A/N: this is the beginning of the end. bunker down in a nice safe place to read this one.

if you haven't looked at it lately, i would suggest you remind yourself of the prophecy at the start of the story.


True to his word, Harry kept to regular working hours. They took their meals together, and spent their nights in the study or outside in the woods.

Voldemort felt more content than he had in years. His domain was at peace, his reign eternally secured, his closest aide loyal and devoted. The mystery of his Horcruxes was all that was left to uncover.

And there was no more talk of saving or understanding. Voldemort itched to use Legilimency again, to search Harry's mind for the meaning behind those words. But to tread over the line he had left untouched for many months now would not be well-received, he was sure. And so Harry's behaviour persisted with its bemusement.

Still, Harry's company was pleasant and appropriate, and so Voldemort sought ways to encourage a continuation of the positive behaviours. Harry was rapidly approaching the label of 'protege' rather than that of mere 'assistant', and would soon prove himself useful in regards to Voldemort's personal research.

Though unversed in the dark arts, Harry was intelligent and quick-witted, possessed of common sense and strong reasoning, and therefore the perfect model for Voldemort to impart his own wisdom and discoveries onto. It bode well for a prosperous future.


After a month, they moved from the study to a different room dedicated for larger research projects. Harry had not questioned the change in venue, but he had admired the high, curved ceiling and the spread of organized instruments and bookshelves.

Voldemort continued to perform various tests on his connection with Nagini, only it was near impossible to determine a numerical measure given the volatility and unpredictability of soul magic. He had also explained this dilemma to Harry, but neither of them had any idea of how to measure the strength of the connection through magical means.

"How old is she?" Harry asked one day.

Nagini was curled in Harry's lap, a blanket draped over her, rays of sunlight seeping warmth into the covering. They were well into spring now, and so Voldemort had opened a window high up in the wall to allow for sunlight to filter through.

Harry doted on Nagini. From what Voldemort could tell, the two were now close friends, and Voldemort's followers were suitably cowed by the sight of her draped around Harry's shoulders, snoozing.

"Some years older than I am," Voldemort responded.

Sensing she was being spoken about, Nagini stirred, her head lifting. Harry placed a hand on the side of her neck. "Are you sstill tired?" he asked her, frowning.

Nagini rolled her body over like a dog, looking up at Harry. "Never tired," she said, as though she had not spent the past two hours asleep, dead to the world.

Harry stroked his hand down her scales, the corners of his mouth still turned down.

Nagini hissed and slipped out of his lap, dropping to the floor. She didn't take well to pity, Voldemort mused. He and Harry watched as she went for the door, likely off to go frighten whoever she found in the manor so as to assert her dominance.

"How long do snakes like her normally live?"

Voldemort paused. "Familiars have a longer lifespan than their mundane counterparts due to the magical energy imbued in them. I cannot state with accuracy how long a similar snake as a familiar would survive, but for mundane snakes of her kind, certainly under twenty years."

Harry folded up the blanket Nagini had been using and set it aside. "So she's been around a while," Harry said, more to himself than to Voldemort. "Wonder what she thinks of it."

"Do you still worry for the future?" Voldemort asked, curious.

"I try not to think about it," Harry said, shrugging. "I'll take the years as they come, I guess."

Voldemort set down the instrument he had been holding—a long copper rod with engraved runes meant to measure ambient magic.

"Are there goals you wish to achieve? Activities you dreamed of doing once you graduated Hogwarts?" Voldemort avoided mentioning the war, hoping that Harry also wanted to put such times behind them.

Harry's hands twisted together; one of his nervous habits. "Not really. Helping people, mostly? But I already get to do that now—sort of."

"If you have ambitions," Voldemort said. "I am not unwilling to hear them out."

"I never—" Harry's face scrunched up, and he turned his head away to look at the shelf next to him. "I never thought about it, okay? I never thought I would get to have a future."

Voldemort had forgotten. Harry would have spent the last decade of his life expecting to die, and now… and now…

Thoughts of research were pushed aside as Voldemort said, "Now you do. Think, Harry, and imagine—the world stretches before you, unlimited and full of potential."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. He had forgone robes today in favour of a plain grey jumper, and so he looked smaller now, perched upon the wooden chair by the window, his head tucked down. "I'm okay with how things are," Harry said. "I don't need more."

If Harry did not have the answer for himself, then more questions needed to be asked.

"What subjects did you enjoy at Hogwarts?"

"Um." Harry shifted on his chair, sucking his lower lip into his mouth for a brief second. "I liked Defense, even though we always had a new professor every year. And Charms and Transfiguration, I guess."

Voldemort thought back to what he knew of Harry's time at Hogwarts. "I recall you turned down a Quidditch position in your first year."

Harry's shifted even more, fidgeting. "Yeah. My parents told me not to attract attention. But I was young and sort of stupid, and Draco Malfoy was just, erm, a prat." Harry laughed a bit, then continued, "So I could have made the team right then and there. Youngest Seeker in a century, they said. But I had to turn it down, I knew that much. Mum and dad went spare when they found out, albeit for different reasons. I think dad would have been fine if I had gone for it, only mum would have killed him..." Harry trailed off, blinking, and then he dropped his gaze back to his lap.

Voldemort found himself wishing—

"I… I do regret the deaths of your parents, Harry. I have said every drop of magical blood spilled is a waste—"

"Don't," Harry said. He was shaking now. "I don't want—" Harry drew in a loud, noisy breath, then blew it out all at once, the sound of it wet and distorted. "It's over," Harry continued, forcing the words out between gritted teeth. "There's nothing you or I can do to change that. I can remember them as they were, how I loved them and how they loved me, and that's it, alright?"

Discomfited and at a loss for what to do, Voldemort stayed where he was. Harry rubbed at his face with his sleeve, dislodging his glasses in the process.

"I'm going to go find Nagini," Harry said eventually. "And make sure she hasn't scared anyone to death yet."

He departed, leaving Voldemort to think over what could be done. Forever was a long time, and Harry wanted to remember his friends, his family. He was afraid of forgetting them, of doing their memories a disservice.

Harry liked the photographs Voldemort had given him well enough, only photographs were not comparable to the reality of having someone at hand. Raising the dead aside, there were few solutions that would be palatable to someone as sensitive as Harry. There were many items in this room, many of them rare and expensive, only none of them would address the current problem.

Voldemort thought it over. What would allow Harry the closest connection with his departed friends and family? After asking this question, the solution became obvious.


In late July, Voldemort had procured the desired item and placed it into his study. A place that he and Harry both frequented, but also a place where Harry could find privacy if he so wished.

A small Pensieve carved from green alabaster and inlaid with pearls now rested in the corner of the room, next to the main bookshelf across from the fireplace.

Pristine and unused, the Pensieve had come at high cost, but such an item was worth the price it had extracted in exchange for the utility it offered. Pensieves were personal, not meant to be shared, and so this one would be only for Harry to use, to store memories of his loved ones.

Voldemort presented the Pensieve without commentary, trusting that Harry would understand the purpose of the gift.

Harry traced the rim with an index finger, blinking rapidly.

"You know how to use it?" Voldemort asked.

"Y-yeah." Harry caressed the edge of the shallow dish with an unsteady hand, then added, in a soft tone, "Thank you."

"I will leave you to your recollections."

Satisfied, Voldemort exited the room. With time, Harry's attachment to his memories would lessen, and he would require less use of the Pensieve. But for now, the Pensieve would serve to soothe Harry's fears in such a way that required little effort on Voldemort's part.


Autumn arrived, and Voldemort increased the frequency of their walks outside, hopeful that the exercise would do Nagini some good. She complained of the cool air, but was eventually cowed by promises of being carried by Harry once she grew tired.

"You had Nagini before you made her a Horcrux, right?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Voldemort said, recalling the memories with fondness. "She had been my familiar for many years prior. My ability to converse in Parseltongue ensured a stronger bond between us than those that exist between typical wizards and their familiars. When she became my Horcrux, our bond intensified further."

"Sometimes," Harry said, "I can sense if she's nearby. Is that normal? Because we're," he stumbled over the word, "connected?"

"It aligns with my own ability to sense her." And his ability to sense Harry.

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "It's not like when you're nearby," Harry continued. "It feels different."

"I expect the connection is strongest when you are near me."

Harry gazed out into the trees ahead, where Nagini was no doubt hiding. Then his eyes snapped back to Voldemort with a sudden clarity in them, green irises sharpening into flawless emeralds. "Have you tried testing that? Measuring the distance? How far away she can be before you stop sensing her, I mean."

Voldemort halted in place as the meaning of the words hit. "Yes," he said, "yes, that would work—" His hand, which had thrown itself out in gesticulation, clenched into a fist, and he swung into a pacing loop, mind awhirl with fresh thoughts. "We will track her distance and compare it with yours."

Harry was nodding along, excited.

"Excellent idea," Voldemort praised. This simple conversation felt like the most progress he had made since embarking on this project. "We will take down an initial set of data today, and track the progression over time, say, two or three months."

"Okay," said Harry. "And I can help?"

"With the measurements," Voldemort said, making the snap decision. "The interpretations of our results may not be apparent for some time." Voldemort would maintain control over the experiment, but Harry's desire to help would also be appeased; it was the perfect solution.


Months passed. The regular testing Voldemort conducted on his familiar divulged a disturbing pattern: his connection with Nagini was weakening. Hardly noticeable on a daily or weekly basis, but the negative trend, however little, painted a worrisome picture.

Voldemort kept this information to himself. Though Harry had been moving along in his studies, there was no need to concern him...

They were now far into winter, and the manor was quiet. Voldemort had mandated visits only for matters of great import, and so the manor was now less of a base for command and more of a proper living space. Voldemort had ordered extra blankets for all the rooms, in case Nagini came in looking for warmth, but they were partly for Harry's benefit as well.

One night they were in the study together, reading silently, and Harry had one of said blankets draped over his shoulders like a cape as he said, "I think Nagini might be sick."

The book on immune systems was in Harry's lap, spread open to one of the latter chapters. Harry had reread this book many times; Voldemort was unsure why, but he had never bothered to ask.

"What makes you say that?" Voldemort asked, keeping his question devoid of overt inflection.

Harry looked down at the carpet, shuffling his feet. "She's sleeping a lot, more than usual. Or what I think is more than usual? And she doesn't say so, but she gets tired more quickly. It's not a huge thing, just what I've noticed 'cause we spend a lot of time together."

"I see." If Harry was noticing changes, then the issue had progressed beyond the point of denial.

"Should I be worried?" Harry asked. "Maybe she should be looked over by Ernie. Or if there are specific healers for familiars, we should get one of those."

"I am monitoring the situation," Voldemort said briskly. "You need not concern yourself." With a snap of his fingers, the book flew out from Harry's possession, landing in Voldemort's outstretched hand.

"So she is sick," Harry said, frowning.

Voldemort cursed to himself and waited to see if Harry would push the matter further. When Harry remained quiet, Voldemort felt a sudden irritation wash over him. He stood, swept past Harry, and left the room, unwilling to look at those sympathetic green eyes any longer.

In the past, such a dark mood would have been remedied with a torture session or two, an exercise of his supremacy, a release of restless, raging energy. But Wizarding Britain had settled into an era of peace, and so such an activity was no longer… viable.

Besides, it was best to avoid torturing prisoners while Harry was in the manor. No doubt Harry would attempt to volunteer himself as a substitute. Voldemort was in no mood to entertain the ensuing argument as Harry became a proponent for morals, or kindness, or whichever heroic mantle he had decided to represent today.

Voldemort took dinner alone in his rooms, paging through the half-dozen books he owned on Horcruxes. At the current rate of deterioration, Nagini had, at most, five years before their connection failed entirely. And once that connection failed… then what?

Frustrations mounting, Voldemort turned his attention to the book he'd taken from Harry. Taking it had been an impulsive decision triggered by a desire to know what about this subject interested Harry so much. Had this book prompted Harry's question?

Opening to the chapter Harry had been looking at, Voldemort scanned the contents. The writing was heavily archaic and technical; Harry must have had to reread this book a few times to absorb the meaning. But Voldemort remembered this chapter well, and thus was able to summarize the information quickly.

Muggles died for mundane reasons. Illness, old age; the bodies they were dependent on eventually failing them. Their health declined, their hearts and minds deteriorating. Weaker, less powerful; this was only a further sign of their lower place on the hierarchy. Muggles were commonplace and beneath magical beings.

Magical beings were different. Bodies sustained on magic were resilient, less prone to common illnesses and physical injuries. Magic could keep oneself alive beyond the norm—hence the longer lifespan when compared to mundane counterparts. It was only when magic failed, fading away, that death came knocking.

And so Voldemort had sought a solution for this with his Horcruxes. His magic would never fail, and death would never take him.

Having a Horcrux permanently sealed a piece of soul and magic inside of an object, thus ensuring eternal life. The magic imbued would not fade, and so the soul fragment would live on forever.

But Nagini was not an object. She was a living creature with her own magic; magic that could fade. Magic was consumed by her very existence, an existence tied to the piece of Voldemort's soul that resided within her. Magic that would someday fade to nothing, leaving her bereft of that which had sustained her.

Voldemort dropped the book to the floor. The potential loss of a Horcrux did not bother him, as he had others to safeguard his immortality, but the potential loss of Nagini—

Voldemort had sought to place himself above death, and he had succeeded.

He had, foolishly so, assumed the same would apply to his familiar. And not only Nagini, but Harry—

Harry was not exempt from this, either.

Voldemort's two companions, two that he had believed would follow him into the vast, unending stretch of the future that lay before them. The golden era of peace he had envisioned was now marred beyond recognition.

There would be no rest, could be no respite, not while this potential for unacceptable losses remained.

Because this was unacceptable, intolerable, and Voldemort would need to apply himself fully to the task of ensuring their survival.


A/N:

from the beginning, then:

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.
Born when the seventh month died, the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal.
He will defy the Dark Lord thrice, and he will become the Dark Lord's greatest challenger.
He will live while the Dark Lord reigns, and the Dark Lord will rule as long as he survives.

named events in the prophecy are tied to specific elements of the story.

'mark him as his equal' = the scar that voldemort carved into his chest.
yes, harry does have the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, but that was the act of magic, of lily's sacrifice. and in this case, voldemort didn't truly start to see harry differently until harry offered himself in place of the cattermoles. it is then we see voldemort's slow descent into obsession, and later, affection.

'defy the Dark Lord thrice' = the cattermoles, remus lupin, ron and hermione.
all of them permitted to live because of harry's interference. because harry's morality defies expectations; he is willing to do anything to save people. the fourth time, the lives of the order members are offered freely. harry never would have refused the opportunity to lead the negotiations, and voldemort knows this. they have come to an understanding.

'become the Dark Lord's greatest challenger' = ?
this will happen in the next chapter. any guesses?

and then, of course, the last line of the prophecy... the interpretation remains to be seen.

thank you for reading.

next chapter we return to harry's pov.