"I don't see the point in these," Ron complained as he tugged at the bonds encircling his wrists. "How am I supposed to do my job if my magic's encumbered."

"At least you might get your wand back soon. And the bonds aren't so bad, really. They don't chafe. Not skin, at least." Hermione said, showing Ron the silver cuffs that encircled her own wrists. Harry hadn't noticed she'd had such magical restraints at all; Hermione always wore her sleeves long, perhaps to hide not only these but the unsightly, albeit true, words that Bellatrix had mercilessly carved into her in the spring.

"Why doesn't Luna have to wear them?" Ron grumbled.

Harry bit his lip to keep himself from saying something that would only lead to a row. Besides, Ron was only blowing off steam. All three of them knew that, of the lot of them, Luna was the least dangerous—at least to others. Harry rather suspected that the curiosity that had gotten her mother killed was hereditary. Perhaps the seer sense Voldemort believed Luna possessed would stop her from doing something irreparably stupid—or perhaps it would be the catalyst that led to her demise. Harry hoped not, for she had a sweetness to her that nothing, not even being in constant company with a shitload of Death Eaters, could destroy.

"Even Professor Snape has to wear them," Hermione said, keeping her voice low to keep that very man from overhearing them—the rumours of the Dungeon Bat's inhuman hearing had not faded with time. Snape was watching them carefully, acting as temporary guard along with another young Death Eater whose name Harry hadn't bothered to learn.

"Well, considering that he—" Ron began, but his words cut off unnaturally, which only led to more grumbling. Along with Luna and Hermione, he had been sworn to secrecy regarding Snape's treachery. Everyone else still believed that he'd but fallen in battle and that the Dark Lord had resurrected his follower as a reward for good service. Ron glared at the Death Eater turned spy, as if the magical bonds limiting his magic were somehow Snape's fault. When that failed to elicit any kind of response from the bored Potions Master, he went back to the topic that he'd not left alone for the better part of the afternoon: "Are you sure he wouldn't bring back my family? I mean, they could wear these, too."

Harry sighed. They'd been over and over this and still Harry didn't know how to answer. It was a fine balance between doing what was needed to make Ron compliant and restoring the army that wanted nothing more than to see Voldemort's new regime fall. "I can ask him tonight," Harry finally offered. It was an easy promise to make and got Ron off the topic for at least a little while.

Better still, at that moment Luna appeared, and not alone. She was holding onto Draco's arm, and the two were speaking easily with each other. Draco laughed at something she'd said, then leaned in to whisper into her ear. She bowed her head forward, shyly, only to finally look up and nod with a huge smile on her face.

"Just what we need. What's he doing here?" Ron asked, ignoring the fact that they were currently in the Malfoy library. "And why is she—?"

"I think they're engaged," Harry answered. He'd really hoped that Ron wouldn't immediately take up a pissing contest with Draco, but considering that it had taken Harry well over a month to befriend the Malfoy heir, he really wasn't one to judge.

"We're courting, actually," Draco corrected. But judging from the secret looks he and Luna gave each other, Harry doubted that engagement was far off. "Not all romances are so whirlwind quick as yours, Harry."

Ron made a face even as Harry put in, "I don't think being told I was all at once married to the Dark Lord is, by all accounts, romantic."

"At least now you'll get a ceremony," Luna said. She handed over a stack of parchment. "I'm sorry we're late. I was setting up the new printing press for its inaugural task: the invitations. But before I can go further, you need to decide on the design."

Harry tried his best not to grimace as he flicked through the prototypes she'd given him. "Er, I'll show these to the Dark Lord this evening."

"Oh, he's already said for you to make the decision." Luna watched him expectantly as he went through them again, this time more carefully.

"They're all fine, I guess," he ventured. To be honest, nothing really struck him as suitable. There wasn't a single snake or skull image in the batch, and the pretty borders that decorated each sample felt terribly out of place. Perhaps that was why Tom had stuck him with the task of choosing.

To Harry's surprise, Snape left his post at the door to take a look. Harry handed him the stack without hesitation. Snape examined each in turn. "This one," he decided, placing his choice on the top of the pile and pressing them back to into Harry's hands.

Harry tilted his head as he took a closer look at the design Snape thought best. It looked exactly like all the others, the only difference was the type of flower that trailed around the top and bottom of the invite. "Why this one," he asked before he realized. "Oh. Yeah, this one." His throat closed up right after, and he shoved the parchments back to Luna before she could ask him something else.

Hermione went to take a look. She gave a small gasp when she took in the sample. "Lilies. For your mother."

"Are you okay, Mate?" Ron asked, cautiously.

"Of course, I am." Harry smiled painfully, his lips as thin as his lover's. He tried not to notice as Draco exchanged a knowing look with Luna before leaning in to whisper something to Ron.

Ron looked disturbedly back at the Slytherin for a second, then took a breath and turned back to Harry. "I keep going on about my folks, but have you thought to ask about your own parents?"

"What?" Harry croaked out. He coughed, trying to clear his throat. "What are you talking about?"

Ron swallowed. "He wants you to be happy. Right? You should ask if he'd bring back your parents. He said he would back in first year, if you joined him then."

Harry knew that Tom had just been trying to get Harry to hand over the stone. He would have said anything for it. Back then, Voldemort hadn't the power to do any such thing.

Now he did.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Harry murmured. Ron looked completely baffled at this. Considering that he'd probably do just about anything to see his family again, Harry could understand why.

"Harry is ashamed of the choices he's made and thinks they won't accept him," Luna said from behind him. Harry spun around, his face burning, and could feel the chill of truth settle in his stomach. How could she still be smiling, saying such things? And to make it worse, she wasn't done: "That's why he didn't want to bring you back, either. He was scared that you'd reject him."

"Is that true?" Ron asked, his voice strained. Harry's back was to him, and without seeing the other boy's eyes, he couldn't quite figure out if Ron's tone was one of cold repudiation or of disbelieving hurt. Harry glared weakly at Luna, then twisted round again to find out. He was sure his face was as red as Weasley hair.

Harry finally found his voice, managing to scrape out, "Yeah, that's about right."

Ron closed his eyes, and whatever had been there before—hurt or anger or disbelief—was gone by the time he'd opened them again. Now all that could be seen in those brown depths was sincerity. "You can't think that. First off, I'm here for you. No. Matter. What."

Harry shrank into his shoulders and shamefacedly nodded.

"Secondly, there's no way that your mum and dad wouldn't accept you. They loved you. Nothing would change that. Mate, they died for you."

Harry looked down at his feet. "They only protected me so that I'd be around to defeat the Dark Lord. Now look at me."

"You foolish, idiotic boy." Harry had thought that Snape had left after he'd selected the lily design. He was wrong, for now he was swooping towards them, a dark blight on Harry's darker mood. "Neither of your parents protected you for that twice-damned prophecy. They died to keep you safe. Not a saviour. Not the Chosen One. You. The only future they were hoping to save was one with you—their son—in it."

Harry would have downed an entire cauldron of Draught of the Living Death to be away from that reproachful scowl. He couldn't duck away from it, though, no matter how much he tried. "And what about Sirius? What would he think of it all?" Harry hated himself for asking even as the words came. But if it would get Snape to stop staring at Harry as though he were a complete dunderhead, it was worth the risk. "You know he hated anything Dark."

"Even the mutt wouldn't wish you dead, not if there was another way," Snape said, his lips twisted along with Harry's stomach. "I might have hated Black, but there's one thing I don't doubt: if Albus had told him what you were, you can be sure he wouldn't have played into the Headmaster's hands. He would have done something with the information, even if it did mean turning his back on the Order." His voice had softened as he spoke, the dismay of his own failure to protect the son of his childhood friend evident.

Harry nodded, not sure if he believed Snape, but desperately wishing it were true. He felt the pricks of tears and turned away. "Maybe," he agreed once he was sure his voice wouldn't crack.

"Not 'maybe'," returned Snape vehemently. "Definitely."

Harry felt a small hand press against his arm. He tried his best not to pull away from Luna, who was only trying to comfort him. "Of course the professor is right, Harry. About your godfather and about your parents, both. They wouldn't turn from you, just as we won't."

Harry managed to look up through his fringe at his friends, who were all nodding their agreement. Snape looked uncomfortable standing in the group of teens, but even he gave Harry a curt nod.

Harry sighed and gave a weak smile. "I…thanks. I don't deserve you guys."

"You really are thick-headed if you think you can get rid of us so easily." Ron came up beside him and thumped Harry hard on the back. Immediately he began rubbing at the bonds on his wrists, which had apparently been set off with the supposed assault. "Ow! Fuck, these things mean business."

After that, the conversation had turned lighter. Harry had laughed alongside the others, even as the sombre turn of their earlier conversation still weighed him down. When the afternoon drew late, Draco and Luna brought Harry back to his and Tom's rooms. At the suggestion of a round of Exploding Snap, Luna disentangled her arm from Draco's. "You two play. I need to attend to a project I'm working on."

The invitations, Harry guessed. Feeling awkward, he said, "Hey, thanks again for the work you're doing with that. You obviously put a lot of care into each design." He hoped his belated thanks didn't come across as ungrateful.

Luna's wide, curious eyes glanced down at the samples she was carrying, as if she'd forgotten about them. "You're welcome," she told him simply. "I'll see you both later." She gave Draco a quick peck, then let herself out.

Draco's hand lingered on his cheek for a moment, but soon enough he was pulling a deck of cards from a pocket. "Right then, Potter," he said, grinning. "Prepare to lose."

...

"I miss Sirius," Harry said softly as he stared up at the ceiling that night. Tom still had the lights spelled on and was reading through a pile of reports.

Voldemort grunted and rolled the scroll he was reading up and set it on the table beside the bed, only to reach for another report.

"I miss my parents, too. But I really miss Sirius." Harry hadn't meant to talk about this. He'd thought to bury this deep. It had worked when all he'd felt was guilt. Well, guilt with a heavy dose of self-righteousness absurdly thrown in. Everything was bleeding out now, and he couldn't contain this anymore.

His admission had meant so much to him—everything, in fact—that it was a shock when it was met with nothing but silence. Harry glared over at Tom, who was propped against the headboard, his eyes shifting rapidly back and forth over the parchment as he read. After a moment, he rolled that report up, too.

Harry yanked the covers off the both of them. He ignored the look of indignation Voldemort gave him. "Are you even listening to me?"

Voldemort returned Harry's glare. "I am considerably behind on my correspondence. This has to—"

"Well, this is important." At Voldemort's sceptical look, Harry clarified, "It's important to me."

Tom rolled his eyes before setting down the scroll he'd just picked up. He gave Harry an exaggerated wave of his hand, as if to say, 'go on.'

It was harder mustering up the words again. Harry forced them out regardless. "I was saying that I miss Sirius. I want…I want you to bring him back."

Voldemort's drawn-out sigh would have been answer enough, but he followed it with a pained, "I can't do that." To his credit, the admission looked as though it physically hurt. Tom closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Can't or won't?" Harry wasn't even sure if he felt angry. He knew he should be, but he'd had a lot of practice with disappointment and in not getting what he wanted in life.

"He fell through the veil. I'm sorry, Harry, but without a body…"

Harry had forgotten that. That was why they'd burned Bellatrix, after all, and scattered her ashes.

Still, Harry was undeterred. "Make him a new body. You made yourself one."

At that, Voldemort reopened his eyes. Harry had been ready for anything but the haunted look that met his gaze. "And would your godfather be happy like that? Looking like me? Besides, it wouldn't work. My soul had not passed over, as I was tethered to this world. No power, no ritual, can bring him back."

Harry's scratched at his arms. "There's got to be something. And what do you know about it anyway? You're telling me you already tried to bring him back?" A terrible suspicion filled his mind. "Or did you try to bring her back?" He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain that his guess was true.

"Oh, Harry." Voldemort wiped away the tears that refused to hide behind Harry's clenched eyelids. "I've hurt you so many times, and not all in the distant past. Open your eyes, darling." Harry shook his head, ducking away from Tom's hand. "Look at me. I mean it, Harry. Eyes up!"

"Yes, Master." The title had never come out so disrespectfully before. Harry forced himself not to cringe back, even as he felt the waves of unhappiness reel through him. He was certain at least half of that was his own misery.

"Don't call me that," was the soft command. "Now listen. Forget her. I certainly have."

Harry tasted the link for any hint of a lie. Nothing, but of course Voldemort could be Occluding. Still, he couldn't help biting back, "Good."

"Bellatrix can rot in Hell for all eternity, so far as I am concerned. But your guess that I experimented with bringing back a lost soul was not unfounded. Or more accurately, I tried to bring back pieces of souls."

It didn't take Harry long to work out Tom's meaning. "Your Horcruxes."

Tom shook his head. "You misunderstand the nature of Horcruxes. They are the but the container."

"Hey!"

Tom leaned down and pressed a kiss to Harry's scar. "My beautiful Horcrux, worthy of seven of my souls. The containers are broken beyond repair. I had hoped to call my splintered soul home. You deserve someone less broken than me."

Harry didn't think Tom was any more broken than he was. Still, he asked, "It didn't work?"

Tom pressed his forehead to Harry's. "No, they're gone forever. For a long time, I forced myself not to care about their loss. I'd lived without them for so long, after all. Beyond that they were mine!" Here he growled possessively.

For the first time, Harry pictured himself tearing his soul apart, hiding it away for safety, only to find that an old man and a couple kids had hunted them down and essentially killed them. Where did partial souls even go when they were destroyed?

"In my arrogance, I never once thought to ask that question," Tom admitted. "And I have made a study of necromancy over the years. But the thought that such mortality might apply to me after all my study, all my work to defeat death, did not occur to me."

Now it was Harry's turn to say, "I'm sorry."

"Shhhh." Another kiss to his scar. "It was hardly your fault."

They stayed like that for a while, each holding the other close. Finally, Harry yawned, and Tom pulled away. Once the lights were out, and Harry was nearing sleep, Tom tentatively offered, "I could bring your parents back. If you wanted me to."

Harry saw again in perfect detail the terrible sight of Sirius falling through the veil. Then he tried to picture his parents. A warm smile and a cascade of flaming auburn hair. A crooked grin and messed-up black locks so like his own. "Maybe," he said, noncommittedly. Regardless of what Snape had said, Harry was pretty sure that neither of his parents would be smiling after they'd seen what he'd done.

But he owed it to them to at least think about it.