Though his main purpose abroad had been to gather research on Horcruxes, Voldemort had uncovered very little over the summer. Many powerful magic users in the past had created Horcruxes, but he, Lord Voldemort, was the only being that had become powerful enough to create seven. And tales of living Horcruxes were vague and exaggerated, offering no substantial basis for him to build any theories.

Thus forced into original research, Voldemort extracted one of his earliest Horcruxes, his boyhood diary, from its hiding place in the hopes that some testing would reveal some new information. He would compare results from the diary to Nagini and uncover the differences between them.

Nagini found the trials amusing—she claimed many of the spells Voldemort tried on her tickled, and that she found the sensation enjoyable. Even so, she tended to nap as he ran tests, which was odd given the lingering summer heat, but Voldemort attributed it to the coziness of the room and the familiar presence of her master by her side.

When Nagini was near, there was a feeling of harmony between them, a resonance borne of the soul piece inside of her—a feeling similar only to the resonance Voldemort shared with Harry.

But Voldemort did not want Harry around while he conducted these experiments. There was too much unknown, too many variables. It was safer to test first, and to test with caution, than to alert Harry to the idea of something being wrong. So time to research was limited, but as there was no rush, Voldemort felt he was making some progress at the least.

As promised, Theodore Nott was keeping his distance, claiming his new position kept him busy at every opportunity. And though Voldemort worried about this response provoking resentment—Harry did know that the promotion had been delivered by Voldemort's hand—nothing came of it. Harry carried himself the same as ever, and eventually the two drifted to become only colleagues.

Satisfied that the possibility of future attachment was eliminated, Voldemort turned his attention to resolving the original problem—Harry's grief over losing his friends. Though it had not truly happened yet, as they still lived on, albeit out of reach, it would happen someday nonetheless, and so Harry needed to find closure now, while they were alive, to avoid becoming more upset later on, when they were dead.

The sooner such weaknesses were worked through and disposed of, the better.

In the meanwhile, Voldemort enjoyed the relative peace of ruling his nation. The Order of the Phoenix had gone quiet, perhaps at last realizing they could not win against Voldermort's secure leadership, or perhaps they knew should their remaining captains be captured, the drawn-out war would be finally forced to end.

Taking advantage of the radio silence, Voldemort put in an order to increase funding to the DMLE, determined to squash the threat once and for all.


"What happened?"

Voldemort ignored Harry's question, pushing forward into the office and setting the clear, magical sphere that contained Nagini down upon the desk.

It was then that Harry took in the state of them both—bloody, dishevelled—and his eyes flew wide. "Where have you been?" Harry demanded, voice shaking.

"Silence, Potter," Voldemort snapped. He dispelled the stasis and recast, then turned his attention to his bookshelf, mentally sifting through the titles and the contents. Nothing here was what he needed.

Harry looked about to protest again, only as he approached the desk, he jerked back in shock from where Nagini was hovering inside of the sphere.

"Is she hurt?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Voldemort answered. He was tense, temper already frayed beyond belief, but hearing the genuine concern in Harry's question soothed him somewhat. "I require some books from the study."

Harry straightened. "Which ones?"

Voldemort rattled off the titles, and Harry bolted for the door without the need for a dismissal.

Within the sphere, Nagini rotated. She was frozen, held in space and time, her injuries paused only by the power of her master's magic. Voldemort could feel the drain, the pull of his already dwindling reserves, as he fed energy into maintaining the stasis.

If this did not work, her eye would be permanently damaged in the way that only dark magic could accomplish.

Voldemort felt the fury build inside him again, that virulent, monstrousness inside of him. The burning outrage, the dark oblivion that would open up to unleash the unspeakable upon those who sought to destroy him. How dare they do this—how dare they—

There was a loud, ear-splitting crack. The bookshelf he had glanced at only a minute ago had splintered due to the overflow of his magic, the raving pulse of his temper.

Just then, Harry stumbled back through the door, face red with exertion. Voldemort should have given him a wand, the better to summon the books once he had gotten close enough, but it was too late for such a thought now.

"The Depths and Glory," Voldemort said, snapping the fingers of his free hand.

The book met his palm, and Voldemort set it down upon the desk, flipping the pages, eyes scanning. Normally, he would have levitated the book and gone through it wandlessly, but he was loath to waste even a drop of magic now.

Harry maneuvered closer, setting the rest of the books upon the opposite side of the desk, giving Voldemort a wide berth in which to work. He remained silent for a minute, watching as Voldemort continued to seek answers.

"Osbert's book," Voldemort bit out, tossing the 'The Depths and Glory of the Darkest Arts' aside with a thump.

A new book slid across the desk to him, already open to the table of contents. Voldemort scowled and tore past it. These were his books, he knew what lay within the pages, only he had to be missing something still—

"Um," said Harry. "Can I help?"

"No," Voldemort told him. As well-meant as the offer was, Harry would know nothing of how to reverse such a spell, how to counteract such a dark curse.

"Yes," Harry said, intent.

Voldemort drew back, sucking in a breath. "You try my patience. Now is not the time for your stubborn arguments—"

"I know that." Harry's voice, even and controlled, struck a sudden chord, and Voldemort was reminded that Harry had once led soldiers, had once trained others to fight, had spent a lifetime learning the very tactics that would allow him to injure Voldemort and his followers.

"Speak," Voldemort commanded, "and make it quick."

"I recognize the spell," Harry said in a rush, rounding the corner and approaching the sphere. "It was—um. I know who must have cast it, but I think I could—I can—reverse it. Or slow it. The spell they used won't kill her, but it could cause permanent damage—"

"You know how to reverse it?" Voldemort cut across Harry's verbal exposition; he already knew the rest of the information.

"I think I can," Harry repeated.

Nagini's body made another full rotation while Voldemort scrutinized the young wizard before him, searching for malicious intent. Because while Nagini would not die, she could be permanently scarred or disabled, and Voldemort was not naive enough to believe Harry's loyalties lay completely with him.

Harry must have followed the direction of his thoughts, however, because he said, "I won't hurt her."

Another second passed, stretching out into eons, and then Voldemort stalked around the desk, undid the wards on the drawer, withdrew the stick of holly. The wand vibrated, gentle and aware in Voldemort's hand. Again, there was that familiar harmony.

The stick reversed, the handle swinging out in Harry's direction.

Trust.

Holly touched Harry's hand, sparking at the wand tip—a brief golden glow at its reunion with its owner—and then Harry swivelled to look at Nagini once more.

"I will drop the stasis," Voldemort said calmly. "And you will have less than a minute with which to work before the spell consumes her vision entirely."

"I can do it," Harry said, confidence straining, his voice rising an octave.

"On my count." Voldemort pressed his yew wand to the clear globe encircling Nagini. "Cast on three. One, two, three"

The sphere melted into the air, dissipating, and Harry's holly wand lit up with a bold cobalt colour, flashing vibrantly and coating the walls with its radiance.

The blood began to fade, vanishing from Nagini's scales, the wound of her eye knitting itself shut, sealing over, the whole of her pupil returning to normal. Harry's wand remained level, the power pouring forth, all of it directed purely at healing, at saving.

It should not have come as a surprise that Harry was well educated in reversing the effects of dark magic.

When the light faded, Harry was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat glossing his forehead. "She needs sleep now," Harry said, panting quietly between the words. "Two or three days of bed rest, potions for increasing hydration retention, and regular intakes of water."

When Voldemort did not speak, Harry added, "Um. I mean. It might be different for a snake, I don't know. But her eye should be okay now? Which is what you wanted, right?"

"Yes." Voldemort cast a silent spell to send Nagini to sleep, then gathered her into his arms.

"It's a really obscure spell," Harry continued to babble, "so you maybe only heard of it in passing. But the reversal is simple, only it requires a lot of, um, power, and concentration—"

"Quiet."

Harry fell silent, his eyes fixed on Nagini's snoozing form in the Dark Lord's embrace.

"I will take care of her," Voldemort said, once he was sure his voice would betray none of what he felt. "You may return to your room, and I will request your presence if it is required."

"I—okay. I hope she's okay." Harry blinked, then glanced down at his wand, which was still clasped in his hand. "Should I—?"

"Keep it." Voldemort turned away. Then he conjured a soft, round cushion of bedding to place Nagini's sleeping form down upon.

"Okay. I'll… I'll go, then."

Voldemort settled his familiar into the blankets, cast a Warming Charm to keep her comfortable, then returned to face Harry, allowing some of his exhaustion to slip into his posture, his gaze.

"Thank you," he said simply.

A tired smile split across Harry's face, transforming weariness to acceptance. "You're welcome."


"There are prisoners."

Harry startled as Voldemort approached his desk, nearly upsetting his inkwell. "Prisoners?" asked Harry.

"Yes." Voldemort stepped closer, looming over the desk, peering down at his assistant. "Not the one who injured Nagini, I am told, but prisoners nonetheless."

Harry stiffened, then relaxed. He blinked, licking his lips. "And?"

It had been a week since Harry had healed Nagini. Voldemort had not seen Harry much since then, busy as he had been with managing the fallout from the attack. The attack that he had led on the Order, expecting little resistance. But time had made them desperate, and desperation had led to viciousness—

In Dumbledore's absence, they had resorted to darker measures.

Voldemort would have applauded them for their tenacity if they had not been fighting against him.

"I am offering you… an alternative."

Harry set his quill down and, with great care, tidied his workspace, filing away the parchment he'd been working on. Then, once the desk was clear, he looked up. "Okay. What are the terms?"

Voldemort smiled. This was the dance they both knew very well, the quid pro quo that had brought them to this point.

"The opportunity to spare them all."

Harry twitched, his actions exposing his underlying nerves. "All of the prisoners?" he asked, as though to confirm this to himself.

"All of the ones I have, and any future prisoners that fall prey to my Ministry."

Harry's mouth fell flat. "That sounds too good to be true, you know."

"Ah, it does, doesn't it?" Voldemort paced away, moving over to his desk, settling into his chair. His robes flared, sweeping around his ankles with the sudden motion. "What do you suppose I will be asking for in return?"

Harry blanched, pushing back from his desk. He stood up, unsteady, and stepped towards the chair opposite Voldemort's. Voldemort waited, patient, as Harry fell into the chair. Harry's green eyes were wide and wild, a hint of fear creeping into the corners.

"I don't know," Harry said quickly. "What do you want?"

"The Order will not last. Not without Dumbledore, and certainly not without you." Voldemort braced his forearms on the desk, steepling his hands. "You must agree; their greatest fighters have fallen, or will fall, and the number of Muggleborns that remain in the country are few and far between. Any new births will be documented by my Ministry, and the Order will be unable to reach them before my people do."

Harry said nothing. He had the look of a man sentenced to the gallows.

"But all is not lost. You may save the lives that remain."

"Just—" Harry grit his teeth. "Tell me what it is."

"I am willing to engage in talks with the few leaders of the Order that remain. Conditional upon the fact that you will lead the negotiation for my Ministry, and that the only acceptable resolution will be their complete and total surrender."


Harry accepted the task, as Voldemort knew he would. The cost of denying it was too high, and the reward for succeeding was well worth the effort.

It followed, then, that Harry proceeded to apply himself to the job with such vigour that talk at the Ministry reached new levels of gossip. They called him a traitor, which was accurate enough, only they said it with smugness, with superiority. Which was a mistake, especially for those who did so before their Lord.

The additional return of Harry's wand had also drawn the curious gazes of those who knew how Harry Potter had once been one of the Order's highest ranking members.

But Voldemort paid no heed to the masses, trusting that his subordinates would correct their behaviours as necessary, and the whispers died nearly as soon as they had begun.

If Harry had heard any of the labels they'd tossed at him, he was doing a wonderful job of ignoring them; he had higher priorities to focus on. This was the final mercy Voldemort would grant to members of the Order; it was a gift to Harry, who had helped Nagini recover.

Harry had outlined the terms of surrender for the Order very succinctly. This was their only opportunity to live—they would be foolish to die for their ideals.

Talks went on for hours at a time. Harry was escorted everywhere he went by Death Eaters, and he was never left alone in a room with any members of the Order. Voldemort knew that they were attempting to convince Harry away from his position, only Voldemort had laid his terms down very clearly. There was to be no dissent amongst his ranks, and there was to be no flexibility in his decision.

So, as the negotiations wore on, Voldemort made note of the toll they took. Not only physical, but emotional as well, for Harry was struggling to reconcile his new directives with the spirited ideals of his past. Harry began to look tired, his responses less than enthusiastic, and Voldemort pressed for when these talks would cease, if only because it was obvious that Harry was suffering due to them, and he got the same response every time—

"I'm working on it."

Dark circles, dull eyes, waxy skin, and shadows around the jaw all marked the look of a man who had little time for his appearance. Voldemort was displeased with this, only this was the task he had set, and so it was impossible to retract it at this point. Harry would insist on seeing it through, and to withdraw him from the negotiations now would set them back weeks, if not months.

They drew closer to October—the month Harry had been captured in last year. The weather was colder, the lesser used rooms of the manor more chilly. Voldemort continued his research on Horcruxes, and it was during one such experiment that he was interrupted by a knock at the door; he recognized the sound of it.

"Come in, Harry."

Harry stepped into the room, and Nagini practically leapt off of the desk and slid towards him. Harry made no move to pick her up, merely allowed her to wind her way up his leg and around his torso, burying herself in the folds of his robes and draping her head over his shoulder.

"It's done," Harry said. "There's a mess of concessions to be made, but Barty's approved them all—"

"I am sure everything is in order." Voldemort held out a hand, and Harry passed a stack of parchments over. Magically binding contracts that would seal peace for their nation.

Harry stepped over to a chair and collapsed into it. Nagini made a noise at the sudden motion, nudging Harry's jaw with her head.

"He needss resst," she said to Voldemort.

Harry's mouth quirked at this, at being talked about as though he was a small child that didn't comprehend the meaning of sleep. Though, given the present look of him, it certainly seemed to be the case.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "It's just… been a long day."

Voldemort finished looking over the documents and set them aside. "I will tell Barty to give you the week off."

"What? No, I'm fine—"

"And you will assist me here, with my personal research. The Ministry will do without for five days, Harry."

Harry unclenched his hands from where they had sat on the armrests of his chair, his brows pulling together. "What are you doing here? Are you still looking into… into Horcruxes?

"Yes. Specifically, the connection between them, and how the connection affects their ties to the world of the living."

"Oh," said Harry.

Voldemort could tell that Harry was thinking about the mental link between them, only he was too uncomfortable to address it directly. "I have been measuring the strength of my bond with Nagini," he continued. "The pull of our entwined magic, and our ability to communicate through Parseltongue."

At the mention of her name, Nagini perked up, sliding over Harry's shoulder and down his chest, curling up on his lap. "And next will be the connection with the boy, yess? Masster?"

Harry reached out to stroke her scales. "Am I next?" he asked. It was a further sign of his exhaustion that his curiosity was dull, muted.

"I have not decided such a thing," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowing. "The hour is late. Return to your room, sleep, and we shall reconvene in the morning. I will explain further at that point."

"I'll go with him," Nagini said immediately, dropping down onto the floor.

This was amusing, because Voldemort had been about to signal for her to do so anyways. Only now she was acting of her own volition, which meant that Voldemort wouldn't have to promise her any extra vole in exchange for her monitoring.

Harry stood up, suppressing a yawn, and nodded. "Okay. Tomorrow, then." He left the room, Nagini at his heels.

Voldemort brought the documents Harry had delivered back to eye level. The terms were reasonable, and all members of the Order who had agreed to it would be granted clemency. Muggleborns that had lived under their care would be adopted into current magical families and allowed to reside in the country.

This day would pass into history books. The beginning of a golden age, an age that promised everything he wanted would soon be coming to pass.


A/N:

NEXT UP: consequences of harry running himself ragged over the past few weeks owo

i think i am on track to finish the story this month, so fingers crossed!