parlor, the music room, the guest rooms, and the attic (for about thirty seconds before deciding it was too creepy). When he'd run out of unlocked rooms to explore inside, he transfigured a pair of his old shoes into boots, wrapped his new cloak around himself, and went out into the gardens.
There was a light snow on the ground from the night before, and the now cloudless sky made everything painfully bright. The air was still, frigid, and clean, forming steamy puffs of moisture with every breath. He pulled up the hood to his cloak to protect his eyes from the light and his ears from the bitter cold, and took in the beauty of this lonely world.
At first, everything seemed still and quiet, but the longer he stood the more he realized how false that first impression was. Small winter birds flocked amongst the garden statues, which poured out seeds like a fountain poured out water, chirping and arguing with intruding squirrels and rabbits and ravens. Deer, the sort that didn't eat people, were gathered near the edge of the lawn, pawing at the ground to dig up flower bulbs from the half-frozen earth, and lifting their heads every so often to 'chuff', tasting and smelling the air for danger. Somewhere on the other side of the grounds he heard the trumpets of peacocks.
The crunch of snow beneath his feet as he headed towards the garden labyrinth seemed the loudest of all, though if any of the creatures about heard him their curious eyes couldn't seem to find him. He entered the maze without a second thought. He was not worried about getting lost. His path was marked clearly by his own foot prints, and after a minute or so he found someone else's as well.
Curious, he followed them, weaving through several turns he would have missed otherwise, and surprised more than once by statues of unfamiliar beings. The statues were all different. Most appeared human, although there were some misshapen creatures or animals, but not all were young or beautiful as he was used to seeing. Some were ugly or old or shown with three faces or no face at all. Though carved of stone, most were adorned with jewelry made from precious metals or animal bones or sea shells and draped in silk or leather or costumes of elaborate design. About a one of every four showed signs of recent worship. Offerings of candles, seeds, nuts, silver and gold coins, open bowls of wine or mead or blood or ink, and the remains of sacrificed birds and animals in their winter coats were placed on the plinths of these statues, turning them to alters.
It should have been frightening to Harry, who had spent much of his life in a world where pagan was the equivalent of satanic, but there was a beauty to it all. Everything was done with such loving care and attention to detail, with all the reverence he had witnessed bestowed upon the alters for saints of Christendom. If it had been dark, perhaps the fear would have come, but the deed done in the bright openness of the garden stole any ominous nature that muggle culture had instilled in the custom. This was no satanic ritual done at night in the middle of the woods, or the ruins of a church, or a dank basement.
This was Voldemort saying hello to his gods. Wishing them a Happy New year and hoping they would return the favor. Harry took his time exploring, careful not to disturb the alters' contents, pondering what all the offerings meant and why some received different items and others received nothing at all.
And then he suddenly took a turn and found himself in the middle of the labyrinth and not as alone as he had thought.
Voldemort knelt in the center of a circle and pentagram, stripped down to only a pair of thin pants and showing no signs of discomfort. In one hand he held a bowl and in another he held a dagger. His eyes were closed, face lifted to the heavens, and his lips whispering too softly for Harry to hear. The lines of the pentagram were clearly marked by red blood on white snow. Runes were paints into the spaces between, some of them even recognizable to the young student. Fire, water, strength, harmony, heart, blood, Mother, and so many more he couldn't identify.
His breath caught in his throat. He wasn't suppose to be here. This was a sacred thing, and he was not a believer, not even a scholar with a base understanding of it all. As quietly as he could, he turned to leave.
"It would be rude of you to leave without offering something."
Harry still.
"This is a temple after all..," Voldemort continued. "...not a gallery. One does not come here simply to observe."
Harry turned, reluctantly facing the Dark Lord. The man did not look particularly angry, but he did look expectant.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize... no one said anything about... How did you even know I was here?"
The Dark Lord smirked.
"In this place, I have all the power and omnipotence of my gods. And their authority. Come here. I will show you what I mean while you make your offering."
"... I am not a pagan..."
He didn't dare say he was a Christian. It seemed blasphemous some how to speak that word here. Voldemort shook his head.
"Your soul may belong to Heaven, Harry, but your magic belongs to the Earth. She deserve your love just as He does."
The young wizard didn't truly understand, but he moved forward regardless until he reached the edge of the pentagram. He turned to Voldemort, unsure of what to do.
"Sit there," the man instructed, pointing to the left 'arm' of the star in which the rune for 'water' was drawn. "Don't worry about disturbing the rune. I have preservation spells in place."
Hesitantly, Harry did as instructed, but he had hardly set foot inside when he was sudden overwhelmed with power and awareness. It was as if the world had suddenly poured into his body or his mind had suddenly poured out into the world. His senses moved beyond the physical, taking in the life and the death of existence. He could feel the heartbeat of the animals he'd seen outside the maze,he could hear the soft sigh of soil as it drank the melting snow, and see the dreams of the sleeping forest around them. And ghosts, or rather spirits, fairies?, ephemeral wisps of things not living moving and breathing and laughing and screaming in all places. All these things and so much more, until there was so much awareness that he became numb to it, as if he'd been shocked by an electric jolt.
"Incredible, isn't it?"
Voldemort regarded him, smiling serenely. The man drew his 'awareness', and suddenly Harry's numbness broke into knowledge. Without even looking at him, Harry knew him in ways that simple vision would not allow. He felt every piece that composed his body from sinew to synapse, his mind unfolding like a dark plane larger than the whole of Britain, and his soul was not what Harry had ever thought a soul could be. It was singularly itself, and yet other... things came and went in and out of it, with definite flavors and energies and 'awareness'. It was as if all that defined the unseen of existence were reaching out to touch him, as if Voldemort's gods were paying homage to him and not the other way around.
"What are you?" Harry whispered, too awed to stop himself, to question himself, to question the entire experience. Weakly, he sank to his knees inside the pentagram and power unfurled from the earth to hold him, gently, caressing, singing sweetly in tones of an ocean miles away.
"I am... all that Theywould deem to make of me. Priest. Warrior. King. God. I am the anger of this scorned land, and I am its sorrow. I am one of the few of the Children of the Earth who have turned back to our Mother and said 'thank you for your gifts, how might they serve you?' Do you see it, Harry? Do you see our magic flowing into us from our Mother?"
And Harry could. He could see the magic he had always thought of as his own, flowing up from the ground and around them in the wind, seeping into each of them, different colors and textures and vibrations wrapping wound that part that was singularly themselves, their souls, in a cocoon of power.
And Harry could see that Voldemort's soul was different from his.
He could see it was broken and torn, and that it should have flown apart and disappeared into nothingness long ago, but tendrils of magic, of Mother, held it together, power reinforcing the places where it would crumble and sowing together those parts that had torn. Voldemort's soul had become so saturated with magic that it was hard to tell which part was which.
"She loves you."
Unable to stand in the presence of that love, pure for the impure, between greater-than-human and less-than-human, terrible and beautiful, without it touching a piece of his own soul, tears welled to the surface. Even as they flowed down his cheeks and to the ground, Harry was aware that they were more than water and salt, but part of his own soul, tiny pieces of his love and his sorrow and his awe.
"She loves you too, Harry."
That was true too, and suddenly he found himself sobbing.
"That's it, child. Tears are as fine an offering as blood."
Even without watching, bent over and shaking as he cried his offering into the snow, he could sense Voldemort's intent. The dagger was for more than just show after all. When he could look up again at last, Harry could see the thin stream of blood flowing into the little bowl.
Saw the anger, hate, sorrow, joy, and hope flowing into the little bowl.
Magic flared up around them, swallowing their offerings, taking it into the Earth to become apart of it. The bowl of blood caught fire, the flames blue and barely visible, and Harry's tears hissing and evaporating little dots into the snow. The magic spread, setting alight the pentagram itself until the blood was devoured and the snow melted into a perfect circle. Once the diagram disappeared the power, the 'awareness', left them.
They both collapse, shaking in the after affects of the ritual. There was grass beneath them, green and lush and impossible this deep into winter. Harry buried his face into the soft carpet, inhaling the delicious sent of Earth and Magic and love before it faded from him altogether.
When finally the overwhelming presence of Mother and themselves had dissipated from their minds, the two wizards turned to one another, still laying where they'd fallen. It was a strange sort of understanding that passed between them, intimate on a level few would ever know with another human being. They had, for a few brief minutes, not only seen the other's soul but becomes connected to it, sunk their spiritual hands into the common material of their existence, both physical and metaphysical.
They both reached for the other, their cool hands coming to meet, warmth and love and perhaps a ghost of 'awareness' passing between them as it had with their Mother only a few minutes before.
"She loves you..." Harry repeated, then sighed softly, "... more than anyone else. You are... more Her than anyone else."
There was no jealousy in the statement, just a sort of longing. Voldemort smiled very gently, as Harry had never seen him do before.
"I have given myself totally to her. When this body and this magic fade, my soul will not return to the Father you Christians have promised yourselves to. There is not enough of my soul left to reside in Heaven or Hell. Rather, it will be drawn into the Earth with the rest of me, to be absorbed or reborn or reshaped as She sees fit. Over and over and over again for as long She exists. I chose Eden over absolution, and I regret nothing."
Harry's hand tightened around his. Was it to comfort him? Or was it to ask for comfort? All he knew was in that moment, after what they had shared, he didn't want to be separated from him. Couldn't conceive of such a connection breaking. Not ever.
"Why did you show me this?"
Voldemort's expression turned from serene to amused.
"I'm afraid I can't take credit for this. I only intended for you to give a few drops of blood and be on your way. I hadn't expected your magic to align with 'water'. I thought your element would have been 'wind' or even 'fire', but not 'water'. It must have been Her will. She wanted you to be apart of this."
"And what is 'this'?"
"Magic at its purest and most powerful. If we had wanted to, we would have had the power to sink the entirety of Britain while in that circle."
A shiver ran through Harry at the very idea of it.
"So why haven't you ever done it?"
Voldemort smirked, his previous gentility dissipating with the revival of their sense of self. He got up, pulling up Harry by their conjoined hands. The boy stumbled a bit, but Voldemort held him steady, not yet releasing him.
"I have no desire to sink Britain, Harry."
"Then what do you want? Why conquer it in the first place?"
There was no accusation in his voice, Harry was feeling too connected with the other at the moment for anything other than affection and curiosity.
"I suppose, because more than anything else, I want the wizarding kind to love me... and to love Her, but mankind has always had free will. I cannot make them love or accept Us anymore than God can make them love or accept Him. So, I must first make a world in which She can be loved, where Christendom has no sword with which to strike Her followers and any who wish to follow Her customs, may. If I am careful, I will need to do nothing more then this. Wizarding kind will inevitably rediscover the source that separated them from muggles in the first place and return to Her. It is a natural progression."
Voldemort slowly led Harry back to the mansion, his hand still clutching firmly to Harry's. It would be a lie to say he hadn't been entranced by what he had seen in Harry during the ritual. This was not the first time he had performed the ceremony, not even the first time he had performed it with other people, but it was the first time he'd felt such strength. Not just of magic, but of being. Harry's soul was... it was...
Intense.
The resulting magic was likewise intense, a necessity in order for the Earth to even hope to bind it to Her, but ultimately futile if he didn't accept Her completely. Today, Voldemort had created a bond with Harry, one they would share with the Earth and each other until they died. Would it be enough after they died?
No yet, but perhaps someday...
They entered the mansion and went immediately to Voldemort's study. They each moved to a chair close to the fireplace, setting them so they faced each other before settling in. All this was done in complete silence, the hum of their respective magic in tune with each other and their environment. Their will was so apparent to each other that they had no need to instruct or question, nor to verbally command the magic that willed the fire to life or opened the drapes without touch.
It would not last. After tonight, once the winter solstice and come and gone, the extra boost in magic would fade. In the meantime, however, Voldemort saw no harm in basking in their 'awareness' of each other and their magic.
"My Lord," Harry said, breaking the silence after almost an hour, "There is a basilisk running around Hogwarts. Why can't anyone know?"
Voldemort blinked. He hadn't thought Harry had figured out that much already. Snape had said the boy knew it was a snake, but not that it was a basilisk. Of course, he'd never bothered to find out exactly how much Harry knew, guessed, or assumed. He had been more concerned with the child staying quiet and out of the way.
"What do you know?"
"I know it's a basilisk. I know it was guarding some secret place connected to the girl's lavatory, and that it got out. I figured it's escaped into the school's secret corridors and pipes, and no one can seem to find it. I know it killed Moaning Myrtle- whose paralyzed spirit is still being kept somewhere in the school- over fifty years ago, and then Cassandra Sweety, and it would have killed Angelina Johnson too except that she saw it through her make-up mirror instead of directly in the eye. I know you're covering up all of this, probably to keep secret the place it was guarding. Oh, and it's looking for somebody or maybe more than one. I think it means to kill them... I think it means to kill me too."
Voldemort felt rather impressed. So far Harry had been mostly right. He even seemed to know a little something he didn't. Who was the basilisk trying to kill... aside from Harry?
"Very good. You've discovered the when, what, and how. Now all that's missing is the who, why, and where of it. I'd like to know that myself."
"Sir?"
"Harry, I am not keeping this all a secret just to keep a secret. The fact of the matter is that there is a lot of answers I just don't have. The basilisk was released from its Chamber by someone, and it wasn't Sweety. Who ever released it is using it for some unknown purpose, terrorism or assassination of someone in the school, and they are doing a fine job of hiding it. Hogwarts has always been known as the safest place in Britain, and I can not afford to have that reputation sullied. Britain can't afford it."
"But the students are in danger!"
"Children are always in danger, Mr. Potter. Do you think they would be any safer elsewhere? I assure you there are monsters in every school, every settlement, every forest, every place where victims are in ready supply. The one responsible for these actions, the true monster behind these deaths, will be found and destroyed. The irrational fear of students and their parents will not speed things along. Quite the opposite."
Harry said nothing for a while, turning over the man's words in his head and prodding the weaknesses he found.
"What was the contract I signed?"
Voldemort hesitated for a moment, considered lying or editing his words, but knew Harry was too aware of him for either option to work.
"It's old. Almost as old as you are. I wrote it the night before I brought my Death Eaters into the Chamber of Secrets, the private study and laboratory of our ancestor Salazar Slytherin. There was no other way to enter the school without setting off the castle's defenses, but I did not wish that magnificent place to be disturbed by unworthy fools in search of knowledge and power not rightfully theirs. So I wrote that contract, and had every Death Eater I took there sign it, magically binding them so that they could never speak, write, find again, or otherwise communicate what they had seen with anyone other than myself or those who signed the contract. Not even Severus knows the specifics of it, as he never signed it and I wrote it in parseltongue."
"So if I found something out, I couldn't even tell Snape about it?"
"I suppose not, but I doubt it will be a problem. Severus has done a marvelous job with security. I suspect the matter will be resolved sooner rather than later."
Harry didn't look reassured, and frankly he was looking down right pissed. Voldmort stood, moving closer, touching Harry's cheek.
"Whatever happens, I will protect you, my little prince."
"It's not me I'm worried about."
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1. Celtic Goddess of the Moon and Inspiration. One of them anyway. There's no strict hierarchy of Gods and Goddesses in Celtic religion, and most are regional and subject to name and authority changes.
Author's Note: Now, don't any of you get the strange idea that Voldemort is some sort of 'Green Living' messiah who wants to save the Earth. He's more of an angry idealist, and everyone should know the dangers of people like that. Plus, despite the warm fuzzies Harry got during the ritual offering, 'Mother' isn't exactly all bunnies and unicorns. In fact, She EATS bunnies and unicorns regularly. Just a little food for thought.