Following the destruction of Harry's old room, relations were much improved. Harry was engaged and interested; he asked questions, he followed along at a rapid pace, and he performed to the standards at which Voldemort had originally hoped to achieve.
Even the occasional sweep of Legilimency was a mere precaution at this point.
As promised, Voldemort had provided leniency, had given Harry projects of his own choosing to work on. Projects involving volunteer service, projects involving young children. All of these were developments to appease a restless and worried public following the slow reduction of dragon pox cases, and so both Voldemort and Harry were kept busy throughout all of spring, hard at work on restoring public faith in its Ministry.
Busy as they were, rarely did the Dark Lord traverse the halls of the Ministry without Harry Potter by his side. Voldemort had even allowed Harry free roam of most of the manor so that Harry could peruse the library if he so wished, and so he could also utilize the study even when Voldemort was not present.
They had little time for walks outside, but when Harry did wish to venture onto the grounds, Voldemort would join him. And so they would walk, Nagini shadowing their steps and offering commentary on their surroundings. Voldemort would loan Harry a wand, and then watch as Harry transfigured prey for her to chase, an action that certainly rose his value in Nagini's eyes.
When the rush of work at last wound down, Voldemort felt it time to further extend his generosity. Harry had proven himself reasonable and competent, and Voldemort was now used to their long conversations on this or that, with Harry offering his opinions on everything from cellular technology to the regulations around the treatment of dragons.
So it was a late Saturday evening when Voldemort directed Harry into his study. Harry settled into his chair without question; he even looked comfortable in it. A tray bearing fruit and wine popped into existence beside them, and Voldemort filled a glass for himself, trusting that Harry would partake if he wished.
"I have something for you," Voldemort said.
"Oh?" Harry perked up, eager. "Is it another project?"
Voldemort summoned a large plain envelope into his hands. "A gesture of my continued good will, Harry. Proof of my word given to you, and also as a memento for your personal keeping."
Harry took the envelope carefully, cradling it. "What is it?" he asked, voice soft.
"Open and see for yourself."
Harry untucked the flap and shook the contents out onto his lap.
Inside the envelope were photographs—wizarding ones—of his beloved friends. Most of the shots had been taken at range, but there were some happy moments that had been captured up close. Granger and Weasley, their physical appearances altered in minor ways, but still recognizable, somewhat, as themselves.
"I acknowledge that you asked for distance from this," Voldemort said. "But I felt that you would prefer to see them alive and well, knowing that they are living the comfortable, untroubled life you envisioned for them. Am I correct in having anticipated this change of heart?"
"Yes," Harry whispered. His finger traced over the faces, trembling. His eyes were fixed firmly on the photos, but they were glassy, rife with emotion.
Satisfied with the reaction he had wrought, Voldemort retrieved an orange from the tea tray and began to peel it with wandless magic.
Then, after a long period of time filled only by the ticking of the clock on the wall, Harry added, "Thank you, sir."
Harry never referred to him as 'Lord', and Voldemort had found that the current mode of address was satisfactory. Perhaps with more time, Harry would be convinced to acknowledge Voldemort's lordship, and at that point he would reconsider whether it was necessary.
"I can keep these?" Harry asked, tentative.
"They are yours to keep," Voldemort responded.
Harry tucked the photos away and placed the envelope delicately onto the table next to him. "Thank you," Harry said again.
"You are most welcome, dear Harry. Now, there is another, less related subject I wished to discuss with you…"
They delved into talk of work, only Harry's bright eyes would stray every so often to the envelope on the table, and Voldemort felt a hum of satisfaction spread through him as they continued to speak late into the evening, long after the food and drink were gone.
Eventually, Harry fell asleep in his chair, body slumped, mouth slack. Voldemort debated waking him, debated levitating him to his room. In the end, however, Voldemort settled on leaving Harry in the study to spend the night. It was a plush chair, and Harry was a young man in fit shape. A night's rest in a chair would not do him harm.
Voldemort checked the empty fireplace, then cast a few Warming Charms on Harry's unconscious form. Those ought to hold until morning.
One last look—dark, shaggy hair, glasses sliding down the bridge of the nose—and Voldemort left, shutting the door quietly behind him.
"When will we leave the manssion next? Masster?"
They were strolling the woods, Nagini coiled up in Harry's arms. She claimed that Harry was warmer than Voldemort, more comfortable, and that therefore Harry ought to be the one carrying her when she didn't feel like moving. Voldemort had called her lazy and had chastised her for taking advantage. Only Harry had said, sheepishly so, that he didn't mind holding her.
This was how they had ended up in their current situation—Nagini's head peering up and over Harry's shoulder at her master, her entire body bobbing up and down with each footstep Harry took.
"I have no tripss planned abroad for the next while," Voldemort told her, well aware that Harry was listening intently to the answer.
Nagini hissed her displeasure. She enjoyed travelling and seeing the creatures of other nations, especially places of warmer climates.
"Do you travel often?" Harry asked. He had grown used to Parseltongue—it now came as easily to him as English did—switching from one language to another was seamless.
"When work permits," Voldemort answered in English. "I have had less time to travel for pleasure over the years, though there may be time yet for a brief holiday this summer, given the correct alignment of other events."
Now that Dumbledore was no longer a nuisance, Voldemort could conduct some personal research abroad that he had shelved in favour of managing his nation. Specifically, he hoped to continue his research on living Horcruxes. Perhaps there was no information to be found here in Europe, but there were plenty of unexplored myths and legends on other continents.
"You would accompany me," Voldemort added, "as I would be engaging in foreign relations as well."
"I'd like that," Harry said. "Are you… are we looking to expand?"
The question was innocuous, but Voldemort recognized the intention behind it. "As of now, we are not looking to expand our borders," Voldemort told him.
Harry nodded and resumed facing forward. Voldemort could almost hear Harry's thoughts ricocheting around, brushing up against that ever-present mental link that they shared.
"If you are worried for your friends—"
"I know," Harry said. "I know you promised they would be safe."
Voldemort regarded Harry, eyes narrowed, for some time as they continued to walk. Neither of them spoke; Voldemort was not offended enough by Harry's outburst to admonish him.
They made their rounds until the manor was in sight, and that was when Harry spoke again.
"The photographs of them were nice," Harry said quietly. "Sometimes—sometimes I worry I might forget about them. But I can look at the pictures you gave me, and I can remember what they look like. Sort of. What Hermione's smile looks like, with the little gap. How Ron's eyes crinkle when he laughs too loudly."
"You miss them." A factual statement; not one that Voldemort understood from experience, as he had never missed anyone before, but it was a concept he could apply to the situation at hand.
"I—yes. I miss them." Harry's face had crumpled into a resigned misery. He set Nagini gently upon the floor, then raised a hand to rub at his eyes and cheeks, stubbornly trying to push tears back into his head. "I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay?"
Voldemort did not answer. He had no strong desire to discuss this to begin with, let alone to push for more of it. "As you wish."
Harry wiped with his robe sleeve, face flushed. He seemed to be angry now—his brow furrowed, his jaw stiff. "I'd like to go to my room, sir."
"Dismissed."
Voldemort stood in the entrance hall as Harry trudged up the stairs in the direction of his room, sniffling all the while. And even after Harry was gone, Voldemort remained in place, thinking on what to do.
"Brooding," Nagini said, giving off the impression that she was judging him.
Voldemort glared at her, then stalked off to his office. There was still work to be done today, and he would busy himself with that instead of these inconsequential emotional problems.
Spring began to fade, the bright colours bronzing over to the golden hues of summer. Voldemort had settled his plans for the season, made the arrangements, given his lieutenants orders and directions to follow in his absence. Harry had been tasked with managing their travel itinerary. As such, he had been occupied with sending owls and making Floo-calls to organize their travel papers and various lodgings.
The summer journey, Voldemort hoped, would give the young man further distraction from his occasional bouts of moodiness. Harry would forget the misery of missing his friends, would see the world in its splendour, all that it offered them, the vast expanse of it that they would have all of eternity to partake and explore.
"You requested me, my Lord?"
Voldemort was in his office at the Ministry, looking over his plans for the month of June. He and Harry were due to leave for Egypt in a week's time. His young assistant had never left the country before, let alone the continent, and so Voldemort was sure that Harry would be both enthralled and impressed by the end of their trip abroad.
"Yes, Theodore. Do have a seat." Voldemort gestured, and Theodore sat down.
Theodore maintained a skillful level of repose as Voldemort scrutinized him. "How may I be of service?" Theodore asked, respectful and idle all at once.
It was clear why Harry had grown fond of this man. Such charm, such composure. "You have been Barty's assistant for ten years now, is that so?"
"I was hired straight from Hogwarts, my Lord." Theodore paused, then continued, "Mr. Crouch is an excellent supervisor, and I could not speak more highly of him. I am very grateful for my position, and the opportunities it has afforded me—"
"Opportunities, indeed." Voldemort retrieved a folder from his desk and tossed it across.
Theodore picked it up, flipped through the contents. "The Department of Magical Transportation?" he asked.
"Radford will be retiring at the end of this month. I would like you to replace him."
"I—" Composure fully frazzled, Theodore set the folder back down upon the table. It took a few seconds before he looked back up. "I am honoured that you would consider me for such a position."
"The period for consideration is complete. Consider the job yours." Voldemort waved an airy hand. "Barty will help you acclimate, and we will begin the transition immediately. By the time I return, I expect things to be running as smoothly as they had been, if not better."
"Yes, my Lord. I will do my utmost to meet your expectations."
Voldemort smiled. "See to it that you do so, and you will hear no complaint from me."
The list of places Voldemort and Harry visited over the summer was lengthy: Egypt, Rome, Dubai, Crete. A few days here and there, up to a week in some; the time passed with meetings full of handshakes and mealtimes full of new foods to try.
In the spare time they had, Voldemort led them to wizarding landmarks, to libraries and old temples, up mountains and along cliff sides. Harry was a quick study—he spoke intelligently on subject matters he was educated on and asked the right questions on the subjects he was not.
Though Voldemort himself maintained the fair complexion that the English were known for, Harry's darker skin warmed further over, adopting a healthy tan interspersed with faint freckles.
Nagini was certainly enjoying herself; she was sunning on the open verandas, soaking up the hot, humid weather, and demanding treats wherever they went. And Harry continued to indulge her, carrying her around and feeding her pieces of meat when she pestered him.
"You're well on your way to becoming her favourite," Voldemort said one day, when they were reading through trade contracts in the guest room they'd been given in Dubai.
"Am I?" Harry glanced out towards the balcony, which was where they had spotted her last.
"She's very picky." Voldemort slid the contracts away, massaging his temples. "A majority of my followers irritate her. But you seem to awaken her mothering instincts, which is why she insists upon spending time with you."
"I like her," Harry said, hesitant. "She's less, um, scary? Now that I can talk to her."
"I wouldn't say such things around her, lest she truly believe you no longer quake in terror when she draws near," Voldemort drawled. "She takes her reputation rather seriously."
Harry cracked a small smile at that. "Yeah, sure."
Voldemort waited to see if the conversation would continue, only Harry resumed staring toward the balcony, his eyes growing distant.
"I'm going for some air," Harry said. He straightened his clothing—a plain t-shirt and cargo shorts, a stark contrast to Voldemort's own crisp white shirt and charcoal trousers—and made for the veranda.
The moods of melancholy were less now that they were abroad, but they still happened with some regularity. The wrong word or subject could trigger it; Voldemort had not pressed for Harry's thoughts on these matters, but he was curious as to what inner turmoil remained. More grief for his friends? It was hard to tell, and Legilimency was no longer appealing as it had once been. Even if Voldemort was to uncover the thoughts that rested behind the sorrow, he doubted he would be able to comprehend them.
Harry's mind was an oddity, a strange place full of passionate ideals and firm beliefs. This mental strength had been worked into Occlumency shields, powerful ones that Voldemort knew only he would be able to shatter. Even Severus, who was long practiced in the skill, would be impressed by how far Harry had come.
Their return to Britain was heralded by the staff and the public alike. Much good news had returned with them; secure contracts with other nations for new, unique ingredient sourcing and profitable business expansions. Distance made the heart grow fonder, and the people were glad to see the return of their Minister and Lord.
The panic of the dragon pox outbreak was over, and people were eager for peace and prosperity in all its forms. Voldemort had planned for new legislation to pass upon his arrival—changes to the current system that would both improve the economy and reassure the citizens.
And so the month following was filled with Wizengamot sessions and private galas to build support. Voldemort attended events with Harry by his side, and his young assistant proved adept at navigating the high class waters of the Pureblood society, often attaching himself to Narcissa's social circles as he won favour with his perceived guilelessness and honest charm.
Additionally, Harry had taken the news of Theodore's promotion shockingly well, even though it meant the two of them saw less of each other. Voldemort watched the interactions from afar, admittedly intent on the changes the new distance would bring, but they maintained a respectable distance.
Perhaps Theodore had anticipated the separation, had utilized Harry's fondness to secure a higher position for himself.
The true answer was a mere interrogation away, only Voldemort also knew that a negative cast over one of Harry's few genuine relationships would snap the fragile contentment that had been hardwon over the summer. Still, it was safer to know. Other plans could be made in the case of Theodore's disloyalty.
So Voldemort called Theodore Nott to his office for the second time, requested his shields be dropped, and was permitted access into his mind.
Theodore was an organized man. His mind was compartmentalized, sorted with an efficient system that even Voldemort found agreeable. Therefore it was easy for him to find the information he desired, well-laid out as it was. Voldemort maneuvered through the mental space Theodore had allotted for Harry, picking through the memories here and there, searching for what was most hidden.
Inside of a locked room, at the bottom of a chest in a closed box, there was a pair of glasses.
Round frames, shiny lenses—there was little guess as to whose they were.
Voldemort retrieved them, lifted them up to the eye level of his projected self, and was swarmed with an overwhelming amount of everything. Emotion shoved its way to the forefront, a tide of mixed feelings that swelled up and over, threatening to break Voldemort's concentration.
Theodore was more than fond, only there was sadness there as well, a resigned acceptance to fate. Beyond the circumstances of their respective positions, there was fate that Voldemort had imposed, fate that would see Harry's life extending well beyond what Theodore would ever know or comprehend.
And then there was the intrigue that Voldemort had once named, the interest in Harry Potter that had led them to this situation—a schoolboy crush, of all things. Captivity had deposited Harry right within Theodore's reach, and Theodore had seized the opportunity as any decent Slytherin would have, seeking to win over what he had once wanted for his own.
Underneath that stoic exterior, the boldness and bravado, was inadequacy, fear of rejection; a worry that he would lose whatever connection he had with Harry to the Dark Lord.
Theodore would have been content with friendship, with his coy flirtations and their daily lunches together, only the wedge was now driven in. The various extenuating circumstances—Harry's reluctance to engage, and Voldemort's own meddling in their affairs. Distance would kill whatever remained between them.
"We're just friends."
"We are. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves."
The resignation clouding the memory was clear. Theodore was aware a relationship would never come to pass, would never hold, but he had given his best effort at making the most of the time he'd had; an effort worthy of acknowledgement.
Voldemort withdrew.
Theodore's face was pale, ghost-like, streaked with silent tears, but his back was straight and his chin held up, proud to the last. "M-my Lord," Theodore croaked. "Is that all?"
He wished to flee, and Voldemort could not fault him for that. His heart had been laid bare, his weakness made visible, his shame now prominent.
Harry would have hated to see this. To see pain wrought upon a person he cared for.
"One final thing," Voldemort said, "if you will remain but a moment longer."
Theodore shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes?"
"If you wish, I could utilize a combination of Legilimency and Obliviation to remove a portion of your memories. To relieve the burden, so to speak. A majority would remain intact, but the nuance, the context, those can all be erased."
"I…" Theodore glanced back at the desk, frowning. "A portion, my Lord?"
"The affection," Voldemort said softly. "The degree of care. A mercy I grant to you, as you have served well and earned my respect."
Voldemort allowed Theodore time to think, let the minutes slide on as Theodore sat in silence, blank eyes still fixed upon the wood grain of the table top.
"Thank you," Theodore said eventually, voice firm. "But I would like to keep my memories, if that is permissible."
"It is." Voldemort kept the surprise from his tone. "May I ask why?"
"Better to have loved and lost," Theodore said, quiet, wistful. Then he added, at regular volume, "I thank you for your kindness, my Lord. I understand your wishes, and I will keep my distance. If you must, make my excuses to Harry, but please—if I could make a request, in lieu of the favour you offered me—be kind to him."
A/N:
i feel really really bad for theodore... i'll make it up to him in another story maybe...
idk, maybe he'll come up again in this one? but really i should be putting him out of his misery lol
an outtake scene/bonus scene for this chapter between narcissa and voldemort can be found on my tumblr at duplicitywrites tagged under 'extras'.
anywayssssss, hope this chapter was fun and sexy otherwise? hoping everyone stays safe in these hard times.
