Harry barely managed to strip himself of his work clothes before falling onto his bed. He ached from head to toe—even his ears hurt, possibly from the task of holding up his glasses.

Speaking of his glasses…

Harry gazed, forlorn, down at where his wand rested in the pile of his clothes that was now out of reach. His glasses were still magically stuck to his face, which meant he would have to remove them wandlessly.

Harry knew how to do minor acts of wandless magic, and therefore he was accustomed to sticking and unsticking his glasses without the use of his wand. Only right now he was exhausted, not to mention out of practice with magic in general, meaning the task of exerting enough magical power to force his glasses off his face didn't seem worth the effort.

Flopping onto his back, Harry shut his eyes. He could hear Nagini moving around, and he wondered if she would try to curl up on the bed. She liked to linger after he got up in the mornings so she could soak up the body heat left behind in the mattress.

Was there anything else he needed to do before he passed out? Harry forced his eyes open and blinked at the ceiling. He didn't feel any sense of accomplishment from having completed the negotiations. To sit across the table from people he thought of as friends, or at least as colleagues—it had been difficult, to say the least.

"When will you wake?"

Harry startled. He'd already forgotten that Nagini was here. "Um," he said. "Can you wake me at… eight?" That was a regular time to be up for work, and Voldemort hadn't told Harry to be awake at any particular time, so he'd just have to assume it was business as usual.

"Yess," Nagini said. It was odd to hear her voice from far away, like it was disembodied. "Now ssleep," she added.

"Okay," Harry said, the word slurring. "G'night, Nagini."

His eyelids closed, bathing his vision in blessed darkness, and Harry let his consciousness tumble away from him.


Harry woke to weak sunlight streaming in through the window. As he tried to shift away from it, he was alerted to the fact that he was only in his undershirt and pants, and that his legs were all twisted up in the bedding. A noise akin to a weak mumble escaped his lips. His head was throbbing, and the light was not helping.

"Awake?"

The sudden question spooked him, only he was too wiped out to even jump away from the sound. His arms and legs were very far away from his brain.

"Mhmhergh," Harry said. He tried again, this time in Parseltongue, "Yess."

"Good. I want the warm sspot."

Harry angled his head just enough to see Nagini peer up and over the edge of his bed. The sight of her tickled something in the back of his mind, only his headache prevented him from trying to seek out the source of the disturbance.

"Morning," Harry said to her, then winced at the damage his normal volume of speaking did to his aching brain.

Nagini didn't respond, though she did set her head down on the bed, moving closer, staring at him.

Harry exhaled slowly, hoping that this would help to ease the pain, and went to sit up. His head spun, but it wasn't too bad. He'd been through worse before, and he thought that if he could just make it to Voldemort's study and sit down, then it would be alright.

Gazing about the room, Harry made a mental list of what he'd need to do to make himself presentable. He could brush his teeth, or he could use a spell as a quick fix. Either way he'd have to get dressed, so maybe it would be better to save his energy for that.

Sliding his legs off the bed, Harry stepped over to where his wand rested atop the pile of yesterday's clothes. His hair felt vaguely sweaty where it was plastered to his neck and forehead. Voldemort wouldn't like that, because he liked it when Harry was clean and put-together. But they were staying here at the manor today, so Harry could only hope that it wouldn't matter.

Harry plucked his wand up and cast a Freshening Charm. It worked somewhat, though the sudden rush of using his magic caused a sharp spike of pain to drive through his skull.

This was going to be hard. Harry braced himself and cast the spell to work the bad breath out of his mouth. That one was easier to do, as the mouth was a smaller area, but he still felt the drain as his magic worked itself through his wand.

Harry walked over to his wardrobe, careful to take slow, small steps. He would just throw a set of robes on; it didn't matter if there was nothing on underneath, because they would be staying in. Harry repeated this fact a few times to convince himself of its validity, then reached for the closest article of clothing—a set of navy robes.

Then Harry looked over at his bed, noting that Nagini was gone. The door to his room had also been left open. Had she left? Did she not want to sleep on the bed?

Harry glanced around the room in confusion, just to make sure she wasn't hiding somewhere else. He would have stooped to look under his bed, only he didn't think his headache would be able to handle the motion.

"Nagini?" he asked in a whisper. There was no response.

Swallowing around his dry throat, Harry tugged the robes on over his head, avoiding any sharp, sudden movements. Once done, he caught sight of himself in the mirror nearby. To be honest, he looked awful. Harry raised a hand to his hair, half-heartedly fussing with it.

Whatever. There wasn't anything he could do to fix how he looked now, and if he kept this up he was going to be late—

Harry's eyes landed on the clock, and he mentally recoiled in shock. It was half-past eleven.

He was already late. It was as though the floor had dropped out underneath him, like he was once again in that blasted padded room, waiting for the next horror to come—

There was a panicked moment in which Harry tried to find his glasses, only to remember that they were still on his face. Harry shuddered and went to find his shoes, ready to hurry over and make his apologies. Why hadn't Voldemort come to wake him? He must be mad that Harry had overslept so much… the Voldemort that Harry knew didn't tolerate tardiness or excuses.

Shoes on, sockless, Harry stumbled for the door. Only that was a mistake, because his vision swam, fading in and out of clarity, and Harry thought that he might throw up.

No. He was fine.

Harry rolled his shoulders, tried to steady his breathing again. His stomach felt funny, only he couldn't be getting sick, because he couldn't. This was all just really horrible timing; he could push through it.

He made it halfway down the hall, staggering like an Inferi. It was only then that it occurred to him he might not actually make it to the study.

If he didn't make it to the study, then Voldemort would certainly come looking for him. Voldemort discovering Harry passed out on his lush carpet was probably not the best situation for Harry to put himself in. Maybe he would get points for at least trying to reach the study, even if his efforts had ultimately resulted in failure.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Harry had wrapped an arm around his stomach, a desperate, last-ditch attempt to hold himself together, because the sight of Lord Voldemort standing not five meters away was enough to send another jolt of pure anxiety running through him like a live current.

"Did I not tell you to rest?" asked Voldemort.

"Um," Harry said. He tried to remember if Voldemort had told him that last night, but everything in his brain was fuzzy. He still felt sort of ill, like his legs were about to fold at any moment, and following their current conversation was already taking up a lot of his limited concentration.

"Ridiculous," Voldemort muttered, drawing closer.

Harry flinched back, unthinking, and this recoil was what at last destroyed his inner equilibrium. His entire body swayed, leaving him with no choice but to sink to the floor, praying to Merlin that he wasn't about to throw up all over the Dark Lord's feet.

Voldemort was speaking again, but the sounds were incomprehensible. Knees on the ground, Harry inhaled in through his nose, a slow expansion of his lungs, trying to still the spasm in his chest, trying to not look weak.

A hand touched his arm, gentle but insistent, and Harry jerked away from it with a wobble, the floor spinning as he did so.

"I'm not fragile, Tom," Harry spat, incensed at how winded he sounded. He was fine, he just needed to catch his breath a little.

Then there was a moment in which Harry regretted—regretted!—his sudden outburst, because Voldemort stilled, his hand dropping with a slow, agonizing motion.

"Very well," said Voldemort, cold and distant, pulling away even further.

Harry straightened, looking over, and—

The ground fell away, and Harry yelped, undignified, as he was levitated into the air and rotated onto his back.

"You're insane," Harry wheezed as Voldemort hovered him along.

"I'm doing this for you," Voldemort told him.

"Sure you are," said Harry. "Not because I house a piece of your soul or anything like that, right?"

Harry's body rocked slightly as they came to a sudden halt in the middle of the hall, and Harry mustered enough energy to glare up at the Dark Lord.

"You underestimate your value to me," Voldemort said, and the honesty on his face—tucked into the soft lines of his brows and mouth, burning red in the raw intensity of his piercing gaze—was shocking to Harry, whose mouth dropped open despite himself.

Voldemort meant it.

Dazed, Harry did not protest as they continued to his room, where Voldemort deposited him onto the bed. Then Voldemort moved away, and Harry could only lie there, confused and weak, until Voldemort returned with a potion in hand. The cork came off, and that was how Harry found himself being spoon fed like a child while Voldemort glared at him.

Once the potion was gone, a glass of water was next, though thankfully Voldemort conjured a straw for Harry to use. Neither of them spoke, which was also nice. Harry sipped delicately at his water, horrifically embarrassed by the entire scenario but also too drained to really care that much about what was going on.

Voldemort stuck around, and Nagini came by after another minute or so. According to Voldemort, she had a vole in her mouth, and so she remained on the floor and out of Harry's field of vision while she consumed her snack. She must have gone and told on him while he'd been dressing for the day, and that was why Voldemort had come to find him in the hallway.

It was shortly after having this thought that Harry began to doze. He was going to fall asleep with Voldemort in the room. This unnerved him, not because he now knew that Voldemort would never hurt him, but because he felt that—like with Nagini—Voldemort would not let him die or come to harm, regardless of what Trelawney's prophecy had said.


When Harry had woken up, Voldemort had still been in the room, reading a book. He had looked up upon hearing Harry's sudden coughing, and he had asked if Harry needed food or water, to which Harry had responded in a slow affirmative, voice dry and cracking.

It was strange. All of it was strange. Though Harry had been preoccupied with negotiations recently, it had not escaped his notice that Voldemort was acting unlike his usual self.

There were a number of events that were cause for confusion. Theodore's sudden promotion, the destruction of Harry's prison cell, and the clemency that had been granted to all Order members who were willing to surrender. And Theodore had even said that Voldemort was more lenient when it came to his own people now that Harry was around.

Harry had been hoarding the scraps of his plan in the back of his head, only… it seemed like his plan had come together without him needing to do anything at all.

He had wanted Voldemort to be better, to become more human. Because those bits of humanity Harry had witnessed when Voldemort doted on Nagini were real. That wasn't a switch on and off for that kind of thing—either you cared, or you didn't. And if Voldemort had the capacity to care, that meant Harry stood a chance of convincing him to do the right thing.

So Harry had planned to win the Dark Lord's trust, to become the perfect aide that Voldemort had desired. To earn respect and be able to provide sound advice—reasonable, moral advice—that Voldemort could be persuaded into following. To turn Voldemort into a good a person as he could manage.

Neville, who was the one that had harmed Nagini, had been offered the same deal for leniency as the rest of the Order members. That was a move that had shocked Harry, who would have guessed that Voldemort's desire for vengeance would have overpowered all else. Though Harry supposed that if anyone was to break their signed agreement, the consequences would be more dire.

"Harry," said Voldemort.

Harry looked over. There was a tray of food hovering before him. He must have really zoned out if he had missed an entire meal appearing.

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Can you eat without assistance?"

Harry quickly grabbed the spoon on the tray and pulled the bowl of tomato soup towards him. "Yes, I can."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but he did not move from his chair, so Harry felt safe to eat without the possibility of being interrupted and spoon-fed.

"If you were feeling unwell, you should have kept to your room," Voldemort said.

"Sorry," Harry said. He hadn't thought about that. If he was sick, he could pass it onto other people. "I didn't mean to get you sick or anything."

The book in Voldemort's hand snapped shut. "That is not what I meant."

Harry focused on his soup, hopeful that Voldemort would say what he had done wrong so he wouldn't have to guess at it. The tomato was nice, Harry decided absently, and it wasn't too salty.

Voldemort watched him, crimson eyes intent, and Harry tried to ignore the staring, because he was beginning to feel like all of his thoughts and feelings were being laid bare.

Soon the soup was gone, and still neither of them had spoken. Harry felt guilty. He wasn't sure why, because the emotion wasn't traceable to any logic he could think of; all he knew was that he disliked the fact that he was lying here in bed, ill and useless, while Voldemort regarded him with that odd look of frustrated admonishment.

Was Voldemort going to hang around all day? What about the research they were supposed to be doing? Harry opened his mouth to ask about this, only Voldemort beat him to it, speaking, and so Harry fell silent to avoid interrupting.

"You would work yourself to the bone for those who would abandon you at first opportunity," Voldemort said slowly, mystification colouring his words. "The care you provide, the allowances you make—all for the sake of another life saved. You volunteer yourself for pain, for suffering beyond the limits of most other wizards. I do not understand it."

"You don't have to," Harry said. "I just know that all lives are worth saving. No matter what."

Voldemort appeared amused by this. "Even mine?"

"Even… even yours," Harry said, working to keep his voice firm.

All lives had value, even Voldemort's, and given everything that had happened, Harry felt as though they stood a good chance of someday reaching that utopia Voldemort had promised.

Maybe Albus was right. Maybe Voldemort could never know love, could not understand it. But if there was one thing in the world that ought to be universal, Harry thought, why wouldn't it be love? Why the hell not.

Voldemort could care. He could be kind. How many times had Voldemort mocked kindness, mocked the heartfelt feelings that Harry carried with him wherever he went? These were the emotions Voldemort claimed to not understand. The emotions that had prompted Voldemort to take an interest in Harry to begin with.

We all fear what we do not understand, Harry thought. Voldemort was no different.

"You would try to save me?" Voldemort asked. His tone had gone cold—derisive, dismissive.

A tired smile cracked through Harry's exhaustion, spreading warmth throughout his chest. Maybe Voldemort didn't think of himself as someone in need of saving, but…

"I am trying," Harry said. This time, his voice did not waver.


A/N:

the next chapter is already written and is undergoing editing. i think as i get closer to the end i will try to maintain a buffer chapter, just to make sure everything works out the way it should.

would love to know what you all think of harry's thought process in this chapter. next chapter, we will continue with the exploration of their current relationship.

anyways, harry is the best and i love him 😭✌ ❤️