Drarryfanficsao3

by Suicide44

Dhhdgd

205. 171Taking Charge

Preface

Taking ChargePosted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/18760663.

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Underage

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationship:

Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort

Character:

Harry Potter, Tom Riddle Voldemort

Additional Tags:

Chill Harry Potter, Laid-back Harry Potter, Voldemort infiltrates Hogwarts as a Student, Romance, Humor, Harry confuses the living shit out of Voldemort, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, No Sex, Some kissing, Don't copy to another site, Masturbation, Independent Harry Potter, Good Harry Potter, Protective Harry, Mature Harry Potter, Smart Harry Potter, Harry is relentlessly flirting with Voldemort, Voldemort gets character development, Voldemort has an identity and an existential crisis, Slow Burn, Harry is a Pervert for Voldemort, sexual fantasies, Non-Penetrative Sex Acts, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Come Marking, Come Eating

Series:

Part 1 of

In Charge

Collections:

Harrymort/Tomarry Recs for the Soul

Stats:

Published: 2019-05-09 Updated: 2021-02-20 Chapters: 41/53 Words: 241370

Taking Charge

by A_Perverted_Romance_Addict

Summary

Cedric's death marked Harry. It made him think. Really think. About life. About death. What it means to live and what is important in life. His priorities change. His perception of the world and people within it changes.

As he evaluates his life until now, he comes to the realisation that his life has never been his own and that he was never truly alive. Determined to change that, he makes a decision; he is going to take his life into his own hands. He is going to be the only one in charge of himself and his happiness. Because he wanted and deserved to be happy. He wanted and deserved to live without people meddling and trying to control him, without trying to hurt him.

He was aware people would be confused. They will have questions. Some will support him, some will absolutely resent him. He still wasn't sure who will fall into which category, but he honestly didn't give a damn about it, because almost nobody seemed to give a damn about him either.

Notes

Another Tomarry male slash inpsired by Genuka's bunny #135 (Letters of Truth) at The Bunny Pool. Since she left it quite open I shaped it so it fit my kind of style of story-telling. If Genuka ends up reading this, I hope she will enjoy it, together with the rest of the people I have gifted this to.

The number of chapters is still up in the air but it will be around 20 chapters for sure and it will also be a duology.

While this work is tagged underage, there won't be any underage sex in this one, just underage kissing. The sex will come in the second part

Enjoy the story and let me know what you think. What are your first impressions?

A Turning Point

26 June 2015

It was Harry's first night back at the Dursleys, but he couldn't sleep.

He hadn't really slept for more than four hours a night since witnessing Cedric's death. Yes, seeing Voldemort get a proper body and duelling him also kept him awake, but it was Cedric's death that truly kept him from sleeping.

He didn't really know him. He was a fellow champion. A fellow student. He was a few years older than him, but still young with dreams, desires, and aspirations. He had a nice and beautiful girlfriend. His parents, teachers and many Hogwarts students adored him. He was an exemplary student with good grades and a good character. He was a Prefect. He was a Seeker. He was a Quidditch Captain. He was a good person. He was so many things … and all those things were taken from him in the blink of an eye. It took one simple spell to end his future. His prospects. His happiness. His life.

It made Harry's chest constrict. It made him agitated. Terrified. It made him think he could die just as easily and now that he thought about it, there were so many life threatening situations in his life that he wondered how he even managed to survive all that with just scratches and bruises: His first encounter with Fluffy. Quirrelmort attacking him. The encounter with the Whomping Willow. Voldemort's diary setting a basilisk on him. Escaping the acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest. The dementors in his third year. His fall from the broomstick. The tournament and Voldemort this year and probably plenty situations more.

He was either extremely lucky or life was trying to tell him to get his shit together and stop putting himself in danger before his luck ran out for good and he really did end up dead. And it might not be even by Voldemort's hand but something much more banal.

Life was such a delicate thing. Always under the threat of death.

He was aware it was natural for all life to come to an end to give space for other life forms to emerge, that death didn't have to be the end, but rather the beginning … but death still frightened him. Now more than ever.

He supposed he shouldn't concern himself over it. After all, he was young and full of life, right? Cedric's youth was proof that just because you're young, you're not immune to death. You never know when something fatal might happen, whether it is an accident, a murder, a disease … or suicide.

No one was safe. No one was immune no matter the age (okay, maybe Voldemort was the exception to the rule … somehow).

He didn't know what death felt like or what came after it. He supposed the idea of the immortal soul able to reincarnate provided comfort, but it was the uncertainty of what happened after one drew their final breath that filled him with dread … that made it hard to breath.

He didn't want to die. He wanted to live. But what was life in the first place? What constituted being alive?

Was it breathing? Was it eating, sleeping? Was it being healthy? Was it being happy? Was it having sex and reproducing? Was it being at peace with oneself? Was it doing great things that left a physical mark on the world? Was it dying without regrets?

He didn't know. He supposed it was all those things, but he wasn't sure. What he did know was that for as long as he could remember his life had never truly been his own. There always seemed to be someone or something dictating his decisions or making the choices, important, life-changing choices, for him, and he didn't like that.

No one should have that kind of power and authority over him. Yes, it was true that he was still a minor, not even fifteen yet, and that he lacked knowledge and skills to be completely independent, but if anything his life at the Dursleys had taught him was to take care of his basic needs should he ever live on his own. He knew how to cook, how to clean, how to do laundry, how to take out garbage, how to do grocery shopping, how to do gardening …

It was true that he had to learn all that the hard way and at an age where most children only cared about playing games and having fun, but now he could really see and appreciate the value and benefits of all the chores he was forced to do around the house for so many years. If he also learnt how to fix a leak, how to change a light bulb, how to fix an electrical or mechanical problem around the house, that would really make him independent and capable enough to live on his own.

He already had the trust vault at Gringotts filled with money, but maybe getting a summer part-time job wouldn't be bad either. To keep his mind occupied with other things. Because if he kept his mind occupied, he wouldn't have time or the energy to think about unpleasant things; Cedric's death and Voldemort's return being a couple of those unpleasant things.

But first, he would have to convince the Dursleys to let him work outside the house, to be absent for a few hours a day during work days, maybe an occasional Saturday or Sunday as well.

He needed a plan. He needed to write things down for himself to keep in mind. Not just something short term, but long term goals as well. It would be like writing New Years' resolutions only that instead of waiting for the New Year to come, he was going to take charge of his life that very night.

He sat up in his bed, got up and started to look for something to write. He found a spiral notebook in A5 format and a few broken crayons. Not ideal, but better than nothing. Then, he sat on his bed again and let the moon give him light.

He decided to write a list. A list of things he would do to be in control of his life and to live happily, peacefully, healthy and for as long as he could. It took him at least an hour to compile it, but by the time he was done, he was satisfied with what he came up with.

HARRY'S LIST OF THINGS TO LIVE A LONG, HAPPY, HEALTHY AND PEACEFUL LIFE

Look out for your health! – Eat healthy and regularly. Exercise (jogging, walking, push-ups, sit-ups, squats, stretching). Do yoga and meditation. Avoid too much stress. Don't smoke. Don't do drugs. Don't drink alcohol (okay, maybe a glass for special occasions … like New Year).

Love yourself! – Because self-love is important.

Live and do things at your own pace! – Life is not and should not be a competition. If you haven't done something another person has done by a certain age, don't feel upset or like you're missing out on something. You'll do it if and when you feel like it. Don't force yourself to do something just because other people are doing it.

Get a summer part-time job(s) – something that allows you to build strength, stamina and muscles, and doesn't require any sort of education beyond knowing how to write, read, add, subtract, multiply and divide. Check your local post office if they need weekly newspaper delivery and check in with the neighbours if they need baby or dog sitting. Then, once you turn 15, check in with a café or a restaurant for waiting tables, cleaning or some small work in the kitchen.

Become more studious, but don't become obsessed with grades! – Knowledge is power. Educate yourself about the world around you. Real knowledge should never be subjected to a grading system, because no one knows everything about everything so they can't judge other people based on how little or how much they know about something.

Be more open-minded! – The world and people are not black and white, but all kinds of grey. Don't judge people before you get to know them! Re-evaluate your beliefs about what you know or think you know. Mainly your attitude towards Slytherins, but also the rest of the Hogwarts houses, as well as certain people in your life.

Be less impulsive! – Think things through. Weigh your options, the pros and cons. Assess the situation. Never jump the gun or willingly and knowingly put yourself in harm's way (only in extreme situations). However, don't be afraid to try new things (either sports like martial arts, travelling to exotic places, learning foreign languages or doing things out of your comfort zone, like knitting, sewing, bobbin lacemaking, needlepoint tapestries, crochet and embroidery or colouring your hair in the colours of the rainbow).

Quit Quidditch! – It's a dangerous sport and it presents an unnecessary risk. At the end of the day, it's not really important.

Don't let small things upset you or get to you! – Especially anything insulting that Malfoy and Snape say. It's not worth it.

Mend/improve your relationship with the Dursleys – Be careful in how you approach them, but no matter what, for your life to be peaceful, you need to be on their good side. Maybe offer to pay for your living expenses. You can still do household chores, especially when it gets too tough for Petunia (it will establish a better relationship … hopefully)

Send a letter to Voldemort – Ask him about his motives, why he wants to kill you so badly. Offer a peace branch and avoid confrontation at all cost. Maybe get to know him. Maybe if you understand him, everything will make more sense.

Improve your relationship with Snape – Maybe do something similar as with Voldemort. Ask him why he seems to dislike you so much. Apologise for all the times you've been rude to him, disrespected him, or could have put more effort into your school work, but didn't.

Find joy in small things! – Sometimes going back to nature is the answer.

It was by no means a complete list, so he could add more principles to follow as he went through his everyday life, but these 13 things were essential bits.

Later, before going to Hogwarts, he would do a poster where he would transcribe a shorter and more concise version of what he had now to hang it above his bed in the dorm so he could look at his list whenever he felt like it.

Now, that he was looking at number 7, he thought he should also write a list of things he wanted to try at least once in his life to see how he felt about them, but were not in any way life-threatening or hazardous to his health (physical or psychological).

He turned the spiral notebook to a blank page, grabbed another crayon in a different colour and started writing his second list.

HARRY'S LIST OF NON-LETHAL, NON-LIFE-THREATENING AND NON-HEALTH-HAZARDOUS THINGS TO TRY AT LEAST ONCE IN HIS LIFE

Try at least one martial art! – Right now only Karate, Judo and Taekwondo come to mind, but add martial arts as you learn more about them.

Learn at least one foreign language! – Pick one that really interests you, whether because it would be useful or because it sounds good (Spanish, Italian, French, German, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Greek, Portuguese, Hungarian, Finnish, Swedish, Danish, Aztec, Maya, Inca, Latin, Hebrew, Mongol, etc.)

Read at least one religious/philosophical text! – Like the Bible or Quran, maybe something on Buddhism as well. Then all those famous philosophers like Aristoteles, Socrates, Plato, Nietzsche, Confucius, Descartes, Jean-Paul Sartre, etc. Just to see what they are about. Maybe they will provide you with practical life lessons to implement in your life.

Travel to exotic places! – Or just another foreign country will do. See the world and explore its wonders.

Try eating exotic food! – Or just try the cuisine from other cultures, nationalities, countries. (Chinese, Japanese, Spanish, Mexican, Italian, French, Korean, Indian, etc.)

Try your hand at crafts! – Especially things like knitting, needlepoint tapestries, bobbin lace, crochet, embroidery, and sewing. It's useful as well as fascinating.

Try doing different DIY projects! – Such as making pompoms, home/room décor, slime, etc.

Try a few fun chemical experiments! – Look up a few basic, easy, non-dangerous chemical experiments you can do at home, but don't actually do them at home. Ask Snape to let you experiment in a safe room.

Try your hand at drawing and painting! – You might never be an amazing artist, but that shouldn't stop you from doing it.

Try ballroom dancing! – Why not? It looks amazing. (Salsa, Cha Cha, Foxtrot, Waltz, Rumba, Cumbia, Bachata, etc.)

Learn how to shuffle! – It looks so cool, and I want to be cool.

Try to learn how to play at least one musical instrument! – There are many musical instruments, but I am most curious and interested to learn how to play the guitar (especially the electric one) or the drums. Those sound awesome to play as well.

Try acting in a school play! – Convince your friends and schoolmates to set up a short play based on a famous literary play or fairy tale.

Read fairy tales and stories for children! – Hans Christian Andersen and Brothers Grimm pop to mind immediately, but Roald Dahl is a must-read as well (especially Mathilda, The Witches, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory).

Dye your hair in the colours of the rainbow! – Because why not. I want to see just how it makes me look. It's not like I'll wear rainbow-coloured hair for the rest of my life. A month or even a week will be more than enough.

Wax at least once in your life! –I want to understand the pain of beauty. I already respect women and girls, but I have a feeling subjecting myself to waxing might just make me respect them even more.

Get a baby doll with batteries and try being a parent! – Before you start thinking about marriage and kids, see if it's something you would like to do for the rest of your life, or at least until the kids move out of the house. Divorce exists, but why would you get married in the first place if you were going to get divorced anyway. So, no. If I ever get married, I want to be sure that my significant other is the person I want to spend my life with and have kids.

By the time he reached number 17, he looked at the clock and saw it was already past two in the morning. He closed the notebook and put it under his pillow. Then, he tried to fall asleep until it was time to start his usual day at the Dursleys.

He should take advantage of being alone with his aunt in the kitchen to mention his plans of working part-time, paying for his living expenses, and just trying to improve the relationship to the point of cohabiting in relative peace, with no anger outburst from Vernon or bullying from Dudley. He was certain that if he could convince her, she would be the perfect middle person between him and her husband and son.

They might never have an amazing relationship, but as long as they could live under the same roof without him being a punching bag for Dudley, a stress reliever for Vernon and a house elf for Petunia, he was more than happy to spend his summers at the Dursleys.

A Strange Dream and the Peace Treaty of 4 Privet Drive

Chapter Summary

Harry dreams about Voldemort and he manages to convince his relatives into a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Chapter Notes

Thank you for the support! I hope you enjoy the chapter! Since Harry is slowly but surely taking things into his own hands.

When Harry woke up in the morning, he woke from a very confusing and weird dream.

He dreamt about the graveyard of course, but it was … different. For starters, there was no Cedric, dead or deceivingly alive. There was no Wormtail either. No Death Eaters. Just him and Voldemort, who, instead of paying attention to him, was pacing back and forth muttering something under his breath.

Harry strained to hear what he was saying, but couldn't catch more than a few stray words: Potter, Ministry and prophecy. He got closer to hear him better. He even called out to him, several times, but he kept ignoring him. It's not like he was invisible or mute! Why was Voldemort not paying attention to him? Why was Voldemort not reacting to him calling his name? Not that he wanted Voldemort to pay attention to him. He simply found it very rude of Voldemort not to answer when he was speaking to him.

He was about to grab him by the arm and make him look at him, when Voldemort evaporated and the ground beneath him shook and split open, and he fell. When he finally hit solid ground again, he found himself in a deserted corridor made of black ceramic tiles leading to a big door.

Harry approached the door. Halfway towards it, he started to hear whispering. It grew in volume, but he couldn't make out a single word. He woke up after touching the door.

Sitting up in his bed, he looked at the clock on the nightstand and saw it was 6:18. Great, he slept less than four hours … again. At this point, it will be a miracle if he manages not to collapse from exhaustion.

Letting out a sigh, he carefully made his way downstairs to the kitchen and started working on the breakfast, a small and fast one for himself, before starting on a bigger one for his relatives, taking the time to come up with the perfect plan to approach the Dursleys.

By the time his aunt and uncle came down; he already had a generous and traditional English breakfast ready for them, with fresh English tea, coffee and orange juice for choice and the morning newspaper waiting on the table. He even made sure to be cheerful and subservient without sounding or looking pathetic.

Both Petunia and Vernon looked unsure and confused of what was happening. Only the night before, he looked like a zombie that even they decided to leave him be, and now, here he was, cheerful like never before. Still shocked, they let him stir them towards the table with perfectly cooked food that looked like it came out a five-star restaurant, cooked by a professional chef, and hold out the chairs for them … like a waiter or a butler. He even had the posture and the thing draped over his forearm.

"Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, would you like to wait for Dudley to wake up and join you or would you like to eat now, without him," he asked politely. They blinked a few times, looking at each other. "Do not worry, should you decide to breakfast without him, I will make sure to either set aside a portion for him or simply make it fresh," he added. "Only the best for your son."

"W-We'll eat now, without him," said Petunia. "He needs his sleep now that he's finally free from school for the summer."

"I couldn't agree more with you, Aunt Petunia," smiled Harry. "What can I pour for you? Freshly-brewed tea or coffee, or freshly-squeezed orange juice?"

"I'll have some tea," answered Petunia warily.

"I'll have some coffee," answered Vernon in the same tone.

"Understood." Harry gracefully picked up the teapot and gently poured the tea into his aunt's cup. Then, he repeated the same with the coffee pot for his uncle. "Milk? Sugar?" he offered cheerfully.

"Yes, please," they said in unison.

As he let them serve themselves, he turned on the TV so Vernon could listen to the morning news. "If you need anything else, please, let me know," he said politely, bowing slightly, before retiring to the kitchen and busying himself with cleaning the dishes.

After they finished eating and Vernon left, Petunia sat down in front of the television, sending wary occasional looks Harry's way. Harry didn't let his aunt's stares perturb him and he collected the dirty plates and cups to wash them.

Not long after, Dudley came down to eat. Just like his parents before him, he was speechless at the sheer amount of food on the table. Harry immediately offered him something to drink, while also offering him a choice between reheating the breakfast and making something fresh, but it would take more time before it cooked, therefore if he wanted to eat immediately, reheating a portion in a microwave was much quicker.

After Dudley numbly went for the first option, he looked at his mother, confused. "What's with him?" he asked in a loud whisper.

Petunia simply shrugged and said, "I don't know, Duddykins."

When Dudley finished eating, he said goodbye to his mother and left to hang out with his gang, correction, friends, and play some video games, correction, bully others, but that was not Harry's business. He needed to look out for himself first.

Now that his aunt and he were alone, he took the opportunity to speak to her. He approached her in the living room.

"Aunt Petunia," he said softly to draw her attention. She looked at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Could I speak with you for a moment, please?"

"What do you want?" she hissed impatiently.

"I know you don't like me, you and your family have made that very clear since the very beginning. Ever since you took me in, there has been tension between you three and me that has done neither you, your family nor I any good, and I want to change that."

"Get to the point," she interjected with narrowed eyes.

Harry took a deep, reassuring breath. "I want a truce, Aunt Petunia. A truce or a peace treaty if you will between you, your husband, your son and me," he said, his voice and expression full of determination. Petunia's eyes widened. "I want us four to co-exist harmoniously without any sort of physically, emotionally or psychologically abusive behaviour from either sides. I know you don't like my nature, in fact you fear and despise it, however, I firmly believe that we can all make the best of these two months ahead of us. We can arrange it so both sides can benefit from the arrangement that we are in, if only you are willing to negotiate. I would have approached Uncle Vernon on the subject, but he has a short temper and Dudley probably wouldn't even care, so you, Aunt Petunia, are the only one I can really speak to right now about this."

She observed him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, not exactly sure what to make of his words. "I'm listening." She crossed her arms.

Now that he had her full attention and interest, he could finally talk about concrete things he had in mind. "You know how you and Vernon always said I had to do chores around the house to earn my keep?" he asked tentatively.

Petunia nodded.

"Well, I was thinking of taking on a part-time job, maybe two, to earn some money and pay you a portion of my earnings to pay my rent, the food, the utilities, especially my access to the bathroom."

The mention of money made Petunia's eyes light up for a second. "And just how much money are we talking about?" she asked in a calculative manner.

"Well," he breathed, "since I'm a minor, not even fifteen yet, I would be earning far less than a regular employee, but I suppose I can earn around 100 pounds a week if I decide to work from Monday to Saturday, four hours a day for 5 pounds per hour. Therefore, we could place the rent price between 80 and 100 pounds a week. I would still do chores around the house, but since I would be spending quite a lot of time outside, I wouldn't be able to do everything. Because of that, we have to discuss everything in detail and outline my duties and responsibilities to this household. In turn, I only ask that your husband, your son and you don't mistreat me in any kind of way."

Petunia regarded him with narrowed eyes for a while, with what he assumed was a pensive look, but she ultimately agreed to speak on his behalf about his proposal to her husband and to talk with Dudley about not hitting or insulting Harry.

Harry let out a little sigh of relief and a small smile grazed his lips. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia. You won't regret this." He bowed and excused himself.

Later that day, after dinner, the three of them, Vernon, Petunia and Harry, sat down at the kitchen table and started defining what each contracting party would be doing for the remainder of the summer, before Harry went to school again.

Harry would still cook at least one meal a day and take out the trash from Monday to Saturday. He would do the laundry once a week, the same went for the groceries shopping, sweeping, hoovering, dusting and watering the plants, but they have agreed to let him rest on Sundays. In turn, he was now free to eat three full meals a day, which would cost him 70 pounds a week together with his room rent. He could also shower three times a week and have free use of the toilet and the sink for his physiological needs and brushing his teeth. However, he was not allowed to use their personal hygiene products, which meant he would have to buy his own toothpaste, soap and shampoo as well as towels and anything else he might want or need to keep himself clean. This, of course, would cost him additional 10 pounds a week. It would have stopped there, but Vernon insisted on Harry contributing 5 pounds for the Council Tax, bringing his total to 85 pounds a week for his stay.

In turn, the Dursleys have agreed not to demean, punish or abuse him. Any interaction between them was to be strictly cordial and respectful. As for the money, Harry would have to pay upfront every Sunday and the contract would enter into force the upcoming Monday, when Harry would begin looking for his part-time job or jobs. Once he was certain when and how much he would be earning, they would set up a more detailed schedule of his chores for individual days.

As Harry lay in bed that night, looking over his list of thirteen things to live a happy, long and peaceful life, he put a tick next to number 10. On Monday, he would take care of number 4, and after that was done, he would start working on numbers 11 and 12. The sooner he got things sorted out with both Voldemort and Snape, the better; however, he shouldn't get ahead of himself. First the jobs and then the letters to Voldemort and Snape.

He frowned in thought and stared at number 5. Maybe he could squeeze it in on Monday as well. After checking in with the neighbours and the local post office, he would pay a visit to his primary school, more specifically to the school counsellor Mrs. Nightingale. The school barely ended, the staff should still be at the school for at least another week or two, finishing the end-of-the-year paperwork or something.

As someone who studied psychology, Mrs. Nightingale was well versed in how the human mind operated, how the learning process and the human memory worked. He could ask her for advice on how to study for exams, how to organise his time, how to make notes, how to retain as much information as possible … He could also ask her for counselling sessions to sort out his mind and his feelings, to learn how to overcome trauma in a healthy and effective way.

Counselling, Part-Time Jobs and New Acquaintances

Chapter Summary

Harry gets two part-time jobs, meets with his primary school counsellor and meets a few new people and animals.

Chapter Notes

Thank you for reading, commenting, bookmarking, subscribing and leaving kudos on this work! It always makes me happy knowing that you enjoy my stories.

Fell free to point out any mistakes you might spot while reading, or just let me know what you thought of the chapter, or maybe you have a question you would like to ask me.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The next morning, Harry walked to the local library to check the legalities of child employment and see what the procedure and the requirements were on the Internet. He managed to print out the form in two copies, if he was successful in finding more than one part-time job, and fill it out with his personal information. The only downside of the document was the school information, because as far as he knew Hogwarts was inaccessible to muggles. He would have to find a roundabout way or maybe go to Gringotts and try to explain the situation and find a solution, because he was not going to let school information get in the way of him finding a summer part-time job.

On Sunday, Harry made a list of things he wanted to do on Monday.

First, after waking up and making breakfast for his relatives, he would head out and go around the neighbourhood to see if anyone needed any help with either mowing the lawn, taking care of the dogs, babysitting, or any other relatively simple odd job. If he didn't prove successful with the neighbours, then, he would go to the local post office and negotiate something. After that, he would visit his primary school, look for the school counsellor, and have a chat with her.

Satisfied with his plan for Monday, Harry let out a tired sigh, stretched in his bed and fell asleep at nine-thirty. To some, it might be a bit early for bed, but if he planned to get up at six-thirty and get his nine-hour sleep, he needed to go to bed by then.

…

While Harry's plan sounded good in theory, he forgot that up to that point, his relatives had made sure to paint him in the most negative light possible to other residents at Privet Drive. He was nothing but a delinquent and a good-for-nothing to them, so, when Harry finally wanted to offer his help for a small allowance, every single neighbour turned him down and almost shut the door in his face.

Defeated, he went to the post office and since it was quite a small community where everyone knew everyone, well, people at the post office were not thrilled to see him either. Especially when he looked the part of a delinquent wearing Dudley's baggy pants and T-shirt. However, this time, Harry refused to back down, until they agreed to give him the chance to prove he was a responsible, hard-working and honest worker.

After a lot of pleading and bargaining, they agreed to employ him part-time, three days a week, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Since he was under 15, he couldn't work before seven in the morning and after seven in the evening, therefore, he would start at 7:00 and finish at 11:00, because he also couldn't work more than four hours at once without a break and he couldn't work for more than 25 hours a week. They agreed to pay him five pounds an hour and he would receive his wage every Saturday upfront. His duties would be to sort and deliver post and whenever he would be on the delivering duty, he would cover Privet Drive, Wisteria Walk, Magnolia Crescent and Magnolia Road. He would start on Thursday, and he hoped he would have the employment form in order by then to avoid any legal issues for his employer.

"Thank you so very much for giving me this opportunity to earn honest money," said Harry in earnest, shaking the director's hand.

"The pleasure is mine, Harry. If employing you part-time here for the summer will help you sort yourself out, then this arrangement benefits us both," returned the director.

"I will not disappoint, sir," assured him Harry.

He left the office, greeting everyone on the way with a smile. Outside the post office, he let out a sigh of relief and after taking a deep, reassuring breath; he mentally checked the first and second bullet points off his Monday, 29 June 2015 list. Now, it was time to move onto the third one.

…

It felt weirdly nostalgic crossing the school entrance. So many memories came flooding back to him, most of them unpleasant, images of Dudley and his gang chasing and bullying him, the disappointed and disapproving looks of the teachers for his poor academic performance. Nevertheless, there were also some pleasant and cheerful ones, like getting candy from Mrs Nightingale or receiving praise for small achievements in the form of teacher's notes on his homework or after class.

He took in the Entrance Hall, which branched off into the dining room and kitchen on the right and into school lockers on the left. Up ahead, there was the secretary's office together with the Head's office and staff room too. The hall looked empty and through the glass, he could see some staff walking in and out of that particular section.

Steeling himself, he walked straight ahead towards the secretary to inquire after Mrs. Nightingale. She could be either in the staff room or in her own office on the first floor, next to the toilets. The door to the secretary's office was wide open. He knocked anyway.

"Good afternoon," he greeted tentatively.

She turned her head towards him. Her face lit up in recognition almost immediately.

"Oh, if it isn't Harry," she greeted him excitedly. "What a surprise! How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he said, smiling, after he recovered from the shock of seeing the secretary's joy at seeing him after so many years. "And you?"

"Oh, you know, busy organising paperwork so that the Department of Education doesn't send us complaints for not having our red tape in order," she rolled her eyes and gestured towards the heaps of paper and folders that were stacked around her computer and desk. "At least the classes have finished and the students are on vacation," she added in a relieved sigh. "Hopefully by the end of this week, we'll be over too, because I'm already losing my mind over all the forms and reports."

Harry winced and let out a hiss of sympathy. "Sounds rough."

"It is, but enough about bureaucracy." She waved her hand dismissively. "Tell me what brings you here? Not many ex-students nowadays come to visit their elementary school."

"Well, I was hoping to say 'hi' to Mrs. Nightingale and maybe ask her for some advice in regards to studying and my future career," explained Harry. "That is if she still works here."

"Of course, Florence still works here," she reassured him with a smile. "In fact, you're in luck, because just a few minutes ago, they finished a staff meeting and she went to her office to gather her things and call it a day. So, if you hurry, you just might catch her. I hope you remember where her office is."

Harry smiled brightly at the news. "Yes, I do remember, where it is. Thank you, it was nice seeing you again."

"You're welcome, Harry," she returned his smile. "And likewise. If you have the time do come visit again, maybe just before the new school term starts in September."

He chuckled. "I will. Goodbye."

He hurried up the stairs and knocked on the office door. He felt relieved to hear Mrs. Nightingale's voice grant him entrance. He slowly opened the door and peeked inside with his head.

"Good afternoon," he greeted. She didn't recognise him immediately, but it wasn't long when there was recognition in her eyes. "Oh, Harry!" she greeted. "What a surprise to see you here! Come in, come in," she urged him inside enthusiastically.

He entered and closed the door.

"Sit," she gestured towards the seat at her round table, covered in papers and folders. He did. "Excuse the mess, I'm organising and filing away for the day," she said apologetically while gathering the paperwork. "I'll continue sorting everything tomorrow. I've had enough for one day."

"Mrs. Shaw said that you just had a staff meeting."

"Yes, it lasted five hours and I can't think straight anymore. I need food and coffee," she was talking as she was packing her things, "but do tell what I can do for you, because I suppose you came to see me for something more than just a greeting, am I right?"

Harry let out a little nervous chuckle. "Well, I was hoping you could help me organise my study time above all else."

"Are you struggling with grades again?"

"Some subjects are more problematic than others in that regard, but overall my grades are fine. However, the GCSEs are approaching and I want to do well on them," explained Harry, but he was actually referring to the wizarding equivalent, O.W.L.s. "The problem is that the school I'm at doesn't really have a counsellor and they don't really offer advice on how to study effectively or how to organise one's time or how to take notes."

"Remind me where you went after you graduated from here."

"To a boarding school in Scotland. It has a very long name and I still have trouble remembering it," he said apologetically.

"No matter, well, if you need help and advice you came to the right person." She walked to one of the cupboards, unlocked it and began looking through the books. "Just a few weeks ago, I attended a conference where we had plenty of workshops and talked about the importance of learning strategies and techniques, how to develop them in students and the like. There was also a section with books on strategies and I bought quite a few of them." She picked a few titles from the shelves and returned to the table. "Unfortunately, I still haven't got around to reading all of them and most of them centre on language learning, but I think you could still find some useful information in them."

She passed them to him so he could look at them. As he was leafing through the books, she continued speaking. "They cover everything from learning styles to multiple intelligences and learning strategies for each intelligence and learning style, they even explain a bit about the types of memory, how our brain processes information and why we forget. I would recommend you first do a questionnaire in one of the books to see where you fit as a learner, what style suits you best so that you can then find appropriate strategies."

"Can I borrow them?" he asked, looking up from the book he was currently looking at.

"Of course. You can have them for the summer. You can even make copies so you can refer to them whenever you want. Trust me; it's much cheaper making a copy than buying the original."

"Thank you. I will return them as soon as possible," he said, packing them in his small backpack.

"You're welcome," she said with a smile. "Remember, if there's anything that you need or don't understand, don't hesitate to contact me." She tore a post-it note, wrote down her phone number, and gave it to him.

He accepted it gratefully. There was a moment of silence, where Harry debated how to ask her for a second favour. Luckily, she offered him the chance herself when she asked him, "Do you need anything else?"

He took in a deep breath. "Actually … there is one other thing."

"I'm listening."

"A few days ago, right at the close of the school year … a classmate of mine and I got attacked by a mugger." He swallowed hard. "He died … in front of me … Everything happened so fast, one second my classmate was well and alive and the next, he was mortally wounded, sprawled on the floor … bleeding out from his gut."

His hands began to shake, his voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears, remembering the moment the Killing Curse hit Cedric.

Mrs. Nightingale immediately offered him a glass of water and a paper tissue. "Thank you," he said, accepting both.

"If I understand you correctly, Harry, you wish to have counselling to deal with the trauma that accompanied that horrific incident you just described to me, right?" she said tentatively.

Not trusting his voice, he nodded while taking a sip of water.

She let out a sigh. "I don't know if I'm the most appropriate person to offer such counselling, because I don't have credentials for clinical psychology."

"It doesn't matter," assured her Harry. "As long as it's you, I don't care if you're qualified or not. I need someone who I know and can trust."

She smiled sadly, but nodded. "I understand. If it's talk what you need, I will be at your disposal whenever you wish to talk, you can't sleep, or you want to get something off your chest, just give me a call or text me."

"Thank you," he smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much."

His grumbling stomach ruined the moment. He flushed. Mrs. Nightingale laughed. "What do you say to a quick trip to a fast food restaurant?"

Harry's eyes widened. "I would love to, but I don't want to be a burden."

"Nonsense," she waved her hand dismissively and finished packing her things. "Besides, we can talk while we drive there and now that I'm thinking about it, there's a place in London I would like to show you. I think it would be a good therapy for you."

Now, Harry was intrigued. She couldn't be talking about a clinic. When she beckoned him, he followed her to the parking lot, where she had her car. Once they were on the road, he asked her about it.

"I don't know how familiar you are with animal-assisted therapy and emotional support and assistance animals, but there have been studies that show that certain animals help alleviate the symptoms of certain mental disorders and aim to improve a person's social, emotional, or cognitive functioning," she said. "I'm sure you've heard of guide dogs, horse therapy for children with Down syndrome, and even cats."

"I have."

"Well, since you're probably suffering from some form of Post-Traumatic Stress disorder, I believe you could benefit from interacting with an animal, emotionally-speaking," she elaborated. "Just tell me if you're allergic to dogs or cats."

"I don't think so," he shrugged. He might not have been fond of Marge's dog or Mrs. Figg's cats, but it was probably the dog and cat species that didn't sit well with him.

"That's good then."

There was a moment of silence, before Mrs. Nightingale spoke again. "Now that you're in high school are you also thinking of part-time employment to earn some spending money?"

"Actually, I just managed to get a part-time job at the local post office. I start on Thursday after I get all the paperwork in order," he said proudly, "but I would have liked to get a second part-time job as well."

"You're in luck, then," she told him, smiling. "I have a friend that opened an animal café a few years back after her husband died. At first, it was called Kitty Haven, because she only had cats, but she recently acquired puppies and renamed her business into Fluffy Paradise. She only employs students, because they're cheap workforce, and mostly part-time. I think she will be able to find a few shifts for you."

Waiting tables at an animal café? That didn't sound so bad. He would probably have to walk, feed and water the animals, but that didn't sound too bad.

"If it's not too much to ask, I would appreciate it greatly," he said politely.

After making a quick stop at McDonald's for lunch, they went to the café, which was surprisingly not that far away from Diagon Alley. Upon entering, the curious puppies immediately greeted them. While Harry's knowledge of dogs and cats wasn't the best, he could recognise a Golden Retriever, a Labrador, a Bernese Mountain and either an American Eskimo or a Samoyed. Not that it mattered that much, because they were all adorable.

After disinfecting his hands, he picked up the fluffiest looking one and carried it further inside. He noticed that it wasn't a big business, but it gave off a homey feel. He spotted the cats, lounging on a windowsill, the cat tree, a chair or in a customer's lap. Speaking of customers, there weren't many to begin with, maybe it was the time and the day, and those that were there were mainly elderly ladies, sipping their afternoon tea and gossiping.

He followed Mrs. Nightingale to the till, where he immediately spotted a stern-looking middle-aged woman. For a moment, she reminded him of Professor McGonagall, but without glasses.

"Hey, Victoria," she greeted her.

The woman glanced at him briefly, before greeting her back. "Hey, Florence. Who do you have with you?"

"This," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "is Harry. He was a student at my workplace. He came to see me for a couple of things and while we were driving here, he mentioned he was looking for another part-time job, so I thought you could squeeze him in a few shifts."

The woman scrutinised him, before reaching out her hand to greet him. "Nice to meet you, Harry, I'm Victoria."

"The pleasure is mine," he returned. Mrs. Nightingale intervened.

"No need to be so wary, Harry. Victoria only looks menacing. In reality, she's a really nice person. It just takes her a while to warm up to people," she assured him.

"Well, Harry," began Victoria, "how old are you?"

"I'll turn fifteen at the end of July," he replied.

"A minor then," she said shrewdly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Well, if you're comfortable with waiting tables, preparing non-alcoholic drinks like tea, coffee, cocoa, different lemonades, taking care of the animals, interacting with people and you're not allergic to either cats or dogs, then you can start some day this week."

Harry's face illuminated with excitement. "Thank you so much. I don't mind any of what you mentioned and as far as I know I'm not allergic to either cats or dogs."

"Great. Then, if you'd, please, follow me." Still carrying the puppy, he did as told. She showed him a timetable with the workdays and workhours of the café. It was already full with names Nathan and Ana Maria.

"This is where you can choose your shifts," she told him. "Now, as you can see we work six days a week from Monday to Saturday, from 9am to 9pm during weekdays and from 9am to 5pm on Saturdays. Since you're below sixteen, I can't allow you to work more than four hours at once without a break and I can't let you work past 7pm in the evening, so, you're free to choose either the morning or the afternoon shift. The first one starts at 9am and ends at 1pm and the second one starts at 1pm and ends at 5pm. As for how much you'll earn, I pay both Nathan and Ana Maria five pounds per hour and I always pay them upfront at the end of the week."

"Can more than one person work the same shift?"

"Of course you can share shifts with either Nathan or Ana Maria. As long as one is constantly paying attention to the customers and the till, the other can always take a toilet break or you can take a half an hour off for a walk with the dogs so they can pee and poop."

"And who are Nathan and Ana Maria?" he asked curiously. He thought he saw a glimpse of both of them at the counter, but he wasn't sure.

Victoria led him to the till again, where a tall and lean young man with dark brown wavy hair, was washing glasses and cups over the sink.

"Nathan," called out Victoria. The man reacted instantly. "Come here for a second." She gestured him to come closer. He looked curiously at Harry, then back at Victoria.

"Nathan, I would like you to meet your new co-worker. Harry. Harry, this is my nephew, Nathan. He's twenty-one and he's a computer science student."

They shook hands. "Nice to meet you," said Nathan.

"Likewise," answered Harry.

She immediately called for Ana Maria next, a tanned young woman with long, wavy black hair and dark brown eyes, who just finished saying goodbye to some customers and was picking up the empty glasses on a tray.

"Yes, ma'am?" she said excitedly, when she reached the till. She, too, glanced briefly at Harry.

"Ana Maria, this is Harry, he'll start working here in a few days. Harry, this is Ana Maria. She's seventeen and right now, she's not studying anything. She's originally from Spain, so if you hear her speaking Spanglish from time to time, don't be alarmed."

"Pleasure to meet you," she greeted him with a shake of hands and he returned her greeting with a smile.

"Alright," breathed Victoria, "now that the introductions are over, I hope you and Nathan can show him around the till, where the storage room is, how to use the coffee machine and the like."

They nodded.

She turned to Harry. "When do you want to start?"

"I thought I could start on Wednesday morning and then work on Fridays and Mondays as well. I'll see what shifts I'll take on those days."

"Perfect, and you can have the morning shift one week and then the next the afternoon one. It's not really fixed. You can organise it at your will," Victoria assured him. "Just give me your phone number so that we can stay in touch if something comes up and I need to let you know."

"Uh …" he began uncomfortably. "I don't really have a mobile phone," he said apologetically.

All four of them looked strangely at him.

"Well, Harry, you must be the only teenager that I know who doesn't have a mobile phone," she commented dryly. Harry flushed. "I advise you to get one, because what if you have to tell me you have fallen ill and you can't come to work, or if either Nathan or Ana Maria can't come for some reason and I would need you to fill in for them."

"I understand. I'll get one by the end of this week."

For the next hour or so, Mrs. Nightingale and Harry took a seat at one of the tables and ordered something to drink. Harry ordered raspberry lemonade, while Florence ordered a cup of cappuccino. As they waited for their drinks, Harry petted a few of the cats. Apparently, there was a Selkirk Rex, a Ragdoll, a Ragamuffin and a British Shorthair. He didn't really care as long as the cats were fluffy, friendly and liked to be petted.

After they finished their drinks and said good-bye to his new boss and co-workers, Harry excused himself with Mrs. Nightingale. "I just remembered I need to be somewhere here in London, so I really appreciate the offer, but I'll go home with either a bus or the tube."

"Is it far?"

"No, it's a few streets away," he assured her with a bright smile. "Again, thank you for your help today and I'll be in touch once I get a phone."

"Okay," she agreed. "Take care, Harry."

He waited for her to drive away, before he started towards Diagon Alley. He believed a visit to Gringotts was in order to take care of some legal, health and financial matters.

Chapter End Notes

I did look up the information about child employment in the UK and have found the following site where I found the restrictions in regards to it: https/www.gov.uk/child-employment/restrictions-on-child-employment. Feel free to check it out if you're curious.

And I hope you are familiar with animal cafes. They are prominent in Japan, but other countries have implemented them too, even the UK. The dog and cat names will be introduced in chapter 5.

Legal Matters and Offering a Peace Branch to Voldemort & Snape

Chapter Summary

Harry goes to Gringotts to take care of some things. Voldemort gets a letter from Harry.

During his twenty-minute walk to Diagon alley, Harry had a weird feeling … as if someone was watching or following him. He tried to look at his surroundings inconspicuously every time he had to wait for a traffic light to change to green, but saw nobody. He took advantage of the busy London streets to blend with the crowd and try to break his invisible stalker's line of sight. He even tried to shake them off by doing little detours, until finally slipping through the Leaky Cauldron's front door and then quickly going to the back to the archway. He hurried to Gringotts and hoped that his tactic worked.

Inside the bank, he greeted the same goblin that took him to his vault in the first year and asked to speak to him in private. Once in Griphook's office, he could finally speak freely with the goblin.

"What brings you here, Mr. Potter?" asked Griphook shrewdly.

"Actually a few things."

"Well, let's hear them then."

"First, it is a legal matter, concerning a muggle application form for child employment." He pulled out the form in question and passed it to Griphook. "I need valid school information before child services can contact everyone to see if everything is in order. However, as you know I attend Hogwarts and I cannot put the information about Hogwarts on it, because it doesn't exist to muggles. Therefore, I was hoping you could arrange something by Wednesday, if possible."

The goblin scrutinised the form. "It might be a bit tricky, but there's hardly anything us goblins cannot achieve … when given the right incentive, of course."

Harry was slightly confused. "Are you talking about money?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, money," he sneered. "The Gringotts Bank will take care of your paperwork in the muggle world for a fee."

Given that he had quite a money reserve in his vault, he didn't see a problem with it. "Alright, and how much money would it be?"

"A hundred galleons," sneered Griphook, showing off his pointy teeth.

Harry's eyes widened. When converted to muggle money it amounted to 500 pounds, and while it sounded a bit overpriced to him, he figured that paperwork was expensive, especially if you needed fabricated information in a short amount of time, so, he didn't complain.

He nodded. "Take the money you require directly from my vault. Now, moving onto the second thing I wanted to ask you about. Can Gringotts perform any medical or health tests or is that something done at some other magical institution?"

"While people's first option for something like that would be St. Mungo's, when in a pinch, you can take a health test at Gringotts as well for fifty galleons."

"Fifty galleons?" he repeated, gobsmacked. In just one day, he was going to spend close to two hundred galleons. "And how in detail are the results then if the testing requires that much money?"

"Very detailed, Mr. Potter. It tells you your entire medical history and can even tell you if there are any specific hereditary diseases you should be worried about and the chances of you developing them in the future. It also shows any kind of impurities or unwanted things in your system."

"I see," he said, nodding. "Then, I would like to do the Gringotts Health Test or whatever it is called."

The goblin gleefully added another 50 galleons to his receipt. "Would you like to perform the test now or at a later date?"

"Now."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, I would like to withdraw some money from my vault and convert it into muggle money." An idea occurred to him. "And I was wondering if you have any special writing paper, ink or quill drenched in Veritaserum to make your correspondence and paperwork valid and truthful?"

Griphook narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Indeed, we do use such stationery here at Gringotts, why do you ask?"

"You see, I was hoping I could use some to write two letters to two individuals that, if written on normal parchment, ink or quill, might not believe my words and intentions."

"We could provide you with the stationery items for two galleons a letter and another galleon for owl delivery, if you would like it to appear as official correspondence."

Harry felt like Griphook was milking him dry of the money, because every little thing was priced in galleons, but he agreed to take the offer, because he really didn't want to risk anyone intercepting the letters, especially the letter addressed to Voldemort.

In the end, Harry had to pay 155 galleons for his business with Gringotts and had 30 galleons converted into muggle money, but had to pay another galleon for the transfer fee. He wanted to cry. At this rate, he didn't want to do business with Gringotts ever again, but knew it was not possible. At least now, he knew what to expect if he ever needed something similar in the future and maybe next time he will be much more careful in asking goblins for favours. The greedy creatures.

Griphook first guided him through the medical examination, which, for something so expensive, looked relatively uncomplicated. He simply had to provide a sample of his blood and then lie down on a stone slab covered in runes and a runic circle around it and let a goblin healer do his thing. Luckily, it didn't hurt, but the entire procedure made him rather sleepy for some reason. Another minute and he might have dozed off for real.

It also didn't take long for the results to become available. It would seem that his eyesight could be corrected through a spell, should he wish to get rid of his glasses, and aside from his past malnutrition, his fragile and slightly deformed bones, he seemed to be quite healthy. They advised him to take nutrition potions, but he would rather buy multivitamin and calcium supplements from a muggle pharmacy at this point or just adjust his diet to provide his body with the nutrients it needs than to buy a single thing above five galleons from Gringotts. However, there was a point during his results review that the goblin healer paused with a shocked expression.

"Is something wrong?" Harry inquired cautiously.

"Mr. Potter, according to my readings, you appear to be a horcrux," said the goblin.

Harry didn't really understand what the healer was saying. "Is that a good or a bad thing?"

The goblin looked at him as if he'd grown another head. "Mr. Potter, do you even know what a horcrux is?"

He shook his head.

"It's usually an object that stores a piece of person's soul to keep the person who split the soul in the first place immortal," explained the goblin and Harry's eyes widened.

"So …" he began tentatively, swallowing thickly, "you mean to say, there's a piece of someone's soul inside me?"

"Indeed, Mr. Potter."

Harry's head pounded painfully as he tried to process the information and its implications. There was another person's soul inside him. How did that even happen? When did it happen? And most importantly, who's soul was he carrying together with his?

The answers came to him as soon as he thought the last question. Voldemort. Hallowe'en. The night he failed to kill him and he was 'vanquished'. When the Killing Curse rebounded back at Voldemort, it must have split the man's soul and let one piece latch itself to his being through the wound on his forehead.

He touched the scar, which was tingling rather than hurting at the moment. Is that why he was able to feel Voldemort's presence? Because the soul piece of the man that was stuck in there was trying to reunite with the original? How did one even stop being a horcrux?

"Does it say who's soul is latched onto mine?" He needed confirmation.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, sir."

He let out a heavy sigh. He was right. There was a long beat of silence between them.

"Can you remove it?" he asked the goblin healer.

"We could if you're prepared for the most excruciating pain you've ever felt in your life," he replied.

Harry's insides turned in aversion at the prospect of any kind of pain, much less the excruciating kind. "Is it in any way endangering my overall health?"

"No. The percentage is so small and it has been almost fourteen years since it occurred that it doesn't really endanger your life or health, though, given your medical history, it can still cause discomfort and headaches."

"Then leave it as is," he said. "If it's not causing any major problems, we might as well leave it be."

"As you wish."

Another question occurred to him. Did Dumbledore know about him being a horcrux? The conversation he had with the man in his second year immediately came to his mind. In his own cryptic and convoluted way, Dumbledore had told him he was a horcrux when he said that Voldemort transferred some of his powers to him that fateful night. He would have appreciated if he had told him about it in a clearer and much more straightforward way, but while it left him somewhat disappointed in the man, he didn't feel the necessity to hold it against him and try and seek revenge. It just wasn't worth his time, his energy and definitely not his health. Stress was bad and he didn't plan to stress over this newly acquired information.

However, he will keep it to himself. He wasn't stupid enough to go announcing it to everyone. As soon as they learnt about him being the reason Voldemort apparently couldn't die, they would probably lynch him just to get to Voldemort, and he liked his life too much for something like that, thank you very much.

After the health exam, he wrote the two letters he planned to write and to close off his Gringotts visit for the day, Griphook accompanied him to his vault to get the money, then, transfer it into muggle currency.

With letters sealed and shipped off to their respective addressees and his muggle money in bag, Harry left Gringotts in the late afternoon. He was tempted to shop for some essential hygiene products, but didn't want to explain to the Dursleys how he could afford so much when he didn't even get his first wages. As for the mobile phone, he would go to the library to browse the internet, gather information about the cheapest, but still somewhat modern, mobile phone, and look for cheap phone plan deals.

When he got back to 4 Privet Drive, he was so exhausted he simply collapsed into his bed and fell asleep. He was aiming for nine hours of sleep to start normalising his biorhythm and was hoping he was too tired to dream of anything.

…

After the frustration and anger at failing to kill Harry Potter at the graveyard wore off, Voldemort's first and primary objective was to acquire the prophecy concerning him and the Potter boy. He never learned what the entire thing said in the first place, and since the public didn't know, or rather didn't believe, of his return, he had an opportunity to get his hands on it without arousing suspicions. The question was how.

The Polyjuice potion immediately came to mind; however, that one required a month to brew and even when he had the base prepared, who could he even use to get into the Department of Mysteries? He supposed the Head of the Department was the best option, but how could he get his hands on a strand of the person's hair? Maybe Lucius and his ass-kissing ways could finally prove useful for once, not only to keep the Minister convinced Harry and Dumbledore were delusional liars who were spreading false information, but also to get him a few strands of hair from the Head of the Department of Mysteries. That could work, yes.

Shortly after explaining to his followers how they would proceed in the following month, he received a letter … from Gringotts addressed to … Mortelo Vrdold? Who in Salazar's name was that and why did the owl deliver it to him? Never mind that, how could an owl from Gringotts find him in his hiding place at the Riddle Manor?

Carefully, he checked it for any tracking spells or other nasty curses. If anything, the contents were drenched in Veritaserum. When his wand didn't detect anything suspicious, he tore the envelope open, took out the parchment, and began reading the letter.

Dear Mortelo Vrdold alias Lord Voldemort,

Forgive me if the anagram offends you, that is not my intention, but I simply could not risk putting the name you use in public and in private on the envelope. I hope you understand.

Now, as for the reason of this letter, I am writing to you in hopes of arriving at a ceasefire with you for I do not wish to harm you in any way and I certainly do not wish for you to harm me either. I am not entirely certain why you wish to kill me in the first place, because I do not think I did anything to you as a toddler for you to come after my life. Therefore, I would appreciate an explanation and if there is anything I can do to right any wrongs, I will do my best to do it without having to lay down my life in the process.

I am aware all this must come as a surprise to you, but I hope that you realise this is no lie or trickery. It is the truth. Feel free to think about a truce or a peace treaty between us for as long as you need. I will wait patiently for your answer.

Whether positive or negative, please, reply by using the Gringotts envelope and address. If you agree to a meeting between us, I will provide time and place of our conversation. This is not to order you around; it is mainly to find enough time in my busy summer schedule to meet up with you.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Staring, speechless, at the parchment, Voldemort had to re-read certain parts to grasp the reality of the words he was seeing.

Harry Potter sent him a letter. A letter asking for a truce no less.

Once the weight of that realisation registered and settled in his mind, he felt … numb … lost. He would never have imagined this development and he didn't know how to feel about it.

Elated, perhaps? Because if he could get rid of the threat that the boy represented to him and his livelihood without having to spend his time, effort and energy on figuring how to take him out for good, he could finally focus everything on conquering magical Britain and fighting the Order that Dumbledore would no doubt form again.

Maybe he should feel angry, because if he suddenly came to a permanent ceasefire with the boy, then everything he went through to get to this point would feel pointless and meaningless. Wasted time and effort, when he could have been focussing on other things.

Amidst the confusion that stormed his mind, there was wariness but also curiosity. However, no matter how tempting it might have been to reply to the letter immediately, he would take his time to form a reply.

Spanish and Guitar Lessons & Falling in Love with Gaming and Lara Croft

Chapter Summary

Harry's first week at work turns out to be very productive, he gets his first weekly salary, his own mobile phone and he manages to arrange a few things from his two lists. He also discovers the appeal of certain games and meets his waifu.

Chapter Notes

NOTE: This chapter contains Spanglish. If you have problems understanding the parts written in Spanish you can always use Google translate or try and do what Harry did ... using the context to guess the approximate meaning.

If you notice anything odd, let me know, otherwise, enjoy the chapter.

After a peaceful night with no dreams to haunt him, Harry thought he should write to his friends to let them know he was doing better and to tell them about his summer part-time jobs. He closed off his letters by asking about their well-being and summer holidays so far.

Since he wouldn't start working until Wednesday, there wasn't much he had planned to do on Tuesday. Maybe he would do some shopping, but nothing too crazy. Maybe a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, together with a couple of towels or just one big one would suffice. He also definitely needed to go to the library to do his research on mobile phones, and do some of the chores around the house.

After his austere morning bathroom routine, he went downstairs to start working on the breakfast for himself and his relatives. He waited for Vernon and Dudley to leave before washing the dishes, informing his aunt about taking out the garbage and asking her whether she needed him to buy any groceries.

She gave him the list and the money. "If you buy anything for yourself, mark it on the receipt and then add it to your rent," she said, surprising him.

"Of course, Aunt Petunia. Thank you," he said sincerely.

He bought everything from the list as well as soap, shampoo and a towel for himself, so he could finally wash himself. Luckily, he managed to get everything within the budget he was given. He returned to Privet Drive and began unpacking. He told his aunt the three things he bought for himself and added the sum to his 85 pounds for rent and food. Before he started making lunch, he watered the plants and did the hoovering, because he planned to go to the library in the afternoon, and he wouldn't have time to do much else around the house.

Washing the dishes after lunch, he let his aunt know he was going to be absent until dinner. As soon as he stepped outside, the heat hit him in the face and even a minute of simply standing in the sun felt like being in a pot full of steam. How some people liked saunas was something he would never understand. All that heat and sweat. He was getting a headache from simply walking without shade.

Luckily, he took some money with him and went to the nearest store to buy a litre and a half of bottled water from the fridge and a vanilla ice cream lolly covered in crushed almonds and the most scrumptious milk chocolate. It was a bit pricey, but he felt like he deserved to treat himself.

While he didn't appreciate the long walk to the local library under the scorching sun, at least he had his ice cream to keep him cool for those glorious few minutes and whenever a breeze would appear, he felt fresh for a few quick seconds before being enveloped in heat again. He was really going to need a shower after he gets home. He only hoped the library had a working air conditioner, because he didn't know what he would do otherwise.

When he reached the place and stepped inside, it felt like stepping into a cooler and he couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh, enjoying the coolness for a moment, before finding a free computer and starting his search for the perfect mobile phone.

He lost himself browsing the internet and before he knew it, it was getting close to the library's closing time. He felt bad for occupying the computer for so long, but at least he was successful and he found a cheap but capable phone and a cheap but okay 12-month phone deal. He was considering signing for a 30-day deal and just renew the contract every month, but in the end, it was much more expensive and tedious than the other option. The only thing he wasn't entirely sure about was monthly phone receipts, because while he would pay for them, he couldn't do it while he was at Hogwarts, therefore, he would have to tell his relatives about his phone and ask them to pay the bills for him until he could pay them back. He definitely wasn't looking forward to telling them about it, but hoped that the promise of money would help.

And it did … like everything to do with money seemed to with the Dursleys.

After dining and speaking with his aunt and uncle about having a phone and a phone deal, he retired to bed. It was still early, but he would have to wake up early anyway to get the breakfast done and get to London on time for his first shift at the animal café. There was a slight churning sensation in his stomach as the excitement and nerves mixed together.

' Don't worry too much, Harry,' he told himself. ' Everyone is a novice and a beginner at some point in their lives. Even Nathan and Ana Maria were once in your shoes and look where they are now.'

He noticed an envelope on his bed. It was a reply from Professor Snape. That was odd. He was certain Voldemort and Snape would ignore his letters and not bother replying at all. He was willing to give both men a few days to reply, but honestly, he didn't expect anything to come out of it.

What did surprise him was the fact that his friends didn't reply at all, and while it hurt not getting a reply, he also didn't want to think too much about it or read too much into it, because for all he knew, they might be busy with other things just like how he was going to be starting tomorrow.

Opening the envelope, he read the professor's letter:

Mr. Potter,

I must confess that your letter was unexpected and if it weren't for the fact that you used Veritaserum soaked paper and ink from Gringotts no less, I would have thought it nothing but an insipid prank.

As for your apology, I accept it, and while your newfound ability of self-reflection is remarkable, I am afraid that until I see proof of your improvement as a person and as a student, everything is just empty words to me.

In regards to my reasons for being harsher on you than I am on others, you might have noticed that I have compared you to your father on several occasions throughout the years, and there is a reason for it. Because of the delicate nature of the subject, I will not disclose anything in the letter; just know that your father, as I knew him, was not the hero that he is made out to be. What I will say is that seeing you, who looks so much like him and sometimes even acts like him, it brought back unpleasant memories from the time I was your age. I shouldn't treat you like I do, and that is something I have to work on actively as well, but I let emotions get the better of me and I took my frustrations with your father out on you. I am not trying to excuse or justify my actions and if I ever tell you my experience with your father and the Marauders, I don't want your pity either.

I am willing to meet up with you to discuss certain things in a more private setting, but not this week or the week after this one. I barely started my break from all the school-related conundrums; I need some time for myself right now to refill my energy. After that, we can meet wherever and whenever it suits you.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

P. S. I wish you all the best in your summer part-time jobs and I hope it helps you grow as a person.

Harry stared at the letter, blinking at the words. Wow, he actually managed to have a civil exchange with Professor Snape. He had a bad feeling about the part with his father and he was curious to find out what his father might have done to Snape for the man to have flashbacks to an unpleasant time of his life, but he would respect the man's desire to speak about it in private or not at all.

Too tired to reply, he decided to leave that for the next day.

…

"What's this?" he asked Ana Maria when he saw two headbands on top of the folded uniform she was holding out to him; one with dog ears and the other with cat ears.

She blinked in confusion at him, wearing cat ears. "Why, tu uniforme, of course," she said as if it was obvious. "Didn't the boss tell you about it?"

"No, she didn't say anything about animal ears being part of the uniform."

"Well, el café has a custom, you know," she began explaining in Spanglish, waving her hands about excitedly. "Every Wednesday is animal ears day; which means que los empleados tienen que llevar either cat or dog ears, you can chose whichever, y puedes llevar one pair one Wednesday and the other pair another mi ércoles."

Harry wasn't ready to face Spanglish on his first day of work, but despite not having much clue what exactly she said, he could deduce the meaning, or an approximation of it anyway, from the context and hand gestures. Add to that the information that he would have to wear animal ears every Wednesday and he felt like he needed to use the toilet. It was a good thing he arrived more than half an hour earlier … as if something in his gut and subconscious was telling him something unexpected might happen and it did.

After getting over the embarrassment of wearing animal ears, he joined Ana Maria at the counter where, after fangirling a bit over how cute he looked with dog ears (at least he assumed that's what '¡ Ay, mira pero qu é lindo eres con esas orejas de perro!' meant from her squeaky voice and her enthusiasm), she very kindly explained how to operate the till, the coffee machine, where to go if he needed to restock something, where the animal food and toys were kept and any other miscellaneous thing he was curious about … but in Spanglish. He could see that she was doing her best to talk in as much English as she could, but when she either wasn't sure how to phrase something in English or she just felt more comfortable talking in her native language, she immediately switched to Spanish, even in the middle of sentences.

It was impressive she even knew how to switch and combine the two languages in the same sentence, but for someone with zero knowledge of Spanish it was disconcerting and difficult to follow and decipher what she was saying.

When the café opened to the public at nine o'clock, she told him, " Recuerda, if there is anything you need, no dudes en preguntarme, even if I already explained it. It will take some time for you to get used to the place, porque tambi én era dif ícil para m í. As í que, ya tu sabes, don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it que pa' eso estoy aqu í, to help you."

"Thank you," he said, smiling.

There wasn't much traffic during their shift, something Harry appreciated for his first time taking an order and preparing coffee on the coffee machine. When he managed to prepare a coffee successfully, he felt over the moon proud of himself. Now he also needed to master all the different kinds of coffee the establishment served and he would be good.

The customers at this hour of the day in the middle of the week were mostly elderly women that came to gossip about their neighbours or talk about their children and grandchildren, while relaxing in the company of cats and dogs. For a few minutes, they even fawned over him since he was the newest addition to the café staff, however, he couldn't help but feel like they were interrogating him about his school and family life and not just asking innocuous questions out of curiosity.

When they didn't have to worry about orders, serving and cleaning tables, Harry and Ana Maria talked a bit about themselves.

He kept his side vague, especially his school life and he definitely kept silent about the fact he was a wizard, but he did tell her he was an orphan living with his mother's sister and her husband and son, but didn't say anything about the years of neglect and abuse on their part.

In turn, she told him about her parents, Carlos and Juana, and her life in Spain. She was from Alcalá de Henares, a city known to be the birthplace of the famous Spanish author Miguel de Cervantes and Catherine of Aragon, the first wife of Henry VIII, for its university, Corral of Comedies and Cathedral. They moved to London two years ago, because her father got a business opportunity here in the UK. She told him how difficult it was for her to move not just houses, but countries as well. How horrible and lonely she felt here in London with no friends and not even a basic knowledge of English.

"The most difficult part for me was passing my school exams, porque tuve problemas con el ingl és. I still have problemas when speaking, reading, and writing. No sé por qu é el inglés tiene que ser tan complicado, but sometimes I see a word written and I don't know how to pronounce it, or I know how to say something, but I don't know how to spell it. Es una pesadilla, te digo. Anyway, because I was mierda at English and I was in my last year of high school, I was muy preocupada that I would have to repeat a year. I remember que after class tuve que ir a una escuela de lenguas from Monday to Friday for an hour to learn English on the side, porque I didn't speak it at home with my parents, e incluso as í, I barely passed all of them and graduated. After that, I was like ' no, I'm not studying until I get better at English' and I somehow found this place and fell in love with it and Victoria was muy amable to give me a job so I could listen to people and learn how to communicate in English better."

The more she talked in Spanglish, the more he got used to all the switches in her speech and it wasn't as jarring as it was at first. Given that she was a Spanish native and he wanted to learn a foreign language, Harry got an idea.

"Ana Maria," he said to her just before his shift ended.

" S í, dime."

"I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me Spanish. I really want to learn a foreign language and I really like how Spanish sounds, but I can't go to a language school, because I go to a boarding school."

" Sí, claro, por supuesto, con mucho gusto," she said excitedly.

"I will pay you and it can be once a week for either 60 or 90 minutes, whenever you're free."

"I don't mind either, but I would feel bad taking money from you," she said, grimacing.

"And I would feel bad not paying you at least 10 pounds for your time and effort," countered Harry. It would be extra expenses for him and his tight budget, but it was only fair that he paid her.

She sighed and knitted her brows together. Then, suddenly, she gasped and her face illuminated. "¿ Sabes qu é podemos hacer, Harry?"

"No, what?"

"What if, instead of paying me in money, you pay me by giving me English lessons and help me improve my English skills? ¿ Qu é dices?"

He smiled. "I like that."

"And we can have our lessons at a Spanish restaurant," she said happily. "Say, have you tried Spanish food already?"

He thought for a moment. "No, I don't think I have."

She gasped, scandalised. "Blasphemy," she breathed. " Tienes que probar al menos la comida m á s típica de Espa ñ a como la paella valenciana, la tortilla de papas, gazpacho, churros con chocolate, leche frita, flan …"

She would have gone on, but Harry didn't catch a thing, because in her excitement she was speaking really fast and in Spanish, a very bad combination. "Um … in English, please."

"Sorry, what I was saying, you have to try some of typical Spanish dishes," then, she proceeded to explain in detail what each dish looked like. However, when she mentioned fried milk, Harry's brain short-circuited.

"Fried milk?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yes," she nodded, all serious.

Fried milk … Milk that is fried … Harry squinted, trying to imagine in what scenario it would be possible to fry a liquid. Maybe if you freeze it first and then coat it in flour and eggs? But can you even freeze milk evenly without getting any sort of separation? He would have to experiment apparently and find out.

"How does one fry milk?"

When she explained the process and the consistency, it made perfect sense and he felt slightly stupid. Of course, they were going to make it into something dense and cream-like, there was such a thing as sweetened condensed milk and custard cream after all.

Sometimes the most obvious solution is the last thing on your mind.

At exactly one o'clock, he changed out of his uniform, said goodbye to Ana Maria and headed to Gringotts to see if they had his papers in order and if Voldemort had answered to his letter by now. As expected, aside from his papers, there was no reply from Mortelo Vrdold.

Letting out a sigh, Harry thanked the goblin, had a meal at a nearby pizzeria, and returned to Privet Drive, where he wrote a reply to Snape's reply.

…

The first thing he did when he arrived to his job at the post office was meet up with the director to show him the papers and sign the part-time employment contract for minors.

When the bureaucracy seemed in order, he joined some of his colleagues in sorting the post, which lasted for about an hour, then loaded his post cart with the letters and packages addressed to the streets he was covering and set out to deliver them to their respective addressees.

It felt nice walking around at his own pace, delivering the post, getting some exercise and fresh air … for about an hour and a half, then the sun started scorching again and Harry couldn't wait to end his shift at eleven and hide into a cooled area or a simple tree shade. He would have to start bringing bottled water with him to work; otherwise, the heat will get to him by the time he was done with his shift.

…

On Friday, he overlapped his shift with Nathan's so he could get to know him. However, unlike Ana Maria who was open and sociable, Nathan was the exact opposite, at least at first. Quiet, reserved, in his own world inside those headphones he constantly wore over his ears or around his neck and what looked to be a hand-held console in his hands.

He could hear the muffled sound of music coming from his headphones as his eyes were stuck to the screen and his fingers were moving with speed and precision over the buttons. Not wanting to intrude on him, he tried to make himself as invisible as possible, picking up his uniform to go and change in the bathroom.

However, when the fighting in the game stopped, Nathan looked up, noticed him and greeted him. "Oh, hey." He placed his headphones around his neck.

"Hey," he said back.

"How was Wednesday?"

"It was good, not too many customers, Ana Maria showed me around and I successfully operated the coffee machine."

"Nice."

"However, I wasn't prepared for the interrogation by old ladies and animal ears," grimaced Harry.

Nathan laughed. "Ah, yes, the famous animal ears, or should I say infamous. We implemented them last year after we celebrated the café's anniversary. The customers really enjoyed them so; my aunt made them a weekly thing. Which ones did you choose?"

"The dog ones."

"I usually go for cat ears, because they aren't flappy and they don't clash with my headphones."

"I see." A moment later, Harry excused himself to go and change in the bathroom.

"Of course," said Nathan, "no problem."

When Harry returned after a few minutes, he found Nathan engrossed in another monster fight. Nathan, noticing his interest, asked him, "Do you play videogames?"

"Uh … not really. Not because I don't want to, but I never got the chance to."

"Would you like to try?"

The fighting and the monsters looked intimidating. "Um …" he swallowed hard. "I don't really know how it works."

"Don't worry about it, I'll show you." He gestured for Harry to sit next to him and handed him over the console. Even holding the console felt intimidating.

"Okay, so, the game is called Bayonetta 2. It's an action, hack and slash game, which means that while you also do traversal, the focus of the game is on fighting and it's not just mindless spamming of the same buttons, but it puts a lot of emphasis on combos and style and timing and dodging. So, the more variety you have while fighting, the higher your final grade will be. Suffering damage, using items, or spending too much time on a level will lower your grade at the end of the level."

He restarted the level and navigated Harry through the controls, the items, his health bar, his magic metre, and the combos. Despite the guidance, Harry struggled in fights and incurred quite a bit of damage. When he got to the boss at the end of the level, he didn't want to play it anymore.

"But you're right at the end," encouraged him Nathan. "You can do it."

"Do you see how big it is?"

"Don't let the size intimidate you. Dodge when you see an incoming attack and when you're not close enough to deal melee damage, use the guns to keep up your combo and filling your magic metre and, as soon as the magic metre is full, use the Umbran Climax to deal lots of damage and to refill your health bar."

"It's easy for you to say," countered Harry. "You have lots of experience with boss fights, I'm a complete beginner."

However, even with all that protesting, he still engaged in the fight, almost died more than a couple of times, but managed to defeat the boss by the end. He let out a long-suffering sigh, his hands completely sweaty from holding the console and spamming the buttons and his heart racing in his chest.

"Here, you can have this back," he handed over the console to Nathan.

"You got a bronze medal. Better than stone anyway. See," said Nathan, "that wasn't so bad. It's just a matter of practice."

"I think I'll stay away from these kinds of games," grimaced Harry.

"Then what kind of games would appeal to you?"

"Something that isn't violent and if it already has violence, I don't want it to be the focus or over-the-top."

A pensive expression settled on Nathan's face. "Well, I suppose Pokémon, Super Mario and Mario Cart 8 would suit you. What about solving puzzles, doing investigative work?"

"That could be interesting too."

"If you don't have to be somewhere after your shift, I'll show you the games I have upstairs in my room."

"You live here?" asked Harry, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, it's closer to the university."

They started their shift. Harry refilled the animal bowls with cat and dog treats and water, while Nathan greeted their first customers. While there were still many elderly people, there were some children too, who have come with their friends to play with animals while having ice tea and lemonade.

Compared to Wednesday, there was more traffic, but still not overwhelming, and the people took at least an hour before asking for a receipt. They alternated between taking orders, serving, and cleaning tables, glasses and cups. When Harry's shift ended, Victoria came around to check up on him.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Splendid." She pulled out an envelope and handed it to him. "Here, your payment for this week, forty pounds. I also have a rudimentary contract for you to sign, so that the authorities don't come knocking on my door for having an illegally employed minor working at my café."

Harry signed the contract and took a copy himself.

"Say, any progress on the mobile phone?"

"I'm going to buy it tomorrow," he said, smiling.

"Good. The sooner, the better."

Instead of going back to Privet Drive, Harry went for lunch to a nearby Chinese restaurant with relatively cheap prices, then came back to the café, took the dogs out for a walk and then, simply waited for Nathan to finish his shift at three o'clock.

In the meantime, Ana Maria also came to get ready to start her afternoon shift. "Oh, Harry." She greeted him. " ¡Qu é sorpresa! What are you doing here? I thought your shift already ended."

"I did finish, but I'm waiting for Nathan to finish his so he can show me his videogames," explained Harry.

"Ah," she breathed, " ya veo. Well, enjoy yourselves."

"Thank you."

After Ana Maria changed into her uniform, Harry took the last five minutes before the shift change to arrange the day and time of his Spanish and English lessons with Ana Maria. They agreed to meet every Tuesday and Thursday, Tuesdays would be reserved for Spanish lessons and Thursdays for English lessons. Each would last for 90 minutes starting at 15:30, at the nearby Spanish restaurant.

…

"Make yourself comfortable," told him Nathan, when they entered his room. It was somewhat tidy, with the desk covered in bulky books and papers and the space where the TV was, littered in videogame casings and other consoles. His shelves were either full of university booksor figurines. There in the corner was an electric guitar.

Harry sat on the bed, while Nathan went to his videogame collection and started browsing it to find games that would appeal to Harry.

"Do you play the guitar?" asked Harry.

"I do," he said with his back turned. "My friends and I have a band, we gather every Saturday and Sunday to practice and sometimes we perform in bars with live music on Friday and Saturday evenings to earn extra money."

"Sounds awesome," said Harry, impressed.

"It is, but the band is more of a hobby, and while I adore music, I enjoy programming and playing videogames more."

"I really want to learn how to play an instrument, but I don't have the money to afford one and I don't want to bother the neighbours with the noise."

"Have you thought of going to a music school?"

"I have, but I study at a boarding school so, most of the year, I'm away."

"Boarding school? And where do you board?"

"In Scotland, and as much as I would love to tell you the school name it's a really long and complicated one."

"Well, if you want, I can give you some rudimentary music lessons, but I only know how to play the guitar, anything fancier, like the piano or the violin, is out of my zone."

"Really?" breathed Harry moved. "You would take the time to teach me?"

"Sure, why not," he said as if it was obvious. "We would just need to find a time slot and we can start this upcoming week if you want."

Nathan came back with at least 20 games. Most of them were Pokémon or something to do with Mario, but there were also a few Sherlock Holmes and Lara Croft/Tomb Raider games too.

"This one has a bit of shooting in it," he said in regards to Tomb Raider, "but the older titles focus on killing animals and not that many people. The reboot from 2013, on the other hand, has more human enemies than animal ones, but what matters in these games is exploration and solving puzzles to advance the game, recovering artefacts and such."

"I'll give it a go," said Harry.

Harry tried five different games: a Pokémon game, a classical Super Mario game, Mario Kart 8, a Sherlock Holmes game and a Tomb Raider game. He gave each game a 30-minute trial. He liked all of them, but surprisingly he enjoyed Tomb Raider 2013 the most. Mostly because of the main character. For some reason, Lara reminded him of himself. She was young and inexperienced, almost naïve and innocent, thrust in a world where the nature and the inhabitants of the island constantly tried to take her life. Yet, despite the odds being against her, she managed to live through it, just like how he managed to survive three separate encounters with Voldemort against all odds. She was a survivor, forced to become a killer, and while his hands were still clean, it wasn't a stretch to say that if his feud with Voldemort continued, he would be forced to kill just like Lara … and he didn't want that.

Besides, she was also very good-looking and while he had never paid attention to anything remotely sexual, he could appreciate her curves, her skin (even when covered in mud and blood, and marred with scars), her hair, her voice, and her eyes.

While they were playing, aside from agreeing to spend Monday mornings from 10:30 to 11:30 having guitar lessons for 10 pounds, Harry also learned a new expression: waifu. Apparently, it was the Japanese pronunciation of the English word wife, and it was usually used to refer to a fictional female character that you considered wife material. The male equivalent was husbando.

Nathan had an entire harem of videogame waifus and husbandos. "But if I had to pick my favourite from each one, then I would say that Bayonetta is my best waifu and Haytham Kenway from Assassin's Creed III is my best husbando."

"Well, then I guess my best and only waifu would be Lara Croft," retorted Harry.

"No husbando?"

"No," deadpanned Harry. "Though if I had to pick one, then I would say Sherlock Holmes, because he's smarter than I will ever be and I like the way he talks, but I'm sticking to Lara Croft."

"What about Princess Peach?"

"Too blonde and too whiny for me. If every classic Super Mario game has her kidnapped by the same person, I'm sorry, but I don't have the patience to deal with her. You would think she would learn her lesson and get better security, but no, Bowser always seems to find a way to breach the castle and take her with him."

Nathan burst into laughter.

…

After he finished his post delivery on Saturday, he received another 40 pounds for his salary and Vernon accompanied him to a phone shop, where he finally got his cheap Nokia phone and a 12-month phone deal. While Vernon paid upfront at the store, the money was added to his rent, of course. The problem was that he didn't have enough earned money to cover his expenses for the first week, so, he would need to invest all of his earnings next week into getting even with his relatives, and even then, he wasn't sure if he would have enough to get even. He could add a bit from the money he converted, but taking too much from that pile would rouse suspicions and he didn't want his relatives knowing about his vault filled with heaps of wizarding money.

He wrote another short letter to Ron and Hermione on Sunday, telling them about his first week at work, his co-workers and bosses, his mobile phone, and that he hoped they were okay. He even gave Hermione his phone number in case she wanted to call him or send him a text message if owl post was too time-consuming.

Then, he spent the entire day reading the books that Mrs. Nightingale lent him and texted his bosses his phone number for any emergencies and arranged two 60-minute counselling sessions per week with Mrs. Nightingale, one on Wednesday at 15:30 and one on Friday at the same time. He even received two text messages; one from Nathan and one from Ana Maria, and added their numbers to his contacts list.

There was still no reply from Voldemort. However, on Monday, after he was done for the day with guitar lessons and work, Harry received a message from Gringotts informing him of a letter waiting for him.

He couldn't believe it. Voldemort actually replied.

Something must be terribly wrong with the world apparently, because the two people he didn't count on replying replied and the two people that he counted on replying didn't reply … not once. And they were supposed to be his friends.

Again, he told himself that they must be busy, but a heavy feeling spread in his chest. He could try a third time, but if they didn't reply the first two times, then they probably won't reply a third time.

Resolute, he decided to focus on his jobs and on forging new friendships. It would do him good to have friends that didn't know about his fame or his feud with Voldemort, friends that didn't have anything to do with magic, friends with whom he could be himself and who didn't expect impossible things from him. Friends with whom he could just be Harry.

Of Dark Lords, Animal Cafés & Peace Treaties

Chapter Summary

Harry arranges a meeting with Voldemort, has his first Spanish lesson with Ana Maria, and writes to Sirius about what he's been up to.

Chapter Notes

Enjoy the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry travelled to London the next day after finishing his shift at the post office. While he waited for Ana Maria to finish her shift at three, he went to Gringotts to read Voldemort's reply. It was short and straightforward.

Very well, Harry Potter, I accept meeting up with you in an attempt to negotiate a ceasefire between us, though I am still not quite certain about your intentions behind such proposition. Because, while your words may have been true, I don't trust you. I won't trust you until there's a magically binding contract of non-aggression and non-killing drawn between you and me.

I will wait for you to communicate the day and time when it will be most suitable for us to meet.

Lord Voldemort

Harry heaved a sigh. At least the man was willing to meet and actually discuss terms of the truce in a non-violent way, something he didn't really anticipate what with their history and the man's personality and temper.

He wrote back, but struggled with finding the right time and date. His schedule was already full this week and the following week he could only really squeeze him between his shift and his counselling session on Wednesday, because he had already agreed to meet Professor Snape around the same time the following Friday at the café.

With that in mind, Harry arranged a meeting with Voldemort on Wednesday, 15 July, at one o'clock sharp, at the café. Because he was certain that Voldemort didn't know about the café, he also provided him with an address, some general directions and a picture of the café's exterior. The last thing he wanted was for their negotiations to fall apart even before they began because Voldemort got lost. He also warned him about the place being located in the muggle London and politely asked him not to cause any mess at his workplace. Just like how he didn't want Voldemort getting lost, he also didn't want to lose his job, because said Dark Lord couldn't control his impulses and hatred towards muggles long enough to have a civil conversation in a place full of muggles.

…

Harry's first Spanish lesson was a blast. Ana Maria taught him the Spanish alphabet, some pronunciation rules so he could pronounce words as accurately as possible. He also learned how to count to twenty, how to greet someone formally and informally, and how to introduce yourself in formal and informal settings … and he learned all that while also nibbling on the traditional Spanish paella from Valencia and listening to simple and catchy Spanish children educational songs.

To practice the greetings and the introduction portion of the lesson, they role-played a few simple conversations and she prepared a couple of worksheets where he had to fill out the gaps with greetings and some personal information, or match Spanish expressions with English ones.

To practice the numbers they played a round of bingo and a few rounds of a modified version of the card game called War where the number on the card had to match the number you were saying for you to be able to collect the cards in the middle. Since the cards could only go to the king, they could only practice numbers from one (ace) to thirteen (king). The winner was the one who managed to collect all the cards.

Before the session ended, she gave him homework to spell some basic Spanish words and do some basic math in Spanish and, unlike school assignments; he actually looked forward to doing his Spanish homework, which reminded him … he had to do his Hogwarts summer homework. Oh, well, he still had time until September.

Oh, and at the end of his lesson, Ana Maria awarded him a sticker. In fact, he could choose a sticker that he liked the most from an entire collection of stickers. Harry felt over the moon because of it.

"You will be able to choose one at the end of each session, to reward your effort," she told him, after he picked a tiger sticker and put it on the inside cover of his notebook.

…

Dear Snuffles,

I'm sorry for not writing to you sooner, but I was slightly busy with sorting out my life. I'm still busy with all the things I've put on my schedule, but I finally found some time to sit down and write to you about what I've been up to for the past week or so.

I managed to negotiate some semblance of peace and quiet at the Dursleys in exchange for money. While I have access to my Gringotts account and the money inside, I still wanted to earn my own money by doing summer part-time jobs. I managed to find two: one at the local post office and the other at the Fluffy Paradise animal café in London, about twenty minutes on foot from Diagon Alley. I work Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at the café as a waiter and Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays as a delivery boy for the post office. I don't earn much, because my shifts are only four hours long and the child employment legislation doesn't let me work more than that at once, but even 120 pounds a week is something (I think this makes it roughly 24 galleons). However, I think I may have underestimated the cost of travelling expanses and dining in restaurants, because just last Monday I withdrew 150 pounds, and I already dropped below 100. I think I'll have to make another withdrawal from Gringotts sometime next week. Not to mention, I already have a debt with the Dursleys. While I could pay the rest of my debt by taking from the muggle money I withdrew from Gringotts, I don't want to tip them off that I might have a reserve of magical money. They would just look for ways to make me pay them more than I'm already paying them weekly.

On another, much happier, note, I met some super nice people at the café. The owner looks stern and like a muggle version of Professor McGonagall just without glasses and the ability to turn into a cat, though given that she runs an animal café filled with cats and dogs, she compensates for that, I guess. My co-workers, on the other hand, are much more approachable, especially Ana Maria, she really likes to talk a lot, most of it is in Spanglish, because she comes from Spain and she still struggles with English, but Nathan can also be very talkative when it comes to videogames, programming and music. He even lets me play videogames and is giving me some guitar lessons on Mondays, and Ana Maria is giving me Spanish lessons on Tuesdays at a Spanish restaurant. In fact, today was my first Spanish lesson and my first time eating Spanish paella and it was delicious. It had rice with rabbit and chicken meat, together with some green beans and tomato, and I got my first sticker too as a reward for being a good student. To pay her back, I'm giving her English classes on Thursdays. This week will be my first time being a teacher to someone, and I'm really nervous.

From this week forward, I'm also going to be seeing a counsellor every Wednesday and Friday to deal with what looks to be some sort of PTSD, because of Cedric's death and because I don't know how to deal with it properly. I thought being constantly busy would help keep my mind away from depressing thoughts and bad dreams and so far I think it's working, but I'm only putting it aside, burying it somewhere deep inside, without resolving anything. I'm not working through my emotions, that's why I contacted my former school counsellor from when I was attending muggle primary school and asked her if she was available. She agreed and I hope to get in order before September.

And you? How are you doing? I hope you're doing okay. Although I think if we could somehow find a way to get you out in the public in some sort of disguise, you could use some counselling too for all those years of trauma that you had to go through in Azkaban and being cooped up somewhere is probably giving you flashbacks to that time.

I hope to see you again soon.

Your godson Harry

…

The Spanish songs from the day before were so stuck in his mind, that he was humming their melodies throughout the day, while doing his best to recall the lyrics to practice what he learnt yesterday.

After he finished his shift and was about to head out to some cheap place to eat, he spotted Sirius in his dog form near the café, sniffing the ground.

"Sirius!" he exclaimed under his breath. The dog immediately reacted and whipped his head towards him, barked and hurried toward him, almost knocking him over in his hurry to greet him. Harry caught him and hugged him to his torso, letting him lick his face, not paying the passers-by any attention.

"I'm happy to see you too, Sirius," he whispered as he nuzzled the dog's neck, because while he didn't receive a reply to his letter from Sirius this morning, he was really happy to see him in person.

"Come," he beckoned him to follow him, "let's go to some place with less people, so we can talk."

Sirius nodded and barked in agreement. "But first," said Harry, "I'm starving. Let's go get something to eat. What do you say we get a sandwich?" Sirius barked again, while his tail was wagging happily and energetically from side to side.

They went to the nearest Subway and Harry ordered a foot-long tuna sandwich that he asked to be cut in half, so he could share it with Sirius. Then, they walked to a deserted alley, where Sirius transformed into his human form and greeting him again, by pulling him into a bear hug and covering the top of his head in kisses.

"Oh, I missed you so much, Harry. You have no idea how much." He loosened the hug, but kept his hold on his shoulders. "I'm sorry I didn't answer your letter immediately. Dumbledore and his associates have forbidden any interaction with you for fear of communication being intercepted by Voldemort's followers," he said gravely.

Harry's chest felt heavy. He understood why Dumbledore would forbid Sirius from contacting him, but was it necessary to cut him off from his loved ones completely for the sake of safety?

"The order has practically moved to Grimmauld Place and is constantly breathing down my neck, because of Voldemort's return even more so. Molly is by far the worst, acting as if she owns the place, constantly nagging at me in my own house." He scowled and groaned. "I swear sometimes I think she's just as bad as my mother and that's saying something."

"Mrs. Weasley is at your house?" If she was there, then Ron was also there. "Is Ron there too?"

"Yes." He nodded. "Him and Hermione both."

"Oh," was all he could say, while numbness settled in the pit of his stomach and chest.

Both of his friends were living with Sirius while he, who was Sirius' godson, was denied that honour and joy. A spark of resentment blossomed in Harry's chest at the unfairness of the situation.

"They also wanted to write you back, but they had to comply with Dumbledore's orders."

Harry gave a very curt nod.

"If Dumbledore is keeping an eye on you, how did you manage to sneak out to see me then?" he asked, intrigued.

"I convinced Moony to cover for me and help me create an opening, so I could get out of that wretched house and come see you," he explained with a smile.

"And how did you find me?"

"Well, I tried to take all the clues you left me in the letter into account and since I'm a dog, I have a sensitive nose, so I was trying to pick up a trace of your scent among millions of others. It helps that my dog brain knows how you smell, pup, otherwise, it would have been almost impossible to find you."

Harry smiled and the resentment disappeared to give way to pure joy. It made him feel extremely happy knowing his godfather was willing to defy Dumbledore himself just for him, even if his friends weren't.

Harry's stomach grumbled and Sirius let out a boisterous laughter. "Come, pup," he said, his arm still around his godson's shoulders, "let's go find a bench to sit on and eat that tuna sandwich you bought."

They found a nice, relatively quiet place to sit and eat. Sirius wanted to know more about the things Harry mentioned in his letter and Harry was happy to oblige. He left out anything related to Snape and Voldemort … for obvious reasons. That included finding out about being Voldemort's horcrux too.

After they finished eating, Harry had roughly an hour and a half until his counselling session with Mrs. Nightingale. Before that, he had to go to the library to make copies of some short stories for tomorrow's English session with Ana Maria. Sirius accompanied him. He even accompanied him to Mrs. Nightingale's place, but had to go soon afterwards, because he wasn't sure how much longer Moony could hold up the fort for him and he really didn't want to hear another lecture about proper behaviour from Mrs. Weasley.

"When will I see you again?" wondered Harry, feeling dejected saying goodbye to his godfather.

"Soon, Harry," he assured him. "Sooner than you might think."

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about such an enigmatic answer, he only hoped Sirius didn't decide to visit next Wednesday or Friday, because he wasn't ready for the Armageddon that would ensue from Sirius learning about him meeting Voldemort and Professor Snape for a glass of ice tea at his workplace.

….

Voldemort stood in front of the Fluffy Paradise animal café, looking at the exterior he was seeing and the one in the picture Potter sent him with his reply letter. He arrived fifteen minutes earlier than agreed to make sure he wasn't late because he spent too much time searching for the damned place.

He sneered and grimaced at the building. Why was the Boy-Who-Lived working as a bloody muggle waiter at a bloody muggle café with cats and dogs? With his fame, he could have been doing something more worthy, not wait on the filth that were muggles. Well, he supposed he couldn't really say anything, given that he worked in a dingy antiquity shop with dark artefacts on Knockturn Alley on his own volition, when he could have fake-smiled and charmed his way to the position of Minister for Magic.

Still, working at Borgin and Burkes helped him gain further knowledge on dark artefacts. What will Potter learn? How to prepare coffee and other drinks? How was that useful in the grand scheme of things?

Oh, and the nerve of the brat to request him, Lord Voldemort, the greatest Dark Lord and wizard in the history of human kind, to behave himself in the presence of muggles. Because he didn't want to lose his job. Was he pulling his leg or what?

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the task ahead. He walked towards the entrance and opened the door. The hanging bells announced his arrival. Almost immediately, Harry Potter came to greet and escort him to a free table.

Voldemort stared at the top of the boy's head. What were those? Animal ears? Not only was he working at an animal café, now he was also dressing like an animal?

"Uh … sir?" he said again.

"It's me, Potter," he gritted out under his breath.

The boy looked him in confusion. "Who?"

"You know exactly who," he snarled, piercing him with a glare.

"Oh," he said, while his eyes widened in recognition. "Right, um … I didn't recognise you … but I guess it makes sense to come looking not like your usual self." The boy let out a nervous giggle and scratched the back of his head. "Anyway, you're a bit early. I am still working for the next ten or so minutes, but make yourself comfortable and feel free to order anything from the menu."

Voldemort finally followed him to the table, where a white cat with light brown accents was lounging on one of the chairs. It looked at him with its sharp blue eyes.

"Feel free to pet Tinker Bell," said Harry, taking out his spiral notebook for taking orders, "or if you wish, you can even put her on your lap, she's a very docile species, doesn't mind petting and dogs."

Apparently, that won't be necessary, since the cat decided to jump on his lap on its own and Voldemort froze, not knowing what to do. The animal scented him and decided he was trustworthy enough to make him her bed pillow.

Harry just stared at the display, before the voice of an elderly woman called out to him.

"Harry, we would like our receipt, please."

Harry snapped out of his bewilderment. "At once, madam," he called to the woman with a smile, before turning back to him. "Here's the menu with all the drinks you can order. Also, read the house rules in regards to conduct and treatment of animals. I'll be with you in a minute."

With that, he left him to the mercy of Tinker Bell and four dogs, who came sniffing at him. He glanced at Potter and saw him at the till typing something, and then going to the table with the old women to collect their money. The boy was smiling politely, but all Voldemort could see were those damned cat ears on the boy's head.

He finally picked up the menu to have a look. The first thing he noticed was the biographical information about the animals at the establishment. Second, he saw the list of café rules. It was short and concise. Then came the enormous amount of cold and hot drinks you could order. For the most part, there was a brief description of what was included in a drink, but not when it came to coffees. There were twelve different coffees available and he had absolutely no bloody clue what was the difference between an Espresso and a Macchiato or a Mocha and a Cappuccino or even what was the difference between Long and Short Macchiato.

"Have you already decided what you would like to drink?" Harry's voice startled him a bit and brought him out of his menu contemplation.

"Maybe if I had any idea what the difference between all the types of coffee is, I would have, but as it happens I have no bloody clue what to order," he grumbled.

"I know what you mean," he said sympathetically, "it took me almost two weeks to get the differences and the preparation of each one right, but if you'd like, I can explain briefly each one or just tell me how you usually drink your coffee and I will serve it to you according to your wishes," said Harry, smiling.

"I usually drink coffee with no sugar and no milk. I like it black and bitter."

"Okay, then, I think you would be looking for an Espresso, Double Espresso, Ristretto or an Americano," said the boy. "The only difference between an Espresso and a Double Espresso is the number of espresso shots in a cup, so in a normal one you get one shot of espresso in an espresso cup, while in the other; you get two shots of espresso in the same cup. Espresso tends to be bitter, but, if you want to make it even more bitter, then Ristretto would be the answer, since it extracts espresso with half the amount of water than usual. Americano or Long Black, on the other hand, is a slightly less concentrated version of both Ristretto and Espresso, since two thirds of the cup are filled with hot water and then you add a shot of espresso over it."

Voldemort just stared at the boy with a dead stare. For some reason, hearing Harry speak about different types of coffees was making him unusually tired and he felt like his brain hurt from all the trivial information. "Get me an Espresso, then," he said, maybe its bitterness will wake him up a bit.

"Right away," he said and left.

Voldemort followed him with his eyes and noticed Harry start an animated conversation with a girl, while he worked the machine. The girl was waving a lot with her hands as she talked and Harry even laughed a couple of times at whatever she was saying. His eyes narrowed. How could Potter be so comfortable around muggles, when they were nothing but disgusting insects that needed to be squashed?

A movement on the table interrupted his observation, when he glanced toward it; he saw a wild-looking black cat with piercing yellow eyes staring at him.

What was with all the animals at this place? Why were all flocking toward him? Although, to be fair, the dogs lost their interest when he did nothing but ignore them. However, the cat from before was still on his lap, practically sleeping, and this black one 'Plop' was trying to get his attention as well.

" What do you want?" he hissed under his breath in parseltongue. Plop remained unfazed and just sat on the table, looking at him expectantly. He let out a gentle meow.

"I don't speak cat," he said. Another meow.

He noticed a stick with feathers on the neighbouring table. He stretched to reach for the toy. The cat immediately focussed in on the feathers. He smirked. Before he did anything, Harry placed the coffee cup in front of him.

Voldemort tensed. He glanced at Potter as nonchalantly as he could. He was smiling and Voldemort didn't know if he saw him pick up the cat toy or not. It wouldn't do well for his image as the Dark Lord if he was seen playing with a cat, even if the only person to see and recognise him was supposed to be his arch nemesis, Harry Potter.

Now that he thought about it, he was seriously questioning that. His eyes went to Harry's cat ears. How in the world was this boy supposed to defeat him? Either he made the wrong choice that night so many years ago or the bitch who made the prophecy made it under the influence of alcohol or drugs. Probably the latter.

"I'll join you in a few minutes," he told him, "I'm just going to change out of my uniform. If you need anything while I'm gone, feel free to ask Ana Maria."

He nodded curtly and watched him go through the back door. He glanced at the woman to see if she was looking or not and once he was sure she was busy washing and drying glasses and cups, he turned to Plop and wiggled with the feathered part of the toy on the floor. The cat immediately jumped down and started pawing and biting at the toy. He repeated the motion a few times, held it slightly higher, but was restricted from doing too much by Tinker Bell.

Every few seconds he glanced towards the muggle girl and the door to see if Harry would walk through them any moment, then, decided the cat had enough playtime and straightened in his seat and drank from the cup.

Plop meowed in protest and began pawing at his leg, but he ignored him. He was not risking embarrassment just to satisfy a cat's need. It was already humiliating enough to be seen with a cat on his lap. Nagini at least made him look frightening, Tinker Bell made him look soft. Yet, he still somehow ended petting her. He felt something brush against his leg and he saw Plop rubbing his body against him. He let out a sigh.

Less than a minute later, Harry joined him finally looking normal. "Sorry for the wait," he said breathlessly, sitting down opposite him. The group of dogs followed him and he picked up the white and the fluffiest one and cuddled him. "Ah," sighed Harry, resting his cheek in the softness of the fur, "this is the perfect balm for my tired body and soul," he said.

"Harry," the muggle girl called from the till, " quieres que te traiga algo de beber?"

"What?" called Harry back in a loud voice.

"Do you want me to bring you something to drink?"

"Paradise ice tea, please." He turned to him. "Okay, we need to make this quick, because I still need to eat something and then at half past three I have another appointment somewhere else in London." He sighed. "As I said, I'm very busy this summer."

"Very well."

"So …," he began awkwardly, Tinker Bell was purring loudly. "What I wanted to talk about. I basically already told you what I want and that's a guarantee that you will not harm me or attempt to kill me."

"Why?"

"Because I want to be a normal teenager." He said tentatively.

The girl interrupted them with Harry's ice tea. " Aqu í tienes, Harry."

" Gracias, Ana," he said.

" De nada." She smiled at him.

Voldemort said nothing about the exchange, though he was surprised to hear Harry speak in a foreign language.

Harry took a sip from his drink and continued where he left off. "I want to live and study without constantly having to fear for my life. There is no trap or ulterior motives behind my request, just pure survival instinct and desire to live. I know you're not the only person or thing that can kill me, but you are the only person, at the moment, who is actively trying to murder me. I don't know about you, but I would think trying to get rid of me has been really time-consuming and taxing for you as well. So, I think it would benefit us both if we declared ceasefire for good. That way, we both win. I get to live, and you get to focus on other things. However, I would like to ask you why exactly you have targeted me in the first place. Is there a particular reason or you just needed someone to kill and I just so happened to fulfil certain criteria?"

Voldemort scrutinised him. He used surface legilimency to confirm if the words coming from Harry's mouth coincided with his thoughts and intentions. They did. That was why it was even more puzzling to him that the boy wasn't aware of the prophecy between them.

"Didn't Dumbledore tell you?" he asked.

Harry's brow furrowed. "No, Dumbledore didn't tell me why you are after me."

He took a sip of Espresso. Should he tell him? Either way, by the time they were finished, there would be a magically binding contract between them. Therefore, even if he knew the prophecy, he couldn't do anything to him, because of the contract.

"There's a prophecy, Harry. A prophecy between you and me." Harry's eyes widened. "I don't know the entire contents of the prophecy, but the beginning goes something like this: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approach. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … I don't know how it continues, but those two lines were more than enough for me to do everything in my power to make sure no such individual was alive."

Harry stared blankly at the table for what felt like an eternity. "And …" he swallowed hard. "You think I am the child of the prophecy?"

"The Longbottom boy could also potentially fit the prophecy requirements … but I chose to go after you."

Their eyes met. "Why?" The boy couldn't seem to understand his thought process that night.

"Because you are like me … in a way." Harry seemed confused. "I told you, didn't I? That night in the cemetery." He watched colour disappear from Harry's face. "We are both half-bloods. I had a muggle father and you had a mudblood mother." He sneered. "If there was anyone who could rival me in terms of power, then it would be another half-blood, because, as much as I might hate and despise Dumbledore, he's powerful and he's a half-blood. For all the claims about blood purity, purebloods are rather … average when it comes to magic, especially the current generations. A disgrace really. Almost as bad as mudbloods and muggles, if you ask me."

"And … is there a way for us to learn what the entire prophecy says?" asked the boy in a small voice.

"There is, but it's complicated. There's a Department at the Ministry that holds all the prophecies ever made. If either you or I could get inside, we could learn what it says."

"Why does it have to be either you or me? Can't you just tell Malfoy or any other follower to go fetch it for you?"

He let out a sigh. "Because prophecies in crystal balls can only be touched by the subjects of the prophecy … you and me. The Keeper of Prophecies is the only other person who can touch it without going mad at the contact."

"Oh." Harry entertained himself with watching the table and sipping his ice tea. "Is there a way to cancel a prophecy? I mean, does it stop existing if the orb is smashed or is it still in effect?"

"I wouldn't know," he admitted. "But I think that having a magically binding contract or an Unbreakable Vow, where all the clauses are stated clearly between you and me, then I would assume the prophecy becomes invalid since neither of us would be able to hurt the other intentionally under any circumstances without facing death themselves."

Harry nodded. "I like the sound of that. When do we do that?"

"Today, if you're up for it." He smirked.

Harry's expression changed immediately. He let go of the dog he was cradling, stood up, grabbed his glass and started chugging down the liquid. It was enough to make even him stop from taking a sip with the rim of the cup pressed to his lips. Once the boy drained everything, he burped loudly, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'll pay for our drinks at the till and you finish up your Espresso. We're leaving for Gringotts, now," he said assertively and left him alone at the table.

After the shock of witnessing such display wore off, Voldemort finished up his Espresso in one go as well, picked up Tinker Bell and placed her on the seat. Then waited for Harry to join him.

…

They went to the café's deserted back alley. Harry was immediately wary of his intentions. "Why are we here?" he asked nervously.

"So we can apparate without muggles seeing us disappear into thin air," explained Voldemort.

"Apparate? What's that?"

Instead of wasting time explaining it, he held out his arm to Harry. "Let me show you," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes and a cruel smirk. Harry looked pale again. "Grab tightly onto my arm and don't let go. I won't be responsible if you splinch in the process."

"Splinch?" he croaked in alarm.

He rolled his eyes. "Just grab onto me, Potter," he snarled impatiently. He swallowed thick, looking apprehensively at his arm, but ultimately grabbed onto his arm and squeezed his eyes.

A second later, they stood in an adjacent alley to Diagon alley closer to Gringotts. Harry collapsed to his knees, heaving. "It's a good thing I didn't eat yet, otherwise I would be puking my lunch out." He squinted up at him. "Is apparition always this rough on the stomach?"

"No, though I suppose it varies from person to person and on whether you're the one doing the apparating or if you're the one being apparated. Some never get over the apparition travel sickness and some never even master this means of transport."

Harry slowly rose to his feet, using the wall as support. He looked at his surroundings. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"I'm certain," he smirked.

Harry looked at him with scepticism. "If you say so," he shrugged.

He started walking towards the main street with Harry in tow. They reached Gringotts in less than a minute and managed to secure a private meeting with Griphook. He enjoyed immensely seeing the goblin's blood drain from the creature's face when he revealed his identity to him, because he had to for the sake of the agreement with Harry, but the goblin was sworn to secrecy.

They decided to do both: the contract and the Vow … just to make it even more effective.

There were four points to their agreement with a couple of additional notes:

They were not to attack or kill each other through magical or muggle physical means. (They were allowed to insult each other, but not defame the other.)

They were not to use third parties to eliminate or hurt the other.

They were not to obstruct each other's plans and lives, meaning that Harry was forbidden to join any organisation that might conspire against Voldemort politically as well as personally (e.g. Order of the Phoenix opposes Voldemort politically and they are actively trying to kill him), while Voldemort was forbidden from interfering and obstructing Harry's future life plans (e.g. education, job, hobbies, love life), unless they directly conspired against Voldemort.

Neither was obliged to pursue third parties who defamed, spread animosity or committed violent acts against the other and were acting on their own accord (meaning that neither Harry nor Voldemort have in any way or capacity encouraged them directly or indirectly to behave or perpetrate such acts against the other). (e.g. If newspapers are spreading lies and are creating and encouraging animosity either towards Voldemort or Harry, because they simply don't like either of them, neither Harry nor Voldemort respectively, are obliged to help the other in clearing their name, or pursuing justice.)

Note 1: Should either Voldemort (Tom Marvolo Riddle) or Harry be killed by a third party acting on its own volition, the other is automatically freed from the agreement, since one of the contractors is dead and thus cannot perpetrate acts forbidden in the contract.

Note 2: If Voldemort (Tom Marvolo Riddle) or Harry violates a clause, either wittingly or unwittingly, magic will take their lives as payment for the infringement.

This agreement entered into force immediately.

…

On one of the shelves in the Hall of Prophecies, the crystal ball that holds the record of the prophecy made by Sybill Patricia Trelawney to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore about Dark Lord and Harry Potter cracked and disintegrated on its own.

Chapter End Notes

The ending part might be weird to some, because unfulfilled/invalid prophecies in the Hall of Prophecies probably don't disintegrate into thin air, but in this case it's symbolic for both Harry and Voldemort because unless Dumbledore shares the Pensive memory they will never know the contents of the prophecy and I think that's the best for them. They have the contract and the Vow in place, so, the contents of the prophecy are inconsequential and in canon the physical record of the prophecy is smashed by Harry so ... here it disintegrated on its own.

As for the coffees, I hope I got the descriptions right. I consulted a site to get an idea myself. So, I hope I understood and paraphrased things accurately (the site in question: https//2016/01/different-types-of-coffee.html)

For those interested in the songs Harry was listening to in his first Spanish class, here's a list:
Alfabeto Español - Canciones Infantiles: https/youtu.be/MhYKuKA0qLo
Canción de los saludos: https/youtu.be/-ufDgAnpZsM?t=56
Veo Veo - Las Canciones de la Familia Blu: https/youtu.be/klGK7ehiDPg
Un Elefante se Balanceaba - Rondas y Clásicos Infantiles : https/youtu.be/MOQR1Ct2Gms

Of Plans & Unpleasant Surprises

Chapter Summary

With Harry as a threat out of Voldemort's way, he can now focus on more important things. However, coming up with a new persona proves to be more difficult than anticipated and after a meeting with his free and marked Death Eaters, he learns of something unpleasant concerning his diary horcrux.

Chapter Notes

WARNING: This chapter contains some violence.

NOTE/DISCLAIMER: This chapter features a counselling session. While I have some basic knowledge of psychology (because it was a requirement for my profession) and a friend with a Master's Degree in the field, I am NOT a licensed professional. I hope that, despite my lack of professional background, I managed to treat the session with respect and some level of accuracy.

Enjoy the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"This is where we part ways, Potter," said Voldemort solemnly when they exited the building.

Harry turned to him, his back straight and head tilted upward to meet the man's eyes. "For now."

"For now."

He held his hand to him. Harry glanced at it, and then reached to shake hands. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

" Igualmente," he returned with a smile, before he realised he said it in Spanish and hurriedly corrected himself. "Uh, I mean likewise. Likewise."

"I wish you all the best, Potter, with your normal teenage and adult life." Harry was sure the smile was fake, and the words sounded empty and forced, but he didn't really care that much about it. After all, the man was being polite and respectful, so he was going to be polite and respectful too.

"Thank you." He smiled. "And I wish you many personal and political successes as well."

They let go of their hands, but kept looking at the other. "I trust you will be able to find your way to your next appointment from here."

"I will," assured him Harry brightly.

"Then, I will take my leave. Until we meet again, Harry Potter." One moment Voldemort was in front of him and the next, he disappeared.

Harry let out a sigh of relief.

Well, that went better than anticipated. He didn't expect Voldemort to come disguised as a slightly older version of his teenage self, but he hoped recognition didn't show on his face, otherwise, he would have had to explain how he knew of his teenage appearance, which would have inevitably led to him having to tell him about the diary and he didn't want to upset him. At least not until they had the contract and vow in place and he was safe from the man's wrath once he learned his diary was destroyed.

Though something must have been off about Voldemort's disguise, because a few minutes into looking at him, the features of his teenage appearance started to melt away, until all he was seeing was the face he had in the graveyard. However, apparently, he was the only one who was seeing him as he was, because no one else was screaming and panicking at the sight of Voldemort.

Apart from hiding his reaction to his appearance and the shift that occurred after several minutes of looking at him, he also made certain not to accidentally reveal any sensitive information like the fact that he could speak to snakes, or that he was a horcrux. If Voldemort knew about his status as a parselmouth and his horcrux, he would probably try to control every aspect of his life, even going as far as deciding what and when he ate and drank, when he went to bed, what he wore, with whom he could hang out, when and where he was allowed to go outside. While Voldemort would probably make sure to keep him safe, he really didn't want to live his life being told constantly how and when to do the most basic of things. With that no-interference clause in place, he now didn't have to worry too much about it, even if Voldemort learnt of his horcrux status by chance.

With the agreement in place, he felt better and lighter, as if a giant boulder had fallen off his chest and back. A smile spread across his face and he felt giddy. Then, he remembered that he should probably make his way to Mrs. Nightingale's place for his counselling session and get ready for tomorrow's English session with Ana Maria.

…

When Voldemort returned to the Riddle Manor, he was smiling like a maniac. Nagini seemed confused by his good mood, so he told her about his meeting with Harry and the agreement between them.

" Now, I have one thing less to worry about," he hissed excitedly. " With the prophecy rendered useless and with Harry out of my way, I can finally focus on other more important things."

" Such as?" prompted Nagini, intrigued.

" Defeating Dumbledore and his Order, of course. Although, before I do that, I think I should make sure all of my horcruxes are where I left them," he said pensively. " And trying to see who is really loyal and who isn't among my free followers sounds necessary too, especially in regards to Severus Snape. He can say whatever he wants, but I don't trust him since he is an expert Occlumens, and he could fool me if he really put in the effort. Then, after I've gathered enough information about Dumbledore and his Order, I will dispose of any traitors and also free those who are in Azkaban and start negotiating with dark creatures to build an actual army."

" Sounds like a solid plan," commented Nagini. " But how exactly are you going to do all of that?"

" Checking on horcruxes will be simple, since I know their locations. To spy on Dumbledore and Snape, and to check on my Diadem horcrux, I will infiltrate Hogwarts as a transfer student and use a powerful disguise to fool everyone. Except perhaps a fellow parselmouth, but I'm the only parselmouth in Britain, so there shouldn't be a problem."

" Will you let your followers know about your plan?"

" No. I don't want anyone knowing about what I'm doing."

" Then, what are you going to tell your followers about your sudden disappearance?" she wanted to know.

" I'll tell them that I'm going on a holiday to gather my thoughts and formulate the perfect plan to take over magical Britain," said Voldemort.

" And will you take me with you to Hogwarts?"

He smiled at her and petted her head gently. " Of course, you are coming with me. You're my loyal companion and my horcrux, so wherever I go, you go."

She hissed in satisfaction and nuzzled his gaunt and pale cheek affectionately. " I love you, my hatchling."

" Me too, Nagini."

" And what kind of disguise will you use?" she wondered.

" I will use my old looks as a base and then modify it enough so that no one who has known Tom Marvolo Riddle will be able to recognise me. Maybe I should go with lighter and shorter hair, different coloured eyes, and freckles even," he said with a furrowed brow, scratching his chin. " Should I also include glasses and facial birthmarks? Maybe even change the shape and size of my nose and mouth."

" Depends on what type you want to go for."

" I think I want to go for Scandinavian features."

Nagini nodded. " And what name will you use?"

" It can't be anything that can be formed from my birth name or otherwise associated with it, and why would I even want to use my boring, muggle name as a base. It's already enough that I'm using my muggle father's looks as the base for my disguise. No, it has to be something completely different. Something to go with my 'Scandinavian' features." He thought about it for a few seconds and a random Scandinavian sounding name popped in his mind. " I know what I'll call myself."

" What?"

" Felix Hansson."

…

"You seem really happy today, Harry," commented Mrs. Nightingale amused, upon seeing the brilliant smile on Harry's face. "Did something good happen?"

He sat in the comfortable sofa and picked up a chocolate. "Yes. Today I invited someone with whom I've had a feud for a while now to the café to talk out our differences and make peace and it worked. Now, we're not fighting anymore and I feel much happier and lighter because of that," he explained happily, munching on the chocolate.

"I'm really glad to hear that, Harry," she answered with a smile too. "It takes a lot of maturity to reach out to someone to offer an olive branch and look past the differences to have a symbiotic relationship with the other person."

Harry smiled brightly at the compliment.

"Speaking of the café … how is work?"

"It's good." He took a sip of the raspberry lemonade. "I finally learnt the differences between all the coffees on the menu and their preparation."

"That's amazing."

Harry's cheeks heated at the praise. "I still need to look up the recipes for certain items on the menu," he said embarrassed, "but I know how to prepare most of the drinks. I'm actually really proud of myself," he said with a shy smile.

"As you should be."

He grinned into his glass.

"And how is your relationship with your co-workers? Have there been any significant changes in your dynamic with them?"

"At the post office, it's polite and formal, mostly because they are much older than me and while we do talk occasionally, I mostly keep to myself there," he admitted. "But I think that I have managed to show them that I'm an honest, hard-working, punctual and trust-worthy person. At the café, Victoria comes by every Friday to give me my paycheck, but she also occasionally comes by to check if I need anything, though if I have any questions or doubts I usually just ask Nathan or Ana Maria. This Monday, Nathan offered to drive me on certain days so I can save on my transport expenses."

"That is very kind of him, isn't it?"

"Yes," he agreed, "but I feel bad making him waste all that gasoline for spending extra miles picking me up or driving me back home."

"He probably offered, because he wants to help you," assured him Mrs. Nightingale. "I've known him for a while and he's a very generous person, if kind of reserved and living in his own world, who doesn't mind helping others if they need it. For him, who is working more than one job, longer hours and receiving more money than you, who are working two part-time jobs and have to commute every day to London and Surrey, a few extra miles a week aren't going to make much of a difference in his paycheck."

Harry nodded, took a biscuit from the platter and carefully nibbled on it. She smiled.

"And how was your Spanish lesson yesterday? What did you learn with Ana Maria?"

"It was amazing," he beamed. "The first thirty minutes, we were repeating what I've learnt in the previous session, and then she taught me how to count from twenty-one to thirty-one in Spanish, then I learnt the days of the week, the months and the seasons, so I could tell when my birthday is in Spanish. I also learnt colours so I could tell which my favourite colour is and which my least favourite colour is. She prepared many worksheets, but most of it was colouring, naming things, cutting, and gluing. It felt like I was in kindergarten again and I liked that. And I got another sticker at the end for being a diligent student."

"Oh, and what sticker did you choose this time?"

"A giraffe," he said brightly. "Oh, and I also tried fried milk for the first time yesterday."

"Did you like it?"

Harry nodded vigorously. "It was really smooth and creamy, probably not exactly healthy, because it's fried and it has a lot of sugar in it, but it tasted divine."

She chuckled, but her face quickly morphed into a serious one. "And how have you been feeling mentally since Friday?"

Harry's excitement diminished significantly at the question. "I think I've been holding up pretty okay. I still try to distract myself from thinking about it most of the time, because if I think too much then that's all I end up thinking about." His voice started to shake with emotion and his eyes filled up with tears.

"That's what happened on Sunday. I had trouble falling asleep and I started thinking about death and dying and how I should have been the one to die, and not Cedric." His voice broke and tears started falling down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them as they fell, but there were so many tears that he couldn't keep up with them. "How it's my fault that he died, because I insisted he accompany me that day, and that if I hadn't been so adamant he come with me, he would still be alive and that I'm somehow responsible for his death and I end up hating myself so much that I think the world would be a better place without me."

He was sobbing uncontrollably, snot coming out of his nose and fighting for breath. His chest and throat hurt and he found it hard to swallow. Mrs. Nightingale sat next to him, pulled him into a comforting hug, and gently rocked him.

He let her mother him and even hugged her back, never having experienced such a gentle hug. Mrs. Weasley hugged him, of course, but it was always firm almost suffocating, this one, on the other hand, felt comforting.

"I know it's not rational or true," he hiccoughed, "and I don't want to die, because I'm scared of what happens after it, but sometimes there's almost like a voice in my head saying all those horrible things."

Another wave of tears flowed down his cheeks and she offered him an entire box of paper handkerchiefs and waited for him to blow his nose.

"I apologise for crying like this," he sniffed.

"No, don't apologise, Harry," she told him. "Cry if you must. Let it out, even if you need to do it in private. Just don't bottle up your emotions when it gets too overwhelming or too painful to bear."

He nodded.

"As for what you're feeling. I want you to understand that what you're feeling, Harry, is very common in those who are experiencing survivor's guilt," she told him, rubbing his back in soothing circles. "You feel guilty for surviving a traumatic event that resulted in the death of your friend. You blame yourself for his death. That is all part of what you're going through, but we also have to move past those sort of thoughts and feelings, okay?"

He blew his nose, but nodded in response.

"You told me that you would like to get better by September." Harry nodded. "Well, we have a little over a month to get you to a good mental place, it might take you longer than that, but, nevertheless, I would like you to do three things from now on whenever you start to feel like you felt on Sunday. One, would your friend, as you knew him, ever blame you for what happened that day?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Cedric probably wouldn't blame me for it."

"Use this knowledge to remind yourself that Cedric isn't angry with you and that he doesn't blame you for his death."

Another wave of tears threatened to spill over. He nodded, because he didn't trust his voice to answer.

"Two, I want you to tell yourself that you aren't guilty of surviving that ordeal and that you most definitely are not responsible for your friend's death. The only responsible, the only culprit of Cedric's death is the person who killed him. No one else." Her voice was gentle, yet steady, encouraging. "The voice might put up a good fight for a while, but if you keep telling yourself the opposite of what that nasty little bugger is telling you, you will eventually defeat it. It won't be easy and it might take you more than a handful of tries, but you can get past it."

"And what's the third thing?"

She smiled softly at him and pulled him in for another hug. "I want you to love yourself, to take care of yourself. I want you to enjoy life. I want you to tell yourself that you are important, that there are people who love you and care about you: your godfather, your other friends, Nathan, Ana Maria. They might not have been in your life for long, but there's a bond already."

Harry burst into tears again, moved that someone would say something like that to him.

"We are still going to work through your grief here in person, but outside of this comfortable room, I want you to work on what I told you to do, okay?"

He nodded, drying his tears.

She sighed. "I know me hugging you is not exactly professional, but sometimes all someone needs is a good hug to feel better." She looked at the coffee table with the tray full of biscuits and chocolates and picked up one. "And something sweet."

She offered it to Harry, who accepted it with a shy giggle and puffy red eyes.

…

Voldemort spent the rest of the day working on his disguise, using his travels to Northern Europe as reference, while also coming up with good background information about his new persona.

In the end, he decided to go with light brown hair and a wavy and messy taper hairstyle, where medium length hair on top blended into shorter hair around the sides and back, light-blue eyes, full lips, high forehead, small and narrow nose, and high but not that prominent cheekbones and subtle and sparse freckles. And while there were still some subtle traces of his original face, he was satisfied with his modifications.

" What do you think Nagini?" he asked her. She took a good look at him from all sides.

" If I hadn't been watching you go through the transformation, I wouldn't have guessed it was you," she concluded.

" That means it's an effective disguise," he said with a satisfied smirk. " Now I just need to work on my personal story and write as soon as possible to Hogwarts to get everything for year five."

" Why year five?" she wondered.

" It's easier to be in the same year as Harry," he said. " By being his classmate, I would also be able to keep an eye on him to see how he behaves and if he's upholding his part of the bargain, though if he breaks it, Magic will know and make sure to punish him."

" I see."

He took a piece of parchment and began writing down the biographical information, such as name, which was Felix Hansson, date of birth, which was 13 December 1999, place of birth, which was Gothenburg, Sweden, however his place of residence needed to be somewhere in the UK.

The first problem he encountered was deciding if this new persona was an orphan or if he had parents. After considering all the pros and cons of both, he ultimately decided to go with parents, even though it would require a lot of effort to track down a couple with that specific surname with no existing children to modify their memories into thinking they had a son named Felix for the past fifteen years. At least, he wouldn't have to worry about the Ministry trying to put him in an orphanage or something equally horrible, and he was having none of that.

With this, he also had another predicament, was this new persona a Pureblood, Half-Blood or Muggleborn. While he wanted to put himself as a Pureblood, there were no pureblooded wizards with the surname Hansson, and while he could make himself a Half-Blood, this would be in common with his original self and he wanted to distance himself from it. Therefore, the only other option left was to make himself into a Mudblood. He might not be thrilled about it, but by being a Mudblood, the school administration wouldn't be as suspicious of him.

Then, he had to figure out how to justify him not being in any magical educational system and determine just how much magic this new persona knew. It might be far-fetched, but he could say that his parents didn't feel comfortable with sending him to a magical boarding school and wanted him to get basic muggle education, while buying him some basic books about magic so he could do some self-study in free-time. However, he wasn't supposed to know about Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, or have a wand, so he probably got his magic books while still living in Sweden and they were probably written in Swedish, which would imply he knew how to read, write and speak Swedish. It was true that he had learnt many foreign languages during his travels, but it was also true that he was out of practice with most of them, Swedish being one of those languages. Which brought him to the next question, when exactly did he and his family move to Britain?

He sighed. This was getting more complicated by the second. Especially doing it on his own, but if he was able to murder his paternal family without arousing suspicion and framing his maternal uncle for their deaths, then he could very well take care of this without relying on any of his followers.

Maybe he could say they learnt about Hogwarts from a book about magical schools around the world and maybe instead of Swedish magical books, he might have found a few English ones to practice his English or Latin ones too. He was far more familiar with Latin than Swedish anyway. As for how old he was when they moved, twelve seemed like a good age.

As he observed the parchment and his writing, he noticed that his handwriting resembled too much the one he had in school. 'Another thing to worry about,' he thought annoyed, 'developing a new handwriting for Felix Hansson.'

…

The following day, he visited the Malfoy Manor and called for a meeting. Once all of the free marked Death Eaters were gathered around the dining table, he addressed them.

"I will make this brief and clear," he began softly, "I want you to cease everything you are doing against Harry Potter."

There was confusion on their faces.

"I want you to leave Harry Potter be and the prophecy regarding him and me in the Department of Mysteries as well. Any questions?" he encompassed them with a look.

Lucius rose his hand. "Is there a particular reason for your decision, my Lord?"

"I changed my mind in regards to the boy that is all. Instead of focussing on him, we should focus on Dumbledore and his Order. Why waste energy on a teenager when we have much bigger fish to worry about, wouldn't you agree, Lucius?"

Lucius swallowed, but agreed with him. "You are absolutely right, my Lord."

"Of course, I'm right."

Avery was the next one who rose his hand. Voldemort granted him permission to speak. "Yes, Avery?"

"If I understood you correctly, you want us to carry on with our assignments; the only difference is that we should abort anything related to Harry Potter and the prophecy."

"You understood me perfectly, Avery. All of you should carry along what you have been doing so far, infiltrating the Ministry, trying to find an inconspicuous way to make it fall. Just leave Harry Potter in peace, in other words, no slander, and no attacks whatsoever. Yes?"

They all nodded.

"Another thing I wanted to communicate to all of you is that I will be travelling outside of Britain for a year at least."

The gathered Death Eaters gaped at the news.

"It will be a mixture of pleasure and business, and being out of the country will make it easier for us to keep my return a secret from the Ministry."

Snape lifted his hand this time. "Do you have a specific place you will be travelling to in mind, my Lord?"

"No specific destination in mind, Severus, just me touring the world as I see fit in my new body, while trying to work out a detailed plan for taking over the Ministry and disposing of the Order as swiftly as possible," he replied with a tight smile. He found it suspicious of Severus to ask him that, but he made sure not to show it on his face.

"Will we be able to contact you while you're away?" asked McNair.

"No," he said simply. "I will render the mark inactive for the duration of my travels, so it should look the way it did before my resurrection ritual. No visible mark on the skin, which should reassure the Ministry that I haven't returned. Now, I need a volunteer to deactivate the mark for the rest of you here and those who are still in Azkaban."

Lucius volunteered.

He beckoned him closer and he kneeled before him with the marked forearm extended towards him. He placed the tip of his yew wand directly onto the mark and started hissing in parseltongue. Slowly, the pitch black Dark Mark started to fade into the skin. Once it was invisible, he prompted his followers to roll up their sleeves and check their marked forearms.

They did as told and found unblemished skin.

"That will be all. Dismissed," he said with authority. Dumb-founded, they started to leave, bowing and greeting him. He waited until the Malfoys were the only people present in the Manor.

"Lucius," he called to him in a hissing tone, "I wish to speak."

He immediately straightened and signalled his wife and son to leave them alone. "Yes, my Lord. What can I do for you?"

"I would like to know if you still have the book I left in your possession before I lost my body."

Lucius' pale expression grew paler still. Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

"Did something happen to the book, Lucius?" His tone was calm, but there was an underlying threat in his voice. If that bleached blond had somehow lost his horcrux or let it come to harm, he would be the one hurting from the torturing curse.

The man swallowed hard. "A-About that, my Lord," he stammered. "A c-couple of years ago, the M-Ministry was raiding d-dark wizarding households in search of d-dark artefacts."

"What happened to the book?" he insisted sternly, trying to keep his composure, because he was already feeling his blood boil in his veins at the thought of losing a horcrux. "That's all I want to know."

"I-It was d-destroyed, m-my Lord."

Deafening and terrifying silence settled between them. Lucius was shaking internally, already bracing himself for a crucio.

Impatience and anger getting the better of him, he forced Lucius to his knees and dived into his mind, searching through memories until he came across the one with Lucius, Harry and Dumbledore in the headmaster's office talking about him and the diary, which had a gaping hole in the middle. Oh, he was furious, but he listened and observed. Apparently, Lucius, to save his own ass from the Ministry, gave his precious horcrux to a first-year girl no less, who was then possessed by the soul shard in the diary to open the Chamber and unleash the basilisk within.

He made sure to wreck as much havoc inside Lucius' mind as possible before abandoning it, because the satisfaction and joy he would have felt knowing his horcrux was trying to rid the school of filth were completely dampened by blood-boiling fury, because now, he had one safeguard less, and the location of others could be compromised as well. All because of Lucius' actions.

"Crucio!" he hissed ferociously, his blood red eyes narrowed into slits and his jaw clenched. As he poured every bit of his wrath into the spell.

Lucius screamed and crumpled to the floor. His limbs started contorting. He writhed and thrashed for a full minute. He was aware of Narcissa and Draco entering the room they were in, gasping and pleading with him to release Lucius from the spell, but he ignored them. Because no one told him what to do and he definitely wasn't merciful enough to those who have failed him in such a way.

After most of his rage dissipated, he let him go. He approached the shivering, twitching, whimpering and sobbing mess that was Lucius Malfoy and stepped onto his face, pressing his cheek into the floor.

"When I give you something to safeguard, you guard it with your pathetic life if necessary, is that clear?" he hissed through clenched teeth. Lucius managed to nod under his foot. "This was the first and last time you did something like that, Lucius. From now on, you are at the bottom of the command order. You are nothing but dirt among my followers. I don't care how much power or sway you hold over the Minister, you and your family have lost all prestige in my circle of followers."

"I can make it up to you, my Lord," pleaded Lucius. "I swear I will make it up to you."

Voldemort sneered. "I don't want to hear your empty promises. I want to see results, because that's all I'm expecting from you, but if you were incapable to safeguard a book, a very important book mind you, then I don't see how you could do anything I ask of you no matter how simple the task."

He removed his foot from the blond's face and straightened himself and his robes. "I will be leaving now and I won't be back until I return from my travels," he announced to all three Malfoy. "If you indeed wish to prove yourself to me, Lucius, then I expect you to do something productive and useful for the cause. I want the path to be paved for when I return for a swift take over from within the Ministry, is that understood?"

He nodded.

"Good." He was about to leave, when he turned to Narcissa and Draco. "Oh, and one more thing. Give me one of your house elves. One that you won't miss terribly when it doesn't return back to you."

Narcissa called for one of them and ordered the creature to accompany him.

With the creature at his side, he immediately apparated to the Cliffside cave to check on his locket. The elf looked frightened and rightfully so, but it's not like he cared since it was going to die in a few minutes anyway.

They boarded the boat and travelled across the water, until they reached the small rock isle with the basin filled with the Emerald Potion.

He peered inside and noticed that there was indeed a locket in there; however, he wanted to be sure this was the same locket he left all those years ago.

"Drink all of it," he ordered the elf, who obliged, but after a few drinks began to resist and complain about thirst and pain.

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the crystal container and started forcing the potion down the elf's throat, who struggled in vain. Once it was done, he cast a wordless severing charm at the creature's neck, severing its head. Then, he levitated the body and the head and dropped them into the inferi-infested water.

He took out the locket to inspect it and quickly realised that was not Salazar Slytherin's locket. He opened it and found a message inside.

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B

He crumpled the message in his hand as he shook in rage once again. Who was the insolent that discovered his secret? Who was the insolent who dared take away his horcrux to destroy it?

He stared at the initials and tried to think of what the initials stood for. He remembered asking Regulus Black for his elf to test the defences, but … surely, the elf died when he left it in the cave.

But what if it didn't? What if it returned to its master and told him all about this place?

What was Regulus' middle name again? Did it start with an A? Because if it was indeed Regulus who managed to take his locket, then he probably took it to his house. For some reason, the exact location and name of the place escaped him, no matter how much he tried to remember it. He knew where the Blacks lived, then why couldn't he remember the name of the residence and the exact address?

Probably because it was under a Fidelius Charm and the lair of Dumbledore's Order. How in the world would he infiltrate it? Severus must be aware of the location, but he probably wasn't the Secret-Keeper. Besides, he had decided he was going to do things on his own, because clearly most of his followers were incompetent.

He placed the crumpled note inside the locket again, returned it to the basin and refilled it with the Emerald Potion. In case someone else learnt of this location as the hiding place for one of his horcruxes, they will suffer for nothing.

He still needed to check on the ring at the Gaunt Shack in Little Hangleton and keep it close to him, the Diadem should still be at Hogwarts with none the wiser about it, though once he infiltrates Hogwarts he will be able to confirm it, and the Cup should be safe in Bellatrix's vault in Gringotts. She might be crazy, but at least she was smart enough to put his horcrux in a Gringotts vault and not in her personal library at the Lestrange Manor.

He was still pissed about the diary and he had a feeling he would be pissed about it for a while. He was furious with Lucius for endangering it in the first place, but the one to destroy the diary was Harry Potter … or Dumbledore.

"Oh, Harry," he hissed angrily under his breath. "Oh, Harry. You're lucky I didn't learn about the diary before our agreement, because otherwise, you can be sure I wouldn't have negotiated any kind of truce with you."

…

Miles away from the cave, a cold shiver ran down Harry's spine in the middle of summer heat … for no apparent reason.

Chapter End Notes

Poor Harry Feeling Voldemort's anger from miles away.

And Voldemort thinks he's slick about his parseltongue disguise too. Let's see how that goes for him. For illustrative purposes, I will leave an approximation of Voldemort's Felix Hansson disguise here:

This is actually Benjamin Eidem, a Swedish model, and he was the inspiration behind the disguise.

Tea of Good Faith

Chapter Summary

Harry meets up with Professor Snape and Voldemort sets the first phase of his plan into motion.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

After the Death Eater meeting, Severus immediately presented himself at the Order headquarters to report on what he had learnt. When he told them about the Dark Lord's demand to let Harry Potter alone, his plan to retire outside of Britain for a year to travel and his plan on the conquest of Magical Britain, everyone present at the dining table was lost for words for a full minute … even Moody and Dumbledore.

Sirius was the first one to recover from his shock. "That's bullshit. You're lying," he accused.

Severus directed a cold glare at him. "I don't particularly care if you believe me or not, Black," he snarled, "but I will not have you accuse me of lying so blatantly. You want proof?" He rolled up his left sleeve to show his unmarred inner forearm. "There's your proof," he spat.

They all stared at the forearm.

"Please, Sirius, Severus, no fighting," said Dumbledore. They didn't say anything, but they continued to scowl at each other. He addressed Severus. "Did he say anything about where he was going, anything at all?"

"No, when I asked him if he had a destination in mind, he smirked and said that he would tour the world as he saw fit."

"This might be a trap Albus," warned Moody. "You can never discard that possibility."

"I know, Alastor," he sighed, rubbing his wrinkled forehead. "I know this could only be a misdirection, but with no one being able to communicate directly with Voldemort, there's not much we can do."

"Well, he might be bullshitting about his world tour, but I don't think he was bullshitting about leaving my godson be," said Sirius. "I say we let Harry know of this so he won't have to worry about Voldemort anymore and you can finally allow me and his friends to communicate freely with him."

"Think for a moment, Sirius," hissed Moody. "What if that's exactly what Voldemort wants? Lure us into thinking he's given up on the boy, trick us into revealing his location, and lead him straight to him. He might have ordered his Death Eaters to leave him alone, but he could be still targeting him secretly. Remember, constant vigilance."

Dumbledore looked deep in thought.

"And you know what I think, Moody," said Sirius with narrowed eyes, "that you're paranoid. My godson feels like his friends from school have forsaken him, because he hasn't heard from them at all since the classes ended, he's still dealing with the aftermath of the tournament and Cedric's death, and instead of letting him stay here with me, you force him to go back to his relatives." He pointed accusingly at Dumbledore.

"We've been through this, Sirius. Harry has to go back to his relatives for at least two weeks every year until he's of age to ensure that his mother's protection remains in place."

"Well, it's already been two weeks," he snarled, "more than two weeks. As for a safe place for him to be, this place is safe. It's under Fidelius and it has been since last summer."

"For someone who feels forsaken, the boy sure was able to find a way to fill his time with things to do," commented Hestia Jones, one of the people assigned to keep an eye on Harry.

Sirius glared at the woman. "Yeah," he huffed, "thank Merlin, he did. Thank Merlin, he has found people who don't ignore him. Thank Merlin, he has found himself a healer to sort his mind in order. Thank Merlin, he has found a way to get some peace from his relatives. Because apparently no one here who is supposedly thinking about his well-being will do anything for him when he NEEDS IT THE MOST!" His voice was getting gradually more aggressive, until he exploded.

Remus placed his hands on his friend's shoulders to calm him down.

"Sirius, enough," said Dumbledore calmly. "I understand your frustration and your desire to be with your godson, but you must also understand that we cannot compromise the Order for one boy, especially since he might have a connection with Voldemort."

Sirius just shook his head in disappointment. "You know what, Albus? I don't think you understand, because if you understood, you wouldn't be here, asking me to ignore my godson, when he's suffering emotionally and mentally no matter how busy he keeps himself. If you understood what Harry is going through, then you wouldn't keep him away from his godfather and friends."

There was silence.

"I can't be in the same room with you anymore," he said encompassing everyone who was present in the dining room. "It's getting difficult to breath. I'm going to see Witherwings; he's much better company than all of you right now."

He shook off Remus' hands and walked away. "One more thing, Albus," he said, turning to them, before he left for good, "I want a trial and I want my freedom, so I can hang out with my godson whenever I please."

With that, he left.

"So melodramatic," drawled Severus, but his comment lacked the bite and venom it usually had.

…

When Friday came, for some strange reason, Harry was even more nervous to meet with his Potions Professor than with Voldemort. It was probably because Snape was his professor and thus had more contact with him on every day basis than Voldemort, and while Professor Snape wasn't necessarily trying to kill him, he sure seemed to enjoy making his life miserable through hurtful comments and downgrading his Potions assignments and exams, whether he put in the effort or not.

Five minutes to one, the café bell chimed and as he welcomed the customer together with the puppies, he noticed it was Professor Snape.

"Good afternoon, Professor," he greeted politely, still in his waiter attire.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," he answered with the corner of his eyes fixed on the dogs that were sniffing his legs and feet and wagging their tails.

"Please, sit wherever you desire, I will be with you shortly. I just need to finish my shift and change out of the uniform, unless you don't mind me wearing it."

"Don't you worry about me, Mr. Potter," he drawled. "You go do whatever you need to do first."

He nodded and followed Snape to the table he had chosen. Luckily, there was no cat seated on one of the chairs and while the puppies followed Severus, trying to get his attention and pets, his professor didn't seem to terribly mind them … yet.

"Would you like me to bring you anything to drink?" he asked, smiling.

"Black tea with a dash of milk and no sugar will be fine."

"I will be right back with your order," he said and left his Potions professor to the mercy of excited puppies.

"What do you want you damned mutts?" Severus grumbled under his breath. They barked once. "I'm neither holding you nor petting you," he told them resolutely. Half of them desisted, already interested in something else, but two persisted. He shooed them away. "I don't have anything to give you, so if you want to eat go eat from your dog bowls."

They turned away and one went to roughhouse one of his fellow pups and the other went to the counter where Harry was in hopes he would give him some cuddles. The forth one was at the bowl eating dog biscuits.

While Harry was getting his tea ready, Severus looked at the café and thought that it was indeed a suitable place for the boy to get some experience with what it was like to work with people on a regular basis and how tiresome it could get … especially being polite.

The boy returned five minutes later to place his order in front of him then excused himself so he could change clothes. He served him a ceramic teapot where his black tea was still soaking in a metal filter ball, a cup, a teaspoon and a little jug of milk, so he could adjust just how much milk he wanted in his tea.

While he waited for Harry to join him and for his tea to soak, Severus was contemplating whether it was okay to tell the boy the ugly truth about the Marauders. He could hurt Black by making his own godson hate him, but there was no doubt that the truth would also hurt Harry, and he couldn't do that to him, not when he was making the effort of them getting along and had even offered to pay for his drink, and if Cedric Diggory's death still haunted him.

Absentmindedly, he poured the tea and milk in the cup and mixed it with the spoon.

However, the boy was also curious and stubborn and would probably want to learn what happened that made Severus act so hatefully towards a child who had done nothing to him directly upon his arrival at Hogwarts.

He sighed, conflicted; but by the time Harry sat opposite him, he had reached a decision.

"So, Mr. Potter," he drawled, "what would you like to talk about?"

The boy scratched his neck. "Honestly, Professor, I'm most curious to learn what happened between you and my father that made you hate me so much from the beginning."

Severus had to suppress the urge to close his eyes and sigh.

"But, since I know that's a sensitive subject for you, I would first like to ask you, if I may of course; why did you become a teacher if you don't like children?"

Severus arched an eyebrow at the question.

Harry, thinking he might have asked an inappropriate question, immediately apologised.

"Believe me, Mr. Potter, if I could have it any other way, I would have never chosen this career path," he confessed wryly. "Alas, it wasn't really my choice, because the headmaster wants me to work at Hogwarts as both the resident Potions Master and Professor, since I supply all the potions in the Hospital Wing and according to him it seemed economical to employ me as professor as well after the retirement of the previous one." He looked irked. "And apparently, Dumbledore believes that I can impart my profound knowledge of potion making to future generations of wizards."

"If I may be frank, Professor," began Harry. Severus gestured him to voice his thoughts. "While I agree that you are indeed a great Potions Master, you are not suitable for teaching … large groups of young pupils at least. Maybe if you taught a handful of students who are interested in the subject, you would be able to teach them a lot, but you don't have the attitude, personality and the patience to deal with most of Hogwarts students."

"Just like how most of those students don't care for the subject either."

"Well …" he said awkwardly, "m-maybe if you didn't snap at people so much or make them nervous with your comments and appeared more approachable, they might show more engagement and interest."

Severus' stare made Harry flustered.

"Or you could take the time to explain and demonstrate in person how to prepare the ingredients, go through the safety protocol for brewing, maybe recommend students to wear protective gear, such as gloves, goggles, face masks and lab coats. I'm sure that the number of health hazardous incidents would diminish if students were aware of the dangers of improper brewing."

"While you raise a valid point, Mr. Potter," he said shrewdly, "most of what you just said is written in books. It's the students' job to read their textbooks and do independent research."

"Unfortunately, Professor, not everyone likes to read as much as Hermione, and most students don't read ahead, so, as a teacher, you should anticipate that and just explain it in person. And if you really want to motivate students into paying attention in Potions, maybe you should have like a safety protocol test at the beginning of each year and those who don't pass it, don't get to brew for the rest of the year and they can automatically fail the class. I'm sure the threat of repeating a year would motivate anyone into trying their hardest," said Harry, hopeful.

As he looked into Severus' eyes, he could swear he saw them glitter in amusement.

"I like the sound of your proposition, Mr. Potter," he said smirking. "I like it very much. Maybe I will implement it this upcoming school term and see how it fares."

Joy bubbled in his chest at having Professor Snape of all people praise his idea for improving student performance in Potions. His lips stretched in a sheepish grin.

"Although, personally, I've always been an advocate of making Potions an elective subject," commented Snape and took a sip of his tea. "That way people who don't have an interest in the field can drop it at any given point of their education and my nerves would be spared and the students can focus on other things."

Harry thought for a second about it. "That's a brilliant idea, Professor, but why hasn't this happened yet?" he asked with a pensive frown.

"The school administration department at the Ministry hasn't approved of it, saying Potions is a fundamental subject that every witch and wizards must learn how to do." He huffed. "They think that following a recipe in a highly dumb-downed book is enough, yet students still have problems with basic potions and put themselves and others at risk."

Harry had flashbacks to all the times Neville did something to his potion that made the cauldron melt or explode and land him in the Hospital Wing, and while he agreed that Neville should be extra cautious, maybe even have private lessons, Snape didn't have to degrade him almost as badly as he degraded him.

"Still, you shouldn't insult those who aren't as proficient. Insults and humiliation don't help, if anything, they make it worse in some cases."

He narrowed his eyes. "Is that about Longbottom?"

"Yes," said Harry resolutely. "You seem to particularly target him and me, but also Hermione. However, in her case you seem to be irritated that she knows so much. Shouldn't you be happy that she reads about the subject and knows stuff no first year did back when you interrogated me about bezoars, and wormwood and asphodel and wolfsbane and monkshood during my very first Potions lesson?"

"Just because Miss Granger reads a book and memorises it, or knows how to follow a recipe to a T doesn't mean she understands all the subtleties about potion making if she didn't read it explicitly in a book. It will take more than a know-it-all to impress me," he drawled. "As for Longbottom, he should grow a backbone. Maybe if he brewed something properly on his own I wouldn't have a reason to insult his lack of intelligence and skills."

"But that's just it," insisted Harry. "You expect Neville to perform well enough for a passing grade, yet you make him nervous even before the brewing starts and then during it and it makes him prone to mistakes. With proper guidance, he might be able to improve."

"Then I believe you have a new Potions partner this year, Mr. Potter. I will leave Mr. Longbottom in your capable and understanding hands and if there are any incidents, you will both answer for them. This will be the perfect opportunity for you to prove how serious you are about your education and proving yourself in my class. Especially now that O.W.L.s are approaching," he said with wicked glee.

Harry swallowed. Oh no. What did he get himself into by defending Neville? Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. No, he couldn't let someone suffer unnecessarily. Not if he could do something about it.

"You will see that both Neville and I will do fine in your class," he said determined. "Just wait and see. We will be the most diligent students you've ever had in your entire career and before this new school term is over, we will be your favourite students even though we're Gryffindors." A faint blush blossomed on his cheeks.

Severus chuckled, amused. "I can't wait for it, Mr. Potter," he teased.

"So, does that mean you agree not to target Neville, Hermione, me or anyone really with hurtful comments?"

He let out a long-suffering sigh. "I will keep it in mind, especially you and Mr. Longbottom, but I've been doing this for far too long to suddenly change overnight. People might think someone is polyjuicing as me or that I've hit my head and suffered a personality transplant."

Harry nodded. "I understand. Thank you," he smiled.

"Speaking of becoming a diligent student, have you already done your summer home assignment for my class?"

"Uh … n-not yet, but I'm slowly doing my summer homework during my free time, especially on weekends. I will have everything done on time for sure."

Silence stretched between them as Severus drank from his teacup again and Harry ran out of things to stall the main reason this entire conversation was even happening: why had Professor Snape hated him from the start and what had happened between his father and his professor?

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he dared to ask him about it. "Is it safe for us to talk about what happened between my father and you?"

Severus looked around the almost empty café, but still went ahead to cast a wandless and nonverbal Muffliato. Then, he placed the cup on the table with a sigh.

"I suppose we can … Your father together with your godfather, Lupin and Pettigrew formed a gang of bullies at Hogwarts."

Harry went stiff and motionless as if someone had just poured a bucket of ice-cold water on him.

"Of course, they didn't think of themselves as such. They thought themselves pranksters and their favourite target was me. It started with insults aimed at my appearance and it escalated into physical violence. I fought back of course, I tried to use my knowledge of dark magic to gain the upper hand and I managed to get back at them on numerous occasions, but then they would strike back again, because they couldn't let me win, I couldn't let them win and it became a vicious circle of trying to outdo the other. However, when both Black and your father teamed up, with Pettigrew and Lupin as their wingmen, usually ambushing me, I stood little chance against them."

Harry felt numb as he stared blankly at the table, listening to what sounded so painfully familiar it was making him sick. His throat constricted and he felt tears collect in his eyes. Determined not to let them fall in public, he furiously blinked them away.

"Why?" croaked Harry, his voice cracking. "Why would my father and godfather do something like that? Weren't they the good guys?"

"As your father put it when asked about that same thing ' It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean'. And because Black was bored and he needed some entertainment."

That hurt. That hurt like a kick to the stomach. Knowing his father, whom everyone hailed as a hero for fighting against Voldemort, who died a brave hero's death, was also a vile bully, made his stomach churn and hard to breathe.

He lost himself in the memories of his own childhood with Dudley and his gang pursuing and tormenting him because he was nothing but a freak and a waste of space. To them it was a game, a way to pass the time, to chase away the boredom. It didn't matter how much every punch and kick hurt him. No, that didn't matter. What mattered was that Dudley and his friends had fun.

"Potter." Snape's soft tone startled him. "I didn't tell you this to hurt you or make you hate your father or your godfather. You wanted to know what happened and I told you. While others want to forget your father's bad traits and actions and only praise his heroics, your father's worst traits are the only thing I remember to this day. His and Black's. I despise Lupin for never having the guts to prevent the bullying or just distance himself from everything, and Pettigrew was no better. As I've said to you in my reply, I recognise that I let your physical resemblance to your father, your rule-breaking tendencies and your snarky comebacks to some of my insults get to me and I unleashed all my frustration and hatred I feel towards your father on you. I shouldn't have. No matter how much you look like him. I shouldn't have assumed that just because your father was a conceited prat that you were also conceited due to your fame. I can try to save face by saying I was trying to keep your ego in check in my own twisted way, but in actuality, I was humiliating you at every opportunity I could."

"But you won't treat me badly from now on, right?" prompted Harry, doing his damnedest not to cry. "I will do my best to be a good person and a good student and we will have a cordial relationship." His voice cracked and he had to stop talking, otherwise, he would break in front of his professor.

"Of course, Mr. Potter," he assured him. He finished the tea and excused himself. "I will be taking my leave now, if you agree."

Harry nodded numbly. Severus produced two and a half pounds for his tea and milk and offered him a handshake. Harry looked dazed at the offered hand, then reached for it and shook it.

"I wish you luck in your job and school," said Severus. "I will see you at school."

With that, he left, leaving a stunned Harry behind. He remained seated for a solid minute, just staring blankly at the table, feeling miserable.

A bark pierced through his daze and he looked down, the white, fluffy puppy gazing up at him. He picked him up and hugged him. The puppy immediately started licking his face in between soft whines, as if the animal could feel his sorrow and was trying to offer comfort, cheer him up, and tell him he was there for him.

A melancholic smile graced Harry's lips and he kissed the dog's fur. He felt slightly better, but he still felt like crying his eyes out.

…

As soon as he was in the safety of Mrs. Nightingale's therapy room in her home, he broke down.

Florence was immediately on her feet, worried expression on her face, and pulled him into a comforting hug. He immediately returned it and sobbed into her shoulder. She stroked his hair gently, murmuring a soft melody, waiting for him to calm down.

Once the intensity of his outburst began to die down, she guided him to the sofa, offered him handkerchiefs to wipe his eyes and nose.

"What happened Harry?" she inquired gently, sounding like a preoccupied mother rather than a therapist. "What got you so upset?"

When he didn't say anything immediately, she assured him. "Take your time, if you need it. Just remember that you can tell me anything. That's why I'm here."

He nodded.

She offered him a glass of cool water and chocolates and then, she suggested they play ' Cluedo'.

"I've never played it," he confessed, embarrassed.

"Well, then this could be the perfect opportunity for you to try and see if you like it."

She went to get the equipment and as she was explaining the rules of the game to him, it reminded Harry of Sherlock Holmes. He didn't think himself all that great solving mysteries, if anything, he was abysmal. He erroneously deducted that Professor Snape was trying to kill him and trying to get to the philosopher's stone in his first year. He erroneously thought Draco was the Heir of Slytherin or that he even knew who it was and he had no clue about the basilisk until Hermione provided him and Ron with that page about basilisks. In his third year, he believed others that Sirius was a mass murderer and Voldemort's supporter who betrayed his parents and wanted to kill him, when he was going after Pettigrew.

"I don't think I'm good at detective and deduction games," he said apologetically.

"That doesn't mean you can't enjoy this game and who knows, maybe you might find out that your assessment of your own skills is erroneous," she playfully winked at him.

He doubted it, but he let a shy smile grace his lips.

As they played, moved from room to room, making suggestions of who murdered the victim with what weapon and in which room, Harry opened up about his conversation with Snape. However, since Mrs. Nightingale was a muggle, he needed to spin everything in such a way that would not seem odd from a muggle's perspective.

"Today I met up with someone who knew my parents in school," he said blankly, after he moved six blocks towards the lounge. "You know, to ask him about what my parents were like … especially my father."

She moved ten spaces towards the study. "And?" she prompted gently.

"Growing up, my relatives never told me much about them and when they did it was to insult them."

He rolled a nine. "For a long time I thought they were worthless drunks that got themselves into a car crash and died. When I started boarding school, however, I learnt that was not the case. I learnt that my parents were police officers, fighting crime and that a very dangerous criminal that they were trying to stop killed them. I had many people tell me I look like my dad and that I have my mother's eyes and …" he swallowed hard, trying not to get emotional again. "I felt proud to be compared to them … especially my father. He sounded like a hero from one of those comic books and I wanted to be like him when I grow up."

"But today something changed," she stated with a mirthless smile and he nodded.

"When I asked this person about my father, he told me that during his school days, he liked to torment him with my godfather and a couple of other friends. My father and his friends would insult this man's appearance, play unsavoury and potentially dangerous pranks on him. They humiliated him and even caused him physical harm. All because they needed entertainment and because they were bothered by this person's existence."

Harry's eyes stung and he was on the verge of crying again.

"After going through something similar as the man my dad tormented went through, I don't ever want to be compared to my dad again. Because now, every time someone will say that I'm like him, instead of feeling like a compliment, it will feel like an insult."

He wiped the tears with his hands. The game forgotten for the moment, Mrs. Nightingale cradled him to her chest again.

"I think it's great you want to be your own person Harry," she told him encouragingly. "While the work your parents did for the police force is certainly admirable, it doesn't mean they were without faults. No human is. Even you and me. You know how the saying goes, 'To err is human'. However," she added sternly, "that should never be the excuse to do horrible things to others, especially if you're doing them deliberately. Your father, your godfather and those other two friends should never have done what they did, no matter how they might have felt about this other person. Even if they apologised and regretted their actions now, they can't undo all the suffering and damage they caused to the person's self-esteem and psyche. With that being said, while their actions and reasons behind them are deplorable, that doesn't necessarily make them bad or even evil people."

Harry looked at her, sniffing.

"During my psychology studies, I had to read about all sorts of psychological experiments and there were a couple of them that can explain how good-natured people who might never consider themselves as capable of evil and despicable acts can do them. The first one has to do with the dangers of group behaviour and blind obedience to authority. How far is one willing to go when told to do something that goes against morals and conscience by an authority figure or institution? In the experiment, the subjects were told to question someone and, for each incorrect answer, they had to administer an electric shock that increased in intensity each time."

Harry's eyes widened in horror.

"The experimenters were 'authority figures' and whenever the subject would hesitate, object or refuse to keep electrocuting the person he could only hear but not see, they would urge them to continue and it's shocking how many people that participated administered the highest possible voltage, despite the protesting in the middle. Of course, the person in the other room was an actor and didn't experience a single shock, but the subjects didn't know that and it provided an insight how someone who would be considered as loving and good could do the most evil and despicable things imaginable to another human being."

"The second experiment had to do with the psychological effects of perceived power. A group of college students volunteered to participate and they were split into two groups: the guards and the prisoners. The researcher acted as the superintendent. Suffice to say that the participants got too into their assigned roles, especially the guards, and while the experiment had his fair share of critics from methodological standpoint as well as how authentic the actions of the volunteers were, it's safe to say that the cruelty that ensued during the experiment speaks volumes on its own. If you want, after we finish playing Cluedo, I can show you the documentaries of what I just told you."

"Okay," he nodded.

"Although, mind you, they aren't easy documentaries to watch, so if it gets too much for you to watch, just say so."

He nodded.

Ten minutes later, they finished their round of Cluedo and settled on the sofa, where they watched documentaries on Stanley Milgram's experiment on obedience and Philip Zimbardo's Stanford prison experiment.

True to Mrs. Nightingale's warning, it proved difficult to watch and listen. Harry's stomach churned and twisted, yet, no matter how uncomfortable and vomit inducing some of the footage proved to be; Harry kept listening and watching.

By the end, Harry felt enlightened, as if his eyes opened to so many explanations about society and people within it. The experiments didn't offer an excuse to the Marauders' behaviour towards Snape, but they sure offered an explanation for it.

He would still have to confront his godfather about it though.

…

It took him a few days to come up with a satisfying background information for Felix Hansson, but once he was done with it, he set out to arrange his elaborately complicated plan, with his disguise in place and a disillusioned Nagini at his side.

First, he withdrew a staggering amount of money in both wizard and muggle currency. Then, he acquired some Swedish-English translation glasses and Swedish-English and English-Swedish ear aids recently introduced in Flourish and Blotts in the travel and foreign languages sections, so he would be able to read, understand and speak Swedish without any major problems.

Then he apparated to Felix's country of birth to explore the wizarding district again, bought several books that reflected in some way the first four years of Hogwarts' curriculum and tested out the translating tools he bought.

For text, he was seeing the original text with the translation above the lines, and in conversations, he was able to hear it in English with one ear aid, and whenever he wanted to say something, he only had to think about it and the second ear aid would provide him with the appropriate Swedish line.

After he had this taken care of, he went back to England to look for a suitable muggle couple.

He had to imperio a couple of people to get the necessary information, then, spent several days doing research on them. Luckily, there weren't many people with that specific surname and that fit his requirements.

After three fails, he found the perfect muggle couple to use as Felix's parents.

He spent an entire day watching them under a disillusionment charm, following them around their daily routine. As an elderly couple, they didn't do many extreme things, they spent most of their day together in the living room, watching TV or listening to the radio and talking to each other, reminiscing their life, commenting on the news, discussing about gardening tools and growing plants.

The woman, Ingrid, aged sixty, cooked, tended to the garden behind the house, knitted, did embroidery and needlepoint tapestry, while the man, Erik, aged sixty-seven, read carpentry and gardening magazines and spent time in the shed, working on simple carpentry projects or fixing anything that was broken around the house.

They were calm, happy and affectionate with each other and didn't hold back on their use of corny nicknames and kissing and hugging and an occasional grope. Whenever he witnessed it, he felt the urge to gag and roll his eyes.

When they went to bed, which was around nine in the evening, he placed a sleeping spell on them and proceeded to explore the house to his heart's content. There wasn't much: two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room, a kitchen and dining room in one, and a pantry, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

On day two of his observation, he decided to visit them officially by presenting himself as the founder of the new gardening club in the town community, handing out pamphlets and advertising his club.

As soon as they showed interest and let him inside, offering him tea and coffee with some homemade baked goods, he took out his wand and put one of them to sleep while he used legilimency on the other to view the memories and vice versa.

Apparently, they were both retired, the man because he had reached his retirement age and the woman because of a lower-back injury. They wanted children but couldn't have them. They didn't have any immediate family since their parents were dead and they had no siblings. They had some distant relatives in Sweden, but they hadn't heard from them or seen them in decades. They were born and raised in Sweden, yet had to move to the UK in their twenties, when the husband was transferred abroad.

He didn't dwell on the very intimate memories, but they were both raised on a farm, they met as children, because they were living on neighbouring farms, they got married when the woman was eighteen and the man twenty-five. They both worked in the manufacturing industry, she in a textile factory and he in a car factory.

Personality-wise, they hadn't changed all that much. They were kind, generally happy people, who were devoted to one another, always faithful and loving, but he also saw the ache that appeared every time they saw families together on a walk or trip. The self-blaming, doubt and loathing that followed shortly after. The tears that were shed in each other's presence and away from the spouse's eyes. The discussions of adoption, but never meeting all the standards to adopt.

Even though it would take a while and a lot of effort on his part to modify decades' worth of memories, he was determined to make his plan work. Therefore, for the next nine days, he kept the elderly couple lethargic and worked to make them believe they worked in Sweden until three years ago, and lived in the house they had before they moved countries. He made them believe that all the conversations they had at home and outside of it happened in Swedish, that he was an unexpected but happy miracle, that they adored him and were doting on him, that he was a pleasant, but reserved child who was mature, intelligent beyond his age, and independent.

The most difficult part was coming up with memories that would depict every single day of the past fifteen years of Felix's life. He couldn't base anything off his own memories, but he observed happy families and formed his own ideas of a happy family. To make his infant and toddler days as believable as possible, he found himself buying muggle books on pregnancy and first few years of a child's life and speed-reading them with speed-reading glasses.

Over halfway, however, he could feel the exhaustion settle in his body, the exertion he put on his magic made him sluggish. He started questioning if all of this was even worth all the effort and energy. He knew it would be difficult, time-consuming and exhausting, but he apparently severely underestimated just how taxing everything would be on him. Abandoning his endeavour briefly crossed his mind, but he had come too far, he had invested too much to stop and turn away from it. He was going to see this through no matter what.

By the end, he was satisfied with what he'd done with the memories. He had a good and loving relationship with Ingrid and Erik, despite their advanced age. He helped around the house, with the groceries, the laundry and cleaning. His hobbies involved reading, fishing with his father and helping him in the shed, helping his mother in the garden, especially after her lower-back injury.

To conclude his endeavour and finally let Felix's new parents go about their every day, he compiled a photo album of Felix and his parents, bought a new wardrobe for him and furniture to set up his new room at his new house. Then, he purchased a Pensieve, extracted all the memories involving Felix's childhood into it, made a copy of the memories and proceeded to insert one by one into his own mind.

The amount of memories made his head want to burst, but after a day or two, he was good enough again. Then, he returned the memories to Ingrid and Erik and cancelled all spells that he had placed on them to keep them pliant.

Just like him, they too experienced severe headaches after finally waking up. As Felix Hansson, the good, loving, and caring son, he nursed his 'parents' back to full health with the aid of a few potions. To see how successful he was, he waited to see how they would react to him, how they would talk to him, behave toward him.

When his 'mother' and 'father' referred to him with loving nicknames and acted as if he had been a constant part of their life, Voldemort felt a profound satisfaction at his genius. Now, the only thing left was for his 'parents' to write to Hogwarts and get accepted into fifth year.

Chapter End Notes

NOTE: While the Order was spying on Harry, when Harry met up with Sirius and Voldemort, someone incompetent and easily distracted was keeping eye on him (a. k. a. Mundungus Fletcher), therefore the Order doesn't know of Sirius' little escapade as Padfoot nor that Harry went to the back alley with a complete stranger.

If you're interested in the documentaries mentioned in the chapter, I believe you can find them on YouTube.

Hopefully you enjoyed the chapter!

Improving Yourself

Chapter Summary

Ana Maria and Nathan are determined to celebrate Harry's birthday, Harry confronts his godfather about his past bullying of Snape with his father, and he manages to convince both men to start attending counselling session with Mrs. Nightingale to improve individually and together.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Monday, 20 July 2015

While Harry didn't feel as down as he did on Friday, because he spent most of the weekend chatting with Nathan and Ana Maria and having a good laugh with all the memes they sent him, his father's and godfather's actions still weighed heavy on Harry's chest and mind.

He still found it painful to know his father and godfather could have been so cruel to another human being for no real, apparent reason other than some strong, irrational dislike. For that reason, he needed to speak with Sirius and ask him why they did what they did. He needed to understand, even if he couldn't condone the behaviour they displayed and actions they did.

He let out a sigh. However, he didn't even know when he would see his godfather again. He told him they would meet soon, but it had been roughly two weeks since he last snuck out to visit him and he hadn't snuck out to meet him since then. He knew that others would probably get suspicious if his sneaking out turned into a regular occurrence and he wished they could have some sort of communication that didn't involve letters and owls and that allowed them to see or hear each other much like how he could video-call Nathan and Ana Maria.

He sighed again.

"Harry?" Ana Maria's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

He stopped drying the cup in his hand and looked at her. "Yes?" he prompted.

"You look like something is bothering you. Did something happen?"

"No, it's nothing," he assured her with a smile, "I'm fine. I was just thinking."

Ana Maria didn't look convinced, but didn't prod further. " Si t ú lo dices," she said, resigned. "Just know that if there's anything wrong, you can always talk to me, okay?"

He nodded.

"Anyway, I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?"

" Ya que our birthdays are coming up soon, I was thinking if we could … no s é, celebrate them como Dios manda, con fiesta y pastel."

Harry laughed. "I wouldn't mind attending your birthday party, but I'm not sure about organising mine. I've never had a birthday party."

Ana Maria gaped, horrified at him. "¡¿Qué?!" she exclaimed, with a hand pressed to her chest, "P-Pero, ¿qué dices, Harry? ¿Cómo que nunca has tenido una fiesta de cumpleaños?"

Harry winced apologetically. "My relatives don't like noise and having lots of people at the house, so I never had birthday parties."

"Well, we have to fix that this year," she said, dead serious. "Because starting this year, we are going to celebrate your birthday with lots of fun and games and food and cake. I tell you, Harry. It's going to be the bomb."

He laughed heartily, moved that she was so determined to celebrate his birthday with a bang. Just as they started arranging the details for when, where and how they were going to celebrate his birthday, his phone vibrated with an incoming message. It was from Nathan, asking him if he knew and liked Jessie J's music.

He dried off his hands and wrote back. ' I'm not sure I know her, but if you send me some links to her songs I might recognise her voice or the lyrics. Why do you ask?'

"Who was it?" asked Ana Maria.

"Nathan. He wanted to know something."

"Ah, okay. Bueno, like we were saying. Since your birthday is next Friday and we're all working that day, I think that we should have the party on Saturday instead."

"Uh, I'm working on Saturday morning at my local post office," he said apologetically.

"Oh," she said, slightly disappointed. "When do you finish?"

"At eleven in the morning."

" Ah, bueno, e ntonces no hay problema," she waved dismissively. "We're going to come pick you up when you're done with your job y listo."

An e-mail notification and another text message from Nathan.

' I sent you an e-mail with the links and I was asking because there's a Jessie J concert happening next Saturday and I thought it could count as part of the celebration and your gift.'

' Got the mail, I will check the links when I'm done with my shift, but I wouldn't mind going to the concert.'

' Ok, then I'm buying three tickets (you, Ana, and me), unless you want to invite more people.'

Harry thought for a bit. He would invite Ron and Hermione, but since they still weren't allowed to communicate with him, judging from the continued silence on their part, it was highly unlikely for them to attend the concert and he didn't want Nathan to waste his money.

Maybe he could invite his godfather, so they could celebrate his birthday together, but he would have to sneak out again for an entire day and someone might notice his absence and panic. After all, Sirius was still a fugitive and a criminal in public's eyes both magical and non-magical. Yet … he wanted to be selfish and have his godfather with him. He might have done and said cruel, horrible things in the past, but he was still his godfather … he still loved him, even if he felt disappointed and hurt to know he was far from perfect, just like his father.

Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly wrote back. In the meantime, Ana Maria went to attend a customer. ' I would like to invite my godfather too, so if it isn't too much to ask, buy a fourth ticket. I just worry you are going to spend too much money on the tickets. At least tell me you're going for the cheapest ones.'

' Don't worry, Ana and your godfather can give me the money for their tickets, but yours is supposed to count as gift, and yes, I'm looking for cheap ones, but I also want us to have good spots. I'm not going to go bankrupt with this.'

' Fine.'

…

By the time Ana Maria and Nathan switched shifts halfway through his, Harry and Ana Maria have arranged and outlined their birthday parties and Nathan came with printed concert ticket receipts.

At five o'clock, Harry finished his shift and as he walked out of the café, he noticed Sirius in his animagus form sitting and waiting nearby. When his godfather saw him, he immediately rushed to him, barking and wagging his tail excitedly.

Harry smiled. He was happy to see him after almost two long weeks, but there was a pang of pain accompanying that happiness. He guided them to a more quiet and private place, where they could talk in peace and where his godfather could transform back into his human form without anyone seeing him do that.

"Sorry, that it took so long since I last visited you, pup, but I was waiting for the surveillance to become less tight to come see and talk to you," he said, pulling him into a hug.

Harry hugged back, mindful not to squish his glasses. "It's okay," he assured him, "I was beginning to worry, since there was no news, but I also don't want you to get in trouble because of me." He looked up at him and readjusted his glasses.

"Nonsense, pup, but apart from seeing you and spending some time with you, I also need to tell you something important."

"What is it?"

"Last week, on Thursday, we got news that Voldemort has ordered his followers not to attack you in any way and that he himself is going to be absent for at least a year." Harry's eyes widened. "And to top it all off, he also deactivated the dark mark on his followers and now no one, not even his followers, can communicate with him."

Harry wasn't really surprised to know that Voldemort called off any future attacks on his person, because they had their agreement of non-violence in place, however, he was surprised to hear that the man planned to go abroad for a year and that he had cut all means of communication with his subordinates.

"Do you know why he did what he did?" he asked, surprised and curious.

"No, it came as a complete shock and surprise. So much so that Moody and Dumbledore think that this is just a misdirection and a trap to give us a false sense of security and that Voldemort is still after you."

Harry doubted it, but he couldn't say anything, because then he would have to tell his godfather and the rest about his meeting with Voldemort and the agreement, and he didn't want people to know he's been in contact with the man.

"Is that why Ron and Hermione are still not writing to me?" he asked instead. "Because Dumbledore still thinks Voldemort might be looking for a way to find and kill me?"

Sirius sighed. "Yes, he still has everyone prohibited from contacting you and he's still keeping an eye on you through different people."

Harry gaped. "Dumbledore is spying on me?" Panic settled in his chest, as his first thought was that someone had seen him with Voldemort and Professor Snape or Sirius.

"Yes, he's been doing that since the summer started, but don't worry, today the surveillance isn't the best, so don't worry about anyone seeing us."

Harry then also remembered that Voldemort was in disguise and while for some reason he was able to see through his disguise, no one else saw his real face, muggle or wizard. He let out a sigh of relief. "That explains why I felt like someone was following me when I first came to London alone for work." He looked at his godfather. "And you, do you think Voldemort is still trying to kill me and that all of this is just a stunt to lower our guard?"

"Honestly, I don't know, pup, but I think that both Moody and Dumbledore are paranoid and are doing more harm than good to your mental well-being with this isolation."

"So … you do think that Voldemort has decided to leave me be?"

He shrugged. "I suppose. I mean, I don't think he's bullshitting about it, but it doesn't really hurt to be cautious about it, but not to the point Dumbledore and Moody are taking this matter." He shook his head. "Anyway, the main thing that you need to know is that Voldemort is apparently travelling the world for a year and that he has given up on killing you."

Harry nodded.

"Also, I wanted to give you something since we can't send owls to each other." He reached into his inner robe pocket and pulled out a mirror. "It's a two-way mirror. I asked Remus to get a pair so we can use them for long-distance communication. Whenever you wish to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours."

"That's brilliant," said Harry, smiling wide. "I was just thinking about something like that."

"I know. Your father and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions," said Sirius mischievously and as soon as he mentioned his father and detention, Harry's smile fell.

Sirius noticed the change in expression and immediately asked what was wrong.

"I just remembered I also have something very important to discuss with you, Sirius."

"Okay, we have time. What do you want to talk about?"

"I met up with Professor Snape last Friday and one of the things we talked about was why he hates me so much." Sirius didn't look happy about it, but abstained from making any comments. "And you know what he told me? That seeing me brings back all the bad memories from when you and my father were tormenting him at school."

Sirius' eyes widened and Harry had to take in a deep, steadying breath.

"He told me how you and my father would gang up on him, because apparently his mere existence bothered you and tormenting him provided entertainment when you felt bored. How do you think I felt when I heard that my father and my godfather were bullies? How should I feel from now on, when someone compares me to my father? Happy? Proud? Because I can't. I can't be happy or proud, when I know that my father was capable of cruelty."

He stopped talking, his voice already cracking and his eyes filling up with tears.

"Harry …" he said gently, "looking back on our teenage days, it's true that we did a lot of stupid shit back then, but don't think for a second that Snape is some kind of saint because he's not. Just like how we hexed him, he hexed us back. Just like how we disliked and hated him, you can be certain that the dislike and hatred was mutual. It's still is, at least between him and me. Did he tell you how he was in love with your mother? How he always spent time with her until he called her a mudblood in fifth year?"

Harry's eyes widened. Snape was close to his mother? Snape was in love with her? Was he still in love with her? He would need to ask him as soon as possible.

"No," he whispered, "he didn't tell me anything about my mother, but he told me that he fought back, and while the dislike and hatred was mutual, I highly doubt that the reasons were the same for both sides. You hated him for simply existing, for being a Slytherin. He probably hated you for being cruel and obnoxious."

"Oh, he knew how to be cruel and obnoxious as well," assured him Sirius, "nasty too, either with words or with spells. He always had this sinister look about him; he always looked like he was plotting something; he always seemed to have a knack and an obsession for Dark Arts, and look; he ended up being a Death Eater, torturing and killing people, and he was a Slytherin. So, in the end, he deserved every hex and humiliation."

Harry couldn't believe Sirius. "So does that mean that I also deserved every insult and beating from my relatives for being a wizard, for doing magic?" he asked, on the verge of tears. Now it was Sirius' turn to look shocked and horrified. "Because according to you and your reasoning, my relatives had every right to starve me, insult me, hurt me, all because I was a wizard and they don't like wizards."

"No, Harry, of course not," he said, cupping his face and drying his godson's tears. "Of course, you didn't deserve any of that, but your situation and Snape's situation are different."

"It's not like Snape was a Death Eater from the beginning, or when he started Hogwarts, so how could he or anyone else have deserved any cruelty," sobbed Harry brokenly. "He was a kid, just like you and dad with his own circumstances. Maybe there was a reason he looked, spoke and behaved a certain way and you might have found it irritating, suspicious and unpleasant, but you could have just ignored him or showed some civility. You could have approached him with kindness even when he was being curt and rude with you. Yet you and my father took an immediate dislike and decided that just because of that, he deserved to be mocked, ridiculed and hurt."

He sniffed, and took off his glasses to wipe his eyes. It took him a few moments to calm down enough to speak without bursting into tears again.

"I don't know why he became a Death Eater and I don't know why he is so drawn to the Dark Arts, but I do know that no matter the reason, it doesn't give me, or anyone else, the right to go out of my way to be cruel to him, or to anyone else for that matter. It's not like he was performing dark spells and dark rituals on everyone who passed him, or have you seen him bully others at school?"

"No," Sirius mumbled, averting his gaze, "but just because I didn't see him do it that doesn't mean he didn't do it. I know for a fact that his dorm mates tormented other students."

"He could have been tormenting others in private," allowed Harry, "but again, you don't know that and until you had proof, you had absolutely no right or excuse to do what you did, and even if he did torment others, why immediately resort to violence? Why couldn't you have talked like civilised people first?" wondered Harry. "I know that talking and reasoning with someone doesn't always work, but you should always try doing that first and then, if there's no other way, use physical means and force to get your point across, because otherwise how does that make you any different and better than Death Eaters?"

"Harry," breathed Sirius, wide-eyed, "you can't seriously compare the two. Death Eaters torture and kill people and they do that through dark magic. We were trying to keep all those Death Eater wannabes and those with interest in dark magic in check."

Harry looked accusatorily at his godfather. "Torture is torture, no matter the means, and what you and my father did to Snape and probably others too can easily be classified as torture. You might think you were saving and keeping the wizarding world safe, but you did that by arbitrarily inflicting pain onto others, even when there was no real reason for it. I'm not saying that you and my father were evil people, but I am saying that you aren't as good as you might think you are, because you can be cruel to those you think deserve to suffer."

Sirius stared blankly at the floor. "So … do you hate me for what I did to Snape?" he whispered, fighting off his own tears.

Harry smiled encouragingly and stepped closer to touch his arms. Sirius looked into his godson's red-rimmed eyes.

"No," he shook his head, "I don't hate you or my father, but I want you to reflect on your past actions and decisions and try to better yourself as a person. This hatred you still claim to feel for Snape, and he for you, it's not okay, it's not healthy. It can't be good for either of you," he said stern gentleness.

He huffed. "So what are you trying to say, that Snape and I should be friends?"

"No, not at all," he assured him. "You don't have to be anything more than civil acquaintances, but you clearly need to work through some issues either independently or together and reach some level of civility and tolerance towards each other."

Sirius heaved a heavy sigh and looked up at the sky. "I don't know if I can do it, Harry," he said, looking at him. "I just … there's something about Snape that just makes my blood boil, whenever I see him or think about him and I get this urge to say something insulting or hurtful just to get a reaction out of him." He sounded frustrated. "Although, nowadays it would seem that the one who is getting a reaction out of the other is him, because I take everything he says to heart and so personally, and since most of what comes out of his mouth are insults, I just … lose my cool and I lash out verbally as well."

Harry didn't know what to say to his godfather. That sounded worse than he thought. It almost sounded as if his godfather was obsessed with Snape in some weird way.

"Uh … Sirius? If you'd like, I can talk with Mrs. Nightingale to see if maybe she can offer you some basic counselling as well," he suggested tentatively. "I think you would really benefit from it."

"If you say so," he shrugged, "but I'm not the only one with a problem, you know."

"I know, I'll talk with Professor Snape as well about the counselling, but if you won't put in the effort, then you can have a hundred hours of counselling and you won't be any better off than how you were when you started," said Harry sternly. "So … listen to what Mrs. Nightingale tells you."

Sirius let out a chuckle. "Alright, pup," he ruffled his hair. "I'll be good and listen to whatever Mrs. Nightingale tells me."

Harry beamed at his godfather. "You'll see that once you start talking openly with someone about your problems and you follow advice on how to better your emotional and mental well-being, it will be better," he assured him.

Sirius smiled at his godson, pulled him in for another hug, and pressed his lips to the top of his head. "I'm just happy to know that even after learning about the shit that I did together with your dad when we were at school that you still love us." He blinked away the tears that prickled his eyes. "I don't think I would have been able to forgive Snape if he turned you against us."

"That was never Professor Snape's intention," said Harry. "He also recognises his wrongs especially in how he handled me, but we are going to improve our relationship to keep it civil. He's still angry and bitter about the past, but I'm sure that if he puts in the effort as well, he will feel better about himself and others as well."

"As long as he doesn't take his anger out on you anymore, I'm more than happy to bear the brunt of his anger, hate and bitterness."

Harry looked up at him. "Hopefully that won't be necessary. I'll talk with Mrs. Nightingale as soon as possible and see if I can arrange something so pay attention to your mirror."

"I will," smiled Sirius, "I expect you to call me every day, so we can talk about what you're doing and how you are and things like that."

Harry gasped, remembering his birthday. "I almost forgot, next Saturday, my colleagues and friends from the animal café, Ana Maria and Nathan, are organising a birthday party for me and one of the things we will do is go to a concert and I told Nathan to buy a ticket for you, in case you would like to come and spend time with me."

"Of course, pup, you don't have to ask. Just tell me when and where I have to be and I will be there. Which reminds me, I need to get you a present, although … I suppose this mirror could count as an early birthday present as well."

Harry laughed. "A very early birthday present, but you don't have to get me anything, really." He felt bad having people spend money on him, even if it was a special occasion. "Your presence will be more than enough."

"Nonsense, I'll find something or make something, either way, I can't come empty-handed to your birthday party. That would be unacceptable," he winked and ruffled his hair again.

"Just don't go overboard."

…

After that, Sirius and Harry went to a pastry shop for a dose of sugar, before going their separate ways. On the way to Privet Drive, Harry checked out the links Nathan sent him, and was just getting into the music, when Ana Maria started texting him asking about his favourite genre of movies.

Once he got home, he did as promised and contacted Mrs. Nightingale and asked her if she could help his godfather work through his hatred of his 'Chemistry' teacher and help Severus work through his childhood bullying and lingering feeling of hate towards his godfather.

"I know I'm asking a lot, but I really want to help them get better."

"I can take the time now that it's still summer, but I would like to remind you again that I am not a certified therapist, so if I determine that their issues would be solved with a clinical psychologist, I will redirect them to a friend of mine."

"Of course, but please, talk a bit with them and see if you can do something."

"I will. I will give you the days I want them to come see me, first individually for a week or two and then I will add an extra session where they will come see me together so we can work on their interaction with one another."

"Yes," he nodded. "I'll let them know, but first I still have to speak with my professor to see if he wants to do it."

"Don't worry; let me know by Friday at the latest so we can already start with the sessions next week."

"I will, thank you very much for your time and willingness. It really means a lot and if you need to, you can charge them a bit of money per session so that you don't work completely for free."

"Let's not worry about money right now, we'll see by Friday, okay?"

"Yes, I'll see you on Wednesday."

"See you on Wednesday and take care Harry."

"You as well."

He immediately contacted Sirius through the mirror to let him know about what he talked with Florence and Sirius seemed willing to attend the sessions both individually as well as together with Severus. He was even willing to pay for them.

With his godfather on board with the idea, he wrote a quick letter to Snape telling him about attending counselling sessions, alone and with Sirius, to work through whatever negative feelings they harboured for each other. He told him about all the benefits of counselling for a person's mental and emotional well-being and its effect on a person's physical health as well. He also told him about Sirius' willingness to do it, in case it served as a further motivator and an incentive to have him agree more readily to his plan. He finished off by saying that he wanted to help both him and his godfather, but that he would understand if he didn't want to accept his proposition and he apologised in advanced if he was acting out of line.

He was about to sign the letter and send it off with Hedwig to its recipient, when he remembered what Sirius told him about Snape and his mother and he dared adding a post script asking about whether what his godfather told him was true. Then immediately apologised for asking impertinent questions.

…

It took three days to receive Snape's reply.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I believe you are the only person who seems to be genuinely concerned about my mental, emotional and physical well-being at the moment and although I have my reservations and doubts about this entire arrangement, with how insistent you seem to convince me of all the benefits of counselling, it is hard to refuse your offer.

I sincerely hope this can work out for all sides involved, but I urge you not to get your hopes up too much. The animosity between your godfather and me runs deep and it will take a while to get rid of it even with professional help. However, I am willing to co-operate and put in the effort to make things between your godfather and me bearable at the very least.

As for the questions about your mother, I did love her, I still love her, to some extent even romantically, but I believe that your father and godfather wrongly assumed that I lusted after her. Quite the contrary. Such a thought never crossed my mind. She was, after all, my best friend … my only friend for the longest time, since we were kids, before Hogwarts. I told her she was a witch and everything I knew about Hogwarts and the wizarding world. We were close friends.

I did call her a 'mudblood' in a moment of anger and shame, after your father publicly attacked and humiliated me, in our fifth year. I wrongly felt frustrated with her, who was trying to help and defend me, but instead of being grateful, I lashed out at her, insulting her. I want you to know that there isn't a day I don't regret saying that, and I've apologised to her plenty of times, however, things between her and me were never the same. We grew apart and we never managed to reconnect as friends.

Regards,

Severus Snape

Harry felt happy and relieved to see that despite his reservations, Professor Snape was willing to improve things with Sirius. It also warmed his heart to read that Snape and his mother were friends even before school and that he really cared for her. That is why it was regrettable to know that their friendship fell apart even when Snape was putting in the effort to save it, but he supposed that some things inevitably come to an end, whether one likes that or not.

…

Once he received information from Mrs. Nightingale on Friday, he contacted Sirius through the mirror and Snape through a letter.

Dear Professor,

I'm glad to know you have decided to give this a try. I have spoken with Mrs. Florence Nightingale and she said that your individual weekly sessions are going to be on Tuesdays at three o'clock in the afternoon for 60 minutes (at least until the new school term starts). Each session will cost you £30 (which is roughly six galleons). Please, find enclosed her address. That is where your sessions will take place. Your first session starts this upcoming Tuesday. If you have any questions, you can write or call her using the contact number and e-mail I have provided you together with the address.

In a two weeks' time, roughly speaking, you will start with your joint counselling with Sirius and those sessions will take place on Thursdays, at the same time (15:00) and at the same price ( £30). You can split the costs of Thursday sessions to make it fair and even.

With kind regards,

Harry Potter

P. S. I'm sorry your friendship with my mother didn't last and I don't really care all that much if your love for my mother was romantic or not, I'm just really happy that you loved her and cared about her.

If it isn't too much to ask and if it isn't too painful for you, I would really like to know more about her. I would like to know how she was as a kid. What were some of your adventures together, either prior to Hogwarts or at school. Do you have any photos of you two as children?

…

Before the month was out, Harry established four main lines of communication.

His godfather, who he talked with over the mirror every day about current things and Sirius and James' school days, when they weren't trying to prank people, and he learnt that while his father presented an arrogant and obnoxious front to the world for the most part, in private he also had moments of self-doubt and insecurity. He learnt that, despite all the trouble they got into at school, he was a talented and an intelligent individual together with his godfather.

"Just because I look stupid, doesn't mean that I am," he said indignantly during one of their conversations and elicited a laugh out of Harry.

His father was named Head Boy in seventh year and when Sirius ran away from home at sixteen, James offered him a place to stay and James' parents were the sweetest and kindest people on Earth, according to Sirius.

"It was true that they were old, since they had your father quite late in life, but they were understanding of my situation and happy to offer me a place in their home," narrated Sirius.

His second line of communication was Snape, with whom he talked about his mother. She wasn't as mischievous as his father, but she knew how to have fun without breaking rules or at least not getting herself caught breaking them. He also noticed that she knew how to have a mean streak, if the amount of times she rejected her father, the nature of her insults towards him before they became a couple and the way she shunned Snape after that unfortunate 'mudblood' incident were any indication.

She was also a brilliant and exemplary student; she excelled in Potions much like Snape, although Snape's knowledge of potions was on a completely different level that not many could reach.

His third line of communication were Ana Maria and Nathan with whom Harry was getting up-to-date with modern muggle technology and terminology, learning about pop culture, from movies, series, songs, games to books and internet phenomena and trends.

As for his fourth main line of communication, he established contact with Neville. He thought it fit to inform him about them being potions partners before the school term started and trying to create a study plan for Potions to impress Snape and get good grades.

At first, Neville was sceptical about it, but as they continued to talk through an enchanted pair of parchment papers, Harry slowly managed to calm him down and get him on board with his idea and plan. They were even helping each other with their summer homework for all subjects, not just Potions.

With using two magical long-distance communication devices, Harry wrote another letter to Ron and Hermione. He told them that if owls were too dangerous to use as communication, then they could use something else for long distance communication, saying he was sure that there were magical means of communication that didn't involve owls. However, he made sure not to say he knew about mirrors and parchment, because he wasn't supposed to know about them.

He waited a few days, but didn't get a reply.

He was tempted to ask Sirius to lend his mirror to Ron and Hermione so they wouldn't have to worry about going against Dumbledore's word, but ultimately changed his mind, because he didn't want to compromise his godfather or be chastised by Hermione for going against Dumbledore's orders. It was clear to him that, no matter what he tried, Hermione and surprisingly Ron as well are not going to disobey Dumbledore, even when there were clearly other alternatives and Voldemort had officially stopped trying to kill him.

…

It was truly astonishing how much one could learn in 60 minutes about a person's present and personality by learning and analysing their childhood. That's how Florence was able to determine that both Sirius and Severus were broken, traumatised individuals whose traumatic childhoods and troubled home environments have shaped them into people they were today.

It was evident to her that Sirius felt aversion to what his family believed in, yet inadvertently, in his effort to distance himself ideologically from them, he had resorted to the same cruelness his mother exerted against those who shared his mother's and his family's beliefs about race.

From his account of Snape and the feelings he evoked in him, she had a theory that the driving force behind that anger and hate was sexual repression. She had a feeling (and later reading of several articles about the correlation between anger and sexual repression confirmed it to some extent) that Sirius felt attracted to Severus, but due to different factors, Severus' beliefs and interests being one of them, he decided to rid himself of those feelings and suppress them, since he felt guilty and ashamed of them. With time, instead of diminishing, those feelings grew in intensity, but because they were repressed they became twisted and perverted, filled with rage which he directed at the object of those distorted feelings and desires. She knew it was bad the moment Sirius confessed to playing a part in an incident that could have potentially ended in Severus' death. Although, according to Sirius, he never wished Severus dead. He simply wanted to 'scare him real good' so he would leave them alone.

While Severus was going through something similar, his hatred and anger first came out of being targeted by Sirius and Harry's father and, at some point, he felt sexually attracted to Sirius, but was disgusted and ashamed of being attracted to his abuser, because he didn't want to end like his mother. The fact that Sirius was a man also played part in Severus' disgust and shame of himself, because it was clear that his father was also homophobic. At present, she speculated that the source of Severus' anger and hatredtowards Sirius wasn't only all the insults and violence he had to endure at his hands, but also his own frustration for being physically attracted to him.

Whether they were aware of their feelings, she wasn't sure, though she had a suspicion that Severus was slightly more aware of himself and his feelings than Sirius.

She was a school counsellor, not a matchmaker or a couple therapist. Despite that, she would try to get both men to behave with civility and tolerance in each other's presence and be more honest and open about their thoughts and feelings about themselves and about the other person, because this was the only way things could improve for them as individuals and perhaps even as a couple.

That is why the progression was going to be gradual and filled with fun games, starting with icebreakers, where the focus will be on getting them to know each other more personally, then moving onto team-building and co-operative games, to get them to work together for mutual benefit rather than against one another.

They might grimace and complain at being treated like children, because games are apparently only meant for kids, but they needed to learn to associate each other with positive and enjoyable experiences, and playing games and having fun was a good starting point.

Chapter End Notes

If you google Jessie J's tour dates in 2015, you will notice that there was no show on 1 August 2015, however, since her last show in July was relatively close to Harry's birthday, I decided to use my artistic liberty and make it so that in this alternative reality, she had a show in London on 1 August 2015.

If you notice any linguistic mistakes, feel free to point them out, I'm really busy at the moment and, even with editing, some things slip my notice.

It would also seem that I'm again pairing Sirius with Severus (sorry to all those who aren't fans of the ship ).

I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Birthday Parties & Dementors

Chapter Summary

Neville and Harry celebrate their birthdays, Voldemort is slowly getting used to his 'parents', and Dementors attack Harry and his cousin Dudley.

Chapter Notes

IMPORTANT: Due to increased workload, I will take a month-long break from all of my stories. Chapter 11 of Taking Charge will be posted on Thursday, 10 October 2019 and from there, the regular biweekly (every two weeks) updating schedule should continue uninterruptedly until the end. Should my workload increase again, I will let you know, but let's hope it won't happen any time soon.

I apologise for the inconvenience and I hope you understand.

In the meantime, enjoy the chapter!

During his chats with Neville, Harry learnt that he celebrated his birthday a day before him.

Since he wouldn't be able to see him in person on that day, he still felt like he should buy him a gift, and from their conversations and what he could recall about Neville from school (which wasn't much) it seemed that he really liked plants and Herbology, so perhaps a magical plant would be a fitting gift for Neville.

The problem was deciding which plant to get him. He didn't want to give him something too high maintenance or too dangerous that he would need to handle with gloves. Preferably, he wanted to give him something useful and with medicinal properties, perhaps even something that had a pleasant scent and that he could use in cooking or for brewing tea.

With only a couple of days of time to buy Neville a gift, he spent most of his free time the first day to do research on both magical and muggle plants and their properties.

For the magical portion, he managed to narrow it down to dittany and shrivelfig, and for the muggle portion, he had a hard time deciding between aloe vera, basil, catnip, chamomile, lavender, lemon balm, peppermint, rosemary and sage.

In the end, he went with potted dittany and rosemary, but also bought a selection of loose tea leaf mixtures containing plants that reduced restlessness, anxiety and stress, that boosted one's immune system and that combated fever and common cold, and some essential oils. He had everything gift-wrapped, then used regular owl post to send it to Neville on the thirtieth, with an attached handmade birthday card.

He hoped that, once the owl reached him and he opened the gift, he would like it. That's why Harry stared nervously at the charmed parchment that Thursday evening, waiting for Neville to contact him and read about his reaction.

Just as he was about to call it a day, writing appeared on the enchanted parchment. ' Sorry for the late message, I just finished with my birthday party and all the guests have gone home.'

' Don't worry, I was just getting ready for bed,' he wrote back. ' I hope you like the present.'

' I love it. Thank you for the gift, Harry. I really appreciate it. I will look after both plants and make good use of teas and oils.'

Harry let out a sigh of relief. ' That's good to know. I'm really happy you like what I got for you. I wasn't sure if you would like the fact that most of it is muggle, because it's not what you're used to, but you can use rosemary to make tea, flavour your food or make your room smell good. I also read that it improves memory.'

' I will have to test out that claim and see if your present will help me remember our Common Room passwords and perform better on school exams. Because if it does, I think I will start growing rosemary on my own and maybe even make a business out of it.'

Harry giggled under his breath. ' I certainly hope that the claim is true then.'

' Thank you again, Harry. Now, I'll have to find something for you as well on such a short notice.'

' Don't sweat over it.'

' Nonsense. I will get something by tomorrow evening, or Saturday.'

Harry smiled fondly at the parchment. ' Thank you, Neville. I'm sure I'll love whatever gift you decide to get me. Good night. I'll talk to you tomorrow or whenever I can.'

' Good night, Harry, and an early happy birthday to you.'

…

Friday, 31 July 2015

When Harry woke up the next morning, he didn't feel any different from other days. He got up, washed his face, brushed his teeth, showered, dressed, and then finished his morning routine by putting on his round glasses. That was until his phone started buzzing as he was eating his oatmeal porridge topped with slices of banana, fresh blueberries and raspberries.

Ana Maria and Nathan sent him birthday wishes in their own styles. She sent him a combination of text and very cute animated animal stickers: a penguin peeking out of a birthday present box, a turtle with a candle on its back holding balloons, two penguins celebrating surrounded by confetti, a panda hugging a teddy bear and a bunny sending a kiss.

Harry grinned at the screen with fondness, feeling warm on the inside.

Nathan on the other hand sent him an elaborate combination of birthday memes that ended up reading: ' Brace yourself. Happy birthday memes are coming.' Because ' One does not simply wish happy birthday without a meme.'

Here it goes: ' Yay! It's your birthday! Bravo. You're an otter year older.' But, ' Don't worry about getting older. You're still gonna do dumb stuff, only slower.' So, in the meantime, ' Have thineself an ecstatic day of yearly birth celebration.'

Harry laughed under his breath. Then, he replied to both.

To Ana Maria, he replied, ' ¡Muchas gracias!' together with an animated sticker featuring two penguins hugging each other, and to Nathan, he found an appropriate ' Thank you so much!!' meme featuring a smiling fox and sent it to him.

…

As soon as Harry came through the door of the café, a popping sound startled him, followed by a rain of confetti, a loud "Happy birthday, Harry!" from Ana Maria, Nathan and his boss Victoria, and a chorus of dog barks.

Before he could react or say anything, Ana Maria hugged him and started guiding him towards the till, where there was a homemade birthday cake with fifteen lit candles, blueberry frosting, fresh blueberries and chocolate writing, saying 'Happy Birthday, Harry'. When they began singing the birthday song, his lips curled up in a grin so wide he was showing his teeth.

At the end, he closed his eyes, wished for peace, health and happiness, not just himself but also the people close to me, and blew out the candles. Victoria then cut four pieces of the delicious three-layer vanilla cake and blueberry buttercream for them to eat.

"Would you mind if I shared this delicious cake with a few other people I know?" he asked Victoria.

"Of course not. It's your birthday cake. You can share it with whomever you please. I think I have a few plastic containers so, just say how many slices you would like packaged and I will have them ready for you."

He thought for a bit. He definitely wanted to share some with Mrs. Nightingale and his godfather, Neville also and maybe Professor Snape. For a moment, he considered sending a slice to Voldemort as a thank you for meeting up with him and for letting him live, until he remembered that the man was currently in a different country and that the cake would probably spoil before even reaching him.

"Four slices then," he said with a smile.

When the time for gifts came, they all got him something. His boss got him a coupon for 40% off all frames for glasses; a glass bottle wrapped in a beige faux leather cover and metallic holder, a mug and a bag of matcha powder.

"Your current glasses look old and like they've been through some rough times," said Victoria. "So you might as well get an eye check-up and a new pair altogether for a slightly cheaper price. Glass and stainless steel bottles seem to be in fashion, so I got you a glass one and you can fill it with whichever beverage you want. Even hot tea, it won't explode. As for matcha, I hear it has many health benefits. I know you're still young, but it's never too early to look after your health."

"Thank you." He smiled. "I will make good use of everything you got me."

Ana Maria was next. She got him a bilingual English-Spanish collection of Grimm's Fairy Tales, a visual bilingual English-Spanish dictionary, so he could keep learning Spanish at school, a card game called Exploding Kittens and a box of chocolates.

From Nathan, he got Lara Croft and Sherlock Holmes related things: a complete collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, a set of different Tomb Raider posters, and two custom-made T-shirts, one featuring Lara Croft from the 2013 videogame and the other featuring the video game cover for The Testament of Sherlock Holmes.

"That way, you will always have your waifu and husbando with you, even at school," said Nathan.

"I will make sure to keep them close at all times," assured him Harry, amused.

At the close of his shift, the café bell chimed and the dogs raced to the door excitedly, and when Harry looked at the entrance, his eyes widened and he froze in shock.

"Good afternoon, I'm looking for my godson Harry," said Sirius from the entrance, trying to pet all four puppies at once. His grin widened as he saw Harry, standing behind the till, transfixed. Before he knew it, he was returning his grin and racing towards him to engulf him in a hug.

"Happy birthday, pup," he whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss to his head and hugging him close.

"Thank you," breathed Harry still surprised to see his godfather at the café. "I can't believe you came in, but I'm really glad you did. Come," he urged him further inside, "let me introduce you to my friends and boss."

"Ah, so you're Harry's godfather. Nice to meet you, I'm Victoria, your godson's boss."

"Sirius," he replied, shaking hands with her. "The pleasure is mine, madam."

He shook hands with Nathan and Ana Maria as well. Then turned to Harry again and gave him his birthday gift, which he supposed was a set of magical books, but have been spelled to appear as random muggle titles.

"Would you like to eat some pizza and cake?" offered Victoria.

"I would love to," grinned Sirius.

"Harry, do you still want me to pack four slices or did you plan to give one of those to your godfather here?"

"Yes, please." He turned to Sirius. "You can give the slice I wanted to give you to Remus … you know, as a way to say thanks for covering for you."

"I'll give it to him. You know he has a sweet tooth so, he'll appreciate it."

As they were eating pizza and another round of cake, Harry showed his godfather the gifts he got and the congratulatory messages he received from Ana Maria and Nathan in the morning. Then, before they all went their separate ways, they took care of the details for Harry's birthday party the next day.

"I tell you, Harry, I have everything planned out almost to the minute," declared Ana Maria. " A las once, Nathan and I will come pick you and your godfather up in Surrey. Luego, we will go to a waterpark, spend two hours there, go eat something, then go to a karaoke place and spend another two hours there. Despu és, we will go to the cinema to watch Ant-Man, y, para terminar el d ía, we are going to Jessie J's concert. You should be back in Surrey a little past ten. Unless you would like to change the order of things or maybe go see a different movie, go somewhere else en vez de karaoke. It is your birthday after all."

"No, I like the plan," he assured her. "I'm really looking forward to it." After all, it would be his first time for most of the things and he wanted to try them anyway.

She beamed.

…

A little after two o'clock, they left the café through the back door to avoid detection from the Order and walked to Diagon Alley so Harry could send the slices of cake to Neville and Snape through owl post.

"Snape?" repeated Sirius, grimacing. "Why would you want to send a slice of your birthday cake to him?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not? It will be like a token of peace of sorts."

Sirius snorted. "A token of peace, yeah right," he mumbled. "More like he needs the sugar so he won't be so bitter and sour all the time. Although, with how bitter and sour he is, he would need an entire cake to sweeten up his existence."

Harry sighed. "Sirius, do you have to be like that?" he asked tiredly.

"What?" he said, indignant. "It's true. Maybe if he ate more sweets, he wouldn't be sneering and making snide remarks all the fucking time."

He let out another long-suffering sigh. "Have you already started with your joint counselling sessions with Professor Snape?"

"No," he grumbled. "But I will, starting next week, and I'm not sure I'm looking forward to it."

"You can bet that with that kind of mentality and attitude, nothing will improve. Remember that you said that you will try your best to make this work," Harry reminded him.

"I know," he pouted. "I'm sorry. It's just that … Snape gets to me."

"Yeah, you already said it."

"Pup … can we like … not talk about Snape. I really don't want to think about him on your birthday."

"Why?" wondered Harry. "Because you already think so much about him on other days?"

Sirius started coughing.

"Are you alright?" he asked, worried.

"I'm fine," he wheezed. "Just saliva."

Harry nodded and returned to their topic of conversation. "But if you wish to talk about something else, we can do that. What exactly did you get me for my birthday? I doubt it was what I saw at the café."

"Remus and I decided to get you the complete set of schoolbooks for your fifth year. You will still need to make the trip for potions ingredients, stationery and other trinkets, but at least you won't have to worry about books."

"That's amazing," beamed Harry.

After sending Neville and Snape their respective cake slices, Sirius accompanied Harry to Mrs. Nightingale, before having to return to his prison. "I mean, home," he quickly corrected himself. He then hugged and kissed him one last time, before he left.

Harry wanted to do something to help his godfather, but how could he prove his innocence without presenting the real culprit? He would have to ask Mrs. Nightingale for advice.

…

Harry returned to Privet Drive, exhausted but content, carrying his birthday gifts and with the hope that his godfather could prove his innocence without having to rely on presenting Pettigrew before the court.

He couldn't wait to contact Sirius and tell him what he talked with Mrs. Nightingale, who also got him a birthday present, much to his surprise. She gave him a meditation book, a journal he could use to write his thoughts or as a planner, and some chocolate.

When he reached his room, there was a package on the bed from Neville with a small congratulatory note attached to it. He smiled at the assortment of wizarding candy, a pack of Exploding Snap and his very own Wizard's Chess set.

He wrote a thank you note to Neville.

' I'm glad you like it. I was thinking about getting you a Remembrall too, because while you aren't as forgetful as me, anyone can forget something at any time, but I don't find them particularly useful, because while they show you you've forgotten something, they don't actually tell or show you what you've forgotten.'

' Don't worry, Neville. It's perfect,' assured him Harry. Although with all those sweets he would need to start exercising and eating more healthy. Now that he managed to get to a normal weight, he wanted to maintain it with regular exercise and a healthy diet. In fact, starting Sunday, he would start with a morning exercise routine and start looking into healthy recipes, perhaps even buy a cookbook.

' I sent you a slice of cake my boss at the café baked for me as well. It's been a few hours since I sent it through owl post, so I think it should be arriving soon if it hasn't arrived yet.'

' I got the cake, yes. It was delicious.'

' Glad you enjoyed it. Thank you again for the gift and I'll talk to you on Sunday most likely. I'll be busy tomorrow throughout the day and I'll be too tired for anything else other than sleep when I get back.'

' You're welcome and don't worry, enjoy your birthday party. Good night.'

' Good night.'

He quickly slipped into the bathroom to wash his teeth and take care of his physiological necessities, and then changed into something more loose and comfortable, before slipping under the bed covers and calling Sirius.

"Did you get home safe, pup?"

"I did."

"Good. Before I forget, Remus loved his payment for his hard work."

Harry giggled. "I'm glad. Anyway, I'm about to go to sleep, because I have to get up early for work and if I want to get at least eight or nine hours of sleep I have to go to bed early, but I wanted to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I talked with Mrs. Nightingale about your legal case. Don't worry, I made it seem hypothetical and in muggle terms, and asked her what someone in your position could do to prove their innocence and she said that having an alibi, witnesses and solid evidence that corroborate it, and a lie detector test should be more than enough. Which made me think that, if we can have you testify under Veritaserum, it should be more than enough to prove your innocence, even if we can't present the real culprit, since you can't tell lies when under the influence of the potion."

Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, I thought about it too, but I don't know how willing the Ministry will be to give me a trial now when they haven't given me one thirteen years ago."

"Maybe Mr. Weasley knows people at the Ministry that could do something about it," suggested Harry. "Ask him or, if you wish, I can write a letter addressed to the entire Department of Magical Law and Enforcement. There has to be someone who is just, uncorrupted, unbiased and not easily swayed by money."

Sirius seemed to think about the suggestion. "I'll speak to Arthur in private and ask him to be discrete about it and see what news he has for me."

He nodded. "When you hear anything from him, tell me, okay?"

"I will. I'll see you tomorrow, pup. I'll come to Surrey around 10:45."

"Okay," he smiled. "Good night, Sirius."

"Good night, Harry."

…

Saturday, 1 August 2015

Harry woke up giddy the following morning, excited to spend an entire day with his godfather and his friends. He worked with an extra spring in his step and finished his shift twenty minutes early, and still received full payment.

He walked back to Privet Drive, sat down on the curb, and waited for his godfather to appear.

"You're already here?" he joined him. "I thought I would have to look for you."

"I finished my shift earlier than usual," he grinned.

"Do you have everything you need with you?"

"I do. Do you have everything with you?"

Sirius pulled a pouch from his pocket and looked inside it. "I do," he concluded with a smirk.

"Even the swimming suit?" he teased.

"Of course, that's the most important part of the entire equipment." He leaned in to whisper, "I transfigured a pair of my briefs for that. I thought about sending Moony to buy me swimming trunks, but he's already going to have his hands full with making others believe I'm sick, I didn't want to torture him more."

Harry laughed and as he looked up, he saw Nathan's car enter the driveway. He got up, dusting off his backside. "They're here," he said to his godfather with a wide smile.

…

Meanwhile

Voldemort was lying on his bed in his room at the Hanssons, throwing a soft, squishy ball (which was actually a transfigured ball of crumpled paper) into the air and catching it, while Nagini lay beside him on the bed.

He could hear his 'mother' cook through the walls. She was preparing Swedish meatballs in a creamy sauce with mashed potatoes and lingonberry jam, and fluffy Swedish pancakes … with more lingonberry jam. By the sound of that muggle apparatus known as television, his 'father' was in the living room, watching something, and judging by the few stray sentences he caught, it was a programme on agriculture.

He glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Someone from Hogwarts should be arriving soon. No one had replied to the letter his 'father' wrote on his behalf, but he was certain that someone should be making a visit very soon. He wondered who it would be. He doubted it would be Dumbledore, maybe McGonagall or some other professor. He didn't care that much … as long as it wasn't Dumbledore.

Five … ten … fifteen minutes passed, during which he managed to fill the room with flying paper cranes, and no one came ringing the doorbell.

" Felix," called his 'mother' from the kitchen, " lunchen är klar."

Voldemort reached for his translation earpieces and put them into his ears. " Stay here," he instructed Nagini. " I won't be long." Then headed to the kitchen.

His 'father' was already sitting in his usual place at the small dining table, which was overflowing with scrumptious looking food.

"Dear," said his 'father', "it smells and looks delicious." Voldemort smiled and agreed with him.

"Well, dig in then, you two," she said, joining them. "You, son, especially. You need a lot of nutrients and sleep, since you're still growing and developing," she reached out and caressed his arm gently. Voldemort didn't know how to react to such a motherly gesture, so he simply resorted to an awkward and tight smile, before picking up his cutlery and cutting into a meatball.

"I certainly hope his growth won't translate into height," remarked his 'father' teasingly, "because he's already tall enough, any more and we will have to adjust the door height so he can fit through without hitting his head."

"I'm not that tall," he protested good-naturedly.

"With your 180 centimetres, you're tall enough to play basketball or volleyball." He turned to his wife. "It's like all the food he eats either goes to his brain to make him smart or into his height."

A chuckle escaped him as a subdued grin rested on his lips.

"So be it," she said. "The boy has to be strong and healthy and if he's also tall, handsome and smart … well, all the better." She turned to him and smiled. "Right, Felix?"

He mumbled affirmatively, focussing on his plate and fighting off an amused grin.

…

At the end of the meal, his 'father' praised his wife's cooking one more time and placed a brief and chaste kiss on her lips, before retiring to the shed. Voldemort, on the other hand, stayed behind and helped his 'mother' clean the dishes as the good son that he was.

Halfway through their washing-up, the doorbell rang. "I'll go," he said, drying his hands in a kitchen towel. He opened the door and came face to face with McGonagall. "Good afternoon," he greeted, "what can I do for you?"

"Good afternoon, I am Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. I came in regards to the letter Erik Hansson sent to us."

"Nice to meet you," he said, shaking hands with her. "I'm Felix Hansson. Come in." He held the door wide enough for her to enter. "Mother, a representative from Hogwarts is here," he called in Swedish.

"Ingrid Hansson," she greeted, shaking hands with McGonagall.

"Minerva McGonagall."

"Please, take a sit." She guided her to the sofa in the living room. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"A cup of black tea with a dash of milk, please."

His mother went to prepare the kettle, when she turned to him and said, "Go tell your father we have a visitor from the magic school you're going to attend come September."

Once all four of them were in the living room, with a cup of tea each, McGonagall started speaking.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hansson, while I understand the circumstances behind your son not attending Durmstrang or Hogwarts, once you moved here to the United Kingdom, it is impossible for your son to start with fifth year. I know that it will be a bit uncomfortable for him to share classes with students younger than him, but at least he won't be struggling with the subjects."

"If you're worried about Felix failing and struggling with fifth year classes, I can assure you that Felix is intelligent enough to catch up quickly in a month," said his 'mother' in his defence. "If he was able to skip a year in high-school, I don't see how he couldn't learn the material of all the subjects for the first four years."

"Yes, but, madam, it is still four years for seven core subjects and two years for at least two electives worth of material he would need to learn by the end of August so he could sit for the exams to qualify him for fifth year."

His 'parents' turned to him. "What do you say, son?" prompted his 'father'. "Do you think you will be able to learn everything this lady mentioned by the end of August?"

He smiled. "I will, father."

Erik turned to McGonagall. "Well, there you have it. You heard the boy. He's going to learn everything you said he needs to learn in a month."

McGonagall was speechless.

"Well … if you're sure, Felix," she said sternly. "Then I will send you the necessary list of schoolbooks you will have to acquire to get up to date with your future classmates. I will also send you the list with the electives so you can choose at least two extra subjects. As for the exams, instead of having to sit for a minimum of 32 exams, you will only sit for a minimum of nine, meaning that each exam will be a bit longer than usual, but it will encompass all the material from the first four years of Hogwarts curriculum. Once I know the dates for individual subjects, I will communicate them to you immediately. Since the exams are both theoretical and practical, I will also try to arrange it with the Ministry to let you practice magic at home, even though you're underage. Any questions?"

Voldemort shook his head. "No, madam, at least not for now," he added.

"Very well," she nodded sharply. "In case you have any doubts along the way, feel free to mail me or any of the professors. I am sure they would be happy to answer your questions." She finished her tea and rose to her feet. "If that is everything, I will be on my way to get all the bureaucracy in order."

They accompanied her to the front door to see her off. "Thank you for your consideration and patience."

"You're welcome," she said with a small smile. "I just hope your son isn't biting off more than he can chew with this one." She looked at Voldemort. "But if he manages to succeed in this ambitious and foolhardy endeavour, I think that I would be extremely disappointed if he doesn't end in my house, because Gryffindor could always do with more students such as you, Felix."

"Thank you for the compliment, Professor. You won't be disappointed."

She huffed, smirking. "I'm looking forward to the end of August then, to see what you're made of."

…

Saturday, 1 August 2015, 21:45

" Y, Harry," prompted Ana Maria as they were driving back to Surrey after the concert, " ¿qu é tal tu fiesta de cumplea ños? Did you like it?"

" Much ísimo," he grinned, thinking to all the times he went down the waterslides in the waterpark, the scrumptious food at the restaurant, to all the duets he sang with Ana Maria and Nathan at the karaoke place, the movie and the popcorn at the cinema, and the music at the concert. "I had a lot of fun today. Thank you again for doing this for me."

"Don't mention it," said Nathan. "As long as you had a good time today, that's what matters the most. Everything else is irrelevant. Isn't that right, Sirius?"

"Exactly," he agreed, ruffling Harry's messy hair, "and besides, you're not the only one who had fun today."

"Will we do something similar for your birthday, Ana Maria?" asked Harry.

" No precisamente. We'll be at my house and we'll play some summer outdoor games like throwing water balloons at each other and shooting water from water guns, then we can play some board and card games, since I have a lot of those, you know, Monopoly, Munchkin, Exploding Kittens, etc étera."

Harry's eyes were already glittering from excitement. It was a good think that her birthday was so close to his and that in a week's time they would be celebrating a birthday together again, and then, on December 27th, during his Yule holidays, Nathan would be celebrating his birthday.

As they arrived at Privet Drive and were saying goodbye to each other, Sirius remembered he owed money to Nathan and Ana Maria.

"Don't worry about it," said Nathan dismissively, "you can come around the café anytime you want and deliver the money and maybe stay around for a coffee or something."

"Then expect a visit from me sometime next week."

"Take care," said Ana Maria and Nathan at the same time, before they waved at them and drove away. Harry looked after them with a big grin on his face.

…

Sunday, 2 August 2015

Harry should have known that a disaster was bound to occur after so much peace and happiness.

Everything started great, he got up early, even though it was Sunday, to go for a morning jog, and then do some stretching exercises, some squats, sit-ups and push-ups before returning home, taking a shower and preparing some herb omelette with fried cherry tomatoes anda slice of toast for breakfast. He then spent most of his morning doing homework and drinking matcha he got as a birthday gift from his boss and water from his new glass water bottle.

He made his own healthy lunch again, this time, he stir-fired some chickpeas, tofu cubes, carrot strips, broccoli and black beans and ate it with baby spinach and sweet corn salad.

In the late afternoon, when the heat of the day started to diminish, he went out for a walk and ended at the playground nearby, swinging idly on the swing.

When he was about to go home and start preparing his dinner (he was craving some Chicken Caesar Salad), he noticed his cousin Dudley and his gang. They noticed him too, but instead of approaching him, Dudley's friends went their own way and his cousin came closer and sat into the swing next to him.

An awkward silence stretched between them for a while.

"So …" said Harry to break the silence, "How are you and your friends doing?"

Dudley shrugged. "Okay, I guess. We were at Dennis' playing videogames."

"Nice … What kind of videogames?"

"Shooting and fighting mostly … although," he whispered, "don't tell mom, but we also played some online porn games and watched porn."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Oh," he said, "don't worry; I won't say anything to Aunt Petunia." It was better that he played videogames and watched porn than went around the neighbourhood, terrorising kids.

"It's embarrassing talking about sex with her or even with dad," admitted Dudley. "So, we mostly just gather at our houses and look up sexy pictures and watch different porn sites. Sometimes we even look up some things and read articles on Wikipedia about it."

Harry had to admit that he was impressed. Who would have thought that Dudley would ever want to read anything willingly? The power of sex was truly amazing and terrifying.

"And what are some of your favourite porn videos to watch?" He hoped he wasn't asking too much or being too invasive.

"Well … I really like watching creampies. It's when the porn actors don't wear condoms and they ejaculate inside the woman's pussy or ass," he explained, when he saw Harry's confused expression.

"Oh, I see. And besides creampies, what else do you enjoy watching?"

"Monster porn. It's usually animated porn and it usually features a woman being fucked by all sorts of monsters, from tentacle aliens, to insects and ogres."

Harry was just nodding to what his cousin was saying, wide-eyed. He really didn't have a comment.

"And …" Dudley suddenly grew nervous, "when I'm alone, I also sometimes watch gay and lesbian porn."

"Do you like it?"

Dudley looked uncertain. "I guess. I mean … I do get hard when watching and I can masturbate to it, but I'm not proud of it."

"Why?" wondered Harry. "Would you be ashamed of falling in love with another guy if it happened to you in real life?"

He sent a blank stare his way. "Harry, you're acting as if you don't know my parents at all. They've been calling you a freak for years, me included, just for doing supernatural things, what do you think they'll call me if they ever learnt I got hard watching two men and two women have sex?"

Harry winced. He was right. "You're right, they wouldn't be thrilled. They might even think I put you under a spell or something."

"Thrilled?" he scoffed. "That's an understatement. They would disown me, my father would beat the living shit out of me, my mother would probably commit suicide and …" he sighed. "It's just not worth the hustle."

"Even if you really loved and felt happy with another man?" he insisted.

Dudley fell silent. "I don't know," he answered after a long beat of silence. "I don't know if I would have the balls to be with another man for life."

Harry tentatively reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

Almost instantly, the sun disappeared, the sky clouded and darkened, and the air grew colder. It even started raining.

Both Harry and Dudley were alarmed by the sudden changes, but unlike Dudley, Harry knew exactly what caused those changes in the environment. Dementors.

With no time to wonder what dementors were doing in a muggle town, miles away from Azkaban, he urged his cousin to run back home.

"What's going on, Harry?" he panted as he ran alongside him.

"Dementors," he panted. "They are very dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

"They can either leave you feeling depressed," said Harry, slightly out of breath, with his heart pounding in his head and chest, "or they can suck out your soul and leave you like a living corpse for the rest of your life."

Dudley paled, glancing around them, and as if spurred, he began running even faster.

"You won't be able to see them," breathed Harry keeping up with his cousin's speed, "if they catch us, but – don't worry – I know how to get them away – I just need to use magic."

"Then what are you waiting for, dammit! Use it!" yelled Dudley.

They reached the tunnel, the water puddles splashing under the weight and force of their steps, but before they reached the other side, the dark, cloaked and skeletal figure came swooping in in front of them.

"Shit!" cursed Harry, ducking and whipping out his wand, preparing his most recent happy memories to fuel his Patronus, while also trying to shield his cousin, but another dementor came at them from behind and knocked them to the floor.

Harry lost his grip on his wand and it rolled just out of his reach.

"Dudley, try to keep your head down and face hidden," he managed to get out, before the dementor seized him by the throat and shoved him into the wall, knocking all air out of him, and he could feel happiness and warmth leaving him.

On instinct, he swung out with his dominant hand and managed to connect with the Dementor's head, causing it to stagger and loosen its grip. He landed on the floor and hurried to his wand and with the experiences of these past two days with his friends and godfather, he yelled out "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The stag that drove away the horde of dementors in his third year shot out of his wand and charged at the cloaked creature to make it go away. Then, glancing at his cousin, who had been flipped on his back and pinned down by the second dementor, he pointed his wand at him, letting his stag gallop to his cousin's help.

With the two dementors gone, Harry hurried to Dudley's side to see how he was. He appeared to be conscious, but his gaze was lost somewhere in the distance and he wasn't responding.

"Dudley, can you hear me?" asked Harry softly. No answer. "I know you probably don't have the strength to move, but we need to get you home." No reaction. Harry sighed. "I don't know if it works on muggles, but chocolate is supposed to make you feel better after an encounter with a dementor. Come on, Dudley," heaved Harry, trying to move him and only succeeded in dragging him across the ground.

"Come on," he urged him, "you can do it, Dudley. You're a big and strong guy. If you get yourself into shape you might even become a heartbreaker," he babbled encouragements, anything to get Dudley to react and drag his feet to the house.

Panting, his wand still in hand, he looked up at both ends of the tunnel and saw Mrs. Figg walk towards him with a bag on wheels. He froze, then remembered his wand was still out in the open and quickly pocketed it away.

"Don't put it away yet, Harry," she said. "They might come back."

"Wait a minute, you know what I am?" he asked cautiously.

"Of course I know, dear boy. After all, Dumbledore told me to keep an eye on you. Now, enough dilly-dallying, we must move fast. We don't want dementors to return."

After a lot of heaving, panting, grunting, and manoeuvring, he managed to get Dudley to stand up and lean onto him for the remainder of their walk.

It wasn't until they reached the threshold that he started to dread his aunt and uncle's reactions when they would see Dudley's state. He only hoped they wouldn't jump to conclusions and if they did, he hoped they would give him a chance to explain what happened … without freaking out too much.

12 Grimmauld Place

Chapter Notes

I apologise for not uploading on time, but as I've mentioned to one reviewer, I am very busy and haven't even had the time to answer the lovely reviews you've been leaving on my stories. I will do my best to update Famiglia Porter by the end of Sunday and also answer most of the comments as well. From now on, I won't even set any fixed deadlines for updates, just roughly once a month.

In the meantime, enjoy the chapter, I hope the wait was worth it and feel free to leave comments.

With the heart in his throat, Harry reached out and rang the bell. The wait made the feeling of utter panic and terror worse by the second, then, when his aunt opened the door and gasped, horrified at the sight of her son; muddy, pale with a slight greenish tint to him and a blank expression.

"Diddy!" she exclaimed, immediately fussing over him. "Diddy, what happened?"

In response, Dudley spilled out his guts all over the doormat. Alarmed, his aunt started calling for her husband to help her who came waddling out of the living room. Avoiding the vomit on the ground, he helped his son get over the threshold together with Petunia, both completely ignoring Harry, something he was very much grateful for.

He followed them inside, being mindful of the spew. All the while, Petunia and Vernon were trying to get Dudley to talk to them and tell them what had happened. Vernon thought, probably because of the fact he vomited, that he might have ingested something at Denis' house that made him ill. On the other hand, because Dudley was covered in dirt, his aunt speculated he had been mugged and was ready to call the police.

They reached the living room, where they seated him in the middle of the sofa, both on either side of him. Harry wondered whether he should be the one to explain what had happened, but he wasn't sure how much his aunt and uncle would believe him if he told them about dementors.

Twisting his hands nervously, he took a deep breath and said, "We weren't mugged, but we were attacked."

They finally seemed to register his presence and they both looked sceptically at him. "By whom?" Vernon asked with narrowed eyes.

"It wasn't a person, it was a creature." He gulped. "A magical one," he concluded in a quiet tone.

They both paled considerably and turned to Dudley to corroborate what he was saying. "Is that true Dudley?"

He nodded slowly and some of the fear left Harry's chest. "I didn't see anything," Dudley finally found his voice. "But I felt and heard something. A voice. Inside my head."

Vernon and Petunia looked worriedly at their son. "What did you hear, Pumpkin?" breathed Aunt Petunia.

Dudley refused to answer. He only shuddered, rubbed his chest, whimpered and shook his head.

"What else happened, son?" asked Uncle Vernon in a quiet voice.

"I felt cold … real cold and horrible … as if … as if I would never be happy."

They exchanged confused looks, but sent a suspicious look towards Harry. "Son, are you sure that he," Vernon pointed at Harry, "didn't do anything to you? Maybe he put you under some crackpot spell to make you feel that way and hear that … voice."

Harry felt the need to defend himself before such accusation, but he held his tongue and breath, and waited for Dudley to speak. So far, he was speaking in his favour.

His cousin shook his head. "It wasn't Harry. I'm sure." Harry let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

"Then what did this to you, Diddy?" insisted Petunia.

"Harry called them Dementors." Recognition sparked in his aunt's eyes as they widened to the size of saucers in utter terror, while his uncle couldn't have looked more confused. "He says they can suck out your soul … or leave you depressed. But he … he took care of whatever was making me feel cold and horrible."

There was silence, with his aunt and uncle staring blankly at Harry without saying a word. Then, they looked at each other, silently communicating something with their looks.

"Should we take him to the doctor?" asked Petunia after a while.

"I don't think it will be necessary," Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

Again, he was the centre of attention.

"Are you saying this will go away on its own?" inquired Vernon.

"He should feel much better after a cup of hot chocolate and a night of sleep. If his condition doesn't improve by tomorrow night, then you can take him to the doctor," said Harry. "Why risk the neighbours seeing him in this state when you can wait it out a bit?"

They seemed to consider his words. "Very well," said Vernon. "We'll wait for twenty-four hours to see what happens."

"In the meantime, I can go prepare him a cup of hot chocolate," offered Harry.

"There should be a pack in the cupboard next to the powdered cocoa," said Petunia.

He nodded and went to the kitchen. "A nice, warm bath would probably also help him a bit," he called from the kitchen and Petunia immediately agreed.

"We have to get him out of the dirty and wet clothes; otherwise he might develop a cold or pneumonia." Together with her husband, she helped Dudley up the stairs. "When the chocolate is ready, bring it upstairs," she instructed him.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

As he was preparing the chocolate, an owl swooped in through the kitchen window and dropped a letter on the counter next to him.

Harry picked up the envelope, opened it and froze as he started reading the contents of the letter.

He was being expelled from Hogwarts, he thought numbly, feeling light-headed. Not only that, he was going to lose his wand too. The Ministry officials are going to come and snap it in half … just because he used magic in self-defence and to defend his muggle cousin who had been aware of his ability to do magic for four years now. Hell, when he performed magic on Vernon's sister and turned her into a human balloon in front of his relatives, he spoke with the Minister himself and he told him it wouldn't affect him in any way. So why and how was this occasion fundamentally different from that one that it would warrant his expulsion and snapping of wand, perhaps even Azkaban?

Almost immediately, another owl swooped in and dropped a note in front of him. It was from Ron's father, Arthur Weasley, telling him that Dumbledore was at the Ministry, trying to sort everything out and that he should stay at his relatives' house and hold onto his wand.

Harry didn't know how to feel about the note. He supposed he was happy that Dumbledore was trying to represent and defend him legally, and to have been informed of that at such a short notice, but it hurt to know that if the Dementors hadn't attacked him, no one apart from Sirius would be contacting him, probably for the rest of the summer holidays.

Inhaling deeply to calm himself, he turned his attention back to the chocolate and carried it upstairs just as his aunt had instructed. Then, he went to his room, where he immediately changed clothes and reached for his two-way mirror and called his godfather.

"Pup!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper. "I was just about to send you a message. Arthur told me what happened and that Dumbledore is already negotiating your expulsion and destruction of your wand, but tell me, how are you? Are you okay?"

"Aside from the shock that I'm most likely going to face charges for defending myself and my cousin, I'm fine."

Sirius exhaled in relief and sank into his chair, clutching his chest. "Thank Merlin for that. It's a good thing Remus taught you that spell, because I don't even want to imagine what would have happened to you if you didn't know how to protect yourself against a Dementor."

"Me neither," he agreed. The sole thought of him not being equipped with the knowledge was enough to make him shudder. "Were you also able to learn more about why the Dementors were in Little Whinging or who sent them?"

"Unfortunately not yet," grimaced Sirius. "Maybe we'll know something by tomorrow, but some are already speculating that it was probably Voldemort who sent them after you."

"How?" wondered Harry who was certain that Voldemort didn't have anything to do with this. "He doesn't know where I live and didn't he say that he would leave me alone? Why send Dementors after me then?" he reasoned.

"I know. It had to be someone who knows where you live, or at least an approximate location, has a grudge against you and has the access and the power to influence Dementors. If you ask me," he looked around, "it has to be someone from the Ministry."

Harry's eyes widened. "What makes you think that?"

Sirius looked as if he was deciding whether to tell him or not. "I didn't really want to talk about it with you, because you don't need to read rubbish some reporters publish just to get readership without thinking how they are affecting the lives of people they write about," he began, "but for the past month or so, all The Daily Prophet does is talk rubbish about you and Dumbledore. Calling you liars and lunatics for saying that Voldemort is alive and back. In Dumbledore's case, they are even accusing him of being after Fudge's post."

"Oh," said Harry blankly. He remembered there was a clause in his agreement with Voldemort about defamation and lies and animosity and, while he made trips to Diagon Alley a few times, he didn't really pay attention to much else so he wasn't really aware of how the press had been portraying him since the end of the school year.

"Please, pup," pleaded Sirius, "stay away from all that negativity. Don't go reading The Daily Prophet, it will only put a smudge on your current happiness and it's not worth it."

"Don't worry," he smiled reassuringly, "I won't, but thank you for letting me know."

Sirius smiled too. Just then, another owl came, this time flying through his room's open window. Harry dreaded opening it, but did it anyway to see what the final decision of the Ministry was.

"What does it say?" wanted to know Sirius.

"It says that I have a hearing on the twelfth of August and that whether I will be expelled and have my wand snapped will be decided at the hearing. For now, I'm suspended from Hogwarts."

"Don't worry, we'll come up with something to get you out of this mess until then, and if there's any justice, any at all, you will be cleared of all charges, because you didn't do anything wrong."

Warmth enveloped him from the inside. "Thank you," he smiled. "I really appreciate it."

"There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, pup," assured him Sirius. "Now, go to sleep, oh, and before I forget, be alert, the Order will come collect you sometime next week."

"Is that something that was planned from the very beginning or are they only coming to get me because of the Dementors?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"They planned to get you sometime mid-August, but the Dementor attack only pushed the date forward."

Harry nodded. He was excited to live with his godfather, but he wasn't really looking forward to seeing his friends and the rest of the Order. "One more thing," he said.

"What is it, pup?"

"The note that Arthur sent me said that I should stay inside the house and not leave it. I'm afraid I can't do that. I have work, and I have my sessions with Mrs. Nightingale and my guitar lessons with Nathan and my Spanish and English lessons with Ana Maria; I can't just not go for an entire week because the Dementors might attack me again."

"I know," he said apologetically, "I will speak with the Order and try to convince them to let you go about your day. They might need to tighten the security on you, but if two or three people are constantly keeping an eye on you wherever you go, it should be enough."

"I hope so, because I refuse to let this incident affect my everyday life."

And to prove his point, he went to the kitchen after concluding his conversation with Sirius and made himself that Chicken Caesar Salad he was craving for dinner.

…

Harry woke up early the next day so he could go for a jog around the neighbourhood. Accompanied by two Order members. According to Sirius, Remus and a woman called Tonks volunteered to be his bodyguards for the week, until they finally assembled enough people and a plan to transfer him safely to the headquarters on Saturday evening.

Wearing sweatpants and a loose T-shirt he bought for himself, he opened the front door, expecting to see them on the doorstep, waiting for him, but didn't see anyone.

' They're probably hiding under a charm or something,' he speculated as he closed the door and started running at a normal pace.

Not even a minute into his jog, he heard someone say "Wotcher, Harry" to his right. He turned his head towards the source of the voice and almost suffered a heart attack when he noticed a woman with spiky hair and a violent shade of violet directly next to him. He stopped abruptly, clutched his chest and let out an expletive.

"Are you mental?" he said upset. "Who does that?"

"Forgive Tonks and I for frightening you, Harry," apologised Lupin awkwardly.

He sighed. "Just … don't ever do it again, unless you want to send me to an early grave." Lupin chuckled in amusement.

Harry looked at the woman. "So … you're Tonks?"

"Yes," she smiled and offered him a handshake. "It's nice to finally meet you, Harry. You're exactly how I imagined you to be."

Still bothered by the scare she gave him, he kept a serious expression. "I can't say I share the sentiment," he deadpanned, "but since you'll be breathing down my neck until Friday, I guess it's nice to know who is following me around all the time," he concluded with a forced and fake smile.

Tonks flushed in embarrassment and Lupin winced.

"It might be longer than that," said Lupin apologetically.

Harry stared blankly at him. "What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid that until you return to Hogwarts, you will be stuck with bodyguards whenever you leave the safe house."

" If I return," he said. "Remember that I still have the disciplinary hearing first. As for being stuck with bodyguards until then … unbelievable. I hope that you're also trying to learn who sent those Dementors here."

"We are," said Tonks, "but it might take us a while."

"Good. Now, as you can see, I'm in the middle of my morning exercise. First, I'm going to do a circle around the neighbourhood and then I'm going to do some stretching, squats, push-ups, pull-ups and sit-ups at the playground. You're welcome to join me," he said and before they gave him an answer, he already started running again.

"What is the plan for today then, Harry?" asked Lupin, jogging on his left.

"After morning exercise, I'm going to shower, eat breakfast, and prepare a lunchbox to take with me to work. At nine, a friend will come pick me up with his car for guitar lessons at ten at his apartment above the café where I work. I probably won't leave the café until five, when I end my shift, unless I will have to take the dogs for a walk. After work, I'm going to use public transport to get back to Surrey."

"Why use public transport, when we can simply apparate you to Privet Drive?" wondered Tonks.

"As long as I don't get into trouble because of it, can save some time and money, and you don't mind apparating me from Surrey to London and back, then I'm all for it," said Harry excitedly.

"You shouldn't get into trouble," said Remus, "but you never know, so we shouldn't overdo it."

"Then it's settled."

…

As he was preparing breakfast for himself, mushroom hash with poached eggs and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, he also made two extra portions for Remus and Tonks and served them in two separate plastic containers. If they already jogged with him, he would feel bad not feeding and watering them, and both looked grateful for the food and drink.

He did the same with the lunchbox. Instead of making only one portion of tuna rice salad featuring green peas, finely sliced spring onions, chunks of tomato, and peeled, deseeded and diced red pepper for himself, he made two extras and also added some fresh fruit as desert or an afternoon snack and a bottle of water to all three.

…

Half an hour before leaving for London, Harry went to check on his cousin. He found him sitting in bed, staring blankly through the window onto the street.

"Hey," he greeted. Dudley glanced at him and returned his greeting, before returning his gaze to the window. "May I come in?" He received an affirmative murmur.

Harry entered Dudley's spacious room littered with videogames, the latest high tech entertainment systems, snack leftovers, clothes strewn on the floor.

"I just wanted to check on you," spoke Harry in a soft tone, "to see how you were doing. Are you feeling any better?"

Silence buzzed and stretched between them. When Harry was about to take Dudley's lack of answer as a negative reply or as his desire not to speak about the subject, his cousin opened his mouth and said, "Physically … I feel fine. Mentally … not so much."

"Would you like to talk about what's been bothering you since last night?" asked Harry with caution, trying to use a tone similar to the one Mrs. Nightingale used when they had their sessions. "About what you heard?"

There was another long stretch of ambiguous silence on Dudley's end.

"Of course," added Harry quickly, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but it might help you feel better if you talked openly about what you're experiencing."

His cousin heaved a heavy sigh, taking his time to decide whether he wanted to tell him about it or not. After an eternity, he whispered, "I heard a voice. A voice inside my head, telling me that I am … pathetic." His look remained focussed on a distant point on the horizon. "That I am fat, ugly, and cruel and someone no one would want to spend their life with … that I am going to end up alone and miserable."

Harry didn't know how to react to such a confession. On one hand, he wanted to say something soothing and consoling, something his aunt would have done, just to make Dudley feel better, but on the other, he wanted to confront Dudley with the cruel and ugly truth of his bullying actions and tendencies, his lack of care for the things he owned, his appearance and his attitude.

Despite all the sadism his cousin indulged in for entertainment and all the bad things he had done to him and to others, Harry didn't think he was evil or irredeemable. However, for the improvement to take place, he needed his cousin to realise, acknowledge his wrongs, and make a conscious decision and effort to better himself as a person, and he wasn't going to achieve that shift in thinking if he coddled and handled him with gloves like his Aunt Petunia had been doing for Dudley's entire life.

He had to be frank and straightforward, but while it was important to point out all his wrongs, he also needed to provide alternatives and suggestions for self-betterment, that way Dudley would have some guidelines which he could then choose to follow to feel better about himself.

"That's true … all of it. You've been cruel to me … to others for years, although you could say that recently you've not been as cruel as before, mostly because of videogames," he said. "It's a fact that you are overweight and, as much as people like to say that appearance isn't everything when dating, sadly appearance does matter … a lot. Your obesity and your sadism aren't exactly an attractive and an appealing combination for most and … if you stay like this … if you remain as you are now … then it is very likely that you will end up miserable and alone, because no one will want to be with someone like you. However, the only way things will change for you is if you decide to change yourself, to become a better person."

Dudley looked miserable with his crestfallen expression and downcast gaze. "Does that mean I will have to go on a diet?"

"One of the things, yes, but don't worry," he chuckled, "you won't have to starve yourself. You can still eat full meals, three times a day, just make sure that you eat smaller portions and are mindful of how much and what you eat. You will probably have to do a bit of research about differentiating between good and bad carbs, sugars and fats, and focus on protein. It would also be nice if you not only focussed on weight loss, but also maybe tried to work on sculpting your muscles, but no bodybuilding." He grimaced and shuddered. He really didn't like how people ended up looking after steroids and it didn't even look attractive, if anything it looked ugly both on men and women.

"Maybe you could get yourself a gym membership and weightlift two to three times a week, or buy some gym equipment and have a workout at home," he said enthusiastically instead. "I'm sure you can find videos about proper postures and workout routines for different stages, or you could join me and do morning exercise with me. Although," he looked at his own biceps, "I suppose I could do with some weightlifting as well. I do want to build both stamina and muscles, but nothing too much. I don't want to look like a bodybuilder."

Dudley seemed to consider his offer and suggestion. "Do you think – Do you think it will help me?"

"In terms of appearance, definitely, and if you look good, hopefully, you will also feel good about yourself and you won't feel the need to be violent and cruel to other people, because … otherwise … something terrible might happen," he said ominously.

"Like what?"

Harry sighed. "What do you think will happen if you forget yourself and end up killing someone? You might not go to a traditional prison, but you can end up in some correctional institution or juvenile prison, where you will await your transfer to an adult prison at eighteen, and your mom and dad won't be able to do much, if anything, for you then."

Dudley gulped, pale as a sheet.

"Every action has consequences, Dudley. Some are immediate and some take time to show, but they always happen. You think you can get away with most of the shit you do, because your parents never punished you, set you limits, never truly showed you what is acceptable and what is not, but you aren't untouchable and one major fuck up can ruin your entire life," he said. "And I don't think you want to spend most of your life behind bars because you were unable to be a functional and exemplary member of society."

He could see his words were making Dudley uncomfortable, but he had to say things as they were. No sugarcoating. "You may think I'm simply scaring you, but we both know that it's the truth and if you don't want to end in trouble with the law sooner or later, you should stop with your bullying and vandalism, because you never know when everything can go wrong for everyone involved."

"I don't want to go to jail," whispered Dudley.

"Then change," said Harry. "Stop with any illegal activities ASAP and let your friends know that too. Acting like jocks by being assholes doesn't sound as appealing when you get handcuffed, sent in front of a judge and sentenced for ten or more years, does it?"

"No," he shook his head.

"You can still be a jock without beating people up, throwing stones at people or at private property and writing graffiti to deface public and private buildings."

His cousin looked mortified.

"Like I said," he comforted him, "your interest in videogames and … other things has definitely had a positive impact on your behaviour so far, so if you like it, keep playing and watching those … things, and add a healthy diet and lifestyle to that as well and I can almost assure you that you will feel like a man reborn. I can give you the links to the site with healthy recipes that I'm consulting for my own diet and to the site with the recommended amount of daily calories if you're trying to lose, maintain or gain weight, but I'm afraid you will have to look for weightlifting on your own," he concluded apologetically.

"Thanks, I guess," he said awkwardly.

Harry smiled. "You're welcome." He stood up. "Anyway, I'll be leaving now and I'll see you in the afternoon," he said and left the room.

…

"Here," said Harry nonchalantly, handing the two extra lunchboxes to Lupin and Tonks, "so you won't be hungry while waiting for me to end my shift."

"Thank you, Harry," they said in unison.

He acknowledged their gratitude with a nod. It was still five to nine and a question struck Harry. "How are you going to follow me in Nathan's car, when you won't be able to get inside without rousing suspicion?"

They produced broomsticks. "Like this," announced Tonks with a wide grin.

…

As the day went by, Harry couldn't help but wonder why Lupin and Tonks couldn't just apparate him to the headquarters instead of Privet Drive. Why did they have to wait until Friday to do it if it was as simple as teleporting to the location, like he teleported to Diagon Alley with Voldemort?

His gaze turned distant. ' I wonder where he is now,' he thought as he was washing the coffee cups. ' Would he be somewhere cold like the mountain or somewhere warm like the beach? Hang on … do Dark Lords even swim and sunbathe?' The thought of Voldemort wearing swimming trunks, exposing his lean and pale frame to the scorching sun or lying on an inflatable pool bed floating on the water surface while wearing sunglasses and drinking some fancy drink from a melon, coconut or watermelon bowl with a straw and decorative umbrellas was very bizarre yet oddly normal. ' I just hope he's really taking some time off and enjoying his vacation.'

He started drying the glasses. ' And while I really want to live with Sirius maybe I should just wait until Friday and help Dudley sort himself out in the meantime. I should let Mrs. Nightingale know about it and perhaps ask her for advice on how to continue my approach.' Because he would certainly need some advice on how to deal with people that are not as good friends as one thought they were.

…

The faster Friday approached, the more nervous he felt. Luckily, he managed to distract himself with music, Spanish, exercise, reading, cooking, homework and chatting with his godfather and Neville.

In the second half of the week, Dudley joined him in the mornings for the jog, before heading to the gym, Aunt Petunia started cooking healthier food and serving smaller portions, and even then, Dudley calculated and weighed all of his food.

On Thursday evening, he told them he would be leaving until next summer and as he said that, his aunt and uncle did something unexpected and completely out of character.

"Vernon and I have been thinking," began Petunia, "and we have decided that … you don't have to pay us for the monthly mobile phone bill."

Harry was speechless, gawking at them in shock. "I really appreciate it," he said carefully after recovering from his surprise, "but why? I mean … are you sure you won't change your mind about it and suddenly demand reimbursement?"

"If you don't want what we're offering you, boy," said Vernon impatiently, "you can continue paying us in full."

"I'm grateful," Harry assured him, "but I don't understand the reasoning behind such a decision."

"Consider it our way of expressing our gratitude for what you did and are doing for Dudley," explained Petunia. "If you hadn't done … what you did, Dudley would probably not have been with us."

Even though it was unexpected and not their usual style, now at least, it made more sense to him … although not really, but he wasn't going to look the gift horse in the mouth by questioning the sanity of his aunt and uncle and just accept the gesture of gratitude, no matter how unusual.

…

After wrapping up the Friday session at Mrs. Nightingale's, Harry mentally steeled himself for the meeting with Ron and Hermione.

He let Lupin carry his personal effects.

"Ready, Harry?" asked Tonks on his right, offering her arm.

He took in a deep breath, held onto her forearm and nodded. A moment later, he felt like being squeezed through a thin tube and when he opened his eyes and steadied himself, he stood in front of a row of terraced houses.

Before he could ask anything, Lupin put out all the street lamps with some sort of lighter to conceal their presence from the muggles that might be looking through the windows, before offering him a piece of parchment, illuminating the writing with his lit wand.

Harry looked at it and read: The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

"Have you memorised it?" asked Lupin.

Harry looked it once over to make sure he had memorised the information on the paper before saying yes.

Remus took the paper out of his hands and set it on fire, then instructed him to think about the location he just read on the parchment. He did as told and where there was no house number 12 between 11 and 13 now the house bearing number 12 appeared between those two.

It looked vastly different from the rest with rusty front door, no mailbox, no keyholes, grimy windows and a silver knock in the shape of a snake. ' Someone must have either really liked snakes as animals or they were fond of snakes because of their association with the Slytherin House,' thought Harry.

Remus knocked on the door and it didn't take long before he heard footsteps and metal clinking on the other side. When the door swung open, Mrs. Weasley greeted him, "Oh, Harry, it's so nice to see you, dear." She pulled him into a rib-cracking hug before holding him at arm's length to take a closer look at him.

"You don't seem as skinny as you usually are this time round, but you still need feeding up, however, you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not hungry," said Harry politely. "And what will be for dinner if I may ask?"

"Baked baby potatoes, roasted beef and cooked peas and carrots."

"Sounds delicious," he smiled. ' If a bit hearty for an evening meal,' he added in his thoughts. As much as he felt awkward refusing most of Mrs. Weasley's food from tomorrow onwards, he wasn't going to ruin his new lifestyle to avoid hurting someone else's feelings.

"Come," she urged him towards the staircase, "let me show you where you'll be staying."

Harry followed reluctantly, trying to catch a glimpse of his godfather. Just as he was about to ask her about him, Sirius called his name. He stopped and turned to him, his mouth spread in a wide smile.

"Sirius," he called and ran up to him, hugging him and receiving the hug back.

"Good to see you, pup," whispered Sirius, after smothering him in kisses. "Glad to have you here."

"I'm happy to be here too."

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and broke their moment. "You'll have time to talk later," she practically wrenched Harry out of Sirius' arms, something he didn't really appreciate, but held his tongue. "Now it's time for the meeting. Come, Harry."

She guided him up the stairs and Harry sent an apologetic look his godfather's way and received a smirk and a wink in return, something that brought a subdued grin on his face.

…

Mrs Weasley showed him the door on the right, then left him to attend the meeting herself. Harry heaved a sigh, opened the door and saw Hermione and Ron, talking to each other.

Ron noticed him first. "Hiya, Harry," he greeted with an awkward smile.

"Hey, Ron," he greeted back, "Hermione."

Hermione, whipped her head backwards and exclaimed his name, before lunging herself at him, almost knocking him over.

"We're so sorry for not writing to you," she said when she let go of him, "but … Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't do it in case our owls got intercepted by … You-Know-Who."

"Yeah, mate," added Ron, "we really wanted to give you a reply, but we're really happy to know that you seem to be doing fine."

"It's not like I was expecting you to tell me everything that went on here," said Harry. "A simple ' Hey, how are you? Hope you're doing okay' or ' Hey, listen, mate, it's dangerous for us to communicate like this, let's wait until we see each other to talk freely' would be great. At least that way I wouldn't feel like you don't want to talk to me or that maybe something might have happened to you."

Ron and Hermione looked mortified.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look … I understand why you didn't reply to any of my letters … but I also thought that … after going through all that shit in the past four years it made our friendship stronger, that we had each other's backs for better and for worse … but I guess I was wrong."

"What are you on about? Of course we have each other's back, mate," said Ron.

"Do we?" wondered Harry with a melancholic smile. "Because it would seem to me that whatever Dumbledore says takes precedence over our friendship. Tell me … if I was bleeding out and Dumbledore told you to let me bleed to death … would you leave me to die?"

Their eyes widened in horror.

"Or an even more extreme hypothetical case … What if Dumbledore told you to push me off a cliff or out the window … would you do it?"

"Dumbledore would never ask us to do such a thing," said Hermione.

"I'm saying hypothetically, Hermione," he deadpanned. "And you haven't answered my question. If Dumbledore asked you to let me bleed out or shove me off a cliff, would you do it?"

Hermione blinked. "Of course not, Harry, don't be ridiculous," she huffed.

The fact that it took her this long to answer the question worried and disheartened him greatly, but he kept his poker face on and said, "Why not? I mean … Dumbledore would have said it and since his word seems to be sacred and absolute, I would think you would stab me and abandon me to die if he asked it of you."

"Look, we're really sorry for not writing to you, but the letters and actually killing you are two very different things, mate, and we would have to be mental to ever listen to something like that," said Ron.

Harry's lips spread into a small smile. "That's good to know, it would be extremely worrying otherwise," he joked. "And don't worry, I do understand," he said.

' I understand that I can't fully rely on you or trust you or tell you everything without you probably going to Dumbledore with the information,' he thought to himself, and even though his relationship with Ron and Hermione had suffered because of this, he would continue to be polite and hang out with them. At least until they did something that he just couldn't get past it and that ruined their friendship for good … but even then, he would simply cut his ties with them and mind his own business.

…

On Monday, Voldemort found himself lounging in his room at the Hanssons, waiting for McGonagall to send him the literature list and the exam dates, when out of nowhere, an image of himself mountain climbing and sunbathing while drifting on some kind of soft raft appeared in his mind.

He frowned. Why would he think of something like that? He wasn't even fond of cold places or summer heat.

Before he could analyse it, a knock brought him out of his thoughts. He sat up in his bed and ordered Nagini to hide under the bed.

His mother entered, carrying a parchment envelope. "An owl just came flying in through the kitchen window and it delivered this." She handed it to him.

He opened it. "I think it's the booklist and exam dates that professor promised to send you."

"Yes, it is."

She looked at the list in his hands. "Oh my," she gasped, covering her mouth. "That's a lot of books, Felix. Will you be able to carry all at once?"

"I'm sure I can ask the shopkeeper to make it lighter with magic," he said pleasantly.

"And what about the exams?" she asked worriedly when she saw the dates and times. "Will you be able to do all nine in five days?"

"Yes, mother," he sighed. "Don't worry."

"I know you're very smart, son, but having three ninety-minute exams that encompass four years of knowledge in three days is a lot."

"And that's just the written part, mother. There's still the practical part, thirty minutes each." He pointed at the Thursday and Friday, with five and four practical exams respectively.

"You will have to look after your health, Felix. You will have to make sure you eat properly, stay hydrated and that you get enough rest at night, but also during the days. You may be young, but too much stress is never good. Remember that. Not just in school, but work and life in general."

He heaved a sigh. "I know, mother, I know. I will regulate and pay attention to my health. I have no intention of falling ill and missing the beginning of the school year."

She smiled and brought him in for a sideway hug and pressed a kiss to his hair, which made him go stiff, but he tried his best to mask just how uncomfortable he felt by the spontaneous parental gesture. "If you need anything, you know you just have to say it to your father and I and we will do our best to help you, no matter how small and insignificant it may seem."

He nodded and she let go of him.

"Since the list is long and time is going by fast, I suggest we go shopping for your school supplies as soon as possible. I just need to check the bus and train schedules and go look for your father."

What? "There's no need for that, mother," he hurried to say. He wasn't going to let them accompany him to Diagon Alley as if he were a child. "I can get the books on my own," he insisted.

"I know you can, but your father and I would like to accompany you. That way, we can spend more time together, before you have to leave for Hogwarts and after we're done with the shopping, we can go explore the alley a bit or go eat something as a family."

He snorted mentally. ' Family,' he thought sardonically, ' as if. You wouldn't even treat me the way you do if I hadn't messed with your memories and programmed you to be a loving and caring muggle mother to a magical child.'

It proved difficult for him to keep smiling, when all he wanted was scowl and put both muggles to sleep so he could do all of his errands alone. Although, honestly, he didn't even need the books, he remembered most of it anyway. Maybe he would need to revise certain aspects of certain subjects such as Herbology and Astronomy, but he shouldn't have problems with the rest of the subjects.

"Sounds great, mother," he grinned.

The woman left his room and as soon as he was alone, he rolled his eyes and mentally steeled himself for an afternoon with his 'parents'.

A Make-Over and Hanging Out

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Oh my," gasped Ingrid in awe as she took in the sight of a crowded and bustling Diagon Alley. "Erik, look," she said excitedly, tugging on her husband's sleeve and pointing at different magic shops, "floating books, self-stirring cauldrons and broomsticks made for flying and not cleaning."

"Yes," returned Erik, "I can see that, dearest."

Voldemort was fighting the urge to cover his face. "Honestly mother," he sighed instead, "you act as if this is your first time visiting this place." Which it was, technically speaking, but he had implanted a string of memories related to the alley already in her mind.

"I know, darling, but it's been some time since we last came here, and things have changed. Besides, it's so exciting to see all this magic in person again," she said giddily. "I feel truly blessed to witness such wonders and to have a son like you." She looked at him with a brilliant smile and reached out to caress his hair.

Voldemort didn't move and a knot formed in his throat. "And what kind of son am I?" he asked after clearing his throat.

"The best son any mother could wish. You are smart, good, hard-working, and honest." He wanted to snort, because that couldn't have been further from reality. "The fact that you were gifted with the ability to do magic only confirms how special you are. You are our miracle, our greatest treasure and you will do great things in life. I'm sure of that."

Voldemort searched her face and mind to see how honest she was and when he couldn't see any dishonesty in her words, thoughts and gestures, he couldn't help the weird ache in his chest at being considered someone's greatest miracle and treasure, much less to a pair of elderly muggles. Until he reminded himself that it was probably mind manipulation talking, and he felt something akin to disappointment settle in his chest. All the same, he smiled bashfully. "Thank you, mother. I will try not to disappoint."

"Son," said his father, placing a hand on his shoulder, "your mother and I are already proud of you, so don't feel pressured to live up to any expectations. Although," he added, "if you manage to find a job that you like and pays well, and someone good to share your life with, that will be more than enough for us to feel like we did well as parents."

He let out a small snort and nodded. He wondered if they would be saying the same thing if they knew the truth. Probably not.

After they bought everything from the list McGonagall had sent him, they went to the Leaky Cauldron for supper and to Florean's ice cream shop for dessert. It felt strange to have a family outing, but overall, everything went better than what Voldemort anticipated.

…

What Harry thought would be a pleasant evening meal at his godfather's place turned sour when his godfather asked a simple question.

"So … any plans for tomorrow, Harry?"

"Well, I have work tomorrow morning at the post office in Surrey, and when I finish, Nathan is picking me up so we can go to Ana Maria's for the birthday party, so, I'll be absent until dinner, but I'm free after that so, if you want, we can hang out for a bit."

"Work?!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley. "Harry, dear, there is no need for you to work. You're a child still. Besides, you are in danger of being attacked by Dementors again, so you shouldn't even be considering leaving the house until September. Be a good boy and don't get into any trouble unnecessarily." She smiled in a motherly way.

For some reason, Harry didn't appreciate the tone and the implications behind Mrs Weasley's comment. He clenched his jaw and levelled Ron's mother with an unperturbed look. "While I appreciate your concern for me and my well-being and for sheltering me in the past, Mrs Weasley, I am by no means a child, much less a clueless or a helpless one."

She looked shocked. The rest of the people gathered at the table fell completely silent and were observing the interaction with surprise and curiosity.

"I am well aware of the danger that Dementors pose to me," he continued in a hard, but polite, tone, "but I refuse to stay cooped up in here for fear of being attacked. I will not let fear rule my life. If Dementors attack me again, I will protect myself from them. Simple as that."

"But – but … if you use magic, you will get in trouble with the Ministry again."

"For defending myself?" countered Harry incredulously. "If acting in self-defence is a crime punishable by law, then I'm gladly going to break it a thousand times and more. My life has more value than attending a school or exposing magic to muggles. It would be a pity if I lost my wand, but so what. As for my work, I am old enough to earn my own money if I want, the law permits it, and you're not my mother to have any say in what I do with my life."

Mrs Weasley gasped; her face pale and her hand clutching her chest. The rest were wide-eyed as well, even Sirius, though his surprise soon morphed into pride and he had to mask the smirk that threatened to spread across his lips by taking a sip from his goblet.

Harry, on the other hand, returned his attention to the food on his plate and continued eating, though, to be fair, he didn't feel as hungry anymore. One by one, the others joined him and the clinking of the cutlery soon filled the dining room again.

"He's right, you know," Sirius commented offhandedly. "If he wants to work or go out and hang out with people then he should be able to do so. He's not a convict."

Mrs Weasley turned to Sirius with fury in her eyes. "This is all your influence," she accused. "Instead of being an exemplary role model to your godson, all you're doing is trying to rope Harry into mischief and breaking rules. He isn't James."

Sirius' eyes turned cold. "I know he's not James or Lily," he snarled, "and since when does supporting one's decision to be independent, mature and his own person equal encouraging bad behaviour?"

"As if," she scoffed. "And I ask you, since when does intentionally exposing oneself to danger translate to being independent, mature and one's own person, because last time I checked, that's called stupidity and wishing for death and Harry is neither stupid nor a suicidal lunatic."

"And what good will being locked up in this shithole do for him?" pressed Sirius, losing some of his temper. "All it will do is drive him mad and make him restless."

"At least he would be safe from harm."

"For Merlin's sake woman, you can't treat him like he's made of porcelain!" exclaimed Sirius. "Give Harry some credit and room to breathe and spread his wings. After all, he single-handedly took care of a horde of Dementors at thirteen; he can handle himself just fine."

"I know he can," she replied sternly, "but you're missing the point. He's fifteen. He's a minor. He shouldn't have to worry about things like this."

Sirius was about to respond, when Harry intervened. "Like I said, I appreciate the concern, Mrs Weasley, but what you need to understand is that what's normal for most fifteen-year-olds isn't normal for me. What is normal for me is taking care of myself and my problems, doing things on my own, constantly worrying about my well-being, and facing danger. Not doing any of these would be unusual and abnormal to me."

He let out a sigh and continued.

"Being coddled and treated like a child now, when I have been treated like an adult for most of my childhood, feels unsettling rather than liberating. Instead of coddling, shutting myself inside a house for fear of running into danger and being told what I can, can't, should or shouldn't do, what I need is understanding, guidance, and advice; tools with which I will be able to make better decisions in life.

I will always welcome guidance and advice, because I'm still young and I lack experience and tools to handle certain things, but it is ultimately up to me to decide whether I want to consider and implement them in some way or not, because I still want to be in control. I do not want to let other people and things rule my life and the choices I make. I still want to be my own person, and if I end up making a bad decision, then it will be me who will live with the consequences of my actions. After all, in two years' time, I will be a legal adult and there's nothing wrong if I start acting responsibly beforehand and think about my future by gathering work experience and earning my own money. Besides, if you're that worried about my safety, Professor Lupin and Tonks will keep an eye out for any danger."

He set the cutlery on the table, finishing his meal. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I will go to my room and get ready for bed." The chair rattled as he rose. "I have to be up early and I need at least eight hours of sleep, and starting tomorrow, I will be making my own meals. Good night."

As he left the room, he could feel the befuddled gazes of the people at the table.

…

He climbed into bed, removed his glasses, pulled out his phone and checked for any messages or posts in the group chat he had with Ana Maria and Nathan.

He was in the middle of typing a response to something funny Nathan had said when a light knock distracted him.

"Come in," he called and in came his godfather.

"Busy?" he asked when he noticed the device in his hands.

"A bit," returned Harry, "but don't worry, I'm done." He finished and sent his reply, then turned his full attention to his godfather, who came to sit next to him on the bed. "Are you here to comment on what I said at dinner earlier?"

"Partly, though I agree with what you said, as much as Molly may not like it," he said softly, running his fingers through Harry's messy hair. "But I get her, because I also worry about your well-being and safety. Only that I know better than to interfere when you've already made you're decision. I know I didn't like it when my mother would prohibit things, whether they made sense or not. I would always do the opposite just to spite her."

Harry laughed under his breath and affectionately shook his head. "What did you want to talk about?"

"You know how we still haven't really had the opportunity to spend much time together as godfather and godson?"

"Aha," he murmured.

"Well …" said Sirius, clearing his throat, "I was thinking if you would like to play some exploding snap or wizard's chess or just hang out for a bit after dinner tomorrow."

Harry grinned. "Of course I would love to spend more time with you, Sirius," he assured him. "You're my godfather. And we don't have to limit ourselves to indoor activities only, though I'm always up for card or board games or simply talking."

"I would love to go outside as well, Harry, but I'm still a fugitive and a criminal in public's eye and I have already risked my neck just to spend those few occasions with you and now to attend those therapy sessions with Mrs Nightingale."

"And I wouldn't want you risking yourself like that, that's why I have an idea," he concluded with a mischievous glint.

Sirius' eyebrows shot upwards. "Oh, and what idea is that?"

"Not telling. You'll see it tomorrow when I get back."

"Dammit, Harry, now you'll have me wondering about your wickedly brilliant idea the entire night and day," complained Sirius.

Harry snickered. "My bad, but it will be worth it. Trust me." He sat up and placed an arm around his godfather's shoulders.

"If you say so, pup," he sighed in resignation.

"And when you'll be able to leave the house at your leisure, would you consider doing something for yourself, health-wise?"

"You want me to start eating like you and getting up at an ungodly early hour to go for a jog? Is that it?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to," said Harry, "but working out together can also be a good way to spend our time outside the house and get some fresh air. I've also been considering going to the gym and doing some weightlifting, nothing crazy, just something to work on my body muscles."

"Sure, I could give it a try, but we'll see how I do with getting up at five in the morning. I'm not really a morning person."

Harry chuckled, but looked forward to spending more time with his godfather.

…

He woke up at five on his own, washed his teeth and face, donned his sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, then went to check on Sirius to see if he was in the mood for a morning jog, but as expected from their conversation the previous night, he was in no condition to wake up and function properly.

Letting Sirius get his sleep, he left the house and ran around the neighbourhood to get familiar with it. He was especially keen on finding a playground with a chin-up bar so he could work on his grip, endurance and strength by performing pull-ups, and he found it.

He wrapped up his morning workout routine by six, then hurried back to Grimmauld Place to shower and prepare his breakfast. Luckily, Lupin and Tonks had offered to apparate him so he would not have to worry about public transport.

He ate breakfast with his bodyguards, all the while looking up nearby barber shops at good prices on his phone. Then at ten to seven, they apparated to Surrey.

After he finished work for that day, Lupin and Tonks accompanied him to the nearest supermarket, where he bought some home hair dye in flaming red, some fashionable, but cheap, sunglasses and a bunch of different flavoured green tea drinks for himself. For Ana Maria's birthday gift, he went with a fancy lined notebook, some nail polish, a mug, a cheap necklace and earrings set with her zodiac sign on the pendants and chocolates.

Before Nathan came to pick him up, they stopped by another store, this one dedicated to games of all kinds: card, board and video games, to see if he could find something interesting.

The most intriguing (and not too expensive) game turned out to be a card game called Gloom, with transparent cards, where the objective is apparently to make your characters as miserable as possible, then kill them, all the while making your opponents' characters happy. An interesting element of the game was also storytelling, because each bad or good thing and death that happened had to have a narrative behind it no matter how convoluted and unrealistic. There were a few different themed packs and while Harry was drawn to all of them, he ultimately bought the fairy tale edition and he would buy other packs some other time.

By the time he finished, he had bought a few other games, such as Dobble, Sushi Go, and Tutti Frutti.

…

He didn't return to Grimmauld Place until halfway through dinner and even then refused the meal because he had already eaten at the party.

While he waited for Sirius to eat his dinner in peace, Harry read the instructions that came with the hair dye. He had just set everything up when Sirius came bursting into the room saying, "I'm ready to find out what you have in mind to get me out of this house."

Harry chuckled and showed him the carton box. Sirius took it and inspected it. "What's this?"

"It's a muggle hair dye."

"You're going to dye my hair?" he said incredulously. "In this red?"

"Yes," replied Harry. "Though I think that on you it will look more like purple than a vibrant Gryffindor red because of your dark hair, and I didn't bother with bleach because, damn, I'm not a professional hairdresser and I heard it ruins the hair."

"Why not use a hair-colouring spell instead?" wondered Sirius. "Why go the extra step to use a muggle dye?"

Harry shrugged. "For some reason, in my mind, putting actual chemicals into your hair translates to better results that last longer. At least you won't have to worry about suddenly reverting back to your natural hair colour, because I bought permanent hair dye."

He reached for the sunglasses. "I also bought you a pair of cheap fashionable glasses. Since it's summer, it's not going to look out of place, and on Monday, we're going to go to a hairdresser and get ourselves new haircuts. That should be more than enough to make it safe for you to leave the house."

Sirius tried on the sunglasses. "How do I look?"

Harry took a good look at his godfather. "You know … actually … it looks kind of amazing," he praised. "With your long, curly and messy hair you give off that rockstar vibe, just add a bit of leather, ripped jeans, some silver jewellery and you're going to look like a proper rockstar."

Sirius laughed wholeheartedly. "Well, I was certainly going for that kind of look when I was younger. It drove my mother insane. I even had a muggle motorbike, which I then tweaked so it could fly."

"Really?"

"Aha," nodded Sirius. "It's my best invention, besides the Map, of course, although, to be fair, that was a joint effort. I was so proud when I got it to fly I was giddy for days to come and I was showing it off to your father, Moony and … Peter, giving them rides, singing muggle sea shanties."

Harry laughed, trying to imagine his father and godfather singing sea shanties. "Do you still remember the lyrics to them?"

"Let me see." He cleared his throat.

Oh, I thought I heard the old man say,

Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

Tomorrow ye will get your pay!

An' it's time for us to leave her!

Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is done and the winds don't blow,

And it's time for us to leave her!

Oh, the work was hard and the voyage was long,

Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

The sea was high and the gales were strong.

An' it's time for us to leave her!

Leave her, Johnny, leave her!

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!

For the voyage is done and the winds don't blow,

And it's time for us to leave her!

Sirius stopped singing and Harry was still in awe at his godfather's ability to sing. He knew Sirius could sing after the karaoke part of his birthday celebration, but it was the first time he heard him sing without music and it was amazing.

"There's more to the song," he said, "but I think you've heard enough of it to get the gist."

"Sounds awesome. Now I'm tempted to look up shanties on the Internet and listen to them."

Sirius laughed. "Well, then I can tell you which ones to start with. The one I was just singing is called ' Leave her, Johnny', then ' Bully in the Alley' is also very dear to my heart along with ' Randy Dandy-O', ' Drunken Sailor' and ' Fish in the Sea'."

"Well then," he said as he was typing the first song into YouTube search bar, "I think we have our very own playlist of songs to listen to while I dye your hair.

As they were waiting for the colour to set, they were looking up different haircuts, trying to decide which one to get on Monday when they went to the hairdresser.

A couple of hours and a few rounds of different card games later, they rinsed out the dye and the result was as Harry predicted. Instead of vibrant red, Sirius now had burgundy purple hair and it totally suited him. Now all he needed was a haircut and some casual muggle clothing to blend in with them and not rouse suspicion when out and about.

…

On Sunday, he woke up at six and went about his usual morning routine. As he was eating his breakfast, Molly Weasley came down to the kitchen to start on the breakfast for the others.

"Oh, good morning, Harry," she greeted him with a smile.

"Good morning, Mrs Weasley," he greeted back, also smiling.

"I see you're already eating your breakfast."

Harry glanced down at his bowl. "Yeah. Oatmeal with fresh and dried fruit, chopped nuts and a tablespoon of honey to get me through the morning after exercise." He rose his teacup. "And a cup of matcha green tea on the side to detoxify the body."

"Matcha?" she repeated, puzzled. "I don't think I've ever heard of such tea."

"It comes as a powder and it grows in Japan. It is quite bitter, but I like it that way."

She sat down next to him. "And … how's work?"

"It's fine. I like it. It's not something I see myself doing for most of my life, but it's a good place to start gaining work experience."

"I'm glad to hear that, Harry." Her smile faltered. "I didn't mean to imply anything bad yesterday, when I said you didn't have to work at your age," she said, "if anything, I think it's very mature of you to want to see what it means to work and earn your own money, because it isn't easy. I just wish you didn't work when there's a threat out there. I worry about you, Harry. You may not be my child, but you're as good as one, and I don't want to see you get hurt or worse."

Her eyes misted and she blinked away the tears. Harry felt his chest squeeze seeing her like this, so he reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She immediately hugged him back fiercely.

"I'm sorry for saying you weren't my mother yesterday," he said, remorseful. "I didn't mean to hurt you with my words."

"It's okay, Harry," she assured him, patting his shoulder. "I understand your need for independence and not wanting to be treated as a child, but … I also want to you understand that it's not safe out there, Harry, and I don't want to lose my family. I have already lost my brothers to You-Know-Who; I can't let him take you and the rest of my family away too."

"And I need you to understand that Voldemort and Dementors aren't the only threats out there," he looked up at her. "Every time I go out of the house I risk someone attacking me on the streets for money or getting run over by a vehicle. Even Hogwarts isn't safe, because every year there's been something dangerous and deadly happening at school. I saw a schoolmate die in front of me; I myself have looked death straight in the eye multiple times. Does that mean I should just remain shut inside, scared of everything and everyone, even my own shadow, because it poses a potential threat to my life?"

Molly looked gobsmacked, unable to argue back. Harry took in a deep, steadying breath and continued, with determination and confidence. "All my misadventures and disasters have taught me that life is short and fragile, and I have to cherish it while I have it and while I am taking care of myself, I also don't want to miss out on things either. I want to live my life on my own terms, which means that I am not going to sit in this house hiding away; putting the life I've built for myself in this past month on hold, because someone hates me enough to want me dead or at least out of school and the wizarding world. I will not give them the satisfaction."

Molly studied his expression, until she let out a heavy sigh after she realised something. "There's nothing I can do to change your mind about this, is there?" she caressed his cheek lovingly, a resigned smile on her lips, but there was pride shining in her eyes as she watched the boy on the verge of becoming a man.

Harry smiled back, almost apologetically. "I'm afraid not, but is that really so bad?"

She giggled. "Not at all. Determination, independence, maturity and a clear idea of what one wants in life are always better than laziness and having no purpose or direction. Ron could learn from you."

"He'll get there," Harry assured her with an amused grin. "Eventually anyway. It would be a bit too much to expect him to get excellent grades in school and develop good studying habits all of a sudden."

"I would rather it be sooner than later," she admitted, "but one can't rush those things I suppose. Though I'm hoping that being a prefect will change him for the better."

"Me too," he smiled and leaned back in for a hug.

They stayed like that for a solid minute, before Molly cleared her throat and said, "I should let you eat your breakfast in peace, before it gets cold."

She rose and Harry returned to eating his porridge.

"Do you already know what you want for lunch and dinner, Harry?"

"Yes, but don't worry, I'll cook."

She rose her hand to put a stop to his protest. "Harry, you already work six days a week and you also do other things, at least let me alleviate some of the burden by cooking your meals," she said kindly. "And I think it wouldn't hurt to cook healthier food for the others as well, so I would be happy if you shared your healthy recipes with me."

Resigned, Harry relented and agreed to Mrs Weasley's suggestion. "At least let me help you in the kitchen then," he insisted. "I'll join you whenever I can."

"If you insist, dear."

He finished his bowl of oats and cup of tea, while giving pointers to Mrs Weasley on how to replicate his breakfast, then stood up and washed the dishes.

"Do you have any plans to go out today, Harry? Or any other plans, really?" she asked him as she was preparing a few extra dishes in case someone preferred to eat something other than porridge.

"No, not really, why?" he took a sip from his glass of water.

"This house is a mess, it hasn't been properly cleaned for years and while I made it hospitable, there are still rooms that need thorough cleaning and I planned to have everyone clean to make it go faster." She turned to him. "Would you like to join in the cleaning?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Great," she grinned. "I would be really grateful if you and a couple of others went through the things in the cupboards in the living room. Beware of doxies and other pests that might lurk inside them."

"Will do," he assured her. He remembered Sirius complaining about Mrs Weasley taking over his house, acting as if she owned the place, telling him what to do in his own house. He decided to ask Mrs Weasley about it. He cleared his throat. "Though, I don't understand why you are so invested in cleaning this place in the first place. I mean, I would understand if it were your house, but it isn't so … why invest so much time and energy into cleaning it?"

The oil was sizzling as the smell of fried eggs and bacon filled the kitchen.

"And live in a mess?" she countered indignantly. "It might not be my house, but I refuse to live surrounded by dust, grime and household pests. I don't know how Sirius was able to live in that pigsty before."

Harry grimaced in sympathy. "Was it that bad?" It had to be, otherwise pigsty was a rather strong comparison.

"It was. Harry … you don't know how awful this place was when we first arrived here," she whispered, horrified. "I swear, five minutes into our visit and I was feeling light-headed because of all the bad smells mixing together. Our first night here, a step gave way and Arthur went tumbling down the stairs."

Harry's eyes widened. "Was he okay?"

"Luckily, he didn't get hurt, just a few bruises, nothing more, but it was enough to give me a scare and spur me into action, especially when I saw how dusty and infested some of the bedrooms were. I wasn't going to let my family sleep in those conditions so I took matters into my own hands. I still wonder how your godfather even managed to survive in here for so long."

"But … what about that house elf? Didn't he prepare your rooms beforehand?"

"Kreacher isn't particularly fond of any of us, even your godfather and he is his master, and even though Sirius ordered him to prepare rooms for us, you can be certain that he didn't put much effort into it, especially for blood traitors, half-breeds and mudbloods, as he put it so lovingly," she said in a tight smile. "The only thing he cares about is the portrait of Sirius' mother, his one and only Mistress … or so he says."

"Well, what about Sirius?"

"When it came to his room and a few places he frequented, he took care of that, the rest, he couldn't care less, yet he has the gall to complain when all I want to do is make this house clean," she huffed. She placed the eggs and bacon on a platter.

"I'm sure he appreciates the effort."

"Perhaps, though he certainly doesn't show it."

"Badmouthing me in front of my godson, are we?" The suddenness startled both Harry and Molly and they turned to the door, where Sirius was standing in his pyjamas, still somewhat groggy.

"It's hardly called badmouthing when all you tell is the truth," returned Molly after she recovered from the jump scare. She set the table.

"Well, sorry if I'm not the biggest fan of cleaning," commented Sirius, "still, it's really annoying when you keep ordering me around in my own house as if you were my mother."

"Maybe if you had taken care of yourself and your house properly I wouldn't have to order you around."

"What are you trying to imply?" he said coldly. "That I can't take care of myself?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. You may be thirty-five, but you don't have a clue about how to live on your own and run a household without it ending up looking like a mess and you want Harry to live with you."

Harry looked from one to the other in concern. He wanted to support his godfather, but he also agreed with Mrs Weasley to some extent, therefore whatever he said had better diffuse the argument, without siding with one or the other.

"Okay, enough, both of you," he said in an assertive tone. "You're both right." He turned to Mrs Weasley. "Mrs Weasley, while Sirius might not have been the most helpful or mature of people so far, putting pressure on him and keeping him locked in here won't make him mature or cooperate faster." He turned to his godfather. "And you, Sirius, could appreciate Mrs Weasley's effort to keep the house up and running for you and try to put in a bit of effort to make cohabitation more bearable."

Sirius crossed his arms across his chest and Mrs Weasley went back to setting the food on the table. "It is not my intention to make him miserable or to order him around for my pleasure," said Mrs Weasley, "I simply expect him to show he's a capable adult. That is all."

"How can I show it when I'm not allowed outside the house?"

"Oh, don't think even for a second I haven't noticed your little escapades, Sirius." Both Harry and Sirius stiffened. "And don't even try to deny it. I might be getting old, but I'm still as sharp as ever." Seeing the panic in their expressions, she added. "Don't worry; I doubt the Order knows. I just hope that wherever you're going every week is worth the trouble."

Sirius cleared his throat, some of the tension leaving his frame. "I went out to see Harry a few times, then I got myself a muggle mind healer and I've been going to mind healing sessions ever since."

"I see. That is surprisingly mature of you to have sought out professional help for your time in Azkaban," she commented.

"Harry suggested it; I simply decided to give it a try."

"Is it working?"

He shrugged. "I would say yes, but … it's a slow process."

"I would imagine, but I'm glad to hear you are doing better on that front."

Sirius nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you and I'll try to be more helpful around the house, even though I don't like this place very much."

"Just hang on until you're cleared of all charges and then you can move out to your own place," said Harry, sitting next to him and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Sirius smirked self-deprecatingly. "I doubt it will be any time soon."

Harry was about to ask him if he had learnt anything from Mr Weasley about the situation when the man in question entered, greeting everyone present joyfully.

"Good morning, sir," returned Harry. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, seeing as you work at the Ministry, would it be possible to arrange a trial for my godfather?"

"Oh, about that, Sirius has already asked me to look into it and I think that your best option would be to contact Madam Bones. She is known to be very strict but fair, and has a reputation of being incorruptible. I believe you will meet her at your disciplinary hearing, Harry, though you don't have to wait until then to ask her about Sirius' case."

Harry smiled in relief. "Thank you for looking into it, sir."

"It was the least I could do, Harry."

…

After breakfast, they all split into small groups. Harry, Ginny and Sirius were tasked with cleaning the cupboards in the living room and going through the stuff inside them. Equipped with gloves, cloth mask covering half of their face, a basin of water, cloth, kitchen towels, and doxycide they were ready to deal with dust and any doxies that might have built a nest inside abandoned cupboards, though with how awful the smell of doxycide was, it was more likely they ended up passing out as well.

As they were cleaning, Harry kept thinking about the pirate songs he had been listening on repeat since the previous day and before he knew it, he was murmuring the melody and muttering the lyrics to ' Bully in the Alley'. Sirius soon joined him while Ginny simply listened to them, confused, until they both taught her the lyrics and she ended up singing pirate shanties with them.

Halfway through their cleaning, Harry found a beautiful piece of jewellery. It was a gold locket with a stunning emerald 'S' in the front. "This looks really nice and expensive," he commented, drawing the attention of his godfather.

"I don't think I've ever seen this before," concluded Sirius after examining it.

"See if you can open it to see what's inside," suggested Ginny.

"Good idea, Ginny," said Harry, but no matter how much he tried to open it, it wouldn't budge.

"Here, let me," offered Sirius, took out his wand and tried the unlocking spell. It didn't work. He frowned at the locket. "Strange. Maybe it's stuck together with a permanent sticking charm … just like my mother's hideous portrait."

"It's still a very beautiful piece of jewellery," shrugged Ginny. "It can still be worn as a necklace."

"I don't think I would recommend that," warned Sirius, "who knows who it belonged to and what kind of nasty thing they put inside that it had to be sealed like that. We're better off just leaving it alone."

Harry kept looking at the locket, mesmerised by the smooth and shiny gold surface, the brilliant emeralds stones. For some reason it felt familiar, as if he had seen it somewhere before. He kept running his thumb over it, until he thought he felt something akin to a heartbeat coming from inside it and he stopped abruptly, gasping.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Sirius worriedly.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I just thought that it could have been a good birthday gift for Ana Maria, that's all."

Sirius snorted. "That would have been a terrible gift, Harry."

"What about you, Ginny? Would you like to keep it?"

"I would love to, but I don't think my mum would let me, sorry."

"Then maybe I'll keep it," he said, dangling it in front of his chest. "As a good luck charm or something."

Sirius laughed. "Suit yourself, but I would be careful with that thing if I were you, pup. It might seem harmless now, but Merlin knows just how nasty it might be."

"I'll be careful," he promised and slipped it inside his trouser pocket.

…

Later, as he was showering, he took it out and examined it again. After a few moments of deep concentration, he felt the faint heartbeat coming from the locket. "Holy fuck," he whispered, "there's a heartbeat inside. Why is there a heartbeat inside the locket?"

He didn't know if he should let it go or hold onto it, the only thing he was sure about was that Sirius was right, this was some weird artefact that for all he knew could curse him or drain his life force or suck out his blood through some weird magical mechanism. There was also this weird, déjà-vu, feeling he had in regards to the locket.

Taking in a deep breath, he collected himself and continued holding onto the locket. Just as he was getting used to the heartbeat and the faint pulse of magic, he thought he heard whispers come from within as well.

"First the heartbeat, now the whispers, next thing I know, there's going to be a person coming out of it," he said to himself and as he said it, a realisation hit him. "A person," he repeated, wide-eyed in a barely audible whisper.

' Voldemort', his brain provided.

He had experience with Voldemort's diary. When exposed to prolonged skin contact with it, it pulsed as well, it had magic, it could communicate with the outside world … and it was a horcrux. Could the locket be a horcrux as well? If so, he was certain that Voldemort would like to have it.

Maybe he should send it to him, but under what excuse? He doubted something like, 'Hey, listen, I found this gorgeous locket while cleaning my godfather's house and immediately thought you should have it, because it would look nice on you,' would work on a man like Voldemort. He would immediately become suspicious and he had to approach this with care.

For now, he decided that the best and safest option for him was to keep quiet about it and keep the locket safe, either around his neck or at the bottom of his trunk, for when the perfect opportunity to give it to Voldemort presented itself.

Chapter End Notes

Since those shanties are in the public domain, I figured I could put in a few stanzas to flavour the chapter a bit. I'm aware that there have been different version and adaptations done by modern artists, but at the core, the songs mentioned in this chapter are in the public domain.

As for Voldemort and Harry, they'll meet again in the next chapter. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm really proud of how the dialogue turned out for this one and the dynamic between the characters.

Disciplinary Hearing and School Shopping

Chapter Notes

I'm finally back. After a series of unfortunate events, I was too exhausted to write anything and now that I'm writing again, it's proving difficult to get back into the groove, but I'm getting there. I did my best to edit this chapter, but you might still come across some errors in grammar. And don't worry, none of my works are abandoned, just ... give me time and I'll get to every story sooner or later.

I want to thank everyone who left comments on this story and the others. I will slowly make my way through them (this time for real). It means a lot that some of you are still reading them even though it has been four months since I've last updated. I hope that you will continue to read it and enjoy it.

I already have the next chapter written, I just have to edit it, so expect the next update to happen within a week. In the meantime, I will write chapter 15 and, hopefully, I will have a couple of extra chapters ready before the next chapter goes live.

It was Sunday morning and Voldemort found himself lying in bed, doing nothing. Well, he was talking to Nagini, who was lying curled up on his chest, and for some strange reason he was also humming a melody he had never heard before. All of a sudden, Nagini alerted him to the arrival of his 'mother'.

" The female human is coming close …" She tasted the air. " And she is bringing food."

Voldemort immediately ushered her under the bed, then quickly reached for the first magical schoolbook and notebook in the vicinity, sat behind his desk and opened both on a random page to make it seem like he was studying.

There was a knock and after he granted access, Ingrid opened the door carefully.

"Felix," she called out gently, making her way through the doorframe, carrying a tray with bite-sized sandwiches, biscuits, scones and chocolates, a glass of water and a steaming cup of tea. "I brought you some snacks so you can last until lunch. It's going to take a while for it to cook and studying always makes one hungry."

Voldemort smiled. "Thank you, mother."

She set the tray on the desk, and then brought him into a hug. He stiffened briefly, before relaxing as much as he could in his mother's arms and returned the gesture as naturally as possible. She placed a kiss on top of his head. "How's studying? Are you managing?" She asked with her head resting on top of his.

He murmured affirmatively and nodded softly.

"If there's anything your father and I can do to help you, say it."

He snorted gently. "How? You can't do magic," he reminded her.

"Well, we can still examine your knowledge about the things you will have to know on the exams by giving you questions," she pointed out.

"True, but I think I'll manage everything on my own. Don't worry about it," he assured her with a smile.

She sighed in resignation. "As you wish." She kissed his head again, before heading for the door. Voldemort returned his gaze to the books in front of him, not really reading them. Instead, that strange lyrics and melody kept going through his head, until he found himself murmuring,

So help me, Bob, I'm bully in the alley

Way, hey, bully in the alley

Help me, Bob, I'm bully in the alley

Bully down in Shinbone Al.

Sally is the girl that I love dearly

Way, hey, bully in the alley

Sally is the girl that I spliced nearly

Bully down in Shinbone Al.

…

The next day, after work, Harry met up with his godfather in front of the café and they went to a hairdresser's in the vicinity, where they both got their new haircuts. While Sirius' hair remained somewhat long and curly, and a deep burgundy violet, it now reached a bit below his ears instead of going past his shoulders, and Harry's untamed crow nest that grew in every direction was now shorter, layered and more stylised. Feeling adventurous, Harry decided to ask the hairdresser to add electric blue highlights to his pitch-black hair, something that further accentuated his green eyes.

They returned to Grimmauld Place in time for dinner and Harry strode confidently into the kitchen, greeting everyone with enthusiasm. He would forever treasure their expressions of utter disbelief at the sight of blue in his hair, especially Mrs Weasley's expression of horror and the dish that slipped out of her grasp and shattered on the floor.

After dinner, his friends approached him timidly and offered him to play some games together. While he was still a bit hurt for their lack of communication, Harry couldn't and didn't want to stay angry with them so, with a smile, he accepted their invitation, which in turn prompted Ron and Hermione to relax and smile back.

They headed to the drawing room, where they played the card games Harry had amassed during summer. Halfway through, the rest of the Weasley brood joined them.

…

On Tuesday, Harry did his best to keep busy and not think about his hearing session at the Ministry the following day. However, the closer the accursed date and hour approached; the harder it was for him to ignore it. He knew that he had no reason to feel nervous or guilty for that matter, because he did nothing wrong. He protected his cousin and himself from a vile magical creature that sucked souls and made you feel cold and depressed. Unfortunately, he had a feeling that, with how much the Minister was adamant to paint Dumbledore and him as lunatics and liars, his hearing will in no form be just, and that no matter what he says or does, he will be expelled and forbidden to use magic for the rest of his life.

On Wednesday, Harry took a day off from work, dressed formally – or as formal as he could look with electric blue highlights in his hair – and waited for Mr Weasley to escort him. Ron and Hermione, as well as the rest of the Weasley children, insisted on accompanying him during trial despite Mrs Weasley's protests, something that warmed Harry from within.

"And then, after it's over, we're going to grab some ice cream in Diagon Alley to celebrate your victory," said Ron confidently.

Ginny turned to her mother and pleaded, "Please, mum. Don't you always say that Harry is like your son? What kind of family would we be to him if we didn't ALL support him during hard times?"

Mrs Weasley glared at her children, their pleading expressions and the way they had rallied protectively around Harry, before finally letting out a resigned sigh and said, "You're right." She undid her apron. "We are all going to stand with Harry. Give me five minutes to change into something more elegant and then we are off."

While they waited, Sirius approached Harry. "Good luck today, pup," he cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his godson's forehead. "I would love to accompany you, but I'm afraid I'm still a fugitive."

"Thank you, Sirius," smiled Harry. "And don't worry; it's the thought that counts." The next moment, his godfather was squeezing him tight against his chest.

"Everything is going to be fine, Harry," whispered Sirius vehemently. "It has to be."

Harry smiled sceptically. "With Fudge as the judge? Forget it. That man hates me for simply telling the truth. It wouldn't surprise me if he somehow set me up with the dementors."

"If Amelia Bones is part of the jury or the questioning committee, you're good," he assured him.

"Right, just and incorruptible."

"Exactly."

"Then I look forward to seeing if she holds up to her reputation," he said with a tight grin.

Just then, Mrs Weasley returned and they were off to the Ministry of Magic.

…

As expected, Fudge was already doing everything he could to sabotage Harry. Not only was he the one overseeing his trial, he also, without notice and at the last minute, changed the hour and place of his hearing and if Mr Weasley hadn't insisted on being three hours early, he would have missed the trial.

Even so, he wouldn't let Fudge get to him.

When they reached the correct room, they were ushered in, the Weasleys to the stands and Harry to the chair in the centre of the hall. Opposite him was his judge and at either side of him, in a semi-circle, were the members of the jury, some clad in red robes and some in black. As he observed their faces, he thought he spotted Percy Weasley, sitting to Fudge's left, the only one with a quill in hand. However, there was no sign of Dumbledore.

' He probably doesn't know that the place and hour were changed,' thought Harry morose, but doing his best to maintain his composure, even though his chances of getting acquitted of all charges were getting slimmer and slimmer.

With the sound of the gravel, the session began and after the introductory sequence, Dumbledore's voice echoed through the hall as he sauntered in, declaring himself witness for the defence. This was the first time since the end of June that Harry had seen the man and even now, while he was certainly relieved to have him acting as his pseudo-lawyer, it seemed to him that the headmaster was avoiding eye contact with him; something he found extremely unusual.

"What are the charges?" he demanded, standing in front of him, showing him his back.

"Charges against the accused are as follows; that he did knowingly and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions produce a Patronus Charm in the presence of a muggle." He looked shrewdly at Harry. "Do you deny producing said Patronus?"

"No."

"And you were aware that you were forbidden to use magic outside school while under the age of seventeen?"

"Yes."

"Witches and wizards of Wizengamot as you can see, the accused has not denied the charges and he has admitted to the wilful misuse of underage magic. In light of this, I suggest that …"

Harry raised his hand as if he were in class, mutely asking for permission to speak.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" A stern female voice interrupted Fudge's speech.

"Minister, witches and wizards of Wizengamot," he addressed them in a composed manner, "if I may, I would like to explain the circumstances which led me to the production of a Patronus in front of a muggle in spite of my knowledge that performing underage magic outside of Hogwarts was strictly forbidden."

' Nice one,' he praised himself internally for not fumbling or stuttering.

The members of the jury glanced at Fudge, who begrudgingly allowed him to speak. "You may."

"Thank you, Minister. I would like all of you to know that if I acted as I did, I did it solely out of self-preservation. The muggle's life and mine were in danger, because a pair of dementors attacked us."

Murmurs spread among the members of the jury, while Fudge simply rolled his eyes and snorted. "Oh, please," he began. "You honestly expect us to believe that dementors, guardians of Azkaban, would attack you and a muggle, who can't even see them. For what purpose?"

"That I don't know," Harry replied. "I only know that we were attacked. It should be your job to investigate it further. As for the muggle in question, who witnessed my magic, he is my cousin, with whom I've lived for fourteen years and has been fully aware of the existence of magic since he was eleven years old. I also don't remember being accosted and threatened with expulsion when I inflated my aunt in my third year." He fixed Fudge with a stare. "Do you remember, Minister, how I expressed my concern over the consequences of my actions back then and how you, yourself, have told me that people don't get sent to Azkaban for blowing up their aunts?"

Fudge had gone red in the neck and face with embarrassment and fury.

"You laughed it off as if it weren't a big deal if I had actually blown up my aunt or not, and, in the end, you had her memories erased. I don't see why you didn't have my cousin's memories erased as well, if it were that bad that he had seen the Patronus."

Incessant glances and stares made the Minister uncomfortable, which prompted him to redirect the attention back to the matter at hand.

"As fascinating as your narrative is, Mr Potter," he began, "I'm afraid that if you cannot produce tangible evidence or witnesses to corroborate your claims about the dementors, then this courtroom will have to rule against you." He said it with malicious glee and Harry was tempted to say something about Veritaserum, when Dumbledore intervened and said it in his stead.

"Or you could use Veritaserum, Cornelius," he deadpanned. "However, as it happens, Harry does have a witness of the attack, two actually."

Fudge looked like he was suddenly suffering from constipation or diarrhoea and even Harry himself turned his confused gaze upon the headmaster. ' I do?' he thought to himself in wonder, going through his brain to think which two people could possibly testify in his favour.

The door to the courtroom opened and all eyes turned towards them. Harry thought he was hallucinating when following Mrs Figg, his cousin Dudley walked in. ' What is Dudley doing here? How is he possibly here?'

He wanted to ask Dumbledore how in the world he had managed to get his aunt and uncle to agree to such madness as letting their precious son come to the magical ministry to testify for him no less, but he couldn't. Not in the middle of the hearing anyway. Instead, he stared intently at his cousin, who made brief eye contact with him and nodded in acknowledgement and … something akin to … reassurance?

Harry blinked, thinking he had finally started to lose his mind, because why else would Dudley want to reassure him? It was true that they had set their differences aside and that they planned to attend gym together, but they were still leagues away from calling each other 'mate' or 'man' or 'bro' or whichever slang term men friends used to refer to one another.

For a moment, he thought that perhaps, Dudley and subsequently his aunt and uncle were under the Imperius Curse, but he quickly dismissed that idea, when he couldn't observe the tell-tale signs of the Unforgivable, and it wasn't as if Dumbledore would actually go so far as to use an Unforgivable in the first place.

Dumbledore introduced the witnesses by name, while Harry had to abandon the chair and sit on a bench to the side away from everyone. There were whispers of concern when Dudley was introduced, given that he was a muggle, but after Dumbledore had presented the necessary paperwork that allowed Dudley to be there, they proceeded to interrogate both Mrs Figg and him.

While Mrs Figg was the only one who actually saw the dementors, and ultimately supported his claims about the attack and self-defence, Dudley's testimony still proved useful and beneficial for Harry's case, even though Fudge was trying to manipulate the situation in his favour by suggesting that Harry might have orchestrated this entire thing.

For an instant, when Fudge said, "Are you absolutely certain that it wasn't something your cousin did to make you feel like that? How can you be sure that it wasn't Mr Potter who put some curse on you?" Harry thought that Dudley would hesitate, have a change of heart and doom him, but it wasn't like that.

"I'm positive," stated Dudley with his usual confidence and a slight air of arrogance. "I would have heard him say some Latin or Greek gibberish if that was the case. Just like I heard him say something when he conjured up that bright light that made whatever was draining my energy go away."

That didn't sit well with Fudge, of course, and he pressed further, "Mr Dursley, in our world, one doesn't have to use incantations or wands to do magic."

At this point, Dumbledore intervened.

"I would like to remind you Cornelius," he said sternly, "that wordless and wandless spells are not taught at Hogwarts until year six and seven respectively, therefore, Harry could not have been able to perform a wordless spell, much less a wordless and a wandless curse."

"Then how do you explain his ability to produce a full corporeal Patronus at the age of fifteen, because the last time I checked, Patronus Charm is a N.E.W.T.–level Charm," he sneered.

"I instructed Mr Lupin during Harry's third year to teach him how to defend himself against the Dementors, which were particularly attracted to Harry and have attacked him on his ride to Hogwarts and at a Quidditch match that same year," explained Dumbledore. "Beyond that, Harry has had the same education as the rest of his schoolmates, which means that Harry is unable to perform wandless or wordless intentional and complex magic, which is further solidified by his cousin's claim that he had to utter the incantation and use a wand to conjure up the Patronus in the first place."

With that, Fudge was forced to abandon his current line of questioning and adopt another approach. "Even if we speculate that what the boy says is true and that two dementors did in fact leave their post and wandered off, the chances of them coming to a muggle suburb and stumbling upon a wizard are simply astronomical."

"I don't think anyone would believe that the dementors were there by coincidence, Minister," said Dumbledore, stepping forward and closer to the judge's seat.

An irritating cough sounded in the courtroom and after everyone had turned to a chubby, toad-faced woman with a fluffy pink collar peeking from underneath her black robes and a pink brooch fastened at the front, she spoke in the same irritating, breathy, high-pitched voice. "I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor. Dementors are, after all, under the control of the Ministry of Magic, and, again," she giggled nervously, "I'm sure I must have misinterpreted you, but it sounded for a moment as though you were implying that the Ministry had ordered the attack on this boy."

' When exactly had Dumbledore implied such a thing?' wondered Harry confused. Then, his brow knitted into a frown as he mused further. ' It's true that Sirius suspects, and Dumbledore probably as well, that the attack came from someone inside the Ministry, but I'm sure he's smarter than to let the Minister think or know that he knows or suspects it. So, for this woman to bring it up, it must mean that she knows something. I'm sure of it. I might not be as sharp as Hermione, but I want to believe that her remark is extremely suspicious.'

"That would have been indeed very disturbing, Madam Undersecretary, if the Ministry had been behind this incident," he said smoothly and completely unaffectedly, addressing the room, "which is why I am certain that the Ministry will conduct a full-scale inquiry into why the two dementors were so very far away from Azkaban and why they mounted an attack without authorisation."

Fudge's lips were pressed into a thin line, while he shook in suppressed anger and sent death glares Dumbledore's way, who continued speaking, this time directly to the Minister. "Of course, there is someone … who might be behind the attack."

Silence filled the hall as Dumbledore and Fudge continued to stare each other down. Then, in a pleading whisper, Dumbledore stepped even closer to the podium and said, "Cornelius, I implore you to see reason. The evidence that the Dark Lord has returned is incontrovertible."

Harry tensed and perspiration formed on his forehead as his mind immediately flashed to Voldemort and his recent, secret interaction with the man. Something akin to guilt seized his chest and gut.

"He's not back," returned the Minister stubbornly. Dumbledore seemed to deflate even further. It looked to Harry as if he had let out a defeated sigh.

He turned his back on Fudge and began pacing the centre stage of the hall. "If we return to the case at hand," he started, "the law clearly states that magic may be used before muggles in life threatening situations."

"Laws can be changed if necessary, Dumbledore," said Fudge in a slightly raised voice.

"Clearly, because in all my years as the member of the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards, I have never seen a minor be submitted to a full criminal trial and treated like the worst kind of criminal for a simple case of underage magic. Had it involved the use of offensive or other life-threatening magic, I would have understood it, but not when we are dealing with a Patronus Charm used in self-defence, ladies and gentlemen."

Everyone looked like chastised children and while Harry might have held a grudge against Dumbledore for keeping him isolated and in the dark about so many crucial things, due to some misguided attempt to keep him safe from harm, he couldn't possibly begrudge him his good intentions and the way he was defending him. He felt infinitely grateful to him for even showing up despite the changed hour and place, with witnesses no less. Even if the verdict didn't end in his favour and if he was forced to leave Hogwarts and lose his wand, he would at least know that Dumbledore tried for his sake and that in spite of his position and influence in the wizarding world, corruption and denial were stronger than truth and reason.

The same stern female voice from before broke the deathly silence. "Based on all the testimonies provided by Mr Potter, Mr Dursley and Mrs Figg, all those in favour of conviction raise your hands."

With his heart in his throat, Harry watched as about a fourth of the jury raised their hands. It didn't surprise him to see Fudge and the Undersecretary's hands rise among the first.

"All those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges raise your hands."

At that, the other three-quarters of the jury raised their hands, and Harry felt a rush of relief wash over him as Fudge was forced to declare him "Free of all charges" and conclude the session with the gravel.

The Weasleys exploded into cheers and rushed toward him to shower him in kisses and hugs. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Dumbledore saying something to his cousin in a hushed tone then saw him leave the hall, accompanied by Mrs Figg, without so much as a glance in his direction.

He excused himself to approach Dudley.

"Hey," he said awkwardly.

"Hey."

"I didn't see it coming, but … thanks. For being here and for sticking up for me."

"Likewise. Imagine my surprise when that old man Dumbledore approached me and told me you were in some legal shit because you defended me."

"I can imagine, although I still can't understand how in the world he convinced your mum and dad to let you come here."

"That's because he didn't. Convince them I mean," said Dudley nonchalantly.

Harry gaped. "So … they have no clue that you're here?"

"Exactly, and I would appreciate it if it stayed that way. I'm not really in the mood to listen to their nagging."

Harry started laughing incredulously. "I can't believe it. Well, that explains it."

"I know crazy, right? I was a bit sceptical when he appeared before me out of thin air, you know, talking to strangers – especially if they do magic – and all that shit, but then we sat down on a bench and he explained the gist of it, I signed some sort of NDA and here I am."

"Well thank you again for doing what you did," he smiled.

"Anytime, but now I have to go, the old man is waiting for me." They exchanged a brief manly hug. "Say," Dudley added, "you still up for gym this week?"

"Sure thing," nodded Harry. "Text me, and I'll meet you there."

"Cool." He headed toward the exit. "Then keep an eye on your phone on Friday," he called over his shoulder, before disappearing through the door.

…

Once they were outside the Ministry, minus Mr Weasley who returned to his office, Ron immediately wanted to head to the first ice cream parlour to celebrate the occasion, but Mrs Weasley insisted on going to Diagon Alley and doing school shopping first. "You'll eat your ice cream there," she said, before any of her children could groan and complain.

As with every August, the main street of Diagon Alley was bursting with people and getting from one shop to the other proved difficult. Mrs Weasley immediately headed toward the second-hand shop, while her children headed to wherever they fancied. The twins immediately headed to the place they bought with Harry's tournament money to work on their products and shop aesthetic, Ginny and Hermione headed to the bookshop while Ron and Harry went to gawk at the latest Quidditch stuff.

"Can you believe it, Harry," remarked Ron incredulously as they browsed through the shelves filled with racing broomsticks, Quidditch equipment and international Quidditch teams' apparel and other merchandise such as scarfs, mugs, pins and keychains, "that the Firebolt is still the fastest broom in the world?"

"Crazy, right?"

"I mean, it seemed like they were releasing new and improved brooms every year for the past four years and now, it seems like the broom boom is over and they've hit the speed limit and can't get a racing broom to go faster than 150 miles per hour."

"Yeah, especially if you compare that to racing cars or motorcycles, which can go way faster than that."

"Don't get me wrong," he added, "one-fifty is still super-fast, but damn if it weren't cool to go even faster and, then, one should try and circle the planet and see how long it would take them to travel the circumference of the Earth."

Harry snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "That's easy, Ron, just use the formula for time, velocity and distance to calculate that, you don't need to go around the world to find out, unless, of course, you want to corroborate your calculations."

"Okay, so according to this formula, how long would it take for Firebolt to circle the Earth if you travelled constantly at top speed?"

Harry took out his phone and looked up Earth's circumference. "Let's see …," he murmured. "Do you have anything to write with?"

Ron searched his pockets, but couldn't fish out anything to write with.

"Never mind," said Harry as he opened the Notepad and jotted down 40,075 km. He then proceeded to convert 150 mph to approximately 240 km/h then applied the equation for time, which was distance divided by velocity, into the calculator and got approximately 167 hours or approximately seven days. "Okay, so, if my calculations are correct, then it would take you about a week to circle the globe with the Firebolt at top speed."

"Wicked," whispered Ron in awe.

"Mind you, that's if one travelled without a toilet, food or sleep break and no sightseeing. So, I suppose that if you included all those breaks, one would probably take twice as long to do the tour along the equator."

"Harry," he exclaimed wide-eyed. "We should do it."

"What? Go around the world on a broom?" he chuckled amused.

"Yes," he said eagerly. "We could be legends, the first two people who attempted something like that."

Harry laughed heartily. "Ron, it's not like we're competing for a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records."

"I don't know about that one, but I'm sure we could end in some other book of world records. A-and then," he continued enthusiastically, "when they come out with a faster broom, we can do it again and we can do it even faster."

"We'll see about it, Ron," he grinned. "Maybe after we graduate, as a reward for suffering through seven years of exams and homework, we can do a trip like that."

"Awesome."

They continued their shopping tour by looking at shop windows. They mostly didn't go past the display windows, until Harry spotted a display with trunks and a promotional poster that promoted multi-compartment trunks.

"Hey, Ron," he whispered, tapping his friend on the arm, "when they say 'multi-compartment trunk' what exactly do they mean by that? Is it like an apartment inside a trunk?"

"Yep, that's exactly what that means. Each compartment can be used for something else and if you want, you can make it into your portable home. As far as I know, it's very popular with travellers and those who don't have a big budget, but still want to afford their own mini apartment."

Harry gawked, his eyes gleaming with interest. He hooked his arm around Ron's and dragged him inside the trunk shop. "Let's go inside. I have to see this wonder."

The shop was medium-sized with a strong smell of leather. To the right of the entrance there was the cashier and the open space to the left was filled with stacks of different sized, priced and coloured trunks. Unlike other shops, which pertained to school supplies, this one was significantly less crowded and quieter than the rest, and most customers were adults.

Harry began his inspection, when, a minute into it, the shop assistant approached them with the standard question. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, please," answered Harry politely, "this is my first time looking at the multi-compartment trunks and I would like to know a bit more about them."

"Well, in that case, the first thing you need to know is that you can buy either an empty multi-compartment trunk that you can then customise according to your tastes or you can purchase an already fully-furnished trunk." He stepped toward the far left wall of the shop and Harry and Ron followed him.

"So those that are cheaper are empty and those that are more expensive are furnished?" wondered Harry aloud.

"That's usually the case," returned the shop assistant, "however it depends on the number of compartments. For example, a furnished two-compartment trunk can come at the same price as an empty trunk that features five compartments. Then, one must also take into consideration the exterior size of the trunk, the production company, the quality and plenty of other factors."

"I see," he said, scratching his chin. "And is there a significant difference in quality between the cheapest furnished and the most expensive furnished trunk?"

"Aside from longevity, size and the material used, not much."

"Longevity?"

"Each enchanted multi-compartment trunk needs maintenance every so often, usually once a year or every three years; otherwise, it runs the risk of collapsing in on itself, therefore, the cheaper the product the more frequent the maintenance is."

"Ah, okay. And which one would you recommend? The empty or the furnished one?"

"That depends on what you're looking for. If you are looking for a standard apartment with a bedroom, bathroom, living-dining room and kitchen, then a furnished four-compartment trunk would be enough for you, but if you want more opportunity to customise it or use it as a storage or entertainment, then you would be better off with an empty one."

"Let's say I want to buy an empty trunk," speculated Harry with the shop assistant, "how long and how expensive would the furnishing process be? Heck, where would I even be able to go so they can equip it with the stuff I want?"

"There is an interior design shop opposite us that offers both the furniture and the installation, but you can also have whichever furniture you prefer installed here at our shop. We try to install everything in a day or two and the final price depends on the furniture you buy and the installation rate. Each shop has different installation fees, for example, we charge based on the number of compartments the customer wishes to furnish, regardless of the compartment size."

"So, you can adjust the size of the compartments after you purchase the trunk or do trunks already come with different sized compartments?"

"Empty ones always contain same-sized compartments and then it is up to the customer to decide how they want to modify them."

"Do trunks then have varying surface areas?"

"Yes, if you look here," he drew his attention to the label on one of such trunks, "each label provides information on the type of trunk you're looking at, the number of compartments, the exterior and interior dimensions, the production company and, in the case of furnished trunks, you also get a complete list of the furniture per compartment."

Harry whistled approvingly. "Nice. Would it be possible for us to have a look inside some of them?"

"Of course, just pick those that interest you and then you can take them to the trying room at the back of the shop."

"Thank you, we'll do that," said Harry happily as he and Ron continued to inspect the labels and trunks.

In the end, they picked two empty ones and two furnished ones.

"Yo, with this kind of trunk, I could have my own gym and gaming room," mused Harry appraisingly as they toured four adjacent empty thirty square feet rooms. "And my own kitchen and bedroom."

"Yeah, but did you see the prices?" commented Ron. "Just thinking about five-figure numbers gives me a headache."

"I know," agreed Harry. "If I decide to make this investment, it might cost me a fortune to get it set up, but I would like to think that I am making a long-term investment, you know. If nothing else, I wouldn't have to worry about rents, and I wouldn't be imposing on anybody else. I would have a place that I can call my own."

"Yeah, but you would have to maintain it every two years," Ron pointed out.

"The same way I would have to maintain a car if I had one," pointed out Harry in turn. "So, I don't see much of a difference. At least I wouldn't have to worry about gasoline. Though I do wonder if you could install muggle household appliances here, what with electricity and magic repelling each other, it might prove difficult to have electric gadgets."

"Ask the shop assistant about it. Maybe he can tell you more."

Twenty minutes later, they returned to the front of the shop, where the shop assistant awaited them eagerly. "Well, gentlemen? Have you found something to your tastes?"

"I think I'll consider it some more before making such an important decision," said Harry. "Would you happen to have a catalogue or a magazine with the offer?"

"Most certainly," he cried, bent behind the counter and pulled out a handful of catalogues. "Here, take these and browse through them at your leisure."

Harry took them. "Thank you. There are two more things I would like to ask."

"Ask away."

"Is it possible to install muggle electric appliances into the enchanted trunks and how does the interior fare during travel? Does the furniture stay in one place or does it move around as soon as you pick up the trunk and jostle it a bit?"

"With a few extra tweaks, it is possible to install anything that requires electricity, as for your second question; there are enchantments in place that keep the furniture from displacing."

"That is nice to hear," said Harry, before thanking the man for his time and assistance and heading out with Ron in tow.

...

After stopping at the furniture shop and looking at some of the prices, they slowly made their way through the crowd towards Flourish and Blotts, in hopes of reuniting with Mrs Weasley. All the while, Harry was leafing through the catalogues, not paying attention to his surroundings, which ended in him colliding with another person.

The catalogues he was holding under his armpit went tumbling to the ground together with the stranger's notebooks. "I am so sorry," Harry began with effusion, kneeling down to help the other person gather their belongings. "I should have paid more attention to my surroundings."

"Do not worry," replied a smooth and rich voice, "it happens. It's not as if I was watching where I was going either."

Harry looked up and saw a boy his age, perhaps slightly older, crouching before him, with light brown hair, light-blue eyes, full lips, high forehead, small and narrow nose, high but not prominent cheeks, covered in subtle and sparse freckles.

For a moment, Harry's brain froze, unable to handle the other boy's handsomeness, but quickly composed and straightened himself and handed the notebooks to the stranger. "Here, your notebooks. I hope they haven't suffered any damage."

"Thank you." The stranger smiled cordially and inspected the notebooks. "A bit dirty and crumpled, but it would seem that no page has been torn. Nothing a few spells can't fix." He held out the catalogues to Harry. "And here are your magazines," he said with a grin.

"Thanks." Harry accepted them and shook them hard to get the dirt off them.

It was at that moment that Harry and Ron heard Mrs Weasley's voice calling for them, which seemed to be the other boy's cue to leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off," he said and disappeared in the crowd.

"There you are," sighed Mrs Weasley out of breath upon reaching them. "Where have you two disappeared to?"

"We were looking at Quidditch stuff first and then we went to check out some trunks and furniture," explained Ron.

"Whatever for?"

"Harry was interested."

"Well, you had best go buy some school supplies, because that is why we came here in the first place, not to look at things we can't afford," she said sternly, her hands on her hips.

"Maybe not us," mumbled Ron.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, mum."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, before changing directions.

"Say, mum," began Ron cautiously, as they were walking towards the bookshop, "Harry and I are going to travel the world with a Firebolt after graduation."

She looked at them critically. "And how do you intend to afford a Firebolt, Ronald Weasley? Because we don't have that kind of money, unless you both intend to travel with Harry's broom."

"I'll work and earn my own money if I have to," protested Ron.

"Really? And what sort of work?"

"I could work as a shop assistant or serve tables like Harry at the Leaky Cauldron or something."

"If that is what you want," she said, looking straight on ahead. Ron glanced at Harry, surprised by his mother's response. Usually she would be openly against it, but perhaps, Harry thought, after that conversation they had in the kitchen at Grimmauld place, she was finally letting Ron be more independent and responsible. He was a Prefect this year after all.

Harry only smiled encouragingly and made a victory fist bump behind her back.

…

"I'm home!" Voldemort announced in Swedish as he crossed the threshold upon his return from his emergency shopping excursion.

He had realised that he would run out of empty notebooks for the duration of his stay at Hogwarts if he didn't purchase a dozen more. However, instead of going to the nearest muggle bookshop, like he told his parents he would, he apparated to Diagon Alley and bought the necessary items there. Now, his stack of muggle notebooks was dirty after his unfortunate encounter with Harry Potter.

While he wasn't necessarily thrilled to meet him on his errand, and the blue in his hair momentarily confused him, it proved to be the perfect opportunity for him to test his parselmouth disguise and he could safely say that the boy didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. He also came across a few of his middle-aged Death Eaters who were accompanying their children during their school shopping and none of them recognised him, which can only mean that Dumbledore won't see through his disguise either, when he will sit for his exams in the last week of August.

He placed the notebooks on the table in the living room just as Ingrid hurried in with a beaming smile to welcome him home. "Have you managed to get what you needed?" she asked him, drying her hands with a kitchen towel.

"Yes."

Then, a sudden gasp escaped her and her hands flew to her mouth as her eyes fell upon the dirty and crumpled notebooks. "Good heavens, what happened?"

"I ran into someone and lost the grip on the notebooks."

"Do we have to replace them?" she said concerned.

"I'll fix them with a spell or two," he assured her.

"If you say so."

"Where's father?" he asked to change the subject. "He's usually in the living room watching TV."

"Erik is in the garden, picking some vegetables for dinner. We're going to have stew."

"Then I'll go help him," he pressed a brief kiss to her cheek and headed towards the back garden, where he helped his elderly father gather potatoes, lettuce, carrots and tomatoes into a straw basket. Once they were done, he also carried the basket inside to spare him further strain on his body, then helped his mother rinse the vegetables, and peel and slice the potatoes, before hopping into the shower to wash away the grime and sweat that had accumulated on his skin during the day.

Bonding over Pain with the Dark Lord

Chapter Notes

This chapter was inspired by the following three videos: World's Hottest Pepper Challenge: Carolina Reaper (Good Mythical Morning), Trinidad Moruga Scorpion Pepper Challenge (Good Mythical Morning) and The Ghost Pepper Challenge (Good Mythical Morning).

Relax and enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

After doing some research into sizes and prices, and coming with a detailed plan of what he wanted to have in his multi-compartment trunk, Harry went back to Diagon Alley and bought a mid-range, empty, five-compartment trunk with the total surface area of 1000 square feet. He then adjusted the sizes of the rooms, making it so that the kitchen was the largest, followed by the living room, gym, bedroom and bathroom.

He bought most of the furniture and other equipment through muggle online sites using discount coupons in an effort to save as much money as possible, and then had them fitted into the apartment at the same store he bought the trunk. In the end, he still spent about 20,000 galleons on everything, which had made a significant indent in his Gringotts account, but he felt incredibly happy and proud as he looked at his accomplishment.

Luckily, he managed to do it right before heading back to Hogwarts, so that he could have his own safe haven within the dorm, away from prying eyes and annoying people.

…

The final week of August was filled with goodbyes and spending more money.

On Monday, 24 August, Harry had his final guitar lesson with Nathan and he was proud to say that he had learned to read notes and play several musical pieces by heart. To thank him, he bought him a videogame he had wanted to play for a while but was waiting for a discount – Bloodborne. On Tuesday, 25 August, he had his final Spanish lesson with Ana Maria and ended up flooded with worksheets, so he could practice everything he has learnt even during his stay at Hogwarts. On Thursday, 27 August, he had his final English lesson with Ana Maria and in turn flooded her with a bunch of worksheets as a small revenge, but also gave her a box of chocolates as a thank you gift. On Friday, 28 August, he had his final therapy session with Mrs Nightingale and bought some flowers and sweets as a thank you gift for everything she had done for him in such a short amount of time. On Saturday, 29 August, he worked his final shift at Surrey post office and on Monday, 31 August, he worked his final shift at the café.

"It's only temporary," sniffed Ana Maria, her face red and cheeks stained with tears, "we're still going to see each other when you have holidays."

"Absolutely," assured her Harry, with his arms around her middle. "I'll keep in touch whenever I can, but one never knows what might come in between, so don't worry too much if I don't instantly reply to a message."

She squeezed him again as another wave of sobs and hiccoughs hit her. Nathan stood next to him, and while he wasn't balling his eyes out like Ana Maria, he wore a sullen expression on his face.

"I'll keep you posted about any new gaming news and send you any links that might be of interest to you," said Nathan. "And memes, of course. You know I can't exist without my daily dose of memes."

Harry laughed heartily. "I look forward to your messages then."

Ana Maria finally let go of him and he pulled Nathan into a manly hug.

"Do you have everything packed?" asked the café owner.

"Not yet, but nothing I can't pack in the morning tomorrow."

"Don't forget to pack your revision sheets," reminded him Ana Maria, "you have to revise your Spanish. Remember, it's important to practice every day."

"I have already packed them, together with grammar books, fairy tales and more exercises."

"Good."

"Take care, Harry," said Victoria, "and remember; my doors are always open to you if you want to continue waiting tables when the summer holidays come round again."

He extended his hand to her and she shook it. "I will keep that in mind and thank you for hiring me."

With a final round of hugs and a wave, he crossed the threshold of the place that had become a place of laughter and happiness to him. A place where he could be a normal muggle teenager, surrounded by cats, dogs and friends.

…

He went through his luggage before bed, but went through it again in the morning after his morning routine just to be safe. Together with Hedwig, his godfather's two-way mirror, the gold locket, his own lunch, clothes and his personal care products, he packed plenty of Spanish learning books and classical literature (because for some weird reason he was in the mood for reading Carroll, Dickens, Doyle, Dumas, Lovecraft, Orwell, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Shakespeare, Verne and Wells). He also packed his cooking books and books on embroidery, knitting and sewing together with balls of yarn, embroidery tapestries, rolls of fabric and other utensils (because he was determined to learn those crafts during his spare time at the weekends), card and board games as well as all the gifts he received for his birthday and his phone. Moreover, he couldn't forget his new apartment; otherwise, all that money he spent would have gone to waste.

For once, they arrived at the station at a reasonable hour and didn't have to worry about being the last people on the train or having to make their way through throngs of magical and non-magical folk. Much to the chagrin of Mad-Eye Moody, who together with Tonks and a few other Order members escorted them to King's Cross, Sirius tagged along in his dog form and slipped into a waiting room that apparently nobody used at the station. Harry followed him inside.

"Another year of school for you, huh?" he began sighing. "And another year of solitude for me."

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. "This year will be different, Sirius, because of the mirror you gave me. I'll talk to you whenever I can, okay?"

He nodded with a tight grin.

"And I hope you will continue your therapy sessions with Mrs Nightingale," added Harry. "I'm also counting on Mr Weasley and Madam Bones to make some progress with your case."

"About that, I got into contact with her and we are going to start to build a case for the Wizengamot this week. Hopefully, we'll have something ready by Halloween and then I hope for a trial around January, but it depends on the bureaucracy."

"That's great news, Sirius," he beamed at him. "You'll let me know how things are moving along, won't you?"

"Of course," he promised. "If that's what you wish, I'll keep you updated."

"You know I do," said Harry, "you're my godfather after all, so anything that has to do with you is of interest to me."

"Then it's settled." He reached into the inner pocket of his leather jacket covered in studs. "Before you go, there's one more thing I would like to give you."

It was a slip of folded paper. Harry took it, opened it and saw a group photo. Almost instantly, his eyes zeroed in on the man that looked like him with glasses and messy hair, with his arms around the same woman he saw in the mirror of Erised in his first year. To his left was his godfather and to his mother's right he recognised Professor Lupin.

"It's a picture of the original Order of the Phoenix," narrated Sirius, while Harry was absorbing the image of his parents. "I thought you should have it since it includes your parents. There are also other people in it that are familiar to you, of course, like Remus and me, Dumbledore, Hagrid and Mad-Eye, and then there are Molly's brothers Fabian and Gideon Prewett," his finger pointed at the two people on the far left, looking like an older version of Fred and George, "and Neville's parents Alice and Frank Longbottom."

"I didn't know that Neville's parents were part of the Order."

"Well, now you know."

"Does Neville know?"

Sirius hummed in thought. "I suppose so. I mean he lives with his grandma, who is his father's mother. I'm sure she must have told him by now that his parents were Aurors and that they fought against Voldemort the first time round, as well as the fate that befell them."

"Were they killed like my parents?"

"No," Sirius shook his head for emphasis. "They live, but … sometimes I wonder whether they'd be better off dead."

"Why do you say that?" wondered Harry confused. "What could possibly be worse than death?"

"A group of Death Eaters tortured them into insanity with the Cruciatus Curse. They have spent the last thirteen years in something very similar to a muggle psychiatric asylum, and there is no hope of them ever recovering."

"That's horrible," breathed Harry horrified. "Poor Neville, having parents, yet not having them. I can't even imagine how difficult it must have been for him all these years. This makes me think that I lucked out by ending up as an orphan," he mused. "And they didn't even suffer before dying. Voldemort killed them instantly, something I appreciate, as morbid as it sounds to say it."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed with a grimace. "When you put it like that, I guess that it's a good thing he didn't torture them unnecessarily."

A train whistle sounded. "I should go," said Harry, before hugging Sirius. "Take care."

"You too. I would say raise some hell, but I suppose that wouldn't be a wise thing to say as a guardian, so instead I'll say don't get into too much trouble."

Harry laughed heartily at his godfather's words. "That's kind of the point and my goal this year and for the next two."

With that, he hurried onto the platform, pushing the trolley with his luggage, and began looking around for his friends and the rest of the Weasleys. He didn't find them immediately, but he caught a glimpse of someone familiar. Several dozen feet away stood the same tall, brown-haired and blue-eyed boy he ran into in Diagon Alley a couple of weeks before. Currently, he was saying goodbye to what he assumed were his parents, or grandparents, since they appeared elderly.

' Is he a Hogwarts student?' wondered Harry to himself. ' He must be, otherwise he wouldn't be wearing school robes or waiting on the platform saying goodbye to his guardians.' He strained his eyes to see to which house he belonged to, but as far as he could tell, it was the same black cloak he wore at the beginning of his first year. ' A new student then. A transfer maybe?'

Suddenly, the boy's outline started shimmering and contorting, and Harry blinked a few times thinking it was either the trick of the light or his eyes were playing a trick on him. It didn't help, it grew worse; the hair slowly disappeared, his healthy-looking skin grew pale and veiny, his nose flattened and his full lips deflated like balloons.

Harry shook his head, rubbed his eyes, yet no matter what he did, instead of the handsome teenage boy, the one standing in his place was none other than Voldemort.

…

"Are you sure you have everything?" asked Erik.

"Yes, father," sighed Voldemort. "I checked everything yesterday and today."

"Good."

"Don't forget to eat and sleep well," said Ingrid to Voldemort while smoothing out his Hogwarts robes and hair. "And remember to dress adequately in autumn and winter. I know that the school has an infirmary, but prevention is always the best medicine."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, mother. I'm going to take care of myself just fine; I'm not a child, you know."

"I know, darling, I know, it's just …" her eyes filled with tears and she pulled him into a tight hug. "The house is going to feel so empty without you, Felix," she sobbed.

He let out a sigh and brought his arms around her as well. "I promise I'll write to you every day, mother. It won't even feel like I'm away."

She sniffed and pulled back a bit, then cupped his face, forcing him to lean forward. "We love you, Felix, and if there's anything you need – extra blankets, clothes, books – tell us and we'll send it to you."

As Voldemort gazed into his mother's eyes filled with unconditional adoration and love, he had to confess that he felt conflicted. It felt nice to have "parents", who fussed over him, and be the centre of their attention and affection, but that pleasant feeling was marred by the constant awareness that it was all artificial, because, had he not alter their memories into thinking he was their biological son, they would never have loved him and it made him feel terrible.

He wanted to grimace in annoyance, but instead, he smiled as naturally as possible, covered his mother's hands with his and told her he loved her as well. Surprisingly, he thought, he truly meant it in his own twisted way and the blinding smile and the kiss he received in return made his chest ache even more and made him wish that instead of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle, Ingrid and Erik Hansson had been his parents. Then again, he mused further, if that was the case, he wouldn't be the Heir of Slytherin, which was something he took a lot of pride in, namely because of his ability to communicate with snakes. He wasn't sure he would have liked it if he had lost his defining trait.

He straightened himself and turned to his father, who placed his hands on his shoulders and said, "Behave and study well, but don't overwork yourself, son. Always remember to relax and have fun as well."

Voldemort nodded and Erik brought him into a bear hug. He patted him back on the back, until they pulled away with a final squeeze of the shoulders.

…

' What is Voldemort doing dressed as a student?' Harry wondered confused. ' Does he intend to go to school all over again? Why would he put himself through such torture willingly? Although, to be fair, there are people who like school and studying and doing homework, like Hermione, so maybe Voldemort is also one of those people. As long as he doesn't mess with the students, he can do whatever he wants, but just in case, I'll keep an eye on him.'

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Neville approach him. "Hiya, Harry!"

The enthusiastic greeting startled him. "Oh, hey, Neville. How's it going, mate?" he greeted him with a brief hug and a pat on the back.

"I'm good. You?" he asked, with a cactus-like plant in his arms.

"I'm good too. Say, have you seen Ron and Hermione?"

"Sorry, no," he said apologetically, "I have just arrived at the station with my gran."

"It's okay. Will you help me look for them?"

"Sure."

"Great, just let me say hello to that tall, brown-haired boy over there and then we can go look for them." He began pushing his trolley in the trio's direction. In the time that he averted his gaze away, Voldemort looked like that teenage boy again.

"You know him?"

"Not really, but I've crashed into him in Diagon Alley a few weeks back and I just want to introduce myself," he explained matter-of-factly.

"He doesn't look like he belongs to one of the Houses," pointed out Neville under his breath.

"My guess is that he's a transfer student."

Neville's eyes widened in surprise. "A transfer student? If that's true then it would be a first in centuries I reckon."

"Let's find out," returned Harry in a whisper, before smiling wide and addressing Voldemort and the people accompanying him.

"Excuse me," Voldemort and the elderly couple turned to him. The image of the handsome teenager started to fade again into his serpentine look. "I saw you from afar and I thought you looked familiar. You're the one I bumped into the other day, the boy with the notebooks, aren't you?"

Voldemort grinned. "I am." He extended his hand to him. "Felix Hansson," he introduced himself.

"Harry Potter," he shook his hand.

"And these are my parents. My mother Ingrid and my father Erik," he gestured to the people next to him, who beamed and shook Harry's hand.

"Nice to meet you," he returned happily and, in turn, introduced Neville. "I see you're new," continued Harry light-heartedly when everyone in the group was introduced.

"Yes, this will be my first official year at Hogwarts."

"Are you transferring from another school?"

"No, this is my first time going to a magical school."

"Really?" His brows knitted into a confused frown. "How so?"

"Around the time that your school usually sends out letters we were still living in Sweden, so I didn't receive a Hogwarts Letter, and Durmstrang rejected me because of my blood status. I'm a muggleborn and they don't accept muggleborns," he explained with a straight face.

Harry couldn't help but gape in awe at the man's ingenuity. In a single month, not only did he completely change his name and appearance, but he also went the extra mile to come up with a convoluted background story to justify his belated presence at Hogwarts, pronounce himself a muggleborn and find a muggle couple to pose as his parents, despite hating anything muggle. He commended him for that, because one always had to give credit where credit was due and Voldemort definitely deserved props for it.

"Well, welcome to Hogwarts," he clasped his shoulder in a friendly way. "Can't wait to see in which House you'll end up."

"Thank you. In which House are you two?" he asked innocently, as if he didn't know the colours and the names of the four Hogwarts Houses, and Harry played along.

"We're in Gryffindor," he pointed to his left breast, where the badge rested. "Red and gold with a lion for the mascot."

Before either of them could say anything else, Hermione called out to Harry from a distance. He quickly looked in the direction of the sound and saw Hermione's bushy hair, peeping from the crowd and, next to her; he spotted Ron's ginger hair. "Over here, Harry!" She was waving with both arms stretched in the air.

"That's our friend Hermione," explained Harry, "we're going to board the train and look for empty seats. Want to join us and hang out?" he addressed Voldemort.

"Sure." Then, he turned to Ingrid and Erik Hansson and bid them farewell.

"Have fun, Felix," cried the woman and waved.

They reached Hermione and Ron at the luggage wagon, where they put away their trunks, pets and most of their other luggage. Harry was surprised to see that the school had allowed Voldemort to bring his pet snake from the graveyard and his dreams, which he had disguised by changing the pattern and adjusting the size a bit, with him. He would have to make sure he didn't accidentally reveal that he can understand and speak to snakes too, or he might open a Pandora's box. Although … since most of the school had already witnessed him talking to one in his second year, it could prove impossible to keep it a secret from Voldemort for long, but he would try nonetheless.

They headed into the first passenger wagon and looked for an empty compartment.

"Actually, Harry," began Hermione apologetically, "Ron and I can't join you. As prefects, we have to head to the prefect wagon and then patrol the corridors. We're really sorry."

"Don't worry; just do what you have to. I'm going to be just fine with Neville and the new guy," he said, nodding in their directions.

"See you at school, mate," said Ron with a side grin, before going ahead with Hermione.

…

Finding a free compartment proved more difficult than he had anticipated, until they passed the one where Ginny was sitting with another girl, who had blond curly hair, pale skin and wore Ravenclaw robes and radish earrings.

Her name was Luna Lovegood; she was Ginny's best friend and was in the same year as her. They also learnt that her father was a journalist and the owner of the Quibbler magazine, the same one she was reading with Ginny upside down. At some point, she started talking about fantastical beings such as Wrackspurts, Nargles, and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

"And who's this?" asked Ginny to change the subject of the conversation.

"Felix Hansson," introduced Harry. "It's his first year at Hogwarts."

"He sure doesn't look like a first year," she said eyeing him sceptically.

"That's because he isn't," deadpanned Harry. "I mean look at him. Does he look like a first year to you? At six feet?" Then, he turned to Voldemort and said, "How old are you anyway?"

"Fifteen, I'll be sixteen on 13 December."

"So, you'll be in fifth year, then? Like us," he said excitedly, though he wasn't sure why he was excited to share classes with the Dark Lord no less.

"That was what the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress told me."

"So, you're a transfer student?" continued Ginny. "From Ilvermorny, Durmstrang or Beauxbatons?"

"It's my first time going to a magical school," he said and then proceeded to explain the reason once again.

"There's something I don't get," interjected Harry, scratching his chin and squinting his eyes in deep thought. "If this is your first time ever in a magical school, how is it that you are in year five instead of year one? It's not like you have any basics."

"As a matter of fact, I do have the same amount of knowledge as you," he said with an air of arrogance, "because I've been studying every single day for the past month what you've been studying for the past four years."

Everyone's jaw – save for Luna's – dropped to the floor. "What?!" Harry exclaimed. "You fucking crazy, man? Four years of school material cramped into your brain in a matter of a month? How are you still sane after that? I swear; had I been in your place I would have lost my marbles by now."

"It wasn't so bad," he said nonchalantly and shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive manner.

"And how many exams did you have to take?" wondered Neville.

"Nine, one for each subject, but they featured questions from all four years, and they were all scheduled in the same week, and guess what." He did a dramatic pause. "I got Outstanding on all of them," he said smugly.

Harry whistled impressed. "Fuck me. You absolutely insane bastard. You've officially become a fucking legend." He patted Voldemort on the shoulder.

"Not even Hermione can claim such an achievement," mused Ginny approvingly. "If she finds out about it, she gonna be pissed."

"I dare say this might be the year she loses her number one spot at Hogwarts as the best student," said Harry. "With this, you're either going to end in Slytherin or Gryffindor, because you either have to be extremely calculating and ambitious to pull off what you did or extremely reckless and suicidal."

Soon after, the twins burst in with Lee Jordan, their hands full of boxes branded with a giant 'W' and a red sign that read 'Work in Progress'.

"Hello, hello, hello. Would you like to participate in a small experiment?" said Fred grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"What sort of experiment?" asked Ginny.

"As you know," said George, "we're planning on opening a joke shop next summer and we are still in the process of developing our products, so we're gathering volunteers to test the efficacy of our products and see what else needs to be tweaked before unleashing the chaos into the world." He concluded his speech with a cartoon villain laughter.

"The way you laughed just now doesn't make me want to try any of your stuff," deadpanned Ginny. "I sincerely hope you will improve your marketing strategy, otherwise, your business might flop."

"Oh, come now, dear sister," whined Fred. "It will be fun. We have some Puking Pastilles here for you to try, when you feel like skipping classes." He rummaged through the contents of his box. "Fever Fudge, Fainting Fancy, Nosebleed Nougat, Ton-Tongue Toffee, Edible Dark Marks."

"Mind you, they come in four colours and four flavours," interjected George.

"Green for bitter, blue for sweet, red for spicy and yellow for sour."

"Or," George took over again, "if you want something more traditional, we also offer our own version of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and a mixed bag of crunchy bug snacks."

"Bug snacks?" she grimaced.

"Yeah, scorpions, larvae, cockroaches, ants, water bugs and plenty of others," Fred enumerated enthusiastically.

"Ew. Who's going to eat bugs?"

"Plenty of people eat insects," said George. "Muggles make entire gourmet dishes out of them."

"We're not muggles."

"Plenty of wizards eat them too, you know," interjected Fred. "So, don't discriminate."

"Anyway," George continued without paying attention to her, "would you like to try? You can play a game we like to call Truth or Punishment, and use bugs and our torture version of Bertie Bott's Beans as a punishment for refusing to speak the truth."

"That sounds like fun," commented Luna dreamily.

Harry, Ginny, Neville and Voldemort looked at her and said, "No, it doesn't."

"Not when you have to endure the punishment," added Voldemort.

"And how are we going to ensure that everyone is telling the truth?" wondered Neville. "It's not like we have Veritaserum on hand."

"Don't worry, Neville," said Lee. "We got you covered on that front too." He reached into his box and pulled out a potion bottle.

"We'll try it," Luna answered for all of them.

Fred and George provided a box of torture beans and a bag of mixed bugs. "Oh," remembered George, "before we forget." He passed them some gloves, a carton of almond milk and a carton of vanilla-flavoured ice cream. "You're going to need this. Trust us on this one."

"Enjoy yourselves!" smiled Fred, before closing the compartment door behind them and moving along the corridor.

Harry picked up the box of beans and read the back, where all the flavours were listed. "There are no good flavours," he complained. "And most of them are spicy as hell. I mean they have four of the spiciest hot peppers in here: Ghost Pepper, Naga Viper, Trinidad Moruga Scorpion and Carolina Reaper. Then there are wasabi and sour plum, bitter gourd."

"Let me see."

He handed the box to Luna. "Interesting. It says here that you should handle the four hot pepper beans with gloves and they recommend waiting ten minutes before resorting to relief mechanisms such as dairy products for the true torture experience. It says that you may experience the following side effects: a runny nose, profuse sweating, crying, hiccoughing, dry heaving, intense burning sensation and excruciating pain." She sounded so nonchalant about it that Harry had concluded that Luna was secretly a sadist, together with the twins, who came up with this insanity in the first place.

He put on the gloves, pulled the Carolina Reaper bean out, and smelled it out of curiosity. "I swear; this smells like death and looks like shrivelled Satan balls in its original form."

"Can this stuff kill you?" asked Ginny to no one in particular. "I mean, I doubt Fred and George would sell something like that, but you never know with those two."

"If it were pure capsaicin, then you could potentially overdose," commented Neville, who had some knowledge on hot peppers and the thing that made them so spicy, "but otherwise, hot peppers can't kill you, but you can feel like you're dying."

"Speaking from personal experience?" asked Harry.

"Not really, but one of my relatives has a hot pepper farm and he breeds hot peppers in an attempt to produce the hottest in the world, and he says that every time he eats his current hottest pepper, he feels like his soul is going to leave his body."

"Great. Just great."

"So … how are we going to go about this?" asked Ginny. "Do we play in the traditional format of Truth or Dare or do we change around a few things?"

"I don't really care," answered Harry. "I just don't want any sexual questions. That's private information that nobody should be forced to share and be punished for refusing to say it."

"I agree," added Neville.

"How about we form a list of fifteen questions that we all have to answer and when one doesn't want to share the information, they should do a Russian roulette to see to which punishment they have to subject themselves," suggested Luna excitedly.

Still sceptical about it, they began making their list of questions, starting with easy questions to get to know each other better, like their favourite animal, colour, food, and school subject. Then, they slowly progressed into personal territory with questions regarding things that make them happy and sad, their fears, personal regrets, or potential illegal endeavours.

For the punishment wheel, they chose ten things: all four hot peppers, wasabi, sour plum, scorpions, cockroaches, larvae and ants.

After each had drunk a few drops of Veritaserum and the potion had taken effect, they started the game. The first half of the list went smoothly, because the questions were not difficult to answer truthfully, however, when they reached the question on fears two thirds into the list, Voldemort was reluctant to share his answer and had to spin the wheel of torture.

The bottle of Veritaserum landed on the scorpions.

He picked one by the body, slowly brought it to his mouth and consumed it. The grimace was instant as his face puckered and the crunch resonated across the entire compartment. Harry, Ginny and Neville grimaced with him.

"What does it taste like?" wanted to know Harry.

"I don't know."

"Is it any good or is it disgusting as hell?"

"Some might enjoy it, but I personally don't, so yeah, while I don't hate it, I also don't want to go in for seconds."

"Fair enough."

"Are you ready to continue?" asked Ginny.

He took a sip from his water bottle to help him swallow it down then nodded.

The next question involved regrets or things you wish you had done differently and Voldemort again seemed adamant not to share the delicate information, which made Harry even more intrigued and curious to know what Voldemort could possibly regret doing in life. Just like how he wanted to know what his fears were.

Again, he spun the bottle of Veritaserum and this time it almost landed on the Viper Naga bean, but he lucked out and got the sour plum bean instead. When he ingested it, he couldn't supress a shudder that went through his body as the sourness took hold of his tongue and throat. He cleansed his palate with more water.

They continued when the effect wore off a bit. "Okay, just four more questions and we're done," announced Ginny happily.

This time, the question pertained to whether they had done anything illegal and both Harry and Voldemort refused to answer that. Harry would otherwise have to admit to smuggling an illegally kept dragon in his first year, temporary usurpation of identity and being an accomplice in the theft of Potions ingredients and brewing of strictly regulated Polyjuice Potion in his second year, and attacking a teacher in his third year. He was sure that there were plenty of other instances where he crossed the line between lawful and unlawful, but he remembered these three at the top of his head, and he wasn't exactly proud of those actions even if he had good intentions behind them.

At least he didn't have to wonder why Voldemort refused to answer the question. It was easy; he would have to admit to torture, murder, false identity, use of Unforgivables, and misuse of memory charms, because how else did he manage to make two muggles believe that they were his parents and he their son.

"Looks like we have youth delinquents in our midst," laughed Ginny. "And it must be hardcore if they won't even admit to their crimes in front of us."

Harry went first and due to Potter Luck, he landed on the Carolina Reaper bean. He put on the glove again, picked one up and held it in front of his mouth, waiting for Voldemort to get his punishment. This time, he landed on Trinidad Moruga Scorpion bean.

"Looks like you're in for a lot of pain," hissed Ginny sympathetically. "At least you'll share in it and hopefully bond through it. There's nothing like being there for each other when it's rough," she teased.

"Shut it," grumbled Harry, mentally preparing himself to eat the hottest chilli pepper in a bean form, but the only thoughts that were going through his mind were, ' I'm going to die. This bean is going to kill me.'

"Remember, you have to wait ten minutes before reaching for any kind of relief," said Luna.

"I'll be the Time Keeper," volunteered Neville.

"Are you ready?"

"No," they said in unison.

Ginny ignored them. "On the count of three: one, two … three."

Both Harry and Voldemort ate them at the same time and removed the gloves. When the blazing heat scorched and singed their tongues, throats, and oesophagi in the first ten seconds of ingestion, they both started experiencing hiccoughs.

"It started," said Harry, his face reflecting pure suffering, just as another round of hiccoughs attacked him.

While Voldemort certainly looked more composed and didn't make nearly as much noise with each hiccough as Harry, he was starting to sweat and grow increasingly red in the ears.

Before the first minute was out, Harry's eyes started watering on their own and tears rolled freely down his cheeks, while his hiccoughs turned to dry heaves, and Ginny quickly transfigured something into a trash bin, so he could vomit into it.

As the pain travelled southward through their chests, burning them from within, they both clutched their chests with scrunched up faces as they rocked in their seats to distract themselves from the fire that was coursing through them.

"I hate you," said Voldemort in a pained voice to no one in particular.

Harry echoed his sentiment. "I hate that we exist," he said. "I hate myself."

Ginny, Luna and Neville were on stand-by, going between snickers of amusement and gasps of worry.

Harry began moaning in pain every now and then. Approximately two and a half minutes in, his sinuses opened and a waterfall started to pour out of his nose. He quickly reached for a handkerchief, took off his glasses and began wiping away the tears and the mucus.

Next to him, Voldemort was drooling into his own trash bin, looking like he wasn't mentally there anymore, but in another dimension. "I hate everything," he grumbled.

A few seconds later, Harry leaned on him for support, because he too was slowly starting to lose grip on reality as the heat and pain mixed, blurring his vision and making his ears ring.

"You know, I'm trying to figure out what's worse: this or that one time, back in June, when Voldemort tortured me with the Cruciatus Curse," he gasped.

"And?" asked Voldemort, breathing heavily, fighting for every breath. "Which is worse?"

"This is infinitely worse. At least the Cruciatus lasted only a few seconds, not minutes."

"Okay, guys," said Ginny encouragingly, "only six minutes left and then you'll be able to eat some ice cream."

"Felix," began Harry, rocking himself against Voldemort with closed eyes, because everything was spinning.

"What?"

"Do you also feel like you're firmly nestled in Satan's butt crack, which is definitely horizontal, because I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel? Unless I'm looking in the wrong direction."

He vaguely heard Ginny's laugh at his comment through the buzzing in his ears.

"I need to break something," Voldemort said menacingly instead, rising to his feet, walking up and down the compartment, while he simultaneously undid his outer robes and the cravat. "Give me something to break or I'm going to break you this instant."

Luna immediately handed him some paper, which Voldemort took begrudgingly and started crumpling and tearing into pieces, breathing like an enraged bull through his clenched teeth. When he was done, he demanded more. This time, she handed him a straw basket and, in two swings at the floor, he broke off the handle. Then he proceeded to break the basket with his bare hands into small pieces, until there was nothing left for him to break.

"More!" he demanded gruffly.

She handed him a plush toy. He grabbed the body with one hand and the head with the other and effortlessly separated the two with an accompanying roar. He threw the head at the compartment door, then sank his fingers into the teddy bear's torso and ripped it in half, making the stuffing fly in every direction.

Meanwhile, Harry grabbed the edge of his T-shirt and started to flap it, in an attempt to cool himself. When that didn't work, he let himself sink down to the floor into a sitting position, his upper half still leaning against the seat. "Every single orifice in my body is sweating," he said out of breath and with a pained expression. "I think I'm transforming into a dragon, because I feel like I could breathe fire with how hot my breath is."

Then, he felt the moment when the bean reached his stomach and he curled in on himself, whimpering, and started rolling on the ground, without colliding with anyone's legs. Somebody must have magically expanded the compartment, because he didn't remember it being this big, but then again, he felt like he was having an out-of-body experience or going through a different form of time-travel into a place of torment, tightly squeezed between Satan's butt cheeks.

"After this is over," he grumbled through his tears, "I'm done playing this stupid game. I'm tapping out, because I can't take it anymore."

Voldemort collapsed on his knees next to Harry and crawled to him as more sweat and drool came out of his body. "Harry," he rasped. Harry squinted at him. "This is not getting better. It's in my stomach and I feel like I'm burning alive."

"Here," he kneeled in front of the Dark Lord and grabbed his shoulders, "hold onto me."

Voldemort placed his own hands on Harry's shoulders. Their heads lolled forward and they stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, until Ginny's voice broke in through the haze, "A little over a minute left."

They rose to their feet, still facing each other and keeping one another at arm's length. "We can do this. We can do this!" yelled Harry and they started doing squats.

Then, when ten minutes were over, they collapsed into their seats, reaching for the ice cream, and sighing in relief when the cold substance touched their palpitating mouths.

"Does it help?" Neville asked carefully from his corner of the compartment.

"Only for like … two seconds and then it starts hurting again," answered Harry around a mouthful of ice cream. Voldemort held his tongue and limited himself to eating spoon after spoon of ice cream.

"Wait until you have to take a shit next time. You're going to feel it burn down there too," reminded them Ginny.

Harry whimpered. "Don't remind me. I don't want to think about it right now."

It was at that moment that the compartment door opened and the Trolley witch asked her usual question. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

"Only if you have more ice cream in there somewhere," replied Harry. "Because I fear that one carton won't be enough for the both of us."

Unfortunately, the trolley witch didn't have any ice cream.

Chapter End Notes

Recently, I discovered Good Mythical Morning's videos on hot pepper challenges, and ever since, I was determined to make Harry and Voldemort go through that horrible pain (especially our resident Dark Lord). Rhett and Link's reactions and commentaries during those videos are hilarious (at least to me), especially the one talking about Satan's butt crack, which I included in this chapter.

Pink Toad and Sorting

Chapter Summary

The rest of the train ride to Hogwarts, Voldemort gets sorted, and Harry continues to mess with the man, just because he can.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Voldemort suddenly stopped eating ice cream, placed his hand on his stomach, stared into some indefinite space in front of him and then, out of nowhere, made a gagging sound so violent that it took Harry by surprise and made him worried.

"Oh, hey, hey, Felix, here," he passed the almond milk to him. "Drink this to keep it down."

Another gagging sound came from him and he clutched the trash bin to him. "Look I know it's horrible, but it'll be worse if you vomit."

"Maybe you should escort him to the bathroom and refresh yourselves," suggested Luna.

"Good idea. Come, Felix," said Harry gently to Voldemort, prying his hands from the bin and offering him his hand as support. "Let's go to the bathroom and cool ourselves." He helped him to his feet and they slowly made their way down the passage to the first toilet.

…

Still feeling the effects of the hot pepper, Voldemort struggled with keeping his mind and senses grounded. He was vaguely aware of people around him, of Harry's hand clutched in his, of his own movements, but he mostly operated on instinct, because all rational thought had abandoned him.

Once they reached the toilet, Harry ushered him inside, locked the door behind them and led him to the sink, where he opened the tap and started to cool down his face and neck. A sound of pure relief left Voldemort's lips as the cold water touched his burning and sweaty skin and the boy's fingers glided across his features. His eyes fluttered shut and he was firmly gripping the sides of the sink, letting Harry do all the work. When he felt like he couldn't stand anymore, he sank to the floor with his back against the wall.

"Better?" he heard Harry ask. Unable to speak without sounding hoarse, he nodded. "Good."

The water kept running in unison with his ragged breathing, when the boy's sound of relief reached his ears. He opened his left eye, looked his way, and saw him shirtless, with his head stuck under the running water, and his back and shoulder muscles stretching against his skin.

' Since when does he have muscles?' his muddled mind supplied, because the last time he met with him he was still mostly scrawny.

He straightened up and the rivulets of water travelled down his neck, his defined shoulders, chest, stomach and back. "That feels so fucking good," he said hoarsely, and then sat down next to him, his knees drawn up, head leaning back against the wall and their elbows touching. "I thought I was dying back there."

"Likewise," he rasped, although he knew that it was impossible because of the horcruxes.

Neither of them spoke for a good few minutes, until Harry's stomach growled like some furious animal. "Are you up for some more ice cream?"

Slightly less in pain and more aware of his surroundings, he nodded. Harry quickly rose, shook himself as if he were a dog, and put the shirt back on. Then, he turned to him and stretched his hands to him. Voldemort grabbed onto them and let the boy haul him up to his feet.

…

An hour later, the pain and the burning sensation faded away, allowing Harry to eat his boxed lunch; a cold vegetable risotto with parmesan and the refreshing cucumber and green onion salad coated with yoghurt. Although, with how burnt his tongue felt, he temporarily lost the ability to taste, so he couldn't even appreciate the food he had prepared for himself.

After he finished with his lunch, he brought out his deck of Gloom in Space cards and proposed they play a round.

"And how do you play the game?" asked Neville while marvelling at the transparency of the cards and the overall design.

"So, basically the goal of this game is to be the first who kills off your own characters through a series of unfortunate events while doing your best to make the characters of the other co-players happy and safe from any untimely death. Once your family of characters is dead, the game ends and whoever has buried all their family members is the winner."

He received uncertain looks from his companions.

"There are twenty character cards, each gets to pick and choose four. Just so you know, the Dark Lord is mine, all other characters are fair game for all, just not the Dark Lord," said Harry importantly. "He has a special place in my heart, and how can he not, when he comes with the following description." He cleared his throat and read directly from the card. "The Dark Lord, Malevolent Mastermind, join him, and you will rule the universe as two people with some kind of relationship to each other." He sighed melodramatically with a hand to his chest. "Beautiful. Simply beautiful. Reminds me of Voldemort and his offer to rule beside him in my first year."

Voldemort, who was sitting next to him, eating his mother's sandwich, suffered a coughing attack as a piece of bread was stuck in his windpipe. Harry hurriedly started slapping him between the shoulder blades.

"You okay there, man?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Alright, so," continued Harry, consulting the rule sheet, "aside from character cards, you also have event cards that have some immediate effect and are then discarded. The modifiers, which can be used to alter a character's self-worth score in a negative or a positive way, and unhappy ending cards that bring about a character's death, but can only be used on a character with the negative self-worth score. There are also story cards, but you only ever use two at a time in a single game so they are not really part of the final deck. When it is your turn, you can do two of the following things. You can play an event, a modifier, an unhappy ending, claim a story, if your family meets its requirements, discard your entire hand or pass by doing nothing. This is the first part of your move, in the second part; you draw back up to your draw limit, which is five cards, unless otherwise changed by some card effect. The effects can be of four different type: immediate effect, resolved right away when played; continuous effect, which affects the game for as long as their effect text is visible; persistent effect; which keeps working for as long as their portrait picture remains visible, even if the text is covered; and response effect, which can only be played during another player's turn in response to something specific. Since cards are stacked one on top of the other, only what is visible by the end counts towards the final score. Therefore, any covered self-worth points, story icons, texts or pictures cease to be valid, once they are no longer visible. Also, you can only play untimely death cards as your first, not second, action on a negative self-worth character."

"I'm not entirely sure I understand how everything comes into play," commented Neville.

"It'll become much clearer once we actually start playing," Harry assured him, "and since this game is driven by story-telling, everything has to be told in the format of a story, even all the negative and happy moments in our characters' lives."

"And who gets to go first?" asked Luna.

"We all have to tell how bad are day was and the person with the worst day so far, gets to go first, but let's be honest," he said. "Given that I've just eaten the world's hottest pepper in a candy form and went through the most excruciating pain, I think it goes without saying that I had the worst day."

"What about me?" interjected Voldemort indignantly. "I also had an equally bad day."

"True," agreed Harry, "but here's the thing. You ate the second hottest pepper and I ate the world's hottest, so … you know, number one goes before two so … yeah. I kind of win in that aspect and I should probably go first. You can go right after me, of course. I doubt that anyone would object to that."

He looked to Ginny, Neville and Luna, who all agreed that Voldemort, or rather Felix, could play his turn after Harry.

Together with the Dark Lord, Harry also chose the Cute One, the Time Traveller and the Bounty Hunter, while Voldemort went with the Doctor, the Traitor, the Counsellor and the Scientist. Ginny chose the Android, the Space Knight, the Captain and the Princess. Neville picked the Farmboy, the Kid, the Old Man and the Robot, and Luna was left with the Smuggler, the Engineer, the Nemesis and the Soldier.

To make the characters feel more like people, Harry was in the habit of naming his crew. Obviously, he named the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, just to mess with the man sitting next to him. The Cute One became Snuffles, the Time Traveller became Tom, and the Bounty Hunter became Holmes.

The game itself lasted for about an hour, where the twenty characters scattered between the five of them experienced their highs and lows. Ginny and Voldemort proved to be the most sadistic and ruthless when it came to making their characters miserable. For example, Voldemort had the Scientist go on a mission to investigate a recent alien invasion, but on the way, he was trapped by troopers, who sold him into slavery to telepaths, who decided to experiment on him in the most gruesome ways possible. After months of torture, he managed to escape. He accidentally stumbled upon a monolith, and after meddling with it, he was pushed into a portal that sent him to the Dark Lord's battleship. There, he learnt that the Dark Lord was behind the alien invasion, because he was actually a Martian in a mask and was planning to invade planet Earth and take control of it. To prevent him from succeeding, he decided to blow up the battle station and defeated him, but failed to escape in time and was ultimately blown to bits.

Ginny, on the other hand, decided to make her Princess' life a living hell. At the beginning of the adventure, she had her stranded on Mars after she was shot down in a shuttle, trying to escape the bounty hunters sent by her uncle to get rid of her. On Mars, the Princess immediately ran into aliens who attacked her. As she was running away from them, she was beaten by bugs, bullied by birdmen and slugged by a slug, until she got entangled with machines that had tentacles and ultimately died mangled by those same machines.

Neville and Luna tried to be mean, but didn't really succeed in making it compelling, however, they were exceptionally good at thwarting their co-players' plans to murder off their characters by making them momentarily happy, which usually involved romance, whether with a smuggler, a Martian or even a robot … they didn't discriminate.

Harry was a mixed bag, because while he certainly enjoyed making his characters miserable; he also liked making them happy. For instance, while he loved making his Dark Lord terrified by transporters, troubled by tribblers, plundered by pirates, and tricked by a traitor, he also enjoyed making him a skilled scavenger and crediting him with various achievements, such as making the perfect mixtape and finding a force. His Lord Voldemort also liked to fight with his father and quarrel in the cantina with his subordinates. After suffering a humiliating defeat, he travelled to the Pleasure Planet through a wormhole, where he lived long and prospered.

In the end, Voldemort emerged as the winner after he successfully murdered his entire crew. By that point, they were getting closer to Hogwarts and the conversation turned towards Hogwarts Houses, Quidditch, school life and other school gossip; they speculated whom the new Defence against the Dark Arts professor might be and what the O.W.L.s would be like.

Five minutes before their arrival to Hogsmeade station, where Voldemort would have to join the first years in their boat ride to be sorted, Harry honoured him with a Welcome to Hogwarts song, which was a parody of the Disney's Duck Tales main theme, and ran like this: "Life is like a hurricane, here at Hogwarts. Hexes, bullies everywhere. It's a horror. Might solve a mystery … or rewrite history. Hog tales! Ooh, ooh! Every day they're out there making Hog tales! Ooh, ooh! Tales of daring do bad and good Hog tales! Ooh, ooh! D-d-danger, watch behind you! There's a stranger out to off you. What to do? Just grab onto some Hog tales! Ooh, ooh!"

…

Once they got off the train, Harry found it strange that Hagrid was not there beckoning first years to follow him with his booming voice and imposing figure. Instead, McGonagall was waiting in her emerald robes and a black, pointed hat.

"Where's Hagrid?" Neville wondered the same thing. He gasped as a terrible idea occurred to him. "You don't think they sacked him, do you?"

"On what grounds?" returned Harry sceptically. "No, I don't think he's been sacked. Maybe, he's just busy with something else. I'm sure Dumbledore will mention it at the feast in some capacity. And you…" He turned to Voldemort. "Off you go with the first years," he made a shooing motion with his right hand and earned himself a glare from him. "Don't keep McGonagall waiting, she doesn't appreciate it," he teased and waited for the other to go. Then, he enthusiastically called after him and said, "Have a nice boat trip, and try not to fall into the lake or the Giant Squid might drown you."

He let out a satisfied sigh and turned to his friends. "Alright, where are Ron and Hermione?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, they appeared.

"Sorry, for keeping you waiting," apologised Hermione, "but we had to make sure that everyone got off the train."

"It's okay, Hermione. The important thing is that we're all here now and we can head to the carriages."

"Have we missed anything important?" asked Ron.

"A few things," answered Ginny. "Like Harry being in pain after eating the spiciest hot pepper in the world together with the new guy Felix, and a round of Gloom in Space."

Ron's wide eyes turned on Harry.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Harry sternly, with a raised hand. "I don't need flashbacks this early after the whole ordeal."

"It's a pity I didn't get to record it," sighed Ginny dejectedly. "It would have been so nice to re-watch the entire thing again and again."

"I would have broken that recording the moment you hit 'record'," deadpanned Harry.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "It would have been worth the try."

When they reached the path where the carriages awaited them, Harry noticed that pitch-black winged skeletal horses drew them. However, nobody else seemed to notice the creatures, because everybody looked puzzled when he asked about them.

"Either I'm imagining things or there's something wrong with your vision, because there's clearly something very much alike a horse pulling the carriage," said Harry impatiently.

"You're not imagining anything," assured him Luna. "I can see them too."

"Me too," added Neville.

"How's that possible?" wondered Hermione with a confused frown.

"They're Thestrals," explained Luna. "Only those who've witnessed death can see them."

Ginny, Ron and Hermione looked upon the other three with sympathy, and knowing that death was a delicate topic, they refrained from asking about their experiences and instead tried to lighten the mood.

…

"Students," bellowed McGonagall through her Sonorus-enhanced voice over the chatter of the first-year students, all marvelling at the sight in front of them. "Your attention, please. You'll get enough opportunities to gawk at the school, but right now I need you to pay attention. Thank you. Now, when you board the boats, I don't want to see more than four people per boat, is that clear?"

A chorus of affirmatives responded.

"Good. As for you, Mr Hansson," she addressed Voldemort separately, "you'll be in the boat with me."

"Yes, Professor."

"Alright, into the boats you go," she clapped her hands imperiously. Voldemort followed her, while the other students split into groups of four.

It had been over five decades, thought Voldemort, since he had boarded the boats to ride across the Black Lake towards the Boathouse and walk the stone stairs leading to the Entrance Courtyard. A wave of nostalgia took hold of him as he looked up at the imposing towers, the lights emanating from the windows that looked like static fireflies in the distance and the dark, starry sky above him enveloping everything like a blanket.

His throat closed up as thoughts and memories of the eleven-year-old version of himself came to the forefront of his mind, doing his best to keep his excitement and nerves hidden, because he was above crass displays of emotion and showing any kind of weakness was out of the question. Especially after he was sorted into Slytherin, and his fellow housemates treated him like a lesser human being, because they thought he was a mudblood, until he started messing with their minds and torturing them into submission without any of the teachers being the wiser.

Oh, how lovely the screams of his seniors sounded as their limbs contorted in ways they were never meant to or the look of terror that filled their eyes when they saw him enter the Great Hall or the Common Room. They tried to shield their minds, but to no avail as nothing escaped his notice and no occlumency shield was strong enough for his forceful legilimency. Whether they grew to respect him or continued to fear him, after the events that led to Myrtle's death, he revealed himself as the culprit and the Heir of Slytherin to his Knights of Walpurgis and finally became their Master and Lord.

While he was proud to have been a member of the house named after his ancestor, this time round, he could not afford to be sorted into it. For him to stay close to Harry and observe him, he needed to share the dorm with him. He would also have to be mindful of his actions and make sure he didn't stand out in any way; he needed to give the impression that he had never been to Hogwarts and no matter how irritated he might get with these brats, he had to rein in his urge to torture them senseless.

As they crossed the threshold, Voldemort returned to the present moment. With a blank expression, he waited for McGonagall to explain the House system at Hogwarts. When it was over, she led them into the Great Hall.

Midway, the Potter brat called out to him, standing above the sea of heads, holding his thumbs up and smiling excitedly in an effort to encourage him and cheer him up. He had to suppress a groan and rolled his eyes. If he didn't know any better, he would say that the boy knew who he was and was simply doing all this to mess with him, now that he was safe from his wrath.

He moved past him, doing his best to ignore him, until they reached the podium where the staff table was. In the middle, just in front of the headmaster's seat, the small wooden stool stood there, with the mangled Sorting Hat on it, reciting a poem as usual. He tuned it out, for he never particularly cared for the hat's recitals.

A few minutes later, McGonagall began calling them one by one and, when she reached the letter 'H', he was one of the first called to the stool. It was awkward sitting on something so small and close to the ground, but he managed and let the Deputy Headmistress place the hat on his head.

' Interesting,' the hat's voice echoed through his head. ' Very interesting, but how do you suppose I should determine your house if you hide your thoughts and yourself behind occlumency shields?'

' Perhaps because I don't want you going through my head without my authorisation,' returned Voldemort.

The hat hummed in thought. ' Your name is different, but your energy feels similar to a student I sorted once. His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle.'

Voldemort didn't comment on it.

' I will take your silence as confirmation. The question now is: what are you doing here again, posing as a student, and trying to get yourself sorted?'

' None of your damn business,' he growled menacingly.

' I see you've grown rude with time, well; I can't say I'm surprised. You were arrogant even as a child, but if I already have to sort you again, I'll stick with my first choice.'

' Not Slytherin.'

' Not Slytherin?' said the hat in surprise. ' Well, that's a first. Actually, no, not the first time I've heard it said with such vehemence, but if not Slytherin, then where do you want me to put you?'

' Gryffindor,' deadpanned Voldemort.

The hat laughed and its laughter reverberated through the entire Hall. ' That's a good one,' he said into his head again. ' A Slytherin who wishes to be a Gryffindor. Now, that is definitely a first one in all my time doing this.'

' I don't care what you think about it, just put me in Gryffindor,' hissed Voldemort impatiently. He was not in the mood for this.

The hat chuckled. ' Very well. If you're sure, then better be … GRYFFINDOR !'

…

Harry's jaw dropped to the floor when the hat's voice announced Voldemort's new house. When he suggested the possibility on the train, he was obviously joking, because no matter how you looked at it, it just didn't make any sense for Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin and the self-proclaimed Dark Lord Voldemort, to be sorted into Gryffindor. Clearly, there had to be a mistake.

' But what if it wasn't?' A voice inside his head said. ' What if this is exactly what he wanted? For what reason?' Because Voldemort's presence had a purpose, that much was obvious, but what could he possibly intend to do that would require him to be in Gryffindor? ' He's not keeping me in check, is he?' For some reason, the thought scandalised him. ' If he is, well, so am I. Just don't let him know. Keep it cool.'

…

The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers, Harry being the loudest and the most enthusiastic about it. "Here, Felix, over here," he beckoned him with his hand. "Come sit next to us." He made some space between Neville and himself.

With a sigh, Voldemort made his way to him while the sorting ceremony continued. Once he reached them and sat down between Longbottom and Potter, the boy immediately patted him on the shoulder with an effusive congratulation. "Welcome to Gryffindor. I think this deserves a toast." Harry raised his goblet filled with orange juice. Longbottom, the mudblood and the redheaded blood traitors raised their drinks as well.

"To Felix! Our new friend and colleague! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" They echoed and emptied the contents of their glasses in a single gulp, before Potter had the brilliant idea to sing him another song.

"Were you nervous?" asked the she-Weasley.

"A bit," he answered with a lie.

"If that made you nervous, wait until you meet our Professor for Potions, Professor Snape," said Ron Weasley under his breath, leaning over the table. "He's no joke. If you ever mess up a single potion or if you don't know the answers to the questions he's asking you at any given moment, he's going to brand you a dunderhead for the rest of your schooling and you won't get past Acceptable for as long as he's teaching that subject."

"But that won't happen to him because he's a genius. Unlike you and me, Ron," interposed Harry joyfully, who circled his shoulders and brought him into a side hug. "This guy here is smarter than you and I together. Mark my words."

"Oh yeah? Is he smarter than Hermione?"

"He took nine theoretical and nine practical exams in a week," said Harry with a dramatic flare, "for all four years and aced them like a champ."

The redhead's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "You got Outstanding … on all of them?"

He nodded. "With a perfect score on all of them, no less," he added with a grin.

"You're right, Harry, this guy's a genius." He turned to the mudblood, who was frowning, and quickly added, "Not that you aren't, Hermione, you're brilliant, but I mean … you have to admit that what this guy pulled off is on an entirely different level. He has a different skill set, if you catch my drift."

"I'm glad you think so, Ron," remarked Harry lightly, "because this year, Hermione will be your Potions partner, if she agrees to it."

"What?" the redhead sounded scandalised. "But what about us, mate? We always team up for Potions."

"Precisely. So, to mix it up a bit, I thought I should partner up with Neville this year." He turned to him and added, "Felix, you are welcome to join us as our guide so we don't mess up anything."

"Thank you. I would be happy to join you," he responded with a grin, trying to sound happier than he was. Although collaborating with Potter certainly had its advantages and he was going to take advantage of them.

"And in exchange, if you're up for it, I could give you a castle tour tomorrow, so you can familiarise yourself with your new environment."

"If it's not an inconvenience, with pleasure."

"Great," he beamed.

The headmaster interrupted their conversation with his speech. His first announcement concerned the return of Professor Grubbly-Plank as the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures, due to Hagrid being on temporary leave.

There was barely any applause for the returning professor.

In his second announcement, he welcomed the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge from the Ministry of Magic, who took over his speech with her own.

Her pink dress and pink hat felt like an assault on Voldemort's eyes, but to hear Harry say that that same woman was at his disciplinary hearing, was intriguing enough for him to suffer her irritating, overly-sugary voice.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she began. "For those kind words of welcome." She turned to the students and continued. "And how lovely, to see all your bright, happy faces, smiling up at me."

Voldemort glanced around the Hall and had to contain a snort when he noticed that nobody was smiling up at the toad-faced woman.

"I'm sure we're all going to be very good friends."

"That's highly unlikely," the Weasley twins whispered to one another, and Voldemort had to agree with them.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. Although each headmaster has brought something new to this historical school."

She bowed her head toward Dumbledore in acknowledgment and even Voldemort could see that the old man only returned the gesture out of politeness.

"Progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected and prune practices that ought to be … prohibited."

With this, she let out an unnerving giggle and returned to her seat at the staff table, next to Snape, who looked like he was sitting next to the most horrendous smelling thing in the universe, on the far left side.

For a good few seconds there was no applause, until Dumbledore began clapping and the student body joined him. "Thank you, Professor Umbridge for your enlightening speech, and now, students, Mr Filch has asked me to inform you that magic is not to be used in the corridors and that not upholding to the established curfews will lead into point deduction and detention. Again, the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds without the permission and the supervision of a professor. That being said go ahead and dig into the scrumptious food in front of you."

All at once, chatter broke out all around them as everyone began piling food onto their plates. Voldemort himself reached for a roasted chicken thigh and was just starting to pile some baked potatoes when he noticed that Harry had produced scales next to him.

He paused in his motion and just stared at what the boy was doing. Potter placed his empty plate onto the scale, balanced it out, then pulled out some kind of reference sheet, containing food items and numbers and was doing math in his head while also scooping cooked baby carrots onto the plate. When he reached a certain amount, he stopped, reached for the roasted beef and repeated the process.

"What are you doing?" he asked confused.

"I'm weighing how much food and what kind of food I eat as well as how many calories I ingest," he explained. "I'm trying to pay attention to my diet and eat well. One has to look out for one's health you know."

"What's the paper for?"

"This," he said, showing it to him, "is my reference sheet for how many calories are in 100 grams of certain foods. I also have them organised by categories like protein, fibre, minerals and vitamins, carbohydrates, fats and sugar, so then I combine my meals accordingly."

"Interesting."

"It takes some time to get used to it, but it pays off in the end." He began looking around the table, first left and then right, until he stood up and began looking at other tables with a frown.

"What is it Harry?" asked the mudblood.

"I'm looking for some salad, but I can't see any."

"That's because there isn't any salad," explained the mudblood. "There never has been." Harry looked at her as if she had murdered his pet owl.

"What do you mean there's never been any salad at Hogwarts?" he sounded agitated. "Well, what about rice, pasta, fish and other seafood?"

"There are no rice, pasta, fish or other seafood either," she said with gravity and Potter looked like he was on the verge of having a panic attack.

"You mean to say," he gasped, breathing heavily, "that in all four years of our schooling, we've only been eating beef, pork, lamb and chicken with some vegetables, mostly potatoes done a hundred different ways, is that it? Are they even organic?"

"Don't forget the eggs, cereals, bread, cheese and desserts," said the redhead with his mouth full.

"Exactly, Harry," confirmed the mudblood. "I'm surprised you've never noticed."

"Oh no," Potter collapsed theatrically against Voldemort and pressed the back of his hand to his eyes and forehead. "How am I going to eat a balanced diet now, when I can't even eat fish, fruit or salad?"

"Well, what about your portable kitchen?" asked the redhead.

He raised his head and initiated a rant. "My portable kitchen mostly consists of healthy snacks, like protein bars, dried fruit, nuts, and rice and corn wafers, and plenty of tea – green, white, black, oolong, herbal, fruit, jasmine; you name it – both cold and hot brews," he enumerated on his fingers. "I didn't do regular groceries because I didn't think I would need to have them on hand and it's not like I can restock them every week, even if I did somehow anticipate this disaster."

Again, he leaned against Voldemort, wallowing in distress. It was truly a pathetic sight, and to think that the boy was supposed to defeat him, have powers he didn't possess, and now, look at him. Acting like the world was ending because he couldn't eat a balanced and healthy diet.

He wasn't entirely sure what compelled him to open his mouth and suggest the following, "If you want, I can write to my parents and ask them to send some vegetables and fruit. We do have quite a large garden."

The change in the boy's demeanour was instant and drastic. If before he looked on the verge of dying, now he looked like a child on his birthday, smiling so wide his teeth were showing and his eyes were twinkling like two puppy orbs. "Really, Felix? You would do that for me?"

The reverence in Harry's eyes was blinding, honestly, it seemed like the boy was sparkling, and it made him feel … something weird that he didn't know how to name or even describe. It was a mix of chest pain and heat and it was difficult for him to discern if it was a good feeling or a bad feeling.

"Of course I would," he said and he wasn't sure whether he was telling the truth or not. "Just say what you need and I'll let them know."

"Then tell them that the boy with glasses they met today at the station that goes by the name Harry Potter is in desperate need of organic vegetables, fruit and mushrooms and would like to request three boxes, one of each, but they are free to pick and choose what they send. Oh, and if they have any homemade marmalade, that would be much appreciated as well."

"I'll tell them," was all he could say.

Before he could react, Potter's arms were around him, hugging him tightly, and thanking him profusely. "You're a true legend," he said gravely, pulling himself straight, with his hands clasping his shoulders. "I mean it."

If the praise coming from the boy hadn't felt so good, he would have been more concerned by the fact that he had hugged him.

"Okay," Potter straightened in his seat with renewed positive energy, "I feel better about this already. As for rice, pasta, fish and seafood, I already know who I'm going to ask." He rubbed his hands and let out a devilish laughter.

As the meal progressed, Potter noticed that his mudblood friend was frowning and barely eating her dessert. "What is it, Hermione?"

"I can't get Umbridge's speech out of my head."

"Why?" wondered the redhead sitting next to her. "What was so special about it?"

"Because, it means that the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts," she said back, "which is extremely worrying, if you ask me."

"You think she might be acting on behalf of Fudge?" asked Harry.

"Probably, I mean, she is the undersecretary, why wouldn't she."

"Relax, Hermione." Harry reached out and covered her hand with his. "I didn't really understand what she was talking about, but if we behave and don't do anything against the school rules, we're not going to get into trouble, even if they interfere."

"I hope that's the case, Harry. I truly hope you're right."

"Okay, let's not think about bad things," remarked Harry. "How about a song to cheer us up?" He turned to him and said, "This one's for you too," before breaking into a song that made Voldemort think there was some hidden meaning behind it specifically directed at him, what with lines like 'you can keep all of your secrets', 'I swear that I won't ask' and 'don't worry about a thing' as he leaned closer to him.

…

At the Gryffindor tower, where the Common Room and the dorms were located, he noticed that there was a bed waiting for him with his belongings and Nagini between Harry's bed and Longbottom's bed.

When Weasley and Longbottom saw his snake, they immediately screamed bloody murder, scurried into the corner and hid themselves behind on the of bed curtains.

He let out a laugh, then gently scooped up his familiar and carried her towards them. "Don't be so scared of Syomara," he cooed; a fiendish gleam in his eyes and voice. "You'll hurt her feelings. Besides, she's completely harmless."

Weasley snorted as he pressed himself further against the wall. "Yeah, right, she's so harmless she might squeeze me to death and eat me for dinner."

"She's so cute," cooed Harry beside him. "Can I pet her?"

"Of course."

Harry slowly and gently stroked her heart-shaped head. "You're such a beauty. Yes, you are." Nagini leaned into Harry's touch, hissing contentedly, scenting him with her tongue.

" Nagini likes this human very much," she said and Voldemort had to pretend he didn't hear or understand her.

"May I hold her?" came Harry's sudden question.

"Sure."

He held her body for an instant, then placed her like a necklace around his neck and supported her head. "She's got some weight on her," he commented to him. "How old is she?"

"Six years."

"Where did you get her?"

"On a camping trip with my parents," he lied.

"And I would like to know, how did they even let you bring a snake into the school?" asked Weasley, still looking pale and terrified. "As far as I know, they only allow owls, cats and toads."

"I remember you had a rat just a few years back, which proved to be an animagus so … yeah, Ron, you're not exactly in the position to act reproachful." Harry's sharp comment made with a straight face and a light-hearted tone caused the redhead's cheeks to flush furiously with embarrassment.

"Is she venomous?" venture to ask Longbottom.

"No," he lied again.

"Does she bite?"

"Only when she feels threatened, but she grew up surrounded by humans so, she's used to the human touch." That wasn't entirely true, but as long as Nagini remembered she was not allowed to bite, poison or eat people, it was true.

There were two other people in the dorm, a black kid called Dean and an Irish brat called Seamus, who kept more to themselves, with the Irish kid glaring contemptuously at Potter. Harry tried to be friendly, asking them about how they were holding up, and while the former replied politely, the latter started arguing with him.

"My mother didn't want me to come back this year," he said in suppressed anger.

"Why not?"

"Let me see," he said sarcastically. "Oh, right, because of you. The Daily Prophet has been saying a lot of things about you, Harry, and Dumbledore as well."

"What do you want me to say Seamus?" said Harry confused. "If your mother didn't want to let you come back because she believes that Dumbledore and I are telling the truth about Voldemort being back then she's a smart woman, and I would listen to her if I were you and stay far away from Hogwarts and Britain. However, if it's because she believes the lies of the Ministry, well, I don't really know how that would make sense in the first place, because I don't see a correlation between me being called a liar by the Prophet and your mother's decision to keep you away from Hogwarts. Unless, of course, she thinks Dumbledore and I might fill your head with nonsense, and she would like to prevent that, then it makes perfect sense. Either way, your mother sounds like a great woman," he concluded cheerfully.

Seamus didn't know how to react to Harry's speech, he stared at him, blinking in confusion, not entirely sure whether Harry was being sincere or sarcastic about it.

"What's going on?" he asked, feigning ignorance. "Who's this Voldemort?"

Everyone, save Potter, paled and shuddered at his name. "It's the Dark Lord who we thought was dead," replied Weasley, "and now he's back to kill us all or enslave and torture us to death."

"There's no proof he's back," argued Seamus bitterly, "only Harry and Dumbledore's statements. Nobody has seen him since he disappeared fourteen years ago."

"You know, Seamus," Harry said enigmatically, looking into Nagini's eyes, "sometimes you don't need to see something with your own eyes to believe it is real. I mean, did you travel to Mars or the Moon to see if they were real?"

"No, but …"

"Why not?" pressed Harry, now looking at Seamus with such a penetrating and haunting look in his bright green eyes that it even sent shivers down Voldemort's spine.

"Because I've seen satellite pictures of Mars and the Moon, and I've been observing both in my Astronomy classes, but I've not seen a single picture of Voldemort coming back to life."

"I see," he said thoughtfully, "but how can you be sure that those pictures are real and not fabricated or that what you've seen through your telescope is actually real and not some kind of illusion created by your mind, if you haven't personally been there, walking on the Moon's and Mars' surface, Seamus?" The kid was lost for words and Harry smiled triumphantly. "Exactly my point."

He walked up to Voldemort, returned Nagini to him, then began humming another song while he reached for his pyjamas, a mobile phone and a small transparent plastic bag, soap, toothpaste, toothbrush and some towels, and headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Chapter End Notes

Given that it will be Harry's birthday in a couple of days, I will post a chapter that day to celebrate his birthday. As for this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it, especially Harry messing with Voldemort and Voldemort's point of view. From this point on, it will become more and more frequent and longer.

Umbridge and DADA

Chapter Summary

Harry continues to mess with Voldemort, the hot peppers make a painful comeback on the other side of the digestive tract and Harry is determined to hinder Umbridge's attempts to give him detention.

Chapter Notes

To celebrate Harry's birthday, I said I would post a new chapter today, so ... here it is. Enjoy it!

A deathly silence enveloped the Gryffindor dorm as the door to the bathroom closed behind Harry. Seamus declared he was going down to the Common Room and Dean followed him. As soon as they left, Weasley grumbled under his breath, "What a jerk. Believing everything the Prophet says."

"So …," began Voldemort, "You believe Harry?"

"Of course I do," whispered the redhead vehemently. "Why wouldn't I believe my best friend? Besides, I've learnt my lesson not to distrust Harry the hard way, and I'll never doubt him again. So if he says that You-Know-Who is back and that he had Cedric killed through Pettigrew, I believe him whole-heartedly."

He made his way towards his bed, which was to Harry's right and began going through his trunk as well. The sound of music and water, with Harry's singing, came from the bathroom.

Voldemort turned to Longbottom. "And you? Do you believe Voldemort is back?"

The boy twitched at the name before stuttering out, "Y-Yes. Harry has never lied to me, so I have no reason to start doubting him now." He walked over to his bed.

"But if he's back, where is he?" he pressed further. He was curious to know what they thought was going on and if Potter had told them anything about their meeting. He doubted, but he wanted to know nonetheless.

"Beats me," shrugged Weasley. "I mean … I heard some rumours that he's on a trip around the world or something. Probably recruiting people and magical creatures for his assault, because I doubt he's travelling for pleasure or relaxation."

So the Order is aware of what he spoke with his followers, probably Snape immediately went to Dumbledore after the meeting to inform him of everything. This time the information passed to the old man worked in his favour, but if Snape proved to be a spy for Dumbledore and had turned traitor, then he would have to neutralise the threat as soon as possible. Now more than ever, he had to see where Severus' loyalties truly lay and, if the Potions master has betrayed him, he will neutralise him.

"And do you believe those rumours?"

"There has to be some truth in them, right? The fact that he hasn't come after Harry yet or blown up the Ministry or Hogwarts speaks volumes, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose," he allowed. "But what does Harry have to do with any of it?"

"It's a long story to tell someone who doesn't know anything of You-Know-Who, but basically, two decades ago, the man started gathering followers, who are called Death Eaters, and was trying to take over Britain, until fourteen years ago, he attacked Harry's house, killed his parents, tried to kill him, but failed and disappeared instead. We all thought he was dead, because the man was a fucking menace, he tortured and killed for sport and hobby, and his Death Eaters were horrible too, they killed my uncles Gideon and Fabian."

"And they tortured my parents until they broke their minds," added Longbottom in a quiet voice and a distant expression.

Weasley turned to him in shock. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry to hear it. Do you know who did it?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, his brother and another, Crouch Jr. I think."

"Damn, and there's nothing St Mungo's can do to help them?" asked the redhead.

Longbottom shook his head.

"My condolences as well … Neville," Voldemort said out of politeness and to keep up appearances, but without actually feeling regretful.

It was war; things like that happened, his parents knew what they were getting themselves into and if they were smarter, they would have left Britain or joined him instead. He did offer, just as he had offered the Potters a place in his ranks, but no … the four fools were simply too righteous, proud and loyal to Dumbledore to do anything against him. He also wasn't responsible for his followers' actions, if they killed Weasley's uncles and tortured Longbottom's parents is because they chose to do it, nothing more.

The conversation continued with the redhead narrating how he had possessed Quirrell in their first year and how he had possessed his sister in their second year, all the while Harry was showering and signing as loudly as he could to some upbeat Spanish songs.

"He stayed away during our third year," he continued, "and then this summer, he kidnapped Harry and used his blood in a ritual to get a body and tried to kill him … again."

"But why does he target Harry in particular?"

"I guess he sees him as an enemy with whom he has some unfinished business; I don't know what his problem is."

It seemed to him that the Potter boy didn't tell anyone about their meeting or the existence of the prophecy, which was void either way what with their unbreakable vow and magical agreement in place and worked in both their favours. That was good to know, he thought to himself in satisfaction.

When the water stopped running in the bathroom, the redhead announced he was going to brush his teeth and headed towards it with his pyjamas and toothbrush. Longbottom focused on his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, before closing the curtains timidly in order to change into nightwear. Voldemort sat on his bed, placed Nagini onto the covers, and reached for one of his spiral notebooks, ripped a page out of it and decided to write a letter to his parents that ran like this:

Mother and Father,

As promised I am writing to let you know that I have arrived safely at school after having an eventful train ride with some of the other students, and have found my place in Gryffindor with five other boys, two of which you have already met at the station: Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter.

The classes start at nine and Harry has kindly offered to act as my guide around school. The food is delicious and plentiful if not the most healthy (a concern expressed by Harry – the boy with glasses – when he realised with dismay that there is a shortage of fruit, vegetable, fish, rice and pasta).

On that note, I have told him of our garden and offered to procure him with some fresh and organic fruit and vegetables from it. He has asked for three boxes of assorted goods that you are free to select yourselves. If you can get your hands on some mushrooms or if you happen to prepare some homemade marmalade, it would be greatly appreciated as well.

The bathroom door opened and Harry walked through them with a satisfied sigh, dressed in his sleepwear, a towel draped over his hair, and the rest of the things he took with him to the bathroom in his hands. "That felt refreshing."

He walked over to his bed, to free his arms, then approached him and looked at the letter he was writing. "What do you have there?" he asked curiously, plopping down right next to him, reading the letter and Voldemort didn't make any effort to hide the content. "Ah, a letter to your parents," he said a minute later. "Tell them that I will think of something to repay them for their kindness. Can't let it be one-sided, otherwise it would feel like I'm taking advantage."

Voldemort added that to his letter, while Harry rubbed his hair with the towel to dry it.

"Also, now that I think about it," he interjected pensively, "how exactly are they going to send three entire boxes full of food? With how heavy the load is going to be, we would need at least two owls per box if not three of four."

"Good point."

There was a minute of contemplative silence. "I know how we're going to do it," he announced proudly, lighting up like a muggle lightbulb. "I'm going to have my other supplier, who is a wizard, come to your house and collect the goods, then he's going to find some magical way to have it delivered to us. What do you think?"

"And who exactly is your contact?" His eyes narrowed. "You'll understand that I don't want strangers visiting my parents."

The boy looked conflicted, but then leant closer and whispered, "It's my godfather, but I'm avoiding speaking about him in public because … he's a fugitive, and I don't want authorities knowing that I am in contact with him, because they might try to get to him through me and it would be a mess."

"And what did he do to be a fugitive?"

"He was wrongly accused of being a Death Eater, betraying my parents and killing fourteen people. He spent 12 years in the British magical prison Azkaban, but later escaped and is now in hiding," deadpanned Potter.

"So he's innocent?"

"Yes, he was sentenced for a crime someone else committed, but don't worry, we're doing our best to get his name cleared, although … if the real culprit would somehow appear and was forced to confess the truth, everything would move along faster and in favour of my godfather."

"And where is the real culprit?"

"Hiding I don't know where, but I do know who's shielding him," he grumbled and looked straight ahead. "And I don't even understand why. Actually I have an idea, but still, it doesn't really make sense."

"Who?"

At that, the boy's penetrating gaze turned to him in what seemed to him an accusatory fashion. "Voldemort," he said begrudgingly and he had to admire Potter for not twitching, stuttering or paling at his name. Then again, it is not as if he had to fear him any longer.

"The culprit, Peter Pettigrew," he continued, looking straight ahead once more, "found him and helped him regain his body, so I get that he kind of wants to repay him, though I don't know why he even bothers, when he's never been known for empathy, sympathy or any other good or noble qualities."

Potter let out a frustrated grunt. "I wish I had negotiated something with him in regards to Pettigrew when I had the chance, and now he's away from Britain, so even if I write to him, I don't know if any letters would even reach him."

"You've met up with him?" he tried to act surprised and scandalised.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" replied the boy light-heartedly, a mischievous glint inside his eyes as he locked eyes with him once more. "I've had a lovely chat with him over a month ago and we settled our differences, but it's a secret, so don't go around telling people what I have just told you," he whispered with a finger pressed to his mouth. "Not even my godfather and my best friends know this so … sh."

He could not believe it. Potter had just told a complete stranger about his meeting with Voldemort. Admittedly, he wasn't exactly a stranger, but Potter thought he was a stranger and he had just told him something nobody else knew aside from the two of them. What was he thinking?

"Do you think it wise to spread such delicate information to an outsider like me?"

"It's precisely because you're an outsider in this matter that I can tell you about it," remarked Potter in a low whisper, "everyone else knows about the Dark Lord and our conflict since I was a baby and well, they would make a big deal out of it, unlike you, who has no idea who the man even is and all that he's done. Not that I know all the details about the man and his reign of terror either, but judging from the stories and how people behave whenever he's mentioned gives you a pretty clear idea."

"I can't say I fully comprehend your logic, but you can rest assured that your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks, man," he beamed, then went back to discussing the logistics how they were going to transport all the food. Voldemort ended up giving him his home address and Harry promised to inform him about his conversation with Sirius Black. Then, wishing him a good night, he slipped into his own bed and drew the curtains.

…

Having made sure nobody could hear him talking; Harry turned on the flashlight on his phone, pulled out his two-way mirror and called Sirius.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said apologetically, when his godfather answered his call, lying in his bed.

"No, not at all, pup. What is it?"

"I just wanted to let you know how things have been since we parted at the station and ask you for a couple of favours, if you don't mind."

"Anything for you, Harry."

"So, tonight I have come to an important realisation," he stated importantly. "For the first time since my studies here at Hogwarts, I've noticed that the food here doesn't provide one with plenty of healthy options, therefore, I've decided to get my own groceries and occasionally make my own meals, but because I can't leave the school to go shopping, I want you to be the one who does it for me."

"With pleasure, Harry, however, there are certain problems and limitations to that."

"I'm aware, but you also didn't go through a makeover just for fun, it was to allow you more freedom, so you don't have to worry about being recognised on the streets."

"That's easy in a muggle community, not so much in a wizarding one."

"If you avoid crowded places you can slip past those sections completely unnoticed and unrecognised."

"Hogsmeade doesn't exactly fit that criterion," pointed out Sirius.

"Do you want me to send you dad's invisibility cloak then?" proposed Harry. "You can return it with each delivery if you're iffy about keeping it, though, to be honest, you're more in need of it than I am."

Sirius heaved a heavy sigh and looked sceptical about it, but ultimately agreed to procuring groceries for him and Harry provided him with a list of things he needed.

"Another thing, do you have any kind of vehicle for transportation?"

"I have a flying motorbike. Does that count?"

"Perfect," beamed Harry. "And can you transport heavy things with it?"

"I sure can," he assured him excitedly. "Especially after Arthur tinkered with it a bit and added a shit ton of new things to it like a side car, navigator, invisibility button, dragonfire accelerator and some other device that emits a magical wall to fend off any pursuers."

"Nice," grinned Harry. "Okay, so aside from the list I just gave you, I also need you to stop by the following address." He dictated the address Voldemort had given him. "The parents of the new guy, because that's another thing I have to talk to you about, but for now it's enough for you to know that his name's Felix Hansson, he's a muggleborn from Sweden, fifteen years old and was sorted into Gryffindor, so he's my dorm mate and, from what I can tell, a pretty cool guy. Anyway, what I was trying to say is that his parents have a garden with fruit and vegetables and they are going to set up three boxes of their produce and since both parents are muggles, I need you to pick up the stuff they will prepare for me, because it would be too much for any owl post."

"Okay … and when do you want this delivered?"

"When Felix's parents notify us that they have everything ready for pick up, that's also when you'll do the rest of the shopping, no need to have food go bad in the meantime."

"Okay … but what about money, I can't exactly go to Gringotts and withdraw money, although I could try but I don't want to risk goblins calling Aurors on me."

"Shit," he cursed. "I haven't thought about that. Give me until tomorrow to think it through, it's too late for my brain to function normally."

"Alright."

"Oh, and Sirius … thank you. I don't know what I would have done otherwise."

His godfather chuckled. "Don't mention it. Do you have enough energy to tell me about that new kid at school or would that be messing with your sleep schedule?" he teased him.

Harry laughed. "I think I'll go to sleep. It's already past nine and you know I rise around five, and I try to sleep at least eight hours, though nine are preferable."

"Then good night, pup, and we'll talk some more tomorrow."

"Good night, Sirius."

With that, he interrupted the call and placed the mirror inside his nightstand drawer. Then, he reached for his earphones, plugged them into the mobile and played his relaxation playlist to fall asleep.

…

Voldemort woke up at half past seven. It took him a good minute to organise his thoughts and to identify his surroundings. When he looked around, everybody was still fast asleep, save for Potter, who was nowhere to be seen. Careful as to not disturb Nagini, who was sleeping coiled next to him under the covers, he got up and headed for the bathroom, but there was nobody there.

Where was Potter? He couldn't have already gone to the Great Hall for breakfast because it didn't start until quarter to eight, unless he went there anyway to wait for the food to appear on the table.

Taking advantage of the peace and quiet of the dorm, he hurriedly slipped into the shower, washed his teeth and … went to the toilet to take a piss … and a painful shit. She-Weasley wasn't exaggerating when she said he was going to feel it the next day. He placed a cooling charm on his ass and sighed in relief as it soothed the burn.

When he returned to the dorm, ready for the day, the other brats were starting to wake. Not in the mood to make small talk with them, he quickly instructed Nagini to behave then slipped away through the deserted Common Room and headed towards the Great Hall. When he arrived, he immediately spotted Harry at the almost empty Gryffindor table eating breakfast, with a bulky book next to him.

"Good morning," he greeted him and sat down next to him.

"Morning," returned Potter dispassionately, one hand slowly feeding him scrambled eggs and bacon, while the other was clutching his stomach.

"You're up early," he remarked as he reached for two slices of bread, butter and honey.

"I usually am."

"Have you been here long?" he poured some milk into a cup then covered it with some Earl Grey.

"About half an hour." He took a sip of his green tea. "After doing some endurance and strength exercise and taking care of business I didn't know what else to do, so I came here to read some Dickens while waiting for breakfast."

He glanced at the cover; it read Little Dorrit. "How far along are you? Is it any good?"

"Fifteen pages and it's interesting. It starts in France with a murderer telling his cellmate how he killed his wife. Good stuff." He reached for a leek and bit into it.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Was he being serious? Focussing on his plate, they ate in silence until the rest of Harry's friends slowly trickled in, and joined them at the table.

"What's wrong, Harry?" asked she-Weasley. "You look in pain."

"That's because I am. It's that stupid Carolina Reaper," he grumbled. "It gave me stomach cramps this morning, burnt my anus and made my shit bright orange with red specs in it. I applied some cooling charms and cream to my ass, but it's not really helping much, because I'm barely sitting."

His friends hissed in sympathy.

At around half past eight, the prefects and Heads of Houses distributed the schedules. Ron Weasley groaned when he saw the schedule for that day.

"Double Potions and Double Defence. With Double Charms in between. Why is it that we always seem to have Double Potions with Snape on our first day of classes? It's like the school administration is doing it on purpose to make us miserable." He looked at Harry who continued to eat his leek. "Do you have to eat a raw onion first thing in the morning?"

"It's a leek," Harry corrected him, "and I would have gone for raw garlic if there was any, but to answer your question, yes, I do have to, because onion and garlic are natural antibiotics, so by eating this leek," he said dramatically, pointing at it, "I'm killing viruses and bacteria in my system. I'm purging my body of harmful things."

"And you're acquiring a very strong and unpleasant breath in the process."

"It's only a matter of getting used to it," he said nonchalantly, "and it's not as if I had a significant other, so I don't have to worry about kissing anyone." He bit off another portion of the leek, then all of a sudden, leaned towards Voldemort with an open mouth and breathed right into his face.

The pungent smell of leek hit his nostrils and he jerked back with his face. "What the hell, Harry?" he grumbled displeased. "You trying to kill me with that killer breath?"

"I was just checking if it was really that bad," he said apologetically. "So … is it bad?"

"Your mouth reeks like what I would imagine Death smells like," Voldemort deadpanned. "So the further you stay away from me the better, and you're nasty for breathing into my face."

The boy looked shocked beyond words. Good. Let him be shocked for daring to breathe into his face like that.

For the next ten minutes, they looked and compared their schedules, until twenty minutes to nine, Harry said, "Ron, Hermione, Neville." He looked as if he were in terrible pain. "Could you show Felix the way to the dungeons? … I have to go to the toilet again."

Just like that, he hurried off, clutching his stomach, but was back just in time for the beginning of the lesson, until, forty-five minutes into it, he had to ask for permission to go to the toilet yet again. Voldemort counted himself lucky that his stomach hadn't been upset like Potter's; otherwise, he too would have been making regular trips to the toilet and experiencing the same burning sensation over and over again.

…

With his nerves about to snap and his singed butthole making him limp and barely sit, Harry approached Snape at the end of the lesson to ask for a potion that would soothe his stomach cramps and the burn he was experiencing.

Snape walked over to his medicine shelf, looked through it then picked up a bottle filled with some kind of liquid and a smaller round container with what looked to be a cream of some sort.

"This is for your stomach," said the man, handing him over a potion bottle. "Drink all of it. It might take some time to take effect, but it should calm your digestive system, and this," he handed him over the other container, "is for your … rectum. Make sure you apply it generously on a clean surface. It should cool and numb the burning sensation."

"Thank you, Professor." He was so relieved he was on the verge of tears. "You're a life saver."

He hurried off to the toilet, where he emptied the contents of the potion bottle, then proceeded to clean his backside as much as he could with a cleaning charm and applied the ointment to his aching place.

A hiss escaped him as the cold cream touched his hot and irritated skin, but he braved through it and as minutes passed, he was slowly starting to feel normal again.

He joined his friends and Voldemort in Charms, certain that he would be able to go through it without the urge to take a dump. He managed to hold it until final fifteen minutes, then he felt it stirring in his insides again, only that this time, due to the cream still being in effect, he didn't feel any burn.

At lunch, he barely ate anything, too exhausted and wary to eat more than his stomach could handle now. He could always go to his snacks in the afternoon to get him going until dinner, if he got hungry later.

When they headed to the DADA classroom five minutes before the school bell, his stomach was mostly balanced again, but he didn't want to celebrate too soon, for fear of jinxing it unwittingly, which was very likely to happen with his Potter Luck.

He sat with Voldemort, somewhere towards the back of the classroom, while Ron and Neville sat in front of them. Hermione sat at the front with Susan Bones. He couldn't help but wonder how was it that Voldemort seemed unaffected by the hot pepper, so he asked him, while the others were too busy talking or messing with the enchanted crane from one of the Patil twins.

"How is it that we've both eaten an insanely spicy hot pepper, yet I seem to be the only one suffering from stomach cramps and a burning anus?"

He had the audacity to look smug about it. "I guess my body is better at handling spice than yours."

"As if," he snorted, "I bet you're making it up or you're good at hiding pain, because there's no way I can believe that it didn't burn your ass too when you took a dump this morning."

"You're right, it did burn, but I cast a cooling charm and I've been fine since." A satisfied gleam shone in his red, serpentine eyes. "So, I suppose I should say that I'm better at casting cooling charms than you are apparently."

Harry's eyes narrowed in mock menace as he whispered, "I hate you, man," not really meaning it, but he felt so irritated by his smug face that he couldn't help it. "I hate you."

A peculiar glint flashed in his eyes as he turned to him and announced with confidence, "No, you don't. It's just your pain and irritation talking. You'll be back to calling me a legend once your stomach returns to normal."

Damn him, he was right. Besides, he had to keep up appearances and openly disliking or avoiding him would make him look suspicious in Voldemort's eyes.

The sound of impact echoed through the class as the enchanted paper bird caught fire and fell onto the table of the Patil twins.

"Good morning, children," Umbridge's fake sweet voice greeted them from the back entrance.

Everyone stopped talking and returned to their seats. The undersecretary was wearing another pink outfit, with a pink cat brooch pinned to her chest. With her wand still out, she pointed it at the blackboard and began making her way slowly to the front of the classroom.

"Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations – O.W.L.s," she said as the chalk wrote out the three words, "or commonly known as owls." The spell on the chalk wore off and it fell into its original place, while Umbridge swept her gaze over them, her face contorted into a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes, who were as cold as ice.

"Study hard and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so and the consequences may be … severe." A delighted giggle escaped her as her eyes gleamed sadistically at them. Then, with another wave of her wand, the two stacks of textbooks that were sitting on her desk rose up and began floating down the aisles between students' desks. It was a book for beginners, and as he leafed through it, entirely theoretical.

"Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly uneven, but you will be pleased to know that from now on you will be following a carefully-structured, ministry-approved course of defensive magic – yes?"

She turned to Hermione who had her hand raised.

"There's nothing in here about using defensive spells," his friend pointed out.

"Using spells? Why, I can't imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom."

"We're not going to use magic?" asked Ron confused.

"You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way," explained Umbridge as patiently and politely as she could manage. "It is the view of the Ministry that theoretical knowledge will be sufficient to get you through your examinations, which after all is what school is all about."

She paused for a bit to look at him as if expecting him to say something. It seemed to Harry that she was trying to bait him into saying something that could warrant him a detention, so while he certainly wanted to comment on a few things, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Is there anyone who disagrees with this? Mr Potter, for example?"

She was definitely trying to get a negative response from him. Too bad, he saw right through it and in turn decided to kill her with politeness. "Not at all, Professor," he said with a sweet smile. "I think that a purely theoretical approach is the best way to avoid unnecessary injuries that might result from using defensive spells."

The woman was clearly confused by his answer, but since she had no reason to give him detention, she smiled again and said, "I'm happy to see that you are in agreement with the Ministry, Mr Potter."

She addressed the entire classroom. "Open your books and read chapter one in silence. Anyone who will disrupt the silence will receive detention. Feel free to make notes of what you read to revise it later, in the afternoon."

For the next hour and fifteen minutes, while Umbridge was sipping leisurely on her cup of tea, Harry could feel her malevolent eyes on him, just waiting for him to break and do something against her rules, but he refused to give her that satisfaction. Instead, he focussed on the book in front of him, ignoring everything else.

Five minutes before the end, she made another announcement. "Before you leave, you will show me how much progress you've made and if you've not read the entire first chapter, you will get detention."

She got up from her seat and started walking between desks, inspecting what each student had done. When she came to him, he could see her smile falter for a bit, as she could not find faults in his handwriting or his notes and he felt smug about it, but was careful not to show anything outwardly.

Luckily, everyone else had managed to get through the chapter as well and so nobody got detention that day with Umbridge in their year.

…

"What a horrid woman," complained Hermione in the Common Room. "No spell practice, detention for breaking silence, detention for not having read the assigned material. If she dishes out detention for any minor infringement of rules, I don't even want to imagine what her detentions are like."

"At this pace, she just might make Snape look like a saint," added Ron begrudgingly. "Because, I'd rather lose a handful of House points and have him insult me than to have detention with a Ministry hag."

"I agree," said Harry light-heartedly. "She's horrible, but I do kind of agree with the whole secure and risk-free thing for DADA." He truly did. The others looked at him as if he had sprouted another head. "I mean think about it, all too often somebody got hurt during practical demonstrations, so … why risk it at all, when you can simply prevent it. Prevention is the best medicine, remember that."

"Yeah, but it's not as if those injuries were fatal," argued Hermione. "And besides, the O.W.L.s have theoretical and practical parts, so how do you suppose we're going to pass the practical part if we never practice a single defensive spell beforehand?"

"Didn't you hear what she said? Theory will be enough to get you through the examination. Heck, Fudge might even change the O.W.L. for DADA and make it theoretical only."

"What good will risk-free instruction do when somebody might attack us outside of school?" she pressed him further. "How do you suppose we should defend ourselves when You-Know-Who decides to strike? Because he'll go after me and those like me first. If only somebody with experience could …"

Before she could finish her sentence, Harry interrupted her. "No, Hermione. No, no, and no," he said with determination. "I know what you're about to say and the answer is no."

"What?" asked Ron confused looking from on to the other. "What is it?"

"Hermione wants me to teach Defence instead of Umbridge, because I have faced Voldemort a few times and lived to tell the tale," he explained agitated. "First of all, every single time I have faced Voldemort, I was either extremely lucky or I had some sort of outside help; second of all, I refuse to get in trouble with Umbridge. That woman is out for my blood and one false step is going to mean certain doom for me. So, I'm sorry Hermione, but you'll have to figure something out on your own, you're smart, you can even practice in the privacy of your dorm for all I care, but I don't want to be a part of it. Period."

He rose from his place on the sofa in front of the fireplace. "Felix," he turned to Voldemort, "if you're not too tired, I want to show you around the castle."

He rose up as well. "Lead the way, Harry."

"Then go grab the letter for your parents," he instructed him, "We'll stop by the Owlery along the way and use Hedwig to deliver the message."

Voldemort headed up the stairs and was back a minute later. With a somewhat curt see you later, Harry went through the portrait hole, with the Dark Lord in tow.

Voldemort's (not so) pleasant afternoon with Harry

Chapter Summary

Harry takes Voldemort on a Hogwarts tour. They talk about all sorts of things.

As soon as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung back into place, Potter's demeanour changed from annoyance to cheerfulness. "Alright, since we're already on the seventh floor, we might as well start with it and work our way to the dungeons and the kitchens and then we'll go outside and explore the grounds. What do you say?"

"Sounds sensible."

"Then come along," he began walking towards Ravenclaw tower, and he followed him, "we have a long afternoon ahead of us. Luckily, there is no homework for tomorrow; otherwise we would have had to postpone this tour until Friday or Saturday."

While he didn't remember every single room and classroom from his days as a student, he remembered most of the relevant and hidden things, such as a few hidden passageways that acted as shortcuts, the Chamber of Secrets and the Room of Hidden Things.

On their way back to the moving stairs, they passed the wall where the door to that same room appeared if you walked to and fro three times in front of it, and he held his breath to see if Potter was going to mention it or not. He didn't, meaning that the boy had no idea about the existence of that room. Instead, Potter started an entirely different conversation.

"So … I couldn't help but notice at the station that your parents are older than most other parents. How old are they exactly?"

"My mother is sixty and my father sixty-seven."

Potter whistled. "So … they had you when they were forty-five and fifty-two. Why did they have you so late?"

"They struggled with fertility and just as they were about to give up on having children, especially since my mother was well past the optimal age to give birth, I happened."

Potter looked at him with wonder and a kind smile. "So … you're like their miracle then."

"Something like that."

He looked straight ahead. "That's nice. You know, this reminds me a bit of my father and his parents," he chuckled incredulously.

"How so?"

"Apparently, from what I've heard, my paternal grandparents also couldn't conceive any children for the longest time, until my father sort of happened one day out of the blue," the boy laughed. "And since he was an only child, he grew up spoilt rotten."

They reached the stairs and headed towards the sixth floor.

"You were born in Sweden, correct?" he asked him as they completed the circle around the floor. Voldemort murmured affirmatively. "What city? Though I doubt I'll know where it is even if you tell me the name."

"I was born in Gothenburg, which is in the Southwest of Sweden, close to the North Sea and Denmark."

Potter looked impressed. "And do you still know how to speak Swedish? Even though it's been years since you left your home country?"

"Of course, I talk in Swedish all the time at home with my parents."

He should have known better than to brag about it, because the next thing Potter asked him was to say something in Swedish. Of course, his brain froze and went completely blank for a few moments, but then he managed to recall the most basic phrases and simply introduced himself in five sentences, which managed to captivate Potter enough for him to beg him to teach him some expressions in Swedish.

Not really able to say no to him without sounding rude or suspicious, because why wouldn't a native Swedish speaker want to teach some English foreigner a few expressions of his native language, he proceeded to teach him how to greet someone, introduce oneself, thank someone and ask whether they know how to speak English, Spanish or Swedish. All the while, they were touring the fifth floor.

When they reached the fourth floor, and Harry had showed him the important places on that floor, they attempted a simple conversation in Swedish that ran like this:

" God dag," started Voldemort smoothly.

" God dag. Vad heter du?" continued Potter stiffly, struggling with the pronunciation.

" Jag heter Felix. Och du?" responded Voldemort.

" Jag heter Harry. Trevligt att tr äffas." More struggles in the pronunciation department on Harry's side.

" Trevligt att träffa dig med. Kan du tala svenska?"

" Nej, jag talar inte svenska. Kan du tala spanska?"

" Nej, jag talar inte spanska. Kan du tala spanska?"

" Ja, lite. Ha det bra, vi ses."

" Vi ses," concluded Voldemort, and Harry let out a heavy sigh. "Not bad," he remarked. "You just have to work on your pronunciation, which is quite awful to be fair."

"Hey, it's not my fault that Swedish has weird sounds that I'm not used to hearing and saying," protested Harry with flushed cheeks. "Besides, I did better than most beginners, I reckon."

At that point, their conversation died down a bit, before picking up shortly after they finished touring the third floor.

"Do you ever miss your home in Sweden?"

He shrugged his shoulders. How can one miss something they have never even experienced? "Sometimes," he lied.

"Apart from your parents, do you have any siblings or other extended family?"

"No, I'm an only child and so are my parents. My grandparents died a few years ago as well so, it's just the three of us."

"I see."

When they got to the second floor, Harry stopped abruptly in the middle of the explanation and grabbed his stomach. "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "I need to use the bathroom again. I can't believe this is the fifth time I have to shit in a day." He began walking in the direction of the girls' bathroom.

"Do you want me to wait for you here or do you want me to accompany you?" he asked. Not that he was particularly interested in accompanying him, but they were heading to where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was and he wanted to make sure that everything was in order. He would have to come again at a later date and hour, and most importantly alone, and enter the chamber, check on the basilisk and see if he can somehow salvage his soul piece.

"Whichever you prefer," returned Potter casually over his shoulder, "but unless you can stomach the smell of shit, I wouldn't recommend the second option. Though, if you do decide to wait for me inside the bathroom, we can talk through the cubicle door."

He followed him inside the deserted bathroom, but stayed next to the sinks, casually leaning against them. The moment Potter locked the cubicle and the sound of his belt buckle could be heard, Voldemort began inspecting the floor near the sinks as well as the sinks themselves, looking for any sign of damage, because how else could Potter have entered the chamber if he didn't force his way through?

"I presume your parents are retired?" came Potter's voice from inside the cubicle as the sound of urine filled the bathroom.

"Yes," he tried to keep his voice nice and even, "but before that, my mother worked in a textile factory, while my father worked in a car factory."

"And what do you do as a family?" The subtle smell of faeces wafted towards his nose and he grimaced.

"I help my father in his shed; he's a self-taught carpenter, and I help my mother in the kitchen and with the garden, especially after she injured her lower back. During summer, we do small camping trips in the countryside, next to a river, that way father and I can go fishing."

"That's really nice of you."

Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, even the snake was where it originally was, he straightened himself up and dusted himself off, but his mind lingered on it. Something was not making sense. Only a parselmouth could have opened the entrance without leaving any trace, but … Potter could not be a parselmouth, could he? Because if he was … he would have to investigate the reason behind his ability and consider the implications of such a development.

Of course, there were other options. It was entirely possible they have discovered another entry point that he wasn't aware of and entered through it or, if they destroyed this entrance, they could have simply replaced or repaired the sinks, which would account for them looking the same as they did when he went to school.

Liking this explanation better, he pushed the possibility of Potter being a parselmouth out of his mind.

"So …" he began after the boy had fallen silent, presumably to concentrate on expelling whatever he had to expel from his bowels. "After we send the letter to my parents, what's the plan to get those boxes here?"

"I'm still thinking about it," he grunted, "but I've spoken with my godfather and he has agreed to collect the boxes at your address. We just need your parents to let us know when everything is going to be ready for pick-up, so my godfather can go and collect the boxes together with the rest of the groceries."

He went quiet again, while the unpleasant smell continued to grow in intensity and all Voldemort wanted was to leave for some fresh air. For now, he resorted to covering his nostrils with his hand.

"Say," began Potter again, "you mentioned that your father is a carpenter … do you think he would be willing to take me as his apprentice?"

Voldemort frowned. Why was Potter asking so many strange questions? "I believe so," he answered, "although I don't understand why you would want to become his apprentice."

"So I can feel like a useful human being, that's why."

"What do being useful and carpentry have in common?"

"I've been watching a lot of crafts videos and it hit me … I could make my own furniture, instead of spending money on it. Hell, I could make almost everything in my home with my own hands, I could grow my own food, I could decorate it with my own furniture, and I could make my own clothes and other home décor or even fabric." He sounded so enthusiastic about it, as if he had made some brand new discovery. "It would just take a lot of time and effort to learn and master all of that, but in the end, I would feel accomplished. Especially if there is ever an apocalypse and everything goes to shit. Then all that knowledge is going to be of vital importance in terms of survival and I want to be ready for it."

Voldemort wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, so he simply said, "Good thinking."

"Thank you, I do try to be smart, even if I will never be a genius like you or Hermione." He flushed the toilet, zipped up his trousers and buckled his belt, then burst out of the cubicle with a loud and relieved sigh. "I feel all better now," he announced joyfully, "though I should probably reapply the cooling cream."

After Potter washed and dried his hands, they continued with their tour of the second floor, then the first floor, the ground floor and finally the dungeons and the kitchens.

As they concluded their tour of the castle and headed outside, Potter asked him about Nagini. "So, how exactly did you meet Syomara?"

"I found her in a forest as a newly-hatched snake," he answered, which was true. "She was injured and abandoned by her family, so I picked her up, took her back to the camp and nursed her back to full health." That bit was a lie, but it made him seem more caring and compassionate, which worked in his favour. He had to put as much distance between being Voldemort and being Felix as possible. That way nobody was going to suspect him and he would be able to move with much more freedom than had his Felix persona had common traits with his true nature as Lord Voldemort.

"What about your parents? Were they against you keeping her as a pet?"

"Not really. They are caring people, and they don't like to see animals hurt, so they let me keep her, after I got attached to her, but they were worried that she was poisonous, until the vet assured them she was harmless in that regard." That was a lie too, a false memory he implanted into their heads shortly before leaving for Hogwarts.

"I know that some people keep snakes as pets alongside tarantulas, scorpions and other animals that make most people squirm at the sight of them," said Harry, "but it's still an interesting choice nonetheless and not a common practice for most."

"It was a risky move bringing Syomara here," admitted Voldemort, "but she's my companion just like Hedwig is yours and, wherever I go, she goes."

Potter nodded in understanding. "If you need to keep her somewhere warm, safe, calm and hidden, so the others don't scream bloody murder every time they see her, she can spend her morning and early afternoon hours in my apartment," he offered.

"You have your own apartment? Here, at school?" Potter grinned from ear to ear and nodded. "I remember Ron saying something about your portable kitchen but … I didn't think he was being serious or that it might come with everything else that makes an apartment."

"It's the trunk at the foot of my bed. That is where I was this morning before breakfast and where I will most likely spend most of my free time, especially during weekends. If you want, I can show you around once we get back, I really tried to make it feel homey."

The boy seemed excited and eager to show it to him so he agreed with a smile and tried to look and sound as eager and excited as Potter. Admittedly, he was curious to see how Potter spent his money and time after their truce, but it wasn't his priority. Securing his diadem horcrux and salvaging the diary soul piece were much more important than touring Potter's apartment. However, no matter how much he wanted to visit the Chamber and the Room, he had to wait at least a week, before attempting anything. Otherwise, his sudden and prolonged disappearance might garner unwanted attention.

Their tour of the grounds concluded with the visit to the Owlery, where Potter petted his snowy owl, before tying the letter to her talon and instructing her to go to Ingrid and Erik Hansson. As they watched her disappear on the horizon, the boy suddenly said, "Say, Felix, are you tired?"

He looked at the boy. "A bit, why do you ask?"

Potter turned to him with a mischievous glint in his eyes as a wide grin stretched across his lips. "Are you up for a race to the castle?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Would there be a prize for the winner and a punishment for the loser?"

Potter shrugged his shoulders. "If you want it." He hummed, his brow creased. "Let's say the winner gets to decide something the loser has to do, but nothing embarrassing or invasive."

Voldemort didn't think he had a chance of winning a footrace against Potter, who apparently did daily exercise, unless he played dirty. He also didn't want to do anything Potter told him to do, but there was also this urge inside of him to go head to head with the smug-looking brat, who was challenging him, the great Lord Voldemort, to a race, and Voldemort never backs out of a challenge, especially against Potter.

"Alright," he said determined. "I accept your challenge."

Potter beamed. "Great." They headed outside the Owlery, onto the path toward the Entrance Courtyard, which was going to act as their finish line. "Remember, the first at the Entrance Courtyard wins, and no shoving, tripping, or other things that might be considered unfair, those are the rules."

Oh, well, there goes his strategy to make Potter trip with a wandless and wordless spell.

They stood six feet away from each other, with their left legs in front of the other and their torsos slightly bent forward. The Potter brat began the count to three, when they both started running at full speed.

At first, Voldemort was pleased to note that they were equally matched, but before they reached the halfway point, he had already started to feel sharp pain stab his ribcage and fatigue settle in his limbs that grew heavier by the second. It also didn't help much that he was barely breathing. Of course, the brat pulled ahead, and as much as he hated to watch his back, he simply couldn't force his thin and old, serpentine body to perform feats designed for teenagers – like Potter – with far too much energy for their own good and the good of others.

By the time Harry reached the finish line, Voldemort still had a quarter of the track to complete and he had given up running and substituted it for a light jog that slowly turned into walking as he crossed the end line and collapsed inelegantly onto the grass, heart hammering in his chest and temples, fighting for breath.

Potter's shadow loomed over him. "Well that was anticlimactic," he breathed, slightly out of breath and with his hands on the hips. "You should really work on your stamina, man, you look and sound like you're about to keel over any second now."

He wanted to say something biting in return, but refrained at the last moment. "You still won, didn't you?" he managed to say between gasps.

"Yeah, but what good is it, when you gave up halfway and ended up collapsing at the finish line," exclaimed the brat in annoyance.

"I didn't give up," he protested weakly. "My body – just isn't built – for running – or any kind of sport."

"Have you ever even tried any?" asked him Potter, sitting down next to him on the grass.

"A few … didn't like any." His breath was slowly stabilising, but his legs still throbbed in agony.

"Well, I still get the prize and get you to do something, which is spend one day of your choice working out with me at my gym," he said in absolute seriousness. "You don't have to do any crazy shit, like bench pressing or an overhead press, just run and do some dumbbell exercises to build up your stamina and get some muscles into those lanky ass arms." As he said it, he pinched his flabby upper arm to illustrate his meaning. "I swear you're so thin I can lift you and carry you up to the Gryffindor tower and not get tired."

He shielded his eyes against the sun and squinted defiantly at the brat. "Prove it then," he challenged him, "because I don't think I can stand and walk without making a fool of myself."

"No problem." He was up on his feet in a second. "How do you want me to carry you: like a sack of potatoes over one shoulder, like a firefighter, or would you prefer a piggyback ride?"

He grimaced. "None sound appealing."

"Fireman's lift it is then," he said with a grin and proceeded to manoeuvre him onto his stomach, raise him, grabbing one of his arms and putting his head under his armpit, until finally grabbing the same leg under his thigh and draping him over his shoulders.

He did not appreciate it and he let him know that.

"Too late," Potter sing-sang, whistling a happy tune, making his way up to the Entrance Hall, not even trying to avoid other students, who of course stared at the two of them with saucer eyes as they passed them.

Voldemort was fuming inside, with slightly heated cheeks. Stupid Potter. He wanted to hurt him so bad for this, but he couldn't, not with the Vow in place. Stupid Unbreakable Vow. If he had known this would happen, he would never have agreed to a truce. Never!

Although he didn't appreciate the position and the public display of Harry's strength, he did appreciate not having to walk up to the seventh floor, so he supposed that Potter wasn't all that terrible.

But only a little. He was still insufferable and he still wanted to hex his prick off.

Voldemort's Night Excursion

Chapter Summary

Harry gets hard for Voldemort and masturbates for the first time and Voldemort is scheming to become Harry's friend.

Chapter Notes

So ... I have mentioned in some of my review replies that Harry is starting to take control of the story and going off the tangent, because I want him to go one way, he wants to go the exact opposite way, and most often than not, he ends up getting what he wants so the number of chapters keeps growing, because he's doing his own thing. Like the masturbation scene in this chapter. I had no intention of putting it here, but Harry was like "I'm hard, I want to touch myself while thinking of Voldemort" and I just let him do his thing.

I hope it was worth it.

"And we have arrived at our destination," announced Harry happily as he walked over to Voldemort's bed, sat on it and safely placed him onto it. He turned to him, still full of energy and enjoying the sight of a flustered and frustrated Voldemort all too much. Coming up with that truce was the best idea ever, because he wouldn't change messing with Voldemort for anything in the world.

Of course, it was all in good fun and with no ill intent, otherwise the Vow would have punished him in some capacity. He simply wanted to see everything he's come up with for his Felix persona and how far and deep he was going to take it, and judging by his changed handwriting, his knowledge of Swedish, the way he spoke of the Hanssons, it seemed to him that the man was extremely committed to this role and he admired his dedication. However, it also confused him to no end. Was everything he did and said as Felix some elaborate lie or was there some truth in all of it? Especially the part concerning Felix's muggle parents. Did he care for them or were they just tools for him he would get rid of once they served no purpose in his grand plan anymore?

If he took everything Voldemort said at face value, then yes, he cared, but Voldemort was more complicated than that. He still hadn't forgotten how he sweet-talked him as a diary one minute and the next he was trying to kill him with the basilisk and drain Ginny of her life force. All while wearing his handsome teenage face. Therefore, based on that, he might say one thing, but actually feel and mean the complete opposite.

"See? Didn't even get winded, that's how light you are," he said with enthusiasm and received a venomous glare in response. "Come on, don't look at me like that," he pleaded. "Look, sorry if my actions somehow hurt your pride, but my intentions were good and I did carry you all the way to your bed, so …" His rambling wasn't helping. He let out a heavy sigh. "Is there any way I can make it up to you?" Silence; though he looked like he wanted to say something nasty and he figured that he preferred Voldemort's silence as opposed to hear him insult him, even if he technically could do that.

"How about I give you a nice massage?" he suggested. That ought to bring him back in Voldemort's good graces, if he ever was there in the first place. The man said nothing, but he also didn't protest when he grabbed his right foot, took off his shoe and began pressing his thumbs into the sole.

Suddenly, a moan-like grunt reached his ears and Harry stopped in his ministrations to look in wonder at the Dark Lord, who had covered his mouth with his hand, and he looked mortified. The silence stretched between them, until Harry resumed what he was doing and almost instantly obtained another interesting sound from Voldemort, and another and another. Driven by curiosity, he continued his way up Voldemort's ankle and calf, until it gave the impression that the man had melted into the mattress his expression reflecting pure bliss.

Seeing him so relaxed and pliant under his fingers and hearing his small grunts of relief did something strange to Harry. His cock had slowly hardened into full erection in his trousers and Harry felt the urge to throw himself at Voldemort. The rational part of him prevented him from doing it, because it was Voldemort damn it, one couldn't simply jump the Dark Lord's bones and expect to survive, but also his arousal made no fucking sense. The man wasn't even good-looking, he looked like a snake and he was old … older than his fake elderly muggle parents. Yet reducing him to a grunting mess on the mattress was enough to make him hard and aching for release.

He cleared his throat, and smiled to cover his discomfort in the nether regions of his body. "See, all better now." Voldemort was too forgone to say anything more coherent than an affirmative murmur, which didn't help Harry with his current situation.

He needed a shower. Making sure to shield the view of his crotch, he gathered his things and slipped into the bathroom and under the cold water. It helped a bit, but he couldn't get his mind to focus on something other than Voldemort looking and sounding like he was experiencing pleasure. Well, probably he was; who wouldn't feel good getting a massage for their aching limbs … but it was nothing sexual, not that Harry's cock cared about that apparently.

He should have felt disgusted with himself for even getting aroused, much less considering masturbating to Voldemort, but he had always been the curious type and could never stay away from forbidden and dangerous things for long.

' It's only a one-time thing,' he thought. ' It's not like this will happen again and he'll never know about it.'

Giving into temptation, he took his dick into his right hand and squeezed it slowly and gently, testing his limits. Then, he gave a few experimental tugs – short and rough, long and slow – to see what felt good. It was weird, uncomfortable and clumsy at first, but then he found the right amount of pressure and speed and succumbed to pleasure in no time at all.

…

While Potter's leg massage helped him relax and reduce some of the ache in his throbbing legs, his body still felt heavy and tired and the only thing he wanted was a nap, dinner be damned. His eyes fluttered shut and he could feel himself drifting off, when he started to feel tingly and warm in his loins … as if … someone was stroking him.

That was strange, he thought with a frown, as the warm and tingly sensation grew in intensity and he found himself gasping and breathing raggedly with his manhood straining against his trousers, until an image of a naked Potter touching himself and whimpering his name flashed behind his eyelids and pleasure beyond words washed over him like a giant wave.

A shudder went through his body as he came in his pants. With his heart pounding in his chest and temples, he lay there, limp and exhausted, trying to gather his bearings. When the orgasmic high wore off and his brain started operating properly again, his eyes flew open and he sat up abruptly in his bed, horrified.

He just had an orgasm … apparently. His first ever orgasm … without even touching himself. What was worse … he came with the image of a naked Potter in mind. This was not normal nor did it make any sense. He didn't even like him.

Something strange was happening to him and he didn't like it one bit.

He reached for his wand and with a wave, cleaned the mess in his trousers and underwear, just as Weasley and Longbottom entered, asking for both him and Potter.

"Felix, it's dinner time. Everyone is waiting for you and Harry down in the Common Room. Are you coming?"

"I'm coming," he said, standing up. His legs felt a little wobbly, but he didn't trip or stumble.

Weasley looked around the room. "Where's Harry?"

"In the bathroom, having a shower," he deadpanned as he limped past him.

…

With heated cheeks, Harry washed away the remnants of his sperm from the bathroom wall. He still could not believe that he masturbated to Voldemort and enjoyed every part of it. Not even when the orgasm had worn off and he had regained his faculty to think clearly again. He found the fact he had masturbated in the dorm bathroom instead of the one he had in his trunk apartment more embarrassing and disturbing than the fact he picked Voldemort as the focus of his fantasies.

Of course, he stood by what he said to himself, before he initiated this whole mess, that it would only be a one-time thing, and while masturbating proved pleasurable in itself, he doubted he would be doing a whole lot of it either, but if he did, he would do it in the privacy of his apartment.

Somebody knocked and Harry paused in the middle of dressing. "Yes?"

"Harry," Ron's voice came through the door, "hurry up or we're going to be late for dinner, and you know how I feel about food, mate."

"Coming, coming," he said as he sped things up and was out of the bathroom in less than a minute, with slightly damp hair.

They walked side by side down the stairs, talking animatedly. It wasn't until they reached the Common Room and his eyes met Voldemort's that the mortification hit him with full force and he struggled with keeping a happy and carefree face and attitude in front of him.

To keep him from suspecting anything unusual, Harry sat next to him, but was more aware of his body and heat than before, and found himself feeling hot and sweaty. Fortunately, the food and drink helped him relax and shift his thoughts to other topics for a while, but he ultimately returned to thinking about Voldemort.

"Say, Felix," he said, "since you're Swedish … is it possible that your ancestors were Vikings?"

Voldemort looked uncertain and confused. "I suppose, though I fail to see the importance and relevance of such information."

"I was just curious," he said in an off-handed manner, before taking another bite of his Cornish pasty. Then, he added, taking everyone by surprise, "It makes me wonder if Voldemort also has Viking ancestors."

Everyone – Voldemort included – stopped eating in favour of gaping at him. "What?" he asked confused, looking round. "It's a perfectly plausible supposition, you know," he said indignantly. "Just think about it … if there's Viking ancestry in Voldemort's veins, then it would explain why he's so bloodthirsty and why he has the need for violence, blood, raiding and pillaging. I can just see Salazar Slytherin marrying the daughter of some super important jarl or maybe one of his kids married into a Norse family back in the tenth century."

"Harry, I don't know where you get your ideas from, or why you're even thinking about You-Know-Who, but try not to ruin everyone's appetite by talking so openly about him," remarked Ginny, who looked a little pale and irritated.

Ducking his head sheepishly, he promised to refrain himself from speaking so freely about Voldemort, but not without one final off-hand comment. "But you have to admit that an axe-wielding Voldemort wearing a thick pelt coat and war paint on his face makes for a fine mental picture."

…

Foregoing dessert, Harry left the Hall earlier than his friends and Voldemort to visit Snape in his office. After receiving a gruff enter, he gently opened the door and peeped inside.

"Good evening, Professor," he greeted cheerfully.

The man looked up from the scrolls of parchment spread across his desk. "What can I do for you, Potter?"

"Well …" he entered the man's office and closed the door behind him, "I wanted to thank you again for helping me with my stomach problem this morning. Both the potion and the cream have worked wonders."

Snape waved his hand dismissively. "It was nothing. Anything else?"

He stepped closer to his desk. "I wanted to ask you about your therapy sessions. You're still attending them, aren't you?"

He let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. "Yes, Potter, I'm still seeing the psychologist individually and with Black."

"Have you noticed any improvements?"

"If you can call Mrs Nightingale having Black and I play games like children an improvement, then yes, I suppose there's been an improvement," he deadpanned.

"And … how has your interaction with my godfather been, apart from playing games together?"

"If you're wondering whether we've been at each other's throats or hurling insults at each other, then the answer is not as often as we used to, but it would feel strange if we didn't do it once in a while."

"I'm glad to hear that your relationship is improving," beamed Harry, collapsing into the chair opposite Snape.

"Don't be mistaken, Potter, Black and I are far from being friends," he reminded him sternly.

"But you're not enemies anymore either," pointed out Harry.

Snape huffed derisively. "If that is all you wanted, Potter, you can leave. As you can see, I'm busy with something," he gestured toward the parchment scrolls.

"Wait, there's something else, and it involves food and my godfather."

He heaved a sigh. "I'm listening."

"So, I want to import large quantities of food into Hogwarts for personal use, but I can't do that through owl post without employing at least a dozen owls, so instead, I had the idea of having Sirius deliver the groceries to me in person, however, it gets tricky because he's still in hiding and a wanted man," he rambled.

"Get to the point, Potter."

He took in a deep breath, bracing himself for Snape's reaction to his request. "Could it be possible for you to let Sirius come here through your fireplace? Please," he pleaded, with his hands in a praying position.

Snape stared blankly at him, but that unreadable expression was nothing compared to the unnerving silence that stretched and buzzed in his ears.

"Would this be a one-time thing or do you plan to have Black deliver you groceries every week?"

"It would be a once-a-week thing." The man didn't look pleased at the news. "I know I'm asking a lot from you, and that all of us could get into trouble, if we get discovered, but I really want to eat healthy food."

Snape continued to frown. "I promise to help you clean cauldrons once a week," he offered to lessen his displeasure and convince him to agree. "Or help you with the inventory whenever you want."

He stayed silent for a while, making Harry nervous, then, to his joy and surprise, he agreed to be his intermediary and Harry felt like giving the man a hug, but he didn't want to anger him further, so he refrained from doing it. Nevertheless, he made sure to tell him how grateful he was and how amazing he was for doing this for him, and he could have sworn that behind the gruff and impatient gestures and tone, a subtle smile graced the corner of Snape's lips.

He hurried off to the dorm, skipping occasionally, while singing Hej, Monika under his breath. Upon his return, he spotted Hermione sitting on the edge of the sofa, her nose buried in a Potions book, while Ron and Neville were playing wizard's chess next to her.

"Where's the rest of the company?" he asked, referring to the twins, Ginny and of course Felix.

"Fred and George went with Lee to work on their products for the joke shop," answered Ron, his attention on the chessboard, "Ginny is hanging out with Luna somewhere in the castle, hunting Nargles before bed, and Felix is in the dorm, sleeping."

"That was quick."

"He looked exhausted, and who wouldn't be after doing a tour of the entire castle and its grounds in one afternoon, so I guess it's natural that he would go to bed early."

"I suppose." He watched them for another minute then decided to go upstairs, check his phone for any messages from Nathan and Ana Maria, learn some Spanish and read some more Dickens.

Careful not to wake Voldemort, he gently opened the door then tip toed to his bed. Once there, he sat down and reached for his phone, but not before looking at Voldemort's sleeping form.

He was lying on his side under the covers dressed in black pyjamas, facing him. He looked so peaceful that he even managed to look good-looking … for someone his age and for someone resembling an albino snake.

He tried to envision him as a Viking with shaggy hair and braided beard, with runic tattoos all over his body, wearing medieval Viking attire and armour, and wielding a two-handed axe, and ended with someone who looked nothing like Voldemort yet no less the terrifying Dark Lord that he already was.

He huffed through his nose in amusement, turned his gaze to his phone, and checked the time. It was barely a few minutes past seven, and as he unlocked the screen, there were two messages waiting for him, as expected.

After replying to both, he decided to revise some Spanish grammar and do listening or reading comprehension until eight o'clock. He walked over to his chest-sized trunk at the food of the bed, opened it carefully, and climbed inside. Making himself comfortable in his bedroom, he went through a few worksheets and workbook exercises concerning the present indicative and be gerund, before moving onto reading comprehension.

At eight o'clock, he stopped and picked up his Wordsworth edition of Little Dorrit and resumed from where he left off that morning. At around nine, tiredness settled in and he fell asleep on the spot.

…

Voldemort woke up in the middle of the night. He lay there, on his back, staring at the ceiling, unable to go back to sleep, but feeling too sore to get up. With nothing to do, he let his mind wander and came to the brilliant and risky idea of sneaking out of the room to the Room of Hidden Things and check on his diadem horcrux.

He knew that it would be wiser to wait for a week, but it would be idiotic of him not to take the opportunity that was presenting itself. Besides, his fingers were itching to get his hands on the diadem and his mind would not rest until he made sure his horcrux was safe.

Making sure that everyone was asleep, he reached for his wand and left the bed. Every single muscle in his body hurt at the slightest of movements, yet he gritted his teeth to suppress any groans and pushed forward, slowly but steadily. When he was outside the dorm, he cast a disillusionment charm on himself and headed downstairs, across the Common Room, and slipped through the portrait of the Fat Lady, who started awake by the movement, unnoticed.

With a bated breath, he made his way towards the wall with the hidden door, walked three times back and forth in front of it, asking for the room, in which he had hidden his precious horcrux. The door materialised out of thin air. He opened it and found himself inside a large storage room, filled to the brim with what looked to be rubbish.

He made his way through aisles of dusty furniture stacked one on top of the other and ancient, broken artefacts littering the corners and the sides of the room, before reaching an old bust resting on top of a small chest. Setting the bust aside, he opened the box and there, resting on the velvet cushion, was the silver diadem shaped like an eagle with a giant sapphire in the middle.

With a sigh of relief and awe, Voldemort picked it up and ran his fingers over the smooth and shiny surface, marvelling at its beauty. It had remained safe and hidden away all these decades. Nobody had moved it or tempered with it, for he felt the metal pulse with his essence.

Several minutes had passed, in which Voldemort continued to stroke the tiara, unable to put it back into its safe place. His fingers seemed glued to it, refusing to part with it and he himself felt drawn to it. Even when the metal had warmed under his skin, he couldn't find it in himself to let it go, and he couldn't explain why, just as he couldn't explain the feeling of melancholy and longing that washed over him at the contact with the diadem.

His chest twisted and ached as tendrils of magic from the artefact coursed through him and a low humming noise reverberated in his ears. Acting on instinct, he placed the artefact under his shirt and hurried back to the Gryffindor tower, where he hid it at the bottom of his trunk, before slipping back under the covers.

His heart was palpitating erratically in his chest and he felt light-headed as the adrenaline rush left his body. The first part of safely relocating the diadem was complete. It was still dangerous to keep it among his belongings, but he was prepared to run the risk until Yule holidays, when he would finally be able to hide it in his bedroom at the Hanssons, next to the ring.

With the diadem in his possession, the next thing on his list was to visit the Chamber, and assess the state of his diary soul piece. Unfortunately, he didn't have direct access to the books on soul magic that would tell him how to approach this particular situation, and he loathed to admit that he was not knowledgeable on the subject either. He could try to gain access to the restricted section of Hogwarts library, but he doubted he would find the same book he consulted as a student on horcruxes on the shelves. He didn't think Dumbledore would have left it as part of the inventory once he took over. He probably feared another student following his example.

Another option was the Black library. Given the reputation of the family, he was certain that someone must have found something about the preservation of soul; the only problem was gaining entry to the Black residence. As of now, it was under Fidelius Charm, curtesy of Dumbledore, serving as the headquarters of the Order, and thus impossible to penetrate by force. Unless …

His eyes landed on Potter's empty bed. Black was Potter's godfather, who was likely hiding there. Potter was also evidently aware of the location, because there was no way that Dumbledore would risk the boy's safety with him on the loose by keeping him at another location. If he could only get Potter to invite him over for holidays, but how?

He grimaced. The only way for Potter to invite him to the Order Headquarters is if he considered him a friend, and not just any friend, but a good friend, best friend – like that bushy-haired Mudblood – or family – like those redheaded Blood Traitors … or – he shuddered just considering the possibility – his lover.

The erotic image from that afternoon flashed before his eyes again.

No, he thought wildly, shaking his head. Anything but that. He is not going to act like Potter's lover, unless he absolutely has to. Instead, from tomorrow on, he was going to do everything in his power to befriend Potter, meaning he would have to spend as much time as possible with the brat, especially outside of lessons even if he was insufferable, infuriating and weird sometimes, and get a free pass to the Black residence, its library and, of course, his locket horcrux.

Peculiar Things about Harry Potter

Chapter Summary

Voldemort finds himself wondering about Harry Potter and his oddity, while Harry is busy planning his groceries-under-Umbridge's-nose smuggling operation.

Without realising it, Voldemort fell asleep in the middle of making a list of ways he could befriend Potter. It wasn't until he heard the creaking of wood and the rustling of footsteps around his bed that he cracked his eyes open and saw Harry's silhouette next to him, trying to place some sort of cream on his nightstand.

"What are you doing?" His voice came out hoarse. The boy started.

"Holy shit, you startled me," he whispered with a hand clutching his chest. "Did I wake you? Because if I did, I am deeply sorry for ruining your sleep."

"I've slept enough either way," Voldemort whispered back, stretching slightly, and winced immediately as his aching muscles tightened painfully. "What time is it?"

"Seven-fifteen. I was on my way to the Great Hall, but I wanted to leave this somewhere you would see it with a note explaining what it was," he said, pointing to the note and the cream.

"And what is it?" he asked throwing a suspicious look at it.

"This is a salve I used for sore muscles when I first started doing heavy exercise and I thought my limbs would fall off, and it helped me a lot. This morning I remembered that I had put it in my apartment and I thought you and your muscles would appreciate it," he explained.

He handed the salve to him for inspection. It had a gel-like consistency, it was green and it smelled like mint. "Thank you."

The boy beamed at him. "It's the least I can do to make it up to you after putting you through this pain in the first place. I would offer to apply and massage it into your skin myself, especially those hard to reach places, but I'm not sure you'd appreciate me touching you all over."

After that embarrassing display the previous evening highly unlikely, but he thanked him nonetheless for the offer. Potter was about to head to the Great Hall, when he remembered his plan to befriend him and called out to him in a whisper, "Wait, I'll come with you to the Hall, just give me fifteen minutes to get ready."

The brat gave him a surprised look. "Oh, okay," he grinned. "I'll just sit here then and read some more." He pulled out the same book he had seen him read yesterday and sat on his apartment trunk.

…

Exactly fifteen minutes later, he was out of the bathroom, feeling awake and refreshed. His legs were still sore, but he could feel the cooling effect of the salve soothe the ache. "Alright," he whispered, picking up his school bag, "let's go."

Potter bookmarked the page he was reading, closed the book, picked up his own school bag and followed him. They didn't speak until they were out of the Gryffindor tower.

"Did you sleep well? Did you manage to get some rest?" asked Potter in his normal voice again.

"Yes, I did. You?"

"Good, me too, which is good, because today I have a long day ahead of me and it's going to be tiring to have classes from morning till evening."

"Right, you have Divination first thing in the morning and then Care of Magical Creatures right before dinner," he remembered that Potter's Thursdays were packed with classes throughout the day.

"Exactly," he sighed. "Lucky you, you only have four classes the entire day. Not fair," he grumbled.

He chuckled. "Well, at least you'll only have Charms and Herbology tomorrow, unlike me, who'll have Arithmancy as well."

"Oh, right," he smacked his forehead; "you and I don't have the same electives. If I remember correctly, you have Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, like Hermione, just that she also takes Care of Magical Creatures with Ron and me."

"Exactly."

"Well, then I prefer to have fewer things on Friday and more on Thursday, so I can do other things and have a longer weekend, even though I'm not a fan of Astronomy. It's always so late in the evening because that's the only time of day we can actually do anything for the subject, but luckily, it's only once a week, so thank Merlin for that, and it won't mess too much with my sleeping schedule."

"You have a sleeping schedule?" said Voldemort confused.

"Aha, I try to sleep eight hours every day, so I rarely go to sleep after nine o'clock in the evening and I have been waking up at five o'clock in the morning for the past two months or so."

"Is this connected with your idea of a healthy lifestyle?"

"It is," he said cheerfully. "And I like the daily routine I've created for myself, the hobbies I have. I feel good, productive, happy and healthy. What else is there to want from life?"

Voldemort stared at Potter, who hummed a tune under his breath next to him, lost for words and not certain what to think. Nevertheless, one thing was for sure … Potter was a strange person.

…

"Do you mind if I continue reading the book?" the boy asked as they took their usual seats at the empty Gryffindor table around seven-thirty-five. "Otherwise it will take me over a month to get through this behemoth of a book, although Tolstoy's War and Peace and Dumas' Count of Monte Cristo are even longer than Little Dorrit."

"Not at all," he smiled. "I'll probably read something for Runes in the meantime."

Potter opened the book where he left off and he reached into his bag and pulled out his textbook for Ancient Runes. It had been a while since he had studied them and just like with any language he wanted to refresh his knowledge, he might need it in the future.

A comfortable silence settled between them as each had their attention focussed on the text before them, until Harry suddenly commented five minutes in, "That's fucked up."

Voldemort looked up at him. "What is?"

"Little Dorrit's father William has been imprisoned in a debtor's prison for about thirty years. Thirty fucking years, because he hasn't been able to pay off his debt and he's not even fucking trying to resolve the situation that put him into that shithole in the first place," he rambled upset. "And that's not even the most fucked up part about this whole situation. The most fucked up part is that his wife and two children were also imprisoned, and the wife was pregnant with their third child, so the youngest, Amy, was born and raised in that prison alongside her siblings. Like …" he started making wild and exaggerated gestures with his hands, trying to convey the absurdity of the situation, his own incredulity and agitation. He tried to find the words to convey his thoughts, but failed to do so eloquently. "How fucked up is that?"

"Very."

"It makes me think of my godfather," he said in a low voice, slightly more composed. "I'm glad he didn't have a fling during his time in Azkaban, because I don't even want to think about him having a child in a place full of Dementors." He shuddered. "It's bad enough that muggle women give birth in normal prisons. At least, the social workers take the child away from prison, but then I think about how the mother must feel when they take her baby away and I don't know what's worse anymore: raising a child alongside criminals or placing the child with a relative or into adoption and the mother never being able to see her child again."

He sighed. "It's too early in the morning for this heavy shit. My brain hurts just thinking about it."

"Then don't think about it," deadpanned Voldemort.

"I'll try, but man this Dickens," he ran his hands through his hair. "He really liked his drama. Like, that's one thing I noticed when I was researching which books to read by him and his books are not only long and with lots of characters, but there is also so much fucking drama going on in his stories it's almost like he was a Victorian soap opera novelist, or something. And there's always someone dying from consumption, alias tuberculosis, like – I'm not even joking."

"He's probably not the only one. Drama sells," he said nonchalantly, with his gaze fixed on the runic text before him. "It sold before Dickens, it sold in Dickens' time and it's selling even now. The more dramatic something is the better. After all, drama and conflict are the spices of life; the same is true for fiction. Otherwise you'd be better off reading self-help manuals, cooking books and books about arts and crafts."

"I do read those as well, in fact, I plan to do my first sewing project very soon," he announced proudly puffing out his chest.

Voldemort looked up from the text and his brow arched in wonder. "Is that so?" he teased with a side grin.

"Aha," he murmured, his eyes sparkling and his voice dripping excitement, "I'm going to start with something simple and quick then slowly move to other, bigger projects, but always practical."

"Good for you."

At that moment, the centre of the table filled with plates, cutlery, glasses and trays of food. At eight, the morning post arrived. Harry's owl landed in front of him, with a letter attached to her talon. She hooted and stretched out her burdened talon to him. He carefully untied it and once free, she perched on Potter's shoulder, awaiting her reward, which amounted to a strip of bacon and affection.

He opened the letter. It was from his parents. He began reading it quietly, but on Harry's request, ended up reading it aloud:

Son,

We are happy to hear that you have arrived safely and that you have found good roommates so soon.

That is very nice of Harry: to show you around and help you out, he seemed like a nice boy when he introduced himself at the station, and I am glad that my first impression of him was correct. I hope you will find a good friend in him, Felix.

As for his request, tell him that there is nothing to worry about, that Erik and I will send him whatever he needs and that he need not worry about repaying us. It is our gift to him for being such a nice and considerate young boy.

Your father and I will have everything ready for him by Saturday. If you want us to include anything for you, let us know.

We love you,

Your mum and dad

P. S. Did you sleep well? How was your first day of classes? What about your castle tour?

"Your parents are such nice people," cooed Potter when he finished the letter. "You're really lucky to have them, Felix, and even though they're saying there's no need to give them anything, I'm still going to give them something, because they deserve all the gifts in the world, damn it. Besides, I already have everything decided and planned, and I'll feel underappreciated if they refuse, so they kind of can't say no or they risk hurting my feelings."

He rolled his eyes at the boy's emphatic speech in amusement, but reading the letter warmed his insides and filled him with energy.

…

During his two free hours before dinner and with most of the school corridors empty, Voldemort wondered whether it would be wise to slip into the Chamber through the bathroom on the second floor or not.

Just like the night before, the temptation, the itch and the urge to see the state of things down there with his own eyes, not through memories of somebody who wasn't even present for the destruction of his horcrux, was great and difficult to resist. He told himself that he had enough time to pull it off without raising suspicions, but a part of him felt like he was daring fate and that his night success might result in failure, should anything remotely go wrong.

He also debated whether it was a smart idea to go there without having a clear plan to do everything he wanted to do in one visit to the chamber or not, and came to the conclusion that having to do more than one risky trip either at daytime or night time was too reckless.

Therefore, he retired to the library to do the few assignments he got for Runes and Transfiguration that day, as well as start studying for Potions.

It didn't take him long to read a few pages and make notes in preparation for the next lesson. When he finished, he decided to compose a letter to his parents, telling them about his first couple of days at Hogwarts, from classes and teachers to the castle tour, the footrace and the upcoming tour of Potter's apartment trunk. Before he knew it, he had written an entire two-page essay on an A4-sized sheet of paper and lost all sense of time.

As he was writing his closing lines, Potter's greeting startled him enough to mess up his signature. He turned slowly towards him with a glare.

"Oops," he covered his mouth, wide-eyed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Voldemort returned his attention to the letter to clean the mess at the bottom of the page. "What is it, Harry?"

The boy sat down next to him. "It's time for dinner and since you weren't in the Hall or the dorm I came here to get you," he explained joyfully.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "How did you know where to find me?"

"Gut feeling," he grinned mischievously. "Where else would a genius be if not at the other two aforementioned locations? The library, of course, and I was right." He got up, looking so pleased with himself. The smug bastard.

"Are you coming or did you already eat dinner without us?"

"I didn't, I was busy writing the letter to my parents and forgot the time." He folded the paper and shoved it into his school bag.

"Did you let them know that my godfather will stop by to collect the boxes on Saturday?"

"I did."

"Nice, I'll speak with my godfather tonight to let him know as well, and make sure everything goes smoothly for the grand Saturday finale." He clasped his hands together and rubbed them. "I can't wait to pull this smuggling operation off, under Umbridge's very nose." He cackled devilishly under his breath and a tingling sensation spread through Voldemort's body at the sound of it and Potter's rather sinister expression.

…

To ensure that Felix's parents were informed on time, Harry volunteered to post the letter by racing to the Owlery and back to the Astronomy Tower immediately after dinner. He arrived just as the clock struck seven in the evening, panting and fanning himself, with a thin layer of perspiration forming on his forehead.

With an ungraceful thud, he collapsed next to Voldemort. He would have to ask Sirius to arrange another pair of two-way mirrors, because this back and forth with the letters was both susceptible to interception and time consuming. Speaking about his godfather, he would have to explain the new plan to him involving Snape as well as inform Snape that the transaction of goods would happen on Saturday.

As Sinistra entered the classroom and began doing the register, another logistical problem occurred to him then – together with the money part. How would he sneak three boxes of food plus the rest of the groceries from Snape's office to the dorm and into his apartment without anyone noticing? He only had one cloak of invisibility and making three or more trips to Snape's office would look suspicious as hell. Damn it.

"Potter?" called Sinistra and he answered the call, then went back to thinking about his current problem, vaguely listening to the teacher's explanation about the topics they would cover that year and how the O.W.L. exam in Astronomy looked like.

He could probably ask Snape to make the boxes invisible or better yet, disguise them as something else. Bingo! Fred and George's Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes box. He could arrange it with the twins and make everyone believe that he was doing them a favour by storing the shop items in his much larger trunk because they were running out of room in their dorm.

Yes, that could work, even though he was aware of the extension charm and that Fred and George were older and thus more knowledgeable than he was when it came to magic. Hopefully, people wouldn't question the plausibility of this idea, because he honestly didn't know what else to do, and to think that he planned to do that every week.

Oh, boy, was it even worth it?

Yes, yes, it was. He didn't spend weeks researching calories and other nutritional values and diets and doing math and making meal charts for every day of the week for the past two months for him to forget it, push it to the side, because it was too much of a hassle. No. If he was already this deep into this, he was going to commit to it until the end.

Like Voldemort has committed to his Felix persona and role.

As for the money … ultimately he would cover the cost, but without a direct access to Gringotts, he needed an intermediary. Then it occurred to him. If Snape was already acting as an intermediary, he could be the one to finance this smuggling operation as well.

…

To his pleasant surprise, Sinistra let them go fifteen minutes earlier, since it was their first lesson, allowing Harry forty-five minutes to speak with the twins in private and tell them about his plan, talk with Snape and finally with his godfather.

Fred and George were eager to help him, Snape looked and sounded bothered by the simple fact he would have to let Black into his office, make a trip to Gringotts in Harry's stead and visit his godfather to give him the money, and his godfather was just excited to see him in person.

"One more thing, Sirius," he said in the privacy of his apartment. "Do you think you could arrange another pair of two-way mirrors?"

"I could. Why?" he said frowning.

"I want to give it to Felix and his parents, so he doesn't have to bother with letters and his parents can see and hear him every day. They miss him terribly."

Sirius grinned. "You have really taken this kid under your wing, eh, pup?"

"He may be a genius for acing nine exams in five days, but he's still new to all this so … he needs supervision and guidance. Like a newborn lamb," he jested.

Sirius laughed.

"Anyway," he checked his phone and it was already past nine. "I should go to bed now, but I really want to ask you if you've made any progress with your case? Do you have any news? What does Madam Bones say?"

He let out a long-suffering sigh. "For now, she went through my criminal file and examined the evidence that was used fourteen years ago to condemn me and see if she can somehow invalidate it. She also wants to push for a Veritaserum questioning, despite not being a popular method in court, although, ideally, getting our hands on Pettigrew would be like winning a jackpot and would mean instant freedom for me, as far as me being a murderer and a traitor is concerned." He grimaced. "Unfortunately, Voldemort disabling his mark makes it difficult to prove I've never been a Death Eater, so, they might still consider me one and put me back into Azkaban."

"Damn," he grunted grimly. "It would seem that Voldemort's disappearance from Britain caused more problems than it solved them."

"Yes," he lowered his voice. "Also … the Order had a meeting today and it would seem that, after the Ministry's yearly inventory of the place, those in the Department of Mysteries noticed that a prophecy broke in the Hall of Prophecies, and not just any prophecy, but a prophecy about you … and Voldemort."

That was news to Harry. Not the prophecy bit about him and Voldemort, but the fact that the prophecy broke. Did it happen when they signed the agreement and performed the Unbreakable Vow? Probably.

"There's a prophecy about Voldemort and me?" he said, feigning ignorance and surprise. "Or at least there was a prophecy. Do you have any idea what it was about?"

"I'm afraid I don't have that information, pup," he grimaced apologetically. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "It's okay, it's not like it matters now anyway, right?"

"I don't know," he sounded sceptical. "I suppose so. I hope so, because if that prophecy painted a target on your back, I'd rather it be invalid than for you to have Voldemort on your back trying to murder you or for you to have to sacrifice your soul and humanity to rid this world of him."

His chest ached and his eyes stung at Sirius' words. He was so tempted to tell him everything and get it off his chest once and for all, but the words were caught in his throat and died unsaid.

"I hope so too," he whispered to cover up the break in his voice. He cleared his throat, excused himself and wished him a goodnight, before slipping under the covers, with his thoughts and feelings all over the place and an even more restless sleep.

That night, Harry had another nightmare for the first time in weeks and when he woke up next morning, he felt more tired than when he went to bed, with dried tears on his cheeks, but with no recollection of the nightmare itself, save for a hissing voice calling his name in a soothing tone, a gentle touch and an older man hugging him and kissing his lightning scar.

And it wasn't the first time he had the feeling that something or someone was watching over him, for the hissing voice and the soothing embrace felt nostalgic and familiar, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what or who it was.

…

Voldemort woke up at five o'clock, confused beyond words. ' What was that? Who was that?'

There was a vague recollection of a courtroom, a trial, somebody being sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for being a Death Eater and another person, a boy, yelling and sobbing in heart-wrenching anguish, going between begging whoever was in charge of the trial to reconsider and not take his godfather away, and insulting and cursing them for committing such an injustice.

Hooded figures restrained him for he was kicking and biting and scratching, yet no matter how much the boy fought the guards restraining him, he couldn't break free and he was forced to watch as the convict was taken away by Dementors.

Then, the scenery faded to blackness and the only thing that remained was that boy, still crying to the point of choking on the floor. He was frozen into place, reduced to a formless and mute observer, unable to interfere even if he wanted.

' This is a dream,' he told himself. ' This isn't real.' He could force himself to wake and stop whatever this peculiar dream sequence was, but then, from the corner of his eyes he spotted another person. A man. A naked man of a similar stature, pallor and build as him but with Potter's features.

Enraptured, he observed the man approach the sobbing boy and gather him with practiced ease in his arms. " Harry," he hissed soothingly in parseltongue, in his own voice … yet, he wasn't the one speaking, so how was that possible.

" It's just a dream," said the man, speaking in his voice wearing Potter's black hair, glasses and scar … the only exception being … his glowing red eyes. " It isn't real."

He stared transfixed at the man gently stroking the boy's hair and pressing his lips to the lightning-shaped scar. The kiss acted like a sleeping drug, for the Potter boy stopped whimpering and fell asleep instantly.

It was in that moment that the man's gaze connected with his own and he felt a chill run through his entire being as Potter features melted into the serpentine features of Voldemort.

"Leave or I will force you out," he said, glaring, holding tighter onto Harry Potter's unconscious form, and baring his teeth. "This is my domain, I'm in charge and you are trespassing, because I don't recall inviting you or giving you permission to come here."

He didn't appreciate the tone or the words, he was Lord Voldemort and nobody spoke to him like that, not even something or someone who shared his features, voice and the ability to speak parseltongue, but he couldn't do anything about the insolence. Instead, he felt something push him back and the next thing he knew, he was on his back, lying in bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, unable to comprehend what had just happened, what he had just witnessed.

It was a dream, but whose dream: his or Potter's?

As soon as both thoughts crossed his mind, he found them absurd. First, because there was no reason for him to feature Potter in his dreams, no matter how much of his thoughts – conscious and unconscious – revolved around the boy, and second, because why would he dream what Potter was dreaming? He had heard about mutual dreaming and dream telepathy, but it was extremely rare even among the magical folk and as far as he knew neither of them were seers with a gift for oneiromancy.

However, there was another thing even more absurd and disturbing … HE was featured in the dream. Now, if he theorised that it was indeed Potter's dream and he was a mere witness of that dream, then the presence of another him would mean that Potter was dreaming about HIM. Of course, he figured that he must have left a strong impression on the boy in the last four years, and that, prior to their agreement of non-aggression; he featured heavily in numerous of Potter's nightmares. It was clear that even the dream he had witnessed just now was a nightmare, but contrary to logic, it was HE, who appeared as the boy's saviour. What was worse, his dream self was aware of his own presence and he was not pleased to see him there.

His domain, he said, but did he really say it as his other self, independently of Potter's dream, or did it speak for Potter, who didn't appreciate the foreign presence in his dream.

A frustrated sigh left him. Another thing he would have to investigate. He hoped that it was a one-time occurrence, but given his history with the brat, nothing ever happened once between him and Potter.

More Peculiar Things about Harry Potter

Chapter Summary

More of Voldemort's observations regarding Harry and his strange behaviour and Harry showing off in front of Voldemort, trying to impress him.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Refusing to fall back asleep, despite feeling incredibly tired, Harry showered to wake himself up, before going through his regular morning exercise routine: a bit of jogging, cycling, stretching exercises and five sets of twenty push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, triceps dips, barbell squats, barbell hip thrusts, leg presses, chest and reverse flyes, and dumbbell bench presses.

Exercise helped him focus on other things as well as release any pent up frustration that might manifest itself in anger, aggression, melancholy or restlessness. It also filled him with energy to go through the day and provided him with an overall emotional and physical outlet.

After showering again, he brushed his teeth, put on his school uniform, packed a bottle of refreshing mint green tea and prepared his school bag for Friday, while humming the melody to Priscilla's song from The Witcher 3.

He was about to leave his room when his eyes lingered on his nightstand drawer, where he had transferred the locket horcrux during his first morning at Hogwarts to keep it from Voldemort until he could give it to him without making him suspicious.

He felt the urge to open the drawer and take it out, look at it, touch it. Ever since he recognised it for what it was, he only dared to handle such an artefact a handful of times. Curiously, each time he did keep it close to him, he felt at peace and it seemed to him that the piece of Voldemort's soul stuck in it shared the sentiment for it never caused him any pain or other trouble.

It was ten past seven when he left the safety of his trunk apartment. The first thing he noticed was that Voldemort's bed was empty. Upon entering the Common Room, he spotted him lounging on the sofa with the Defence textbook in hand.

The homeliness of such a sight brought a wide smile to his lips and filled him with a feeling of wholesomeness as warmth enveloped his chest and spread through him like a calming balm for his mind and spirit. It was nice to see the feared Dark Lord Voldemort looking so … human and normal. Not to mention the jackpot he hit with those muggle parents. He wanted to have parents like them too … old, loving and cute. Maybe he could ask him to share them with him. Although, he supposed that his godfather, Mr and Mrs Weasley counted as his surrogate parents, but it never hurt to have more people to call parents.

He approached him and greeted him cheerfully.

"I see you're reading ahead for Umbridge's class. Nice. Good thinking. I think I'll do the same in case she decides to question me on Monday to see how well I have memorised the first chapter and if I've read ahead," he remarked, sitting next to his feet.

"When it comes to her, it pays off to be prepared so that nothing can surprise you, and she can't do anything against you," he said without lifting his eyes from the book.

"True," he agreed. A beat of silence passed between them. "And how are your muscles today? Do you still feel sore or is the salve doing its magic?"

"I feel much better, thank you for asking and for giving me the salve," the man returned with a polite smile. "It really helped."

"Glad to hear it and you're welcome."

Another beat of silence passed between them. "So … now that you're not as sore as before, does that mean that you're up for my apartment tour this afternoon after you're done with Arithmancy?"

Voldemort looked at him from over the textbook. "Sure, why not," he shrugged his shoulders, "it's not like I have anything better to do with my time on a Friday."

"Brilliant! Oh, and also, in case you have forgotten, you have to spend a day working out with me because you lost the footrace."

Voldemort grunted. "I haven't forgotten, but not today … on Sunday perhaps."

"Sunday it is. You're going to love it." He grinned like a Cheshire cat; he couldn't wait to introduce Voldemort to some of the gym machines he used in his exercise routine and put him through a workout.

Voldemort didn't seem to share his enthusiasm.

…

"Wait," said Potter dramatically out of nowhere as they were making their way back to the castle from Herbology, halting and stretching his arms outward to block their path forward.

Voldemort, the redhead, Longbottom and Mudblood bumped into his back.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Weasley.

"Did you forget something at the greenhouse?" asked the Mudblood.

The boy slowly turned his head and gave them a blank look. " No," he deadpanned in Spanish.

"Then what is it?"

"I want to do something epic," he answered in a solemn voice with an Italian accent.

Mudblood pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "This better be quick, Harry, because Felix and I have Arithmancy at one o'clock and we have yet to have lunch."

"Don't worry, Hermione, it's only going to take a minute or so, but it's going to be a minute of amazingly breath-taking, mind-blowing and OMG epicness," he insisted with the same solemn tone. "Here," he handed his school bag to Granger, "you, hold this."

He handed his glasses to Longbottom for safekeeping, then started to take off his cloak and threw it at Weasley, who barely caught it, and finally, he took off his necktie, turned to him, winked and smirked at him and, before he could react, he had shoved his tie in his hand, asking him to hold onto it for him.

"Now," he addressed them, with his back to them, "look closely and carefully. You don't want to miss any of it."

Voldemort didn't know what Potter was doing or what he was referring to, the only thing he knew was that Potter was acting strangely. Very strangely. He had just winked and smirked at him for that one brief instant and his brain was unable to comprehend what was the purpose of it.

Nevertheless, he was curious to see what Potter wanted to show them that required him to rid himself of his bag, glasses, cloak and necktie.

The boy broke into a run towards the castle to gain enough momentum for a cartwheel, which quickly transformed into a series of back handsprings that carried him forward for over fifty yards. With each flip, his shirt rode up and exposed his toned abdomen muscles. Not that he was looking at them; it was mere observation.

After what seemed to be Potter's forty-fifth back handspring, his final backflip ended in a twist, with his hands tucked against his chest and extended legs. Upon his landing, he stumbled backwards and landed unceremoniously on his backside in a backward somersault.

Granger and Weasley broke into a boisterous laughter, while Longbottom looked unsure as to what sort of reaction would be appropriate to what had happened. He, himself, oscillated between astonishment and rolling his eyes at Potter.

He approached them, arranging his shirt, with flushed cheeks.

"Was that last bit part of that mind-blowing, OMG epicness as well?" teased Granger, wiping away a stray tear of mirth from the corner of her eye.

"No," he sighed, taking back his glasses and putting them on, "that was just me losing my balance after getting light-headed from so much spinning."

"Mind you," wheezed Weasley, "It was still epic how you rolled into a backward somersault."

They erupted into another fit of uncontrollable laughter, clutching their stomachs and doubling over.

"Ha-ha," he deadpanned, reaching for his cloak and his school bag. "No, but seriously, before I lost my balance, wasn't that tumbling sequence amazing?" He asked with a wide grin and sparkly eyes, looking like an excited dog, waiting to receive praise from his friends … and especially him.

He snorted mentally, as if, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that Potter was gauging for his reaction the most.

"Oh, without a doubt," said Weasley and Longbottom agreed. Granger on the other head shook her head in amusement and softly accused him of being a 'show off'.

"And you, Felix?" he asked eagerly, reaching for his necktie, still resting in his grasp. "What do you think of my back handsprings? Impressive, right?"

It was impressive, but he was reluctant to acknowledge that the Potter brat had managed to amaze him with his acrobatics, agility and abs. "Very," he said blankly.

Potter gasped dramatically, with a hand pressed to his chest, looking offended. "That's the extent of your reaction to my chain of epic back handsprings? I'm insulted. I was expecting you to stagger back in astonishment, completely speechless." He let out a sigh. "I guess I was wrong."

"Well, you did mess up at the end."

"Then I will have to work on my performance until I can nail it from start to finish."

"You have to teach us how to do it so Neville and I can also be epic," added Weasley on their way to the Great Hall.

"And that's not all;" said Potter excitedly, "wait until I show you shuffle dancing and guitar slapping."

…

The twins and she-Weasley were already in the Great Hall by the time they reached it, saving seats for the five of them. Granger and Longbottom took the empty seats next to she-Weasley on either side, the redhead sat next to his brothers and he ended sitting between the Mudblood and Harry, who still carried the scales and the reference sheet on his person to measure everything he ingested.

To his surprise, he ate big breakfasts and big lunches, but small dinners, with an afternoon snack in between, which usually accumulated to about 2,500 calories a day on average, which was apparently the overall recommended calorie intake for someone as active as he was.

After eating three fried eggs, five strips of bacon, baked beans and raw leek together with a bowl of oatmeal porridge for breakfast, his lunch consisted of two plates of mushroom soup, followed by two different kinds of meat – beef and chicken –, mixed steamed vegetables and boiled potatoes.

Halfway through the meal, one of the twins brought up the upcoming Quidditch Trials.

"Ron, Ginny," he said solemnly, "now's your chance to join the team and continue the Weasley legacy started by our brother Charlie, passed onto us right after he graduated and now that we are in our final year, we would like to pass on the mantle to the both of you."

"Especially now that we have no Keeper," said the other twin.

"And since injuries abound in this sport, reserves are always appreciated," said the first twin.

"This year, you'll also have to look for a new Seeker, because I'm officially retiring," Potter interposed lightly.

The twins stared at Harry in horror. "What? Why?" they said in unison.

"I don't want to end up with a broken neck, that's all," he explained as if it was obvious. "I still like the sport; I'm just not going to play it anymore. Ginny or Ron can take my place if they want, I'm sure they'll do great."

"Harry, when Angelina learns that you have decided to quit Quidditch," said one twin gravely.

"She's not going to be happy with you," concluded the other grimly.

"I'll worry about that on the day I present her with my official resignation letter," he said unimpressed, shrugging his shoulders, "until then, I'm not going to bother too much about it. I've got other things going on in my life right now, like smuggling food into school, learning new things, building endurance and strength, studying properly and keeping Umbridge far away from me, not to mention that I'm trying to keep myself alive and well, not in the Hospital Wing after every Quidditch game." Harry took another bite of the beefsteak and boiled potatoes.

The conversation continued around what positions the redhead and she-Weasley would try out for – the former for Keeper and the latter for Seeker. Harry offered to lend his broom to she-Weasley, who was over the moon about it, while the redhead looked betrayed.

"Why are you lending her the Firebolt? I'm your best mate, she's just my sister," he argued.

"Because she said she wanted to be the new Seeker," explained Potter unfazed by his friend's outburst, "and she'll need every advantage she can get to outperform the other three Seekers. After all, a Seeker needs skill as well as speed to move swiftly through the stands and over the pitch. A Keeper, on the other hand … well, it's not like you need a fast broom to perform the task, just good equipment and skills, and you have both."

This seemed to lessen the sense of betrayal on Weasley's part, but he was still slightly bothered by it. "Still," pouted the redhead, "not fair."

Potter sighed, but didn't try to appease the redhead.

At quarter to one, she-Weasley, the twins, he and Granger had other classes to attend. She-Weasley headed over to the Ravenclaw table in search of Luna to go to the greenhouses for Herbology, while the Weasley twins headed to the dungeon for an N.E.W.T. Potions lesson with Severus.

"He's a git," said one.

"But he's a smart git," concluded the other.

"Which makes all the difference," they said simultaneously.

"Besides, we can't exactly call him a git any longer," said the first twin, "now that he's given us full access to the Potions equipment and ingredients for our products."

"It would be sacrilegious of us to insult him," said the other.

"Oh, and Harry," began the first one, suddenly turning to the boy, "if you're not going to play Quidditch anymore, you might want to consider becoming a commentator alongside Lee. I'm sure you two could come up with hilarious comments about the game…"

"…And people playing the game," blinked the other twin playfully.

Harry chuckled heartily. "I'll think about it."

"Well," said Granger, rising from the table and picking up her school bag, "I suppose it's also time for Felix and me to go too."

With a smile, he rose up as well.

"Okay, have fun," waved Harry, smiling. "Oh and Felix," he turned to Potter, "don't forget about my apartment tour afterwards."

"I won't." He put his school bag over his shoulder.

"Okay, because I'm going to be waiting for you, and in the meantime, I'm going to go slap my guitar." He turned to Weasley and Longbottom. "Would you like to join me?"

…

As soon as they were out of the Great Hall, Granger engaged him in a conversation about schoolwork, anything from his summer homework for Arithmancy to his studying method, because she couldn't quite grasp how he managed to learn four years of school material, get nine perfect scores, and do all summer homework in a month, without a Time-Turner.

"Even I had to use one in my third year, when I had the brilliant idea to attend all twelve classes at Hogwarts, and even then I struggled." She sighed in defeat. "You really are a genius, aren't you?"

"From what I could see so far, you're not far from being a genius yourself," he said as a compliment. If she weren't so rigid in how she approached school material and subsequently magic, rules and everything in between (and if she weren't a Mudblood of course), she could have been a formidable force in the Wizarding World that he would have employed in his ranks or gone to great lengths to eliminate.

He could appreciate her ability to memorise hundreds of pages of text and quote the textbooks word-for-word, but she lacked originality, imagination, creativity, courage and desire to experiment, digress and go beyond the explicit text, to bend and push the boundaries of magic for fear of failure and the unknown.

She smiled in a self-deprecating way. "Thanks, but I disagree. Sure, I may be smarter than most, but that's because I spend so much time reading books and studying, trying to memorise everything, even the most insignificant details and trivia, because I think they are going to be relevant in an exam or an essay."

"The fact that you can even memorise everything is astonishing in itself, but … in the end, it's just that, memorisation. How much of it do you truly understand? To me, learning should be more than just memorising facts and other trivia; it should be understanding the principles behind theoretical definitions, putting them into practice, and experimenting with different things."

"That's just the thing," she groaned, "I can't do it. I've tried it once and I almost suffered a panic attack. It's like my brain can't function unless I have clear definitions, rules of use and concrete examples. If I try to diverge from the textbook, my mind freezes and goes blank and then I feel like I've forgotten everything I know already and I start feeling anxious."

They were among the first to arrive at the classroom for Arithmancy and with seven minutes to spare, he decided to ask her about Harry.

"Your friend Harry … he's a very energetic person. Has he always been like that?"

She snorted. "No, not at all. It's a recent occurrence, but I suppose I'd much rather see him full of energy and life, goofing around, like this morning, than to see him wallow in sadness, become bitter, frustrated and angry with the world and himself after witnessing Cedric's death and You-Know-Who's return."

"I see."

She sighed. "I don't know how much Harry has told you about his life … well, it's not like he talks much about his childhood and muggle life, beyond what he wants to share, which isn't much at all, but the point is that … he's not had an easy life. He lost his parents very young, became famous for something he doesn't even remember, and, while he grew up away from the spotlight, all eyes were on him the moment he came to Hogwarts and he didn't feel comfortable about it.

"It became clear very quickly that everyone had their own idea of what kind of person Harry, or rather the Boy-Who-lived, should be and how he should behave, and when he couldn't live up to their god-like image of him or impossible expectations, they turned on him like hyenas and attacked him. The Prophet, or rather Rita Skeeter," she sneered at the name, "has been particularly known for harassing Harry by publishing rubbish about him, even before this whole You-Know-Who debacle, and now, they are trying to portray Cedric's death as an accident when it was cold-blooded murder, and discredit Harry's claim about You-Know-Who's return," she concluded upset.

"Anyway," she breathed, "I'm proud of Harry for choosing life over death and for choosing health, forgiveness and happiness over bitterness, anger, sadness and frustration. Even when Ron and I have failed him."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I don't understand how you could have failed him when you and Ron are one of the few who believe Harry and support him."

She looked uncomfortable and ashamed by his question. She laced her fingers in her lap and fixed her eyes on her hands.

"I don't think I should talk about it, because it's delicate information," he raised his eyebrows, "but essentially, without giving too much away, Ron and I have avoided contact with Harry during most of the summer, because someone told us that the post might get intercepted by You-Know-Who and that it could compromise his location and our location."

He already knew who that someone was, of course, because who else but Dumbledore would try to protect the Potter brat and his location – as well as the location of the Order Headquarters – from him. Too bad for the old man that he didn't consider the possibility of Potter reaching out to him of his own free will and negotiate for his own safety, and for now, he needed Dumbledore to remain in the dark about it, keep him speculating about his next move, so he could execute his plan without him being the wiser.

"We didn't want to put him in danger so we did as told, but it backfired, because Harry kept writing to us and we never answered his letters, and by ignoring his letters, we made him think that we didn't want to talk to him or be his friends anymore."

Her eyes welled up and she quickly wiped the tears away.

"But you cleared up that misunderstanding; otherwise, you wouldn't be as close as you are."

She sniffed and cleared her throat. "I believe so, but it doesn't take away the fact that it has affected our friendship in some way."

"How so?"

"I don't know about Ron, but I don't delude myself into thinking that, after what we did or didn't do, Harry will ever truly and fully trust us, unless we prove him wrong by being there unconditionally for him. Then again, how can we prove it to him, when he won't even give us the chance? Even now, I know that there are things – important things – he keeps hidden from us because of that same reason. I hope that someday he'll tell us, but until then, all I can do is show support and be there when he needs help."

Well, she was right about the not-trusting-completely part, because Potter preferred to tell an outsider he knew less than twenty-four hours about his meeting with Voldemort to the friends he has probably had since first year. For now, Harry's distrust of his friends worked in his favour and if he played his cards right, he thought wickedly, he could make Felix his sole true confidant, because he was dying to know all Harry's secrets.

…

After showing Neville around his apartment for the first time, the three of them settled on the sofa in his living room, facing the TV screen.

He had his guitar laid over his right thigh, with his right hand on the strings and the left around the guitar's neck and began slapping and popping to some of his favourite RHCP Flea's slap basslines, while his head bobbed with the beat and his left heel thumped against the floor.

He started with the main riff for Dark Necessities, transitioned smoothly into the intro to their cover of Higher Ground, followed by Skinny Sweaty Man, and then moved effortlessly into the main riff of Black-eyed Blonde, Get Up and Jump, Aeroplane, until finally concluding with the iconic slap bass from Can't Stop.

As the strings grazed his fingers and vibrated under his grip and the notes reverberated through the room and his body, he could feel the remnants of anguish from his nightmare melt away like snow in spring, until it was replaced by a feeling of peace and harmony.

"That was bloody brilliant, Harry," said Ron and Neville in awe.

"Thanks," he grinned. "I still have a lot to learn when it comes to the guitar and the bass, but I can safely say that slap is my favourite technique, because it sounds so bloody amazing."

"And how much did the guitar cost you?" asked Neville.

He looked at his six-string, black LA electric guitar by Gear4music with the body made of paulownia wood and a 22-fret maple neck. "This one cost me around 100 pounds, which translates to approximately 20 galleons, which is not a bad price for a guitar from what I've seen. It's certainly not the most high-end, but it gets the job done and it sounds great to my relatively untrained ear."

"Nice," nodded Ron.

At around half past one, almost halfway through Voldemort and Hermione's Arithmancy lesson, Neville suggested, they do their homework. Harry thought it was a great idea, but Ron sighed and groaned, "It's Friday," he complained, "homework is the last thing, I want to think about on a Friday. I want to play games and relax."

"Better do it now, Ron, then to be on the verge of your nerves at the weekend," he said.

He let out a long-suffering sigh and begrudgingly agreed. "Fine," he said, "let's do some homework."

They began with Charms, which required them to read the chapter on the Silencing Charm and write a ten-inch essay on the uses of the charm in different situations (at least three) supported by their own examples (at least one per situation).

It took about forty-five minutes to read the chapter and write the essay. Harry underlined crucial information as he read the chapter, making a rough draft of things he wanted to include in his essay along the way. He struggled with the flow of the sentences, the coherent transition between paragraphs and the wording of his ideas.

In the end, he had the introduction where he spoke briefly about the charm itself, its incantation and primary use, then indicated the contents of the body by announcing how many different ways he decided to present. He decided to go with the minimum amount of scenarios – three – which meant three body paragraphs; one for each scenario and the corresponding examples to illustrate his idea.

There were three basic ways in which, according to him, the Silencing Charm could be used: as a punishment, as a means of defence and as a way to attack someone. When it came to punishment, there was nothing worse for a singer than to lose their voice to entertain people or earn money. In terms of defence, one could use the charm to defend oneself from insults, while a rapist could use the silencing charm as an offensive move, by robbing the victim of the ability to call for help.

In the conclusion, he briefly summarised the main points of the essay and added his opinion on the charm and its usefulness and potential.

They moved onto Potions, where they had to read a two-hundred-and-fifty-page monography covering the basics of safe potion making, the importance of protection and the application of first aid when incidents occur, featuring graphic, moving pictures of accidents and their injuries, by Monday.

All three of them felt ill at the sight of missing, contorted, bloody or otherwise injured limbs, the gashes, the burns, the everlasting scars, the infections, the boils and other nasty injuries.

"How am I going to be able to read it, when I get sick at the sight of these pictures?" wondered Neville pitifully.

"I don't know, cover them with paper," he suggested with a shrug.

"And I want to know how Snape expects us to read this horrendous picture book by Monday when he plans to give us a safety protocol exam?" said Ron. "I don't like Potions, but I don't want to fail it either at the very start of the school year. Especially not in our O.W.L. year."

"Read it in chunks and underline the important bits, maybe make a few notes here and there, or a memory chart or flashcards, paraphrase things by using your own words, or something like that to make it easier to remember," he proposed, recalling the book on learning strategies Mrs Nightingale lent to him. "At least that's what I intend to do."

Harry was glad to note that Snape applied his suggestion about the safety protocol exam and the inclusion of a mandatory pair of sturdy leather gloves – preferably, dragon-hide –, apron – preferably a sturdy protective lab coat – and safety glasses, along with a facemask and protective, safety shoes as part of their practical lessons. Anyone not having a complete personal safety set would be removed from that particular class, which seemed fair and sensible.

Ron let out another groan, "Why did Snape decide to include a safety protocol exam and safety gear now, when he didn't have neither the previous four years? Did he come up with this nonsense on his own or did someone suggest it to him? Because who thought it was a good idea to do it?"

Harry put on his best poker face and played ignorant, because he didn't want to deal with Ron's outrage if he learnt that it was he, who had suggested it to Snape, and that he actually thought it was a good idea.

After five minutes of reading the monography, Ron officially gave up for the day. Instead, he turned on the TV, the console and selected Mario Kart 8. Another five minutes later, Harry decided to have a break as well. He reached for a spare controller and started a four-race tournament with Ron.

…

At half past two, Professor Vector concluded their first Arithmancy lesson.

"I'm going to the library to do my homework and study for Potions, would you like to join me?" Granger said as they were putting away their books.

"I would love to, but I have an arrangement with Harry. Perhaps some other time," he replied politely.

"Oh, right, I forgot," she smacked her forehead. "Well, have fun with Harry. See you later," she smiled and waved at him.

He returned the smile and the wave, and as soon as she was out of his sight, he let out a groan and rolled his eyes.

Being polite, good and charming was exhausting and bothersome, socialising even more so, but it would seem that neither Harry nor any of his close friends were planning to leave him on his own for more than five minutes. It looked like the only place where he could have some semblance of peace and solitude was the toilet or the early morning and late evening hours, when the others were asleep.

He slowly made his way towards the Gryffindor tower. The Common Room was somewhat crowded with students from all years, either doing homework, studying or playing Exploding Snaps and chess. He ignored the noise and continued up the stairs towards the dorm, where he collapsed on his bed next to Nagini. Harry could wait, he needed a few moments to compose himself and to simply have some alone time.

" You smell tired, hatchling," she commented.

" That's because I am tired," he hissed back. Oh, how he missed conversing with Nagini! " It's only been four days, and I am already this exhausted," he exhaled deeply. "And to think that I have to keep up with this until the end of June." He whimpered, a truly undignified sound to escape his mouth.

At least nobody heard him.

" You're doing great, hatchling," Nagini encouraged him, bumping her head against his cheek and flicking her tongue over his skin.

He smirked and huffed. " Thank you," he said, petting her head.

" Hang in there."

" I will … I have to."

Five minutes later, he finally mustered enough energy to lift himself up, walk over to the chest-like trunk at the foot of Harry's bed and knocked on the lid.

A few moments passed, before the lid creaked open and the one to greet him was Longbottom. "Come in," he said, and Voldemort hooked his legs over, onto a set of steps, "Harry is busy racing against Ron right now, but they'll be done in a minute or two."

As he descended the stairs, the artificial lighting illuminated the entire living room. Some feet away, there was a leather sofa, with a large square carpet in front of it, a coffee table resting on it, littered with textbooks and notebooks, separating it from the drawers, and shelves, filled with small thin boxes, board games and books, with a large TV screen in the middle, projecting a racing videogame, and some other machinery.

A guitar was leaning against the side of the sofa and, off to the lower right corner, there was a large wooden worktable with a sewing machine, a chair and mountains of fabric, wool, embroidery floss, rolled up tapestries and oil and diamond paint-by-number sets surrounding it.

To the upper right corner of the room, the wall opened into the dining room. There were three other doors, two on the left and one on the right, and off to the lower left corner there was a wooden easel, with a stool next to it and a stand with a palette, paintbrushes, blank canvas, paint tubes and other art supplies.

His brief survey of the surroundings was interrupted by Harry calling out to him. "Felix, give me a couple of minutes to finish this race and then I'm all yours," he said with his gaze fixed on the screen, his fingers gripping something with sticks and buttons.

He joined them on the sofa. Fine by him. It wasn't as if he was itching to have the brat all to himself. Wait … that came out wrong.

"Oh-ho-ho," cackled Weasley ominously, bringing Voldemort's thought back to the current time and place, "look what I got, Harry," he sing-sang, his side of the screen showing a toadstool like creature, carrying what looked to be a blue turtle shell with spikes at the top.

" ¡NO!" yelled Harry in Spanish. "Don't do it, Ron. Don't do it," he begged, but the redhead threw it anyway.

"That's for lending my sister your broom," he said as the shell travelled towards the front, where Harry was apparently in first place. "I'm still salty about that shit."

"Oh, hell no," he said again, this time in English, just before screaming, "YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" when the shell collided into his dragon-like creature and stopped him from advancing.

Weasley giggled like a maniac, quickly moving up the ranks, even managing to pass Harry who had fallen all the way down to sixth place.

"Fuck you, man. Fuck you," Harry said, upset. "I was winning the fucking race and you fucking ruined it because of salt, but okay, if that's how you want to play, we're going to play dirty. Wait until I get a red shell and we're going to be back in business."

Neither spoke for a few seconds, too focused on the race, until the redhead cursed. "Shit, I fell off."

Now it was Harry's turn to erupt in laughter. "Good. I'm glad, I'm glad you fell off, because that's what you get for doing me dirty like that with that blue shell." He hit a floating question block. "Oh, I got a star-a."

The next time he went through one of the blocks, he got a red shell and placed it on his rear. "For protection," he said.

They were close to the finish line, when on the last turn, Harry threw back his red shell, hitting someone, while another red shell hit Ron's vehicle and Harry breezed through the finish line as second.

Harry's triumphant roar "FUCK YEAH!" mixed with Weasley's scream of dismay created a cacophony that assaulted Voldemort's ears. Harry's yell turned into a fit, as he rolled on the sofa, clutching his stomach. The redhead stared in shock at the screen, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"Who threw that fucking shell at me?" said the redhead upset. He turned on Harry. "You threw it, didn't you?"

"It wasn't me, Ron," he said between gasps, raising his hands in the air. "I swear it wasn't me, otherwise I would have bragged about it. It was one of them Bowser kids, either Wendy or Roy, hell, maybe even Toadette." He broke into another fit of wheezing laughter. "Either way," he panted and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, "it was so poetically beautiful how you got to taste some well-deserved cart-ma, my friend. I guess my luck is not always rotten."

When they looked at the overall score, Harry placed third while Ron placed right behind him. Weasley looked like he probably did when he ate the sour plum bean or the whole scorpion. Seeing his sour face, Harry laughed some more, but reached out and pulled him into a sideway hug.

"Don't worry, Ron, you'll get a trophy next time, just remember not to throw a blue shell at your bestie ever again." The redhead still pouted, but the corners of his lips were turned upward.

Composing himself a bit, Harry turned to him. "Sorry for keeping you waiting." He handed whatever he had been holding to Neville and stood up. He followed him. "Would you like something to drink, before we begin our tour?"

"Well what do you have?"

"Water, tea – lots of it –, some juice, but mostly tea."

They went to the kitchen, which was part of the dining room, where Harry opened the refrigerator full of canned and bottled teas in all sorts of aromas and combinations. There was another, overhead cupboard filled with loose-leaf and powdered tea.

He was lost for words. This was like a teashop. "I don't even know where to begin."

"It can get overwhelming, but if you want to try some new flavours, take your time in deciding," he leaned on the counter beside him and crossed his arms languidly.

As he was examining the flavours – he was particularly drawn to Tropical Paradise; loose-leaf black tea with bits of orange, coconut and pineapple; and Eternal Life; loose-leaf green tea with jasmine and cornflower leaves and pieces of apricot and currant – Potter offered him snacks. "They're healthy."

"No, thank you, I'm still full."

In the end, he decided to go with Eternal Life and observed Harry brew it. He set some water aside to boil and took out a metal tea strainer-infuser to put a teaspoon of the tea mixture into it. "This'll take some time to brew. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," he smiled.

After asking him about Arithmancy, Hermione, his reading for the Potions exam on Monday and the progress on his homework, he whispered something that peaked his interest.

"Felix, you know how I met up with Voldemort during summer?"

He turned to the boy and nodded. "What about it?"

Harry looked toward the dining room entrance to make sure they were alone and that nobody was eavesdropping on them, before leaning closer to him with his face. "I just learnt something interesting in regards to Voldemort and me yesterday."

His eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Aha."

"And what did you find out?" He tried so hard to appear nonchalant about it, because Felix wasn't supposed to have any clue about Voldemort, the prophecy, his interaction with Harry or anything beyond what Weasley told him the first night when he explicitly asked him about it, but it was difficult. So very difficult.

Even more so with the brat standing so close to him, the fresh mountain scent of his skin enveloping his senses, his hot breath gliding over his skin with every puff of air coming from his mouth and nose.

"Apparently, the reason the man was trying to kill me in the first place was because of some prophecy that said I would have the power to vanquish him or some shit like that, and apparently, when we agreed not to attack each other through the Unbreakable Vow and a magical contract, the prophecy broke."

What? The crystal ball containing the prophecy broke? Did it really happen on that day? Was it really because of their truce? Did that mean that the prophecy was truly and officially void and that Potter had officially stopped being a threat to him?

He wanted to ask so many questions, his thoughts were in disarray, he tried to make sense of the information, get some explanation, but he couldn't. All it did was give him a headache.

"Who told you that?" he said with the most neutral tone and expression he could muster at that moment.

"Told me about what?" he asked confused.

"About the prophecy."

"Oh, that, Voldemort did," he said light-heartedly.

"No, not that," he hissed impatiently, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who told you about the prophecy breaking?"

"My godfather."

"And how does he know about it?"

"He heard it from Ron's father who works for the ministry. Allegedly, they only noticed this during their yearly inventory and since anything that has to do with Voldemort and me is of importance, a broken prophecy is kind of a big deal for anyone."

Why did he have to learn about this through Harry, who in turn learned it from another source, meaning that the Order knew about the prophecy and the (entire) Ministry with it? Why did Lucius, who was so deep in Fudge's ass he couldn't see a way out of it anymore, not tell him that? Why couldn't he inform him about important developments that concern him? He was his boss, damn it!

Then he remembered.

Oh, right, he cut off all means of communication between himself and his followers by disabling the dark mark and by not telling them his location.

It's not as if magical owls needed an address to deliver post. Then again, how would he explain the owls delivering letters of his Death Eaters if they did decide to write him about it, when Potter seemed glued to his front, sides and back at all times?

"Good for you," he said happily. "Because that's good news, isn't it?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, "I hope that it's a good thing, but it's not like it matters either way when there's already an understanding of non-aggression between Voldemort and me, and since neither of us wants to die any time soon, I doubt that either of us will break the truce."

The water reached its boiling point and Harry poured it into a double-walled heat resistant glass with no handle over the strainer-infuser, humming a melody.

As he watched him prepare the tea, he thought that maybe it was better he learnt about the prophecy through the boy … even though he still had a difficult time comprehending the boy's logic in telling such delicate information to an outsider.

Chapter End Notes

Fun random fact about the chapter: I almost had Hermione blurt out about Harry's ability to speak to snakes to Voldemort in disguise, luckily I caught it in time and edited it out, because Voldemort can't know about it yet.

Apartment Tour and Groceries

Chapter Summary

Harry shows Voldemort his apartment, Voldemort questions Harry's sanity and the first groceries smuggling operation is a success.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

' What a let-down,' Harry thought after not getting the reaction he expected from Voldemort. ' I was honestly expecting more from him.'

Even when he decided to tell him about the prophecy being broken, the man remained stone cold and completely in control of his emotions. Okay, maybe there was a gleam of surprise in his red eyes when he revealed it to him, but otherwise the man acted like it was not a big deal. Perhaps it wasn't, but he thought that Voldemort would have a stronger reaction given his history of impulsive reactions to any mention of a prophecy concerning him.

With the tea sufficiently steeped, he removed the infuser from the glass and handed the glass to him. "Do you take your tea with sugar, milk, both or neither?"

He emptied the infuser into the trash bin under the sink, rinsed it, dried it and placed it back to its place inside the cutlery drawer. He did the same with the saucepan he used to boil the water and put away the tea bag back into the cupboard.

"Depends on the tea." He blew on the steaming glass to cool the liquid a bit, took a sip and seemed not to mind the sweet tartness of the currants mixed with the bitterness of green tea, for he didn't request neither sugar nor milk.

…

Nursing his tea in hands, he followed Potter as he took him on the promised tour around his apartment. They started with the kitchen, where he showed him where he kept everything, from pottery to broomstick, mop, vacuum cleaner and cleaning detergents.

"I was thinking whether to buy a dishwasher or not, but in the end, I decided that I didn't need it, that I can wash everything by hand," he remarked.

"And where do you plan to put all the food that you'll get tomorrow, when you have the fridge filled with tea in bottles and cans?" he wondered.

"I'll just move everything to a cupboard," he said plainly, "I have plenty of room here, there's a reason why this room is the biggest room in the apartment – with the dining room included, of course." Harry turned to him. "You'll help me unpack all the groceries, won't you?"

He really didn't want to; he wasn't a servant, but he couldn't refuse, so he said, "Of course."

"Brilliant," he clapped his hands together. "Moving on."

They passed the dining table and returned to the living room, where he went over the important parts of the room, which were his art station with art supplies, the entertainment, or gaming, section (as he called it) and his craft station, in great detail.

He showed him all the videogames he owned, which mostly had to do with Super Mario, with a few odd games in between, such as Donkey Kong, Pokémon and Rayman Legends, then all the board and card games he accumulated over the summer, and all the books, which were mostly classics with a few non-fiction books on learning and human psychology in between.

"I thought one couldn't use electricity and other such devices at Hogwarts or other magically strong places? So how is it that you are able to have all this?" he gestured towards the TV screen, the videogames, and even the boy's mobile phone.

"I thought so too, but I asked the shop assistant from the shop where I bought and furnished this apartment about it and he said that there's a way to make magic and electricity like or at least tolerate one another. So of course, I decided to pay a bit extra to have it installed so I could use all of these wonderful electronic devices," explained Potter.

When he was done talking about the entertainment section of the living room, he showed and gushed over his sewing machine, the tapestries, the paintings by numbers in oil and diamonds, the yarn and how soft it was, the different kinds of fabric – cotton, linen, silk, velvet – and all the sewing projects he planned to do in the future.

"When exactly will you have time to do all that?" he wanted to know. "There are only twenty-four hours in a day, not to mention that you sleep eight hours a day on average, you spend around five hours a day attending classes, you work out, you eat – soon you'll be cooking as well –, you have to do your homework and study, so when will you have time to sew or paint anything?"

"It's not like I plan to do all that in a span of a month," huffed Harry indignantly, "I know I have a packed daily schedule, but you know what they say: where there's a will, there's a way and I am determined to do it, even if all my projects take me years to do."

"Even painting?" he pressed incredulously. "Without filling in the gaps with the assigned colour?"

"I may not have any painting talent," he said solemnly, "but I discovered someone, who has faith in my copying skills and who says that anyone can paint – even a talentless and artistic-less bumpkin such as myself – with enough practice."

He arched his eyebrow. "And who is that person, if you don't mind me asking?"

The boy looked into the distance with a dignified posture and an earnest expression. "The man, the myth, the legend … Bob Ross. A true muggle wizard king of landscape oil painting."

He stared blankly at him. Muggle wizard king? That didn't even make any sense!

"It was his soothing voice as his paintbrush glides over the canvas," he continued, completely oblivious to his unimpressed look, "and his encouraging words as he creates trees or clouds with a few strokes that motivated me into buying everything he uses in The Joy of Painting TV show." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Unfortunately, he passed away twenty years ago, but his work and words of wisdom will be forever remembered and cherished." He pressed a fist to his chest and sniffed. "A minute of silence for the Great Bob Ross."

He wanted to smack his face, but instead simply rolled his eyes. He really didn't care for a dead muggle painter of landscapes, no matter how fabulous Potter thought him.

The seconds passed and the boy remained with the fist on his chest, his chin resting on his chest and eyes closed. The only sound were the sound effects of the videogame that the redhead was playing. Was he serious? Did he seriously intend to remain silent and still for a minute?

Around the halfway mark, he suddenly opened his eyes, lifted his head and said, "Alright, no time to waste, let's proceed with the tour."

Thank Merlin!

He continued with the bathroom, the door on the upper left-side wall, which was also the smallest room in the apartment. "It may be small, but it still has everything a bathroom needs: a toilet, a shower, a sink, a cupboard for hygiene products, an ironing board and an iron, and a washing machine."

"How is it that you decided to buy a washing machine but not a dishwasher? Do you intend to wash all your laundry yourself?"

"Yes, precisely."

"Why? Doesn't the school have somebody employed to take care of that … the magical way?"

"They do," he deadpanned, "house elves, though I'm not sure if they are employed in the traditional sense of the word or if they are simply slaves. Either way, I don't want to overburden them if I can do what they do by myself. I'm not an invalid nor a conceited brat," he concluded with a smile.

His brows knitted together. "So, let me see if I got it right. You plan to cook, clean, wash the dishes, and do your laundry."

"Aha." He nodded, grinning wide.

"In addition to all the things I mentioned before?"

"Aha."

"Alright," he let out a breath. "I'm just checking if I still follow everything you have on your mind." He looked at him with uncertainty. "You do realise you sound more like a housewife – or is it a househusband – every second?"

Now Potter looked at him in confusion. "So? There is nothing wrong with being a housewife or a househusband. In fact, I look forward to it. I embrace it fully and I will revel in it once I get to it, because there's nothing more therapeutic than homemaking."

He doubted it, but he wouldn't meddle in Potter's affairs. If he wanted to play house with someone or on his own, he was free to do it, just like how he wanted to take over Britain and Potter would do nothing to stop him.

When they opened the adjacent door, Voldemort was impressed with Harry's gym. He had absolutely no idea what was what, but the machines had names, instructions and pictures on them, so that was helpful.

"Welcome to my personal paradise," announced Harry ceremoniously. "This is where I train my endurance and strength every morning, and where you'll train with me on Sunday, and I couldn't be more proud of what I did with this place," his hand suddenly clenched his chest and he looked like he was in terrible pain, "even if it hurt my wallet."

He swallowed thickly and rested his forehead on his shoulder. "I spent so much money on this equipment – on this whole apartment – it hurts my soul," he whimpered pitifully. Not sure what Potter wanted from him, he reached around him and awkwardly patted him on the back.

A second later, he lifted his head, sniffed and said, "At least, long-term, this is a better and cheaper investment than if I paid a monthly gym membership fee just for the summer over the course of decades."

"And how much did you spend overall on everything in the apartment?"

"Over 20,000 galleons, which is over 100,000 pounds."

"Where did you get all that money?" he wondered, wide-eyed.

"My parents left me with quite a large sum of money in my fund account," he explained, "and I'm told that once I hit seventeen I'll get access to the Potter Family account as well, which also has a lot of money, so … it's not like this apartment cost me all of my savings. However, I've always been conscious and cautious about money, because I thought I had none before going to Hogwarts and was living off what my relatives would be willing to give me, and it hurts to think that in a matter of a week I have spent that much money on something that was a selfish, self-indulgent whim."

He sighed. "I'll have to think of a way to earn back all that money." He gasped, lighting up like a lightbulb. "Maybe I can sell my copies of Bob Ross' paintings, make them magical and sell them to wizards. It's not like they know who Bob Ross is, so they won't know that none of it is original and that I copied everything from him."

He looked so smug and proud of his idea that he couldn't resist bursting his bubble. "And what are you going to do when they are so impressed with your landscape paintings that they want you to paint their family portraits?"

He shrugged, unfazed. "I'll just tell them I don't do portraits; that I only know how to paint trees, mountains, clouds and water. Not even animals or fruit." He clapped his hands together. "Okay, enough about that, let me walk you through everything in here, so you'll know what to expect when we do some exercises together," he said and proceeded to describe his morning routine and demonstrate how to operate each gym machine, and Voldemort couldn't help but think that the boy was showing off … again. Especially his muscles and strength, for he was lifting things almost twice his body weight with no effort at all.

Finally, to close up the tour, Harry showed him his bedroom, which was just slightly bigger than the bathroom. It had a standard-sized bed with mint green covers decorated with emerald, neon, olive and pastel green flowers. Above his bed, there were three posters. One was of a woman, standing on a rock, clutching her arm and holding a bow in the other, with a sign Tomb Raider written on it. The other was of a man, wearing a suit, an overcoat, a deerstalker, holding a walking stick in one hand and a revolver in the other, behind him, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament were visible. The sign read The Testament of Sherlock Holmes and, in between the two of them, there was the final poster: Harry's list of ten things to live a long, happy, healthy and peaceful life.

Opposite the bed, there was a wardrobe and his desk, with a small bookshelf on either side of it. The bookshelf to the right held everything related to Spanish learning and the bookshelf to the left contained all his textbooks. Above his desk, there were three other posters.

Going from left to right, there was a white-haired woman with sea green eyes, a scar over her right eye, wearing a white shirt with a brown leather bodice, holding a sword in her hand; a white-haired, white-bearded man, with slitted ember eyes, scars, wearing armour, a wolf medallion, two swords on his back and a crossbow in one of his hands; and a raven-haired woman with violet eyes, wearing a black suit and a glowing pentagram necklace, and a raven to her right with a lightning trail behind it. On all posters, there was a sign that said The Witcher III: Wild Hunt.

"So, this is where I've slept for the past two nights. There's not much in here, aside from some clothes, my desk, my school books and language learning material and of course, the most important thing: my wife and husband." He stepped to the two posters above his bed. "This here," he pointed to the woman, "is my wife Lara Croft, and this here," he pointed to the male, "is my husband Sherlock Holmes."

"You're married?" he gaped at the teen.

"Well, not by law, but in my head, I am married to these wonderful human beings." With a look full of love, he gazed upon the two figures in the posters and sighed.

Frowning, he ventured to ask, "Are they even real people? Because they sure don't look real."

"To me," he began seriously, "they are real people, but technically speaking, no, unfortunately they are not real; they are fictional characters, but they are so full of life that I wish they were, so I could marry them."

"And what is so good about them that you consider them spouse material?" he dared to ask him, and tried not to sound patronising, or worse, like he thought that the boy had lost his marbles, even though he thought exactly that. The boy had lost it if he considered fictional characters as his wife and husband.

He quickly realised that he shouldn't have asked, because the boy was too excited to tell him all the reasons he was attracted to Lara Croft and Sherlock Holmes.

"Lara, here," he started, "is much like me, she lost her parents young, but at least she got to know them. She went to a boarding school, she is a loner, has a knack for getting herself into trouble, and is a survivor, while Sherlock is the complete opposite. He's very smart, witty, sarcastic, observant, lean but strong and athletic, lives for his job which is solving crime and other mysteries as a consulting detective, although he does suffer from periods of what his friend, Dr Watson, describes as depression or black mood, that's when he is completely lethargic and usually resorts to his infamous seven-percent cocaine solution. It's the one thing – besides smoking – that I don't like about him, but thankfully Watson has managed to wean him off the drug and thankfully he never resorted to opium, which was wildly spread during Victorian times. He also doesn't particularly like women and he was a bachelor his entire life, but I would like to think that I would have a chance with him had he been a real person. And if his retirement truly consists of him living in the countryside as a beekeeper, then I am all the more attracted to the idea of spending my old age with him."

"I see," he observed, doing his best not to show his true thought on the subject, "very interesting." He turned to the other three posters. "What about them?"

He walked over to his desk and started with the middle poster. "This is Geralt of Rivia; he's a Witcher, not a wizard but a Witcher, from the School of the Wolf at Kaer Morhen, hence the wolf medallion. The difference being that for him to be able to perform some basic magic and have enhanced senses and supernatural reflexes, he had to undergo a ritual called the Trial of Grasses as a child, a very dangerous and painful ritual that lasts a week and makes use of alchemical and mutagenic potions. Many die by the third day, but Geralt and a few others survived, but had to sacrifice their ability to reproduce. Witchers also live longer than average humans, much like wizards, and specialise in monster hunting. Normal people don't particularly like them, much like how muggles don't like wizards now that I think about it."

"Sounds like the perfect husband, wouldn't you agree?" he teased.

Harry grimaced. "He would be, if he wasn't such a manwhore, besides, he already has someone in his life, unlike Lara and Sherlock, this woman right here," he pointed at the raven-haired woman, "Yennefer of Vengeberg, a sorceress, similar to witches and wizards as we know them. Also hated by the general populace, but extremely important in royal court politics. She would also make a good wife, if she wasn't prone to sleeping around like Geralt and being such a colossal bitch, but if it works for them to have an open and tumultuous relationship, all the better for them, I am much more old-fashioned and traditional in terms of marriage and relationships."

"What about her?" he pointed to the white-haired woman.

"This is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, also known as Ciri, the Princess of Cintra and the Lady of Time and Space, because she can travel between worlds and dimensions and different time periods on a whim. She's a half-elf, I think, or at least has elven blood in her that gives her the power to manipulate time and space. A group of elves that go by the name of the Wild Hunt hunts her relentlessly; they managed to capture her at some point and wanted to force her into the elven king's bed to get pregnant, but apparently, the king was too disgusted with her to get it up so nothing happened. What else?"

A pensive look entered his eyes. "She's also lost her parents early in her life, has had a rough late childhood like me, is very dangerous so … while she's good-looking and powerful, I wouldn't want to be involved with her, because I wouldn't want to be hunted by the Wild Hunt, which is almost like being hunted by Voldemort and his Death Eaters all over again. So, no, thank you. I have just managed to get Voldemort and his followers off my back; I really don't want to deal with a different version of them."

And with that, Harry concluded the tour, and Voldemort was left questioning the boy's sanity.

…

It was half past four when they joined Neville and Ron in the living room. It was also time, Harry decided, for them to stop procrastinating and do some more schoolwork. Packing a packet of corn wafers, some bottles and cans of different teas, and fruit-and-nut trail mix as an afternoon snack with him, he ushered the other three out of his apartment and into the library, where Hermione had been doing her homework since Arithmancy ended two hours ago.

She was surprised, but happy, to see them, and appreciated the afternoon snack. She was done with Charms and Herbology and moved to the monography for the Potions safety protocol exam. Harry decided to do Herbology homework, before continuing with his reading, which consisted of writing an essay on the properties and uses of Fanged Geranium, which again took him about forty-five minutes to write entirely.

By six o'clock, when they usually ate dinner, he had managed to read twenty pages of the monography, which brought him to an overall twenty-five pages. With two hundred and twenty-five pages still to go and only two days left, he really needed to get through at least the first fifth of the book, then squeeze a hundred pages on Saturday and Sunday.

…

While Harry and company were busy with schoolwork, Severus spent his Friday afternoon doing Potter's errands. After finishing his classes at four o'clock, he left for Gringotts, withdrew and converted some of his money into muggle currency and proceeded to deliver it to Black, who was already waiting for him, so that he could buy Harry's groceries.

Snape simply wanted to deliver the money and return to school, but Sirius had other plans apparently.

"Wait, Severus," he called after him, when he turned to leave. Severus halted, but remained with his back to Sirius. "Stay for a cup of coffee or tea, whichever you prefer."

"I didn't come here to spend my free time with you, Black," he drawled, facing him, "or, as our therapist would put it, to hang out. I simply came here on behalf of your godson, who is determined to make my life miserable, even though he promised he wouldn't do it, with this secretive weekend grocery shopping, because he thinks the school food isn't healthy enough for him." He huffed. "Imagine that."

"All the more reason to have some tea," insisted Sirius and earned a glare from Severus. He let out a defeated sigh. "Look, I'm really trying to make this work, Severus. Why can't you put a little bit more effort on your part as well?"

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply to control his irritation and anger, before exhaling and looking at Sirius.

"I don't know what else you want from me, Black. I'm already attending joint therapy sessions with you, where we talk about our differences and play co-operative muggle board games for children, I will apparently have to deliver you money for Potter's groceries every Friday afternoon and let you into Hogwarts every Saturday so you can deliver your godson his groceries from hell. What else do you want from me?" he snarled.

"For us to spend more time together," he said gravely, "without Florence being there to get us talking to each other. Contrary to what you might think, I actually do enjoy your company."

Severus' eyes narrowed in suspicion and sneered. "I don't believe you."

"You don't have to take my word for it, if you don't want to," he said lightly, "you could see that for yourself if you'd just stopped being so uptight and prickly about every word that comes out of my mouth."

At that moment, the front door opened and Remus entered. "Oh," he said surprised, but quickly recovered and greeted Snape with a smile, "Severus, nice to see you again."

Severus didn't answer Lupin; instead, he turned to Sirius again and simply said, "If you want somebody to talk to, here's Lupin, your mate from school. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to have tea with you."

Lupin's confused gaze shifted between Severus and his friend Sirius.

"Guess what, Snape," he said impatiently, "I'm already doing that. Thank you for pointing out the obvious."

"Then keep doing it and leave me out of it."

Sirius groaned and his hands flew to his hair. "Well, what if I don't want to leave you out of anything, you fucking dickhead!"

Deathly silence settled between the three of them, with Sirius' eyes widening in horror as he realised what had come out of his mouth, Remus looking equally shocked and Severus staring blankly at Black, before turning without a single word to either of them and simply leaving, making sure to slam the door hard behind him.

Sirius smacked his face. "Fucking shit," he growled, furious at himself. "I blew it. I fucking ruined everything again."

"You have to control your temper, Sirius. How else do you expect to convince him you have changed and that you want to … you know … have something more with him?" pointed out Remus.

"I know that already, Moony, you don't have to tell me," he said frustrated. "It's just … I don't know what's wrong with me. I see him and I want to jump him, tear his clothes off and fucking bite and kiss and scratch him, but I can't do that out of nowhere, because then he's going to punch and hex me, so, instead, I have to walk on egg shells around him and hope he decides to grace me with his attention." He stopped ranting, another wave of horror taking hold of him. A hand flew to his mouth to cover it. "What am I even saying? Moony, what's happening to me?"

Remus let out a sigh and clasped his shoulder. "You're attracted to him, maybe even in love."

"But it's Snape, Moony," he whined petulantly. "He's not even good-looking, yet for some reason my prick wants to smash that flat ass either way."

Remus' cheeks turned bright red. "Sirius, do you really have to use such crude language?"

He frowned and sent a glare his way. "This is not the time for you to act like a fucking maiden, Moony," he scolded him. "This is a serious matter what I'm going through and I will use the language I please to express my feelings of frustration."

"But I am a virgin and so are you."

Remus let out a long-suffering sigh. Sirius could really be difficult sometimes. He couldn't really blame Snape for not having the patience to deal with him; sometimes he wondered whether he would have put up with Sirius and his outbursts if things unfolded differently during their student years.

Perish the thought! If Sirius found out he was having such thoughts, he would throw a temper tantrum accusing him of the ultimate betrayal and he really didn't want to deal with a temperamental Sirius.

"What should I do, Moony?" he whined again, grasping the front of his shirt, throwing his head back. "I don't know how long I'll be able to hold it in. If I don't get release soon in Snape's warm arsehole, I'm going to die of blue balls, and then my godson is going to be all alone in the world and who's going to be the one to bring him his weekly groceries."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Nobody has ever died of blue balls, Sirius, and you are not going to be the first to do so, so stop being so melodramatic and pull yourself together," he snapped.

"How can you be so heartless?" he accused him.

"I'm merely stating a fact, and if you really worry about your blue balls, then maybe you should masturbate," he deadpanned.

"I already am, every morning."

"Then do it more often and use your imagination."

Sirius gasped horrified. "But it's Snape." It was Remus' turn to level him with a glare. "Fine, I'll masturbate to Snape every time I get hard for him."

" Good," he quipped, "now, can we, please, change the subject of our conversation?"

"Sure, what do you want to talk about?" he said cheerfully as if he hadn't just gone through a crisis.

"For starters," he reached into his trouser pocket to retrieve a packet, "here's another pair of two-way mirrors from Diagon Alley you wanted." He handed the package to Sirius, who pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, thanking him profusely and promising to pay him back once he regains his freedom.

…

At nine o'clock the following day, Sirius found himself browsing the shelves of the nearby muggle supermarket, pushing the shopping cart in front of him and looking at his godson's reference sheet of food items he wanted him to buy. There were some spices, lots of flour – and five different kinds of it –, brown sugar, fresh and frozen fruit, a few pounds of rice and frozen fish and seafood, gallons of milk and plain Greek yoghurt, chickpeas, regular peas, green beans, lentil, sesame seeds, olive oil, lots of lean meat – grass-fed cattle, turkey and chicken. Moreover, Harry also wanted corn, cottage cheese, ricotta, Parmesan, Pecorino, Emmentaler, Gouda and Blue Stilton cheese, polenta, salt, black pepper, vinegar, ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, fresh eggs, herbs, ginger, butter, yeast, baking powder, a slab of pancetta, lots of garlic, spring onion, regular onion, leek, soy bean sprouts, and other frozen and fresh vegetables.

Before he even reached half of the list, he already feared that the money Severus had delivered to him the day before wouldn't be enough. When he was done, he went to the cash register, where he watched the cashier scan the products with bated breath and prayed that he would have enough money to buy everything.

He filled four large tote bags, which seemed to be enough for a family of four. Did his godson really plan to eat all of this in a week or did he plan to buy less next time and store whatever he could in his pantry, fridge and freezer for a couple of weeks? Hopefully it would be the second option.

He sighed a sigh of relief when the cashier announced the final cost, "That will be £119.98."

Oh, salvation, he thought, two pennies less than what he had on him. He paid in cash, told them to keep the change, and then with a tote bag on either shoulder and a tote bag in either hand, he waddled out of the supermarket to the parking lot, where he had left his improved flying motorbike.

With the groceries safely in the sidecar, he mounted the motorbike, entered the address into his navigator and followed the instructions. It took him about twenty-five minutes to get to the quiet and clean suburb where Harry's new roommate lived.

He planned to make it quick, just load the boxes onto his motorbike and return to Grimmauld Place. However, as soon as Felix's elderly parents opened the door and learnt he was the one they were waiting for to pick up the boxes, they showered him with kindness and hospitality, urging him to make himself comfortable and stay for a cup of coffee. Before long, he was conversing with them as if they had known each other for years and not mere minutes. There was something soothing about them that inspired trust. Maybe it was their age, their voice or demeanour that made one confide in them.

Suddenly, the mirror connected to Harry started vibrating in his pant pocket, and he remembered his original purpose in coming there. He excused himself and slipped into the bathroom.

As soon as he answered Harry's call, he was greeted with an agitated, "Where the hell are you Sirius? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago."

"Sorry," he whispered, "I got caught up talking with Felix's parents and forgot the time, really nice people, I must say."

"Felix will be very pleased to hear that, but you should really deliver the groceries to me so the meat and milk don't go bad in the late summer heat and that the butter doesn't end up melting and contaminating other produce," he said with urgency. "And don't forget to give them the mirror," he reminded him in a whisper, before ending the call.

With a sigh, he returned to the living room. "It was a pleasure meeting you and talking to you," he said with a smile, "but I'm afraid I'm behind schedule and my godson is expecting me." He reached into his other pocket to pull out the other mirror. "He also told me to give this to you," he said and handed it to Ingrid. "It's a magical mirror, it connects to this one." He pulled its pair from his pocket. "We use it for communication."

They looked at it with a confused smile. "And how exactly does one go about it?"

"Look into the mirror," he instructed and they obeyed. He in turn looked at the mirror in his hand and saw them reflected in it. A gasp came from Felix's parents and a look of absolute awe flooded their features. "If you want to get the other person's attention, you can also call for them into the mirror and the mirror on the other side will vibrate to let the recipient know the person in possession of the other mirror wants to speak with them," he explained.

"Oh, my," gasped Ingrid excitedly, grinning like a schoolgirl getting her favourite toy for Christmas, "this is amazing."

"This other mirror will go to your son, Felix, so you can talk to each other without having to go through the time-consuming process of writing letters and posting them through owls."

She looked up, with tears in her eyes, then rose to her feet and went over to hug him. Taken aback, he was unsure how to respond, so he relied on his instinct and gently wrapped the old woman in his arms.

"Thank you," she breathed; her voice full of gratitude. "Thank you for this."

She pulled back. "We told Felix that Harry doesn't have to give us anything in return for the vegetables, but we are really thankful to him for this. This really means a lot to us," she sniffed and dabbed her eyes. Erik wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.

"You can thank him yourselves," he smiled, "Now, I should be going. What have you got for me?" he walked to the dining table, where the three boxes filled with fresh, organic vegetables were.

"This box," Ingrid signalled to the right one, "has potatoes, carrots, cucumbers, aubergines, zucchinis, cauliflower and broccoli. In this one," she pointed to the central box, "there are lettuce, lamb's lettuce, spinach, parsley, basil, kale, some garlic and onions, as well as an assortment of mushrooms, from penny buns, yellow chanterelle, button mushrooms, to parasol mushrooms, giant puffballs and oyster mushrooms. And finally," she pointed to the last box, on the left, "I have included some apples and plums from our garden trees and the homemade marmalade I did with them, as well as some fresh figs and blackberries, and homemade apricot marmalade and honey."

Sirius sighed, and then carried the boxes to his motorbike one by one, until his sidecar was almost overflowing with produce. He turned on the engine and turned to Ingrid and Erik to thank them again for their hospitality.

"You're welcome, Sirius," smiled Ingrid. "Feel free to come visit us anytime. The lunch invitation is still open. I'll start preparing the calamari and potatoes for batter-fried calamari, tartar sauce and potato pancakes with some fluffy waffles as dessert."

Sirius hummed in delight. "Sounds delicious. Let me deliver all this to my godson and deliver the mirror to your son and I'll come back for lunch."

…

Snape was getting very impatient and irritated, that much was obvious to Harry, and he didn't blame him, when for the past forty-five minutes, he had three Gryffindor boys – him, Fred and George – and an undercover Dark Lord lounging in his office, who were waiting for Sirius to arrive with the goods, playing their third round of Exploding Kittens.

The first round went to Voldemort, thanks to how he played see-the-future, skip-a-turn, attack and shuffle cards and his outstanding poker face. The second round went to Fred by pure luck and now with Fred and George out of the round, it was between him and Voldemort and who would be the first one to run out of diffuse cards to prevent a kitten explosion.

Just as he was about to draw what he felt was an exploding kitten, the fireplace roared to life and the head of his godfather appeared within the flames. "Harry," he called out of breath and not at all pleased with him.

He knelt before the fireplace. "Yes, Sirius?"

"I hope you do not intend to have the same shopping list every single week, because the amount of food you had me buy is fucking ridiculous. Do you have any idea how much food is here in the living room, right now?"

"Uh … a lot?" he provided, wincing.

"How much manpower do you have with you to carry this shit?"

He looked back towards Voldemort and the twins. "Three."

"Get at least two more." His mouth fell open. "Unless you want to see how much strength you've built since you started weight training, then you can carry four tote bags yourself, while each of your companions carries one wooden box." With a heavy sigh, he told him to step aside.

The green flames grew in size and intensity, until Sirius stumbled through the fireplace with two tote bags in each hand. "That's the first round," he said as he put them on the ground next to him, before turning around and travelling through the fireplace to Grimmauld Place.

He made three more trips after the second one, until he let out a sigh of exhaustion and collapsed into an empty chair.

"Is that all?" he asked him, looking over the groceries.

"Yes," he panted, "that's all. Oh, wait, one more thing," he reached for his pocket and pulled out a mirror. "You," he addressed Voldemort, "come closer. This is for you."

As soon as Voldemort looked at the mirror, the excited voice of his muggle mother rang through the office. "Erik dearest, come it's Felix."

"Mother? Father? How did you –" Voldemort's confused voice replied and Harry came up from behind him and peeked from the side to see what was going on: both Ingrid and Erik were pressing their cheeks together to try and fit as much of their heads into the frame as possible.

"Harry's godfather Sirius gave it to us on Harry's behalf," she explained enthusiastically.

"Apparently it's a magical mirror for communication," added his father, "your mother has been staring into this thing for the past five minutes to see if you'll show up in her mirror. At this rate, she's going to burn the calamari."

She huffed indignantly, turning to her husband. "Don't be ridiculous, darling. Calamari are going to be just fine, very golden brown and delicious with tartar sauce and potato pancakes," she scolded him.

Harry had to cover his mouth to smother the laughter that was bubbling in his chest. The Hanssons were so cute and funny, he couldn't help himself. He would bet that celebrating Christmas or New Year with the Hanssons was a blast. Maybe, if he managed to befriend Voldemort, he would be able to visit them and experience it for himself.

"Now we can talk whenever you're able to, my sweet darling boy, and you can tell us everything without having to wait for owls to deliver the letters, isn't that amazing," she concluded happily, beaming at Voldemort.

"Yeah, mother," murmured Voldemort, "it is."

Harry glanced sideways and up at his face. His eyes widened ever so slightly at the look of warmth and the melancholic smile tugging at the corner of the man's thin lips, as he gazed at his parents, so happy and excited to see him through a magical artefact … and instead of being wary of it, they embraced it, because it allowed them to reach their son.

His chest ached in pain, sympathy, sadness, pity … he wasn't sure which, perhaps a combination of all four, perhaps something entirely else. Heck, he wasn't even sure why he felt like that.

He didn't know much about Voldemort before his rise to power and he didn't pretend to know. His brief interaction and disastrous encounter with his teenage version also didn't paint much of a picture of who he was. Sure, he was a brilliant student and a murderer, but apart from the academic achievements, being responsible – directly or indirectly – for Myrtle's death and framing Hagrid for his crime, what had his life been like before he became Lord Voldemort that having loving parents was enough to evoke such an expression on his face. That was something he didn't know, but he wanted to know. He wanted to understand.

The mention of his name brought him back to reality. "Is Harry there with you? I would like to thank him personally for this amazing gift." She leant closer to the mirror trying to see behind Voldemort.

"I'm here, ma'am," he announced energetically, popping next to Voldemort.

"You probably already heard everything, but I still want to thank you for this invaluable gift, even when I told my boy to tell you that you didn't have to give us anything in return for the groceries."

"I know, I was there when he read the letter, but I've already made up my mind about it," he said gently, "besides, it's good manners to return favours and I didn't want you to think I was rude."

"I would also like to thank you for being there for our son and taking him into your care. He's very smart and independent, so I have no doubt he would have taken the time to explore the castle on his own and got to know people at his own pace, but what you did was very kind and I'm sure that Felix appreciates it as well," she smiled.

"It was a pleasure, ma'am. After all," he said smirking, giving a playful sideway look to Voldemort, who caught it, "Felix is my friend." He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a firm but gentle hug, a gesture that made Voldemort tense. "And I take extremely good care of my friends."

Without any sort of warning, he stepped on the tips of his toes, pressed a kiss to Voldemort's cheek, smoothed out his hair and snuggled closer into his side. His mother let out a sound of awe and delight as she gazed upon them, while Voldemort looked alarmed and displeased at the same time.

He should definitely do it more often then.

Chapter End Notes

I haven't forgotten about Severus and Sirius and their background slow-burn romance - not that Voldemort and Harry's romance isn't because it is, but they'll still get together faster than Severus and Sirius.

Also, Harry is in full "flirt mode" when it comes to Voldemort. That boy is determined to make the undercover Dark Lord swoon.

Voldemort's fine dining and gym experience with Harry

Chapter Summary

Harry contemplates dating Voldemort and Voldemort finds the idea of dating Potter ridiculous. They still eat together like a couple and exercise, even when Voldemort almost ends up dying in the process because he's so out of shape. Sirius is starting to make a move on Severus.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Potter hugged him and kissed him … Potter kissed him on the cheek … in front of his muggle parents, in front of Black, Snape and worst of all … the two redheaded menaces, who are without a doubt going to tease them for it.

What was Harry thinking?! Kissing him like that. Had he completely lost his mind or what?

Of course, his mother was delighted, gushing over them like a high school girl. "Oh, how wonderful," she cried. "You hear that, Erik? Felix has a friend."

' More like a tormentor,' supplied his mind, because Potter was doing this on purpose, he was sure of it. The kid was messing with him.

"I heard it," said his father.

"If there's anything more we can do for you, Harry, let us know. We'll be more than happy to help our son's friend," his mother grinned widely.

"Thank you, ma'am, I'll keep that in mind," Potter smiled back, before his father reminded his wife of the calamari and she rushed to the stove to take them out of the frying oil, while he took over the call.

"Don't worry," he said, "she's going to be back in a minute."

"Oh, that's quite alright, sir," the boy assured him, completely taking over the conversation and hogging his parents' attention, "besides, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away."

"I don't know if Felix has mentioned it to you, but ever since he mentioned you were a carpenter, I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me how to make furniture."

His father blinked in confusion a few times, before brightening up and saying, "Why, with pleasure. Not a lot of people appreciate the craft nowadays, when they can just go to a store and buy mass-produced, factory-made furniture, so it is always nice to see a youngster such as yourself show interest in any kind of trade."

He could hear the distant sound of sizzling oil and running water in the background.

"Thank you, sir," replied Harry. "I strive to be independent and self-reliant and carpentry falls under that."

Not long after, his mother returned, wiping her hands into a kitchen towel. "I'm back," she announced, sitting next to her husband and pressing her head into the frame again. "Have I missed anything?"

"Not much, dear, Harry just asked me if I could teach him carpentry, because he wants to learn how to make handmade furniture."

"That's wonderful," she exclaimed happily.

It bothered him. He didn't like how Harry was trying to steal the attention, the smiles, and the praise. They were his parents not Potter's. He glared at the boy.

"We should really be going, mother, father," he said curtly. "We have to study for a test on Monday, not to mention that I have volunteered to help Harry with unpacking the groceries, and we still have to eat lunch."

Potter agreed with him.

"Oh my," said his mother, concerned. "You will let us know how you do on the exam, darling, won't you? Although I have full faith in you, son. If you did well in your entrance exams, there's no reason for you not to do well in this one."

The corners of his lips turned upwards ever so slightly, and then with a final greeting, he ended the call and shoved the mirror into his trouser pocket.

"Alright," Harry breathed his hands on his hips. "We'll go through the contents at my apartment, but first, we need to disguise this." He turned to Snape. "Professor, if you'd do the honours."

With a few waves of his wand, the plain looking boxes and tote bags turned bright orange with the twins' logo on them and the food inside it turned to a colourful assortment of candy. "A Finite Incantatem will be enough to end the glamour."

"Thank you, Professor," the boy beamed, then turned to his godfather, who was still resting in the armchair, and ran up to him to hug him. "And thank you, Sirius." His godfather hugged him back. "I'm sorry for overburdening you. I promise that there'll be significantly less things to buy next time."

"I hope so."

With that, he grabbed one box, while the twins reached for the other two. Potter decided to balance the four bags by himself.

…

"So," began Fred playfully, looking at him and Voldemort, "when exactly have you two become a thing?"

Voldemort almost went flying forward as his toe missed the stair when Fred's insinuation registered in his mind and Harry laughed at the absurdity of Fred's insinuation. "Felix and I aren't dating."

"Oh, so then you're friends with benefits?" said George, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Hey," jumped in Fred, "we're not judging, you two make for a fine picture so if you're shagging each other, you have our full support."

Voldemort looked horrified at the idea of the two of them dating or shagging. Harry laughed even harder. "Most certainly not," he wheezed, although the idea itself wasn't repulsive in the least. "We're not dating and we're not shagging each other. What makes you think that?"

"You hugged and kissed him in front of his parents," explained George.

"On the cheek," he specified.

"Exactly," exclaimed Fred. "You don't give us or any of your other friends kisses on the cheek."

"So there must be something going on between Felix and you, if you give him special treatment," rationalised Fred.

"Well," he chuckled, "you are correct when you say that Felix is special to me," he could feel Voldemort's stare on him and he decided to ignore it, "but not for the reasons you two think."

"So, you didn't bugger him senseless on Wednesday afternoon during your castle tour?" asked George slightly disappointed.

"Oh my God," he exclaimed, "no. Why would you even think that?"

"Well," began Fred, "you two were away doing your thing for quite some time and then, when you came back, Felix couldn't even walk on his own."

"And when he did, he was walking with a slight limp," interjected George.

"His cheeks were flushed and you were glowing like never before," concluded Fred.

"And you thought that we had sex?" he said amused.

"Why yes," they said in unison. "Why else would he look like that?"

"Because he was tired from all the walking?" he provided.

"We didn't consider it as a possibility," they confessed.

"Yet your perverted minds jumped straight to sex as the only logical explanation."

"What can we say?" they said mischievously. "We are perverted, so of course that would be our first thought."

"It's a good thing you decided to have a joke shop, because you would be terrible detectives. Poirot and Holmes must be rolling in their fictional graves if that is the extent of your deductive reasoning."

He had another fit, this time his stomach hurt and his eyes filled with tears of mirth. Voldemort didn't look amused in the slightest.

…

Snape was trying to focus on preparing the questions for the safety protocol exam for fifth-years on Monday, but Black was distracting him with his stare.

"Now that you've done your part in Potter's food scheme and recovered your breath from the strenuous activity of carrying all that food, leave," he drawled, not meeting the other's gaze.

"No."

He huffed in annoyance, placed the quill down and glared at Black. "And why not?"

"I just made myself comfortable and I don't feel like getting up," he deadpanned.

"And I don't feel like having you in my office, sitting in my armchair and staring at me," he argued.

"Why?" he said confused. "It's not like I have said anything since my godson and his friends left. I have given you your peace and quiet to do whatever it is your working on."

"I don't want you here," he snarled. "What part of it do you not understand?"

"If it's because of what I said yesterday, I'm sorry for saying what I said. I didn't mean it." Severus looked at him with a slightly arched eyebrow, not believing him. "Perhaps in the heat of the moment, but not truly," he corrected himself. "It's just that sometimes you still manage to work me into saying things out of agitation and frustration with just how unforgiving and inflexible you are in your grudge and scepticism towards me."

"I would say with good reason. You can't expect me to turn over a new leaf and give you a blank slate after three weeks of muggle therapy. Three weeks is too short a period for all the years of mutual aggression, spite and hatred between us."

"Perhaps, but it won't kill you to drink coffee or tea with me, so I don't understand why you are so adamant not to accept my invitations," Sirius pointed out.

"I'm busy right now."

"You're always busy with something whenever I ask you," grumbled Sirius, crossing his arms.

Severus sighed. "Black, I don't have time for this."

"You could make time if you wanted," he pressed, frowning, "but you don't so, you'll never have time for me. Unfortunately for you, Snape," he got up and walked up to his desk, placed his palms atop the polished dark wood and leaned forward, so his nose and lips were some inches away from Severus, "I'm a stubborn and persistent bastard, and when I make my mind about something, I am not so easily discouraged."

Severus tensed, but refused to show it. He didn't like how close Black was, that he could smell him and feel his breath on his skin, yet he faced him straight on, like so many times before, refusing to be the first to pull or look away, even when that was all he wanted to do: get as far away from Black as possible.

"And what have you decided that you refuse to back down, Black?" he asked with an even tone and a bored expression.

The other man's eyes gleamed mischievously as a smirk appeared on his lips. He leaned forward, dropped his voice into a husky whisper and said, "That, Severus, is something you will find out … eventually."

He winked at him, pulled back and walked over to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder. "See you soon, Snape, and I'll get you to drink something with me sooner or later."

As the green flames enveloped Sirius, Severus sneered behind him. "More like never," he grumbled, returning to his exam sheet, "you arrogant mutt."

…

"Thanks a bunch for your help in carrying all this, Fred, George, much appreciated," breathed Harry as they deposited the food on the kitchen floor and cancelled Snape's glamour. "Felix and I will take it from here, putting all of this into the fridge, freezer, cupboards and pantry, so, if you have other things to do, you are free to go, but maybe come by later for some corn on the cob."

With the twins gone, the first thing on Harry's agenda was to get the corn ready for cooking in salt water. He peeled off the leaves and the strings, rinsed it, then placed them in a deep pot filled with heavily salted water, then placed two lids over the corn – one small and one big – to keep the corn submerged under the water for an even cook.

After that, he had to empty the fridge and store away all the dairy products and other heat sensitive things like meat and frozen fruit and vegetables, so, with Voldemort' assistance, he did just that.

Aside from a few instructions to him from Harry, the man was eerily quiet and pensive, with a small crease between his eyebrows.

"You've been awfully quiet," he observed aloud, as he stacked the Greek yoghurt cups on the top shelf, next to the butter. "Is something bothering you?"

The crease between Voldemort's brows deepened and his jaw muscle ticked ever so slightly. "Not really," he mumbled, with his gaze fixed on the task before him.

"Then why do you look like you are constipated? Do you need to use the restroom?" he asked, because, of course, he didn't believe Voldemort when he said nothing was bothering him; otherwise, he wouldn't be wearing such a sombre expression. The question was what was bothering him.

"No," he grumbled.

"Then what is it?" he insisted.

He thought to the moment this change took place and realised that it happened around the time that the entire misunderstanding with the twins occurred. Still, just to be sure, he asked him about it.

"Don't tell me it's about what Fred and George said about us."

He didn't answer, but his expression darkened even more, which told Harry that was exactly what it was. He threw his head back and laughed, amused. Voldemort didn't appreciate his reaction.

"How can you find it entertaining?" he demanded, quite upset.

"Because it is entertaining. Why do you find it so upsetting?"

He looked at him with a fierce look in his red, slitted eyes. "You don't?"

"Not at all," he said and meant it too. "I mean I don't appreciate misinformation about us spreading around, but honestly," he looked him over, "I don't feel upset about the idea of us dating."

Of course, it didn't mean he was eager to jump in bed with Voldemort – that is if he discounted that one incident when he got hard from Voldemort's throaty groans and used him as masturbating material – or even date him any time soon, but it also didn't mean he found the idea of having a relationship with Voldemort repulsive. If anything, he grew accustomed to the man's snake-like features in these five days – and would go as far as to say that they looked good on Voldemort – and the fact that they were now able to coexist peacefully also made the idea of pursuing a relationship with him a viable option.

There were still plenty of caveats to consider, mainly this strange arrangement where he knew Felix was Voldemort, but the other had no idea he knew. If they started a relationship during this charade, the relationship was destined to fail once the truth inevitably came to light – because he doubted Voldemort would forgive him –, and while Voldemort had many faults, Felix did not. Therefore, there was technically nothing that would prevent him from dating Felix, but since Felix was Voldemort, he would have to overlook Voldemort's faults if he were to date him.

In short, dating Voldemort would require a lot of patience, forgiveness, energy and unconditional love to make a relationship with someone like him work, and even then there was no guarantee that it would last, if the man didn't put in the effort as well, especially the effort to change, because it wasn't like Voldemort was an entirely lost cause. Sure he lied, manipulated, tortured and killed, and revelled in it, but even so, there had to be some good in him yet, it's not as if he was born evil, and if Voldemort could love with the same intensity he hated, a relationship with such a man would be the most rewarding, amazing and everlasting experience.

However, did he really have what it took to handle Voldemort as a partner, to save his damaged soul, to turn him away from crime without violating the no-interference part of their truce, to show him that there was power in love and doing good? Did he even have the right to do any of it? Could he really claim to love Voldemort unconditionally when he didn't condone his vile actions, and was actively trying to change him for the better?

He wasn't sure, but one thing was certain, there was a reason the two of them were connected by fate and if he already lived with a piece of Voldemort inside of him, he could just as well spend a lifetime by his side.

…

"I know we've only known each other for five days," continued Potter with an oddly determined look in his eyes, "but if there's ever a time we grow attracted to each other, I won't fight the attraction. I will accept my feelings and love you with every fibre of my being."

This was worse than he thought. Not only did Potter's friends think the two of them were in a relationship that involved sexual intercourse, but now Potter was also saying that he didn't mind the idea of dating him and that he would love him.

Unbelievable.

In what world was that plausible, when the mere idea of it was ludicrous at best and horrible at worst?

…

It took them about an hour to unpack everything, just in time for corn to cook and for them to miss the school lunch. "Don't worry," he said happily to a tired and hungry Voldemort. "After we eat the corn, I'm going to make beef and potato stew with carrots, peas and some soy sauce. It's going to be great."

"And how long will it take to cook?"

"About forty-five minutes, prep included."

Voldemort groaned in annoyance and impatience, but accepted a plate with corn, sat down at the dining table and sank his teeth into the soft kernels still attached to the cob. He soon joined him.

They ate in silence, gnawing on the corn and when they finished, Harry leaned back in his chair and placed a hand on his stomach. "If I shat Carolina Reaper on Wednesday, it's safe to say that I'll be shitting corn tomorrow."

"Likewise," murmured Voldemort.

"Okay," he jumped to his feet and headed for the fridge. "So, we need beef." He took out a two-pound cut. "Some peas," he reached into the freezer and took out a bag of frozen peas. "Soy sauce." He pulled out the bottle from the fridge. "What else?" He headed to the pantry and brought back one large carrot, five large potatoes and two large onions. "And finally, some seasoning." He opened the cupboard where he put away all his seasoning and took out salt and sugar, which confused Voldemort, who was standing next to him looking at the ingredients.

"Why are you putting sugar in a savoury dish?"

"Because the recipe calls for it," he said and proceeded to rinse the potatoes and the carrot. "Here," he said, reaching for the peeler and handing it over to Voldemort, "take this and start peeling if you want this to cook faster, but first wash your hands."

Now was the time to assess Voldemort's kitchen skills. He did say that he helped Ingrid in the kitchen; therefore, he should know how to use a peeler efficiently and cut vegetables into pieces. When he handed him the first few potatoes, he glanced sideways inconspicuously a few times to see how he was doing and to his surprise, he didn't struggle.

' So,' he thought, ' he wasn't lying when he said that he helped in the kitchen.' If he was also truthful about the other things he did with his muggle parents, he really wanted to see him do those things. He was certain that he looked incredibly sexy fishing, working in the garden, sawing wood with a handsaw and using a hammer to drive the nails into the wood.

When he was done rinsing the potatoes, he peeled and rinsed the onions, before cutting off the ends and slicing it into large wedges with a chef's knife. At the same time, Voldemort finished peeling all the vegetables.

"What now?" he asked.

"Here," he reached into the drawer with knives and took out a carving knife. "Think you can cut up the beef into bite-size pieces?"

Voldemort's red eyes flashed with something akin to excitement as he held the knife and began slicing through the meat like butter. ' I wonder how excited he would be if he held a cleaver and used it to carve up an entire chicken, bones and all. Probably very excited. '

With Voldemort cutting up the beef, Harry reached for the rest of the peeled vegetables and cut them into wedges. He then placed another pot on the stove, filled it with a splash of olive oil, and turned the heat to medium-high to sear the beef, but not burn it immediately.

Once the beef turned a dull grey-brown, he added the vegetables and continued to sear it for another couple of minutes, before covering everything with a cup of water and a lid. While he waited for everything to boil, he mixed four tablespoons of soy sauce with three tablespoons of sugar and a teaspoon of salt.

"Now, we let it cook for twenty minutes and, in the meantime, I'm going to prepare some dough for my spelt bread."

"What about the seasoning and peas?"

"We'll add the seasoning once the potatoes get tender and that's also when we'll add the peas since they don't need much to cook."

He went into the pantry to grab spelt flour, oats and honey. He already had olive oil, salt and brown sugar on the counter and the active-dry yeast in a cupboard next to the spices. He warmed the water for the yeast and measured out the rest of the ingredients. Then once the yeast had formed a layer of foam on top of the water and it smelled like beer, he mixed it with the rest of the ingredients and kneaded it by hand.

Once everything was incorporated and the dough resembled one giant sticky blob, he oiled another bowl and transferred it, covered it with a kitchen towel and let it rest.

He checked on the potatoes, added the seasoning and a cup of frozen peas, stirred it well and let it cook for another fifteen minutes or until the liquid had evaporated completely. The smell of beef, soy and caramelised onions filled the kitchen and Harry let out a throaty moan of delight. "I missed this smell," he said in a dreamy voice. "Can't wait to eat it. The recipe calls for another thirty minutes off heat before serving, but I'm sorry, I don't have enough patience to let all the components marinade for that long."

As he observed the steam swirl upward and listened to the vigorous bubbling, he decided that a salad would go perfectly with the stewed meat and vegetables. He used the lettuce, lamb's lettuce, carrots and spinach that Ingrid and Erik sent him, and since he was already cooking a Japanese dish, he might as well make some Japanese sesame salad dressing. He had all the ingredients, except sesame oil, but he would use olive oil instead.

While Voldemort helped him by rinsing everything and then cutting the carrot into long and thin strips and tearing the lettuce into bite size pieces, he toasted and ground a handful of sesame seeds, then added some mayonnaise, sugar, vinegar, soy sauce and olive oil, and mixed it until everything was well incorporated and had a cream-like consistency.

He prepared two deep plates and two bowls, and filled them with the piping hot stew – he gave himself a large serving, which he carefully measured – and fresh salad. Finally, he poured the luscious and rich dressing with sesame seeds poking through over the wet spinach and lettuce leaves and carrot strips.

"Do you want to eat with a fork or chopsticks?" he asked Voldemort.

"With a fork, because I don't know how to eat with chopsticks."

"Fork it is," he smiled, "and I will go with chopsticks."

They sat down at the table to eat. He picked up a piece of beef, blew on it a bit so he didn't immediately scorch his tongue and killed his tasting buds, and let a satisfied hum as the meat practically melted in his mouth. While still mostly savoury, the food had sugary undertones that burst forth, especially when eating the vegetables.

He looked at Voldemort to gauge from his expression if he liked it or if it was something, to which he needed time to get accustomed. It would seem that from his unenthusiastic reaction, he wasn't used to the taste. The same occurred with the salad dressing.

He giggled. "Is this your first time eating this meal?"

"I've had stew before, but it usually has a more soup-like consistency and I eat it with a spoon with a slice of bread on the side, and it most definitely doesn't include any additional sugar or soy sauce."

"It certainly has an interesting taste and consistency, but … if you don't dislike it, the next time you eat it, you'll get used to it. What about the dressing? You also don't seem to be a fan of the sesame salad dressing."

Voldemort grimaced. "I don't even taste any sesame, but something else entirely and I don't think I like it."

He chuckled. "I know; it's strange that it doesn't really taste like sesame. To me, for example, it almost tastes like coffee, and I also didn't like it the first time I ate it, but the more I ate it, the more accustomed I got to its unique taste and now it's one of my favourite salad dressings, alongside the yoghurt dressings and the classic vinaigrette."

The Dark Lord kept making faces.

"Do you want another bowl of salad with just salt, oil and vinegar?" he offered. "I'll eat this bowl so it doesn't go to waste."

Voldemort shoved the salad with sesame dressing in Harry's direction and asked for a regular salad dressing.

Harry rose to his feet and prepared a new bowl of salad just for the Dark Lord.

They resumed eating and didn't speak until they were done. Then, Harry offered to make some fresh ginger tea, while the spelt dough continued rising and they were waiting for the food to settle in their stomachs.

"Will you eat dinner with me as well?" he asked as he was chopping up the ginger root.

"Depends on what you're cooking, if you're going to do something weird where you put sugar into savoury dishes, then I think I'll pass."

Harry laughed. "Well … I plan to do omelette rice, which requires ketchup and ketchup contains sugar, but it doesn't really affect the overall taste that much."

Voldemort's brows drew together. "Omelette rice? Is that an omelette made of rice?"

Another wave of chuckles left Harry's lips. "I believe an omelette made of rice would be called a rice omelette, and this is called omelette rice so that isn't it," he said. "It's basically just steamed rice mixed with pieces of chicken thigh, peas and ketchup then covered with an egg omelette in the form of a crepe and topped with more ketchup."

"That doesn't make sense in my head," he said, just as confused when he thought that he would make an omelette out of rice.

"If that isn't to your liking, I can always make something else – like Paella or just regular seafood risotto – as long as it's high in protein, because I need protein to build muscles," he said joyfully.

"If you make seafood risotto," he began nonchalantly, "I will stay for dinner."

He grinned wide. Look at him, already taming and domesticating the Dark Lord with homemade food.

…

Voldemort thought he was going to die.

The Potter brat hauled him out of bed at an ungodly morning hour, five-fifteen. Still in his pyjamas and bleary-eyed, he followed him to the gym, where they first ran for ten minutes on what the boy called a treadmill, then cycled for another ten minutes on a stationary bicycle as warm-up. By the time they stretched and began doing sit-ups, he was already exhausted, not to mention he couldn't do a single push-up or pull-up and couldn't lift more than forty-four pounds, which was the weight of the barbell bar Harry used for stacking weight plates almost twice his body weight to do weighted squats and bench-press.

In the end, he did about a tenth of Harry's usual workout routine and was aching all over, could barely even walk and move his arms. His entire body ached and burnt in addition to all the sweat pouring out of him, and to think that Potter did ten times more than he did every single day … no wonder the boy was beginning to look like an athlete, he had even grown a couple of inches since he saw him at the café.

"You can shower first," said Potter, "and you're free to use everything in the bathroom. I'll go prepare us some breakfast."

"I don't have any clothes with me."

"I can go grab some underwear, pants and a T-shirt for you, if you want," the boy offered and, at the time, with him feeling like his limbs were going to fall off, he accepted the offer, because he didn't have it in him to return to the dorm for a change of clothes. It wasn't until he was standing under the cool water that it occurred to him that Potter could come across his diadem horcrux.

"Fuck," he said under his breath. "What do I do? The boy has already gone to get my clothes and I can't go after him stark naked." He recalled that he placed the diadem at the bottom of the trunk, so it was unlikely for him to find it. Still, the possibility remained and he wanted to bang his head against the tiled-wall of Potter's bathroom for allowing such a slip-up.

It didn't take long for Harry to return and when he returned, there was nothing off about his voice or demeanour, so he assumed that he didn't encounter the tiara.

…

While Voldemort finished showering, Harry went to make them some lovely breakfast – toasted slices of spelt bread he baked the day before, with a spread made out of Greek yoghurt and cottage cheese, peeled and sliced cucumbers with a fried egg on top.

When he was done, he called for Voldemort, but received no answer. He found him collapsed on his sofa, wearing baggy black sweatpants and a loose plain white T-shirt.

"Come," he tried to encourage him, "breakfast is ready."

"Then bring it here, because I refuse to move from the sofa," he grumbled.

"Do you want me to massage you?" he offered, and not because he was a pervert. The man looked like he was in a lot of discomfort and pain, even more so then when they raced, and he wanted to make it easier for him to recover.

Voldemort grimaced, considering his offer, but accepted. He went to grab the soothing salve.

"You'll have to strip to your underwear," he said with a straight face, "so I can massage your back, shoulders and legs."

Voldemort tried to get himself out of his T-shirt first, but couldn't raise his arms. "I can't get it off," he grunted, his face scrunched up in pain, "my arms hurt."

With Voldemort's permission, he helped him out of his clothes, all the while purposefully avoiding looking at the man's crotch, despite the curiosity. He was certain that, as a grown man, he was well developed – thick and long – in the nether regions and he didn't want to risk another incident like the one on Wednesday.

He began at the feet, like last time, working his way up the ankles, calves, past the knees all the way to the hips and loins.

' Focus, Harry, focus,' he chanted like a mantra in his head, while trying to keep his breathing under control. At least this time, there were no arousing sounds coming from Voldemort's mouth, so that was a plus.

' There's nothing erotic about this. There is nothing erotic about this. Keep it cool. Keep it together. You can do this, Harry. You are strong. Your will is strong. Your mind is strong. You will not succumb to temptation that is Voldemort's dick. You will not get hard.'

His gaze wandered unconsciously to Voldemort's crotch, its outline pressed against the fabric of the boxers, which were slightly bulged. ' Fuck!' he cursed in his mind. ' Holy fuck, he looks huge. I want to put it in my mouth.'

And just like that, the blood was rushing into his own cock and touching the man's skin only made everything ten times worse, when the only thing he could think of was how delectable he looked and felt, and he wanted nothing more than to become a sinner by losing himself in Voldemort's sinful body.

Therefore, as soon as he was done with the massage and he helped the man into his clothes again, he hurried to the bathroom to wash his hands and take care of the problem between his legs, with Voldemort's clothed dick and arse, smooth pale skin, thin lips and hypnotising red eyes as masturbating material.

…

With Voldemort still unable to get up, they ate their breakfast in the living room, where they also studied for the better part of the day, with breaks in between, which usually consisted of Harry cooking and reapplying soothing salve to Voldemort's limbs, something that required getting him semi-naked every time and Harry struggled with arousal every single time. And was it just him or did Voldemort make small guttural noises at the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like groans and moans to his ear with each subsequent massage?

"What if I can't get out of bed tomorrow and go to classes?" the Dark Lord asked morose, during their fourth massage. "Why did I agree to do this today?"

"If you won't be able to get up on your own, then I'll carry you around the entire day," he replied digging his thumbs into Voldemort's thigh.

He snorted derisively. "And have the entire school believe you fucked me so hard I can't even get up? Forget it."

He cleared his throat. ' Not a smart move, Voldemort,' he thought as he felt his prick twitch. ' Not a smart idea to talk about me fucking you while I'm also massaging your thigh so close to your crotch.'

"Someone's also bound to think that if you limp the entire time, so it's not like we can win against or escape the gossips of Hogwarts," he said, nonchalantly. "Believe me, I've been trying for four years and haven't managed, so I've decided not to even try this year. They will believe whatever they want to believe, so we might as well play along or don't take it too seriously … until it stops being a joke and becomes a reality."

A look of disbelief flashed across Voldemort's eyes.

…

At some point in the afternoon, Ron burst into the apartment, his hair a mess, his face pale, with dark circles under his eyes and a look of utter hopelessness plastered on his features.

"I don't think I can sit for the Potions exam tomorrow, Harry," he rasped. "It's already four o'clock and I still have a hundred pages of the monography left. Unless I pull an all-nighter, I won't be able to get through it." He buried his head into his hands. "I'm doomed, Harry. I'm going to fail this exam and Potions and the year with it. The only thing that can save me now is skipping the exam by taking one of Fred and George's malady-inducing snacks. That way, I can take the exam on Wednesday and buy some time."

While he had managed to read the entire monography in time, Harry still winced in sympathy for his anxious and struggling friend, but disagreed with Ron's solution. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Ron, for two reasons. First, if you want to make your sudden and convenient illness believable, you would have to skip all of tomorrow's classes, and if you show up on Tuesday completely healed, it's also going to look suspicious, man."

"But everyone else in our dorm and year is going to do it," protested Ron, "except you, Felix, Neville and Hermione."

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "If they want to skip classes, let them do it, they will have to deal with the consequences that come with it, you are going to be better than that, which brings me to my second reason why skipping the test tomorrow is a bad idea," he said sternly. "With what we know about Snape, do you seriously think, he would give the same questions two times in a row?"

Ron blanched. "No."

"While I don't think that tomorrow's test will be easy by any means, I don't even want to imagine how difficult Snape is going to make the one for all those who will be skipping tomorrow's exam. He's going to be ruthless, because he'll know that people didn't study enough – either because they were too lazy or they thought they could cheat somehow by getting answers from others in advance – and he will make it extra difficult for them."

"You're right, Harry," breathed Ron horrified. "Do you think I can get an Acceptable even if I haven't read the last hundred pages?"

"Sure you can," he said encouragingly. "Just make sure to cram as much of those one hundred and fifty pages you have read and you should pull through."

"Okay. Can I join you for revision then?" he asked determined, and Harry gave him a bright smile.

"Of course you can, Ron." He clasped his shoulder in comfort and reassurance. "We're going to get through this together."

Chapter End Notes

Fun fact about the chapter: the scene with Harry giving himself the pep talk about being strong enough not to succumb to the temptation of Voldemort's dick is directly inspired by one video on YouTube concerning eye-tracking challenge, where the guy was saying how he'll not look at the boobs, yet the first thing he does when he sits down and watches the video is look at the boobs. I thought Harry could be the same ... but instead of random woman's boobs, his weakness is Voldemort's dick.

Umbridge makes her move

Chapter Summary

Voldemort spends the night in Harry's apartment, Ron and Ginny have their Quidditch try-outs and the Weasley twins get in trouble with Umbridge.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

At six o'clock, Ron left for dinner. Harry and Voldemort would have joined him if the latter had been able to move and if he had let him carry him, but he was adamant not to allow such public humiliation a second time, so they remained behind, in the apartment.

"Do you have any particular wishes for dinner?" he asked the man.

He felt like Voldemort's male nurse, catering to his every whim, while Voldemort acted the patient. Not that he minded any of it, it just always ended with him having to hide in the bathroom until he got rid of his erections, and he didn't want to appear suspicious, what with all his toilet breaks coinciding with the massages.

Now that he thought about it, Voldemort's toilet breaks also coincided with his toilet breaks, because every time he came back after masturbating, the man had demanded he carry him to the toilet, but it was probably just a coincidence.

"Not really." He sounded displeased with something. Was he uncomfortable?

"Then, if I make steamed rice with peas, steamed broccoli, pan-seared chicken strips and cucumber and tomato salad with creamy lemon yoghurt dressing, will you eat it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Give me about thirty minutes to prepare everything."

As the rice was cooking and the chicken searing, something occurred to Harry. Something unbelievably stupid and reckless, almost masochistic – he figured that with Voldemort having occupied his sofa and refusing to part with that piece of furniture, he could let the man spend the night in his apartment, right there in the living room.

Why he wanted to torture himself by having the Dark Lord in the room next to his bedroom, he didn't know, but he liked the idea of having him close, especially if the man woke up in the middle of the night and needed assistance.

Another thing to consider was the fact that he had Voldemort's locket horcrux in his nightstand. Keeping him so close to it wasn't a smart idea, but aside from the apartment tour on Friday, he made sure to keep Voldemort away from his bedroom just because of that; otherwise, he would have offered him to sleep in his bed instead.

He really shouldn't do it, but before he could stop himself, he called out to Voldemort from the kitchen: "Say, Felix," he began and continued once he heard Voldemort's voice respond, "would you like to spend the night here, in my apartment?"

…

Voldemort thought he had misheard Harry. Spend the night … in Potter's apartment?

After allowing the boy to disrobe him to his undergarments, massage him against his better judgement and allowing himself to get aroused by his touch, he would have to be out of his mind to agree to such madness. He was out of his mind for even considering it.

In his defence, the sofa was extremely comfortable, Potter's cooking was delicious and he liked it when the brat catered to his needs and carried him around in his strong arms, even if those same arms were causing him a different set of problems. Because while the massage helped relieve some of the pain, it was embarrassing to him that, at his old age, he would feel like a horny teenager – when he had never been hindered by such basic emotion as lust – by Potter's calloused hands gliding over his skin, pressing down in the right places to make him melt right into the leather underneath him and let out the most embarrassing noises.

At the very least, he didn't make a mess in front of Harry, whose touch lingered on his skin long after the brat had stopped touching him to the point of exciting his imagination, stimulating his body and sending jolts of pleasure through his very core, until he was coming undone each time Harry went to the bathroom.

Fortunately, he vanished the mess, before Harry could see it and comment on it. He would be damned if he let him believe he was getting hard and orgasming because of him, even if it was true.

"I mean," Potter's voice, the smell of seared chicken and the sizzling of oil brought him back to the present, "you don't have to if you don't want to, I just offered because you seem comfortable on the sofa and you don't want other people to see me carry you. But, should you change your mind about it, I would be more than happy to carry you to the dorm."

True, he didn't want others see him carried around like an invalid and between that and staying the night at Potter's apartment, the latter seemed like the lesser of two evils for the time being. He was sure that if both he and Harry don't sleep in the dorm, those who didn't know any better – like Finnegan and Thomas – will no doubt think they were somewhere private, engaging in sexual intercourse, because of course that's the first logical thing hormonal teenagers would think happened between other teenagers.

"I'll stay," he said and a second later Harry's head popped from the dining room, his expression incredulous.

"Sorry, come again?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I said I'll sleep here tonight."

Harry gaped in disbelief at him, wide-eyed. "Cool," he said, nodding absent-mindedly, "cool. I …uh …I'll get you a blanket and a pillow later." Then, he disappeared into the kitchen again and Voldemort was left wondering if he made a good decision by staying.

After all, he needed to build a friendship with Harry … and he could only do that by spending time with him. Nevertheless, he doubted that friendship involved getting aroused by your friend's touch and conjuring up erotic images in your mind about said friend.

…

He didn't expect Voldemort to accept his offer, but it came as a pleasant surprise and he felt elated that he did. He found himself grinning like an idiot and celebrating it with fist pumps and hip thrusts, doing a celebratory dance around the kitchen and letting out silent cries of victory.

Only to panic over his proximity and the influence the man had on his teenage body a minute later.

He told himself that a door would be separating them and that everything was going to be alright, but honestly, not even one hundred doors would be enough to erase the image of a half-naked Voldemort looking like sin itself from his mind. Even now, he could still recall the smoothness of his skin, the outline of his crotch, his lithe form and his fingers itched to touch him again.

By the time dinner was ready, he had composed himself enough to appear his usual, cheerful self. Halfway through their dinner, Ron re-joined them together with Neville and Hermione for another hour and a half of studying, before retiring to bed.

When they were alone once more, Harry helped Voldemort get ready, before going to bed himself.

"Goodnight, Felix," he said as he turned off the lights in the living room, and his heart fluttered and filled with joy and excitement when Voldemort called back, wishing him goodnight as well.

…

Despite Umbridge surprising everyone with a quiz on the first chapter during their lesson the following day – good thing he decided to revise a bit just before the lesson – and him having to deal with a cranky Angelina after presenting her with his Quidditch resignation letter, Monday turned out to be a good day for Harry.

He tucked Voldemort in first thing in the morning, after the man had managed to kick the blanket to the floor during the night, and ran his fingers through his hair – it was weird how he saw one thing, but felt another.

Around breakfast time, a loud "Fuck!" and a groan from Voldemort had him hurrying to the living room, only to find the Dark Lord in pain, after a cramp had seized his calf. He, of course, took it upon himself to relieve him of the excruciating agony and received a mumbled thank you, once the pain had subsided.

In spite of Voldemort's reluctance to let people see him carry him, he managed to get the man's approval to carry him from classroom to classroom on his back, because Voldemort refused to skip classes and the Potions exam.

' Always the exemplary student, aren't you, Voldemort?' he thought amused. ' Can't have you be less than perfect, even when it's just a ruse for you.'

Speaking of the Potions exam, Harry was proud to say that he did great. He doubted he would get an Outstanding, but he was confident in his chances of scoring enough for an Exceeds Expectations. His friends seemed to have done good too, with Hermione and Voldemort aiming for a perfect score, Neville aiming for a solid Acceptable and Ron … well, he was aiming for the fifty percent mark, which was just enough for him to pass.

"I keep telling you, Ron," huffed Hermione, "you have to be more serious about school work, otherwise, you'll always worry about grades and deadlines."

"I do study and do my homework," Ron protested, "I'm just not as enthusiastic about it like you or Felix are. I'd much rather do other things."

"Well, with that kind of attitude you won't get far in life," she crossed her arms.

"Who said I want to be like Bill, Percy or my father with a place in Gringotts or the Ministry?" said Ron annoyed. "Maybe I want something different, something that doesn't require me to read or write essays or reports or anything like that?"

"Don't tell me you plan to be a YouTuber or a professional Quidditch player?" she said incredulously.

"I don't know about being a YouTuber, but I sure as hell wouldn't mind the latter. They do get paid lots of money if they perform well."

"You said it, if they perform well, and if you want to keep the money flowing you have to keep producing good results year in year out, which gets increasingly harder the older you get, because your reflexes dull over time."

"Why do you always have to be such a pessimist, Hermione?" he questioned.

Hermione gasped, insulted. "I'm not a pessimist, I'm a realist, there's a difference."

"There's no difference to me," he mumbled under his breath.

"Well, there is," she protested, her cheeks getting more flushed by the second.

"There isn't."

"There is."

"Prove it."

"With pleasure, just you wait, Ronald Weasley." She was about to pull ahead, when Ron called out to her.

"It's going to take more than a dictionary definition to convince me of the difference between pessimism and realism," he said with a smug smirk on his lips.

She stilled for a moment, tomato red in the face, before ducking her head and going to the library.

Harry closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Neville did his best to ignore the entire conversation and Voldemort leant closer to Harry to whisper in his ear. "Do they always fight like this?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Oh, boy."

"Oh, boy, indeed," he agreed.

After getting all the homework out of the way, Harry took it upon himself to create cheerleading banners to support Ron and Ginny during their try-outs the next day. Halfway through though, he realised that he wasn't making as much progress as he would have liked, so he employed Neville and Voldemort's help to make things go faster.

"Why are you making so many posters anyway?" Voldemort asked him confused.

"So that you, Neville, Hermione, Luna and I will all have one."

"Wouldn't one big one be enough?"

He looked him straight in the eyes and with a flat voice said, "No, it wouldn't. Now keep drawing the Gryffindor crest."

…

"I don't think I can do this, Harry," said Ron, looking very pale, upon his return from Harry's bathroom, wearing Gryffindor Keeper robes the next day. "Maybe I should follow your example and retire before even getting a spot on the team."

"Nonsense, Ron," said Harry, clasping his shoulders. "Remember all the training you do every summer at the Burrow with the twins and Ginny. You may not own the best broom or the best Quidditch equipment, but you compensate for it through sheer skill alone. You'll be brilliant today, I know it, just don't stress too much about it."

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding, "you're right, Harry. I can do this. I've been training all my life for this very moment. I will become the new Gryffindor Keeper."

"That's the spirit, Ron," Harry smiled, patting him on the shoulders. "Go kick some Quaffle ass."

His friend smiled back, only to grimace a second later, grab his stomach and race back to the toilet for a shit.

Harry turned to Voldemort and Neville. "Everything is under control."

"Doesn't look like it," commented the Dark Lord.

Contrary to his words of encouragement, Harry ended up sweating profusely from his place on the stands and holding his breath every time a Quaffle flew towards the hoops. Then, an enormous sense of euphoria and relief flooded him when Ron successfully defended the hoops. He was surprised, but happy, to note that he wasn't the only one in that state. Hermione seemed to go through those exact stages of nervousness and giddiness, only that in her case, it had less to do with her being there for her friend and more with her hoping her crush would do good.

Who would have thought, huh? Hermione being attracted to Ron. Well, she probably wasn't the only one if Ron's pouting and jealous streak the previous year during Yule Ball was any indication.

In the end, Ron had successfully defended every single Quaffle shot and outperformed all others trying out for the same position. Harry and his friends – barring Voldemort, who merely limited himself to clapping – let out a chorus of cheers, waving their banners and wooden ratchets around.

Now it was time for Ginny to do well by being the first one to catch the Golden Snitch and this time, Harry was an even bigger mess, mostly because he was familiar with the position and because he had noticed the snitch before anyone else – even before Ginny.

"Come on, Ginny," he said under his breath, wringing his hands together, "look to your left. The Snitch is on your left." However, even when Ginny looked to the left, she gave no indication she saw it. "Oh my God, Ginny," he let out a frustrated groan, his fingers grabbing his hair, "how can you be so blind? How can you not see it, when it's right there? Even I can see it and I'm at least two-hundred feet away from it."

He turned to Voldemort, dug his fingers into his robe and rested his forehead on his shoulder. "This is so frustrating to watch," he whined. "It makes me want to pull my hair out."

"Then don't watch," deadpanned the Dark Lord. "Nobody is forcing you to watch."

Despite his frustration, Harry kept an eye on what was happening, the Snitch had fluttered away towards the other side of the pitch, towards the stands and it was then that he saw Ginny react and make a dive for it. The other candidates followed her.

"That's it, Ginny!" he yelled, excitement thrumming in his bones, his fingers holding tightly onto Voldemort's arm. "Keep your eyes on it and use that Firebolt speed boost to close the distance."

She was about to crash into one of the towers, but made a sharp right turn at the last second. "And be aware of your environment, for fuck's sake! Because I want that broom back in one piece, you hear me!" After all, the Firebolt was a gift from his godfather and he still wanted to use that broom for recreational flying.

One of the candidates caught up to her and tried to ram into her, but she saw it coming and dodged him at the last second then counterattacked with a ram of her own and made him crash into a tower stand.

Harry winced and let out a sympathetic hiss. "Ooph, that must have hurt."

"Go, Ginny," cried Luna, waving her Ginny cheerleading banner. "I believe in you."

The Snitch made a sharp U-turn and Ginny stepped on the breaks, drifted in the air and, when she was facing the right direction again, hit on the boost pedal again.

"Damn, did you see that drift? She murdered that shit," he praised.

Not long after, she caught the Snitch and Harry exploded into cheers again, this time by dragging Voldemort into his celebration by jumping him and latching himself with all four limbs onto him. "She did it! Woohoo! She caught the Snitch!" he screamed.

Voldemort lost his balance and ended up on the floor with Harry on top of him. "How wonderful," he wheezed, "now, if you wouldn't mind, could you get off, you're heavy and I'm still in pain."

Harry looked down at Voldemort, caught beneath him, and he felt arousal stirring in his groin at the sight before his eyes: Voldemort on his back, slightly out of breath, with flushed cheeks and him straddling him.

The temptation to press down his hips until his crotch connected with Voldemort's crotch was great, perhaps too great for him to resist. However, fearing Voldemort's reaction to Harry poking him with his erection more, he apologised for knocking him over and helped him up instead.

They joined Ron and Ginny on the Quidditch Pitch, with Luna running and tackling Ginny into a hug and Hermione going out of her way to praise Ron. "You were brilliant, Ron," she said and his friend blushed instantaneously.

"Thanks."

"You were amazing, Ron, Ginny," said Harry. "Although I must admit that my faith in your skills, Ginny, wavered for a moment there, when you took so long to notice the Snitch, but I knew you would succeed in the end."

"I still noticed it before everybody else, didn't I?" she protested indignantly.

"True, but perhaps you should go to an ophthalmologist to see if perhaps you need to start wearing glasses – Ow!" he yelped and rubbed his arm, where Ginny had hit him. "It was just a suggestion, sheesh, no need to get violent, you dragon woman."

Ginny glared, but her brothers laughed, agreeing wholeheartedly with Harry.

…

Harry should have known that, eventually, Umbridge would make a move to make their lives miserable, just as he should have known that Fred and George giving out their malady-inducing candy to other students could result in them getting into trouble.

Instead, it completely blindsided him, when Lavender and Parvati met them by the Entrance Hall after Quidditch try-outs, tears running down their cheeks and apologising profusely to Fred and George.

"We didn't mean to get you into trouble," sobbed Parvati.

"But the truth serum forced us to answer her questions against our wills," wept Lavender.

Everyone exchanged questioning looks.

"Okay, okay," said Fred, putting an arm around Lavender and Parvati, "I don't know what got you so upset, but–"

"We can't help you if we don't even understand what has you crying like it's the end of the world," concluded George.

Lavender and Parvati took a few deep breaths, before narrating what had happened.

"It's Umbridge," began Lavender.

"She's investigating why so many fifth years were absent yesterday by inviting everyone who skipped classes yesterday to her office for a chat and offering us tea and biscuits," continue Parvati.

"At first, the questions seem completely harmless, like asking after our health and what happened to us, but then –" said Lavender.

"The questions start getting more targeted, like how we got sick, why we got sick and who gave us the candy that made us sick."

"And she's using Veritaserum, because we would never have told her the truth had the tea and biscuits not been laced with that thing."

"Bloody hell," breathed Ron. "Is that even legal for her to do?"

"If she has the Minister's permission, she can do whatever she wants," grumbled Hermione, her face and lips set in a grim expression.

"Do you think Fred and George will be the first ones to receive detention with her?" wondered Ginny.

"What for?" exclaimed Fred.

"It's not like we've done anything illegal," interjected George. "All our products are completely safe to use, with antidotes and everything."

"Yeah," said Fred, "even Snape gave us his stamp of approval."

"It's not like you registered them with the Ministry and had them approved, smartasses," admonished them Ginny. "So for all we know, Umbridge might give you detention for being in the possession of unregulated joke items."

"That's if she finds them, right?" asked Neville.

"Which she no doubt will," said Hermione, "if she searches their dorm room, and again, as a teacher and a Ministry employee, she can do that."

"I don't like this," mumbled Harry, with a crease in his brow and a sinking feeling in his gut and chest. "I don't like this one bit."

"Then let's go hide everything before she decides to go full on detective mode," said Fred and they hurried up the stairs, Lavender and Parvati included, with Harry carrying Voldemort, otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to keep up with them.

"Is she still interrogating students?" panted Hermione as they were making their way past the first floor, two stairs at a time.

"Probably," answered Lavender, "but it's been some time since she interrogated us and we weren't exactly among the first ones."

Unfortunately, they were too late, for as soon as they entered the Common room, where the entire Gryffindor House seemed to have converged, Lee rushed forth, agitated. "Fred, George, I couldn't get to the products in time to change their location and now Umbridge is upstairs combing through everything."

"Shit!" the twins cursed. "What do we do now? She's going to confiscate everything."

"We're sorry," came a repentant chorus of four voices – Dean, Seamus, Fay and Kathy. "It's our fault that she knows."

"It's not like you did it deliberately," said Fred nonchalantly, "so no hard feelings."

"But what if you get detention for this?" said Dean.

"Then we'll get detention," said George. "It certainly won't be our first one."

"Judging by how she teaches," said Fred.

"We reckon that she'll have us do lines –"

"Or copy the textbook."

"So nothing too horrible, only extremely mind-numbing and dull," they concluded.

Little did any of them know just how horrible doing lines with Umbridge could be.

Chapter End Notes

Dun-dun-DUN! Finally! After all those fluffy, domestic and flirtatious moments between Harry and Voldemort, Umbridge makes an appearance again and this time to be her usual nasty self to make other people's lives miserable. This time, she'll start with the twins and make an example out of them that she's no joke. What happens after detention remains to be seen.

As for Ginny and glasses ... I have a head-canon for this story that Ginny's eyesight is not exactly 20/20 and Harry is going to make an entire meme out of it, until he gets her to actually get her eyes checked, and Ginny, on the other hand, is adamant that there's nothing wrong with her eyes.

And the moment with Harry being frustrated with Ginny and her not being able to notice the Snitch has definitely happened IRL, while watching sports on TV. Because of the different perspective one sees more than the players involved and then one is getting all bothered and frustrated, when they don't do certain moves or notice certain things. I sure am guilty of doing it from time to time.

Detention with Umbridge

Chapter Summary

Fred and George experience what Umbridge's idea of writing lines looks like ... and they are not pleased about it. Naturally, they were not going to sit back and let that horrid woman do as she pleases.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

As expected, Umbridge gave them detention for being in possession of unregulated items that pose threat to the safety of students and the school staff – according to her anyway – and ended up confiscating their products. What they didn't expect was her banning them from playing Quidditch as a result as well.

"Isn't giving us detention and confiscating our products already enough?" said Fred.

"From what I have learnt about you two, Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley, no amount of detentions has worked to improve your discipline in the last six years. In fact, you seem to boast about the number of times you have broken the school regulations in any capacity. Given that you are legal adults, you should receive something far worse than a simple detention and Quidditch ban for a year. If I truly wanted to employ my power granted by the Minister himself, I could have you charged with illegal possession of illegal items and wilful endangerment of other people's safety. I believe that, in the best-case scenario, you would only have to pay a large fine, and, in the worst-case scenario, you would end up in Azkaban for a few months. As I am sure you do not want to face any legal charges, I will see you tomorrow at seven o'clock in my office for your detention. Don't be late."

She said all that with a smile and concluded her monologue with her signature giggle, before leaving the Common Room with their trunk filled with boxes containing their joke items.

…

"Are you sure you don't want us to accompany you to her office or wait for you in front of her office?" asked Harry.

"We're sure, Harry," smiled Fred. "We're going to be fine on our own. We're big boys."

"Although we do appreciate your readiness to provide moral support," said George.

"You should get going," said Luna. "Better be five minute early than even a second late."

"Wise words, Luna," they said together. "Wise words."

"Good luck!" their friends called out to them, but no amount of luck or good wishes could have prepared them for Umbridge's idea of writing lines in detention.

At first, nothing looked amiss – unless you deemed pink walls and plates with enchanted kitten pictures hanging from said walls out of the ordinary. There were two chairs laid out for them to sit in with parchment paper on the desk and matching black-feathered quills next to them. Umbridge herself was waiting for them with a cup of tea in her hands and a fake smile plastered on her lips.

"I'm pleased to see you arriving earlier than instructed. It shows that in spite of your numerous flaws, there's still some good morals in your characters," she greeted them in a gentle tone.

They exchanged a brief glance with one another, before taking their designated places across from her.

"As you can see, I have prepared some parchment and a quill for you to write, because I want you to write some lines for me."

They reached for the quills and picked them up. "There's no ink, Professor," said Fred.

"How are we supposed to do our lines without any ink," said George.

"Oh, this quill produces its own ink. A very unique ink." Was it just them or did her eyes flash with sadistic glee? Either way, their stomachs felt heavy and not with food necessarily. "Now, I want you to write the following line: I will not break any rules."

"How many times should we write it?" asked Fred.

"A hundred times … that ought to be enough for it to … sink in."

Wary of her choice of vocabulary thus far, Fred and George put the quills to parchment and began writing: I will not break any rules.

The ink that came out of the tip was red … blood red. A couple of lines in, they started to feel like somebody was digging sharp nails into their skin. Five lines in, the backs of their non-dominant hands were bright red as the words 'I will not break rules' were being carved into their skin.

Horrified, they stopped for a moment and looked up at Umbridge, who was sipping on her tea, her eyes fixed on them, gleaming with hunger as if she was trying to commit to memory their suffering and helplessness.

As they continued to write, the burning sensation increased, the pain kept increasing as if someone was trying to cut up their hands by inscribing the same line repeatedly into the back of their hands. Tears of pain, frustration, and impotent anger welled in their eyes, but they refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing them shed tears in front of her, so they bit their lips and gritted their teeth to deal with the torture, until it was over.

Once the onslaught of mind-numbing pain subsided and all that was left was a throbbing and burning sensation, they got up, nursing their bloodied and mangled hands, and headed for the door.

"I hope this has been a valuable learning experience for you two," she gently called after them. They looked back, with pained scowls on their faces, and saw her admiring their lines written in blood. "Should you forget to uphold the rules again, remember, more lines await you, and as you've seen, I have my way of finding out if you misbehave. Goodbye."

Without further ado, they left her accursed office.

"That fucking bitch," seethed Fred as they were making their way to the moving staircase. "If she thinks this is over, she's sorely mistaken, because this has barely just begun. She wants war? Well, she's going to get war."

"I'll gladly help you with that, but don't you think we should go to Pomfrey first?" said George. "I really don't want the others to see us like this."

"You're right; we can't show ourselves looking like we had our hands mangled by one of Hagrid's pets, but instead of going to Pomfrey, I have a better idea." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Snape?"

"Exactly."

They headed towards the dungeons to see their favourite teacher and soon-to-be accomplice in their scheme to fuck with Umbridge's head.

…

With nothing better to do with the remainder of his evening, Snape found himself correcting the safety protocol exams of the thirteen students – six Gryffindors (typical), four Hufflepuffs (hard work and unafraid of toil his arse) and three Ravenclaws (where was that wit, intelligence and wisdom, huh?) –, who had the audacity to skip the exam on Monday.

He was having a blast crossing out wrong answers and writing zeros at the bottom right corner of each exercise with scarlet red ink. At this rate, he would be failing a quarter of fifth years. Seriously, what did the poor sods think would happen when they decided to be slackers and skip the exam rather than to put in the effort, plough through whatever they had read and try their luck with what they knew? Did they seriously believe they could get away with such a blatant display of laziness unscathed and get the same exam with the exact same questions as the one on Monday?

Unbelievable!

That's why he decided to be extra ruthless with them. Their poor performance made even someone like Ronald Weasley shine.

He had just written a "T" on Seamus Finnegan's exam sheet next to his name and the final score – 4/100 points – in the top right corner and placed it on top of Dean Thomas' "D" with 25/100 points, when somebody knocked on his office door.

"Enter," he drawled and began summing Lavender Brown's score. The door's hinges whined.

"Snape, we need your help, ASAP."

He looked up and saw the Weasley twins, looking somewhat pale and nursing bloody hands. "What in the name of Merlin happened to you?" he breathed, setting down Brown's exam sheet and getting up to inspect the wounds on the back of their hands.

He stilled in horror at the mangled script carved jaggedly into their skin. A Blood Quill. Haven't they been outlawed, banned and destroyed for centuries now?

"Umbridge," said the twins in unison with matching scowls etched on their faces.

"Sit," he gestured towards the armchairs and they obeyed, while he went to his potions cupboard and pulled out every single healing potion and salve he had in stock.

"Can you prevent the scarring?" asked Fred.

"We really don't want Umbridge's souvenir marring our bodies for the rest of our lives," said George.

"I'll do my best, but I make no promises," he said, uncorking a vial of disinfectant to clean their wounds and prevent any infections.

They let out a pained hiss when the alcohol touched the abused flesh, but ground their teeth together to make it bearable.

"Are you not going to ask us what happened?" asked George, after a while to break the silence.

"There's no need for me to ask, because I have a pretty good idea of how you got yourselves into this mess," he deadpanned, his eyes focused on applying the dittany and murtlap compress, before conjuring up a bandage around their hands.

"Well, what do you think happened?" prompted Fred.

"You gave your candy to your schoolmates, so they could skip my exam, Umbridge found it suspicious that so many fifth-year students were absent one day then the next were completely fine, decided to investigate, demanded Veritaserum from me while waving that permission letter from Fudge in my face. She used it to interrogate the students who were suspiciously ill on Monday and found out it was you. Not satisfied with having thirteen witnesses, she decided to ransack your dormitory, confiscate the items, ban you from Quidditch and give you detention."

"Wow," breathed George.

"That's exactly what happened. How did you know that?" wondered Fred, his and his brother's eyes sparkling in awe.

"I'm a teacher. I have a way of finding out about things," he drawled blankly. "Besides, you forget that rumours spread quickly at Hogwarts, so you getting detention with Umbridge, being banned from Quidditch and having your products confiscated quickly reached my ears and since I was already aware of your role in the absence of fifth-year students, plus Umbridge's demand for Veritaserum, let's just say, it didn't take much to connect the dots."

"Still," began Fred.

"We're impressed," concluded George.

"How exactly did you know we were the ones behind the fifth-year maladies?" wondered Fred, intrigued.

"You brew your products in my lab, so of course I would know it came from you. I also knew that some of the students would panic and try to weasel their way out of the exam on Monday, so when it happened, it was confirmation that I was right."

They looked slightly ashamed. "We only wanted to help our schoolmates," said George.

"And test our products on others," added Fred in a resigned sigh.

"Yeah, well, you haven't done either your schoolmates or yourselves any favours with this, have you?" he said sternly.

"No," they said dejectedly. "We're sorry, Snape."

"Don't apologise to me," he snorted. "It's true that I had to come up with another exam, but you should apologise to your schoolmates, because you got at least a quarter of them to fail the safety protocol exam, a requirement for attending this year's Potions lessons and passing the subject, and you know I'm not known for giving second chances," he informed them with his caustic tone.

Fred and George inhaled deeply, horrified at the news. "Oh no," they gasped.

"Oh no, indeed," he drawled.

They looked at each other. "How are we going to face them, Gred?"

"They're going to lynch us when they find out, Forge!"

"You got them into this mess, now think of a way to get them out of it," said Snape, unfazed by their distress.

"What are we going to do?"

"Maybe we should barricade ourselves in a cave somewhere, transform into an olm and wait until the storm passes."

"Well, that's not very manly of you, is it?" he commented. "Where's your Gryffindor courage?"

"There's none of it left," cried Fred desperately.

"It has disappeared into thin air alongside our dignity," added George.

"We're doomed, Forge."

"Disgraced, Gred," said his brother.

"We have hit rock bottom."

"How are we ever going to recover our honour?"

This pitiful back and forth, while amusing, was starting to give him a headache. "That's quite enough of self-pitying coming from you two," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you use the brains you were gifted with and come up with a practical and smart solution for your predicament?"

The twins composed themselves and exchanged looks. "Well," began Fred thoughtfully.

"When you put it like that," continued George in the same tone.

"I suppose we could try to do that," they concluded together.

"Problem is," said Fred.

"We can't do anything to get our fellow schoolmates out of trouble," said George.

"If you don't give them an opportunity to actually pass the exam you want them to pass."

He raised his brow. "Your point being?" he prompted them with crossed arms.

"Well," they began together.

"While we are certainly at fault for helping the fifth-years gain an extra day of studying by allowing them to skip their Potions exam on Monday," said Fred.

"It is your fault they have failed to pass by making the test so gosh darn difficult the second time round," concluded George.

"It's like you wanted them to fail."

"And that's not very nice of you, Professor."

"Not nice at all."

"I'm not nice," he deadpanned. "I thought everybody was aware of that."

"Oh, we are all very aware of that, but what you pulled off today was mean," said Fred.

"And nasty," finished George sagely.

"Mind you, it's not Umbridge level of mean and nasty, but purposefully failing a quarter of students in a single year over skipping comes pretty darn close to it."

"Especially since this is also the O.W.L. year for the fifth-years and it will not reflect well on their end-of-term report cards."

"Why should that be my problem?" he insisted shrewdly, narrowing his dark eyes at the two.

"Because you don't want the parents to start making complaints about your unfair exam questions and make them call an inspector to go through your papers to determine how balanced your exam questions were," said Fred solemnly.

"You know; minimal standards and all that," took over George. "I believe at least sixty percent of the exam should cover minimal standards and your second safety protocol exam probably didn't even cover ten percent."

"Which technically means you're breaking the Educational Law."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "You have read the Educational Law?"

"Why, of course," they beamed at him.

"As students, we should know what our rights are," said Fred proudly, puffing out his chest.

"And make sure that they are not being ignored or violated," smiled George.

He snorted. The audacity of the two. "Funny thing you should be so well informed about your rights and so adamant about exercising them, yet you wilfully ignore your duties," he reproached them.

"That is a chat you should be having with the fifth-years," deflected Fred. "Not us."

"We have always been exemplary students," added George, "especially in your class."

"Exemplary students, indeed," he grumbled.

"Anyway," started Fred again, "if you want to avoid inspection from the Department of Education, you should either nullify the second exam or give everyone who failed the exam a fair chance to pass the safety protocol part in a different way."

"Long story short," summarised George, "make sure that all the students pass this part of the subject and then if they end up failing the O.W.L.s, it will not be your problem. Simple as that."

"You can always try to prove your point to the Ministry official," added Fred light-heartedly, "but law is law and you have to abide by it, whether you like it or not."

He narrowed his eyes at the two. "Again, funny you should talk about how I should be a law-abiding citizen, when you yourselves have broken at least a couple of laws by bringing your joke items to school and using them on others – minors included."

They swallowed thickly. "Well," they giggled nervously, scratching the back of their necks. "I suppose you can always try and cheat the system," said Fred.

"You just have to make sure nobody can blame it on you and you can get away with pretty much anything," added George.

"Which brings us to our true purpose in seeking you out, Professor."

"Oh," he said sarcastically, "and pray tell what could I possibly help you with? Although, if I had to guess, I would say it has something to do with Umbridge."

"Exactly!" they exclaimed cheerfully. "You know us so well, Professor."

"It's not as if you are trying to be subtle about your intentions."

"Why bother with subtlety," began Fred.

"When looking like you're always up to no good works a lot better," continued George.

"In most cases at least."

A heavy sigh left his chest. He collapsed into his chair and massaged his temples. His head was throbbing. "I'm listening," he said in a resigned tone. If he was already doing a favour for Potter, he might as well do a favour for the Weasley menaces.

"So, Fred and I were thinking," began George, leaning forward, lowering his voice into a low, conspiratorial whisper.

"That we should mess with Umbridge –"

"– By basically going against her rules –"

"– But never letting her get any evidence of our illegal activities."

"She won't be able to act on her suspicions if she has nothing to back them up."

"That sounds like a horrible idea, but how exactly do you intend to do that?" he asked them.

"With your help, of course," they said wickedly.

"You want to make me your accomplice?" First, Potter was making him break the law and, now, the menaces too. Forget Black, Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord, these bloody teenagers were going to be the death of him.

"It's not as horrible as it sounds," they promised him. "You would only have to let us keep using your lab to make our products," said Fred.

"Only that this time it should probably be under the guise of detention," said George.

"And you would have to store our shop products here, in your office."

"Because Umbridge would never think to look here."

"And it would also be much appreciated if, whenever she asks for Veritaserum, you didn't give her the actual truth serum, but something completely different and harmless."

"Water, perhaps."

"She probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"Since water and Veritaserum are so similar in appearance, taste and smell," they winked in an exaggerated manner.

"It's not like I planned to give her a single vial of it," he grimaced. "Not after using it on unsuspecting minors. Minister's permission be damned."

The twins grinned wide. "So … we can count on you?"

"On two conditions."

"Name them."

He put up his index finger. "One, you will not use any malady-inducing snacks on any student."

The look of constipation on Fred and George's faces told him they wanted to disagree. "What about extreme circumstances?" George argued.

"Yeah, like if Umbridge ever gives detention to anyone, they could simply avoid having to carve lines into the back of their hands by making themselves sick," elaborated Fred.

He sighed. "Fine, you can give malady-inducing snacks to fellow students only as a means to avoid Umbridge's detention."

Excitement was overflowing their pores.

"And two, you will help with cauldron maintenance and the inventory, whenever I require it from you."

They straightened up and brought their hands to their foreheads in the form of military salute. "Understood, sir," they called out in unison.

"And take these." He handed each of them a selection of healing potions and salves. "Make sure to use them on your wounds five times a day for a week and the skin tissue should heal completely."

They accepted the potions with gratitude then headed for the door. "You are the best, Professor Snape!" they exclaimed and blew a kiss in his direction.

He let out another sigh and shook his head. Then, he returned to his desk and stared at the exam sheets. Not wanting to bother with the law at that moment, he resumed his work by summing up Lavender Brown's points.

"Forty-nine points," he mused thoughtfully. "Not bad."

He went through her exam again, trying to find where he could give her the point she needed for a passing grade.

…

Harry and his friends were waiting for the twins in the Common Room … together with the rest of their House. Apparently, every single Gryffindor student – from the youngest first-year to the oldest seventh-year – was eager to learn what detention with Umbridge looked like, to know what to expect in case they ever got detention as well.

"What is taking them so long?" grumbled Ginny, biting on the cuticle of her thumb. "It's already past eight."

Usually, detentions never exceeded sixty minutes, due to the curfew and allowing the students to be able to have enough time to finish any homework or to revise and prepare for lessons and tests. It would seem that Umbridge didn't care about curfews or about the students' spare time, when it came to her detentions.

Not long after Ginny had made that remark, the portrait swung to the side and the twins marched in, looking like their usual self, only that their left hands were stuffed in their robe pockets as if concealing something and, in their right, they carried a small bag that they didn't have before.

A whistle escaped their lips. "Merlin's saggy balls, George," exclaimed Fred upon seeing the entire Gryffindor House awaiting their return. "Would you look at that? The entire student populace of Gryffindor expecting the return of their heroes."

"I knew we were popular, Fred, but not that popular," jested George.

"What happened?" asked Ginny with narrowed eyes, probably seeing through their bullshit.

Fred and George's smiles faltered for a bit. After a brief exchange of looks, they let out a sigh and let any pretence of cheerfulness fall away from their faces.

Harry's chest and gut felt heavy, his throat tightened involuntarily. Whatever they went through must have been extremely horrible if even the perpetually cheerful Weasley twins looked dead serious.

"Listen carefully, everyone," said George gravely.

"At first, we didn't want to show or tell any of you what Umbridge did to us, to save our dignity, but –"

"Upon further discussion between ourselves, we have concluded that the safety of all students is more important than safeguarding our image as the Invincible Weasley Twins."

"So, please, if you have friends in other houses make sure to inform them of what we're about to tell you so that nobody else has to experience detention with that Umbridge bitch."

"At least, until we make a new batch of malady-inducing snacks for you to use as an evasion tactic."

"And don't worry about her using Veritaserum for interrogation," Fred assured them. "She won't get her hands on any Veritaserum from Professor Snape ever again. We have arranged everything with the man himself."

A chorus of shocked and incredulous "What!" and "Snape!" reverberated in the Common Room.

"Snape is actually going to help us?" Seamus blurted out in disbelief.

"Yes," they said.

"We have spoken with Snape about our plans to get back at Umbridge," said Fred.

"And he has graciously accepted to help us," concluded George.

"All we ask of you is to treat the man and his subject with utmost respect."

"So no more calling him a greasy git or the dungeon bat," began Fred.

"Even though he might look and behave like one."

"No messing around with the potions."

"No half-assed homework or no homework at all," continued George.

"And most definitely, don't ever skip his exams or classes," they concluded together.

"This subject is like Snape's baby," pointed out Fred. "Do not mess with it or he will make you pay one way or another."

"What about him?" an older student Harry didn't know shouted in the crowd. "Is he going to treat us with respect or will he continue to favour Slytherins and deduct House Points from Gryffindor for every little thing we do wrong?"

"Yeah," the crowd backed him up.

"If we are expected to treat him with respect," said an older girl, "then he too should respect us, even when we don't perform to his impossibly high standards, despite our best efforts."

"That's right," echoed the students.

"It might be a bit hard for him at first to switch gears," began Fred.

"But he'll change his attitude when he sees that you are indeed doing your best," assured them George.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," snapped Ginny impatiently. "Stop beating about the bush and just tell us what happened with Umbridge."

"Well … she made us do lines," began Fred softly, almost in an upbeat tone.

"Like we expected."

"She had everything prepared for us: parchment and a quill that produces its own ink."

"A very special ink," interjected George with a fake smile.

" Blood red ink, to be precise."

Harry didn't like the emphasis on blood in Fred's voice.

"You might be thinking to yourselves," continue George, switching to a more feminine and childlike voice, "but Fred and George, that doesn't sound so bad. There's nothing bad about doing lines. Everyone's done it at some point or another." He reverted to his usual voice. "We made the same mistake in our boyish naivety, thinking it was completely harmless, and believe us, if it had been any other teacher, there would be nothing bad about it. Unfortunately –"

"It was Umbridge making us do lines, with her own special quill," sneered Fred.

"We didn't understand what made it so special, it looked expensive, heavy and sophisticated, that's for sure, but not much else."

"So, we, the unsuspecting, innocent lads that we were just a little over an hour ago, began writing the following line 'I will not break any rules'."

"And at first, nothing was wrong, until a few lines into detention –"

"We discovered that the ink looked like blood because it WAS ACTUAL BLOOD! OUR BLOOD!" They snarled viciously in unison.

At that, they finally pulled out their left hands from their pockets and showed them the bandages.

The entire room seemed to gasp in horror. The majority had gone pale, covering their mouths with hands, with their eyes wide. Harry had gone cold and felt like thousands of small, invisible needles pricked his fingers. He felt light-headed and faint. Nauseous. Like he would pass out or vomit if he moved or said anything.

"When we wrote 'I will not break any rules' on the parchment," began Fred with eerie calm.

"The line also automatically started carving itself on the back of our non-dominant hands," finished George.

"That woman," gritted Fred shaking in anger, "forced us to carve out our own hands, while she languidly sipped her bloody tea from a pastel pink china."

"And she made us write that bloody line a hundred times. It was like having a butcher's knife cut into you over and over again and the more you write the worse it gets."

"By the time we were finished, there was so much blood coming out of our hands, we were starting to feel faint."

"And the wound was so deep and ugly it looked like some wild beast had attacked us and mangled our hands."

"For a moment, it felt like we have pierced through the palm and we thought that we would now have holes that spelled out that fucking line."

"Fortunately, it wasn't that deep and Snape took care of it."

"With luck, it will heal completely, with no residue scars as a souvenir."

"We can't let that bitch get her filthy hands on another student. That's why we implore you to spread the word to other houses as well … even Slytherin."

"Not even some poor Half-Blood Slytherin deserves to go through such torture."

The world swam and lulled in front of Harry and he felt cold sweat gather on his forehead. His ears were buzzing and the corners of his vision were starting to grow pitch black. His heart had rose to his throat and he could hear its beating in his head. He unconsciously and instinctively covered and started rubbing the back of his left hand, unmarred by any scars. There was a tingling sensation spreading over it.

If he was determined not to get detention with Umbridge before, now that he knew what Umbridge did to defenceless students, he was even more determined to stay far away from her and her special blood-sucking and scar-inducing quill.

Chapter End Notes

Most of the school law related things are taken from personal experience as a teacher in my country. Honestly, nowadays, being a teacher is awful, so I don't blame Severus for being bitter, because the pupils and the parents only see their rights, but not their duties, and then we, the teachers, have to deal with entitled children who have no sense of respect for the teachers, their peers and foreign private property or personal space. They're lazy, don't do their homework, don't want to study, yet expect Outstanding, when their knowledge is barely Acceptable. And then, their parents have the audacity to come to consultation hours and demand good grades for their child, because their child is a genius, and threaten with inspection to get their way.

Not every student is like that, but each year there are more and more pupils with behaviour and discipline issues. There have been a few truly problematic cases, where the teacher was assaulted by a six-year-old child, who knew perfectly well that the teacher was not allowed to hit him. In self-defense, she restrained him physically, but had scratch and bite marks all over her arms, plus all the emotional and psychological trauma that came with being assaulted. Then, there was even a six-year-old kid who almost smashed a classmate's head against the concrete and when the teacher scolded him, saying he could have killed the other child, the kid only said that that was his intention.

A couple of my colleagues faced charges and had to defend themselves in front of the police, one because the parents were accusing her of forging an official document and forcing them to sign the individualized study program their child would have as someone with autism, and the other colleague faced police charges because a pupil felt insulted for being told to respect the teacher's personal space (during corona virus) and lied at home, saying that the teacher pushed them down the stairs. The parents of the child immediately went to the police, even though the other pupils were defending the teacher and the security cameras showed that nothing of the sort happened. Luckily, the lying child felt guilty and apologized, but the damage was done, because the police couldn't just not process and go through with the standard procedure.

Anyway, enough of my real-world problems and ramblings, I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter. I had fun writing it.

Keeping the Distance

Chapter Summary

Umbridge begins her reign of terror at Hogwarts and Harry's mental health suffers because of it, but forces himself to keep the distance and not involve himself just yet, beyond trying to get the teachers to do something and not just sit still with their arms tied.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Despite Fred and George's appeal to their fellow students spreading like wildfire through school corridors and increased student initiative to avoid detention – from not forgetting their DADA supplies and homework to never talking out of turn in her class –, Umbridge still found a way to issue detention to a dozen students over the course of the next five days.

It started on Friday, when she accused Lee Jordan of plagiarising his latest DADA homework from another student. "You seriously believed a few changed words would be enough to disguise the obvious fact that you have copied another student's hard work and presented is as your own. For this callous display of academic dishonesty, you will be serving detention with me, Mr Jordan, at five o'clock this evening, my office."

Obviously, Lee hadn't plagiarised anything, it was the other student who had copied Lee's homework, after he realised he had forgotten to do an essay for DADA, and Lee being a good sport helped the poor man out by letting him copy his homework with some changes. Apparently, they were not effective enough to deceive Umbridge.

Luckily, the other student, a Ravenclaw, confessed to being the one who copied from Lee, but Umbridge didn't relieve Lee of his detention, instead, she only added another to the real culprit. Evidently, letting another person copy from you was equally bad in Umbridge's eyes as being the one who copies another person's work.

"It encourages laziness and dishonesty," she told Lee in that fake, sweet voice of hers.

The other ten detentions were issued on the same grounds, more specifically to a sixth-year Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, a fourth-year Slytherin and Hufflepuff, a third-year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and even a second-year Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

Unfortunately, the students had resorted to copying homework before learning that it was an offence punishable with detention and not a simple "T" and loss of points like most other teachers treated plagiarism.

When Harry heard that some of the younger students were given detention and the subsequent reactions of said students to receiving detention – fainting, vomiting, incessant crying, panic and anxiety attacks – he was horrified and livid beyond words.

He could get behind the idea of having every student doing their own homework and that plagiarism should not be encouraged, however, he would never get behind using a blood-sucking quill on students as young as twelve or eleven as discipline.

Just the thought of someone so young – or anybody for that matter – being forced to mutilate themselves made blood boil and freeze in his veins.

"Shit," breathed Ron on Sunday, as the punished third-year from Gryffindor was sobbing her eyes out, dreading her upcoming detention with Umbridge. "She's even forcing second- and third-years to write with that wretched quill? That's disgusting and completely barmy."

"At this rate, she'll go after the first-years too," said Hermione distressed. "Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, it doesn't matter who, she'll go after them."

Ginny snorted. "Probably not everyone. I bet she avoids messing with certain … influential people, like Malfoy and other wealthy purebloods and known Death-Eater kids," she sneered. "Probably doesn't want to anger their rich fathers."

"We have to do something to stop her." Hermione insisted, raking her fingers through her bushy hair.

"How long till you make that malady-inducing candy?" Ron asked his brothers.

"The first batch should be done sometime next week," they said frustrated, forced to watch their fellow students get tortured despite their best intentions of sparing them the suffering.

"We should really tell someone about Umbridge," said Neville. "I'm sure the teachers could achieve something before us."

Neville was right; they had to tell someone, an adult. Preferably Dumbledore or McGonagall. Resolved to stop this abuse, he made the decision to seek out Dumbledore the following day as soon as his classes were over.

…

Harry's third week of school started with a bang, but quickly turned sour.

After dreaming that he failed the Potions' safety protocol exam – because he messed up the order of the multiple choice questions and answers –, despite being confident about doing better than usual and paying attention to what he was circling, he woke up agitated and earlier than usual.

He tried to distract himself with exercise and cooking, but the closer the Potions lesson approached – and with it the exam results –, more nervous he grew and no amount of green tea soothed his nerves and stomach cramps.

Then, the decisive moment arrived.

He was sitting between Neville and Voldemort, waiting for the results, when Snape initiated his speech, the stack of exam sheets in his hands.

"While not the most disastrous, I must confess that the results leave much to be desired. There have certainly been some pleasant surprises and highlights, but just as many disappointments."

Harry swallowed thickly and wringed his sweaty palms together. He hoped he wasn't one of the disappointments. He really did his best. Best yet. Neville trembled in his seat next to him, a thin layer of perspiration covering his forehead, his knuckles white from the pressure. Voldemort looked completely calm. So did Malfoy and most of the Slytherins. The rest of the fifth-years were just as nervous as Neville and him. Even Hermione and he was certain that she did well.

"Before I hand you out the exam sheets and we go through the point system and correction together, I'm going to give you the basic statistics," he drawled, consulting the top sheet. "Out of forty-one students, twenty-eight of you have passed, thirteen have not."

Seamus groaned and let his head fall forward onto his forearm, which was resting on the desk. From his reaction, Harry assumed he was one of the people who failed the exam.

Snape ignored him and proceeded with handing out exam sheets and calling pupils' names.

"Felix Hansson," he walked to their table to hand Voldemort his exam sheet. Harry and Neville immediately leaned over to see his result. He got an O – 100%.

"I knew you would do well," Harry whispered, grinning. "Still, congratulations on achieving a perfect score."

"Thank you," Voldemort smirked, pleased with himself.

"May I look at your answers?"

"Sure, go ahead."

After Voldemort, Snape called out Hermione, then Draco, Theodore and Daphne. They all had good reactions, so they must have got 'O's too or 'EE's. Wait, were grades going in descending order?

"Harry Potter."

Hearing his name called so soon startled him and he let go of Voldemort's exam sheet in favour of picking up his own. He looked up at the top right corner, gasped, started again, and dropped his exam. "Oh my god," he breathed, hyperventilating, flailing with his hands, "oh my god." There, in red ink was written a big 'O' and 90% right next to it together with Snape's message to him 'Keep up the good work'.

"I can't believe it," he whispered, grinning wide. "I got an Outstanding in Potions. My first Outstanding."

He felt like jumping up and down or swinging from a rope and screaming like Tarzan. He felt light, like he was soaring and he could do anything and everything.

Neville and Voldemort congratulated him and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Ron, noticing the commotion at their table, silently asked what had happened and he showed him the letter 'O' with his hand and Ron mouthed "Wicked. Congrats, mate," while grinning from ear to ear and giving him thumbs up.

"Oh, man," Harry fanned himself, trying to dry the tears before they fell from his eyes. "I feel so emotional right now. I think I'm going to cry of happiness. I never thought I would get emotional over a school grade."

Snape approached their desk again, this time, to give Neville his test, who got an 'EE' with 76%, barely making the cut. He too looked over the moon with his result. Harry wrapped an arm around him and brought him in for a sideway hug. "See, Neville, you can do well in Potions too."

After that, he went through his exam sheet, to see what he got wrong, only vaguely listening for Ron's name to see if he at least had an 'A'. When Snape finally called him, he looked back at Ron, who gulped nervously and accepted the test with shaky hands. With a pained expression, he squinted at the grade and then had pretty much the same reaction as him.

"I passed, Harry!" he yelled euphoric. "Woohoo! I passed with exactly 50%. Hell yeah!" He embraced Hermione, who squealed and blushed.

"So …" sighed Snape, once he had handed out the last and lowest graded exam to Seamus and everyone had quieted, "the final statistic by grades is as follows: six Outstandings, twelve Exceeds Expectations, ten Acceptables, six Poors, five Dreadfuls and two Trolls. Now, those who didn't manage to get at least fifty percent … for one reason or another, you will be pleased to know that you still have a chance to improve your grade by Wednesday."

The crying and depressed faces of some of his classmates who didn't pass and feared failing the entire subject and year brightened a bit with hope.

"In addition to writing and handing in the correction of your exams," he said with authority, "you will come see me here, at three o'clock on Wednesday and I will conduct an oral examination. Each will choose a paper numbered from one to thirteen, where there will be five questions. To pass the oral examination, you have to answer at least three questions impeccably. If you fail to pass that too … well then, Merlin help you, but I can't let you brew O.W.L.-level potions without this basic knowledge. You will automatically fail Potions and won't be able to sit for your Potions O.W.L."

The rest of the hour was dedicated to going through every exercise and the correct answers. While most of the questions were very specific and only admitted one answer, more open-styled questions, allowed for more variety. Harry was happy to note that, apparently, Snape wasn't as strict in regards to these kinds of answers, for he gave you points if you got the general idea right, instead of providing textbook answers.

As the lesson ended, Snape gave them homework: read ahead on the Draught of Peace, its properties, uses and the brewing process. "I don't want to see you make basic mistakes," he said. "This is an O.W.L. standard potion and don't forget to bring your safety equipment. Anyone without it will be sent out of the class and given a zero for that day."

With Potions results out of the way, Harry went to lunch feeling good about himself. After what felt like forever, he ate in the Great Hall with all his friends and with a spring in his step continued his lessons with Trelawney.

Some of his giddiness faded by the time Defence rolled around, when Umbridge came in holding her quiz sheets, and he felt a churning sensation in his gut again.

"I am pleased to say that I am pleasantly surprised by your performance on the quiz last Monday," she said sweetly. "There hasn't been anyone who got less than Acceptable, but I am sure that even those of you who struggled to get to a passing grade will improve with time and more effort. Remember, key to any success is perseverance."

Unlike Snape, who didn't expect textbook definitions and answers, Umbridge was the exact opposite. She was very peculiar about it as well as impeccable grammar, orthography, punctuation and handwriting. If you misspelled something, left out a comma accidentally or wrote in a weird scrawl, she deducted points. That is why most people, despite passing the quiz, mostly got Acceptable. There were some who got Exceeds Expectations and an odd Outstanding, but mostly their performance was average at best.

It came as no surprise to Harry to have Voldemort's name called first again and see another O with a perfect score. Hermione was next again and then … his name was called. He graciously accepted the quiz sheet from Umbridge and gaped at the score. Another Outstanding, this time he almost got everything right. He lost a few points here and there because of punctuation and wording, but overall, he almost aced the quiz.

He felt like soaring again, but he knew better than to show his joy in front of Umbridge. He did write a discreet note to Voldemort saying, ' I don't know what's going on, but I seem to be on a roll with my grades. I mean two 'O's in one day … I must have started channelling you and Hermione.'

He didn't write back, just smirked in amusement.

…

Harry was so caught up in the excitement of achieving two Outstandings that he forgot all about his intention to speak with Dumbledore about what Umbridge had been doing to students in her detentions. It wasn't until he bumped into a first-year Slytherin student on his way back from the Library and noticed his cheeks flushed from crying so much, bloodshot eyes and him clutching his left hand that it all came back to him.

Putting the well-being of the student first, he wrapped his arms around the boy and carried him to Snape's office.

"Come," he said gently, "we'll go see Professor Snape so he can have a look at your hand."

"I don't want to burden him," protested the boy, sniffling. "It was my fault anyway for being so careless." He burst into another wave of tears.

"Whatever happened," said Harry with gentle sternness, trying to apply Mrs Nightingale's voice and words, "it is not your fault. Nothing you have done could warrant having to write with Umbridge's quill."

"But it is. If I hadn't forgotten my DADA notebook, this wouldn't have happened."

"I can assure you that most of the students have at some point forgotten to pack a particular notebook, and they have never been in detention for it, much less in pain over it and you know why?"

The Slytherin shook his head.

"Because you can simply use another one and then you can copy everything later. What Umbridge did to you is unforgivable. Tell me, were you the only first-year who got detention with her?"

He shook his head. "She gave detention to two others today, because they forgot the textbook. I think one of them was a Gryffindor and the other one was from Hufflepuff."

For fuck's sake! In what world was it normal to torture someone with a blood-sucking quill for forgetting a textbook or a notebook, when pupils can share a textbook and tear out sheets of paper from other notebooks to write? Umbridge's vision of it, apparently. If she was trying to encourage the sense of responsibility in students, she was going about it all wrong, and Harry was not going to allow her to continue her reign of terror at Hogwarts.

"Do you know if they've gone to see Professor Snape or Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing to get treatment for their wounds?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. They've been in detention before me, I was the last one."

Harry nodded with a grim expression.

"After I see you safely to your Common Room, I'm going to check on them as well and then, I'm going to have a talk with Professor Dumbledore, and I'm going to tell him what Umbridge has been doing to all of you. I'm sure he will put a stop to it."

"Okay," he said in a small voice. There was a beat of silence between them.

"So …" began Harry again, trying to sound more upbeat and turn the young Slytherin's mind away from the pain. "What's your name?"

"Tom."

"Really?" he gasped, smiling. "I know a Tom too, you know. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to like his name too much, he thinks it sounds too muggle, but I like the name; it's simple, yet beautiful. I'm Harry, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Harry."

"Likewise, Tom," he grinned and smoothed his hair gently. "And, apart from the horror that is Umbridge, how do you like it here at Hogwarts?"

Tom looked crestfallen. "Honestly, I don't like it very much. I miss my old friends from primary school and being able to go home after classes are over. I miss my parents too."

"I see," his lips formed into a melancholic smile. "Are your parents wizards?"

"My dad is, but my mum isn't. She's a muggle."

"Did she know your father was a wizard before you were born?"

Tom's face scrunched up in thought. "I don't know. I think so. I mean dad's been using magic in front of her for as long as I can remember and she didn't seem surprised by it."

"And … does she treat you and your father well?"

"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. His entire face brightened up as he spoke. "She adores dad and me. Even though she can't do magic, she really likes it, and my dad really loves my mum, even though his family was against their marriage."

"I see," he said in a serious tone. "Do your mother's parents know that your father is a wizard?"

"I think so," he nodded. "But I think it was after they got married."

"And were they also against them being together?"

"I don't know, but right now, they like my dad. We used to eat lunch with them every Sunday." His excitement deflated. "But now we can't do that anymore, because I'm going to a boarding school."

"Before you know it," he said softly in an attempt to lift his spirits, "winter holidays we'll be here and you'll be able to do that again, plus the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinners and the New Year's celebration. Do you plan to stay up past midnight so you can see all the fireworks?"

"Aha!" Tom beamed at him and Harry wondered how such an honest and innocent kid could end in a House known for ambition and cunning, when there was not a single spec of either in him. At least, it looked like there wasn't any, because, for all he knew, the boy could end up being the epitome of it, under all that cuteness. "This year, I'm determined to watch the fireworks. All the previous years I somehow ended up falling asleep before midnight, but this year will be different."

Harry chuckled at the cute determined frown on the boy's face. He was glad to see that Voldemort's namesake grew up loved, with both his parents there for him, and that he wasn't bitter about his name or ashamed of his muggle mother.

"Since your father is a wizard, was he a student at this school?"

The boy nodded. "He was in Slytherin too. Probably that's why I also ended in Slytherin."

Would make sense why Tom's paternal grandparents were against the match. They were probably some obscure Pureblood family who didn't want their precious son breeding with a muggle woman. However, it surprised him that a Pureblood Slytherin – someone who probably grew up hating muggles – would fall in love with one and have a child with muggle pedigree in his blood. Tom's mother must be one hell of a woman then if she could make a prejudiced Pureblood wizard fall so hard for her that he would rather forsake his ancestral legacy than to renounce her and their son.

"Do you have any siblings?"

Tom nodded. "I have a brother and a sister. They are both younger than I am. I'm the oldest."

"Will they be joining you soon here at Hogwarts? So you won't be the only of the family here."

"In two years, my brother Jack will start attending Hogwarts and then, three years after him, my sister Violet," he smiled.

"That's great news!" They reached Snape's office. "And we're here," he announced.

If Harry had to describe the look on Snape's face in a word, when he walked in with one of his students in arms, it would be utter shock that quickly turned into livid fury when he saw the carving on the back of Tom's non-dominant hand, ' I will not be forgetful', while blood trickled down the palm and fingers.

He immediately started treating the ghastly wound, then asked for a complete account of the events that led to his current state. It seemed that with each new piece of information, his face darkened further, until he was fuming and shaking with suppressed rage.

"I believe a word with Umbridge is in order," he snarled. "This has gone too far. In fact, it should never have come to this at all."

"Agreed," said Harry. "Dumbledore should be our best bet to stop her, right?"

Snape grimaced. "Perhaps, but the headmaster is not here right now. Has been absent for almost a week now."

Harry gaped, unable to believe it. "What? Why is he away?"

Snape gave him a weird look. "I believe you know the reason, Mr Potter."

He knew. Of course, he knew. It was about Voldemort. Dumbledore was probably trying to gather information on Voldemort's whereabouts and ensure that another large-scale war didn't break out. Unfortunately, Voldemort was right here at Hogwarts, posing as a student, fooling him and everyone else with his Felix persona. However, oddly enough, he was not an immediate nor the biggest threat now. Hell, at this point he couldn't even consider him a threat at all. Umbridge and her blood-sucking quill had filled that role.

"Well, he should be here, making sure Umbridge doesn't do whatever the hell she wants just because she works for Fudge," he snapped, filled with anger. "Everything else can wait, the threat that Umbridge poses to the safety of students takes precedence over anything else. Even You-Know-Who."

"Many would disagree with that assessment, Mr Potter."

"Guess what, Professor, I don't give a shit about it," he snarled. "What I do give a shit about is my schoolmates being forced to mutilate themselves for Umbridge's sick and twisted idea of instilling discipline and maintaining order, and I refuse to sit still while she tortures kids as young as eleven."

"However, that's exactly what you'll do," Snape snarled back, grabbing his arm. "You are going to maintain your distance, lest Umbridge sinks her claws into you too. You will stay out of this mess. You will not openly defy Umbridge and you will let the adults deal with her. Do you understand, Potter?"

Harry looked wide-eyed at Snape. He couldn't believe what Snape was asking of him. "And what if not even you can do anything to stop her? What then?" he asked blankly.

"The twins plan to use their candy to help their fellow students avoid Umbridge's detention and I will not supply her with any more Veritaserum. That ought to suffice until something can be done. Now go to your dorm."

He let go of his arm.

"No," he said defiantly. Snape narrowed his eyes about to say something, when he added, "I promised Tom, here, to escort him to the Slytherin Common Room first."

Snape's eyebrow arched. "You? Escorting a Slytherin student to the Common Room? Do you even know where it is?"

' Most certainly.' "No, I don't," he answered with a smile, "but Tom will guide me. Therefore, there should be no problem. Isn't that right, Tom?" he turned with a blinding grin to the first-year.

Tom nodded vigorously. "I'll be fine with Harry, Professor."

Snape looked at them, then straightened up and said, "Very well then. Off you go. And Mr Fawley," he called after the first-year. "Don't forget to change the dittany compress and bandage at least five times a day. If you need assistance with it, come to me or ask an upperclassman to help you."

Tom Fawley nodded, muttering a thank you to Snape, then grabbed onto Harry's hand with his good one and followed him.

…

Harry spent the remainder of his afternoon making sure that the other two first-year students were recovering. When the time for dinner came, he was torn between cooping himself up in his apartment and joining his friends in the Great Hall.

In the end, he decided to accompany his friends in order to distract himself from the black thoughts that have sprouted in his mind, to smother the guilt in his chest, to escape from himself. He forwent dessert, but remained with his friends until the end of the meal.

Just as Ron was stuffing the last few bites of treacle tart into his mouth, much to Hermione's chagrin at his manners, two voices could be heard arguing from the Entrance Hall.

"What exactly are you insinuating, Minerva?" came Umbridge's shrill voice.

"In light of what some of the teachers and students have been saying about your disciplinary actions, Dolores," McGonagall's stern Scottish accent echoed, "I, as Deputy Headmistress, demand that when it comes to the students of this school you conform to the prescribed disciplinary practices, or I will have you sacked, Ministry employee or not."

Most of the students – as well as teachers – got up to spy on the conversation between the two. Harry was one of them, together with his friends … even Voldemort.

"I will not have you questioning my authority in my classroom, Minerva," she went up a stair so she could be taller than McGonagall.

"Not at all, Dolores," McGonagall did the same. "I merely disagree with your sadistic, medieval methods."

Umbridge looked stunned, insulted. She opened and closed her mouth several times trying to form words. "I'm sorry, dear," she said finally, looking extremely affronted. "But to question my practices is to question the Ministry and by extension the Minister himself. I am a tolerant woman, but the one thing I will not stand for is disloyalty."

McGonagall looked stunned. "Disloyalty?" she said in disbelief, stepping down a step and shaking her head.

"Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared," Umbridge said, addressing the audience. "I will inform Cornelius about the abysmal state of things at the school and I'm sure that when he learns of how irresponsible both the staff and the students are, he will agree with me and my methods. And once I have his full authorisation to enact my will, which I have no doubt will occur by Wednesday, it will be me who will sack you and anyone who so much as dares to defy or question my authority. Have I made myself clear, Minerva?"

McGonagall, who had paled, set her lips into a grim line and said. "Perfectly, Dolores."

With that, Umbridge turned on her heel and went upstairs, her high-heeled shoes echoing on the stone. McGonagall, Harry and everyone else – student or teacher – were silent. Then, once Umbridge was out of earshot, agitated whispers and murmurs started and McGonagall began walking away from them.

"I'll meet you in the Common Room," he called out to his friends.

"Wait, Harry," called Hermione after him. He turned to her. "Where are you going?"

"I have to speak to McGonagall. I won't be long. Professor," he called, jogging after her. "Professor McGonagall."

She stopped and faced him. "What is it, Mr Potter?" she asked, looking old and tired.

"I must speak to you."

She looked around them. "Follow me to my office then. Away from prying eyes and ears."

Once inside, she offered him a seat and a biscuit. "No, thank you."

"They are gingerbread," she insisted. "With bits of almond in them."

"Tempting, but I don't think I have the stomach for anything sweet now."

"Very well, Potter." She sighed and interlaced her fingers, with the elbows resting on the desk. "What did you want to talk about?"

"If Umbridge gets Fudge to approve of her as the absolute authority at Hogwarts, will you let her walk all over you or will you band together with the rest of the teachers, the School Governors and the pupils' parents to do something about this injustice?"

His voice was steady and his expression unyielding.

"Potter, you heard what she said," she looked at him as if he was mad. Perhaps he was. This entire situation with Umbridge was doing a number on his psyche. It was ruining all the progress he had made during the summer with his self-loathing and self-destructive thoughts.

"If any of the teachers defy her," continued McGonagall, "she will replace them with others like her and then what? Who will protect you from her then?"

Harry raked his fingers through his hair in dismay. "There must be something we can do to boycott this tyranny, Professor!" he said, desperate. "We can't let her and Fudge get away with their abuse, because that's what it is! Abuse!"

"And what do you suggest we do, Harry?"

"I don't know; write to all the parents and guardians, informing them of what's happening here. Have them collect their children and refuse to let them attend Hogwarts until this matter is resolved. Start a protest, demand change. Anything sounds better than keeping one's head down."

McGonagall smiled, but there was no mirth in her eyes. "You make it sound so easy, Harry. However, the reality is far more complicated. As much as I like what you are suggesting, emptying the school, putting your entire education on hold can mess with your futures. Remember, all the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations depend on the Ministry and should we anger Fudge, he could ruin all your future prospects out of spite. Not to mention, any parent employed at the Ministry might be laid off for going against him. Do you really want people to face unemployment for the sake of a protest against Umbridge using a blood quill on students?"

When she put it like that, it made the entire situation even more hopeless. He sighed. "No. I don't want people sacked over this. I don't want my classmates to fail their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s and not be able to get the job they want, because they decided to stand against Fudge." His lips trembled and his eyes stung with tears of frustration. "That being said, I thought that Hogwarts was supposed to be one of the safest – if not the safest – places in Britain. However, these past five years have taught me that it is a lie. Hogwarts is not a safe place for anyone, especially now that Umbridge is threatening everyone's well-being with her quill and Dumbledore is away, looking for Voldemort."

McGonagall gasped.

"I guess, Professor, I'm just extremely disappointed. I really expected things to change for the better this year, despite Voldemort's return, Cedric's death, having that unfortunate encounter with the Dementors and almost getting expelled, but I suppose it was too much of me to hope for a peaceful school year."

"I am sorry that you feel like that, Harry, just as I am sorry that I haven't done a better job at protecting you and the rest of the students from harm, but no matter how angry or disappointed you might feel with the situation, I beg you to keep your head down. I know I'm asking a lot of you, since it is not in your nature to watch people get hurt and not do anything about it. However, this time, you have to keep your distance. Do not involve yourself in this mess. You managed to stay away from Umbridge so far, make sure it stays that way."

Harry wanted to scream. First Snape and now McGonagall was saying the same thing to him.

"Severus has told me how Fred and George plan to keep students away from Umbridge. I don't particularly like the idea of using malady-inducing snacks to avoid detention, but extreme situations call for drastic measures."

He clenched his jaw. Even the twins' plan was all wrong. At first glance, it sounded perfect, but on closer inspection, it was equally messed up as Umbridge's blood quill. Harry felt sick just thinking about students having to self-inflict a different kind of pain and suffering to avoid another kind of pain and suffering.

Harry knew that the twins had good intentions and he appreciated their effort, however, they didn't offer a solution, just a different kind of evil. A lesser evil, but evil nonetheless. The only solution was getting rid of Umbridge … and Fudge, because they were equally bad.

"Harry," McGonagall's voice brought him out of his sinister thoughts. He looked into her stern eyes. "I need you to promise me that you will not do anything reckless, that you will stay out of trouble."

He smiled a melancholy-permeated smile. "Goodbye, Professor."

With that, he left her office. She let out an exasperated sigh.

…

Instead of heading to the dormitory as he should have, he headed to the nearest deserted bathroom and locked himself inside a cubicle, where he let his frustration and impotency manifest itself in ugly sobs and tears that shook his body.

It wasn't fair. Nothing in his life was fair. Even when he was trying to stay away from problems. Even when he was trying to lead a good life, free of regrets.

He knew. He knew deep inside that, no matter how against the current situation he was, in the end, he would listen to Snape and McGonagall, keep his distance, and let the twins make the students sick so they wouldn't have to carve up their hands.

At least, until he broke down and the guilt and self-loathing finally spurred him into action, which would happen sooner rather than later, if he already felt utterly disgusted with himself for listening to his newly awakened survival instinct to keep himself safe and out of trouble.

…

A few hundred feet away, in the Gryffindor Common Room, Voldemort felt as if an invisible hand had pierced through his chest, wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed so hard he couldn't breathe.

His face twisted in pain as his hand flew up to clutch his heart. His throat closed up, his ears buzzed and, for a moment, he thought he was having a heart attack and that he was dying.

All the Weasleys, Longbottom, and Granger saw his reaction and immediately began fussing over him, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. All he could hear was someone's muffled and distant sobs and the only name that came to his mind was

' Harry'.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I had fun writing Harry's reaction to his score on the Potions exam, because that boy put in a lot of effort and deserved to be rewarded. Neville too and Ron ... he at least deserved that 50% for not skipping when others did. Of course, Voldemort is already a top student and in my mind, Hermione didn't get 100% on Potions - too textbook for Snape - but she got 100% on Umbridge's quiz.

I also really enjoyed including that first-year Slytherin, Tom Fawley. Supposedly, the Fawleys are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, but in the canon, they are never really mentioned, because I have no recollection of them in my mind. This means that one gets a lot of freedom to interpret them however they please and I just thought that having Voldemort's namesake with a muggle mother, a pure-blood father and a common muggle name would be a nice touch. Especially when Voldemort learns of him through Harry.

Reaching the Limit

Chapter Summary

Voldemort goes through a crisis, Harry helps him, all the while Umbridge is gaining power in the background, pushing Harry to a mental breakdown as well. In the meantime, he's doing his best to keep his mind occupied with other things, such as organising Hermione's birthday party.

Chapter Notes

I would like to preface this chapter with a couple of things and it's important for you to read it:

1. While the events of the story are set during Order of the Phoenix twenty years into the future and most of the characters' birth dates have moved forwards as well, the birth date that stayed the same is Voldemort's, which makes him twenty years older than in the original series. This makes the age gap between him and Harry that much bigger, but you can rest assured that there will be no sex between the two until Harry is of age (which means that it's going to be a long wait for these two to finally shag each other senseless). That does not mean that there won't be any underage kissing, hugging or touching involved and plenty of sexual fantasies.

2. While this story is about Harry taking charge of his life and being more proactive in seeking his own happiness, it is also a story about Voldemort going through a series of emotional changes, him finding his true self and finding out what he really wants in life: is that really conquering Britain and ruling it with an iron fist or is it something far more simple and mundane. Since I dedicate quite some screen time to Voldemort's perspective, I figured I can experiment with his inner thoughts and explore his fears and insecurities, because to me, Voldemort has plenty - fear of death, fear of being rejected, fear of being overlooked and ignored, just to name a few.

Why am I telling you this? Well, because this chapter features Voldemort going through a panic attack. Now ... I can already see people saying that Voldemort having panic attacks is OOC - and if you think that, it's okay. I happen to think it fits his character. I think we can all agree that he's paranoid, but I don't think many people would peg him as the type of going through panic or anxiety attacks for most of his life, mostly because he never shows it to anyone, because showing this ungraceful and unbecoming side of himself reeks of weakness and he can't afford to show any or people might exploit it. Therefore, expect to see Voldemort in situations we've never seen him before - go through panic attacks, cry, subconsciously seek out affection and soak it up like a sponge, explore emotions that are not strictly anger, hate or fear, question his career choice, play with cornstarch goo like a little kid, and plenty of others.

This being said, enjoy the chapter. Harry's mental and emotional breakdown is featured in the next chapter. The situation with Umbridge is escalating and Harry is done with keeping the distance.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The pain disappeared just as suddenly as it came. Voldemort's hearing cleared, his throat relaxed and his chest didn't feel constricted anymore.

"Oh my god, Felix," exclaimed Granger, standing over him, her features contorted in worry. "What's going on? Are you ill? Should we get Madam Pomfrey?"

"Talk to us, mate," prompted the redhead from her right. "You look awfully pale and, for a moment, it looked like you were in a lot of pain."

He looked around and saw she-Weasley, the two menaces and Longbottom all huddled around him, with concern written all over their faces. It was odd having people – Harry's friends no less – fuss over him and show genuine concern for his well-being, as if he were their friend too.

"It's nothing." He cleared his throat and tried his best to compose himself.

"It didn't look like nothing," the redhead insisted. "You looked like you were having a heart attack or something."

"And you weren't answering," said Longbottom. "It was as if your entire body had clammed up and you were completely frozen."

"Yeah," said she-Weasley. "Gave us quite the scare."

"I apologise for causing you distress and I am thankful for your concern for my well-being, but I assure you that I am completely fine," he insisted with a polite smile. "I merely remembered that I haven't spoken to my parents yet about my exam results. That is all."

The others gaped at him as if trying to say ' Seriously, dude?'

"Bloody hell," the redhead cursed in relief, collapsing into an armchair. "And here we thought you were on the verge of dying. Who gets this upset and worried over not telling their parents about getting two perfect exam scores?"

He chuckled. "What can I say, I am a natural worrier."

"Felix," said the two menaces gravely, each grabbing one of his shoulders.

"Next time you decide to overreact like this –"

"– Please, give us a little warning beforehand."

"So that we know everything is okay with you."

"Will do," he promised, smirking. His eyes turned to Granger and she-Weasley and both looked completely unconvinced, with frowns and crossed arms. However, they knew better than to point out his deception.

Quarter of an hour later, the portrait to the Common Room swung open and in walked Harry, with a cheerful, "Hey guys!"

"Harry," exclaimed Granger. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry I took so long. Got talking with McGonagall over some tea and gingerbread and almond biscuits and forgot the time."

She-Weasley looked at him with suspicion. "And what did you talk about that it took so long?"

"School. Grades," he said straight-faced. "What else would I have been talking with a teacher? After those two 'O's, I have decided that I am going to put more effort in all my subjects, even History and Divination."

Neither Granger nor she-Weasley believed him and oddly, he didn't believe Harry either. While he couldn't ask him openly whether he had been crying just now, without having to explain what he had felt minutes ago, he could tell that Harry's eyes were slightly redder than they should be and that his voice was hoarser than normal, and, no, it had nothing to do with him going through puberty and experiencing pitch change.

Still, if the boy had indeed been crying, he puzzled over two things: why had the boy been crying and how in Salazar's name was he able to feel it? Again, he wouldn't be able to obtain a direct or immediate answer to his questions, because he could compromise his true identity and he couldn't afford that at this stage, which frustrated him to no end. He wanted answers damn it! He needed answers, so that his mind could rest and not have to wonder why so many strange things were constantly happening to him involving Harry.

First the dreams, now this … premonition? Gut feeling? It was driving him mad. He didn't like it when he didn't understand things, when information was withheld or kept hidden from him. After spending most of his childhood and early teen years feeling vulnerable and without control over his life and circumstances, he had made it his mission to harness power and gain control over his life and over others.

"While I'm happy you're more serious about your studies, Harry," Granger's voice brought him back to the moment, "I don't see why you should try hard in Divination. I can't understand why you and Ron insist on attending that class, when it's nothing but an illogical hoax. It's only going to have a negative impact on your overall O.W.L. results and your school grades."

Harry's face darkened and there was that penetrating and shiver-inducing look in his eyes that had even him experiencing chills and tingles … like the ones he experienced when Harry touched him. "I would appreciate, Hermione, if you didn't badmouth or discredit Trelawney's subject or Trelawney herself in my presence." His voice was low and even, but held that menacing quality to it just beneath the surface that made goosebumps erupt all over his skin.

"While I agree that the subject is not for everyone, since it's such a specific subject that requires some natural talent and innate abilities that I do not possess in the slightest, that does not mean that it does not have merit or value or that she's a fraud. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I believe that she correctly predicted the rebirth of Voldemort in my third year, together with a few other minor predictions, like you dropping her class, Neville breaking her china and Lavender's pet rabbit's death, and she wasn't all that far off in her assessment of your character, Hermione, when she read your palm."

Granger gaped at Harry in shock, disbelief … hurt.

"She predicted what?" burst Ron, paling. "When exactly did that happen, because as far as I know she was too busy predicting your imminent death that never came."

"It happened when I returned the crystal ball Hermione knocked over when she walked out of the classroom. She came up behind me, touched my shoulder and started speaking in a hoarse, entranced voice about Voldemort and his servant reuniting, which ended up being Pettigrew, how Voldemort was going to return with Pettigrew's aid and that he would be greater and more terrible than ever before. Of course, when she was done sounding like a demon, she didn't remember a thing and when I confronted her about it, she dismissed her own prediction as some kind of nonsense."

"Holy shit," breathed Ron, gaping together with the rest of the company.

He found himself staring at Harry as well, a cold sensation in his gut and chest. The same woman who made the prophecy about Harry and him also predicted his return at least a year before it happened and she correctly predicted Pettigrew finding him and assisting him in his quest to regain a body?

Moreover, she made that prediction to Harry. Just like how she made that prophecy to Dumbledore sixteen years ago.

This was bad. If this woman really possessed the gift of foresight, he dreaded to think what else she could predict about him and Harry … to Harry no less. Worse, to Dumbledore again. No doubt, that was the real reason the old man kept her at the school, so he could keep her talent close to him and prevent it from falling into other hands.

He felt the familiar clutch of paranoia take hold of him and his fear of dying rearing its ugly head at him, twisting itself around him like some giant snake that refused to acknowledge parseltongue and just kept squeezing his insides until it crushed him.

His mouth went dry, he was having difficulty breathing and he started perspiring profusely. Thousands of needles prickled his palms and he felt his limbs go heavy and numb, like they have been transformed to lead. His field of vision reduced, black and white spots danced before his eyes, he felt faint, nauseous.

He needed to get out of there. He couldn't let anyone see him like that. He couldn't let anyone see this pathetic and weak side of him that had been haunting him for over eight decades. He needed to get to the bathroom and calm down, gather his bearings. He was Lord Voldemort. He was stronger and better than this. He would not be defeated or crippled by this.

…

"Yeah, holy shit," he echoed. "Although to be fair, I'm not so sure about that whole ' more terrible than ever before' bit of the prediction at the moment, but who knows, maybe once Voldemort returns from his vacation, he's going to be absolutely horrible." He jested and chuckled at his own lame joke. Honestly, as long as it kept them from questioning about his talk with McGonagall, he would go with it … even lame jokes. Especially, lame jokes. After all, he also had to cover up the fact that he had been sobbing his eyes out in a deserted bathroom, because he felt disgusted with himself.

Voldemort abruptly got up, looking extremely pale and unwell. "I'm going upstairs," he announced and left the Common Room.

"To inform his parents of his grades no doubt," teased Fred.

"Or maybe he needs to go to the bathroom and he's just too shy to say that he needs to pee or shit," cooed George.

' No,' thought Harry grimly, feeling dread encircle his heart, throat and gut as he followed Voldemort's retreating form with his gaze. ' Something's wrong.' He felt a tug in his gut. An invisible force tugging him in the direction of Voldemort. His scar prickled for the first time in a long time. ' Terribly wrong.'

"You know what," he said lightly, smiling, "I think I'm going upstairs too. To learn some Spanish. I should do some future tense exercises and write a short composition on my plans for Christmas holidays to practice writing. See you tomorrow. Goodnight!"

He walked slowly and carefree, then, once he was out of sight, he started running up the stairs and burst through the dorm door, wildly looking for Voldemort, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then, he heard the hissing of his snake.

" Hatchling," she called, worried, desperate. His eyes followed the sound and saw the snake by the bathroom door. " Hatchling, what's wrong? What happened that has you so agitated? Hatchling, let me in. Let me in so I can help you with whatever has you upset. Hatchling, answer me."

He didn't waste time and immediately crossed the distance to the bathroom and went for the doorknob. The door was locked. His sense of panic and dread kept getting worse. He knocked. "Felix, are you in there?"

No answer.

His first instinct was to break down the door with his shoulder, but he didn't want to cause damage to school property, even though there was a simple spell to fix the broken door later. Instead, he took out his wand and cast an Alohomora at the lock, then burst into the bathroom and found Voldemort clutching the sink, leaning over it and breathing heavily.

Harry's insides hurt at the sight in front of him. "Felix," he called out gently, placing a hand on his back. When Voldemort flinched at the contact and looked up at him with large and panicked eyes, trying to escape his touch, he felt his heart contract even more.

He didn't know what to say or what to ask, however he knew what to do and that was get Voldemort to his apartment, away from others, until this crisis had passed.

"Felix, come," he said gently, prying one of his cold hands off the sink and interlacing their hands together instead, while he gently wrapped his other arm around Voldemort's waist to provide support and steered him towards the dorm and his trunk.

The snake followed, hissing worriedly, trying to break through the haze gripping Voldemort, but the man couldn't or refused to speak.

He unlocked the padlock on his apartment and entered the anti-burglar alarm deactivation code. Once the lid was wide open, he wrapped Voldemort's arms around his neck, grabbed his legs and carried him down the stars, because he didn't trust the man not to fall down and break something in his current state.

He placed him on the sofa and sat next to him, taking his right hand into his to warm it up, while rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades with his left. "I'm here, Felix," he said in a calm, soothing voice. "Whatever you're going through, I want you to know that I'm here for you. You are not alone in this."

Voldemort's breathing started to stabilise.

"That's it," he praised gently, moving his left hand to his nape and gently massaging the back of Voldemort's head. "Concentrate on your breathing. Slow and deep breaths. You can do this. You're doing great."

Voldemort's eyes fluttered shut and he let out a shaky breath. A shudder shook his body as he melted into Harry, soaking up his affection and warmth like a sponge.

As he looked down at the Dark Lord in his arms, he remembered his sessions with Mrs Nightingale and a particular sentence she told him once: ' I know me hugging you is not exactly professional, but sometimes all someone needs is a good hug to feel better.'

Perhaps he could make Voldemort feel better by providing the same kind of embrace Mrs Nightingale provided to him whenever he was having his own emotional and nervous breakdowns.

He pulled him in closer, tucking the man's head under his chin and gently rocking him, while he continued to comb his fingers through Voldemort's hair, making the older male sigh in contentment. They stayed like this for quite some time as Voldemort slowly rode out his panic attack in the safety of Harry's reassuring embrace and his reassuring voice and words.

The snake joined them on the sofa, trying to squeeze her way between the two, still trying to get Voldemort's attention.

"Not now, Syomara," he said softly in English, petting her heart-shaped head. "Give him some time to collect himself."

The snake stopped hissing and turned to him in what could only be described as shock. However, she had stopped trying to get Voldemort's attention and simply draped herself over his lap to provide silent comfort.

He could tell exactly when Voldemort had come to his senses. It was when he tensed in his arms, yet refused to move … probably too embarrassed to face him.

"Felix, if you don't want anybody knowing what happened, you can rest assured that I won't tell anyone about it. The last thing I want is to betray your confidence," he tried to reassure him. "And if you don't want to talk about what caused you to panic like this, I won't pressure you into telling me either. It is your decision and whatever you decide on the matter, I will respect it."

Voldemort remained silent and there was still some rigidity in his frame.

"Tell me, is there anything you need or want right now?" Harry prompted. "Something to drink, watch a movie, or play some videogames?"

"Water," he rasped.

He released his hold on Voldemort and went to the kitchen to get some cool water for him to drink. Upon his return, he found his snake nuzzling Voldemort's cheek and the man slowly petting her head.

"Here," he said, sitting opposite him on the coffee table and offering him the glass of water. The man reached for the glass and brought it to his lips to take a sip.

"Thank you," he murmured, avoiding eye contact.

"You're welcome," he grinned. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" he offered.

"My mirror," he said. "I wish to speak to my parents."

"And where do you keep it?"

"In my nightstand."

He got up. "I'll be right back."

…

" Hatchling," hissed Nagini softly, when Harry had gone to fetch his two-way mirror, " you scared me. Don't ever do that again. My poor snake heart can't take it."

" My apologies, Nagini, for scaring you."

" It's a good thing that other human came when he did and took care of you," she said and he tensed.

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about Harry seeing him like this. It was one thing back on the Hogwarts Express, when they were both going through excruciating pain because of the hot peppers; it was another thing entirely having his ex-nemesis witness him going through one of his rough episodes.

" He was worried about you, you know," continued Nagini. " I could smell the fear and worry for you on him. He really seems to care for you, hatchling."

He grimaced. The feeling of his embrace still lingered on his skin, the gentle vibration of his chest and his feather-like touch on his scalp almost lulled him to sleep.

" He cares about Felix, not Voldemort," he pointed out, feeling irritated. " I doubt he would have shown the same level of concern had he known who I was."

It bothered him, he realised. It bothered him just as much as showing weakness in front of Harry, be it in a disguise or without it, did or when his parents would praise him and show him affection.

It was fake. It was all a farce. All the affection, all the praise, all the worry, it was for Felix Hansson, not Lord Voldemort, much less for Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he realised he was jealous of himself. Of his own disguise, of his own persona, because he wanted and craved all that for himself. His true self. However, neither his parents nor Harry would ever accept him as he was … damaged and broken, hiding behind an impenetrable fortress of coldness and hatred, because it was easier to hate everything and everyone than to accept and show his weakness.

" It doesn't matter for whom he did it, because you are Felix and Voldemort," argued Nagini.

" I don't want to talk about this, Nagini."

"Here." Harry returned with the mirror. He leaned over the sofa, holding the mirror in front of his face. He took it. "Say … want some tea before bed?" offered Harry from behind him, his voice and breath next to his ear, making goosebumps erupt on his flesh and a subtle shiver run through him. "Preferably chamomile so we can go to sleep faster."

"Sure," he said, clearing his throat.

"Chamomile tea it is then, and then … when you're done talking to your parents, we can look at some pictures of cute puppies and kittens from the café I worked at during summer."

After speaking to his parents, receiving praise for his good work and exchanging some small talk about his classes, his welfare, friends, and even Harry's godfather, who had apparently been visiting them every other day it would seem to talk with them, he bid them goodnight. Shortly after, Harry walked in with two steaming cups of chamomile tea.

"I put some lemon juice and honey into mine," he said casually, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened just a few minutes ago. He appreciated that, even if he would never admit it to Harry. "Do you want me to put some into yours too?"

"Why not," he shrugged, still unsure how to behave around Harry, now that he had let him see him in that state. Not to mention how greedily he soaked up his caresses and touch. Truly unbecoming of him.

He brought a wedge of lemon and the entire jar of honey, and then made himself comfortable next to him, pressing himself against his side, radiating warmth and letting it seep through his clothes. "Okay," he sighed, "time for some cuteness."

He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through the photo album. He plunged into an in-depth discussion about every single animal at the café he worked at, his colleagues and boss, even the customers.

"Old ladies are my favourite," he said, his eyes glittering with amusement. "They are so hilarious and cute, but also terrible gossips. Some gush about their husbands when they were still alive or about their children and grandchildren, some only seem to talk about their medical appointments and how many medications they have to take or about who in their bloc of flats is getting married, who's suing who, who's having an affair and who's getting divorced. The best kind of customers if you ask me."

"You really seem to like your work," he commented.

"I do, and I plan to return to the café as a waiter once summer holidays start. Once I turn sixteen, I will be able to work eight hours a day forty hours a week and I plan to take full advantage of that."

" How come there are only dogs, cats and humans inside this thing? Why aren't there any snakes?" chimed in Nagini out of nowhere. " I am offended."

He cleared his throat to smother the laughter that threatened to erupt from his mouth at Nagini's comment. "Puppies and kittens are all nice and good, but can we also look at some snake pictures?"

"Of course," Harry beamed and pulled up snake pictures from the Internet.

" Ah," sighed Nagini, as she gazed at her kin, " much better."

At quarter past eight, Harry let out a gasp. "Shit," he cursed, "look at the time already. I told my friends that I was going to do some Spanish future tense exercises and I haven't even touched a single worksheet yet."

There was a knock on the door. "Stay here, I'll get it." Harry raced to his bedroom and came back with an exercise book and a pencil, tossed both on the sofa to pretend he had been doing grammar exercises, then went to open the door.

"Ron, Neville," greeted Harry. "What's up?"

"Well we came to check up on you and Felix. He's with you, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's here with me. We've been looking at some animal pictures on my phone."

"Wicked," said Weasley.

"Mind if we join you for a few minutes?" said Longbottom.

"Yeah, we could play a board game or something," suggested Weasley.

"Fine by me," answered Harry, "but you'll have to ask Felix if he's in the mood for a game."

The two came down the stairs and into the living room. With Harry right behind them. "Oh and I should probably tell you that –"

Weasley let out an undignified scream as he came around to sit on the sofa and found Nagini staring him down from his lap. Longbottom paled and swallowed thickly.

"His snake is also here!" cried Weasley.

Harry sighed. "I was trying to warn you, but I couldn't finish the sentence in time."

Nagini giggled. " Silly human, scared of Nagini. Nagini likes when humans scream, they sound so funny when they do."

He chuckled.

After both Weasley and Longbottom calmed down and actually relaxed around Nagini, they played a round of Rummy, which ended with Weasley's surprising victory, before they all retired to bed.

…

Harry's resolve and conscience lasted for five days.

On Tuesday, the first batch of malady-inducing candy was ready and Harry forced himself to stay put and not make any comments or openly show his disapproval.

He needed a distraction and Ginny provided the best kind of distraction that same afternoon, when she gathered everyone save Hermione, who was doing her homework in the Library, and reminded them of Hermione's birthday on Saturday.

When she saw the shocked looks on their faces, her face turned stone hard. "You forgot the lot of you, didn't you?" she said displeased, her hands on her hips. At that exact moment, she reminded him of her mother, Mrs Weasley. She acted exactly like her. "Shame on you. Not you, Felix," she added kindly. "You're still getting to know us so you can't be blamed for not knowing Hermione's birthday." She glowered at them. "However, you." She pointed her index accusatorily at them. "You have no excuse. At least make sure that you get her something nice and I want your full co-operation in organising the party, which is going to take place at Harry's apartment, of course. And just so you know, Luna and I plan to gift her some books, friendship bracelets and a set of Gryffindor-themed bookmarks."

Since the birthday party would take place at his place, he would most likely be in charge of all the food and drinks. He knew from Hermione's accounts of her summer trips with her parents all over Europe that she adored Italy and the Italian cuisine, however, that didn't exactly help him narrow down what he should cook.

"I mean, there are so many options to choose from," he was telling Voldemort, who was sitting in his living room again with Nagini in his lap, listening to his food dilemma. "Should I make something pasta and sauce based or should I go with pizza?" He was pacing up and down the carpet in front of the coffee table and Voldemort.

"If I go with pasta, I need to choose a pasta shape from hundreds of them, but, since I'm no pasta expert, I only really know how to make fettucine, linguini, gnocchi, ravioli, tortelloni and tortellini. Once I have the pasta shape, I have to think of the appropriate pasta sauce, because not every sauce goes with every pasta shape. "

He inhaled harshly.

"Now, if I go with pizza, I have to think of what kind of pizza I want to make," he continued to ramble. "Do I go with the classic Margherita, Pepperoni, Capricciosa, Romana, Viennese, Quattro Formaggi, or Quattro Stagioni?"

"Since you'll be cooking for nine people, you might as well go with multiple dishes," Voldemort pointed out.

"I know, but I still have to decide on which kind," he said in frustration.

"Ask Hermione," he deadpanned. "Ask what she would like to eat the most. She's the birthday girl after all. Now, can you please stop walking up and down so much? You're making me light-headed."

At first, asking Hermione directly seemed a terrible idea to Harry. What would the point of a surprise be if she knew what he would be cooking? Then he understood what Voldemort was saying. He had to ask her inconspicuously, as if he was asking her about the weather.

He heaved a sigh and collapsed next to Voldemort on the sofa. "Fine," he agreed, "I'll ask her. At least I know what to make for dessert – a chocolate birthday cake with raspberry buttercream, lemon ice cream, an array of biscuits and coffee cupcakes."

"When exactly are you going to make all that food?"

"I'll make the biscuits and ice cream on Friday, and then I'm going to spend the entire Saturday morning baking and cooking." He turned to him. "And you're going to help me. You're going to be my sous chef."

"Why do you always ask me to help you? Why not any of the others?"

"For the same reason I spend so much of my free time with you, Felix," he drawled playfully and leant over to him, their breaths mingling together and he saw Voldemort tense and hold his breath at the closeness. "Because I like your company very, very much." Voldemort's eyes widened. His eyes flitted to his lips, then to his eyes. Those beautiful, enchanting scarlet red, slit-pupiled eyes.

He really wanted to kiss him. Push him onto his back and ravage him until he was a gasping, moaning mess. Worship his body until he came undone under his touch. He felt blood heat up in his veins and rush to his nether region. His cock stirred.

"And because you don't really have a present for Hermione," he withdrew as if he hadn't just teased and flirted with Voldemort. "Helping me prepare all the food can count as a gift from us both. Although, I do have another gift in mind for her – book sleeves – hand-sewn by yours truly, so her books don't get damaged. You, on the other hand, can give her a pot of oobleck," he grinned mischievously. "She'll love it, the scientific and logical mind that she is."

Voldemort frowned. "What the heck is oobleck?"

"You know … cornstarch goo," he said excitedly.

"I don't have a clue what that is."

Now it was Harry's turn to look scandalised. "What do you mean you don't know what cornstarch goo is? Every child should know what cornstarch goo is."

"Well, I don't know what it is," he gritted, frustrated … slightly embarrassed.

"Where have you been living that you don't know what happens when you mix cornstarch and water together? Under a rock?"

"No, in Sweden."

"Okay, that is blasphemy. Come," he rose up and urged him to follow him. "Let me show you the scientific wonder you have been missing out your entire life."

With Nagini wrapped around his neck and torso, he got to his feet and followed him to the kitchen where Harry proceeded to take out a palm-sized plastic container together with a box of cornstarch and some water.

He dumped half of the contents of the carton into the bowl and added just enough water to get the right slimy consistency.

"So," he began, his hands covered in the cornstarch slime, "I don't really know the science behind it, but I do remember our science teacher saying it was a non-Newtonian fluid, because it doesn't behave according to Newton's law of viscosity, which says that the viscosity of the fluid should be constant regardless of stress. However, in this case," he pointed to the slime in the container, "when you don't apply much pressure, it remains a liquid." To demonstrate it, he slowly dipped his palm into the cold and gooey mixture, watching his outstretched fingers sink into it. "As soon as you apply force to it, it turns solid." He pulled out his hand, formed a fist and started punching the mixture, which was resisting his punches.

He looked up at Voldemort with a boyish grin. "Pretty impressive, huh? Care to try it for yourself?"

The excited and awed look in Voldemort's eyes made butterflies flutter in his stomach. The man didn't have to be offered twice, for he immediately started punching and slapping cornstarch goo, revelling in the feel and sound it was making, only for him to grab a chunk of it, form it into a ball then let it dissolve into liquid again and run through his fingers.

"I know another science trick," said Harry eagerly. He took out a plate, filled it with water and sprinkled a thin layer of pepper over it. Finally, he took out his detergent and put a bit of it on the tip of his index finger. Voldemort, who still had his hands buried in cornstarch goo, observed with rapt attention what Harry was doing.

"Now, watch what happens," he said, slowly putting his detergent-covered finger in the centre of the plate. The pepper rushed to the sides of the plate, creating a thin circle around the perimeter, while the centre was just water.

"Wicked, right?" he grinned up at Voldemort. "Again, I don't really know the science behind the phenomenon, but that's probably what makes it so cool … so magical."

Voldemort tried it too, but didn't find it as impressive or entertaining as the slime, which he had thrown at the wall to observe it splash like a pancake against the surface then slide down to the floor, picked it up with his hands again and returned it to the bowl.

Harry made another batch for himself, then proceeded to spill it on the counter and swirl it around, before gathering it and picking it up into the container.

They were like two children, playing with mud and getting dirty, and that is how Ron and Neville found them when they came to visit, before they were roped into playing with said goo as well and a giant goo fight broke out between the four of them, messing up Harry's entire kitchen, their hair and their clothes.

Nagini had slithered away from the mess as soon as it started, muttering, " I'm too old for such childish nonsense, but at least my hatchling finally gets to relax and play."

Harry couldn't take his eyes off Voldemort and his messy state, wishing he could run his soapy hands across his body under the running water in the shower.

…

On Wednesday, Umbridge's threat made on Monday came true, when they found the notice appointing Umbridge as High Inquisitor of Hogwarts with the Ministry's stamp and the Minister's signature at the bottom, hanging from their noticeboard in the Common Room.

Harry did his best to concentrate on schoolwork and Hermione's birthday and started sewing the first of three book sleeves he had planned to make by following an online tutorial. Due to the simplicity of the sewing project, Harry had finished sewing all three book sleeves that same day, which left him wondering, how he could fill his time on Thursday.

After a brief discussion with Ginny, during which she mentioned that they still needed someone to take care of music, he volunteered to compile a playlist with Hermione's favourite music artists, such as Justin Bieber – or as Ginny put it, Jason Beaver –, Conor Maynard – Conor Millard for Ginny apparently –, Rihanna and Vanessa Hudgens. In turn, she offered to help him learn what Italian dishes she would like to eat the most, which turned out to be pesto pasta, pasta alla carbonara, lasagne, and pizza capricciosa.

Thursday was also the day when Umbridge made her first official announcement as High Inquisitor. In true inquisitorial fashion, she put up a notice announcing the inspection of all classes at Hogwarts. Simultaneously, that same day during Divination, Trelawney had put up a list of students and their respective consultation hours – Harry's consultation hour was on Monday at a quarter past four.

When Lavender asked her what the purpose of the consultation hours was, she looked melancholically at her and said, "Last night, I read the cards and I saw that a month of great peril and change is upon us. This could very well be the only way you will be able to attend your Divination class for a while. Now … let us proceed with the interpretation of dreams."

After that kind of comment, most of the students – Harry included – left that class feeling extremely uneasy.

While he was waiting for Voldemort to be done with Arithmancy on Friday, Harry was putting some final additions to the playlist he had managed to compile, and Neville and Ron, who were in charge of the decorations, were finishing their part of the project, which was to blow the balloons filled with glitter and confetti and make paper chains.

At quarter to three, Voldemort arrived with the twins, who brought with them crates of soft drinks such as Cola, Sprite, Fanta and Melon Soda, and typical wizard snacks from Honeydukes – courtesy of Snape.

For the next fifteen minutes, they were unpacking the cans and stuffing them into Harry's fridge, which was overflowing with food and drinks, and shoving snacks into Harry's cupboards. At three o'clock, Ron had to leave for his Quidditch training, leaving Fred, George and Neville to decorate Harry's living room, while Voldemort and Harry began preparing desserts.

They started with the ice cream. Once it was in the freezer, Harry went ahead and made sugar cookie dough – one with cocoa powder, one with green tea powder and one vanilla-flavoured. As the dough rested in the fridge, Harry decided to bake the sponge portion of the cake, so it would be nice and cool for the raspberry buttercream.

With the cookie dough in the fridge and the cake sponge in the oven, Harry prepared two rolling pins and a myriad of ordinary cookie cutters by placing them on the counter, then joined Voldemort, who was resting his legs and sipping lemonade at the table.

"Felix, did you know that there's a whole array of adult cookie cutters?" he commented out of the blue, after recalling a particularly embarrassing online shopping tour, his hands wrapped around his double-walled glass, filled with refreshing iced jasmine tea.

"No," he said, narrowing his eyes and knitting his brows together. "What does that even mean exactly?"

He took a sip. "It means that there is a cookie cutter shaped like a penis, a vagina, boobs, a condom, and different Kamasutra sex positions," he deadpanned and Voldemort choked on the lemonade.

Harry immediately reached out to slap in between his shoulder blades.

"You're joking, right?" he rasped.

"I wish I was, but no, I'm not joking. It's a real thing." He pulled out his phone, entered ' adult cookie cutters' into the Google search engine and showed the images to Voldemort, who looked absolutely horrified and scandalised.

"How did you even learn about this? Were you looking for it or something?"

"I was doing some online shopping," he explained serenely, "and when I was looking for cookie cutters in general, I stumbled upon the penis-shaped one and then I clicked on it out of curiosity and it kind of spiralled from there." He took another sip. "You will be happy to know that I refrained from buying it. It would be too embarrassing to have something like that just sitting in a drawer with the rest, though I hear they bake penis-shaped cookies for bachelorette parties and it would definitely be fun to see the reactions of my friends if I ever came out with penis and vagina-shaped cookies for their birthdays."

His face lit up with excitement as an idea formed in his mind.

"What is it?" Voldemort asked him suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," he quickly hid his smirk by taking another sip of his tea. "Just thought of something." However, he didn't want to share his brilliant idea with Voldemort. How could he, when it involved Voldemort and sexy cookies.

…

"Felix. Felix, wake up."

Voldemort startled awake and found Harry standing over him, urging him to get up.

"Come on, Felix. There is not a moment to lose. We only have three hours and a half to make three pasta and two pizza dishes from scratch. Not to mention the cupcakes and the cake assembly and decoration."

He groaned and turned away from the boy, pulling the covers up to his neck. He was still sore from standing so much the day before, rolling out the cookie dough and shaping cookies, he was not ready to spend another three hours standing, rolling out the pasta dough, and cutting pasta shapes.

He should have known that Harry wouldn't let him be and he wasn't even surprised when he wrenched the covers off him, lifted and carried him to his apartment. "Breakfast is already waiting," he whispered, "and don't worry about brushing your teeth, you can do that later."

Harry placed him in a chair in the dining room and when he looked before him, with eyes half-lidded, there was a plate with grilled salmon, three slices of rolled egg omelette, stir-fried mushrooms and a bowl of steamed rice.

Harry sat next to him, already digging into the food. "Eat," he mumbled, "you'll need energy for the cooking marathon ahead of us and drink some strong tea to wake up. I need you wide awake not half-asleep, sous-chef Felix."

He picked up his fork with one hand and placed the other arm on the table to support his head with it. He managed three bites, before his eyes closed and he dozed off. Harry didn't seem to notice at first, but then, a few drops of ice-cold water ran down his nape and under his T-shirt, making him yelp and jump in his seat.

His eyes flew open.

"No dozing off," Harry said sternly, then picked up his own plate and carried it to the sink to clean it.

Wide-awake, thanks to Harry's method; he finished off his plate and a cup of bitter black tea, and then joined Harry in the kitchen, where the brat was already making cupcake batter by hand.

"Can you put the thawed raspberries in the blender, add some lemon juice and honey and then blend it until you get a puree?" Harry said as soon as he saw him.

He did as instructed. "What now?"

Harry was in the middle of filling the cupcake liners with the coffee and chocolate mixture, using an ice-cream scooper.

"Strain it through a fine sieve. I don't want any seeds in the buttercream."

Once the cupcakes were in the oven and the puree was smooth, Harry began creaming the butter and powdered sugar and slowly incorporating the puree, until he obtained a homogenous and smooth cream.

Then he took out the cake, which they had layered the day before, and began frosting it and assembling it. Fifteen minutes in, Harry instructed him to take out the cupcakes and let them cool on a rack.

With the birthday cake frosted and decorated, they started making the pasta dough.

"Aren't you going to measure the ingredients like you always do?" he wondered, when he saw Harry spill the entire bag of flour onto his dining table and then use both his hands to make a new pile.

"I am measuring it," said Harry. "I'm using the pasta grannies method."

He sent a blank look at him. "And what kind of method is that?"

"One measure of flour that can fit into your joined hands makes pasta for one person, and if we're feeding nine people, we need nine such measures. It is simplicity itself."

"And how trustworthy is that kind of method?"

"If grannies who've been making pasta for over seventy decades say that's how they do it, then I'm going to follow the advice of experts on the matter."

That made sense. He blinked. Wait. What? What did Harry just say? "Seventy decades? Seven hundred years? How old are those grannies then, if they have seven hundred years of pasta-making experience?"

Harry looked baffled. He laughed loudly. "No, not seventy decades. Did I say seventy decades? I meant to say seventy years and seven decades all at once and it came out as seventy decades. Sorry, my bad. My brain is a bit frazzled today."

"I can see that. Are you making sure you're counting correctly?" He gestured towards the second pile of flour and Harry looked at it, then at his hands and at the first pile. Finally, he looked up at him.

"I've lost count. I'm not sure if I stopped at six or seven."

"Then start counting again."

Once he counted the nine measures, he made a valley in the middle, cracked six eggs into the middle and slowly began mixing everything together with his hands. When every bit of flour was incorporated and the dough smooth and springy, he wrapped it in a kitchen towel and let it rest for thirty minutes, during which, they started making the pizza dough.

"You said we have to make two pizza dishes," he began. Harry hummed in assent. "One is capricciosa, what's the other one going to be?"

"Margherita. In case someone prefers not to eat the toppings on capricciosa."

While the pizza dough rested, Harry pulled out a rolling pin almost as long as he was. "Where did you get this?"

"I dismantled a broom from my godfather's house, with his permission, of course, and kept the handle as a rolling pin for pasta." He brandished it as a weapon. "It also kind of looks like I could use it in martial arts, when I start learning some."

He lowered into a fighting stance, slashed diagonally at the air, "Pa-pa," he said, "and then you finish off with a straight stab to the gut, the neck or the under chin," he made a stabbing motion, "position it vertically and then watch as the person slowly slides down the pole leaving a trail of blood on the wood."

Voldemort stared wide-eyed at Harry, whose eyes were hard and distant, as if he was truly envisioning the gruesome image he had just painted to him. He didn't even think he was capable of imagining such a thing. He was, after all, Dumbledore's golden boy. Unwaveringly good. He rejected his offer to join him, quite possibly destroyed his horcrux to save that she-Weasley and spared Wormtail instead of killing him or imprisoning him for his betrayal and prevent or delay his return to a physical body and power. Therefore, how could he possibly entertain such a bloodthirsty thought worthy of someone like Lord Voldemort?

He had to admit he liked it. Very much.

The heavy and awkward silence that settled between them brought Harry out of his twisted fantasy, who looked at him in shock. "Just kidding," he said with a tense and fake smile on his lips. "I would never skewer someone like a shish kebab just to watch them die a slow death. Well, maybe Umbridge and Fudge."

He let out a nervous laughter, and then turned to his pasta dough. "I should probably shut my mouth before I say something that might get me into trouble. Today is not a good day for my brain and me."

He sectioned the pasta dough into three large sections, one for each pasta dish, then took one and began rolling it out until it was so thin it was almost see through and big enough to cover almost half of the table. "Take a knife," Harry instructed while folding the dough into a roll.

He took a knife.

"Try to cut even strips," he said. "Not too thick and not too thin. Meanwhile, I'll roll out another piece of dough and we're going to make more tagliatelle, because we're going to use one batch for pesto and one for carbonara. The third one, we'll cut into lasagne sheets."

When the pasta was cut into its appropriate shapes, they let it rest, covered with kitchen towels, the pizza dough was ready for stretching, and topping. For Capricciosa, first, a thin layer of smooth tomato sauce and some grated mozzarella, then, sliced mushrooms, ham, canned artichoke hearts, black pitted olives and another sprinkle of grated mozzarella. For Margherita, they only needed tomato sauce and lots of grated mozzarella.

With pizzas baking in the preheated oven, it was finally time to make the pasta sauces: meat and tomato, pesto and carbonara.

"Oh, Lord," groaned Harry his face reflecting pure ecstasy as the herbal scent of pesto and the sizzling pancetta in olive oil hit his nose. "Now I understand why Hermione has missed this. It smells like food heaven."

He had to agree.

Halfway through, the kitchen grew unbearably hot, with so many boiling things emitting steam that they both began sweating profusely. Harry kept fanning himself and drinking cold water to lower his body temperature with little success. In the end, he disrobed himself to his underwear, right there in front of him, giving him the perfect view of his tight and sculpted ass, his muscular thighs and broad back, with well-defined arms.

He found himself staring, greedily taking in every inch of Harry's glistening skin. He felt even hotter. Like he would combust any second now.

He wished Harry had taken off his boxers too.

…

Stripping helped him deal with some of the heat, but he would still need a cold shower after he was done cooking, which he hoped would be before ten thirty.

He had to commend Mrs Weasley for cooking food for nine people multiple times a day for years. Not to mention all the knitting she did each year so that every member of her family got their yearly, personalised woollen sweaters and a few people outside of that family too.

Admittedly, she used magic to make things move faster and to multitask, but it was still a very admirable quality that he wanted to emulate too.

The water for the coffee he would use in his buttercream for cupcakes began to boil and he took it off the heat, mixed two teaspoons of coffee in and placed it into the fridge to cool. However, instead of closing the fridge door, as soon as the cool air hit him in the face, he let out a low guttural moan and closed his eyes.

…

Harry's guttural sound made Voldemort shiver and clench his fists.

For a solid minute, Harry stood there, in front of his open fridge, sighing and panting, trying to prevent himself from melting. Then, he turned and Voldemort's eyes immediately zeroed in on the outline of his clothed manhood, pressing against the fabric and a throaty whimper threatened to escape his mouth.

Harry looked at him and he wondered what he was seeing, for his eyes widened and he let out a gasped, "You absolute madman."

Yes, he was a madman. A madman for staring at Harry, who was much younger than he was, and his muscular body and lusting after it. Craving it. Recalling every instance those strong arms held him, carried him.

"Why don't you take off your shirt, you're melting like chocolate."

His lust and heat-laden mind made him wish he was made of chocolate and that Harry would run his hot and wet tongue all over his body. His manhood ached for attention. Harry's attention.

"I'll be fine," his voice sounded strained and hoarse.

"Then come closer to the fridge and cool yourself off that way."

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. Tempting … so very tempting, but he would not – could not – do it.

He stood up abruptly, every muscle in his body straining to appear calm and collected. "I think I'm going to have a shower, if you don't mind," he managed to say. "That's if you don't need my help with cooking anymore."

He looked at the stove and the fridge, then back at him. "I'll finish cooking, you go and freshen yourself up."

Not even the cool water could put out his raging arousal and with the image of Harry Potter in tight-fitting underwear touching him, whispering encouraging things into his ear in that sinful, husky voice, and kissing him with his sensual lips, he – Lord Voldemort – succumbed to desire, reached down, wrapped his long, refined fingers around his girth and pleasured himself.

Chapter End Notes

Shout out to Pasta Grannies YouTube channel! I love watching old ladies make pasta. And the videos are super relaxing. They make you want to age like them.

Also, I am in the process of re-reading Philosopher's Stone and I just realised, Harry channelled Mrs Figg for a moment in this chapter, with him showing Voldemort pictures of dogs and cats and talking about them in detail - just like she was showing him pictures of her cats ... and he hated it.

As for penis-shaped cookies, I don't know about other countries, but in my country, it is customary for bachelorettes to go around town offering cookies shaped like a penis. I don't think bachelors do vagina-shaped cookies, but I'm not sure, I haven't really witnessed that many bachelor groups going around town either.

Fantasies & Nightmares

Chapter Summary

During a particularly vivid and intense masturbation session, Harry realises there's more to the Locket than he initially thought and has a mental breakdown after Hermione's birthday is over. The two things are NOT correlated.

Chapter Notes

I'm bumping up the rating to Mature, because of Harry's very dirty mind. Voldemort isn't any better.

Beware: sexual fantasies and night terrors incoming.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry closed the fridge door, because it wouldn't do if the fridge broke down because he left the door open for too long. He took out the pizzas from the oven, looked at the time – it was 10:15 –, took out one big pot, filled it with water, heavily salted it and let it come to a boil.

The faint sound of running water came through the wall and Harry's mind immediately conjured up the image of a naked Voldemort, running his hands over his body, soaping it, massaging it, while water ran down his skin.

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and let out a throaty grunt as his groin tingled and goosebumps erupted all over his skin.

Another erotic image flashed before his eyes, the same one he witnessed a few moments ago – Voldemort with flushed cheeks, glazed, ruby eyes, and droplets of sweat covering and gliding across his fine skin, staring hungrily at his body.

His breathing grew heavy and he began to shiver, despite the heat that was making him melt. The tingling sensation increased. As if someone was stroking him and he immediately imagined Voldemort's long and refined fingers wrapping around him to pump him.

His hips bucked forward into the invisible hand and he let out another muffled moan.

Another image appeared before him: Voldemort pressing his back against the tiles, his eyes closed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth to stifle the lewd sounds threatening to escape his mouth, his face contorted in pleasure, touching himself.

He couldn't think straight anymore. Whether from heat or desire – probably both – his mind was all jumbled up; focussed on one thing and one thing only, pleasure. He needed to touch himself. He needed Voldemort or he was going to lose it.

He was half-tempted to blast a hole through his kitchen wall, just to get to Voldemort, push him against the tiles and ravish him with his mouth and dick. Holding onto the last rational thought in his brain, he rushed to his bedroom instead, reached for Voldemort's locket horcrux – because that was the closest he would get to having a piece of Voldemort in his hands right now –, climbed onto his bed, took off his underwear and wrapped his free hand around his throbbing and leaking erection.

" Voldemort," he moaned in Parseltongue, the golden locket pressed to his mouth, while his hand vigorously pumped his shaft.

He imagined Voldemort lying in his bed and himself on top of Voldemort, between his pale and slender thighs, buried to the hilt inside his ass and pounding into him with abandon.

" Fuck," he kept hissing, his mouth agape, and his hot breath clouding the shiny metal surface. " So beautiful. So sexy. So hot and tight. You feel so good around me, Voldemort," he praised the Voldemort in his fantasy, who shivered, let out delicious sounds and clenched around him.

The metal grew warm in his hands and started to buzz.

" You look so good with my dick inside you, Voldemort, stretching you, filling you up. You like it, don't you, Voldemort?"

He leaned forward, draping himself over Voldemort and running his tongue along his throat. He licked the locket.

The locket throbbed in his hand.

"You like having my cock up your ass. You like it when I thrust into you, otherwise you wouldn't be making such lewd noises and such a lewd expression."

The locket grew warmer still, the heartbeat inside it becoming erratic and fast. Fantasy Voldemort demanded more – harder, faster – and he obeyed. His hand moved with more speed and force. The knot of pleasure in his groin tightened. His own heart beat like crazy as well.

" So greedy, so desperate for my cock and my come," he panted, while he continued kissing and licking the horcrux, as fantasy Voldemort was getting closer to his climax. " You want my come? You want me to flood your insides with my seed? Take it. Milk me. Take every single drop I have to offer. Come for me, Voldemort. Come for me, because I'm just as desperate to come for you."

Fantasy Voldemort wrapped his limbs around him, moaned his name as the orgasm hit him and clamped down on him, taking his breath away.

He clutched the vibrating locket tight, pressed it against his mouth, agape in a silent cry, as he twitched and shuddered while strings of come kept shooting out of his cock onto his hand, stomach and chest. In his fantasy, he was emptying himself inside Voldemort, and once his pulsing cock had no come left to offer, he pulled out to observe Voldemort's tired, but blissful expression, his sperm-stained stomach and chest, and the gaping, well-fucked hole with creamy white sperm oozing out of it.

He licked his lips. " If you could just see yourself now, Voldemort." His voice was low and hoarse. His breathing slowly calmed down. He smeared some of his sperm over the locket with his other hand. " If you could only see how erotic you look right now. Makes me want to ravish you all over again."

The locket hummed and he brought it to his lips again, stroking it gently.

Now that his mind cleared a bit, he wondered if the piece of Voldemort's soul inside the locket heard what he said and felt what he did to it in his lust-filled state. After all, it kept reacting to his words and his touch, so surely some of it must have bled through.

" If you, as in all of Voldemort, ever decide to accept me as your partner," he whispered to it lovingly, " I promise to look after you; take good care of you. I promise to love you with everything that I am. I promise to make you happy."

The locket buzzed with warmth and he couldn't help but smile. Perhaps he should do this more often and start giving more of his attention to the locket.

…

His fireplace roared to life with bright, green flames. "Yo, Severus!" came Black's cheerful greeting.

He sighed and looked up to see him in the middle of his office with two tote bags worth of food. This was the third week Black came to visit and Severus was dreading with what nonsense Black had come up this time.

Last time, he surprised him by gifting him tea. He refused, saying he preferred coffee. To which Black responded, "Oh, okay. I'll just bring you some coffee next time then." He hoped the mutt and his dog brain forgot about his promise.

"You're early," he drawled. "Your godson hasn't arrived yet."

Sirius smirked. "What can I say, Severus, I was eager to see you, and, as far as I know, my godson is too busy preparing lunch for Hermione with Felix, so Fred and George are picking up the groceries instead."

"Well, whatever it is, you can leave the bags here; I'll give them to them when they come to collect them."

"Okay," he set the bags on top of his desk, "but if you thought I was just going to leave like that, you're mistaken."

Severus felt like smacking his face. Why must Black be like that? He saw him reach into one of the bags. His eyes widened when he pulled out a wrapped package with a bow and a ribbon and held it out to him.

Oh, Lord, please, no.

"As promised, Severus, a packet of roasted ground Colombian coffee for you. Now we can have a cup each and hang out," Sirius smiled.

Why!? Why must he be tortured like that?

"I'm afraid I do not have any mugs or cups," he lied with a straight face.

Black's eyebrow arched, then his gaze travelled to his desk, where a cup of cold coffee was sitting there. "Then what's that?" he deadpanned, pointing at it.

"That's the only mug I have," he continued to lie, with a blank face and a level voice.

Black frowned for a few seconds, before relaxing his face and smiling blindingly. "Then look forward to your gift next week, Severus," he began lightly and Severus felt dread rise in his stomach, "an entire china set."

NO!

Black left the coffee on the desk, walked towards the fireplace with a handful of floo powder, turned to him with narrowed eyes and said in a husky tone, "Next week, you won't escape my invitation, Severus, even if I have to magically superglue you to your desk chair. Have a nice weekend."

With the promise that sent shivers down Severus' spine, Sirius left his office, and he was left dreading next Saturday.

…

Taking out a packet of hand wipes, Harry began cleaning the mess he made of himself and the locket.

"I'll wash you with soap and water later," he was telling the pendant, "but for now, this'll have to do for both of us." He gasped. "I just remembered. I must get Voldemort some clothes. He was in such a hurry he didn't take any with him."

Putting his boxers back on, he went to his wardrobe and prepared two sets of shorts, boxers and T-shirts, one for himself and one for Voldemort. They should fit him despite the height difference, which was becoming smaller with each week it would seem. After all, even with his own wardrobe, he still preferred loose and comfortable clothes, much like Voldemort.

Also, he wanted to see Voldemort wear his clothes, let the fabric retain his scent and, once he would change out of them, he planned to sleep with them and use them to fuel his masturbating material.

That sounded so creepy and fucked up, but he didn't care. It's not as if Voldemort would know, and there was no harm in something the other person didn't know.

"Harry," Voldemort called his name and he immediately reacted.

He hurried to the living room. "Yes?"

His bathroom door was slightly open and through that small crack, Voldemort was peering. "I need clothes."

' So cute,' he thought, trying to keep his excitement in at the adorable sight, ' he's trying to keep his body hidden behind the bathroom door. I wonder if he's standing naked behind it or if he has a towel wrapped around his waist. Either way, I want to see his body again.'

Snapping out of his thoughts, he said, "Of course," and returned to his bedroom to grab a set of clothes on the bed. "Here," he said just outside the bathroom, "a pair of shorts, boxers and a T-shirt."

Voldemort frowned at the clothing.

"What's wrong?"

"They're yours."

"And? Do you have anything against my clothes?"

"Only the fact that they are yours," he gritted in frustration. "Why couldn't you have gone and grabbed something from my trunk?"

"Because my bedroom was closer than your trunk," he deadpanned, "plus I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm still in my underwear. I have no intention of showing myself in this state of undress to other people."

Voldemort's eyes roved over his body, drinking in the sight, and he wondered if he liked what he was seeing. He had really worked hard to improve his appearance, strength, stamina and health. He was proud of the result outside of bedroom, if only he could test and show Voldemort just how much strength and stamina he possessed inside it by having him writhe under him on the mattress atop satin sheets, taking him over and over again, keeping him stretched and full with his cock and come.

Voldemort snorted. "Funny you should mention that, when you had no problem undressing in front of me."

"Yeah, but that's different."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Really? And how exactly is it different? Because I don't see any difference."

A loud knock resonated through the living room, saving Harry from having to answer Voldemort's question. "That must be Fred and George," he said lightly. "Here," he shoved his clothes through the crack, "take them and put them on. If they don't fit, I'll get you your own clothes. How's that?"

Voldemort grabbed the offered clothing and grumbled, "Fine," before closing the door again and locking it.

Harry put on the damp shirt and pants he discarded in the kitchen and went to open the trunk lid.

"Hiya, Harry!" the twins greeted, each carrying a tote bag.

"Hiya, Fred, George!" he greeted back as he carefully grasped the tote bags and carried them to the kitchen. "Right on time. I still have to assemble the lasagne and bake it in the oven and frost the cupcakes with the buttercream, but that should be done before eleven o'clock."

The twins followed him inside and inhaled deeply, praising the smell permeating the apartment. He added lasagne sheets to the boiling water, then started on the béchamel sauce and had Fred grate some Parmesan cheese. When the pasta was cooked, he took it out and let it cool a bit on a kitchen towel, before assembling it in a rectangular casserole and putting it in the oven.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw George try to tear a piece of pizza. He slapped his hands away. "Wait until lunch at eleven-fifteen," he scolded him.

"But that's almost an hour away," whined George, but Harry remained resolute.

"Then perhaps you should make yourself useful for forty minutes," he said sternly, picked up a kitchen rag and soaked it in water. "Here," he held it out to him, "take this and clean the dining table. Fred, you too." He gave Fred another damp rag, while he started making buttercream.

"Oh, Felix, where did you come from?" said Fred after a while and Harry's attention went to Voldemort dressed in his clothes. They made him look so irresistible and fuckable.

"The bathroom," he deadpanned. He looked at Harry. "If you don't need my help, I'll be in the living room."

"Okay," he grinned, "you can play video games if you want or read a book from the shelves."

Voldemort nodded and left the kitchen. Harry's gaze followed him and that delicious ass.

He caught sight of Fred and George trying to follow Voldemort and his eyes immediately snapped to them. "Where do you think you two are going?" he asked with a tight and tense smile.

"To the living room," said Fred.

"To keep Felix company," said George.

"We already cleaned the table."

"Wonderful." He opened the cupboard with the plates and the drawer with the cutlery. "Now you can set it too."

They groaned, but didn't protest, and he went back to making the buttercream.

…

At ten-forty, with most of the dishes done – they only needed to cook the pasta for pesto and carbonara, which would take less than five minutes – Harry decided to shower. He grabbed his clothes, the locket hidden between his boxers and shorts, and instructed Voldemort, who was reading Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment on the sofa, to guard the food from the twins, while he showered.

"It shouldn't take more than ten minutes. If anyone knocks while I'm in the shower, answer the door for me, please. Thank you!" he said with a blinding smile and a playful wink, before disappearing behind the bathroom door.

Once inside, his eyes immediately searched for Voldemort's sweaty clothes. He picked them up and buried his nose in the fabric of Voldemort's T-shirt, inhaling deeply the man's scent. It was musky, yet fresh like a pine tree forest, and it made him light-headed with lust. His cock twitched eagerly in his pants again, ready for another round of wanking.

He undressed completely, reached for the locket and Voldemort's boxers and slipped into the shower, under the running water. Careful not to wet the boxers and wash away the scent of Voldemort, he pressed both to his face, while his other hand wrapped itself around his cock again.

He imagined Voldemort wearing the boxers and himself nuzzling his clothed crotch.

" So good," he praised in Parseltongue. " You smell so good, Voldemort, makes me want to lick you whole, especially your dick." He could feel the locket's gentle buzz through the fabric. He smirked. " You can hear me, can't you? You can hear what I'm saying and I'd wager you would like me to suck you off, eat your ass out, before fucking you hard and fast into the mattress with my cock." His husky whisper rumbled against the warm metal.

The buzzing intensified.

He gently grazed the locket with his teeth and swirled his tongue around it, imagining Voldemort's puckered asshole. His pumps alternated between lazy and vigorous, prolonging the build-up to the pleasure.

" I wish you could see into my mind and witness all the ways I would fuck you, Voldemort: on your back, on all fours, with you on top, you bent over a desk, against a wall, in a bathtub, in front of a mirror so you could see my dick sliding in and out of you and more. So many ways more. But no matter the position or how harsh or gentle the rhythm, I would always have my arms wrapped around you lovingly, protectively, so that when you fell apart, consumed by unimaginable pleasure, I would always be there to catch you and hold you."

The locket vibrated vigorously, the heartbeat inside it beat irregularly.

" If you're anything like the diary, then you have a physical form somewhere in there," he panted, gripping his erection tightly. " And if you can see and hear my thoughts, then I'm pretty sure you're touching yourself right now, moaning my name, craving my touch and my cock, just like I'm touching myself and wishing I could make love to you, Voldemort. All of you."

His mind tried imagining a slightly older Tom Riddle from the diary, kneeling naked in a king size bed, one hand pumping his erection, while the other played with his ass, and calling for Harry. He imagined himself closing the distance, climbing on top of him and worshipping every inch of his body, before diving into his hot ass and slowly fucking him, feeling every inch of his velvety inner walls, swallowing his moans with his mouth.

He bit into the boxers, panting and moaning, feeling hot and delirious. His hand gripped harder, mimicking Voldemort's ass muscles tightening around him, trying to milk him of his come.

" Voldemort," he moaned in Parseltongue. " Come for me, Voldemort. Let me see you come undone in my arms." He could have sworn he heard somebody that sounded like Voldemort moan " Harry" somewhere in the back of his head.

Whether he imagined it or not, it mattered little, for his body jerked and shuddered and he painted his bathroom walls with his essence, and the locket in his hand was hot. Humming, buzzing, and vibrating.

He nuzzled the locket, peppered it with kisses. " You're so precious, so responsive," he whispered lovingly, a tired but satisfied grin resting on his lips. The locket continued to hum. " You know," he said, letting water fall on it, and gently soaped it with his fingers, " I planned to give you to Voldemort, you know, the original, because you are a part of him, but … now, now that I know you can hear me speak and probably see my thoughts, I don't want to give you away."

He brought it to his lips. " I don't want to part with you, but ... if Voldemort remains with his soul in pieces … it would feel really awkward, you know. Although, I wouldn't be opposed to having my own personal Voldemort alias Tom Marvolo Riddle horcrux harem."

An image of several Tom Riddles at different ages surrounding him appeared in his mind. Several pairs of hands were groping him; several pairs of lips were kissing different parts of his body – the neck, the lips, the chest, the back, the shoulders, the hips, the cock – demanding his love and attention. They were taking turns, pleasuring him and riding his cock, while he tried his best to give equal attention and love to all of them.

" Okay," he said dazed and mentally exhausted all of a sudden, " a harem with the lot of you sounds really exhausting. Especially having an orgy with all of you, trying to divide my attention in equal parts, so that none of you feels neglected sounds particularly hard, since I imagine all of you being the jealous and possessive type. Mind you, I would probably have enough stamina to fuck all of you at least twice in the same round," he bragged cheekily and swiped his tongue along the metal, making the locket tremble in his hands. " You would all look so beautiful with my come dripping out of you and my love bites decorating your necks. Although, I would probably use butt plugs to keep you from wasting my seed."

The locket shuddered.

" You would like that, wouldn't you?" he whispered huskily, smirking. Then, let out a sigh. " I wonder how many of you are there and if the one inside me is similar to you and the diary or if it's different because I'm a human horcrux."

He shook his head. " Anyway, what I was saying, it would be extremely awkward to have a harem and I wouldn't want any of you to feel jealous of each other, so I hope there comes a time in the near future when Voldemort will reabsorb you. It is easier to focus all of my love and attention on one complete Voldemort and fuck him the same amount of times I would have fucked you if you were separate entities than to distribute my love and attention between however many horcruxes he's made and him."

…

Not long after Harry disappeared into the bathroom and the water started running, Voldemort noticed that his thoughts were going to Harry, his semi-naked sinful form, now naked under the shower, and he felt his cock harden again.

The novel he was reading forgotten and the Weasley twins busy with setting the table, he reached into Harry's shorts and under his boxers and buried his nostrils into the T-shirt – Harry's T-shirt. Since it was clean, it didn't bear his scent, but he still imagined Harry wrapped around him, kissing him, praising him, telling him all the dirty things he wanted to do to him, making loving promises and running his hands all over his body.

He stifled a moan. He wasn't sure why he would picture himself as the one with Harry's cock up his ass, when, if anything, he would be the one with his cock up Harry's ass, just as he wasn't entirely sure why he found that thought so arousing that his balls twitched and tightened.

He closed his eyes and bit the neck of the T-shirt. He had to make it quick, before someone walked in on him and saw him in that disgraceful state.

His fantasy felt real and vivid, with Harry panting and moaning his name huskily into his ear from behind, his hand wrapped around his length, pumping him, while he kept thrusting into him.

' Come for me, Voldemort,' said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Harry, only that he was speaking in Parseltongue. ' Let me see you come undone in my arms.'

There was something incredibly sensual about Harry speaking Parseltongue, even more so to use it to speak filthy things in his ear.

' Harry,' he called out in his thoughts.

Every single muscle in his body tensed, fireworks exploded behind his eyelids, and his hips gave a violent jerk forward, into his hand. His head fell back on the sofa, his erratic heartbeat echoing in his ears, as his cock pulsed and filled Harry's boxers with his sperm.

With a shaky breath, he sat there on the sofa, hot and spent, feeling a pleasant buzzing thrum through him, making him drowsy. His eyelids felt heavy. He pulled out his come-stained hand and looked at the viscous essence.

He was insane. Truly and completely insane.

A knock brought him out of his reverie less than a minute later. He jolted forward, spelling away the mess, and headed for the entrance. It was Longbottom and Weasley. He accompanied them into the kitchen, where the two menaces were trying to sample the raspberry buttercream from the birthday cake.

He crossed his arms across his chest and cleared his throat. The twins visibly started. "What do you think you are doing, Fred, George?" he spoke in a cold, menacing voice.

They slowly turned his way.

"We were just –" began what he assumed was George.

"– unpacking Harry's groceries."

They immediately reached for the shopping bags and pulled out cartons of milk and sticks of butter. He narrowed his eyes at them in suspicion.

"Oh, well, if that's the case then proceed with what you were doing, but for a moment, it seemed to me you were trying to ruin the cake Harry and I worked on for almost twenty-four hours with your impatient greedy fingers."

They swallowed thickly. "Of course not."

"We'll see about that," he said, unsmiling, "because until Harry comes back from the bathroom, I'm keeping my eye on you two. So, if you try anything funny, I'll hex your asses so that you won't be able to sit or shit normally and painlessly for an entire week."

They squealed and covered their behinds. "Please, don't hurt our lovely booties," they pleaded. "We'll be good and wait for the food."

…

With five minutes to eleven, Harry was a mess, cooking the remaining pasta, cutting the pizza into equal slices, placing the food and glasses on the table and generally making sure everything was in order.

"Okay," he said, "as soon as Ginny and Luna get here with Hermione, we're all going to start singing 'Happy Birthday'. Then, we're going to give her our presents and eat lunch so that the pasta and pizza don't get too cold. After that, we're going to hang out in the living room."

"Are we going to eat the cake for dessert?" asked one of the twins.

"No. We're going to eat it later in the afternoon, around four o'clock; however, you'll be able to eat coffee cupcakes, lemon ice cream, biscuits and snacks instead."

A knock came.

"Okay, this is it, people," whispered Harry excitedly. "This is it. The moment of truth has arrived," he said melodramatically and went to open the trunk lid.

When Granger fully entered the living room, Harry gave the signal to start singing. Voldemort, who never in his life had sung a birthday song to anyone – nor had anyone ever sung it to him – was at a loss. Luckily, Harry and the others were loud enough so that it didn't matter whether he was actually singing or not. As long as it appeared as if he was singing, that was enough.

Moved by the song and the decoration, Granger covered her mouth and looked like she was on the verge of bursting into tears. She-Weasley and Lovegood cooed and pulled Granger into a hug.

Harry stepped forward with his gift in hand and said, "Happy birthday, Hermione," before wrapping his arms around her. In turn, she hugged him back, with a bright smile on her face. Lovegood and she-Weasley were next, then her siblings, Longbottom and finally he.

He tried to keep things formal: a handshake, a polite smile and a generic 'happy birthday'; however, Granger, still overcome by excitement, hugged him and thanked him profusely for the gift.

He went rigid.

He wanted to wrench himself free from the gesture instinctively, but doing so would be rude. Luckily, the hug didn't last long and he sighed in relief when she stopped hugging him.

With the greetings and gifts out of the way, Harry ushered them to the dining room, where the table was overflowing with scrumptious looking food that he helped to make.

"Damn, Harry," said she-Weasley in a praising manner, "you sure went all out, didn't you?"

"I had some help," he nudged him with his shoulder and winked at him with a grin, "otherwise it would have been a nightmare to have everything ready in time."

"Well, you have outdone yourself with this."

"Only the best for one's friends, isn't that right?"

She giggled. "Only the best," she agreed.

They each took a seat – Harry sat next to him – and started eating. Once they were full, Harry cleared the table and they all retired to the living room, where they crowded on the sofa to play Mario Kart 8.

"Since I only have two controllers, the tournaments have four races and I want all of you to participate," began Harry, "here's what we're going to do. We're going to form two groups of four. Unfortunately, we are nine people so there's going to be an extra member on one of the groups. We're going to pick a cup. We're going to race on 200cc with no smart steering. If you fall off course or crash into an obstacle, you fall or crash, no smart antennas to prevent the fall. The extra person will try to win a race against the computer, on a randomly selected course, with frantic items and on hard mode (pause)."

"Okay, then Hermione, Luna and I are a team," said she-Weasley. "Who wants to join us?"

"I'll join you," offered the redhead. "You'll need an experienced Mario Kart racer to have any chances at winning this, and I'll get to redeem myself for that appalling performance the last time I raced against Harry."

"Okay, then Felix is on my team," said Harry, looping an arm around him and pulling him flush against his side. He stiffened at the warmth seeping into his side, the muscular arm embracing him and all the images of Harry and he being intimate flashed in front of him. "The same with Neville and the twins. Unless, you would like to try and race against each other, then one of you can join the other team."

The twins exchanged looks. "What do you say Fred? Together or against?"

Fred grinned wickedly. "Let's mix it up a bit and try going against each other for once."

"Okay, then I'll join Hermione's team," said George.

"Alright," exclaimed Harry. "Now that there's five on Hermione's team, choose who the extra person will be to go against the computer."

"I'll go against the computer," Hermione volunteered.

"Okay, then I suggest Ron and I go up against each other in the first round, Fred and George on the second round, Felix against Ginny on the third one and Neville versus Luna on the last race," concluded Harry and nobody seemed to object, though Longbottom let out a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong Neville?"

"I don't know how to play; I'm going to be terrible at it. I'm probably going to end up last."

"Don't worry, Neville," Harry said to calm his nerves, "you'll learn the controls by the time it's your turn and we'll try to choose a cup with a relatively easy last stage."

Harry and the redhead chose the Flower Cup and after the opposing team chose gold Peach, Harry was adamant to pick Bowser. "Let's go with Dry Bowser," he said, "although we should probably get him some lotion first, so he can moisturise his bones and prepare Peach's puh for his bony, monster diugh in case he wants to fuh her afterwards."

He and Ron cackled and Granger looked scandalised.

"Oh my God, Harry," she admonished him, "why do you have to be so nasty?"

Harry laughed even harder.

He didn't understand what Harry was referring to, much like most of the others, and Harry refused to elaborate on it, even when the twins asked him to explain what it was all about.

In the end, Harry went with Link – or as he called him, Pretty Boy Link – and, for some reason, he felt bothered by it.

Not wanting to dwell on the reason behind his annoyance, he concentrated on Harry and the redhead explaining navigation buttons, items and giving general racing tips, while they were trying to pick the best combination of vehicle, wheel and glider.

Then, they started to race and Harry won again in the end, after a rough start and amidst chaos. There was only one incident during the race when Harry was convinced that Luigi had called him a hoe after throwing a shell back at him.

"Did you hear that?" he exclaimed melodramatically. "That Luigi bitch called me a hoe!"

"He calls everyone a hoe, Harry," said the redhead unfazed.

"Well I'm going to whoop his ass. See who's a hoe then."

The second race went to George and the third one to she-Weasley. He was still frustrated by the fact that he was in first place, right at the finish line of the last lap, when a bomb exploded in his vicinity and stopped him dead in his tracks, allowing she-Weasley to pass him and finish first.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Harry gaped next to him at the screen.

"Hah!" she cried triumphantly. "In your face, Felix."

"Don't mind it," Harry clapped his shoulder reassuringly. "We're going to catch up to them."

If he didn't know any better, he would think she-Weasley was the one who threw the bomb at him. It wouldn't surprise him given that during the entire race she was really competitive and aggressive towards him, as if she was trying to vent her suppressed aggression and frustration against him.

What could she possibly have against Felix? He was polite and amiable, so what was her problem?

Surprisingly, Longbottom finished before Lovegood who ended ninth. Unsurprisingly, he felt awful for placing better than she did and ended up apologising for doing better.

Overall, they placed higher as a group than the other team, but still failed to get a trophy. Instead, they received a clapping yellow creature on a cloud with glasses and a ' Nice try'.

Now it was time for Granger to race against the computer represented by eleven other racers. Having played only a handful of courses and performing badly on all of them, it didn't come as a surprise to see her do the worst by placing eleventh.

Following Mario Kart, Harry roped them into two other games.

One was called Dobble, a speed-based card game, of which they played five different mini games following the suggestions attached to the game – The Towering Inferno, Fill the Well, Hot Potato, The Poisoned Gift and Catch Them All. This was where absolute chaos broke out with almost everyone screaming out symbols, fighting over who made the first call, snatching up cards or discarding them while simultaneously trying to hinder the others.

The other game was called Uno, which was also a card game where the purpose was to get your hand rid of cards before the rest, while simultaneously doing everything to hinder the others from winning by playing dirty and trying to be as ruthless as possible. Voldemort concluded that he quite liked Uno for that same reason. He would also prefer never to play it against she-Weasley, who was apparently out for his metaphorical blood.

With refreshments in hand, they listened and danced to the music Harry had compiled and sang alongside it. Well, it was mostly Harry singing corny muggle love songs, tailored in such a way that he replaced all the female nouns and pronouns with male ones, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other while using a bottle as a microphone and looking at him, as if he was singing him a serenade.

Voldemort wasn't sure what to make of it. He didn't know how to react. He wanted to find some place to hide from Harry and his own embarrassment, but he also wanted to stay and bask in the attention Harry was giving him. In the end, he let Harry hold him as they swayed gently in tune with the beat, letting his scent and arms envelop him.

All too soon, it was four o'clock and time to cut into the birthday cake.

"Happy sixteenth birthday, Hermione," Harry congratulated again and Granger giggled.

"Well, technically, I'm already seventeen, because of the Time Turner, but if you want to make me younger, that's fine by me."

"Oh, well, shit," he cursed, "I didn't think about that at all."

"So …" mused the redhead, "you're the same age as Fred and George?"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell."

Granger laughed.

As they ate the cake, Harry asked she-Weasley and the redhead about their Quidditch practice, then made a comment about the former's poor eyesight and offered to get her a fifty per cent off coupon for an ophthalmologist appointment.

She-Weasley wasn't happy about it, picked up a pillow from the sofa and began chasing Harry around the living room to beat him up with it, all the while Harry was cackling and singing, "Hashtag near-sighted Ginny. Hashtag glasses for Ginny. Hashtag Ginny in glasses. Hashtag glasses Ginny."

At some point, she got close enough to hit him and Harry yelped as the pillow grazed him, then dove behind him for cover and used him as a shield against she-Weasley. He stood, unmoving, with Harry behind him and she-Weasley in front trying to get her hands on Harry so she could throttle him.

"What the hell is with you and trying to get me to go see an eye doctor?" she snarled, flushed.

"And what's with you not wanting to go to an appointment?" he yelled back.

"Because I don't need glasses! I'm neither near- nor far-sighted! I see perfectly fine!"

"I strongly disagree. I mean, it took you minutes to notice the Snitch that was right there next to you, and besides, you would look good in glasses. Just look at my new glasses and me. I look uninteresting and boring without them, but when I put them on, BAM, I feel and look like a sex god."

Voldemort's mind immediately went to his fantasy of Harry dominating him and giving him pleasure.

She-Weasley grimaced. "Uh, no you don't."

Voldemort would disagree. Although he couldn't care less about Harry's glasses as long as those smouldering emerald eyes were on him and nobody else.

…

He dreamt that night. He dreamt he was wandering through the deserted corridors of Hogwarts, following Harry. The school was dim-lit and ominous. Sepia-toned.

"Hello?" Harry called out warily. "Is anybody here?" Nobody answered.

He wanted to answer him, but his throat closed up, dry like a sand desert, and he couldn't let out a single sound. He wanted to get closer to him, but his legs were heavy and refused to obey him. Again, he was reduced to an invisible and mute observer of his surroundings.

Harry continued making his way downstairs, occasionally wandering off, looking into empty classrooms.

The growing feeling of dread and unease culminated when Harry reached the Great Hall, where the entire school seemed to have converged. However, something was off, he could feel it and Harry too.

Despite the crowd, the Great Hall resembled a chapel of rest. Everyone was sitting at the tables, wearing pitch-black robes and nobody was making a sound. Their expressionless eyes were staring off in the distance, glassy and lifeless, bloodshot and bulging out of their eye sockets.

Then, they slowly turned their heads towards the entrance as one entity straight at Harry and Harry shuddered. He mimicked his reaction.

"W-What's going on?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Why is everybody here? What's happened?"

"You did this," the students of Hogwarts chanted in a monotonous and eerie voice that echoed through the Hall.

"I don't understand. What did I do?"

"You did this," they continued to accuse him. "It's your fault." They slowly raised their hands and pointed accusatory fingers at Harry. He saw that their hands were mangled and bloody, with words carved into the back.

Harry noticed them too.

"No," he shook his head. "No, I didn't do this. It's Umbridge. She's the one at fault here. She's the one causing pain."

"Because you let her," they chanted and Harry's eyes widened in shock and panic. "You let her do this to us, Harry. You, with your inaction."

The crowd stood up and started advancing on him slowly. Harry backed away right into the sealed door. His chest heaved in agitation as he battled for air.

"Snape and McGonagall told me to stay away from Umbridge," he told them. "Snape said to leave it to the adults and McGonagall said that getting involved could only make matters worse."

"If you are only going to look out for yourself, why did you even survive the graveyard?"

"If it had been Cedric, he would never have let us suffer under Umbridge."

"Cedric would have fought for us. He would have protected us."

"He's the true hero, not you."

"It should have been you who died that day at the graveyard, not Cedric."

Harry's lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears. He slid to the floor and curled up in a ball, with his back against the door, his hands covering his ears, and his body rocking back and forth.

Somebody banged on the door. Harry did not seem to hear it.

The crowd slowly started to lose their humanoid shape. They melted away like wax, turning into giant, shapeless black, ink-like blobs with the ability to speak.

"Why didn't you die?"

They spoke in a demonic voice, black tentacles with spikes and thorns winding their way towards Harry.

"Why aren't you dead?"

The door burst open and through it appeared the same naked man that resembled him. He called out to Harry and knelt beside him, gently caressing his hair, encouraging Harry to wake up from his dream in parseltongue, but Harry didn't answer, he didn't even give any indication having heard anything, he continued to stare blankly at the floor in front of him, motionless. Not even the kiss he placed on his scar worked as it did last time.

"Nobody wants you."

"You're just a nuisance."

"Useless."

"Freak."

"Pointless."

"Waste of space."

"Pathetic."

"Insect."

"Weak."

"Coward."

"Die."

"Just kill yourself and do everyone a favour, will you?"

Dream Voldemort wrapped his arms protectively around Harry and turned to snarl at the terrifying darkness ready to tear Harry apart with its words and tentacles. " Shut up," he growled in Parseltongue, his eyes glowing menacingly.

Then, he turned to Harry. "Harry, don't listen to them," he said gently. "They are lying. Nothing they have said is true. You've done nothing wrong. You are not useless or unwanted. Please," he tightened his hold on Harry, "don't ever think about killing yourself."

The first tentacles wrapped themselves around Harry's ankle and sank their thorns into his skin, making it bleed.

His counterpart stomped on the ink-like appendage and squished it. " Don't touch him," he snarled again. " He's mine not yours."

"Harry, wake up right now," he demanded, shaking the boy. No reaction.

Exasperated, he looked up and noticed his presence like last time. "You," he called and advanced on him, until he grabbed him by the arms. "Wake up and wake Harry up from the outside," he ordered. "I can't get through to him, but you could." He looked back at Harry, who was comatose, tentacles wrapped around his limbs, dragging him towards the darkness.

" Hurry," he urged him, "We don't have much time. I'll fend off the tentacles as much as possible, but only waking Harry up will do the trick."

He was confused. What was happening? How could Harry's dream version of him act and speak independently from Harry? How could he see him, touch him, speak to him, when Harry wasn't aware of his presence? What was this dream? Was it a dream?

The other Voldemort hurried back to Harry's motionless form, caught him by the arms and pulled in the opposite direction. He tried to crush the tentacles, but they kept reappearing and were now threatening to consume him as well.

Struggling, he looked up to where he was standing. "You're still here!" he yelled incredulously. "What part of hurry did you not understand? This is an emergency! Wake up NOW!" His voice thundered.

Just like last time, an invisible force pushed him backwards and he shot up awake in his bed at the Gryffindor dormitory, breathing heavily, a layer of perspiration covering his skin and with the nightmare still clearly etched into his mind.

He reached for his wand and cast a Lumos. His eyes turned to Harry's bed, where the boy was contorted, as if his muscles had cramped up, his veins pressing against his throat and forehead, his skin growing violent red, almost purple.

As he approached him, he realised that the boy wasn't breathing.

Chapter End Notes

Harry: *flirts with Voldemort in front of his friends and sings him Justin Bieber's love songs*
Voldemort *to Harry in his mind: please stop, but also don't stop
Me: *facepalm*

(No, but honestly, imagine Harry singing "Love Me", "Favourite (Boy)" and "One Time")

Also Harry: I wouldn't mind having a Voldemort horcrux harem and horcrux orgies. I have enough stamina to fuck all of them at least twice in the same orgy.
Me: *choke on whatever drink I'm drinking* Excuse me? You do realise that's like having sex 16 times in a row. Are you sure that's a good idea?
Also Harry: Yeah, you're right, having a harem of horcruxes the original sounds very exhausting, it would be better if there's only one on him and I just fuck him the same amount of times as before.
Me: I don't think Voldemort would appreciate having so much sex. He's not exactly young, you know. His body has limits.
Voldemort: *getting hard and having an orgasm the same amount of times as Harry so far.*
Me: ... Forget I said anything you pair of horny motherfuckers.

(Seriously, these two are the worst.)

Taking a Stand against Umbridge

Chapter Summary

Voldemort saves Harry only for Harry to walk headfirst into the wolf's den. Voldemort is NOT pleased to see Harry wounded. Harry declares war on Umbridge and Fudge. Voldemort intends to help him without compromising his disguise.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

No. This was not happening. The boy could not be dying from a dream, could he?

He cast a silencing charm around Harry's bed, then reached for him and started shaking him. "Come on, Harry," he commanded, with something cold and heavy gripping his chest and stomach, "wake up. Open your eyes this instant. Breathe."

The boy continued asphyxiating.

He cast a Rennervate at Harry.

Harry's eyes flew open, his jaw unclenched and he opened his mouth to gasp for air and began coughing violently.

He grasped at him, using him as an anchor and he let him.

"What happened?" Harry rasped, after recovering his breath, still holding his throat.

"I had a nightmare and I woke up only to see that you were having a nightmare yourself and that you weren't breathing," he answered.

Harry's eyes widened. "I wasn't breathing?"

He shook his head. "I had to cast Rennervate to wake you, because you weren't reacting to my voice." And if he had waited any longer, he could have died.

A part of him wondered why he didn't let him perish. With Harry's death, he would have been free of that damned Vow, the Contract, and the infernal boy. However, a part of him wondered if letting Harry die when he could have done something to save him would have backfired instead and killed him alongside Harry. He didn't want to risk that.

While he would never willingly admit it – especially aloud –, he also didn't want Harry dead. He hasn't wanted him dead since their truce. It was true that he could be odd and overbearing, but that was part of Harry's appeal.

"Thank you," rasped Harry, bringing his attention back to the present. "For saving me."

Voldemort nodded, feeling odd receiving Harry's gratitude after targeting his life unsuccessfully for years. "I'm sure you would have done the same for me."

The brat smiled softly, his eyes filled with tender emotion. "Of course, I would. Have no doubt about that. You are important to me and I make sure people I care about are safe. And … even if you weren't … I would still do everything in my power to save you."

"Why?" he frowned, not comprehending how Harry would have risked his life for a complete stranger.

"Because it's the right thing to do," he said gently. "Whenever somebody is in need of help or saving … it's the right thing to help them."

"Even if they don't want to be saved or don't appreciate it afterwards?" he pressed. "Even somebody like Voldemort, who's done terrible things to other people?"

"Especially Voldemort. For all his evil deeds and bravado, I think they are nothing but a cry for help. A twisted cry for help … but a cry for help nonetheless."

He stared, disbelieving, at Harry. No. No, that was not it. He didn't need any help. He didn't need any saving. Potter was deluding himself if he truly believed that. Yet, why did his chest feel tight all of a sudden? Why did his throat feel constricted?

"I don't claim to know what goes inside his head or what he wants, but honestly … I doubt that he knows what he wants himself," continued Harry. "I think he's lost, but is too proud to ask for guidance. He probably thinks that, at this point in his life, he doesn't need it. That it's pointless, but it isn't."

That wasn't true. He wasn't lost. He knew what he wanted to do. His priority were his horcruxes and the Order. Once he ensured the safety of all his horcruxes and defeated Dumbledore and his stupid Order, he would take over Britain and rule.

He still hadn't decided how he was going to rule, what he would do once in charge … but that was natural … normal. He wasn't lost. He had an agenda.

' Do you now?' asked a small voice inside his head, sounding suspiciously like Harry. ' Do you truly have an agenda or are you just stumbling around, struggling with a purpose? Do you even remember why you started all this? Did it even have a purpose to begin with?'

He had no answer for any of that.

Harry put on his glasses, looked at the clock on his phone, got up, stretched and headed for his apartment. "I'm going to make some tea," he said, looking up at him after lifting the lid. "Would you like to join me, or would you prefer to go back to sleep for another four hours?"

"What time is it?"

"Three-twenty."

"You're not going back to sleep?"

Harry made a face and shook his head. "Nah, I don't really see the point when I would have woken up in an hour and a half anyway, I could do something productive instead. Besides, I already know I'm going to be wrecked throughout the day because of the dream so … it doesn't really matter. What about you?"

"Depends on what you are going to do. Aside from tea."

"Most likely I'm going to exercise and then I'm going to spend most of my day cleaning my apartment. I don't think I've cleaned it since school started, which isn't good. And, if I have time, I'm going to study for tomorrow's Defence quiz."

He looked at his bed, considered going back to sleep for a moment, but the thought of drinking tea and watching Harry shirtless as he lifts weights or cleans the furniture too appealing to pass up.

"I'll take you up on your offer," he said, straight-faced, but already conjuring up Harry's muscular and naked body moving around the apartment thanks to him stripping to his underwear the day before.

Harry grinned. "Excellent."

He followed Harry to the kitchen, where Harry began preparing some lavender tea. He sat at the dining table, observing him, drinking in his clothed body. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. He was feeling thirsty, starving and the only one to quench both was Harry and his body.

The boy stretched again, his shirt riding up, revealing his delicious abs and hips, and yawned wide and loud. While they waited for the water to boil, he joined him at the table, took off his glasses and rubbed his face to wake himself up.

"Man," he groaned his voice hoarse, "I'm not used to sleeping only six hours anymore. It's eight maybe seven, never six. I don't know how some people can function normally with only four hours of sleep. Maybe it's the caffeine," he rambled tiredly, placing his arms on the table and resting his head on them.

"You could have slept for another hour at least," he pointed out to him.

"Don't want to," he mumbled.

"Why?"

Harry didn't answer immediately. "I may not remember all the details," he breathed, slumping back in his chair, "but I know that I don't want to go through that kind of nightmare ever again. I almost died because of it."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked tentatively.

Harry snorted. "What's there to talk about other than my dream being the reflection of my guilty conscience?" He stretched again and relaxed in the chair. "Damn it and I was doing so great too, you know. I've been successfully keeping all the nightmares, the self-loathing and self-destructive thoughts and emotions at bay for weeks, but Um-bitch and her bloodsucking quill have undone all my progress in just a week, because I'm back to hating myself."

The blank, lifeless expression and tone, with which the boy spoke, made Voldemort worried and uncomfortable.

"You know," he continued, "I had hoped that by keeping myself busy enough I would manage to distract myself enough not to think about how much I hate myself and how disgusted I am with myself for not doing anything to stop that bitch, but I suppose that no amount of distractions can clear a guilty conscience, can it?"

"What are you going to do about it?"

Harry's emerald eyes hardened and a determined frown marred his brow. "What I should have done from the beginning, instead of listening to Snape, McGonagall and my newly-awakened survival instinct: put an end to Umbridge's tyranny at Hogwarts."

"And how do you intend to do that? As long as Fudge is in office, she's untouchable."

"Then I'll just have to get rid of Fudge too," he said it so matter-of-factly, it took him aback. Harry Potter, the beacon of light, talking about getting rid of people he didn't like. If he hadn't heard it with his own ears, from the boy himself, he wouldn't have believed it. "He's not done anything good for the community anyway."

"And what exactly do you intend to do to get rid of them?"

"That is something I don't know yet, but I'm inclined to take inspiration from Voldemort himself."

The water boiled and Harry went to finish brewing tea, while he stared incredulously after him. The boy's claim about seeking inspiration from him, Lord Voldemort, was difficult to process, but what frustrated him even more was his inability to give him any advice or suggestions on all the gruesome ways to get rid of somebody, because Felix didn't have such sadistic inclinations.

…

Even though they didn't speak on the matter for the remainder of the morning, he could see that Harry was still affected by the nightmare and their discussion, because during breakfast, he almost put sugar instead of salt into the omelette, and, as he was picking up his clothes for laundry, he almost put them into the rubbish bin.

He tried to laugh it off as clumsiness, but Voldemort saw the distant and pensive look in Harry's eyes, the blank expression on his face, and he didn't like it. Only during workout and cleaning, some life and light seemed to have returned to the boy, but it was gone again come afternoon.

He kept sneaking furtive glances in Harry's direction during their study session with Granger in the living room, only to find him lethargically staring at the same page for over five minutes now. It was just the three of them, because the others were busy with other things: she-Weasley and the redhead with Quidditch practice, the twins with brewing another batch of malady-inducing candy in Snape's office and Longbottom had joined Lovegood in her quest for finding imaginary fantastic creatures.

Suddenly, Harry closed the textbook he was failing to read. "I just remembered there's something I need to do," he announced and rose to his feet. "I won't be long."

He and Granger looked up. "And what's that?" he asked him, not trusting the boy's sanity or ability to make sound decisions. For all he knew, in his scattered state of mind, Harry might just decide to walk headfirst into the wolf's den to see what writing with a blood quill felt like first-hand … and that is exactly what the demented boy did, when not even ten minutes later, a sharp pain was digging into the back of his left hand.

A pained hiss escaped him as he bit into his bottom lip to stifle a whimper and his right hand covered his left, trying to make the stinging stop. It didn't help, of course; it kept getting worse. ' Damn you, Harry,' he cursed him in his mind. ' You lunatic. How is you carving yourself up going to stop Umbridge?'

"What's wrong, Felix?" Granger asked worried.

"Nothing," he ground out, his left hand throbbing with thousands of needles, feeling as if it was on fire. "It would seem that my hand had fallen asleep somehow." He lied smoothly. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

After what felt like an eternity, the pain subsided and his tense muscles relaxed. The abused skin tissue still stung, although it showed no visible signs of trauma save for some redness, from which he could almost make out words.

He was beyond furious with Harry for provoking Umbridge into punishing him with the blood quill, with Umbridge for daring to harm Harry … himself for not stopping Harry from doing this. However, the worst was the helplessness to stop Harry from hurting and what confused him further was the strange feeling of anger and rage, the desire to harm that were not entirely his own. Could they belong to Harry? Like the sobs, the nightmare? Or was it the Voldemort he encountered in the dreams he seemed to share with Harry? He did seem rather possessive and protective of the boy.

Granger glanced at her watch. "What's taking Harry so long?" she said. "It's been almost twenty minutes since he left and he still hasn't returned."

Not long after she made that comment, the lid opened and in walked Harry, pale, his eyes empty, his face impassive and a bleeding left hand, hanging from his side. Anger and worry swirled inside his chest. The impulse to yell and shake him or to embrace and devour his lips in a desperate kiss warred within him.

His hands balled up into fists, his jaw clenched and, in the end, he resisted both and remained seated, waiting for Harry to get closer, to sit down, to explain himself, because there had to be some logic behind such madness.

"Oh my God, Harry!" Granger exclaimed in horror and hurried to his side to examine his injury. "What did you do?"

"What does it look like I did? I went to see Umbridge about her use of the bloodsucking quill, told her a few things that were on my mind and got detention with her. Simple as that," he drawled, his tone and features expressionless.

Granger looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Why would you do such a reckless thing?"

"It wasn't reckless," he insisted. "I can assure you, Hermione, that it was a conscious and a deliberate decision."

"You wanted her to force you to write lines with that accursed quill?" she breathed incredulously.

"Yes."

"I can't believe it. Are you mad, Harry?" she screeched, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I've never been saner in my life, Hermione," he continued, unfazed by her outburst and unmoved by her tears.

She continued to stare at him, gobsmacked. He felt inclined to agree with whatever thoughts and emotions she was having and feeling now and to disagree with Harry's own assessment of his mental state.

She shook her head disapprovingly. "We have to get help. We have to stop the bleeding and treat the wound, prevent it from scarring. Why didn't you go straight to Snape or Pomfrey? Do you want it fester?" she was rambling.

"Of course not, but Snape is the last person I would go to looking like this and I'm not in the mood for Pomfrey's lectures."

"Fine," Granger guided him towards the sofa. "Then I'll go ask for some murtlap essence and dittany." She turned to him. "Felix, can I trust you to clean the wound while I'm gone?"

"Of course. I'll take care of it," he assured her, his hard eyes on Harry, who was avoiding his reproachful gaze.

"Great. I won't be long," she rushed to the dorm.

A heavy silence enveloped them. Wordlessly, he stood up and went to the bathroom to grab some cloth, rubbing alcohol and fill a container with fresh and clean water. Upon his return, he set the container on the coffee table and sat next to him.

"Say, Felix," Harry suddenly addressing him startled him, "do you think Voldemort would be inclined to help me if I wrote to him about Umbridge and her reign of terror at Hogwarts?"

He gaped at the brat. "What would you even write to him?"

Harry shrugged; his penetrating gaze was boring into him. "Something along the lines of: Listen, I need your help with something. There is this bitch, Dolores Umbridge, who is making the students write with a blood quill. Would you be so kind and get rid of her for me, please? I will bake you some delicious biscuits to express my gratitude. Forever yours, Harry Potter."

He stared at the boy. "You can't be serious," he said disbelieving. "What makes you think he would appreciate biscuits as payment for his services?"

"Well, if he'd prefer something other than biscuits, I will gladly give it to him: money, estate, food, my help, myself; he would only need to name his price for his favour and I'll see that he is properly rewarded for his hard work."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but everything about Harry – his voice, his look – was telling him that he was serious about it. "You're out of your mind, Harry," he said. "The blood loss has affected your ability to think rationally."

Harry chuckled darkly. "Perhaps," he grinned like some feral animal, "but, at this point, I'm willing to do anything to be rid of Umbridge, even resort to Voldemort's help, especially after witnessing the glee with which she regarded my suffering. I want her out of Hogwarts by Halloween at the latest. Her and Fudge both. Dead or alive. I don't really care which. "

Helping Harry as Voldemort sounded very tempting. As Voldemort, he could indulge in his usual mindless bloodthirst and need to torture those around him. He could already imagine the look of horror and despair on Umbridge and Fudge's faces as he made them pay for harming Harry.

However, there was hesitation. The public was oblivious to his return, and for those who knew about his resurrection, Voldemort wasn't supposed to be in Britain. He was far away, on the other side of the globe, vacationing and gathering strength for the war effort. He couldn't compromise himself like that. There was nothing Harry could offer him to convince him into revealing his presence and return to the public yet.

Then there was the question of the letter delivery. If Harry sent a letter to him, his owl would just be delivering letters intended for Voldemort to Felix Hansson and, until he had secured all of his horcruxes, he was not going to compromise his disguise.

"On second thought," Harry's voice brought him out of his thoughts, "I don't think that would be a good idea. I mean, the man is in the middle of his vacation. Just as I wouldn't appreciate being disturbed while on vacation, I suppose Voldemort wouldn't appreciate being disturbed either. He is also keeping a low profile and having him come here solely to kill my opponents would not work in his favour. Besides, Umbridge and Fudge are my problem, I can't have Voldemort or Dumbledore fighting my battles for me, no matter how tempting and easy it would be to let them step in and take care of everything. If I am to grow as a man and as a person, I have to be the one to get rid of them."

"Alone?"

"Of course not," he snorted. "I'm not that mental, I'm still going to enlist help, but I'll be the one calling the shots. I'll be what Dumbledore and Voldemort are to their respective factions: the leader, the mastermind, the puppeteer, the strategist, the one who will orchestrate the downfall of a King and his Queen."

Another feral grin graced Harry's lips and the savage glint in Harry's eyes made heat pool in the pit of his stomach as a shiver made goosebumps erupt on his skin and the urge to pounce on Harry and devour him and ravish him returned with revenge.

Why did he have to look and sound like sin itself?

"Give me your hand," he instructed coldly to cover up his arousal. He needed to turn his mind away from Harry's sadistic gleam, his husky voice, his feral smile.

Harry obeyed. With those mesmerising green eyes still focussed on him, he placed his injured hand in his. Through rivulets of blood and frayed flesh, he could make out the following line 'I will not question the authorities'.

Rage boiled his blood again. He gritted his teeth to suppress a growl ready to pour out of his mouth. He hoped Harry was going to be ruthless in his revenge, because if he deemed it too lenient, he was going to take the matter into his own hands once she was away from Hogwarts and rip that bitch apart and Fudge for good measure for enabling her sadistic tendencies – his low profile be damned, damn it! Nobody hurt Harry like that, regardless of whether the boy was seeking this or not.

"This might sting a bit," he warned, his eyes fixed on the ugly wound just before the damp cloth touched Harry's sensitive and abused flesh. Harry flinched and let out a muffled groan and a ragged breath.

"Is this what was going on inside your head since you've awoken from that nightmare?" he asked bitterly, reproachfully. "Getting yourself butchered with a blood quill, is that it?"

Harry's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Felix," he said apologetic. "I'm sorry if I caused you distress with my actions, but I had to do this."

"Care to explain your thought process behind this?" he demanded. He continued to clean the wound gently. "Because as far as I'm concerned I see no rhyme or reason. What was the purpose?"

A melancholic smile tugged at Potter's lips. "Quite simple actually. Empathy. Understanding the pain and suffering of others, for how can I claim to know the pain of those Umbridge hurt with her quill when I have never experienced it myself? How can I expect people to believe and follow my cause if I haven't gone through the same suffering as so many others have? Of course," he looked away, guiltily, "there's also that feeling that I deserved to be punished for my inaction, for prioritising my own welfare above anyone else's, because it was those two things that enabled the horrors Umbridge put all those students through."

He stared at him, incredulous. He shook his head. "I still don't understand your logic. Why would you need people to know you've gone through the same thing?"

Determined emerald eyes looked at him. "Because I intend to raise an army, Felix," he said. "A Hogwarts Army. I intend to rally the entire student body and staff into overthrowing that bitch, and as the self-appointed Field Marshal, I can't expect my men to follow me into battle if I am not ready to share in their pain."

Before he could say anything, the entrance to the apartment burst open again to reveal Granger, carrying medical supplies.

"Sorry it took so long," she placed the bottles onto the table next to the alcohol and the water, "but Madam Pomfrey was reluctant to give me the supplies without an explanation. I managed to convince her I needed murtlap essence and the essence of dittany for a school project."

Harry grinned softly at his friend. "Thanks, Hermione. You're a lifesaver."

What about him? Was he not a lifesaver as well? He has just cleaned and disinfected his wound!

"Well, you can thank me by never getting yourself into detention with Umbridge again," she said sternly. "Let this be the first and the last time. Understood?"

Harry chuckled amused. "Don't worry, I have no desire or intention of letting her put me through this sort of pain ever again," he assured her. "If anything I intend to put her through the same kind of pain, only ten times worse, before chasing her far away from Hogwarts."

Good. That bitch deserved that and much, much worse.

"And how exactly do you intend to achieve that, without getting into trouble again?" she asked, frowning in thought.

He wondered that as well. Because he would be damned if he let Harry write with that accursed quill ever again. Even if he had to tie him up with ropes to his room and put him under a sleeping spell.

"Do you remember when you asked me to teach Defence in secret?"

"Of course I remember."

"Well, I plan to go beyond a simple study group and instead form an army of students and teachers," he said with determination, his eyes hard.

"An army?" she breathed.

"Yes, Hermione, an army with Generals, Brigadiers, Colonels, Majors, Captains, Lieutenants, Officer Cadets, Sergeants and Corporals, and me as Field Marshal. We'll have squads, sections and platoons, maybe even companies." Granger gaped at Harry. "I'm still figuring out all the details, but what I know for certain is that I want Umbridge out of here before Halloween, and for that to happen, I need every student and teacher on my side."

"Even Slytherins?" she asked sceptically.

" Especially Slytherins, because I have a feeling Umbridge won't stop at lesson observations to control us, and if she wants to control more aspects about us, sooner or later, she'll require assistance and you can bet that Slytherins are going to be the first to join her if we don't get them first. After we've acquired their allegiance, we'll have them infiltrate whatever student group Umbridge will form and spy for us."

"And how do you plan to gain their help?" she wondered. "They're not exactly known for their selflessness or kindness. Unless you count calling every muggleborn a mudblood as the manifestation of their goodness," she remarked sarcastically. "And don't even get me started on Malfoy. You can't seriously believe that pompous, arrogant toe-rag is going to be swayed to our side."

"Leave Malfoy and Slytherins to me," he said gently. "In the meantime, I want you to do something else for me. Equally important. Can I count on you?"

"Of course," she straightened, "what do you need me to do?"

"To rally people to my cause and give directives, I need two things: a secret place the size of the Great Hall to squeeze in all Hogwarts students and staff for secret meetings and a means of long-distance and inconspicuous communication. Can you develop the latter?"

As soon as Harry mentioned a big and secret place, Voldemort's thoughts immediately went to the Room of Hidden Things, also known as the Come and Go Room and the Room of Requirement, meaning that the room itself and the contents within it changed according to the needs of whoever was using it. He considered telling Harry about it; make it seem as an accidental discovery and receive praise from Harry, earn his trust.

However, something was stopping him. His reluctance didn't make sense. His horcrux was no longer there and Harry needed a place for his Hogwarts Army. Yet, he didn't want to reveal it and its location to just about everyone, when it could still serve as his own private corner at Hogwarts alongside Salazar's Chamber.

"Of course, give me a couple of days to think of something and then I'll report to you."

"Excellent," he grinned. "Meanwhile, I'm going to work on our war plans, because this is war against Umbridge and Fudge and what they represent: oppression and corruption."

"And how far are you willing to go in this war?" Voldemort asked him, gauging Harry's dedication to his own cause. His decision to reveal the location of the Come and Go Room depended on Harry's answer.

He didn't disappoint. After a moment of silence had passed, Harry's expression hardened and he said, "To the bitter end."

Morbid glee and excitement thrummed through Voldemort's body at Harry's words and expression, and he made his decision. He would tell him about the Come and Go Room; he'll let him use it as his headquarters. In return, he'll get to sit back and watch Harry orchestrate the demise of Minister Fudge and with it the fall of the Ministry in his stead.

Favour for a favour, and the best part of it all was that Harry wasn't even aware that he was helping him take over Britain.

Chapter End Notes

It's official! Harry has declared war on Umbridge and Fudge and is determined to be rid of both by Halloween. I still wanted to keep the Army part of DA, but I expanded the first part and called it Hogwarts Army. It sounds far more inclusive and neutral than Dumbledore's Army and I wanted it to feel like actual soldiers and generals and all that, so expect Harry to wear a military uniform to his secret meetings and for Voldemort to wear it too and the rest of Hogwarts as well. Of course, I don't think I have all the British Army titles and their functions straight in my head (even after consulting official internet sites), but I hope I've got the basics right.

Let me know what you thought of the chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm especially curious to know your thoughts on Harry and Voldemort's interactions in this chapter. Was it what you hoped for? Did you expect something else?

Consultation with Trelawney

Chapter Summary

Harry informs Snape of his plan to overthrow Umbridge and he also has his first consultation with Trelawney. Voldemort agrees to a card reading by Harry. Ginny is jealous of Felix. Hermione uses the Dark Mark as inspiration for Harry's secret communication with the Hogwarts Army and the Weasley twins are infringing Voldemort's copyright with their Death Mark lollipops.

In light of Harry's gut feeling about Umbridge monitoring the staff and students through owl post and floo network, he made a conscious choice to forgo healthy meals for the time being and not risk his godfather's safety.

Sirius wasn't happy about it when he informed him of his decision later that day when he was getting ready for bed, but ultimately agreed to stay away from Hogwarts until Halloween, when Harry would have driven Umbridge away for good.

Nevertheless, he did not tell his godfather about his injury. There was no reason to worry him needlessly, when he should focus on his own psychological recovery and regaining his freedom.

…

While Harry expected his friends' reactions to mirror Hermione's: horror, disbelief and exasperation; and murmurs from other students at the sight of his bandaged hand, for some reason, he feared Snape's reaction to his bandaged hand the most. He wasn't ashamed of his actions and he didn't regret them either, but he wasn't ready to face Snape's fury for disobeying him so openly.

He hoped he could go through double Potions without Snape noticing his bandaged hand, but even he knew it would have to be nothing short of a miracle for that to happen. Therefore, when Snape came around their desk during the lesson and said, "Mr Potter, you are to see me after the lesson," Harry knew he would get a lecture from his professor and spent the remainder of the lesson mentally preparing himself for it.

"You go ahead," he told his friends, who were making worried faces, when the bell rang to announce the end of the lesson. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall for lunch."

He waited for the students to leave, before approaching Snape's desk. The man was sitting behind it, a dark scowl on his face.

"What's beneath the bandage?" he asked him.

For a second, Harry was tempted to lie, say he sprained his hand during exercise, but if Snape demanded he remove the bandage and he saw the ugly blood quill wound … he didn't want to risk angering him further.

"A wound," he answered.

"What sort of wound?" he insisted.

"A blood quill wound, sir."

Snape's eyes darkened further, blazing with pure anger, yet when he spoke, it was in a quiet and deceptively calm tone. "You provoked Umbridge, didn't you? You provoked her even though I told you not to. How reckless and careless can you be?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"I can assure you, professor, that it was neither recklessness nor carelessness. It was a completely sound and deliberate decision."

"How can deliberately putting yourself in harm's way be something a sane person would do, Potter?"

"Professor, I really appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I can assure you that I'll be just fine. The wound will heal in a week without scarring and I'll be back to going about my day as usual. In the meantime, my bandaged hand serves a purpose … a very important purpose."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "And what kind of purpose would that be, Potter?"

"Recruiting an army, sir," he deadpanned.

Anger melted away and shock replaced it. Snape's eyes widened and, for a moment, he was unable to form words. "An army?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "What would you need an army for, Potter?"

"To get rid of Umbridge, of course. Why else?"

Snape stared at him in shock.

"Get rid of Umbridge, he says," he repeated, snorting and shaking his head.

"Someone has to," he returned, not an ounce of amusement in his voice and face. "You said to leave it to the adults, I did, and nothing happened, if anything, it got worse. So, if you, McGonagall and Dumbledore won't do anything about Umbridge, then I suppose it falls to us, the students, to take matters into our own hands and act immediately, because I refuse to endure and tolerate Umbridge's reign of terror at Hogwarts for more than a month."

Snape was speechless and Harry felt a morbid sense of satisfaction at the effect his words had on the man. It's not as if he had told a lie either. All Snape and McGonagall have done is keep their heads down, too afraid to make a move against that horrid toad, while Dumbledore was out there, looking for Voldemort, completely ignorant of the horrors that were happening in his own school.

"I will still require your assistance, of course."

Snape's eyebrow arched inquisitively. "What sort of assistance?" he asked shrewdly.

"You see, if I'm to defeat Umbridge, I need to have the entire school on my side, which includes Slytherins. However, after decades, centuries even, of animosity between Slytherin and the rest of the houses, it is highly unlikely for Slytherin students – older ones at least – to offer their help or join my cause readily without someone acting as the intermediary," Harry explained. "As the Head of Slytherin House, you have the authority to act as my intermediary – a bridge of sorts – between your students and me."

"And what exactly would you have me do as your intermediary?" inquired Snape. "Talk to the students in my House? Sway them to your side? Pass on your messages?"

"Essentially, yes," he nodded. "Right now, the priority is to ensure their loyalty to me, at least until Umbridge is still at school, and it has to happen sooner rather than later. That way, if Umbridge decides to monitor us through owl post and floo network, we'll have our network of spies ready to infiltrate whatever student organisation or group she is going to form eventually to keep up with everything."

"Spies? Army? It's like you're going to war."

"It is war, professor," he said with a hard voice, "a war on Umbridge and Fudge both."

Snape searched his eyes and face for a while, then let out a heavy sigh and slumped in his chair. "You're that serious about it, aren't you?"

"If I wasn't 1000% committed to it, you can be sure that I wouldn't be here, standing before you, with a hurt hand and asking for your help in recruiting Slytherin students."

"While I can talk to my students and urge them to join you in your endeavour against Umbridge and Fudge's authority, I cannot force them to join you, if they don't want to."

"And I wouldn't want you to force them," he assured them. "However, I don't doubt that the majority of the Slytherins will join me without much prompting, either because they themselves have been Umbridge's victims or they have family or friends that have been targeted and harmed by Umbridge. The ones who will need more convincing are snobs like Greengrass, Davis and Parkinson and the elite Death Eater kids, like Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Avery, MacNair, Mulciber and the like. Luckily, most of them are in our year, with Draco Malfoy as the leader of the pack, if I can convince him, he'll convince his buddies for me. The older Death Eater kids are a bit trickier, but nothing a good, old-fashioned display of who's in charge can't fix. I may not be Voldemort, but I damn sure as hell am no pushover either, to be intimidated by inbred idiots like them."

Snape gaped at Harry and his language. "You're deluding yourself, Potter, if you think you can make Draco listen to you and do your bidding, much less overpower dark wizards that are older, more skilled and more knowledgeable than you in a duel."

Harry grinned dangerously, his eyes glinting. "We'll see about that, professor. All I need is fifteen minutes with Draco, alone in a deserted classroom or bathroom and I'll have him do whatever I want if he knows what's best for him." At Snape's horrified expression, and pale face, he laughed darkly. "Don't worry, professor, there will be no Unforgivables or violence involved. As for the others … who said anything about duelling? I don't need a wand to show them who's stronger and, by the time, I'm through with them, they'll think twice before going against me. I only need my confrontation with them to happen publically in front of the other Slytherins and your presence to ensure that nothing spirals out of control. On their end, of course."

"You wish me to let you into the Slytherin Common Room and let you humiliate the older Death Eater children in front of their peers?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Exactly," he smiled like a Cheshire cat.

"What if they inform their parents about the incident? Are you not afraid of the retribution?"

"If they have any self-respect or pride, they'll keep their mouths shut, but if they do report the incident to their parents, do you seriously think their parents would be proud to learn their precious heirs, who no doubt have been practicing Dark magic since children, had their asses whooped by me through barbaric and primitive muggle means?" he cackled.

Besides, he also didn't worry too much about them for another reason. Due to his Vow with Voldemort, he was certain that Voldemort had prohibited them to attack him. Therefore, unless they wanted to anger the Dark Lord, they would refrain from doing anything against him, and if somebody tried anything in his absence, he would just let the man know of it through a casual conversation.

He was certain that Voldemort would take care of whoever tried to harm him, whenever he got the chance without compromising his disguise.

Although, if he were honest, if he hadn't made that Vow with Voldemort and if he hadn't seen him posing as a student, he would have sworn that he had replaced either Umbridge or Fudge through Polyjuice Potion, because either Voldemort was looking like Fudge or Umbridge, or Fudge and Umbridge were acting more like Voldemort every day.

"You're tempting fate, Harry," Snape warned him. "You just might get burned."

"It certainly wouldn't be the first time, professor," he deadpanned. "How many times have I escaped death? Quite a few and look at me; I still have functioning limbs and head, have I not?"

Snape shook his head. "One day, you'll run out of luck, Potter, if you keep putting yourself in precarious situations."

"Then let's hope I don't run out of it until I've taken care of Umbridge and Fudge," he said unfazed. "Now, if there's nothing else you wish to talk to me, professor, I would like to take my leave and join my friends at lunch. I am starving and I still have Divination and Defence."

He waved his hand. "Go join your friends, if you must," he sighed. "But this conversation is far from over."

Harry bowed his head and left Snape's classroom.

…

"What did Snape want?" Ron immediately asked when he joined them in the Great Hall and started piling food onto his plate. The others were regarding him with intense curiosity as well, their food forgotten.

"Nothing much," he shrugged. "Just wanted to ask me about the bandage, that's all." He bit into a baked potato wedge. "He offered me help, but I told him I already have everything for the compress."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that really everything he wanted Harry?"

"Yeah, that's all he wanted and to give me a lecture about being reckless and careless for getting myself in detention with Umbridge and how I'm tempting fate with my actions."

"He's not wrong about it," commented Ginny in a whisper. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact you want to recruit Slytherins."

"Remember that not all Slytherins are bad," he reminded them.

"Yet, every Dark Lord in Britain to date has come from Slytherin," grumbled Ginny.

"True," he conceded, "but it would be unfair to treat every Slytherin like a Dark Lord in the making. Even if their parents are Death Eaters serving Voldemort." He bit into his chicken and turned to Hermione. "Any progress on developing a secret way of communication, Hermione?"

"No, not yet," she said. "I've borrowed a book on magical communication from the library, but so far, there's nothing that has really caught my eye."

"You still have until tomorrow."

"And once we have a way of communicating with the entire school and a place to have meetings," began Fred.

"What's the plan to get Umbridge out of Hogwarts?" concluded George.

"I'll let you know when I've thought of everything, until then, I'll abstain from saying anything."

"What about our input?" Voldemort questioned. "Do you plan to consult your Generals on the matter or do you intend to do all the planning on your own?"

"I'll make plans, present them to you and then we can make final arrangements."

Voldemort didn't seem content with his answer.

…

Divination that day was a peculiar affair. Trelawney was a nervous wreck, stumbling over her words and bumping her knees into her coffee table, knocking over her china, all the while Umbridge lurked in the back of the classroom with a notebook and a quill in hand, annotating her observations, chiming in with a question every now and then.

It was painful to watch.

Trelawney might be odd, but she was only doing her job, even though most people didn't take her seriously because of her demeanour and her way of speaking.

A high, sharp cough interrupted Trelawney's explanation. Every student turned towards the toad in bright pink.

"Y-Yes?" stammered Trelawney.

"Could you predict something for me?" she asked sweetly.

Trelawney gaped at her. "I'm sorry?"

"A teeny, tiny prophecy?"

Trelawney was at a loss for words.

"No? Pity." Umbridge wrote something down, got up and headed toward the door.

"No, no. Wait," Trelawney called after her desperately. "I see something. There's a dark cloud, hanging over your head."

"A cloud?"

"Yes, it means there's great peril in your future."

Umbridge smiled in a patronising way, said, "How wonderful," and left. A heavy and unpleasant feeling settled in Harry's stomach. This didn't bode well for Trelawney.

"Do you think Trelawney might get sacked?" Neville whispered on their way to Defence. "I mean … her predicting danger for Umbridge might be accurate, but the woman probably thinks it's nothing but nonsense."

Harry sighed. "Anything is possible with Umbridge, so I wouldn't put it past her to sack those she dislikes. It's not like Trelawney's reputation works in her favour, but still, sacking her and banishing her from Hogwarts because of who she is and how she is would be cruel to say the least, and cruelty is something with which Umbridge is very familiar."

"Damn," breathed Ron, shaking his head. "I may not like Divination or Trelawney that much, but I still wouldn't want to see her sacked. Who would Umbridge hire in her stead?"

"Honestly?" said Harry. "Nobody. She would probably remove the subject from the curriculum altogether."

"Do you think Trelawney has seen something like that happening in her cards and that's why she gave us those consultation hours?" asked Neville.

"Most likely," answered Harry. "She did hint at it in her own mysterious and vague way."

"Fuck," Ron sighed. "Umbridge really has to go. The sooner, the better."

"I'm working on it."

…

As soon as Defence ended and he handed in his quiz sheet, he hurried to Trelawney's classroom for his consultation hour. From what he could gather from a couple of students before him, it was essentially a tutoring Divination lesson, where Trelawney would give an honest assessment of one's skill and talent, advice on how to improve one's grades, how to approach O.W.L.s and answer any questions that one might have in regards to the material they were learning.

He had already planned to ask for advice anyway, because while he lacked the infamous sight, he still wanted to perform well enough to pass his O.W.L. exam. However, given her record of successful prophecies, Harry was tempted to ask for a reading about his war effort against Umbridge and Fudge and his potential future relationship with a certain Dark Lord as well.

"Enter," came Trelawney's muffled voice, just as he was about to knock.

Harry opened the door. Trelawney was sitting by her coffee table, sipping tea, while scented candles and incense burner lamps burnt and permeated the room with a strong smell of wood, cinnamon and something Harry couldn't quite name.

"Sit," she gestured to the stool opposite her, a second cup of steaming hot tea, resting on the table, waiting for him.

He stepped closer and sat down opposite her. She picked up a notebook, opened it, and flipped through it, muttering to herself.

"So, Harry, this is your third year of Divination, correct?"

"Correct."

"And your grades so far haven't really been that great, correct?"

"Correct."

She let out a sigh, closed her notebook, placed it in her lap and intertwined her hands atop it. "Let me be frank, Harry, while I admire your perseverance, you have no divination talent whatsoever."

"I know."

"Have you never considered dropping my subject altogether?"

"Honestly, I haven't given it much thought," he confessed. "My decision to continue stemmed more out of habit and convenience. I thought, if I already invested two years of my life and time into the subject, I might as well invest another year into it. At this point, it would be harder for me to change my elective and catch up on all the study material I've missed than to try my best on my Divination O.W.L."

Trelawney nodded sagely. "I figured as much. That's why my advice to you is to broaden your mind. I know I keep repeating myself, but being open-minded is the first step to Divination beside sheer talent. I sense that your attitude towards Divination has changed lately," her eyes, magnified by the lenses of her glasses bore into him, and he felt uncomfortable under her scrutinising gaze that seemed to see right through him.

"The mental block and the reservations you had about the subject are gone, which will allow you to open your mind to different interpretations and possibilities, because Divination is far from straight-forward. Often times, the true meaning of prophecies eludes us, even us experts, therefore it is essential for anyone dealing with prophecies to allow for multiple interpretations – even if they are far-fetched – and not to let themselves be consumed by them. Because just like how one can lose themselves indulging in their fantasies in front of the Mirror of Erised, one can become obsessed and paranoid with deciphering and going against prophecies. However, as history and myths teach us; our intent to stop the prophecies from happening is often times the catalyst that makes them happen."

Like Voldemort, his mind supplied. If he hadn't allowed paranoia to consume him when he heard the first part of the prophecy, things wouldn't have come to what they were, with both his parents dead, him being a horcrux and Voldemort losing his body for over a decade.

He nodded. "I'll do my best," he assured, "but do you have any suggestion where I should start?"

She hummed. "If you're not averse to having extra homework, I would like you to make a card or tea-leaf reading for one of your friends. Annotate everything; the order in which you pulled the cards, what cards you pulled, with all their meanings and, then, make predictions by combining different meanings together until you've created several pictures of your friend's future. That's if you decide to read cards. If you decide to go for tea leaves, try to replicate the images you see as faithfully as possible and, again, jot down all the different possibilities that come to mind."

"Okay, I can do that. Should I do it by next Monday?"

"If possible, could you do it by Friday, so that I can look at it and then we can discuss your findings during our next consultation hour?"

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Excellent. Aside from that, do you have any questions in regards to our subject matter?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really, but," he fidgeted, "I was wondering if it would be possible to ask for a reading."

Her eyes widened. "You wish me to look into your future?" Harry nodded, busying himself with the tea Trelawney set out for him. "What exactly interests you?"

He shrugged. "All sorts of things: health, school, success," he felt his cheeks heat up, "love."

"A general reading then. Which method?"

"Cards."

Trelawney pulled out her deck of tarot cards and began shuffling them. When she was satisfied, she started pulling the cards. She pulled three. "You've gone through a lot of change in recent months," she began. "You're not the same person you were."

"I suppose that's natural for anyone who has witnessed someone die in front of them," he remarked.

"Indeed. You've matured, you've gained wisdom, but you've also grown distrusting and dishonest." Her eyes bore into him. "You haven't been completely honest with anyone since July. You've been keeping things from those close to you."

His stomach churned. Three cards in, and Trelawney already knew he was keeping secrets and lying to people to their faces and through omission. Perhaps, he shouldn't have asked her to predict his future. If she pulled a card that somehow told her about him meeting with Voldemort or that he knew about Voldemort posing as a student and did nothing about it, he didn't want to see what else the cards had to say about him.

She placed down another three cards and gasped. "My dear." She gaped at him, pale and perplexed.

Harry held his breath, waiting for her to elaborate. Please, let it not be something damning, he prayed internally.

"You have single-handedly changed your destiny. You have escaped Death's grasp." She pulled more cards. "You've made a deal with the devil himself to ensure your safety."

Great, he thought sardonically, just what he needed: being exposed for fraternising with the enemy by his Divination teacher.

"Unless you're referring to Voldemort, I can assure you I haven't made any pacts with any demon," he deadpanned, trying to keep his cool. "And I don't see anything wrong with what I did either."

"Only time will tell what the consequences of your actions will be, aside from the obvious and immediate outcome so far: ensuring your protection from the Dark Lord," she said enigmatically and continued to pull cards.

This time, she took her time analysing them, a pensive frown between her brows. "You'll succeed in your endeavour. You'll cause the downfall of someone powerful and important. However, your success will come at a terrible cost."

Was she referring to his plan to get rid of Umbridge and Fudge? Both were powerful and important people in their community, if incompetent. If so, it was good to know he would be successful.

"What sort of cost?" he inquired.

She regarded him with sadness and worry. "You'll understand when it happens."

That didn't bode well, yet if he suddenly started worrying over the impact and consequences of his actions, whether glorious or tragic, he could jeopardise his endeavour and he couldn't afford that. He would just have to commit and see things through, no matter the cost.

"I see some health complications in spring. Your academics seem fine, but the cards don't say how you'll do in your O.W.L.s. My, my," she exclaimed. "Your love life is … eventful."

He immediately perked up, but frowned a second later. What did she mean by eventful? The only thing he wanted to know was whether he would be in a relationship shagging Voldemort or not, whether they would get married, and if they would have any kids – biological or adopted. He couldn't care less about anyone else.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I see love confessions from you and to you, and while I definitely see a relationship in your future, it won't always be rainbows and sunshine, there will be heartache involved," she explained. "You'll cause heartbreak and you'll experience heartbreak. Both are tied to your dishonesty."

He was aware of that. He knew break-up and the subsequent heartache were inevitable, but to have confirmation that his actions will lead to pain for him and Voldemort sucked nonetheless.

"And can you tell me anything about the person that I'm going to end up in a relationship with?" he pressed.

"If you expect the cards to tell me the name and surname of the person, I'll have to disappoint you, but it doesn't work like that," she said pointedly. "However, I can tell you that I see someone with aggressive and chaotic male energy, definitely older, and it's somebody you already know."

So … Voldemort. He was aggressive and chaotic, male and older … much older than he was, and they already knew each other.

"Anything else?"

"He seems to be a Capricorn, born at the end of December, and a complete virgin."

Harry stared at the cards in front of him. Where in the world was Trelawney getting all that juicy information? Even he didn't know that Voldemort was a Capricorn, born at the end of December and a virgin to boot!

' Nobody has kissed those lips, nobody has caressed that sinful skin, nobody has touched that gorgeous cock and most certainly nobody has fucked that tight, puckered rosy hole between his arse cheeks.'

His boxers and trousers suddenly felt constricting. A tent had grown between his thighs.

' I'm going to be the first and only one to have Voldemort. He's mine. He's mine just like I'm his and his alone.'

"That's it?" he asked to distract himself and to get rid of the erection.

Trelawney sent a stern look his way. "What else is there to know?"

"Plenty of things, professor," he exclaimed. "But most importantly, will we get married and have kids? Either through sex or adoption, it doesn't really matter."

"Harry," she said, exasperatedly, "you know that this sort of card reading only covers a year's worth of events at most. The furthest my cards tell me of you and your partner is that you'll go through a break-up towards the end of the school year and it doesn't say if or when you'll get back together."

"Then tell me, when are we going to get together the first time? So I know how many months I have before my romance inevitably ends because of my dishonesty."

She sighed, but pulled another set of three cards and interpreted the images. "Around Halloween."

"Okay, so if I confess in little over a month, then I should expect a positive answer shortly after, which leaves me with …" he began counting the months until June on his hands, "approximately eight months of romance with my gorgeous boyfriend."

"Or you could change fate again by being honest for a change," Trelawney suggested.

Harry shook his head. "The only thing honesty is going to do is fast forward my break-up with my boyfriend or ensure that he never becomes my boyfriend, so I'm going to be dishonest for as long as I can and get as much out of the relationship as possible."

Trelawney's brow frowned. "You already know who it is then?"

"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly, "or, at least, I have a very good idea who it is."

"Then why did you need me to tell you about him if you already know?" she said indignantly.

"Because I wanted to be sure about it," Harry defended himself, "and you confirmed my suspicions."

Affronted by his answer, she declared the reading session complete, dismissed him from her classroom and began gathering the cards. "The audacity," she mumbled to herself, but Harry could only think of Voldemort the Virgin, Halloween, and the blissful eight months of relationship that awaited them, during which he was going to get in as many snogs as possible, if not a shag.

Then, once Voldemort found out that he knew about his identity all along, he was willing to do anything to get him back. As long as it got them back together, he was prepared to grovel and beg forgiveness.

…

Voldemort had just finished reading the assigned chapter and making notes for History of Magic, when Harry appeared in the library a few minutes past five o'clock. The redhead immediately assaulted him with questions and Harry was happy to tell him all the technicalities.

"After we both agreed I lack any sort of Divination talent," he narrated, "she gave me advice on how to improve my ability to interpret the signs and gave me extra homework … you know to practice."

"What sort of homework?" asked Longbottom.

"She wants me to pick a divination technique of my choice and predict something for one of my friends," he said, "taking into account every meaning and interpretation possible to create several narratives or interpretations of the same card combination. She says interpretation, open-mindedness and imagination are the key ingredients."

The redhead grimaced. "That sounds like a lot of work."

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind it if it means it will help me improve. As I said, I'm willing to put in the effort. I don't want to fail my Divination O.W.L."

"And who are you going to choose as your partner for your homework?" asked she-Weasley.

Harry's smouldering gaze turned to him. "Felix," he said with a playful smirk. He should have known it would have been like that. Harry seemed to be adamant to string him along with whatever he was doing. "Of course," Harry added, "only if he agrees to it."

Expectant and hopeful emerald eyes were asking him to agree and, with a sigh, he succumbed to Harry's plea. Harry's face brightened and a blinding smile overtook his features. The look of … something in those hypnotising green depths made his skin tingle and heat pool in his stomach.

A quill snapping in half broke the magic.

"Oops," giggled she-Weasley in a fake way, "it would seem I accidentally snapped my quill in half."

' That was no accident,' he thought. She-Weasley did it deliberately, in anger. She was trying to drill metaphorical holes into his skull as Granger was fixing her quill for her and telling her to be more careful next time.

He did his best to ignore her venomous glare. Seriously, what was her problem?

…

At ten to six, they gathered their things and headed toward the Great Hall with their school bags slung over their shoulders, where they ate lamb stew with vegetables – large potato, onion and carrot wedges and snow peas – and slices of fresh bread.

As usual, Harry was sitting close to him, so close that they were almost touching. While there was no contact, Potter's body heat still radiated off him and made him all too aware of their proximity, making his hairs stand up and goosebumps erupt all over his skin. He had to suppress a shiver and the urge to scoot closer to the human furnace that was Harry and let that glorious warmth envelop him like a blanket.

Together with his external snake-like features, he was starting to notice that perhaps he had acquired the snake's cold-bloodedness as well. He had no problems regulating his body temperature during summer, but now that autumn had begun, he found himself with cold feet and fingers more often than not, forcing him into wearing two layers of socks – usually cotton and soft fleece ones, curtesy of his muggle mother – and at least three layers of clothes. Therefore, having someone as warm as Harry next to him was beyond temptation.

Funnily enough, he felt no such urge with anyone else – not with Granger during Arithmancy, not with Longbottom during Potions, or Lovegood whenever she joined their group, and most certainly none of the Weasleys either during meals in the Great Hall, … only Harry. Always Harry.

The boy was like a gigantic magnet that attracted him, leaving no room for escape. Not that he was particularly eager to escape him, but the force of the feelings – feelings that he never knew he was able to experience – that Harry awoke in him perplexed him and there weren't many instances when that occurred.

Harry was an enigmatic phenomenon that he, Lord Voldemort, was eager to decipher.

…

After dinner, at half past six, they all – save for the twins, who were busy making malady-inducing candy – went to Harry's apartment, where he continued with his Ancient Runes homework – translating a short story from ancient runes to modern English from The Tales of Beedle the Bard titled ' The Warlock's Hairy Heart'.

Harry was starting his History assignment; Longbottom and the redhead were finishing their Potions homework, and Lovegood and she-Weasley were working on their Charms.

"No," muttered Granger, turning a page of her book on magical communication. "No … No … That's not it either." She let out a frustrated groan, closed the book with force and collapsed back onto the sofa.

Harry looked up from his notes. "Is something the matter, Hermione?" he asked tentatively.

"There's nothing useful or eye-catching," she complained. "And I'm running out of time. At this rate, I won't have anything ready for you to use Harry."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" offered she-Weasley.

Granger sighed, looking at the ceiling. "I'm afraid not. Just … leave me to my thoughts, okay?"

"Okay," they echoed.

Several minutes of silence passed, with Granger deep in thought and the rest of them scribbling away their homework. Then, abruptly, Granger let out a gasp and shot up in her seat. "Harry," she called giddily, slapping him gently on the shoulder in her excitement, "oh my God, Harry. I've got it. I've got it!"

"What?" he asked.

"The Dark Mark, Harry," she said enthusiastically. "The Dark Mark."

"What about it?" he drawled, uninterested.

Voldemort, on the other hand, had his full attention on whatever idea Granger had in mind and what his Dark Mark had to do with it.

"Didn't you say when you came back from the graveyard that Voldemort did something to summon the Death Eaters to his side, even though those people were hundreds of miles away from your location?"

Harry's brows knitted together in thought. "Yes?" he drawled. "He put the tip of his wand to the Dark Mark on Pettigrew's left inner forearm and suddenly there were at least a dozen Death eaters in the graveyard, but I fail to see how that is related to the matter at hand?"

"There's something in the Dark Mark's configuration that allows Voldemort to communicate with his followers, no matter the distance and without other people knowing," she continued, exultation palpable in her voice.

Realisation dawned on Harry and he looked equally excited about the idea as Hermione. Voldemort not so much. "I see what you mean," breathed Harry. "Oh my God, that's brilliant, Hermione."

Granger beamed and her chest puffed out with pride.

He didn't like Harry praising Granger.

"But just so we're clear, Hermione, I'm not branding anyone like cattle with my version of Voldemort's Dark Mark," he added, dead serious.

Granger looked horrified by the suggestion. "Of course not, Harry. God forbid," she crossed herself. "No, I was thinking more in terms of finding something to enchant with the Protean Charm and distribute it among the students and professors, so we could all coordinate the meetings and other small things. The Dark Mark only serves as inspiration, although," she added, a violent shudder going through her body, "I can't believe I'm taking inspiration from something Voldemort did, but we can't afford the luxury to be picky with our methods."

Harry smirked. "Says the one who kidnapped Skeeter last year and kept her in a jar for months."

Voldemort couldn't believe his ears. Granger, the overachiever, the Mudblood know-it-all, the goody two-shoes, had kidnapped someone. Now she was stealing his idea for the Dark Mark. He underestimated her.

Granger's cheeks burnt bright red. "I didn't hear you complaining when it got her to stop writing crap about you, me and everyone else," she sputtered affronted.

Harry chuckled. "Relax, Hermione, I'm not reproaching you."

She cleared her throat. "As I was saying. I'll use the Protean Charm to enchant an inconspicuous, everyday object that we all tend to carry around on our person; we just need to decide on what object we'll use and how many copies we need."

"We could use coins or marbles," suggested Longbottom. "They are small, but big enough to transmit written messages and most people tend to have them, so it won't appear suspicious, when Umbridge sees a student fiddling with a coin or a marble."

"I like both suggestions, Neville," said Harry. "As for the number of objects, I'll talk to McGonagall and ask for the number of students and staff, minus Umbridge and Filch of course."

"Okay, so, Harry, you'll provide me with the number of copies I have to make," Harry nodded. "We just need to decide whether we go with coins or with marbles," Granger summarised diplomatically.

"Why don't we vote?" suggested Lovegood. "The majority prevails."

"We could," said Harry, "but Fred and George are absent. I don't think they would appreciate being left out of the voting, so we'll have to postpone until we are all together or we cast our own votes now and then Fred and George just cast theirs with delay."

"I say we vote now," said the redhead.

"Who's going to keep the score?"

"I will," volunteered Granger, pulled out a small spiral notebook, and started making notes.

"Okay. All those in favour of using coins, raise your hands."

Harry, Granger, Redhead and he raised their hands.

"So, four people have voted for coins," narrated Harry and Granger was writing the information. "All those who are in favour of marbles, raise your hands."

She-Weasley, Lovegood and Longbottom raised theirs.

"So, the unofficial results are four votes for coins and three for marbles, two votes are still pending. Final decision inconclusive," Granger narrated as she read from her notes.

"Excellent," Harry clapped his hands gingerly and rubbed them together, his eyes glinting. Then, his expression clouded as he said, "One more thing, Hermione. Are we sure that we can use this method without infringing any wizarding copyright laws? Because I wouldn't want Voldemort hearing about this and come knocking on my doorstep with a lawyer demanding seventy-five percent royalties for stealing his idea without crediting him or face lawsuit."

"As far as I know, the only copyright Voldemort has – and that's if he filed the form for it – is over his Dark Mark. So, the overall design and the specific spell configuration he used to perform it, however, Voldemort does not hold any copyrights to the spells he used, so as long as we don't use his design or the combination of spells he used, we should be fine," rationalised Granger.

Harry nodded, relieved. "Good. I really don't want any legal trouble."

"So …" the redhead chimed in, "according to what you said, Hermione, Fred and George are infringing Voldemort's copyright by using his Dark Mark design for their Edible Dark Mark lollipops and profiting because of it."

Oh, yes, he remembered the two menaces offering something of the sort during his train ride.

"Yes."

"So … technically speaking, Voldemort could sue them for copyright infringement and demand royalties for the Edible Dark Mark lollipop sales."

"Yes, he could."

The redhead paled. "Let's hope that he doesn't find out about it then, or Fred and George are screwed."

He already knew and he was going to take full advantage of that once he stopped masquerading as Felix. He had mixed feelings when it came to Granger using his Dark Mark as inspiration, because while he definitely felt flattered and honoured, he was also annoyed that it hadn't been he, who had suggested it to Harry.

He would just have to make up for it by revealing the location of the Come and Go Room.

…

That night, when Harry went to bed, he felt calm and content; his plan was slowly taking tangible form, Trelawney confirmed that Voldemort and he would get together, and his blood quill wound felt like nothing more than a distant and unpleasant experience.

His dreams reflected that peacefulness. No nightmares haunted him; instead, he felt arms embracing him, cool skin pressing against him, fingers carding through his hair, lips pressed to his forehead and a steady, human heartbeat pulsing next to his ear.

His eyes fluttered open and instead of being greeted by familiar walls of his apartment bedroom, he found himself within the cold marble walls of the Chamber of Secrets, cradled in a naked man's lap and arms, he, himself, naked and, as he looked up to see who it was, he came face to face … with his father's face.

Soul to Soul

Chapter Summary

Harry comes face to face with a horcrux and the horcrux inside him opens up his soul to him.

Chapter Notes

This chapter focuses heavily on Voldemort and his fascinating character, or rather my vision and interpretation of his character which might be very different from how you see him and from how he's been depicted in the canon, though I try to stay as in-character as possible, but also branching out and exploring things that have never been explored (or at least not to a wider extent).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry stared in disbelief, raw emotion constricting his throat.

The hair, the glasses, the face, it was all James Potter. "Dad?" he croaked. Then, just as he said it, he noticed that something was off with his eyes. They were ruby red and, as far as he knew, there was only one person who had those eyes.

"I'm afraid not," said the man holding him. "But if you'd prefer it that way … I could remain looking like this."

"Voldemort then?"

The man went rigid, but nodded. "Or rather his soul piece inside you, the horcrux."

"If you're him, why do you look like my father?" Harry asked with a confused frown.

"I didn't want to scare you when you woke, so I shifted into your father, or rather you."

Understanding dawned on Harry. "Oh, I see. Well, it had the opposite effect, I thought either my father had returned from the dead or I have somehow ended on the other side. I did almost cross that line yesterday," he said light-heartedly.

Voldemort, still possessing Potter features, scowled darkly and his grip on him tightened. As if to convince himself that he was still there, breathing, living. "I know," he murmured grimly. "I was there, trying to save you; like I've done on so many occasions from yourself, your nightmares or outside threats," he paused, "… including myself, but this time … your negative thoughts and emotions were just too strong, Harry. It's like you were trying to end yourself and I couldn't do anything about it without my counterpart's outside intervention."

Harry stared at the man. "You were trying to save me? From myself?"

He nodded.

"And you say you've saved me before?"

He nodded again. "Whenever those horrid muggles you call relatives hurt you, I was there to heal you and soothe you in your sleep. Whenever I felt my counterpart's murderous intentions towards you, I tried to warn you."

"By causing me a head-splitting headache," he remarked sarcastically.

Voldemort ignored the tone of the comment. "It worked, didn't it?" he continued unfazed. "When that man, Quirrell, tried to harm you, I intervened as much as I could. The same with my counterpart in June."

Harry stared dumbfounded at him. "But … how?" He couldn't wrap his head around it. "I've always thought my mother's love and protection were what kept me alive even when I was supposed to be dead, they're the reason Voldemort couldn't touch me without feeling excruciating pain. Dumbledore has said so."

"You'll soon find that Dumbledore is neither all-knowing nor all-powerful," he sneered. "He's no saint either, no matter what others will have you believe. He's a human like you and me and an old one at that … which means that he's had that much more time to make all sorts of mistakes. However, in this, he is correct, albeit not entirely."

"I don't think I follow. So, both you and mum have been protecting me for the past fourteen years, is that the gist of it?"

"Yes and no. While whatever magic your mother used that night I tried to kill you has certainly left its mark in your blood, it only activates when you find yourself in mortal outside danger. It's the reason why you didn't die instantly the moment the basilisk's venom entered your system or why Quirrell and my counterpart had such a hard time when they attacked you, but ultimately, it was me who did most of the work," he huffed.

With a soft smile, he reached up and placed a hand on the man's cheek, stopping him in his rant. "Thank you," he whispered. "For being there for me. For helping and saving me."

Voldemort's body tensed and his eyes widened, only for him to start blinking furiously and evading his gaze. "It was mostly for selfish reasons anyway, so … don't get too excited about it," he warned, but lacked any bite. "After all, you're my container, my host and my survival depends on your survival. Of course I couldn't let you get hurt beyond repair."

Harry's smile only widened. Voldemort cared for him. "I'm still grateful for everything."

Tentatively, Voldemort's intense, stormy ruby eyes connected with his again, filled with a flurry of emotions. His jaw was clenched and his throat bobbed.

"However, there's something I still don't understand."

"What is it?"

"If you have always been here … why has it taken this long for you to reveal yourself to me?"

"I was …" he swallowed thickly, looking for the appropriate words, " reluctant to reveal myself, because I was … unsure of what your reaction would be to seeing me, knowing about me." He snorted self-deprecatingly. "It's not as if I hadn't thought about revealing myself to you when you were much younger and talking to you, whispering to you, influencing you, manipulating you, corrupting you," he said, a wicked expression on his face. "Make you hate Dumbledore and muggles; help me obtain my own body so I wouldn't have to be trapped here, inside you, feeling whatever you're feeling."

"And why haven't you done any of it if you didn't like being here with me? You had time, before Hogwarts. You could have been the one to introduce me to magic, to Hogwarts," said Harry, not entirely sure what to make out of Voldemort's words.

Voldemort, still looking like his father, shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. I don't know why I haven't acted on any of my plans for you. I guess that … when it came to executing them, I just didn't feel like doing them anymore. It was much easier for me to be a background observer. The one who exists but is unseen and unheard."

"What made you reveal yourself to me tonight, if you were content with me being unaware of your existence?" Harry wondered, confused.

He chuckled. "Oh, but you have been aware of my existence since your first visit to Gringotts this summer," he smirked. "You have known that I am here; you just haven't seen me until tonight. As for why I decided to show myself to you … there are several reasons. First, because I have grown tired of not being acknowledged. I've been protecting you for over a decade and you credit your mother for everything." He huffed. "Unforgivable."

Harry did his best to suppress a grin. Typical Voldemort and his need for recognition, he thought fondly.

"Second," the man continued gravely, "I couldn't not reveal myself after what happened yesterday, after the fright you gave me and after endangering me as well."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, even though he wasn't entirely sure to what he was referring. He could be talking about him almost dying or it could be about the blood quill. "I'm sorry for frightening you and for endangering you. I can't promise that a similar occurrence won't happen again, but I will try my damnedest not to let that darkness overtake me."

"You'd better," Voldemort warned; his voice strained and his expression tense. "Because what was the purpose of you going to a therapist if you'll just keep relapsing mentally like that and putting yourself in harm's way?"

Harry snorted, grinning softly at the concern in Voldemort's tone.

"Third, I wanted to talk to you." He let go of him, stood up and created some distance between them. "I think it's time we talked about what's been happening to you about me."

He rose to his feet too and took in Voldemort's naked form.

His eyes greedily soaked in every single detail, his pale, sinewy frame, his taut stomach, his gorgeous manhood dangling between his slender thighs. He felt his mouth water. There was only one problem: his face still looked like James Potter.

"Well, first, change back to how you look," said Harry. "I can assure you that I'd much rather ogle you while you look like yourself than like my father or me."

Voldemort chuckled and the Potter features melted to the serpentine features that were so familiar to him. "So honest," he remarked, smirking, his slitted, red gaze roving over his own naked form. When his eyes landed on his no doubt half-hard cock, he wetted his lips as raw hunger and desire took hold of those rubies.

"Trelawney would disagree," Harry smirked, proudly displaying his cock to Voldemort.

"You can be dishonest when awake all you want, but in here," he gestured to the vast mental rendition of the Chamber surrounding them, "you can't hide yourself from me, Harry. My counterpart may catch glimpses of your mind and heart, but ultimately, he's clueless to the connection that exists between the two of you. Meanwhile, I am very much aware of everything that goes on in your mind and heart, Harry," he purred and Harry had to bite into his lower lip to stop himself from groaning in arousal. "All the doubts, thoughts, questions, motivations … desires." His tone turned husky, his expression predatory. "That's a privilege only I have. So … if you attempted to lie to me, I would know immediately, and I would be very displeased with you, Harry."

"I would never even think of lying to you, because there's no reason for me to do it," Harry assured him, his mind full of dirty things he wanted to do to the Voldemort in front of him.

Voldemort chuckled again. " Good," he hissed and Harry felt arousal course through him with more intensity. Voldemort looked like he wanted to jump his bones too.

Then, through the lust-filled haze, something Voldemort said finally registered in his mind. "Wait a second," he blinked, trepidation rising in his chest. "What exactly did you mean when you said that your counterpart may see glimpses of my mind and heart?"

"It means that as a link between my counterpart and you, it allows my counterpart to see what you're thinking, to feel whatever you're feeling whenever you're going through intense emotions, like anger, sadness, pain … pleasure," elaborated Voldemort. "It works the other way around as well."

Harry's mind went blank the moment Voldemort mentioned pleasure. Shit! Had Voldemort been experiencing orgasms whenever he orgasmed?

"Yes, I've been experiencing orgasms whenever you've masturbated to me," he replied casually. "My counterpart also. Me, because I'm literally a part of you so I kind of can't escape it even if I wanted and my counterpart because of the link."

Harry felt like dying of mortification. His cheeks burnt like crazy.

"There's nothing to be mortified about," Voldemort assured him, amusement in his voice. "As I've said, he's oblivious to you being his horcrux and a Parselmouth, and I don't blame you for not being honest with him about either. Or the fact that you can see through his disguise, though I warn you now, just like how I would be cross with you for attempting to lie to me, he's also going to be angry once he learns the truth."

Some of the embarrassment subsided, but he still felt like barricading himself in the privacy of his apartment bedroom. From now on, he would be more careful.

"I know," he murmured, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. "I know that he'll never forgive me for keeping information from him, but I can't bring myself to tell him all the truth. I'm scared of the face he'll make, of the words he'll say to me in his anger. I want to avoid that moment as long as possible."

"There's another thing," said Voldemort grimly. "This idea that entered your head of dating me, or rather my counterpart, forget about it."

His eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Why?"

"Because you're only wasting your time with somebody like me." His voice was stern and his expression was hard. "And because I know that, once you stop thinking with your cock and start using your head when it comes to me, you'll realise that as well."

"Hold on a moment," he interjected, upset. "Just because I've masturbated a handful of times to you, doesn't mean I'm incapable of thinking with a clear head when it comes to my feelings for you or that my intentions with you are purely sexual, because they aren't."

"It's been more than a handful of times, Harry," he sneered.

Harry blinked. "Have you been keeping count of how many times I've masturbated to you?" he asked, surprised.

Voldemort ignored his question. "You have no idea who Voldemort truly is, Harry," he warned instead. "You have no idea about all the bad and ugly things I've done and would have continued to do had that night in Godric's Hollow not happened the way it did."

"Then tell me," Harry urged him, desperation tinging his voice. "Let me get to know you. Let me see all the good, the bad and the ugly about you. I can assure you that there's nothing you can tell or show me that will make me change my mind about pursuing a relationship with you."

Bitterness flashed in Voldemort's eyes. "Are you sure about that, Harry? Are you sure you're prepared to see the real me? The broken, hateful soul bent on causing pain, suffering and destruction. Because if you think there was ever any noble, but misguided agenda behind my war effort, you are mistaken. There was no ideal I wanted to pursue, no change for the better; the only thing that kept me going was my hate towards humanity. The only thing I wanted was to see the world burn to ash, until nothing remained."

Harry's chest tightened at the words, at the bitter and angry tone. He felt his eyes sting at the wild look in Voldemort's ruby eyes. "Yes, I'm sure about it. I know you've done horrible things, perhaps not the extent of them, but I am very much aware of your crimes, Voldemort. Yet, I still want you to be my boyfriend."

"So you can fix me, heal me?" he sneered. "Teach me how to love? Put me back together so I can be whole again, is that it?"

"So much hate can't be good, Voldemort, for anyone. Not even you."

"Well, that's the only thing I know, Harry," he said blankly. "I only know how to hate and cause pain and death, and the world only knows how to despise me too, no matter what I do, so I suppose we're even."

"I don't hate you," whispered Harry, his throat constricted. ' Not anymore, at least.'

"But you will hate me again," Voldemort corrected him. "Once you learn everything there is to know about me."

"Try me," challenged Harry. He would prove it to him that his feelings and mind were not so easily swayed and influenced.

Voldemort's expression turned blank. "Have it your way then, Harry," he said in a low voice, and the Chamber of Secrets gave way to a different kind of scenery … an orphanage.

They were in the middle of a cold corridor, with wallpaper that was peeling around the edges. The wooden floorboards looked old, worn and frail; there were a few patched parts and quite a few holes left untended. Numerous doors were on either side.

Voldemort began walking and Harry followed him.

"I suppose I should start at the beginning," he began. "I was born at Wool's Orphanage on 31 December 1926. My mother died shortly after giving birth to me and my father was not here to pick me up, so I had no choice but to stay here for the next seventeen years."

They stopped at the furthest door on the left.

On the other side was a small and austere room with one window, an iron bedstead, an old wardrobe, and a hard wooden chair … and nothing else. No fireplace to keep the place warm during winter, no desk to write.

"This was my room, after I outgrew the nursery," there was a slight pause in his narration, "… and the shared rooms."

A bone-cracking thud penetrated through the sound of children playing. Silence ensued, followed quickly by hysterical yelling and wailing. "What was that?" Harry asked.

Voldemort went to open the window. Harry was right behind him. When his eyes landed on a body of a young girl, whose limbs stuck out at awkward angles and a small pool of blood was forming around her head on the courtyard, horror took over his features and he covered his mouth with a hand.

A few matrons came running out the door, only for them to halt, just as horrified as he was at the sight. Then one of them instructed the other matrons to herd the children inside, while she took care of the situation.

"That was Amy Benson," spoke Voldemort, unaffected by the sight. "A horrid girl, who liked to sneer at me, call me names, tell me I was crazy and imply that I would be sent to a mental asylum for my magic, when the matrons weren't paying attention. I made her realise what a horrible human being she was and her not being able to cope with the weight of that realisation decided to kill herself by jumping from the attic."

"What did you do?" Harry asked, a cold feeling gripping his chest.

A cruel smirk appeared on Voldemort's lips. "Would you like me to show you, Harry?"

"Yes."

The scenery changed to a cliff by the sea. A group of children was happily running around in circles, safe for one. A quiet and a rather small child, with black hair and dark brown eyes, who was keeping to himself, exploring the surroundings far away from the other children.

"Is that you?" Harry asked him.

"Yes."

"You were so cute," he said, before he could stop himself. ' You still are.'

"I looked sickly and pitiful, just like now," countered Voldemort with a grimace. "There was nothing cute about me then and there's nothing cute about me now. The only decent period I had appearance-wise was my late puberty and my early adulthood."

Harry chuckled. "I disagree."

"How you ever came to feel attracted to my serpentine features is beyond my comprehension … and I see what goes on in your head all the time."

Harry chuckled and kept his eyes on child Tom, who had wondered off to a cave at the edge of the cliff and disappeared inside it. Nobody seemed to notice his absence. Several minutes had passed, before he re-emerged with sadistic glee adorning his child features. He approached Amy Benson and another boy … Dennis Bishop as Harry would later find out through Voldemort.

" Amy, Dennis," the child version of Tom called to the other two excitedly, " I have found a pirate treasure cave."

Amy and Dennis stopped throwing stones into the water and turned to him, wonder and excitement on their faces. " Truly, Tom?" said Dennis, his eyes glittering.

" Yes. There is so much gold and gems that we could renovate the orphanage and live like rich people until we become adults. We won't even need adults to adopt us," he was saying with enthusiasm that seemed genuine. " Would you like to see it?"

Amy and Dennis enthusiastically agreed.

" Follow me," he said and as Harry observed child Tom lead Amy and Dennis away from the group of matrons and the rest of the children into a cave inside the cliff, under the pretence of treasure, he grew worried, which only seemed to fuel Voldemort's amusement.

They followed the three children inside the dark cave.

" Where's the treasure? I don't see any treasure," said Amy as they continued to go further into the cave.

" Relax," said child Tom calmly. " Don't be so impatient. It's a bit further up ahead. Did you think pirates would hide their treasure at the entrance for every numbskull that comes by to find it?"

She hummed thoughtfully. " I suppose," she conceded, " but I swear to God, Tom, if you're leading us into a trap, you're done for."

" Me?" he said all innocent-like. " Lead you into a trap? Preposterous. I would never do something like that to anyone." However, Harry, even in the darkness, could see the dangerous smirk that flashed across child Tom's lips as soon as he turned his back on the other two.

" I don't like the dark," whined Dennis, soon after.

" Oh, Dennis, why do you have to be such a baby?" snapped Amy impatiently. " Man up, will you?"

Suddenly, they came to a halt, where the crystals inside the walls were casting their colourful light onto them.

" See," child Tom said shrewdly, " I told you there was treasure inside."

Amy and Dennis, entranced by the shiny crystals, went up to them to inspect them. Child Tom lingered behind like a predator observing and cornering its prey.

" The crystals are nice and all, but I doubt they count as pirate treasure," said Amy and when she turned towards Tom, he was right behind her, grabbing her by the head. His hand glowed a little.

She let out a yelp, alerting Dennis, who suffered the same fate.

" Kneel," ordered child Tom quietly, and Harry watched as the two children fell to their knees like ragdolls before Tom. Horror etched into their faces, they stared up at Tom, who was wearing a vicious smirk. " That's more like it."

The children whimpered. " Please, Tom, don't hurt me," cried Amy.

" Why shouldn't I hurt you?" child Tom asked in an innocent confusion. " When you've hurt me plenty with your cruel words. Taking advantage of the matrons being busy with the babies and the sick to insult me, call me names."

" I'm sorry," she hiccoughed. " I'm sorry for being mean to you. I won't do it again, I swear it."

Tom's hand glowed some more and another cry of pain tore from the girl.

" You're lying, Amy," he said with an impassive face. " You're not sorry. You don't even know if you'll survive this ordeal and you're already plotting revenge with Billy Stubbs. As if that dim-witted oaf will dare do anything after I killed his rabbit for the so-called prank of locking me up in the attic," he snarled viciously. " He knows that he'll be next with his throat slit if he ever tries anything funny with me again."

" HELP! HELP, SOMEONE, PLEASE, HELP! TOM IS TRYING TO KILL US!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, tears flowing freely from her eyes, only for child Tom to laugh.

" That's it, Amy," laughed Tom cruelly, " scream, yell, cry for help, but I'm afraid nobody will hear you. You see; the ocean waves are just going to drown out your cries of pain and help. I can do whatever I want to you and nobody will hear a thing, and I will finally get back at you for all the times you called me a lunatic, a freak, and a demon child. For saying that I should go to a mental asylum."

Unbridled terror reflected on Amy and Dennis' faces.

" What about me, Tom?" sniffled Dennis. " I didn't do anything to you."

" That's not true, Dennis, and you know it," sneered child Tom, " or did you already forget pushing me into the attic so Billy could lock me inside, telling on me for having a snake in my bedroom?"

Dennis' eyes widened and he let out a cry of pain when Tom's hand on his head glowed again.

" What will you do to us?" asked Amy.

" Definitely not kill you, but I will make sure you understand who's in charge here," he said with a piercing gaze. " The bad way."

His hands glowed again and the children let out ear-piercing screams.

"What are you doing to them?" asked Harry in an agitated whisper.

"What does it look like, Harry?" Voldemort drawled wickedly next to him. "I'm torturing them. I'm making them hear voices inside their heads, which are causing them a head-splitting headache."

"What sort of voices?"

"Voices that will torment them into despair and drive them to seek peace and salvation in death," he smirked.

"It was you who drove that girl to suicide," Harry breathed, as shock took hold of him.

Voldemort only grinned like the devil himself and continued to watch child Tom torment the two children.

"For as long as you breathe," Tom began chanting in parseltongue, "you will never be able to find a moment of peace. When awake, you will be tormented by voices reminding you of your sins, and when asleep, you will suffer from vivid nightmares."

To seal whatever curse he had just cast on them, he squeezed both his hands into fists, as if trying to crush something. He could even hear something break and he noticed that Amy and Dennis' eyes became empty and lifeless. They swayed to the side and crumpled like ragdolls onto the ground.

" Beautiful," commented child Tom, marvelling at his masterpiece. " Now, just to ensure that you will never speak of what occurred here, I think I will take away your ability to speak." His hands grabbed their throats and glowed again. Then, he moved them away a bit, before making the same crushing movement with them.

Harry heard something snapping.

"I broke their minds and vocal chords with my magic," said Voldemort beside him. "I trained a lot for this very moment, you know. I mostly practiced on animals, imposing my will on them, making them do things without any sort of training. Once I could simply wish them to do something, or even kill them, I knew I was ready for my revenge on Amy and Dennis. Billy already paid the price for his ill-natured prank." He smirked. "I will forever cherish the look of horror when they saw me sitting at the dining table, only minutes after locking me in the attic. Of course, the matrons never found out about it."

Shock, bewilderment that was all Harry could feel as he witnessed the horrors before him, as he listened to Voldemort brag about his cruel treatment of others.

The cave memory was not yet over. He watched child Tom force himself to cry and fetch the matrons and report his version of events: Amy, Dennis and he were exploring the cave, when they suddenly saw something horrible, a ghost, and Amy and Dennis fainted on the spot, while he ran to get help.

When the two children didn't speak and looked dead inside, the matrons assumed they were simply traumatised by the ordeal. Only the children who knew of Tom's ability to make things move without touching them, teleporting and making people hurt without ever having to hit them knew that it was Tom who had done something to them.

"If Amy ended up jumping to her death, what became of Dennis then?" Harry asked, terrified of the answer he would get.

The scenery changed to child Tom carrying a tray with a slice of bread and some milk up the stairs. He had volunteered to take it up to Dennis' room and when he entered, Harry gasped and covered his mouth when he saw the boy with bandaged eyes.

"Don't tell me that …" he couldn't finish the sentence without feeling ill, but Voldemort could read his thoughts and he only chuckled.

"Yes, Harry," he said gleefully, "that's exactly what happened. Poor, little Dennis gouged out his own eyes in a bout of nightmare-fuelled frenzy with a spoon, now he is both blind and mute. Not for long, mind you. He too will soon follow Amy to the other side."

Dennis flinched at the sound of somebody entering and child Tom didn't announced his arrival. He simply placed the tray on the nightstand and observed him. Then, he flashed his teeth and addressed the boy.

" I'm really sorry to hear what happened to you, Dennis," he spoke with false worry. " Really horrible that you lost your eyesight as well. Such a shame." He sighed. " You have to take better care of yourself … or you might end up like Amy."

Dennis went rigid.

" You do know what happened yesterday, don't you?"

The boy shook his head.

" She killed herself," Tom informed him nonchalantly. " She jumped out of the window, her conscience too heavy and guilty to live, apparently."

Dennis began shivering and crawling away from Tom.

" You look awful yourself," he commented. " You should try and sleep a bit," he grinned ferociously. " Or are you having trouble sleeping? You know that you can always drink some morphine to soothe your pain. You just have to be careful with the dosage."

The memory skipped forward two days. Tom was carrying another tray for Dennis, only that this time, he produced an entire bottle of morphine from his trouser pocket that he had stolen from the medicine cabinet.

" Do you know what this is?" he said as he placed the bottle in Dennis' hands. Dennis shook his head. " It's morphine."

Dennis swallowed thickly.

" I'm really worried for you, Dennis." Harry knew he was lying. " You look so pale and skinny, like you haven't had a good night's sleep in a while. Therefore, to show you that I mean good, I brought you some pain-reliever, so you can sleep without any nightmares."

"The next day," narrated Voldemort, "they found him dead in his bed from a morphine overdose."

A memory of Tom Riddle tormenting his fellow students in Slytherin followed.

" I don't know what Mudblood means," spoke an eleven-year-old Tom coldly, his face a blank canvas, while a group of older students was kneeling before him, screaming in pain, in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room, " but I assume it's not a very nice expression, judging from your tone and the adjective 'filthy' preceding it. Therefore, I would like to make something clear to you. If you insult me one more time, you will end up with a broken mind or a crushed windpipe."

He let them go and turned to the audience their screams attracted. " And you lot, keep your mouths shut about this, or there will be bloodshed in the dungeons."

More memories of torture via Legilimency and the Cruciatus followed, some while Tom was still at school, some when he had already become Lord Voldemort and had formed his group of Death Eaters. He seemed to take particular pleasure and pride in raking through people's minds, forcing his way into their thoughts, messing them up from within, making them live their worst nightmares.

Then came the memory of Tom opening the Chamber of Secrets, letting the basilisk out and causing the death of Myrtle.

"While accidental," said Voldemort, "her death served to create my first horcrux, the diary."

Then, Tom travelling to Little Hangleton to find out about his family. The disgust he felt for his uncle Morfin Gaunt and the cottage where he lived, the pain manifested as anger that consumed him at being rejected by his father, who looked like he'd seen the devil incarnate.

Harry started crying silently when he witnessed Tom murder his paternal family – whose deaths served to create his second horcrux, the Ring – and frame his uncle for his crime. He continued to cry when he saw him spike Hepzibah Smith's cocoa with poison and then blame the crime on the woman's house elf. He used her death to create the third horcrux, the Cup. He killed a nameless Albanian muggle peasant to create the fourth horcrux, the Diadem. He killed another muggle, a tramp, for the Locket horcrux.

He saw him use the corpses of his fallen enemies during the first war to create Inferi and use them as protection for the Locket, which he hid in the same cave, where he had broken the minds of Amy and Dennis.

Then …

"Please," Harry begged faintly, brokenly, tears streaming down his cheeks. "No more, please. You don't have to show anything more to me."

He saw Godric's Hollow and a dark, tall and cloaked figure making its way towards the Potter Cottage.

"Oh, but I disagree, Harry," remarked Voldemort wickedly. "I believe this is the most important thing you have to see with your own eyes, because I think that you have forgotten this little detail when you started fantasising about being in a relationship with me: I killed your parents and tried to kill you too."

For the first time, Harry saw what happened that Halloween to his parents, and he saw it through Voldemort's eyes. His father's death was instantaneous: one moment he was telling his mother to go to him and the next he was lying crumpled on the floor … dead.

No cry, no pain, just … instant death.

"Now that you've been reminded of this incident, the idea of dating me doesn't sound as appealing, does it?" he sneered at him.

His mother stood before his crib and he was shocked to hear Voldemort offer to spare her life if only she would step aside and let him get to him. He did it three times, but his mother tried to bargain for his life with hers instead.

In the end, Voldemort grew tired of her pleas and killed her too. However … there was no blood-curdling scream he used to hear when in a Dementor's proximity. She too died instantly, painlessly.

Then who screamed like a banshee that night if it wasn't his mother?

He got his answer when he saw Voldemort standing before him, wand pointed at his head, and uttering the Killing Curse, only for the flash of green to blind him completely and the scream to echo in his ears.

"You too would have been screaming like a banshee if your soul was being torn apart by your own deflected curse," growled Voldemort as the scene faded back into a mental rendition of the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry had collapsed on the floor, sobbing quietly.

"Why?" he hiccoughed. "Why have you hurt all those people?"

Voldemort looked at him with a self-deprecating expression.

"Why has the popular and beloved genius Tom Marvolo Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin, the Slytherin Prefect, and the Hogwarts Head Boy hurt so many people? Why has he become an unfeeling and a cold-blooded murderer, with complete disregard for human life save his own?" he asked in a rhetoric manner. He sneered. "Why else, Harry. Pain … disillusion … bitterness … anger … hate … injustice … neglect … abandonment … rejection. Do you know what it feels like when the world rejects you completely? When not even your parents want you? You saw what happened when I went to see my father, the same father who abandoned my mother and me after learning we were magical."

He let out a shaky, agitated breath.

"Not that my mother was any better than him. Instead of fighting for me, instead of trying to be there for me, she went ahead and died as soon as I was out of her vagina," he snarled. "Too heart-broken because of my father's abandonment. For all I know, in her depression, she could have become a drug addict, a heavy smoker or an alcoholic. Couple that with any inbred genetically inherited diseases she might have had and it certainly explains why I have been messed up since birth."

He paused to breathe and to collect himself, because he was starting to lose his cool and aloof composure.

"When I learnt I was a wizard, Harry, I thought that everything finally made sense. When Dumbledore came to tell me I have been accepted at Hogwarts, I thought that I have finally found my place in the world, Harry. A place to belong." His expression hardened. "Only to find out I was an outcast there as well."

"But people adored you at Hogwarts. The teachers, the students," Harry interjected.

"They adored the mask of politeness and grace I projected to the public. They didn't adore me, the real me. The one person who knew me as I was – Dumbledore – despised me, Harry. He made it very clear to me that once I graduated I was not welcome there anymore, otherwise he would have given me that Defence teaching post."

"What about the Death Eaters? They saw your sadistic and murderous side and still followed you."

"I can assure you that they only followed because they lacked any sort of guts to go against me. Fear is a very powerful tool, Harry. It keeps people, like my followers, compliant and in line. Especially, when the alternative is either death or imprisonment for life for the crimes they've committed."

"What about your soul, Voldemort? Why have you split your soul so many times?" More tears poured down his cheeks. "Why have you hurt yourself?"

A pained grimace contorted his features. "It was never my intention to create seven horcruxes, Harry," he said softly. "I planned to make only one, maybe two, just to be sure, never seven, but … I suppose my paranoia and fear of death got the better of me … like always."

At Harry's questioning expression, he continued.

"You see, when you grow up in poverty, when food is scarce and the illnesses abound and you lack proper medical care; when you see children your age die because of the Spanish flu or the common cold or consumption or pneumonia … you start wondering, when you'll get sick too. When you are going to be the next one to be shipped off to the morgue for burial in a pit."

He paused again, blinking, wetting his lips, trying to keep his composure, but it was cracking under the immense pressure of emotions.

"I don't have many fears, Harry," he whispered, "but the one fear I do have is fear of dying, fear of not knowing what comes after we die, fear of being reduced to nothing. This fear has never been stronger than when World War II broke out and each summer since my third year, I was forced to go back to the ruins of Muggle London. To the place that, for all intents and purposes, was a warzone, where people lived in constant fear of the air raid sirens going off any second, where everything was rationed, where dried blood covered the streets, where dismembered corpses were strewn across the pavement, where every plane could carry a bomb and drop it on you."

Voldemort's eyes grew wide and wild, he was starting to become agitated, his breathing shallow and hoarse.

"It got so bad, Harry, that even at Hogwarts, which was safe from any muggle bombings, I would wake up in the middle of the night to what sounded like a plane or a siren and think the Nazis were attacking. When I started having panic attacks and I would go several nights without even closing an eye, too afraid to sleep, that's when I began researching magical ways of achieving immortality."

"And you found it."

"Yes. There wasn't much written on the subject of horcruxes and if I had researched more, I would have no doubt found other, less painful, ways of achieving immortality, but I couldn't afford to lose a second. Of course, I had my doubts, but I did it anyway. I took a human life and I preformed the ritual. I swore never to do it after going through that excruciating pain, but creating a horcrux became like a drug to me. I couldn't resist the temptation, not when paranoia constantly had me thinking, ' What if one horcrux is not enough? Create another one, just to be sure. Okay, no, what if something happens to both and you become vulnerable again? Make at least two more.'

"When I had five horcruxes, that's when I calmed down a bit, when I was certain I was truly immortal. Until I learnt of the prophecy, foretelling my downfall by a child born at the end of July. That is when my paranoia kicked in again. I tried to convince myself that the prophecy was faulty, that there was no way a babe could destroy me, yet, if I truly believed I have achieved immortality, would I have gone after you to eliminate you? So … I let paranoia consume me again and I became obsessed with finding you and killing you, before you ever got the opportunity to destroy my horcruxes and kill me. Because between eat and be eaten, I choose to eat, and between living and dying, I choose to live."

Suddenly, Harry, still crying his eyes out, reached forward, pulled the man down into his lap, and wrapped his arms around Voldemort, pulling him close to his warm, naked body. The man went rigid like a metal rod, but he didn't resist the embrace. Harry only held him tighter and continued to sob.

"Stop it," he demanded his voice hoarse. "Stop crying, you're making me cry, so stop it."

"I can't," whispered Harry brokenly, barely breathing with how much his chest hurt. "It h-hurts. It hurts to know – that you have caused so much suffering to others and yourself – that you have hurt so many people, ruined so many lives – that you've felt like the world hates you – that you've never felt truly accepted, but that will change, because I accept you as you are, with all your faults, all your sins."

"H-How?" he asked, fighting to keep the tears at bay. "How can you not hate me after showing you my worst?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Harry cried, tightening his embrace on Voldemort. "I'm serious about you. Not even seeing you at your worst will change my mind about us being together."

The dam on Voldemort's emotions broke and he wept freely into Harry's neck, clinging to him like a lifeline. Harry pressed his lips to Voldemort's temple and did his best to shower Voldemort with thoughts of love and warmth … of acceptance.

They stayed like this for what felt like hours, not saying anything, just being in each other's presence, sharing body heat.

"It's true that you will never be able to erase your past," he said, once he had stopped crying, "but you can forge a better and brighter future for yourself."

Even though his feelings for Voldemort hadn't changed, he wouldn't and couldn't ignore or excuse his horrific acts, but he understood them better now.

"I don't know how to be a good person, Harry," he protested weakly.

"Yes, you do," Harry insisted gently but sternly. "You've been doing a good job keeping me safe, for example."

"I've told you that was mostly because of self-interest."

"You have given two people who have struggled with infertility an opportunity to be parents," he offered, thinking of Ingrid and Erik.

"Again, they are useful to my counterpart in keeping his disguise," he said, but Harry felt it was more than that.

He sighed. "You are capable of good acts, Voldemort, even if fuelled by selfishness and self-interest," he reiterated, stroking his nape and back, making Voldemort shiver and melt into him. "You always have been. You simply chose not to be good, because being bad was easier for you."

The man was quiet for some time. "Even if I do good things, I will still hate humanity for failing me."

"I don't expect you to become a charitable person or even a people person," said Harry, "but you can become someone who is not going to resort to murder, torture and other types of violence against those who get on your nerves or say hurtful things; someone who is not going to be consumed by hate. I'd rather you be indifferent than filled with bitterness, anger and hatred for something you had no control over."

He traced soothing circles on Voldemort's back and the man snuggled closer, pressing his hips into his, nuzzling his neck, trying to become one with him. He noticed that he liked being touched like that.

"Will you praise and reward me if I do well?" he asked softly.

Harry smirked – his tears mostly dry now – and whispered in Voldemort's ear.

"At every step of the way," he promised huskily, and observed with delight as goosebumps formed on Voldemort's skin and his manhood twitched. "You've already done a lot of good. You've been so good to me these past fourteen years, protecting me, looking after me when the Dursleys didn't."

He began peppering the man's face with feather-light kisses, while being all too aware of their erections touching. Voldemort closed his eyes and whined, basking in Harry's affectionate gestures and words.

"You've done well with the lot you were dealt in life. You've done a good job at surviving the orphanage, the war, the loneliness."

"I have?"

"Yes," he whispered, looking at the man in his arms tenderly. "Yes, you have."

Voldemort angled his head toward Harry and Harry leant forward, determined to kiss those sinful and enticing lips …

Only to be woken up by his alarm clock … with dried tears on his cheeks and a raging erection between his legs.

"Fuck," he cursed in frustration and hurried to his bathroom, where he masturbated again to Voldemort, this time perfectly aware that the horcrux in him was going to feel it too … every bit of it … even his thoughts and feelings. So he made extra sure to convey as much love as he could to him, praising him, reassuring him, talking dirty to him, telling him what he would do to him if he hadn't been roused from his sleep.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel the horcrux reaching back to him, shivering and delighting in the tender attention he provided.

Chapter End Notes

I hope this chapter has managed to answer some of the questions a few of you were having in regards to the ending of the previous chapter. Also I'm very interested to know what you thought of Voldemort - or rather the horcrux inside Harry. If there's an aspect of Voldemort I have presented that you would like to discuss with me in the comments, feel free to do it. He's a very fascinating character to talk about and I like talking about him (or my head-canons about him) so ... bring it (pretty please).

War Plans

Chapter Summary

Tom Fawley makes another appearance, Harry is off to making war plans in his apartment and spending some alone time with his inner horcrux.

Chapter Notes

IMPORTANT: There will be no updates for the next two weeks as I'll be spending most of my free time playing AC: Valhalla. I'm on chapter 36 as of today, but I would like to get to chapter 38 by the time I resume my Wednesday weekly uploads.

Enjoy the chapter! And I'm really grateful for the response the previous chapter garnered from you. I had fun reading all your comments (the longer and detailed they are, the better ) as much as I had fun writing the chapter, although, to be honest, I was a bit apprehensive publishing it, because I wasn't sure if people would believe that Voldemort was capable of saying what he said of doing what he did and acting as he did. But you have blown me away with your support and response so keep it coming.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Voldemort woke up with tear-stained cheeks and come in his undergarments, feeling the blissful aftereffects of an orgasm. He dreamt something, but had trouble remembering what happened in his dream. He knew it had something to do with Harry, because he remembered his voice, his warmth, his touch, but he could not recall the words he said to him.

He also didn't understand why he had been crying in his sleep, because he never cried.

To ensure nobody in the dorm saw him in such a disgraceful state, he hurried to the bathroom to clean himself and change into his school uniform.

With an hour left until breakfast and with nothing better to do, Voldemort went to the Common Room to read in peace. Not long after, at seven sharp, footsteps on the stairs caught his attention – it was Harry.

"You're up?" Harry said in the form of a greeting.

"No, I'm still sleeping in the dormitory, this is only an illusion," he answered sarcastically, because what kind of question was that? As if he couldn't see with his own eyes that he was indeed awake already.

Harry laughed at his response and approached him, but didn't join him on the sofa. "Well, you make for a very convincing illusion, because I was certain it was you," he played along, grinning playfully.

"Where are you headed at this hour?" he asked, trying to appear casual and not at all curious or – Merlin forbid – worried. Even though he was, after his Sunday stunt, he would have to keep a much closer eye on the brat, lest he did something unbelievably stupid again.

"I'm off to see McGonagall," he sighed. "You know, to ask her for the number of students and teachers at Hogwarts so Hermione can start making enchanted marbles or coins, whichever the twins will vote on."

"Ah, okay then," he said aloof. "I suppose I'll see you at breakfast in the Great Hall once you've gathered relevant information."

"That's the idea," Harry agreed. "It shouldn't take long, but one never knows with these things."

"Well, good luck then," he said and went back to his book.

Harry flashed him a heart-warming smile. "Thanks," he returned and was gone until eight o'clock, when he came running to the Great Hall.

He barely sat down next to him when the redhead asked him in a whisper, "And? How did it go with McGonagall?"

Harry looked around, making sure nobody was watching and listening to them, before reaching into his trouser pocket, producing a torn piece of parchment and handing it to Granger.

"Excellent," she said, glancing at it and placing it into her skirt pocket. "I'll get to work this afternoon."

"Good," he said, piling food onto his plate – toast with honey and lemon juice. He turned to the twins. "Have you already placed your votes on either the coins or marbles?"

"Yes," said the twins together, "we have."

"And what's the final score?" he asked Granger.

"Six for coins and three for marbles."

"So coins it is," he said. "Now, I've been thinking that maybe we could make them into pendants on a string to wear around the neck, because one never knows when someone might get their coin mixed up with the real ones or lose it somewhere else, and we can't risk something like that happening; there's too much at stake for such carelessness. Also, as necklaces, they can easily be hidden under a shirt."

"That's a good point," returned Granger thoughtfully. "I'll make fake galleon necklaces then."

"It's a safer and an easier option, I think," he concluded.

"And how long is it going to take you to make all of them?" asked Longbottom.

Granger thought for a bit. "A week, maybe," she made a rough estimate.

"Would you like some help?" offered Harry. "Maybe the twins, since I assume the Protean Charm is seventh-year stuff."

"I'll begin on my own to see how I do and if I feel overwhelmed, I'll ask Fred and George to give me a hand. How's that?"

"Okay," he said. "Now, here's the plan for this week," he leant forward and dropped his voice even lower. "On Thursday, I'm going to speak with Draco to recruit him," he tapped his index on the table, outlining his plan on the wood. "On Friday, I'm going to recruit the rest of the Slytherins, and, at the weekend, I'm going to hold my first rally for all, so try to do it by the end of the week so we can have the talismans ready for distribution before the meeting. Now, today is Tuesday, so we have what … four days to make that happen. There's roughly three hundred people on that parchment and if my math is correct you would have to keep a pace of … seventy-five pendants per day, which is a lot in my opinion for one person to produce."

"Does it have to be done by the first meeting?" wondered the redhead. "Can't the Heads of Houses just pass the message with the time and place to the students during a House meeting or something? And speaking of the place, where in the bloody hell are we going to have our meetings against Umbridge?"

"I suppose they could inform them like that and give Hermione extra time, but it would make sense for them to have the pendants by then," answered Harry. "As for the meeting place … I'm working on it, but if nothing shows up by Friday, we'll just have to find one big classroom and hope that everyone fits in; we'll just have to stand everywhere – on the floor, on the desks, on the chairs, wherever there's space. I know it doesn't sound ideal to have everyone crowding like that but," he shrugged, "… it is what it is."

"And what will you do today and tomorrow?" asked she-Weasley.

"For today," he said, sighing heavily, "my plan was primarily to make war plans, but I'm also going to look for a meeting place. Either way, don't expect to see me for the rest of the day after classes, maybe for dinner, but otherwise I'll be holed up inside my apartment all the time, and no, I won't let anyone in if they come knocking. I want to be alone for the planning process so I can focus."

He pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples.

"Then, there's also that extra Divination homework with Felix." He turned to him. "Can we do the card reading tomorrow? I would really like to spend the rest of today planning a way to get rid of Umbridge."

"It's fine by me," he said amiably. While he didn't like being left out of the loop with Harry's plans, he thought he could take advantage of Harry's homework to tell him casually about the Come and Go Room and make it seem as if he stumbled upon it today, while Harry was busy working on a war strategy.

"Great!"

Then, out of nowhere, someone yelled, "Harry!" and came running … straight at Harry to hug him.

Harry let out a grunt when the small body in Slytherin uniform collided with his back. "My God, what's that? A hurricane?" he asked amused, looking at the boy who was beaming up at him.

"No, it's me … Tom," giggled the boy and Voldemort stared at the energetic boy who shared his name from youth, analysing his features. From the side, he could spot certain similarities with himself.

"I know, Tom." Harry chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately … much to Voldemort's chagrin. "What is it? What brings you here?"

"Nothing, I just saw you and I wanted to come say hi and thank you for helping me, because I don't see you very often in the Great Hall and I also wanted to tell you that my hand is all healed now. Look!" He showed the unmarred back of his left hand enthusiastically.

Harry took his hand in his to inspect it. "That's great news, Tom," he said brightly. "I'm glad you don't have any scars."

"Yes," the boy nodded vigorously, already preparing for another rambling, "I followed Professor Snape's instructions and I changed the bandage at least five times a day with my friend's help," he said proudly.

Harry gasped in wonder. "A friend, you say? I didn't know you had a friend. Who's this friend?" He looked around and they spotted another Slytherin boy next to the table with messy dark brown hair, blue eyes and thick glasses.

"His name's Harry," he introduced him to them, the little boy waved shyly at them, and Harry laughed heartily at the two boys, sharing their names.

"Tom and Harry, huh?" he breathed, glancing up at him, his emerald eyes infinitely amused by the coincidence. "You didn't tell me you had a friend named Harry," Harry reproached Tom gently.

"Because back then, Harry was not my friend yet," explained Tom. "We became friends during my injury. You see, Harry helped me a lot with the bandages and with the school bag and other stuff because of my injured hand, so now we're friends."

Harry smiled at the two boys. "That's really nice to hear," he said. "It's good that you found someone you can call a friend here at Hogwarts." He turned to his namesake. "And nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Harry too, you know?"

"I know," the other Harry returned shyly. "Tom told me. Plus, he called you Harry when he hugged you earlier."

Harry chuckled. "True. Now, Tom, here, has two friends called Harry. What are the odds of that happening, huh? One to a million," he jested.

"Yes," Tom agreed happily and went to hug the younger Harry, "and when the holidays come, we'll go visit each other and we're going to have sleepovers."

"Sounds amazing," Harry went along with the young Slytherins. "Since I'm your friend, Tom, does that mean I'm also invited to your sleepovers?"

"Um," the boy frowned in thought, "theoretically you are."

"What do you mean theoretically?" Harry protested jokingly. "Either I'm invited or I'm not. No theoretically. So which is it?"

"I'll have to ask my parents about it, but they shouldn't have anything against you coming over," said Tom.

Harry laughed. "Ah, okay. Well, you ask them and I'll be awaiting the answer. Deal?" he offered his right pinkie finger to the boy.

Tom nodded and hooked his own pinkie with Harry's finger. "Okay. I'll ask them and let you know."

The two Slytherins bid them goodbye in favour of going to the dungeons to pick up their school bags and head toward the greenhouses for Herbology. They were halfway across the Hall, when Tom turned on his heel and began running back towards them.

"What is it?" inquired Harry. "Did you forget something?"

The boy was out of breath. "Yes," he said agitated and reached into his trouser pocket. He produced a letter. "I almost forgot to give you the letter from my parents."

Harry took it, staring at the envelope. "Have you told them about what happened?"

The boy nodded. "Yes. I didn't mean to, but I felt guilty keeping that a secret from them so I ended up telling them about it when the worst was over and my hand mostly healed. I also told them about you and how you helped me and they wrote a letter for you and told me to deliver it to you."

"I'll read it and write a reply," Harry promised. "Do I give the reply to you or do I send it directly to them?"

"Give it to me. I'll send it," said Tom.

"Okay. I'll have a letter ready for you by dinner," said Harry. "This time, I'll come visit you at the table, yes?" he winked at the boy, who looked like he was projecting sunlight. Tom hugged Harry again and this time Harry hugged him back. "Now, go, so you and Harry won't be late for your Herbology lesson."

"Okay," he nodded and waved enthusiastically. "Bye, bye!"

"Bye, bye!" Harry returned with the same energy, waving as well.

As Tom and Harry disappeared out of sight, Harry let out a sigh, glanced at the envelope and a determined scowl appeared on his face.

"Lovely children," commented Granger pleasantly. "I'm glad to know that there's some hope for Slytherin with those two there."

"I told you that it's unfair to judge all of them badly based on a few people who've gone bad for whatever reasons," said Harry, sending a smug look she-Weasley's way, who made a face.

"Yeah, well now they're all innocent and nice," she grumbled, "let's hope it stays that way."

"Will you open it now?" asked the redhead, referring to the letter.

"No," he said. "Later, but I don't need to open it to know that this plan of mine can't fail. For the sake of protecting the smiles and the welfare of students like Tom and Harry, failure is not an option."

…

As soon as Professor Sprout announced the end of the lesson, Harry quickly packed his bag, said, "I'll see you at dinner, bye," to his friends and raced to the castle, up the moving stairs to the Gryffindor Tower where he cooped himself up inside his apartment.

First, he opened the letter from Tom Fawley's parents and read it.

Dear Harry,

Our son, Tom, told us that the DADA Professor, who happens to be the Undersecretary for Minister Fudge, is using a blood quill in her detention on students and that he was unfortunately one of her victims as well, because he forgot a notebook for Defence once.

He also told us that you helped him by comforting him, carrying him to Professor Snape and escorting him to his Common Room once his hand was bandaged. I want you to know that you have our sincerest and deepest gratitude, because that boy means the world to us, just as Tom really appreciates what you have done for him and he already considers you his friend.

For the sake of our son's well-being – as well as the well-being of other innocent children –, my wife and I would like nothing more than to see that woman away from children. Unfortunately, ever since I left the wizarding world, I have lost the position, money and prestige I once had as a Pureblood so my hands are tied. As a muggle, my wife has even less influence in the wizarding world. Therefore, we turn to you, Mr Potter.

Now, what we ask of you might be too forward and not our place to ask, but we hear that you are quite the legend in the wizarding community for defeating a Dark Lord (forgive me, I've been out of the loop since meeting my wife and so I don't really follow the ins and outs of the community more than necessary). Considering this, would it be possible for you to use your name and fame to ensure that that woman never gets near a child in her life again and that everyone learns of her crime?

Although, if you ask me, she probably has plenty of dirt on her person aside from torturing minors. Call it Slytherin intuition or just going off the fact that most politicians and people working in places of power tend to bend the laws to suit their needs. Either way, I believe a thorough investigation into her personal history is in order.

Again, had I had the means, I would have done it myself, but instead my wife and I rely on you to do it in our stead. In return, we offer you our assistance – as meagre as it might be – by giving you access to anything muggle-related you might find useful in your endeavour, such as voice recording to record incriminating confessions, camera for taking incriminating pictures and videos, a printer to make physical copies of incriminating documents, or any other tool or device. You simply have to name it and we will make it happen.

Please, let us know your decision. My wife and I will be awaiting your owl with impatience.

Yours sincerely,

Robert and Vanessa Fawley

He folded the letter. It felt odd receiving gratitude for doing the right thing, which was helping somebody in need, but it was even stranger to be the one desperate and worried parents turned to for help when they should probably address the school staff or the school administration with their concerns instead.

He tore out a page from his notebook and began writing his reply. Of course, his answer was going to be a resounding yes, for he decided to take down Umbridge and Fudge long before reading their plea for help.

While his fame wasn't exactly working in his favour now due to all the lies spread about him by The Daily Prophet, he would not let this hinder him in leading a rebellion. If anything, he would take advantage of the smear campaign to work from the shadows, let others do the fieldwork while he held the strings in his hands and gave directives to his soldiers.

After he finished writing his reply and placed it into an envelope, he pulled out his phone and headphones, turned on some pumped-up, head-bobbing, scream-your-throat-sore motivational music, tore out another sheet of paper and began drawing a mind map with Umbridge and Fudge in the middle, with multiple branches growing out of their bubble.

At the top was the "forbidden" section, where Harry would include things he was not going to use under any circumstances during the war, such as ' no Unforgivables' and ' no killing'. There were such things as scruples and trying to preserve the innocence – or what was left of it – of the younger students and one's own morality … to some extent.

Then, right below it, came separate "crimes" sections for each offender – for Umbridge on the left and for Fudge on the right –, which he would be filling in as the investigation into the unsavoury side of Fudge and Umbridge went on, but for now he could include a handful of things he considered to be a criminal offence.

For example, for Umbridge, he put down the following bullet points:

Torture of minors

Use of blood quill

Endangerment of children

Non-consensual administration of Veritaserum on minors

Oppression, tyranny

Ordered the Dementors to attack me and possibly kill me (?)

For Fudge, he wrote the following crimes:

Incompetence and ineptitude

Paranoia

Enabling Umbridge's disciplinary methods

Stupidity

Bribery and corruption

Below the middle bubble came separate "action & procedure" sections. The first bullet point was the same for both and it said,

Investigation into the history of unsavoury practices, collection of evidence – Malfoy Sr. through Draco (!), Amelia Bones (?), Arthur Weasley (?)

Then, it branched out into ' destroy his public image and make the public demand his resignation by systematically sending evidence of his unlawful and questionable practices to ALL wizarding media outlets and making them public knowledge little by little ' for Fudge and a whole myriad of bullet points for Umbridge.

He would use the principal of eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth with her, and multiply it by the number of students she tortured, because that bitch deserved to suffer a fate worse than death physically and psychologically and Harry would use everything he had learnt and experienced in the past few months to destroy that woman.

…

He was so absorbed into his war plans that he almost missed dinner. He still caught Tom and his friends in the Great Hall, but they were already eating dessert by the time he arrived. Surprisingly, Voldemort wasn't there.

"Where's Felix?" he asked, after sitting down at the table.

Ron shrugged. "Beats me, he gulped down his dinner and left. Said he had something urgent to do. You didn't see him on your way here?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I haven't seen him." He piled the food onto his plate. "Anyway, how is the production of talismans coming along, Hermione? Do you think you'll be able to do it on your own?"

"I've been doing talismans for the past two hours continually and I've managed to produce twenty-four talismans, meaning that each talisman takes me five minutes to make, which includes enchanting it and turning it into a necklace," she explained.

"So, if you spend doing talismans for the next three hours, you can make the count go up to sixty, right?"

"Exactly."

Harry grimaced. While sixty talismans sounded a lot, the pace was still too slow. At this rate, they were only going to get to two hundred and forty. That left them fifty talismans short, since they wouldn't be giving one to Umbridge, Filch or Binns. He would see if Hagrid returned by the time his plan would be set into motion and if not, there will be no harm either. He already had a role for almost everyone crucial in mind and the rest will simply fill in the open places still left in his "food" and "party" platoons, because after getting rid of Umbridge, they were going to celebrate her departure with a party that was going to top the Yule Ball the previous year.

"You would have to work on talismans at least seven hours a day, Hermione, and that's too much," said Harry. "Look, let's say that you're in charge of producing thirty-six talismans a day and the twins will cover the remainder of talismans. I don't want you to overwork yourself or for you to put aside your school work since I know homework and studying mean a lot to you."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue and dispute his decision, but before a sound left her lips, Harry was already shutting down her protests. "And no arguing with me, Hermione," he said sternly, "this is an order from your Field Marshal and you are to follow the chain of command, is that clear?"

Her mouth snapped shut in an instant as disbelief dawned on her face. Up until now, she was the one in charge of planning and giving orders to him and Ron, now, it was the other way around … and she would have to get used to it.

"And you?" asked Neville. "How far along are you with your plans?"

He took a bite of his lamb steak. "Actually, I've managed to plan everything out already," he announced with a smirk.

His friends gaped at him.

"I already know how everything is going to go down, who's going to do the important bits and then at the meeting, after presenting my plan to the rest of the school, those who still don't have a role assigned are going to volunteer for one of the numerous PG-13 available spots. Now, don't ask me to share the details yet," he said quickly after seeing curiosity in their faces, "because this is neither the time nor the place for such delicate discussions and there's a lot to cover too. I promise to give you a preview on Friday afternoon in my apartment, but until then, I'll keep my mouth shut."

"But is there anything you can share that is not too delicate for public discussion?" insisted Fred and George.

"There's only one thing, actually, and it involves you two."

They perked up immediately. "Really? We're all ears."

Harry gave them a shrewd look. "How interested would you be in creating the world's hottest hot sauce?" he said with a vicious grin plastered on his lips.

Their lips split into matching grins. "Very interested."

"Then come up with it by 28 October. That's a little over a month's time for you to do it."

"More than enough."

…

Much to Harry's disappointment, he hadn't seen Voldemort for the rest of the evening – and not even the map could show him his location. Still, he looked forward to his sleep. He hoped for another meeting with Voldemort's horcrux inside him, where he would apologise for his sudden departure and spend the entire night making up for it.

His desire was heard, for as soon as he fell asleep, he found himself naked in the mental rendition of the Chamber of Secrets with a naked and smirking Voldemort awaiting him.

Smirking as well, he reached forward, wrapped his arms around Voldemort, and pulled him on top of him, then rolled them over, so the horcrux was under him and he was nestled between the man's thighs, their cocks touching.

"Hello, handsome," he greeted cheekily, stroking Voldemort's cheek with his right, while using his left for support. "Eager to see me, aren't you?"

The man kept smirking. "No more eager than you … Harry," he hissed lowly and Harry bit into his lower lip to stifle a groan.

"True," he agreed and leant forward until their noses were touching. He rubbed them together, while their breaths intermingled. Voldemort's eyes fluttered close as a shaky breath left his lips.

"I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly this morning," Harry whispered softly. "The alarm clock went off just when we were about to kiss, too."

"It couldn't be helped, I suppose," Voldemort shrugged. "Not that it stopped you from masturbating … again."

Harry chuckled, his lips gliding across Voldemort's cheeks and jaw, while his hands moved lower, caressing Voldemort's arms and sides. "I was hard. What did you expect me to do? I couldn't go to your counterpart, tear his clothes off and fuck him into the mattress, could I? Unless …" Pure, unbridled desire coursed through him at the idea that sprouted in his mind, "you would let me fuck you while I'm here."

Voldemort's cock twitched and goosebumps erupted on the man's flesh. A breathless "Harry" left his lips. The same desire that coursed through him reflected in those ruby red eyes, but there was also trepidation in there, holding the man back.

"I promise to keep my word and look after you," he went on, thinking that it was fear of pain that was making Voldemort anxious, "make sure you feel good, worshipped, cared for, cherished … loved."

As he was speaking in a low, husky voice, he was leaving behind a trail of feather-like kisses along Voldemort's jaw and neck, making Voldemort's heart beat faster and the man beneath him shudder. The man's eyes closed again letting him shower him with light kisses and gentle caresses as he spoke words of reassurance and love against his skin.

"I'll be as gentle or as rough as you want me to be," he continued, chipping away at Voldemort's apprehension, "hell, you can even be the one on top the first time if you want. I would love to see you ride me."

"Harry," he whimpered, gripping him, holding onto the last bits of his control. "Hormones are clouding your judgement, again," he rasped.

"If it's about you still thinking I'm only thinking with my dick in regards to you, I thought I made it clear last night that I accept all of you," Harry protested, frowning, looking into Voldemort's eyes.

"I know you do, but it's not about that."

"Then what is it?"

"You're only fifteen, Harry, and while I look seventy-four, I'm actually eighty-nine years old. We can't," he said with more clarity and determination. "Not until you're of age by muggle and wizard laws. I know that, in here, we are only physical manifestations of our souls and that laws of man and flesh don't necessarily apply here, but I can't let you go through with it."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He understood where Voldemort was coming from … kind of, and while it would be absolute torture not to make love to him for the next two years and ten months when he was right there within his reach, he was willing to respect his wish and wait. However …

"Is that really the only reason you don't want us to have sex yet or is there something else as well?"

Voldemort turned his face to the side and didn't meet his eyes. There was something else. "What is it?" he pressed gently.

"I need some time to get used to the idea of being in a relationship," he said, clearing his throat, still facing away. Even after showing him his crimes, opening up to him about his fear of dying, crying in front of him and holding onto him, yearning for his touch, he still found it difficult to speak of more tender emotions.

"As Trelawney so graciously told you," he continued stiffly, "I have zero experience in that department and I most certainly never planned to be in a relationship with anyone. Now I'm in a relationship with you and you made it clear you are going to be the one fucking me and that is something that requires plenty of mental preparation, because I have never imagined myself with a cock up my ass. You've also started thinking about having children with me and if there is a way for us to have a biological child, I'll probably be the one giving birth to them, since I'm going to bottom for you and that also requires plenty of mental preparation. Not to mention that me having children, biological or adopted, would be a terrible idea, because I don't think somebody as messed up as me can ever raise a good kid or even be a good parent."

A gentle smile spread across Harry's lips, as he understood the crux of Voldemort's dilemma. He was nervous and scared of what being in a relationship with him involved, even if he didn't say it aloud. He held his chin and made him face him.

"We can always spice it up a bit and have you fuck me occasionally," he said softly. "As for having children, we'll have them once you feel ready for them."

"Which translates to never, because I'll never feel ready to bring a child into this world, Harry."

"You won't have to raise the kid alone," he assured him, caressing his cheek, "I'll be there to help too and you wouldn't have to go through more than one pregnancy, because I'm willing to go through one pregnancy myself so … we'll have two kids at least, unless there are twins involved or even triplets."

Voldemort's eyes widened in panic, no doubt imagining himself carrying twins or triplets because with how masculine Harry had got in the past few months, there was no doubt he had enough testosterone to impregnate him with more than one baby at once.

Harry laughed good-naturedly. "There's at least a decade before that happens so … don't stress over it right now."

"Easy for you to say."

He chuckled again. "So …" he sighed, still smiling, "if we're not supposed to have sex until I'm eighteen, what are some of the things we can do in the meantime, because I don't think I can go without kissing or touching you at all for the next three years."

A laugh escaped Voldemort's lips. "Horny brat," he jested with a grin. "I suppose we can kiss and h-hug … maybe I'll let you touch my cock even," Harry's entire being filled with excitement at the prospect of giving him blowjobs and handjobs, maybe even rub their erections together, only for Voldemort's next words to crush his lewd fantasies, "… in a few years that is."

He let out a groan as his cock deflated completely and Voldemort was shaking with laughter. "Please, tell me you're joking," he pleaded.

Voldemort laughed harder. "No, I'm being serious."

"It's kind of hard to tell with you laughing," he mumbled.

"I laugh because I find your reaction to my words extremely amusing."

"You sadist," he accused weakly. "You want me to die from sexual frustration, is that it?"

"Not at all, Harry," he smiled.

Sighing in resignation, he settled next to Voldemort, lying on his back. A moment of silence passed between them. "So … we can kiss and hug at least," he said, looking at the high ceiling of the Chamber.

"Yes," returned Voldemort, "I think I'm alright with that."

Harry turned his face to Voldemort. "Can we hug now?" he asked, hopeful.

The man sighed and turned his face toward him. "Yes, Harry, we can."

Harry felt his lips spread into a wide grin. He sat up and waited for Voldemort to sit between his legs, his back pressed against his chest and his head rested against his shoulder, as he embraced him. He pressed a kiss to the man's temple.

"Can I ask you something?" began Harry tentatively, because they might as well converse while they could … and keep himself occupied with less dirty thoughts.

"You already have."

"Where was your counterpart this evening?"

"He wasn't in the Chamber of Secrets, no, he was in another secret place here in the castle that doesn't show up on your map of Hogwarts."

"And what place is that?"

"I'll let my counterpart tell you; after all, he plans to reveal it to you today after class so you can use it for your Hogwarts Army." He leant forward and looked at him. "Please act surprised, otherwise he might grow suspicious. He'll make it look like an accidental discovery when, in reality, he and I have known about that place for decades."

Harry's brow furrowed in thought. "And what was he doing there?"

Voldemort relaxed into his chest again. "Mostly trying to come up with an explanation for his convenient discovery, but also trying to figure out what's happening to him with you."

Harry tensed a bit. "Has he? Figured it out, I mean."

"No, he hasn't and that's what's frustrating him the most. He wants to ask you about it, but coming forth with such questions would compromise his disguise, so instead, he tried consulting books on the subject at the secret place, but without success."

Relief washed over him at the news. He really didn't want the man to learn about their connection just yet.

"You could try Occlumency," said Voldemort.

"What's that?"

"It's how you can block your thoughts and mind from other people," he explained.

Harry liked the sound of it very much. "Wicked!" he exclaimed eagerly. "And how do I do it?"

"There's no one way of doing it, Harry. I can guide you through my method, but there's no guarantee that it will work for you, or …" he trailed off.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure Occlumency is even possible for you because of me. Remember, I am what connects you to Voldemort. It is because of me that your thoughts and emotions can even bleed through to him."

"Can't you also be the one to block the flow of feelings and thoughts?" wondered Harry. "Just like how you are the reason I can even understand and speak parseltongue, you can also create a mental barrier for me, can't you?"

"When it comes to people other than Voldemort," he pointed out, "but I don't think I can completely block him from seeing into your mind or from feeling whenever you go through intense emotions, just like I can't separate myself from being a part of you."

"Fuck," he sighed. "So I'm stuck with your counterpart seeing my dreams and knowing when I cry, when I feel angry or … when I'm going through an orgasm."

"I'm afraid so, but don't worry, he can't see or hear us right now."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies, I suppose," he deadpanned. "Anyway, let's change the subject. What do you think of my war strategy for Fudge and Umbridge? Brilliant, isn't it?" he asked excitedly.

Voldemort laughed heartily. "I like it. Not something I would do myself, especially that last bit, but it's quite ingenious if I do say so myself, especially since you've sworn off the Unforgivables and murder in general."

Harry beamed, feeling his chest inflate with joy like a balloon.

"When you have kids as young as eleven witnessing Umbridge's suffering, one has to keep it as PG-13 as possible, which means coming up with creative ways of torturing somebody without killing them in the process. The only point I'm still uncertain about and I would like some advice on is Draco." He grimaced. "I still don't know how to approach him, what to say to him to get through to him, without insulting him or downright threatening him."

Voldemort leant forward and faced him. "Well … what do we know about Draco?" he prompted, sitting across him with crossed legs and his arms resting on his knees.

"We know that he's rich – or rather his father is rich –, a Pureblood, which makes him think he's automatically better than everyone else, he's arrogant, proud, spoilt, salty, a bully, a bigot, a coward," Harry enumerated, "and that he lacks any sort of empathy or independence. He also relies on his father and his influence and wealth to solve all his problems and likes to make fun of people who have been less fortunate than him, because he has always had too much of everything and he doesn't know how to appreciate what he has."

He growled, gritting his teeth.

"I know it's not okay to wish misfortune on anybody," he said, "but I swear, Voldemort, I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that Draco and his buddies would go without their parents, house-elves, magic, money, proper food, clothes and bed for a week and see how they fare. I bet you they wouldn't last even a day. Maybe then they'll think twice before insulting somebody like Ron and his family."

Voldemort nodded. "Whatever you are going to tell him tomorrow, it has to be harsh and it has to target his family and their reputation, but don't insult him or directly threaten him, no matter how tempted you might be to do it. It might backfire," he said gravely, his arms crossed across his chest.

"I know," groaned Harry.

"You might find it useful to know that his father has been demoted as a Death Eater for his blunder with the Diary by my counterpart. Draco witnessed Voldemort torturing Lucius and humiliating him."

Harry's face brightened and split into a vicious grin as an idea occurred to him. "So I can use this to manipulate him into doing what I want him to do," he said. "Present it like the perfect opportunity for his father to regain his honour but also give him an opportunity to prove himself, because there's no way Draco doesn't want to get praised by others and be in the spotlight. He's a show-off after all, likes to flaunt his wealth and his name in other people's faces."

"I hope you realise that, once Fudge is removed, there will be a power vacuum at the top," reminded him Voldemort with a grim expression. "And someone will have to fill that vacuum sooner rather than later if you wish to avoid a state of anarchy. As it happens, you hold the power to choose who will sit at the top, whether Lucius, Amelia or Arthur. If you choose Lucius, I hope you realise you are giving my counterpart access to the Ministry itself. He's already counting on you to remove Fudge for him and throw the Ministry into disarray. If you enable Lucius to climb to the title of Minister of Magic, you're placing a prejudiced Death Eater at the top."

Harry's face darkened. "I know. However, what other choice do I have? Amelia Bones is too righteous to do dirty work or personal favours and I would rather have Ron's father keep Lucius in check as his Undersecretary than to have him as the Minister and risk making him your counterpart's target. Besides, Lucius is already close to Fudge and probably already has some dirt on him, so it won't be too difficult for him to dig deeper for his own self-interest. Also, I can call in favours later, I would just need to remind Draco and Lucius who they have to thank for their good fortune and that I can take it away just as easily should they forget themselves and go off on their own with their pureblood nonsense. Their allegiance to Voldemort be damned," he concluded with a dangerous grin.

Voldemort mirrored his expression. "Do you have any idea how attractive you look when you smile like that?" he said, lust burning in his ruby red eyes.

He pulled him into his lap. One of his hands grabbed Voldemort's waist, while the other grabbed him by the nape. "I didn't," he whispered seductively an inch away from the man's lips, "but now I do."

Voldemort leant forward and closed the gap.

…

When Harry's alarm clock went off again that Wednesday morning, instead of feeling frustrated and irritated, he woke up grinning like an idiot, touching his lips like a lovesick idiot.

Chapter End Notes

And they kissed (even though it was fade-to-black). I promise to describe the kissing in more detail in future installments, but this is a good point to take a break, where there is no major cliffhangers to leave you hanging.

Now, those who are curious to learn the songs that Harry listened to during his planning phase, here is the list that I imagine him listening to to get himself in the mood:
Kevin Rudolf - Let It Rock ft. Lil Wayne
Simon Curtis - Superhero
Macklemore & Ryan Lewis - CAN'T HOLD US feat. Ray Dalton
Fall Out Boy - Centuries and Immortals
Survivor - Eye of the Tiger
Eminem - Not Afraid
Skillet - Hero and Sick of It
Busta Rhymes - Break Ya Neck
DMX - X Gon' Give It To Ya
Three Days Grace - Riot
Fade - One Reason
Kwabs - Walk

Room of Requirement

Chapter Summary

Voldemort has a minor crisis and shows Harry the Room of Requirement. Harry, on the other hand, openly flirts with Voldemort, does a card reading for him and tells him his plan to get rid of Umbridge.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Sirius," spoke Ingrid suddenly as she was cutting the vegetables for lunch. Sirius was visiting them and was helping her.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

The way she formed that question made Sirius stop and glance at the woman with a confused frown marring his brow. "Of course. Anything."

He had already told them about his unlawful and unjust twelve-year-long imprisonment, his escape from prison, his two-year-long hiding, his lawful attempt to clear his name and regain his freedom and there was nothing but understanding and compassion for him as well as extreme sadness and indignation for having spent his youth in a prison, wrongfully accused.

"Even if you get acquitted," Ingrid had said, "there's no compensation that will return you those twelve years of life. Not only were your name and reputation tarnished and destroyed, but you were also labelled a traitor and a murderer. You could have spent the last twelve years raising your godson, you could have met someone to fall in love with, marry and have children with, but instead, you were paying for somebody else's crimes."

Ingrid was also aware of his attempts to woo Harry's Potions teacher Severus Snape and even tried to advise him on the subject. She had suggested weekly courting gifts, after all. He doubted they had any effect, but as long as it gave him an excuse to see Severus, he would go with anything.

Now he couldn't even do that because of that Umbridge woman.

"What do you think of Felix and Harry?"

The question confused him further. "What do you mean?"

"Call it mother's intuition, but … I get a feeling that there's more between them than simple friendship."

Sirius stood rooted to the spot. "You mean to say that … they are … lovers? Have they told you anything? Because Harry hasn't told me anything about going out with Felix."

Not that he minded his godson having a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend; it simply caught him completely off guard. Mostly because he never imagined or saw his pup, his Prongslet, as a sexual creature. Apparently, he was … just as he was when it came to Snape.

Speaking of Snape … it surprised him to receive a floo call from him on Monday evening. He thought the man might have finally decided to accept his invitation, when Severus dropped a bombshell on him: Harry had been in detention with Umbridge, writing lines with a blood quill.

A detail his dear godson forgot to mention when he told him to stay away from Hogwarts until Hallowe'en for his own safety.

Bollocks!

His first instinct upon hearing the news was to check on Harry and ask him how he was feeling. After making sure he was not permanently scarred, he would have scolded him so hard he would never forget it for as long as he lived.

While he was tempted to give Harry an earful in Molly Weasley's style, he refrained from contacting him and decided to sleep on the news. Let his head cool down a bit before confronting his godson about it.

He tried speaking to him yesterday, but no matter how many times he called, he just couldn't get a hold of Harry.

' Maybe he's busy,' he told himself. ' If he's taking care of the wound and making sure to put murtlap and dittany compress on the injured spot then I suppose it's alright. I can wait a few days before demanding an explanation.'

Ingrid's giggle brought him back to the present. "Oh no, neither Felix nor Harry mentioned anything, but I just have a feeling they both harbour feelings for each other. Feelings that go beyond that of what one usually feels for one's friends," she said, making a playful face.

"But if they haven't said anything to either of us, how can you tell?" he wondered.

"Ah," she sighed knowingly, "love is in the little things, Sirius. The way they talk about each other, the way they act around and towards each other, the way they look at each other, the flitting touches. Don't tell me you haven't noticed any of that?"

He shrugged. "Can't say I have," he said, only for him to recall Harry hugging and kissing Felix's cheek and being so involved in making sure the boy was okay, even going as far as to arrange a two-way mirror communication between Felix and his parents.

"Now that I think about it … I suppose there have been things that could suggest some level of … feelings beyond friendship on Harry's side, but … I can't say the same for Felix. Are you sure your son feels the same way?"

"Oh most definitely," she said with effusion. "I know my Felix, he's a shy, reserved boy, never had a crush in his life, so I would know when he finally had one. Now," she added seriously, "I doubt they are aware of their own feelings for one another, much less of the fact that the feelings are mutual, and if they are … then, for some unfathomable reason, they still haven't made it official."

"Should we mention it to them?" wondered Sirius.

"Oh, no. Not a word to either of them. We should let things run their course; let the boys go at their own pace. We don't want them to rush into something they aren't sure of either. The only time I will intervene and meddle in their relationship is when their happiness is at risk, other than that … I'll leave them be."

"And aren't you worried about their union?"

"Why should I?"

"For one, they are both males," he said, "and that means that they can't have babies as is."

The woman looked at him funnily and blinked. "I know … however, I figured that since they are both smart wizards and they know magic, that somehow, they'll figure out how to make a man pregnant, so I don't really see a problem with them not having the necessary equipment for baby delivery at the moment." She sighed. "However, I do wish they wouldn't postpone the grandchildren for too long, because Erik and I don't have much time on this planet and we'd both like to see our son married with a good spouse and with a pair of children at the very least."

"So … you aren't bothered?"

"Not at all," she smiled brightly.

"What about your husband Erik?"

She scrunched up her face in thought. "He might need some time to wrap his head around two men conceiving a baby, but once he gets over that mental hurdle he'll be completely on board as well. I think the fact that he likes Harry will help him accept him as Felix's partner in the first place," she announced happily and confidently.

"Now, enough about Felix and Harry. Why don't you tell me how your relationship with Severus is progressing and what about your court case?"

…

Voldemort woke up feeling giddy with happiness and with Harry's name on his lips. He must have dreamt something pleasant, but his mind was too hazy to remember anything more than a tingling sensation on his lips and a sensation of euphoria coursing through his veins.

The effects of the dream lasted well into the day and it was hard for him to keep a straight face when the mere sight of Harry made him excited and he found himself more susceptible to the brat's raspy morning voice and presence. Honestly, it was as if he had suddenly developed an internal alarm that went off whenever Harry was in the same room as him, and not necessarily in his field of vision mind you.

It confused him. It frightened him. Why was he so aware of Harry? Sure, he often fantasised about him, at random intervals most of the time, and he desired him beyond propriety and appropriateness, but that didn't account for his ability to feel his emotions, see his nightmares, and now for him to know when the brat was in the same room as him the moment he was through the door.

He tried getting his answers in the Room of Requirement, but he hadn't come up with much – actually, he hadn't come up with anything.

' Maybe the cards will be able to tell me something,' he thought sardonically, remembering his card reading session with Harry for the boy's extra Divination homework.

On second thought, Merlin knew what the cards would tell the boy about him. For all he knew, his identity as Voldemort could be revealed. The blood froze in his veins. What if the cards exposed him to Harry, or worse … to Trelawney and consequently to Dumbledore? He couldn't allow that to pass.

He cursed himself for not considering that possibility before he agreed to go along with Harry's request. Why did he go along with it in the first place? What madness compelled him to agree to anything to do with divination?

Then, he remembered. The look the boy gave him made him agree to it even though he knew it was a horrible idea.

Curse him!

Was it still possible for him to get out of the predicament? Probably not. Not without letting Harry down.

As Defence neared its end, Voldemort grew more nervous and agitated by the minute. He was ready to bolt out of the classroom with the excuse of having to use the toilet before Harry could remind him of their card reading session. As soon as the bell rang, he was off, grabbing his school bag, muttering 'toilet' to Harry and racing out before Harry could decide to accompany him.

Once he was locked inside one of the cubicles in the second-floor girls' bathroom, breathing heavily, and with the heart thumping wildly in his chest and temples, he relaxed against the door of the cubicle and did his best to compose himself.

He remained there for a while; he wasn't sure how long, lost in thought, thinking he had managed to avoid a calamity, when...

"Felix?"

Voldemort almost leapt out of his skin. How in the world was Harry able to find him out of all the bathrooms at Hogwarts? He couldn't have gone to every other boys' and girls' bathroom save for this one. Did the boy also develop a radar when it came to him? Because he couldn't wrap his mind around Harry finding him in less than fifteen minutes, inside as big of a castle as Hogwarts was.

"Are you okay?" continued Harry. "It's been fifteen minutes already and you still haven't come out of this bathroom. Honestly. I would have thought you would go to the one on the first floor and to the one for boys, not girls."

What should he say? How should he answer without making it look like he was avoiding Harry?

He cleared his throat. "How did you find me?"

"Gut feeling," said Harry. He had said something similar when he found him in the library. "So … is something the matter?"

"Nothing much," he tried for nonchalance. "Just trying to … shit."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Unless you've invented some new shitting technique where you stand with your trousers and underwear still on and your back to the door and your shit not emitting any bad odour, I doubt that very much," deadpanned Harry and he cursed himself for forgetting that he could see the bottom portion of his legs through the bottom opening.

He closed his eyes.

"What's the matter, Felix? Are you going through one of the attacks, is that it? I can help you."

He didn't answer. His heart was hammering again in his chest and head. He felt light-headed.

"I'll give you five more minutes ... when they are up, I'm going to climb over the wall of the neighbouring cubicle and see what your problem is myself," the boy threatened and Voldemort could really see Harry following through with his threat.

And being locked inside a small toilet cubicle with Harry, the object of his desires and fantasies, couldn't possibly be good for his overall health, could it?

In a flash, he opened the cubicle and came out of it, straight into Harry, who was waiting for him with crossed arms and a frown between his brows.

"Glad to see that worked," he commented dryly. "Now, will you tell me what had you running like that from Defence or do I have to coax that out of you as well with some Veritaserum?"

Voldemort's eyes widened at yet another threat. Veritaserum was even worse than being locked inside a cubicle with Harry. He shuddered just thinking being forced to spill all his deepest and darkest secrets about Harry, about himself … to Harry no less.

He swallowed thickly, searching for words. "I thought you wouldn't pry into my affairs," he said finally, accusatorily. "You said so yourself when you helped me get through one of the … episodes."

Harry's frown dissipated into shock and then worry. "I did and I intend to keep my word. So … it was another attack?"

"A small one, easily controllable," he said curtly.

"Do you need anything?" pressed Harry.

"A moment of peace and quiet," he said, which apparently translated in Harry's mind to taking him to his apartment, instead of just leaving him be.

"That won't be necessary," he said hurriedly. "I had another place in mind. In fact, I was going to show it to you after class, but I went through a crisis."

"Really?" the boy's face lit up like a candle. "What sort of place is it?"

"A secret place and big enough for the entire school to fit into it," he returned enigmatically, grinning ever so slightly.

"You have found a place for my meetings?"

He nodded.

"Wicked!" Harry exclaimed. "Where is it?"

"On the seventh floor, follow me."

"Is that where you were yesterday evening?" Harry inquired as they were taking one of the shortcuts to the seventh-floor.

"Yes."

"And how did you find it?"

He stiffened. "By accident," he retorted. "I was on the seventh floor, trying to remember which way the moving staircase was and I ended up walking three times in front of a wall, where a door appeared. I opened it and found myself standing in front of the moving staircase."

Harry's eyes widened. "A second moving staircase?"

"I knew something was off, I left the room and when I closed the door it disappeared before my eyes."

Harry listened to him with rapt attention, with awe in his face. Good, he believed his narration. They were already past the fourth floor.

"What happened then?"

"I tried walking before the wall again wishing for the door to appear and it did, but on the other side was nothing but solid wall. I closed the door again, let it disappear and the third time I did it, I had the Great Hall in my mind and as the door appeared for the third time and I wrenched it open, I was staring at an exact replica of the Great Hall."

"Felix," Harry breathed, completely stunned, "you don't mean to say that you've just come across a room that changes depending on what you are thinking of or wishing for, do you?"

He smirked. "That's exactly what I'm saying, Harry," he purred, just as they arrived at the seventh floor and he guided Harry to the wall leading to the Room of Requirement.

"This is it," he announced. Harry stared up at the solid marble wall devoid of any door. "Try it," he prompted him. "Try walking in front of it three times while wishing for something."

Harry looked at him, then back at the wall and finally began walking back and forth with closed eyes and scrunched up face. On his third pass, the door appeared. Harry stared at it in shock. "Go on," he encouraged him. "Open it."

Harry reached for the door handle and pulled the door open. Before them stood a training arena, featuring a shooting range with cardboard cutouts of Fudge and Umbridge for targets on the left, a wall of airguns and stacks of BB pellets and water balloons on the right, with an obstacle course in the middle. At the far end, there was a podium and a stand full of military uniforms.

They entered and let the door close behind them. "A military training arena," he deadpanned, "seriously, Harry?"

"What?" the boy snapped defensively. "I was curious to see if I could actually fit it all in. I bet an actual military training arena contains more things than just a shooting range and an obstacle course. Come on; let's get into our respective uniforms."

Harry hurried to the other side of the room; he followed him.

"Here," he said when he reached him, shoving one of the uniforms at him, hat and boots included. "I think this one is the General's uniform."

He stared at the boy. "I'm a General?"

"Sure you are," Harry beamed, clapping his shoulder energetically. "You're my second-in-command, General Hansson, and I'm Field Marshal Potter."

"And the others?"

"I still have to think of their exact designations," grimaced Harry, scratching his chin, "because it's hard trying to tie in official descriptions with the roles the people will have in this war, but I reckon that whoever is going to command the "food" platoons will carry the title of Lieutenant or Captain."

His eyebrows arched. "Food platoons?"

The boy smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "You'll find out what I mean by it when I tell you about the war strategy I came up with yesterday."

"You already have everything planned out?" He looked at him in shock.

A smug grin spread across Harry's face. "Aha."

"That quick?"

"It wasn't that difficult to get in the mood," snorted Harry, "I reckon the music I listened to helped a lot too, but once I was in the zone, ideas just kept popping up in my brain until they formed themselves into an actual movie."

He stared at Harry. "Show me the plans," he demanded, forgetting himself for a bit in his eagerness to see what Harry had come up with, because Felix didn't demand, he asked nicely. Politely.

Harry shook his head and clicked his tongue. "First, we'll change into the military uniforms the room has so graciously provided. After that, we'll do the card reading before I forget all about it and only then, I'll tell you about my plans, while also giving the shooting range and the obstacle course a go."

He groaned and made a face. "Can we not do the card reading?" he blurted out, before he could stop himself. "Like at all. I've changed my mind about it. I don't want you to read my future. I don't even know why I consented to it in the first place. Just ask Ron or Neville to help you with your homework instead. I don't want you passing on whatever it is the cards will say about me to Trelawney, who is no doubt going to come to the correct interpretation, and then she'll know more about me than I know myself and …"

"She probably already knows more about you than anyone else, even your mother," interjected Harry casually, "she just hasn't done a reading on you yet."

"Exactly," he gritted out frustrated. "She hasn't read my cards yet, because she had no reason to and if you pass on the spread you'll pull up for me, she'll know it's me."

"Breathe, Felix," Harry said to calm him, when he saw that he was getting agitated. "The reading will be extremely simple and harmless. We'll only look at your love life, nothing else."

"Are you bloody mad?" he croaked beside himself. If Harry saw that he was harbouring feelings for him, he didn't even want to think about all the mayhem such knowledge would cause. "That's fucking private, not something you look into for a fucking homework you will share with a bloody seer!"

"Fine, we'll look at your health and your parent's health instead, sheesh, no need to lose your shit over a tarot card spread," Harry relented, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Now change into your uniform, I'll change into mine."

With that, he began taking off his clothes … right there, in front of him. Again.

Voldemort stared at the sight and soaked it all in greedily. Again. Seriously, he hadn't even blinked once the entire time, because he didn't want to miss a thing.

It was almost a pity seeing him put on the military uniform. Almost. Because when he stood before him, dressed as Field Marshal, it was almost as arousing as seeing him naked.

Correction, almost naked.

"Well," he said sternly, "what are you waiting for, General Hansson? Change clothes, or …" Harry's eyes flashed, as a teasing smirk appeared on his lips. He stepped towards him. "Do you perhaps require assistance with such simple a task?"

His voice dropped to a husky whisper, their faces and bodies only inches away, but he could still feel Harry's hot breath glide across his skin and he could still feel Harry's body heat through the layers of clothing separating them.

Just as he could feel his dick twitch and stir in his pants.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep an aloof expression. "I am perfectly capable of changing clothes, Field Marshal Potter."

"Then, why haven't you started undressing yet?" Harry asked, grinning and eyeing him as if he was some sort of Honeydukes candy. "Why haven't you put on the uniform yet? Are you purposefully ignoring a command issued by your superior?"

He closed the gap between them, until they were touching.

"Or do you perhaps want me to take the clothes you're wearing off for you instead?"

Voldemort's breath hitched and his heart skipped a beat, or two, at Harry's indecent proposition.

"I wouldn't mind doing it, you know," Harry continued, his voice low and rich, his lips ghosting over his, almost touching, sending waves of heat and arousal through him. Not to mention the boy's scent … it was warm, manly and intoxicating, numbing his ability to think rationally. "The only thing I'm not sure about is whether I should tear your school uniform off or if I should disrobe you layer by layer, until you are in your underwear before me."

The image of Harry ripping his clothes flashed in his mind and he almost moaned at the thought.

Oh, Merlin. Oh, Salazar.

He suppressed a shiver and the urge to grab Harry by the face and kiss him passionately, violently, until the scorching flames of his desire turned to embers. Otherwise, he would have probably ended up ripping Harry's clothes off too, until he was finally able to touch that sinful skin, those gorgeous muscles, and grind himself against that irresistible manhood trapped in those skin-tight boxers.

He didn't know how, but he was able to form a coherent sentence and not sound like he was losing his mind in the process. "As tempting as it sounds," he drawled, "I believe undressing me would be very inappropriate of you, Field Marshal Potter. A massive invasion of privacy and personal space."

Harry chuckled deeply and it made his suffering all the worse. "True, but you might leave me no choice, if you don't change into your uniform in the next two minutes."

Not wanting to tempt fate, he clutched the uniform tighter and slipped past Harry behind the uniform stand to change. All the while, Harry's warm and bright laugh accompanied him.

"While you're changing, I'm going to prepare the tarot cards to see what future holds for your health," he spoke lightly, as if he hadn't just flirted with him. Because that's what Harry did, didn't he? He flirted with him and if he flirted that meant … that he was attracted to him too.

…

Voldemort never thought that he would ever find himself dressed in a muggle military uniform. Yet, here he was, dressed as a Muggle General, bearing all the corresponding insignia.

"Damn, you look good in a military uniform," praised Harry when he saw him. "You should wear it more often … along with other kinds of uniforms." He waggled his eyebrows at him as a playful smirk rested on his lips.

"I could say the same to you," he returned as nonchalantly as possible, because the idea of Harry wearing a police uniform, a doctor uniform or a firefighter uniform made him all sorts of excited. He joined him on the podium, where Harry was shuffling the tarot deck. His notebook was lying open next to him, his tarot dictionary and a pen as well.

"Ready?"

With a churning feeling in his stomach, he let out a heavy sigh. "As I'll ever be."

"That's the spirit!" the boy cried boisterously. He groaned. "Let's start with your parents' health first." He pulled seven cards, wrote the order, the names and the composition into his notebook then opened the dictionary and began looking up the meanings.

Voldemort held his breath.

He whistled. "Damn, your parents appear to have a very healthy year ahead of them, I must say. Like, honestly. Aside from some old injuries, they are healthy right now and they will be as fit as a fiddle in months to come, according to the cards I have just pulled. Not a single cold appears to be on the horizon for them and their minds seem balanced as well. I've never seen a healthier pair of old people in my life, and I've seen my fair share of old people during my job as a waiter at the animal café."

Relief washed over him at Harry's words.

"Now," said Harry gravely, "anything can change, but as things stand right now, there's nothing life threatening awaiting them."

He collected the cards and started shuffling the deck again. Once he was satisfied and he had called enough energy for the reading, he began pulling up cards for him as well.

The first thing he noticed about his spread was that almost all the cards were reversed. The second thing he noticed was that, at some point, Harry had pulled up Death in reversal as well.

Blood froze in his veins. Great, just what he needed: Harry predicting his own death to him. The irony!

Harry, on the other hand, stared incredulously at the cards he had pulled for him. "My God, Felix," he breathed, "why is almost every card in your spread in reverse? The Six of Swords, the Nine of Swords, the Ace of Swords, the Five of Wands, the Ace of Wands, the Eight of Cups, The Seven of Cups, even two Major Arcana cards Temperance and Death. The only card that's upright is the Tower, which is a bad Major Arcana card. Oh, and the Hermit – another Major Arcana."

Having noticed his pale and horrified expression at the sight of the Death card, he quickly added, "And before you go thinking that you're going to die, let me tell you that you are not."

"You don't know that," he snapped impatiently, cold sweat gathering on his forehead. "You're not a seer."

"I don't have to be to know that the card doesn't represent actual death. Still, if you don't believe me, Trelawney will tell you the same once I take this spread up to her," he said jotting down the order of cards, the names and their composition.

After that, he spent another five minutes consulting the tarot dictionary, trying to make sense of the cards before him. He frowned.

"Where to even start?" he sighed, muttering to himself and scratching his head. "This is literal chaos. Like, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with your physical health in the future, expect for one major injury happening to you, if I can read the Tower and the Nine of Swords as a sudden disastrous event or trauma happening to you in terms of your physical health. However, I don't have any clue when that is going to happen nor what that sudden, catastrophic event or physical trauma is going to be. What confuses and worries me greatly is your mental health."

"Are you sure you're not foreseeing my death?" He still couldn't get past the fact that the Death card didn't represent his actual death.

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes. "Oh my God, Felix, yes, I'm sure I'm not predicting your death. There might not be any resolution in sight yet for your situation, physical and mental, but I'm 1000% positive the Death card isn't foretelling your demise," he snapped. "It signifies – together with the upright Tower – that you will go through a series of life-altering experiences and changes that will shake your very core, the very foundations of your being, but since it's reversed it means that you are resistant to change. The Six of Swords reversed also corroborates your resistance to transition. Mostly out of fear – as signified by the Eight of Cups."

He tapped the card.

"What the reversed Death card is trying to tell you is that you should embrace change and that … in a sense, you will have to kill or leave a part of yourself behind so that a new you can emerge. Think of it as snakes shedding their skin."

Some of the tension left him, but hearing Harry say that he should kill, metaphorically speaking of course, a part of himself so he could be reborn, still sent chills of dread down his spine.

"The imbalance is confusing me," Harry groaned, tapping the Temperance card in reverse and scowling at the other cards – the Seven of Cups, the Ace of Wands, the Five of Wands, the Ace of Swords, the Nine of Swords, and the Six of Swords. "I mean, it must pertain to your mind, but I am not sure whether the imbalance stems from your past, present or future, or if it's all three. There is also lack of purpose and direction, confusion, trauma, unresolved mental and emotional issues, chaos, inner conflict."

He consulted his dictionary again.

"The Hermit upright signifies soul-searching so I suppose you will be doing a lot of inner contemplation, trying to get to the truth about yourself, hidden behind all sorts of fears and doubts. Like I've said, your current spread doesn't really offer much insight on the resolution, beyond the fact that you are going to experience a period of intense change and that you are reluctant and afraid to let go of your past, of your beliefs, of your convictions, because you don't know what the change will bring. However, the number of Major Arcana cards in your spread does signify that whatever awaits you in the future will have permanent or at least long-lasting effects on your mental and physical health. I'll see what Trelawney has to say."

Voldemort gaped at Harry, gobsmacked. He didn't know which was worse: Harry and Trelawney learning about his abysmal mental state or whatever would have come up in his love reading. Now he wished he had suggested a career or a finance reading for himself instead.

He cleared his throat. "Can't you just show her the card spread of my parents?"

"No," Harry said resolutely and he felt like hyperventilating again. "Don't you want to know how to improve your mental health? What if whatever illness or injury that will happen to your body is a direct consequence of your internal turmoil?" Desperation and concern shone in Harry's eyes. "Remember what the Ancient Greeks said: A healthy spirit in a healthy body. If you can change the outcome through free will and self-awareness – or at least mitigate the consequences –, why wouldn't you want a professional to look at your cards and give you advice?"

The boy sounded exasperated.

"And before you say it's nothing but a load of rubbish, there are in fact forces outside our control and comprehension that play a role in our everyday lives, and I'm not necessarily referring to magic," said Harry sternly.

He could see where Harry was coming from, because he, too, didn't want to end up reliving his days as a wraith or something far worse than that. However, his need for privacy, his urge to hide whatever it was that was going on inside him and keep any fears, doubts and other weaknesses to himself was just as strong if not stronger than any sort of help he could get by consulting Trelawney.

He had to remind himself that he was posing as Felix and that Felix, while suffering from panic attacks – like Voldemort and Tom Riddle –, didn't have a reason to oppose divination and Trelawney so strongly.

Taking a deep, grounding breath, he reluctantly agreed to Harry showing his health spread to Trelawney and asking for advice in his stead. As long as he didn't have to interact with that accursed woman, it was fine, he supposed.

"Fine, see what Trelawney has to say about my mental health. Now can you, please, show me your war plans?" he said sharply.

"All right," grunted Harry, putting away his tarot deck, dictionary and notes. In their stead, he pulled out another paper and handed it to him. "Here they are," he said.

He eagerly read the mind map. What especially caught his eye was Harry considering stupidity a crime in regards to Fudge, the question mark besides dementors attacking Harry under Umbridge's "crimes" section and the "action & procedure" section for Umbridge that said:

Veritaserum interrogation – Snape will provide the potion

Blood Quill – Confession Letter (two copies) – we need to make a replica of Umbridge's blood quill

Blood-Replenishing Potion – in case we might need it to keep Umbridge alive and conscious

Lack of co-operation – use stun gun (instead of the Cruciatus – similar effects) – muggle police officer parent

World's Hottest Hot sauce – for extra torture and pain – developed by Fred and George

Magical Contract – Ron's father (?), Gringotts' goblins (?)

"food" platoons: "egg" platoon, "honey" platoon, "breadcrumb" platoon, "flour" platoon – reserved for younger students

He frowned. "Care to explain the "action & procedure" section for Umbridge?" he asked, but when he looked up to look at Harry, he wasn't there. He looked around and he saw him at the start of the military obstacle course in a military T-shirt.

He got up, joined him and repeated the question.

"With pleasure," smiled Harry as he jumped over the log, pulled himself up and over the high metal bar. "So … this is how I see everything playing out in my head," he started. He vaulted over another low log and swung across the monkey bars. "A group of Slytherins – like Goyle, Crabbe, Mulciber, Macnair and Avery – is going to burst into Umbridge's office and incapacitate her."

From the monkey bars, he transitioned onto a log where he had to cross it without falling.

"They are going to bring her to the Great Hall, where I will begin a public interrogation into her crimes, without Veritaserum at first, while having all the evidence at hand in hard and soft copies – like a hard drive or an USB key. Draco's father Lucius will procure the evidence while Tom's father, Robert Fawley, is going to provide us with the muggle technology to store all those incriminating documents on a computer as well."

He vaulted over another log and then came the high wall. Harry rushed into it, jumped, caught the ledge and pulled himself up and over it.

"Now," he grunted slightly out of breath, "… before we introduce Veritaserum into the interrogation, we are going to use other means of interrogation like the spiciest hot sauce in existence, produced by Fred and George."

Another low log, followed by four high ones. Harry climbed over them.

"I got that idea from when we were on the train," he continued, "dying from number one and number two hottest hot peppers in the world in jelly bean form, only that we'll not just put the sauce in her mouth but also in her eyes and nose. I really want her to feel the pain I felt and so much worse."

He was at the final obstacle – a fifteen-foot-high rope climb.

"Another item that I plan to use for interrogation is a stun gun, provided by a muggleborn who has Muggle Studies and has a police officer for a parent. Since I have sworn off Unforgivables, I figured that a stun gun is the next best thing for the Cruciatus. I got that idea from when Voldemort tortured me in the graveyard. It felt like being shocked by electricity. Extremely unpleasant."

Extremely unpleasant? He reckoned that it was a lot worse than just extremely unpleasant. It wasn't for nothing that everyone who he had cast the curse at screamed as if they were being skinned alive, contorted and twitched long after the curse had been lifted.

"Why such a specific combination?" he asked instead, curious to learn why the muggleborn needed to have Muggle Studies included.

"Because," Harry grunted, almost to the top, "no responsible police officer would just send a fucking stun gun to their child to school; unless they told them they needed it for a school project that dealt with electricity or their profession and the only subject that remotely deals with anything muggle at this school is Muggle Studies."

That made sense. He said as much to Harry, who had climbed down and joined him, panting softly with some perspiration collecting on his forehead and upper lip.

"Of course it does," he retorted, wiping the sweat with the collar of his T-shirt, making the fabric expose his hipbone and his toned stomach. A sight that didn't escape Voldemort's sharp and greedy red eyes. "Only after having a go at Umbridge with the hot sauce and the stun gun, then we're going to use Veritaserum and make her confess everything for the camera. I got that idea from Umbridge forcing Veritaserum on students and forcing confessions out of them. Fuck, I'm thirsty."

A bottle of water appeared in Harry's hands. He looked at it with an open mouth. "This room is no joke," he breathed impressed, "good job on finding it." He uncapped the bottle and began gulping down the water inside it. He left half of it, gave him his glasses and T-shirt for safekeeping, and poured the remaining water all over himself.

Voldemort watched enraptured as the water slid down Harry's hair, onto his face, down his neck, chest and abs, until getting lost in his trousers' waistband. His mouth suddenly went dry. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips.

"Now, we'll also make sure she leaves a written confession of all her crimes, written in her own blood using a blood quill, for which I'll have one of the Slytherins in charge of procuring since I doubt we'll be able to steal one from her office without her noticing," Harry went on gleefully. "I hardly need to tell you where I got the inspiration for that one." He flashed him a feral grin and his eyes glinted wickedly.

"Why two copies?"

"One will be hers to post to a newspaper agency and the other will be in my hands should she not have the courage to send the confession in herself as stipulated by the contract clause that we'll make her sign with a blood quill as well."

"A contract?"

"Yes, a legally and magically binding contract, where our dear Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge swears to resign her position, make a public statement of all her wrongdoings and present herself at court pleading guilty for all accusations against her. Failure to do any of that will result in her death. Got that idea from when I signed a similar contract with Voldemort in addition to the Unbreakable Vow."

Voldemort's eyes widened. Harry sighed in contentment and reached for his shirt and glasses.

"What if she chooses death over public shame and scrutiny?" wondered Voldemort. It would certainly be a bit anticlimactic if it happened, but it was a possibility they had to consider.

Harry's gaze darkened and hardened. "I'll still expose all her crimes to the media. Her death will not stop me. If anything, it will only be the beginning of the end."

Silence settled between them as Harry walked over to the weapon stand, took an airgun, a pack of BB pellets, and headed for the shooting range. Once there, he loaded the airgun with pellets, aimed at Umbridge's cutout, and fired. One pellet after another in quick succession … right into Umbridge's cardboard face.

"And how do these so called "food" platoons come into play?" he asked, once Harry emptied the gun.

Harry reloaded it, pointed it at Fudge's cutout and smiled wickedly. "Once Umbridge will sign the contract, make her Veritaserum-induced oral confession and write her confession letters, that's when the grand finale will happen," he explained. "We'll have younger students – or any student Umbridge hurt with her quill – throw eggs, honey-filled balloons, flour and breadcrumbs at her on her way out of Hogwarts."

"Whatever for?"

"Can't you guess?" he prompted infinitely amused, shooting Fudge's cardboard face full of tiny holes.

Voldemort looked at the platoon names again and frowned. "Honestly," he sighed, "going by the food you'll drench Umbridge in; I would say you're trying to feed the pigeons or something."

"Ding-ding-ding," Harry grinned wide. "That's exactly what I intend to do, Felix. I mean, we might as well feed some pigeons too, if we are already going to waste all that scrumptious honey, fresh eggs, flour and breadcrumbs. Besides, don't underestimate pigeons, they are vicious creatures from hell. Mark my words, Felix; they'll have her screaming worse than the Cruciatus when they start pecking breadcrumbs off her savagely as a flock."

Voldemort burst into boisterous laughter. The absurdity and the ingenuity of it was something only Harry could have thought of, and he couldn't wait to see it all happen in action before his very eyes.

Chapter End Notes

It feels good to be back after two weeks, but I also really appreciated this break to relax and do some epic gaming. I completed AC Valhalla and I must say I really enjoyed the story and the characters.

I managed to get some writing done as well so keep an eye out this Friday (4 December 2020) for a new story that I have been secretly working on this past month. (I know, another WIP, but I've already done 18 chapters for this one and I'm currently working on chapter 19, so I'm really ahead and I will be able to guarantee weekly updates, and once I complete the story, I will start updating every other day until I reach the end of the story.)

To give you a teaser, it will be a fic involving dimension-travel, Harrymort/Tomarry kids, domestic angst and fluff, lots of humour but also lots of angst and no character bashing. If I'm being perfectly honest, this new WIP is very emotionally taxing, but also extremely emotionally satisfying to write - much like Taking Charge -, because I get to explore a lot of difficult topics and I get to focus on Voldemort as a parent, which is always really fascinating to me. I'm really excited and nervous to share it, because I'm really proud of what I've done so far with the story and characters and I hope it will receive much love from you, the readers.

Another piece of news I would like to share is that on Saturday, there will be a new chapter for For Want of a Soulmate, but I doubt we'll go back to weekly updates for that one. Sorry. However, I will try my best to have more ready soon.

And finally, what did you think of this chapter? I really look forward to your thoughts and reactions.

Recruiting Slytherins: Part I

Chapter Summary

Harry teases Voldemort and gets Draco to help him against Umbridge.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

After Harry was done poking holes into Umbridge and Fudge's cutouts with the pellets, he and Voldemort still had two hours left until dinner for themselves. The sensible way to spend those two hours until dinner would be to do homework, but Harry didn't exactly act sensibly whenever he was around Voldemort. Therefore, instead of schoolwork, Harry roped Voldemort into a water balloon fight that left them soaking wet, surrounded by pieces of shrivelled rubber, but laughing.

"Would you like to give the obstacle course a go?" he suggested, after shaking excess water out of his hair. "I'll help you and look out for you so you don't fall and get hurt," he added once he saw the grimace form on Voldemort's face.

The man still looked reluctant, so, Harry tried another tactic. "Come on, Felix," he said, "what kind of General would you be if you didn't complete the course at least once?"

"What's in it for me?" the man asked shrewdly.

"A reward."

"What sort of reward?" he narrowed his eyes.

Harry closed the gap between their soaked bodies and leant forward. His eyes looked straight into Voldemort's ruby red, their lips almost touching again. This close, he could smell the subtle aroma of pine tree forest wafting off Voldemort, driving him crazy with desire.

"Me," he whispered, smirking provocatively and winking at the man.

Voldemort's eyes opened wide. Pure shock reflected in them together with a hint of something else. Something he had seen in the horcrux's eyes – hunger, smouldering desire ready to burst forth and manifest itself as frantic kissing.

He saw him swallow hard, his breath stuttered.

It took every bit of willpower not to succumb to the temptation that was Voldemort, lay the man flat on his back, and snog him senseless. Like he had done with the horcrux.

"What?" Voldemort said in a strained whisper.

Feeling flirtatious and daring, Harry pressed himself flush against Voldemort's chest, their hips touching as well, and their lips only a hair's width away.

"I said," he dropped his voice to a deeper, richer tone, "that I am your reward if you complete the obstacle course."

The man shivered, his eyes shimmering with want, his breath shallow and forceful. He looked ready to pounce on him.

"What does that mean?" he gritted out, his teeth clenched, his jaw twitching.

"It means, my dear General," said Harry amused, "that you get to have me all to yourself."

"For how long?"

"For as long as you want me."

"What's the catch?"

"There's no catch," he assured him, smirking. "Except that you would have to complete the obstacle course on your own … without my help and without magic. Otherwise, it can take as long as you need to complete it. I can wait hours, days, weeks, months, years. I'm very patient."

Suddenly, there was a blazing fire of determination in Voldemort's eyes. "Challenge accepted." He pushed past him, leaving Harry facing the air, with a gigantic smirk plastered on his face.

Harry turned to Voldemort and watched him try … and fail halfway. It would appear that despite his height and best attempt, he couldn't get over the wall.

"What's wrong?" he taunted amiably. "Are you giving up already, just because you can't get past the wall on your first try?"

"No," Voldemort snarled disgruntled.

"Then try again and again, until you succeed. Use different strategies. Improve aspects of yourself to overcome the hurdle in front of you or use the environment in your favour."

Voldemort tried … and tired … and tried some more … each attempt worse than the one before it and the man was growing tired, frustrated and angry from all the strain, failure and Harry's not so subtle seduction from the sidelines.

He was out of shape and old, no doubt about that, yet that didn't stop Harry from staring at him with unabashed amusement and lust.

At quarter to six, Harry called it a day, much to Voldemort's chagrin.

"You'll have better luck next time, when you won't be tired and hungry," he said to cheer him up, "or you could actually start working out and building some muscle. What better motivation do you need than having all of me all to yourself?" He winked at him. "My gym is always open to you, you know. In case you would like to start lifting some weights."

He could have sworn he heard a feral growl come from Voldemort, though it could have also been the door groaning as it closed behind them on their way to the Great Hall.

…

After dinner, Harry went to see Professor Snape to arrange the hour and the place of his meeting with Draco. Snape was kind enough to let him use his classroom and he offered to send a note to Malfoy telling him to come see him at nine o'clock in the evening. He was still reluctant to let the two of them alone, however.

"I assure you, Professor, that Malfoy will be unharmed, if a bit shaken up on the inside," said Harry. That didn't seem to ease Snape's doubts, if anything, it only made them worse, but ultimately, he placed enough trust in Harry not to damage Draco mentally beyond repair with his words permanently.

"How is your hand?" Snape asked just as Harry was about to leave for his dormitory.

Harry looked at the bandage. "It's healing."

"Are you changing the compress at least five times a day?" The man pressed further.

"Yes," he sighed, "I am. It also doesn't hurt anymore, but until the writing disappears completely, I'll keep using murtlap essence and dittany," said Harry.

"Good." Snape gave a jerky and awkward nod of approval. "Have you spoken to your godfather lately?"

The question confused Harry. "I haven't spoken to him since Sunday evening," he said slowly, squinting, "why do you ask?"

"Have you told him about your injury?"

"No. There's no need to add to his problems, he's already got plenty of his own."

"Well … you should talk to him … to ease his mind about your wound."

Harry gaped at Snape, horror-struck. "You told Sirius about my injury, didn't you?" he accused as a feeling of betrayal settled inside his chest. "It was not your place to tell him that. Why did you do it?"

"Because he's your godfather and he deserved to know, you insufferable brat," he snapped impatiently at Harry. "And since you didn't seem inclined to do it, I did it in your stead."

Harry glowered.

"Wipe that look off your face, Potter," Snape snarled menacingly. "It's not as if asking for your permission would have worked either, when you're still yapping on about keeping your godfather in the dark about your wound for his own sake, supposedly."

"Goodnight, Professor," he growled, seething, and slammed the door to Snape's office shut.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter, for such a calloused display of disrespect for school property!" Snape yelled after him, but Harry ignored him.

He would have to apologise for his loss of temper, but right now, he was furious with Snape for going behind his back and telling things that weren't his to tell. So what if he planned to keep his godfather in the dark for a long time, perhaps forever? It was his decision and nobody had the right to meddle.

…

Harry was afraid to speak to Sirius. He could already imagine the furious, reproachful and disappointed look on his godfather's face for keeping something like that from him. Had it been a scrape wound, it probably wouldn't have really mattered whether Sirius knew about it or not, but it wasn't a scrape wound, it was something far more painful and sinister than that.

Gathering his courage, Harry picked up the two-way mirror ten minutes before his bedtime and called out Sirius' name.

Almost instantly, his godfather picked up and greeted him. "Finally found time to pick up the mirror and talk to your godfather, I see," he remarked sarcastically.

"I was busy," he said, feeling the heart in his chest hammering like crazy.

"I bet you were, what with having to dress your blood quill wound, do your homework and plan a way for Umbridge to disappear."

Harry flinched at the tone and the look his godfather was giving him. So much like Snape.

A moment of silence passed between them. Sirius sighed. "When were you going to tell me about Umbridge forcing you to write with a blood quill?"

Harry couldn't meet Sirius' eyes. "I don't know," he muttered under his breath.

Sirius' eyes softened. "I know you didn't want to worry me, but I'm your legal guardian, Harry, as shitty and unsuitable and incompetent as I may be. Until you turn seventeen, you are my responsibility, because James believed enough in me to entrust your safety and well-being to me if he couldn't be around to look after you himself, and as your legal guardian I must know everything that goes on with you, Harry."

Harry's eyes pricked with tears. His throat felt tight from the knot that had formed there. He was blinking furiously to keep them from spilling over his eyelids. He couldn't speak. He simply nodded, still avoiding his godfather's look.

"How are you feeling?" asked Sirius softly. "Does it hurt? Will it scar?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he whispered hoarsely. "And I'm making sure that it doesn't scar either."

"Good," Sirius sighed in relief. "And I hope you will never get yourself in such a mess again."

"Never," he assured him.

Another bout of silence passed.

"So … care to tell me how your grand plan is coming along?" Sirius said lightly, trying to cheer Harry up and Harry told him all about it with glee.

…

"You should be more careful, Harry," warned the horcrux within him. "You're not being subtle at all when it comes to my counterpart. The way you offered yourself to him today is as good a love confession as it gets."

"Well, I am his," he said casually.

"He's already thinking that you're attracted to him as much as he's attracted to you."

"I am attracted to him and to you and to the Locket though I still haven't exactly seen him," Harry said lightly, only to frown a second later. "Which reminds me. I haven't really talked to the Locket since Saturday. Not to mention that I have yet to meet the Ring, the Cup and the Diadem."

"Don't forget the snake Nagini," interjected the horcrux. "She's also a horcrux, the one he created a little over a year ago."

"Right. And the Diary is probably lost to me anyway for stabbing him." He groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm a horrible Harem Master," he said pitifully.

"He's still out there," said Voldemort grimly after a while in regards to the Diary horcrux, "half-insane because of the pain, solitude and bitterness, but he still exists in the Chamber. As for the rest of the horcruxes – the Ring, the Snake and the Diadem, they are in Voldemort's possession. Nagini is here at Hogwarts as his pet, the Diadem is currently residing at the bottom of his trunk, while the Ring is under a floorboard in his bedroom at the Hanssons. The Cup is at Gringotts in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault."

Bellatrix Lestrange. She, her husband and her brother-in-law together with Crouch Jr. tortured Neville's parents into insanity – and Voldemort gave a piece of himself to her, for safeguarding. Something bitter and heavy seized his stomach at the thought.

"You gave a piece of yourself to that horrid woman!" growled Harry, seeing red. "Hell, you gave a piece of yourself to Lucius Malfoy of all people too!" he reproached him. "What were you thinking?"

"There's no need for jealousy, Harry," said Voldemort.

Harry looked like an enraged bull. "No need for jealousy? Because giving away pieces of your soul to other people to safeguard is not something worth getting jealous over, is that it?" he spat angrily.

The horcrux cupped his face. "Harry," he said sternly, "you're making a bigger thing out of it than it is. There is no hidden meaning behind my choice of giving the Diary to Lucius and the Cup to Bellatrix. I did it because, at the time, I considered them the most capable and trusted among my followers." A bitter grimace flashed across his face. "Now I know that Lucius was far from it, but Bella has kept it safe in her vault, deep in the high-security area of Gringotts."

Harry gaped at him. "Bella!" he snapped. "You even have a fucking nickname for her!"

Voldemort let out an exasperated grunt. "Did you hear anything else I have just said or did you just hear me call Bellatrix 'Bella'?"

Harry was seething. He reached for Voldemort's nape and pulled him forward harshly. " You're mine," he snarled in Parseltongue. Voldemort shivered with delight and anticipation. His ruby red eyes were hazy with desire. " Every part of your body, every piece of your soul. Mine and mine alone! Never forget that."

He crashed his lips against the horcrux's, pushed his tongue past Voldemort's teeth and lips and devoured his mouth like a man starved. All the while, his hands roamed possessively all over his body.

Voldemort latched onto him, eagerly returning the kiss and letting Harry manhandle him.

…

"I'm worried about Voldemort," said Harry to the horcrux in his arms later that same night after their passionate and vigorous snogging session and after he had calmed down a bit from his jealous outburst.

The horcrux snuggled further into his chest with his back, enjoying the warmth he was giving off. "You should be," he murmured. "If you keep teasing him like that he'll spontaneously combust from lust one of these days."

Harry laughed heartily and nuzzled Voldemort's ear and neck, holding tighter onto him. "We can't have that happening, can we?" he played along, delighting in how his voice and lips made the man in his embrace shiver, only for his face to grow grim again. "No, I'm not speaking about that. I'm worried about his health. His mental health. The cards I pulled today –" he sighed. "I don't have to be a seer to know that nothing good awaits him."

The horcrux didn't say anything. His muscles tensed.

"Do you think I should take the cards to Trelawney? Ask her to do a second reading herself just to be sure?" Harry asked. "I don't want to violate our magical agreement, but sitting on a potentially catastrophic piece of information and not doing anything about it seems just as bad if you ask me."

"It does sound like a 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situation, doesn't it?" murmured Voldemort thoughtfully. "On one hand, if you go to Trelawney, you go against Voldemort's wishes of keeping his privacy private, and if you don't seek Trelawney's advice on how to help him you might indirectly be responsible for any harm that might come his way, which would be violating the agreement between the two of you."

With a determined scowl, Harry made his decision. "I'll go to her on Friday, after lunch. I can't risk his welfare like that."

The horcrux nodded absently, staring off at the distance, lost in thought.

…

Thursday was as busy and hectic as usual. Between lessons that stretched throughout the day, checking in on the progress Hermione and the twins have made – one hundred and fifty necklaces – and coming up with an apology speech for Snape and a speech to make Draco go along with his plan against Umbridge and Fudge, Harry was anxious and stressed to say the least, by the end.

As soon as their Astronomy lesson concluded, Harry threw his school things into his bag, raced out of the classroom down to the dungeons, and didn't stop until he was in front of Snape's classroom.

He collected himself and knocked.

"Enter," Snape's voice drawled.

He pushed the door open and greeted, "Good evening, Professor."

Snape was leaning over a simmering and steaming cauldron, when he raised his eyes and looked at him.

"You're early," he commented dryly, glancing at the clock pointing at twenty-five to nine, before going back to the potion.

"I know," said Harry, stepping closer. "I wanted to speak to you before Draco arrived and you left."

Snape snorted. "I figured you would be too angry still for something like that."

Harry cleared his throat and nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. "Yeah – uh – about that," he fumbled with words. "I'm sorry for being disrespectful towards you. I overreacted. A bit."

Snape looked at him with an arched brow. "A bit?" he said incredulously. "You slammed the door shut and you looked like some great injustice had been committed to you, all because I informed your legal guardian of your injury."

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. He really went overboard with his reaction, didn't he? So embarrassing.

"I may not like Black," continued Snape, turning off the flame heating the cauldron and letting the potion rest, "but he is your guardian until you are of age, as limited as he is at the moment due to his unfortunate situation to openly claim that title, and he needs to know everything that's going on with you. No matter how mature or independent you fancy yourself to be."

"He said as much too yesterday," muttered Harry, suddenly finding the floor beneath his feet very interesting.

"So, you have spoken to him," remarked Snape, covering his hands in dragonhide gloves and picking the cauldron up by the handles.

Harry looked up. "Yes, we have spoken and he, too, gave me an earful about keeping quiet about something as big as this." The door to Snape's office opened and Snape carried the cauldron inside. "After that, he asked me about my plan for Umbridge and I told him what I've come up with so far."

"I'm surprised he scolded you," admitted Snape when he returned and locked the door behind him. "He doesn't exactly strike me as the one to instil any discipline given his own rebellious disposition at school and after it."

"He can be strict and responsible when the situation calls for it," Harry said, defending his godfather. It has been almost a month and a half since they had started attending therapy session with Mrs Nightingale and Snape still disliked his godfather. At least he wasn't insulting or demeaning him.

"I suppose," he drawled, taking the gloves off and placing them on the desk, "even if those moments are rare. Either way, I accept your apology, but don't expect me to give you back those ten points I deducted from Gryffindor for your insolence."

"I didn't expect you to," he said blankly. "And I also want to tell you that, I'm not angry with you anymore and that I hope this incident doesn't ruin our cordial relationship."

Snape sighed. "It's not as if I didn't expect you to overreact by doing what I did, and since you have apologised for your outburst, I suppose there is no reason for bad blood to remain between us."

"That's good to know," nodded Harry, feeling relief wash over him at Snape's words. "There's another matter I wanted to discuss with you."

"Is it about your recruitment process?"

"Yes. I want to address the Slytherin House tomorrow after dinner when they'll all be in the common room."

Snape nodded. "Very well. Would eight o'clock be good enough for whatever speech you'll have ready?"

"Yes."

"I'll be waiting for you here to escort you to the common room. I'll change the password afterwards. I'll be nearby, keeping an eye on all of you, but whatever you plan to do tomorrow to get the older students to co-operate, don't overdo it. I'd like to avoid sending anyone to the hospital wing," he warned.

Harry beamed. "It all depends on your students, Professor, but don't worry. I'm going to use my head … strategically."

Snape looked doubtful, but didn't comment on it. If only he knew what using his head meant. He supposed he would just have to see it for himself.

…

At nine o'clock sharp, there was a knock on the door announcing Draco's arrival. "You wanted to see me, Professor," he said pleasantly only to freeze and grimace in contempt as soon as his eyes landed on Harry. "Potter," he hissed venomously. "Should I wait outside, Professor?"

"Come in, Draco," drawled Snape, walking towards him. "You are not interrupting anything."

Thinking that Harry was about to leave the two of them alone, Draco relaxed a bit, only to tense again once Snape was the one leaving the classroom.

"Where are you going, Professor?" Draco called after him.

"For a walk around the dungeon corridors," he deadpanned, looking back at Harry. "You have fifteen minutes, Potter, and when I come back, I don't want to see a single chair, desk – or Merlin forbid a vial – out of place or broken, otherwise there'll be hell to pay, is that clear?"

"As day, Professor," smirked Harry, his unnerving, predatory eyes on Draco, who looked equal parts confused and anxious.

The door closed with a heavy thud behind Snape that echoed in the quiet and empty classroom. Harry and Draco stared each other down, each on his own end of the room.

"I can't believe Professor Snape would set me up like this," he snarled, furious.

"Would you have agreed to talk to me if he hadn't?" he asked lightly.

"Of course not," he scoffed. "Don't be delirious, Potter. And you're out of your mind if you think I'll stay here and listen to anything you have to say to me." He turned dramatically on his heel and reached for the handle when a click resonated through the room.

The door did not budge.

Draco faced Harry, who had his wand out and pointed at the door … and at Draco. He paled and gulped nervously. "What are you playing at, Potter?" he demanded arrogantly, trying to cover up his nerves. "Unlock the door at once!"

Harry smiled languidly, leaning against Snape's desk, his penetrating eyes fixed on Draco. "Unlock it yourself," he said. "You're a wizard, aren't you? A simple Alohomora should do the trick."

Draco didn't dare reach for his wand … if he was even carrying it. Not that it would have mattered, because Harry would have impeded his leave either way. Draco was probably aware of that too.

"What do you want?"

"To talk. Sit," he pointed at the front desk opposite him. Draco refused to obey. "Or stand, whichever you prefer, we can talk either way," Harry said casually, twirling his holly wand between his fingers.

Heavy silence settled between them.

"What do you think of Umbridge, Draco?" Harry asked suddenly. The question took Draco completely by surprise. He gaped at Harry like a stranded fish. "Do you think she's a good teacher? A good person?" Harry continued softly, deceivingly casual, for his eyes held a chill-inducing and menacing glint.

He cleared his throat. "I can't say that she isn't. I haven't run into any trouble with her, so I suppose she is."

Harry stared unblinkingly and fixedly at Draco, a blank look in his emerald eyes. "Really?" he said finally, dazed. "So just because you and your gang of thugs and fellow snobs haven't had any problems with her, she's a good teacher and a good person in your opinion?"

Draco looked uncertain. "Well … yes."

Harry hummed. "Interesting," he remarked dryly. "You are aware that she tortured your fellow housemates with a blood quill for inconsequential things like forgetting a notebook or a textbook or copying homework, aren't you?" he insisted softly, boring his green eyes into Draco's skull. "You do know what a blood quill is and does, don't you, Draco? You do know that it carves your flesh up, uses your own blood as ink; that it hurts like never-ending hell; you do know that, don't you?"

It took a while for Draco to answer. He was too busy trying to find his voice and his courage. "… Yes."

Harry nodded slowly. "And you still think that Umbridge is a good person and teacher?" he snorted incredulously.

Draco didn't bother answering this time. The silence buzzed in their ears. Harry continued.

"You say you haven't had any problems with Umbridge personally and do you know why that is, Draco?" He narrowed his eyes dangerously at Draco, who gulped nervously. "It's because of who you are, your money, your family. If you hadn't had any of it, believe me when I say that you would have been one of the unfortunate students suffering Umbridge's detention, carving yourself up, bleeding out, asking Snape for murtlap and dittany to prevent the scarring."

Draco had enough decency to flush and avert his gaze, but Harry didn't relent.

"You are so quick to insult and mock those who are different from you, Draco; those who aren't Purebloods like you are; those who aren't as rich as you are; those who don't have both parents like you do. You are so quick to consider yourself better than the rest because of this; yet you fail to see how lucky you are, how blessed and fortunate to have all that. You don't know how to appreciate what you have; you don't know how to be grateful for the lot you've been dealt. You take your situation for granted, but life is unpredictable and misfortune never rests. Luck is a fickle friend and all the luxury you're used to – the status, the money, the connections, the expensive clothes and mansion – could one day vanish … like that."

He snapped his fingers.

"You could lose everything in a blink of an eye, but you don't think about that because – as of yet – you have everything – too much of everything, if you ask me. You were close to losing it, you know, when Voldemort perished the first time, fourteen years ago. Your father Lucius was – still is – a Death Eater."

Draco's panicked eyes snapped to Harry, who continued to regard him with that unnerving look, ready to deny his claim.

"I know this," Harry hurried on, before Draco could cut him off, "because he was there at the graveyard when Voldemort used my blood for his resurrection." Draco paled and flinched. Harry sneered. "For someone so arrogant and proud, he sure does seem quick to fall to his knees before someone like Voldemort, ready to kiss his bare feet and the ground he walks upon to save his own skin after that blunder with the diary."

He sighed.

"Anyway, what I was saying; you were close to losing everything you hold so dear now – your money, your status, your father – when Voldemort perished the first time. You were this close," he pressed his thumb and index together, "to growing up with your father locked up and rotting away in Azkaban; chased away from your mansion, because the Aurors would have confiscated it; shunned by the rest of the wizarding society; shunned by fellow students for being the son of a Death Eater – but you didn't."

A cruel smile curled his lips.

"And do you know why you didn't lose everything like me that night? Because your father was too much of a coward to take responsibility – to take accountability – for his actions, because I have no doubt that your father tortured, killed, and did other nasty things for Voldemort. Why else would Voldemort have entrusted him with the diary if he was there just to look pretty?"

Draco was shaking ever so slightly, looking rather green in the face. Harry felt morbid satisfaction at the effect his words had on him. He held no pity for Draco's distress, because Draco held no pity or compassion for him nor his injured and tortured fellow housemates.

"He may have claimed being under the Imperius when the war ended, but I doubt he could claim the same thing twice if the authorities ever got wind of his involvement in the re-opening of the Chamber of Secrets and the petrification of Muggleborns. In case you've forgotten – or haven't been informed," he said gleefully, noting Draco's disbelieving expression, "let me remind you that your father was responsible for getting Voldemort's diary inside Hogwarts by slipping it inside Ginny's cauldron that time in Flourish and Blotts. He enabled it to possess Ginny, so Voldemort could roam freely within the castle walls, open the Chamber of Secrets and unleash a fucking basilisk on Muggleborn students, trying to kill them. He threatened the school governors into sacking Dumbledore, he mistreated Dobby and he tried to kill me with the Killing Curse when I tricked him into freeing Dobby. Not to mention how much bribery he's responsible for at the Ministry. He's probably the one who encouraged Fudge to initiate a smear campaign against me and Dumbledore – on Voldemort's orders no doubt – but he's executing the plan so he's just as guilty."

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco interrupted stiffly, fear plainly shining in his eyes. "What do you want from me to keep your mouth shut?"

Harry smiled cruelly – triumphantly. "Something very simple. Your full allegiance and co-operation in getting rid of Umbridge and convincing your gang of thick-headed thugs and Pureblood snobs into following me as well."

"And if I refuse?"

He was tempted to say something like, "Then I'll be your misfortune and ruin Draco. I'll make sure you lose your father, your wealth and your standing as a Pureblood in the wizarding society. I will destroy you and your family, much like how Voldemort destroyed mine."

And he could destroy him. He had memories, witnesses, not to mention Veritaserum, which could loosen Lucius' tongue and have him confessing the extensive list of his crimes to him, which he would then record on camera as irrefutable proof.

However, no matter how tempted, he knew better than to threaten Draco so openly. It could have the opposite effect from what he was hoping, so instead, he forced a wide and fake smile and said, "I don't see why you wouldn't want to help me get rid of Umbridge. Think about it. This is your golden opportunity to prove yourself to everyone, to earn your popularity on your own merit and not rely on your father's name, influence and wealth. This could also be your chance to help your father improve his reputation with Voldemort."

Draco paled and twitched at the name.

"I heard that he's recently been demoted and tortured by Voldemort with the Cruciatus for losing his diary." He let out a sympathetic hiss. "Nasty feeling, the Cruciatus. I'm speaking from personal experience. It's not something any sane person would want to experience more than once in their life. Unless they're masochists."

"How do you know my father has been demoted and tortured? Have you been spying on us?"

Harry's face split into a mysterious smirk. "I have my ways, Draco, of finding out everything that goes on with Voldemort. Don't you forget that," he chuckled darkly.

Malfoy swallowed thickly.

"So, Draco," Harry prompted, "will you talk to your group of friends and convince them to join me?"

Malfoy looked on the verge of saying yes, tempted by the praise, the fame, the popularity and the recognition he would receive for his heroics. Therefore, Harry fully sank his claws into Draco's desire to be great and continued, "Just imagine," he whispered. "If you help me convince your father into overthrowing Fudge as well, your father could replace Fudge instead. I imagine that Voldemort would be very pleased to hear news of having the Ministry at his disposal and that it was all thanks to the Malfoys."

Draco's eyes glinted with hunger and greed, only to narrow in suspicion. "What's the catch, Potter? Because this sounds too good to be true."

He sighed. "Nothing much," he said innocently and shrugged, "just a small favour here or there from Minister Malfoy and an oath not to start a Muggleborn Hunt or pass other discriminatory policies against Muggleborns and sentient Magical Creatures."

"You mean creatures like werewolves," Draco sneered.

"Among others, yes," he returned smiling.

A beat of silence passed between them. "What would you have me and my father do?"

"I'm certain that Umbridge will soon start monitoring owl post and other means of communication and transport to keep us in check. However, she won't be able to do it alone. She will most likely start a student organisation and your task will be to sign up for her organisation and report everything that goes on to me. I may need you to infiltrate her office at some point as well to collect some evidence of her activities, her correspondence with Fudge, etcetera.

"Now, as for you father," he continued, "I want him to use his closeness to Fudge to gather as much incriminating material on him as possible, hold onto it until the right moment and then, on my signal, to start releasing all those juicy documents little by little to the media, until Fudge will have no other choice but to resign, leaving the path free for your father to take his place as the one who exposed such a vile man to the public."

Draco was considering it. He was frowning in deep thought, weighing his options. When the benefits outweighed the risk involved in such an endeavour, he said, "All right. You have yourself a deal, Potter, as far as I am concerned. I can't speak for my father, much less for," he swallowed hard, "You-Know-Who, but I'll talk to my father and tell him about your proposition. The same for my friends."

"No need to mention me to your father," Harry added pleasantly. "Remember, this is your opportunity to shine. You can even present it as your own idea. I don't mind not receiving any credit."

"Truly?" he asked sceptically.

"Truly."

"All right, Potter. I won't say it's your idea."

"Excellent." Harry grinned, satisfied with the outcome of the conversation. He headed for the door. As he passed Draco, he stopped and addressed him one final time.

"However, Draco," he said softly with a threatening undertone, his hand on the door handle, "I hope that, if your father indeed replaces Fudge as Minister, you will not forget who you have to thank for it. And just like how I paved the way for your family to rise in rank and power in the wizarding society despite its unsavoury past and reputation, I can also be your family's downfall, Draco. Never forget that."

He unlocked the door, opened it and almost ran into Snape. "Professor," Harry exclaimed, "I see you've returned from your evening dungeon patrol. You are just in time too. Draco and I have finished our discussion as well. You are free to return to your work."

"I hope there weren't any troubles." His dark eyes assessed them. "What with you two being who you are."

"No trouble, Professor." Harry beamed. "Mr Malfoy and I are sensible gentlemen after all and sensible gentlemen don't get into petty arguments. They have profound philosophical and existential discussions and that's what Mr Malfoy and I had while you were gone." He turned Draco. "Isn't that right?"

"It's true, Professor," Draco backed him up. "Mr Potter and I have been perfectly civil to each other. Nothing to worry about."

Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but as he saw no signs of violence, he had no choice but to believe them. "Very well. Then, if you've finished your discussion, go to bed, Potter, because it's late and as far as I recall you are not a Prefect." He turned to Draco. "And you, Malfoy, you have Prefect duties to fulfil." He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. "Now, off you go."

"Goodnight, Professor," they greeted and they left the classroom.

…

While Pansy Parkinson enjoyed the power and privileges that came with being a Prefect – being able to roam the castle after curfew, taking away points from students she didn't like, and having access to the Prefects' bathroom where she spent hours soaking in the warm, perfumed water –, she absolutely despised the responsibilities that came with the position.

Usually she had Draco there with her to chase away the dullness of being a Prefect, but her friend was away at present, speaking with Professor Snape, and now, on top of sheer boredom, she also had to work for two people. Her impeccable Pureblood complexion could suffer from such stress! If she spotted a single bloody pimple on her face the next day, she would curse somebody. Most likely Longbottom or Crabbe and Goyle.

Speaking of Crabbe and Goyle, she was accompanying them to the school kitchens again so they could get their usual evening snacks. She let out an impatient sigh while her foot tapped the floor and her arms were crossed in front of her chest.

Why did she have to be a Prefect? She could be lounging in the Common Room right now, leafing through fashion and gossip magazines, looking up make-up, clothes and shoes, spending money on the most expensive perfumes and jewellery.

The kitchen door swung open and out walked Crabbe and Goyle, their arms laden with sweets, stuffing their faces with cupcakes.

She turned up her nose and made a face of disgust. "Do you have to be so … basic?" she hissed impatiently through her teeth. Because if there was anything she hated more than blood traitors and mudbloods was basicness. Male basicness.

They looked at her with confusion, bits of chocolate buttercream around their mouths, their cheeks bloated.

"Would you like some?" Crabbe offered her a muffin and Pansy glared at him.

"I would not, Crabbe," she snapped at him. "Do you have any idea how many calories there are in one puny muffin? You may not pay attention to your appearance and health, but I do care about both and eating sugar and carbohydrates this late in the evening isn't healthy nor good for my skin or weight."

"You should fatten up a bit," said Goyle, cupcake crumbs flying everywhere, making Pansy gag at his abhorrent manners.

"And you shouldn't speak when you're eating," she scolded him. "Honestly, Goyle."

He ignored her. "You're too skinny and men like having something to grab and squeeze."

"Soft, big, bouncy boobs," sighed Crabbe, picturing some naked witch posing for adult wizard magazines, "supple asses and thighs, wide hips."

Pansy grimaced. Pureblood or not, if her Papa decided to marry her off to either Crabbe or Goyle, she would rather commit suicide than to become wife of either of them. She would sooner marry the Longbottom Heir, who had more manners than Crabbe and Goyle combined. Shame that he was chubby, a Gryffindor, and a friend of Potter.

She would have gladly married Draco – and for a while, she entertained such thoughts – but it felt wrong marrying him. She couldn't really see herself kissing him, dating him, having sex and children with him. Blaise certainly caught her eye and if he weren't so smitten with Ginny Weasley, she would have had chance at seducing him.

"Yeah, well you should lose some weight then," she barked at her housemates, "because women only want to squeeze long and thick dicks and firm asses, not pot bellies. They like muscles not fat. Now get your fat asses in the common room or I swear to Salazar I'm going to deduct points from Slytherin just because you're getting on my nerves!"

They hurried past her and left her alone, seething, with her hair flowing around her like octopus tentacles. Calming down, she straightened, inhaled deeply and turned on her heel.

"Pansy," Draco called after her in one of the dungeon corridors.

She stopped and waited for him to get closer. "What did Professor Snape want?" she asked straightforwardly. She was always the curious type. Gossip and scandals were her favourite reading material; that is probably why she aspired to be a tabloid reporter once she graduated Hogwarts.

"Nothing."

"Then why did he want you to come see him if he didn't want anything?" she insisted with narrowed eyes.

"He didn't want to see me … Potter did."

Deafening silence enveloped them as Pansy tried to process what Draco had just said. Once she did, she couldn't contain herself. "Potter?" she exclaimed, frowning. "What did Potter want with you?"

He hooked his arm around her shoulders and brought her close to whisper in her ear. "He wants to get rid of Umbridge and he needs my help to do it. Well … our help. Slytherins' help."

Pansy looked at him as if he was insane. "Draco Malfoy, are you pulling my leg? Crabbe and Goyle may believe such nonsense, because they are stupid, but not I, and I find it insulting that you would think I would believe such a blatant lie," she huffed affronted.

"I'm not making this up," he assured her, in earnest. "He needs my help in overthrowing Umbridge and Fudge. We could have the school treat us like heroes instead of the usual villains for once."

"Have you hit your head, Draco?" she asked concerned. "Or maybe you have contracted brain fever."

She reached out and touched his forehead. Draco stared blankly at her, not appreciating her treatment. "Neither," he deadpanned.

"Are you hearing yourself?"

She couldn't believe it. She was aware of the envy Draco felt when it came to Potter and that he craved to be in the spotlight and hailed as God's gift to humankind, but to hear him openly say it … She didn't know what to think.

"I know you want the attention, the praise, and the glory Potter gets as the Boy-Who-Lived, but honestly. We are no heroes Draco. Heroism is reserved for people like Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, maybe even Ravenclaws, but not Slytherins. We're too self-serving to be heroes and any good act will always be accompanied by ulterior motives so we might as well not even try."

She began walking away from him. He jogged after her.

"Think about it, Pansy," he insisted in a desperate whisper. "If I do this, if I help Potter, as much as I can't stand him, I could restore my family's honour. I could help my father regain his Death Eater rank." She stopped and listened. "This is my chance to show father I am capable; that I can take care of family business. If everything goes according to plan … my father could be Minister of Magic."

"Then do it, just don't drag anyone else into your delusions of heroism, Draco," she huffed and started walking away again. He caught her by the arm and turned her to him.

"I can't do it without you, Pansy," he whispered softly, looking like a kicked puppy, "… or Blaise, Theodore … not even without Crabbe and Goyle."

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "What would helping Potter sack Umbridge involve?" she asked. Out of curiosity.

Draco cleared his throat and looked like he had just eaten something sour. "Infiltrating Umbridge's office and collecting incriminating evidence." He winced.

"Forget it," she deadpanned and turned away.

"No, Pansy." He reached for her again and she began to struggle to get out of his hold. "It's not as bad as it sounds."

"First, unhand me this instant, Draco, and second, it is as bad as it sounds," she snapped in anger. "I am not risking my hide for Potter!"

"What about me?"

"Not even for you. Because between you and me I choose myself!"

"What about years of friendship? Don't they mean anything to you?"

"I draw the line when it starts involving wannabe-superhero and secret agent things."

"You could dress in a black, leather skin-tight jumpsuit like you have always wanted since we were kids, and you could wear high heels and a mask to hide your identity."

"No," she grumbled, but with less force and conviction than before. "If she catches us snooping around her things, we're the ones who will end up in one of her detentions writing with the blood quill."

"We won't be caught," he assured her.

"What's in it for me, Draco? I know it is glory for you. What about me? How do I benefit from risking my welfare for people I don't even know and couldn't care less about?"

"I'm sure your chances of finding a boyfriend and a prospective husband will increase exponentially and your overall popularity as well. You might even end up writing an article for the Daily Prophet as one of the few individuals with exclusive access to all the juicy details and one of the few people who went beyond to uncover the heinous crimes of the prim and proper Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge."

Blasted Draco! He knew exactly what to say to make her do what he wanted. He knew her weaknesses and ambitions and he exploited them unabashedly.

"Come on, Pansy, say yes," he begged.

She regarded him with narrowed eyes and a pursed lip. "Fine," she relented. "I'll help you help Potter."

Draco beamed, cupped her face and planted a loud and wet kiss on her cheek, much to her chagrin.

Chapter End Notes

I had a lot of fun writing Harry and Draco's conversation and, surprisingly, I also enjoyed Pansy's point of view at the end of the chapter.

Anyway, the sexual tension between Harry and Voldemort is about to reach its peak and explode. We are nearing the confession point and the two dating so look forward to when it finally happens.

Recruiting Slytherins: Part II

Chapter Summary

Harry recruits the Slytherin students, sends three Death Eater kids to the hospital wing and gets a taste of what Voldemort felt commanding his followers.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry felt smug. The conversation with Draco went as planned thanks to his recently acquired knowledge on human psychology – especially the Milgram experiment on obedience to authority figures. He would use that knowledge to get people to do what he wanted, even if at first they might protest and resist.

A rush of euphoria and giddiness coursed through him at the power he wielded through his demeanour and voice. It felt so good it made him light-headed. It made him feel like what he imagined Voldemort felt when he discovered the secrets to mind reading and manipulation.

He could definitely see the appeal and the reason Voldemort enjoyed messing with people's minds, making them do things they would have never thought of doing under different circumstances. Having control over somebody's will, over somebody's actions felt heady, empowering. It felt like what Harry imagined doing drugs for the first couple of times would feel like … And if he wasn't careful, he could become addicted to such a mind-set, he could forget himself, lose himself in the vortex of absolute power.

Much like Voldemort.

…

"And?" Ron greeted him as soon as he spotted him through the portrait hole. "How did it go?"

The others were awaiting the news of his success or failure in the common room as well. Luckily, the place was mostly empty, with a few older students still studying for their tests or finishing their homework with earplugs stuffed inside their ears to drown out the noise.

He sat down on an armrest of the armchair where Voldemort was sitting. He smirked. "Malfoy has agreed to help us and he's going to make sure that his friends also follow."

There was stunned silence, only for Hermione to blurt out, "How? How did you convince him?" completely flabbergasted.

"Don't tell me you seduced him," begged Ron, looking rather ill at the thought of him and Malfoy together.

Harry grimaced and shuddered in utter disgust. "What the hell, Ron!" he snapped irritated. "No, of course not. What is wrong with you? Why would you think that?"

Ron clutched his chest and sighed in relief. "Thank Merlin you didn't."

"Honestly, Ron, me and Malfoy," he huffed. "He's not even that good-looking, not to mention that I still can't fucking stand him and his conceited ass." Moreover, he was already head over heels with Voldemort, who was the only good-looking and attractive person worthy of his attention in his opinion, thank you very much.

"Most of the school would disagree with you," offered Fred.

"Yeah, well I'm not most of the school," protested Harry upset, "so I don't give a shit what most of the school thinks about Malfoy's appearance. The only thing that matters to me is that I still can't stomach him and I'm only dealing with him because my war effort rests on the premise of Slytherins joining me and not Umbridge. That's the only reason I even deal with Malfoy."

"Okay, you made your point," said Ron, trying to appease him. "But if you didn't seduce him, what did you do?" His eyes glittered a bit. "Did you beat him into agreeing with you?"

Harry made another face. "No, Ron," he frowned. "I didn't use violence either. I simply talked to him. I don't remember the exact words I said to him, but I told him a few harsh truths and reminded him of how lucky he is that he is what he is and how blessed and fortunate he is that he has what he has. Something along those lines," he said.

The Weasleys, Neville and Hermione looked confused. Luna only nodded sagely in agreement. Voldemort looked at him with a blank expression.

"I also gave him an opportunity to shine bright like a diamond and he took the bait," he continued. "Now I just have to keep him hooked … like a fish."

Ginny, the twins and Ron burst into laughter. Apparently, the fish analogy was extremely funny to them.

"So, we have Draco and his gang on our side," said Neville.

"Yes, and tomorrow, we'll hopefully have the rest of the Slytherin House on our side as well, even the older Death Eater kids. We'll know that for sure tomorrow after dinner."

"And what's your plan for tomorrow then?" asked Voldemort.

He hummed. "Well, I have two plans. I'll determine which plan I'll go with on the spot, because my approach will depend on the Slytherin students and how co-operative they'll be."

"What are those two plans?" Voldemort pressed.

"Plan A: diplomacy," retorted Harry.

"And plan B?"

He formed his right hand into a fist and punched his left palm. "Fists," he said with a feral grin.

Voldemort burst into laughter and the deep and rich tone of his voice had Harry suppressing his urge to swoop down and plant a kiss on the man's lips.

…

Later that night, he found himself in the mental rendition of the Chamber of Secrets again, cuddling Voldemort after another intense snogging session. This time, Voldemort initiated it by jumping Harry the moment he got there, claiming his lips and pushing his tongue into his mouth to taste him.

The surprise quickly wore off and Harry returned the kiss with the same intensity and urge. That had been a minute ago. Now, they were lying on a soft bed, naked, facing and embracing each other, as their hands gently caressed their exposed skin.

"Not that I am opposed to the way you greeted me tonight, but … I have to ask …" he began, only for Voldemort to sigh and finish the sentence for him.

"… What brought this on?"

Harry nodded.

"I didn't appreciate your friend's comment about you possibly seducing Malfoy Junior, even if I know that thought never even crossed your mind and the utter disgust you felt at the thought, but …" He pressed his lips together and averted his gaze. "I still …"

He struggled to find the words and Harry smiled tenderly, caressing the older male's cheek with his knuckles. He leant forward and pressed a soft and gentle kiss against Voldemort's lips, making the man close his eyes, melt into him and let out a sigh of delight.

" I'm yours, Voldemort," he whispered in Parseltongue against the man's lips. " Just like how you are mine. Every part of my being belongs to you or rather to your scattered soul pieces until you become whole again."

Voldemort shivered and nuzzled Harry's neck, seeking his heartbeat, his scent. Goosebumps erupted on Harry's skin as Voldemort's lips and hot breath ghosted over his skin.

" Mine," Voldemort whispered possessively back in Parseltongue. " All mine." His tongue darted out to taste Harry's skin. Harry whimpered; his cock twitched eagerly.

He cleared his throat. "If you don't plan to give me a handjob or a blowjob or let me at least fuck your thighs, don't get me any more excited than this," he croaked, arousal coursing through him.

Voldemort chuckled, letting his own erection rub against Harry's. "Or that. My God," he moaned, bucking his hips forward, seeking that delicious friction. Only to be denied by Voldemort.

He whimpered pitifully, painfully aroused. "Not yet," smirked Voldemort. "You're not eighteen yet."

"What am I supposed to do about it then?" he asked frustrated, referring to his hard dick.

"Wait for it to wear off," he suggested, smirking cheekily.

Harry groaned. "With you seducing me? Not likely to happen. I hope your counterpart is going through the same raging erection as I am. It's only fair for you, him and me to be sexually frustrated."

Voldemort chuckled. "Oh, he is. Very much so." His lips hovered over his. "Would you like me to invite him? Give him a little motivation to start working out."

Harry stiffened. He wouldn't mind having an encounter with the original, in fact, he would love it, but he also didn't want to risk him finding out about their connection. "Would he remember the encounter?"

"Most likely."

"Then don't invite him. It's too risky."

"As you wish," the horcrux relented and snuggled closer. Harry received him with open arms, pressed a gentle and loving kiss to the man's temple and did his best to ignore the erection.

"You can bring Locket here tomorrow," he murmured sleepily into Harry's chest. "I know you've been planning to meet him, so you might as well go to sleep with Locket around your neck and let him manifest inside you."

Harry glanced down. "Truly?"

Voldemort nodded. "Truly."

"It won't bother you?" he asked. "His presence here and me giving him my attention, I mean."

"It will bother me," he admitted, "but he's been feeling frustrated and disappointed because you haven't really been paying him attention. He thinks you are rude for defiling him so unexpectedly. First with your mouth and tongue, and then, with your sperm, dirty talk and promises of pleasure and love, only to leave him unfulfilled and alone for an entire week."

That stung. Harry winced. He had been horrible to Locket, hadn't he? He didn't blame him for thinking he had taken advantage of him, because, in a way, he did. Not intentionally though. He never wanted Locket to feel used or abandoned. He would have to redeem himself. Show him that he was serious.

"You can feel what he's feeling and thinking? What all the horcruxes are thinking and feeling?" Harry asked in awe.

Voldemort frowned. "I believe so," he said. "When I concentrate I can feel them, their mood and through their mood I can get to their thoughts and feelings."

"I'll bring Locket tomorrow night, so he doesn't consider me an ill-mannered brute who's only seeking sexual gratification. I may end up kissing him … are you really fine with that?"

The horcrux sighed. " No, I'm not fine with you kissing him or the original or any of the other horcruxes," he snapped impatiently. "I know it's irrational, because they are all me at different stages of life, but I just can't help it."

Harry grabbed his chin and made him look him. "It's okay," he said reassuringly. "I get it. I would be jealous of myself too if I were in your position. The ideal solution would be if I were split up into seven – or rather eight – parts myself, but I don't seek immortality nor splitting my soul through murder."

Voldemort reached for Harry's face and gently stroked his cheek. "And as much I would have liked to have a piece of you just to myself while other parts of me have your other pieces, I don't want you to split your soul. Especially not for my sake."

Harry smirked fondly. "Weren't you saying not too long ago that you're incapable of being a good person," he teased, resting his forehead against Voldemort's, "yet, here you are, looking after my soul."

The horcrux gently slapped his chest. "This has nothing to do with my ability or inability to be a good person," he said. "This comes from personal experience and years of being stuck inside you, seeing the world through your eyes as well. I've had fourteen years to think and re-think many things, and that's a lot of time, Harry, to evaluate and re-evaluate one's life, when they have nothing but their conscience to keep them company."

"But now you have me," he assured him earnestly.

Voldemort smiled. "I do. I've had you, ever since you were a babe. You just didn't know I was here as well."

Harry's throat constricted for some reason and tears stung his eyes. He closed the gap between their mouths and connected their lips in a deep kiss. Voldemort pulled him closer, his fingers tugging on his black hair.

…

The first thing Harry did after waking up that Friday morning was to reach inside his nightstand, pull out the pendant and press a kiss to its cold and shiny metal surface. Then, he whispered, "Good morning. I'm sorry for being away for a week and not keeping my promise to keep you company."

Locket vibrated softly and turned warm for a brief moment, only to grow cold and still once more. As if it had remembered that it was still angry with him for failing him and it refused to respond to him until he apologised properly and kept his promise this time.

Harry sighed. "I know you're angry with me, but I promise to make it up to you. I'll wear you around my neck all day and then, at night, you're welcome to manifest inside my head."

A gentle humming responded him and then silence again.

To prove he was serious, he put the chain around his neck and went about his day.

His day started in the bathroom, relieving himself, brushing his teeth, and then having his morning masturbation session with Voldemort as the centre of his dirty sexual fantasies. Locket, hearing the dirty talk and receiving affection it had been craving, responded immediately to Harry and basked in the post-orgasmic bliss for quite some time, gently buzzing and feeling warm to the touch against his skin. Content and pleased to be the centre of attention again.

Finally, he headed for the gym. Just as he was about to head to the gym after his morning masturbation session, there was a knock on his entrance. He tucked the locket under his shirt and opened the lid.

It was Voldemort, standing in his nightwear.

"I want to train with you," he blurted out hoarsely, his voice still groggy from sleep.

Harry stared at him. "Uh … sure," he said and moved to the side to let him into his apartment, only to remember a moment later that he had Locket under his shirt and that it might get exposed during workout. He quickly added, "I'll come up with your workout plan and a diet regime for building muscle mass … if you want, of course."

Voldemort was already inside his apartment. "Fine by me," he said, shrugging casually.

"I should have it ready by Monday. It does take some time to plan everything."

He hoped Voldemort would take that as a hint to leave, instead, he remained there, insisting on accompanying him while doing exercise.

Sending a silent mental plea to Locket to remain as glued to his skin as possible, he smiled tensely and agreed to have Voldemort watch him and work out beside him.

They started with the usual warm-up – jogging and cycling. Immediately, Harry noticed that the locket wasn't moving but had glued itself entirely to his skin.

' Thank you,' he said to it, ' good work.'

The praise and the expression of gratitude had Locket warming up ever so slightly against his skin and Harry flooded it with thoughts of affection.

Again, Voldemort did significantly less repetitions and exercises than he did, yet ended up more tired than Harry, who had decided to add another twenty pounds to his barbell and felt tired and shaky after his twentieth repetition.

Again, he offered to massage him, an offer that Voldemort gladly took.

At least, he was able to go to classes on his own, even if his muscles screamed every time he had to go up and down the stairs.

…

While Voldemort and Hermione were in Arithmancy, Harry headed up to where Trelawney's classroom and office were located to discuss his findings. Out of respect for Voldemort, he left out the name of the person the spread belonged to.

"Enter, Harry," came Trelawney's muffled voice from within the Divination classroom after he knocked. He didn't even want to question how she knew it was him through solid wood.

"Good afternoon, professor," he greeted and joined her at the front of the classroom.

"Good afternoon," she greeted back. "I've been expecting you. I assume you have your homework."

"Yes," he reached for his notebook and opened it on the relevant pages, then passed it to Trelawney for inspection. "Here it is."

Trelawney took good five to ten minutes to read everything, her brows knitted together.

"I tried my best looking at different interpretations," he spoke as she continued to inspect the spread in his notebook, "but I'm still confused about a lot, so I was hoping you could do a reading yourself and tell me more about what I saw in the cards."

"Oh dear," she sighed as she reached the end of his homework and returned the notebook to him.

"Was I correct in my prediction?"

She took her own pack of cards and began shuffling them. "I'm afraid so," she muttered under her breath. "And I'm afraid it is far worse than what you managed to see."

Harry felt ice chill his blood at Trelawney's words.

"Since you didn't provide the name and surname of the person you worked with for this, I presume the other party wished to remain anonymous."

Harry nodded. "Yes. I hope that doesn't intervene with your … sight."

"It does, actually, because I can't focus my energy on him or her, and I might not get an accurate reading." She handed the cards to him. "Shuffle them for me and infuse them with thoughts of that person and what interests you the most," she instructed.

Harry obeyed. If it were to help Voldemort, he would follow every bit of instruction to the 'T'.

When the cards were shuffled enough and infused with enough energy, he handed them back to her and, to his shock and horror, Trelawney pulled the exact same spread for Voldemort as he did – the same cards, the same order. She pulled more cards to gather more information, while Harry was waiting for her to tell him her official prediction.

"I see a terrible mental struggle that will have terrible physical consequences," she said finally.

"He's not going to die, is he?" he asked, tension in his muscles. Not even noticing the male pronoun that left his lips.

"No, but he'll come close to dying."

Harry's heart stopped for a second. His vision became spotted, his limbs turned ice cold.

"When?" He had to stop it. He had to be ready to intervene.

"End of spring, in June."

He scribbled down the month in his notebook and wrote 'mortal danger – beware' next to it.

"A shard of his past will return, armed with bitterness, envy and hatred and claim that which had been denied to it for decades," she continued to narrate. "He will survive the onslaught, but only barely, his mind scattered and broken, until it starts the healing process. However, the healing of his shattered mind can't take place until he embraces other parts of himself and comes to terms with the fact that absolute change of beliefs and convictions must take place, for him to emerge complete and strong again. He'll struggle, but with the right guidance and support through family and friends, he'll be able to overcome the ordeal, even if it takes years for him to be reborn."

Harry stared at Trelawney and at the cards. Then, his hand flew to where the locket was resting against his skin and held it tight.

"I must congratulate you on your card reading though," said Trelawney. "You have certainly improved greatly and you have seen a lot of things yourself. I hope I managed to clear up the foggy and confusing areas in your mind. As for your friend, stay close to him and keep an eye on him. Especially his mental state."

Harry nodded with conviction. "I will. Thank you for doing another reading."

She smiled softly. "It was my pleasure, Harry."

He packed his things and stood to leave. "I'll see you on Monday, Professor."

"I'm afraid not."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

"I'm afraid we won't be seeing each other on Monday. Not in my class anyway."

Another unpleasant thought weighed heavy on Harry. "You're not getting sacked … are you?" Her melancholic smile told him everything. Umbridge will win another battle and cancel Divination for good.

"It will only be temporary, professor," he assured her. "I will make sure of it."

She regarded him with unusually sharp eyes and a serene expression. "I know you will. I've seen it in my cards. Just remember not to lose yourself in the power you have tasted and are still to taste, Harry. Power is such a tricky and dangerous thing, a double-edged sword, because while you can do a lot of good with it, it can also corrupt you beyond repair."

"I will be careful, professor."

"I hope so, Harry," she said enigmatically, not really convinced of his constraint and willpower. "I hope so, but I don't think you will be able to resist it completely. Remember, you will succeed in your endeavour, but at a terrible cost."

"Then, I'll just have to live with the consequences of my actions, Professor, no matter how horrible they are."

"I'll pray for your inner strength, then," she returned. "Because it will require a lot of strength to live with that kind of burden on your mind and conscience for the rest of your life."

Harry bowed and left Trelawney's classroom, with a heavy feeling in his stomach and chest. Trelawney really knew how to make someone feel like absolute human garbage with a few chosen words.

…

Unsure whether to relay Trelawney's prediction to Voldemort and how to relay it, Harry found himself fiddling with the locket absentmindedly, lying on his sofa. He knew that Voldemort was going to lose his shit as soon as he heard 'mortal danger' and 'on the verge of dying' and Harry didn't want Voldemort to experience another panic attack or for paranoia to take hold of him again. However, it also felt wrong keeping Voldemort in the dark about Trelawney's prediction.

Speaking of which, who or what could be so full of bitterness, envy and hatred that would attack Voldemort and push him to the brink of death? He figured that many people, especially relatives of fallen victims, or some humiliated Death Eater with aspirations of grandeur and leadership.

However, the expression Trelawney used ' A shard of his past will return' suggested someone from Voldemort's past, perhaps even Voldemort himself. He recalled something the horcrux inside him said, ' He's still out there, half-insane because of the pain, solitude and bitterness, but he still exists in the Chamber.'

Could it be Diary horcrux? The horcrux was a shard of Voldemort that he made in his past, and since the horcrux inside him could sense the thoughts and feelings of the other horcruxes and the original, then Diary was out for his creator's life … and body, most likely. He was close to obtaining one in Harry's second year through draining Ginny's life force after all and now that he was wounded and lonely, he might be even more determined and ferocious than back then.

Not that Harry didn't understand him. He, too, would have probably turned insane if he had to spend seven decades – and still counting – alone, cut off from the world and completely disembodied, knowing that the original piece of him continued to live and experience life, while he was stuck inside a book with nothing but his miserable childhood memories to fuel his eternally dull days. He would end up hating his older self as well, trying to steal away what was rightfully his even if that meant killing the original and occupying the body.

However, no matter how right Diary was to hold a grudge against Voldemort, Harry would not – could not – let him destroy Voldemort. He would just have to make sure Voldemort didn't face Diary while the horcrux had murder and vengeance in mind. Once the situation at Hogwarts calmed down a bit, Harry would visit Diary, speak to it, apologise to the shard, and try to appease it.

He would have gladly offered him solace in his own body, but … Voldemort had to be the one to reabsorb it so he could start the healing process and become complete again, even if it took his soul years … decades even to mend itself.

He still wasn't sure what Trelawney meant by a scattered and broken mind. Voldemort's soul was broken, not his mind, or maybe it was since each horcrux piece had its own conscience, its own sense of self. Just imagining seven different entities inhabiting the same body, sharing it, trying to pilot it and it almost sounded as if Voldemort was in for a serious case of dissociative identity disorder.

The trauma that accompanied horcrux creation would have been enough to cause a personality split on its own as a sort of defence mechanism, to allow both the horcrux and the creator not to lose their minds due to the loss of soul for the creator and the loss of body for the horcrux. He imagined it was also true when you tried to mend your traumatised soul piece by piece like a jigsaw puzzle, but the pieces refused to fit, because they were unwilling to renounce their sense of self, their individuality. Because each piece regarded itself as the original, as the one entitled to absorb the other pieces.

Harry sighed. A knock brought him out of his thoughts. He hid the locket under his shirt and got up to open the lid. It was Voldemort, barely standing. He immediately let him hook an arm around his shoulders and lean on him. He wrapped one of his arms around Voldemort's waist for support and helped him limp over to his sofa.

A groan escaped him as he collapsed on the comfortable piece of furniture. Harry fetched the balm. "Muscle pain is normal at the beginning of your workout," he told him, while waiting for Voldemort to divest to his underwear, "because you are putting more strain on the muscles than usual and you are also activating muscles you didn't even know you had."

He gulped. His mouth went dry. His eyes were drinking in every detail on Voldemort's body.

"And it hurts," he continued.

"I'm barely standing and walking," complained Voldemort impatiently.

"You'll eat plenty of protein today at dinner so your muscle tissue can heal faster," he said reassuringly. "And you'll rest. Because having enough rest in between each workout session is important. Overworking yourself only backfires, because your muscles never get the chance to rebuild themselves fully and you're always in pain and you might even injure yourself."

Voldemort let out a whimper of delight when the cool balm combined with Harry's fingers worked the knots in his muscle tissue and Harry took a steadying breath to ground his thoughts. He would not get hard. He refused.

He failed. As usual.

…

Voldemort was holding his breath and trying to keep his embarrassing sounds at bay. Harry's hands were dangerously close to his cock. He wanted Harry to touch it, caress it, lick it and swallow it, until he was coming in spurts inside Harry's mouth or onto his face.

"So what did Trelawney say about the cards?" Voldemort asked to distract himself and not get hard from Harry's hands touching his body again. He might crave Harry's touch, but that didn't mean he wanted Harry to see him get hard from it.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Nothing much. Mostly what I had already predicted – change, aversion to change, but ultimately you will have to accept it if you want a better future for yourself, though she does warn against illness at the end of spring, so be careful in June," he said. "And I didn't tell her whose spread it was. So she doesn't know it's you."

Relief washed over him and what he would describe as gratitude filled his being. "Thank you," he whispered.

Harry nodded. "I wanted to respect your wishes in one way or another, so I simply left out the name."

A minute of silence later, Harry said, "Can you lie on your stomach? So I can rub your back."

He turned and let Harry touch his back. At least now, Harry wouldn't be able to see his erection if he got hard. However, less than five minutes later, his eyelids grew heavy and he dozed off until dinner.

…

A rhythmic buzzing noise woke him at half past five. He was on his stomach on Harry's leather sofa, covered with a blanket, which rolled off him as he sat up, still in his underwear. On the coffee table, he saw his clothes neatly folded. He reached for his uniform and put it on. Then, he looked around the room and found Harry behind the sewing machine, working on a project of his.

He got up. The rustling of the fabric attracted Harry's attention for he looked up from his work and greeted him cheerfully.

He greeted back.

"I sure hope I didn't wake you up," he said smiling.

He got close. "What are you doing?" It looked to him like one of those oven mittens his muggle mother used to handle hot pots, pans and trays.

"I've decided to start on my Christmas presents since I've already done my homework."

"Christmas presents for whom?" he pressed.

"Your parents of course and Mrs Weasley. My aunt. She may not like me, but I can at least give her a pair of handmade mittens, an apron and some kitchen towels for Christmas and feel at peace with myself," answered Harry matter-of-factly.

He continued sewing the edge together. Voldemort observed him.

"Are you trying to bribe my parents or something?" he asked shrewdly.

Harry laughed boisterously. "However did you guess?" he was grinning broadly, a mischievous glint in his emerald eyes. "That's exactly what I'm planning to do. They will simply love me after I give them my giant Christmas present."

He stared at him in astonishment. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

Harry was about to answer him, but stopped and changed his mind at the last second. "Not telling, yet," he said, winking.

He looked at him in suspicion. What was Harry's game?

…

When dinner ended, Harry mentally prepared himself for the speech and the physical confrontation with the older Death Eater kids. He met up with Snape five minutes to eight and, without a word, followed him to the Slytherin Common Room.

The somewhat lively chatter died down as soon as Snape announced their arrival. People stared in astonishment at him, whispering under their breaths. He noticed Draco and his group huddled together on a sofa near the fireplace, observing him with shrewd and calculating looks. The blond acknowledged his presence with a brief and sharp nod, which he returned. When his gaze travelled to the right far-end corner, he noticed Tom and his friend Harry, mouthing a greeting and waving at him. Grinning broadly, he waved back, much to the confusion of other Slytherins, who were throwing suspicious glances at both first years and him. Finally, in the other far-end corner, he spotted Mulciber, Avery and Macnair all sneering and glowering at him. He fixed them with a hard look.

"As you can all see," Snape's voice echoed, "we have a special guest tonight. Mr Potter has asked me to grant him this opportunity to address you, appeal to you."

"Thank you, Professor Snape," he said pleasantly, stepping forward into the centre of the common room. When he held everyone's attention, he continued, all the while pacing up and down the centre of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

"As you have probably realised by now, Dolores Umbridge is a problem in more ways than one. There is her connection to Minister Fudge, who has been using her to keep us in order, under surveillance and control, and then, there are her personal sadistic tendencies that manifest themselves in administering Veritaserum to unsuspecting students and forcing students to write lines in detention with a blood quill, with Fudge's full knowledge and permission."

He paused for dramatic effect, surveying his audience.

"With the reputation the Slytherin House has," he went on, "one would think that its students would be safe from Umbridge's sadism, but as quite a few of you have experienced, that is not the case."

The victims paled, swallowing hard. Some of them clutched their healed hands where the phantom pain of the blood quill's sharp tip still prickled every once in a while, some of them stared unseeing at the ground, reliving the ordeal.

"And quite a few of you have been forced to see your friends and family go through something so … horrific and traumatic, feeling helpless, impotent."

The friends and siblings next to the victims placed a comforting arm around them, whispering kind, reassuring words no doubt.

"Umbridge is a problem," he repeated. "She hides behind her position at the Ministry to inflict pain on those weaker than her. She uses order and discipline as an excuse to abuse her power, to witness the suffering of others with twisted pleasure. As long as Fudge supports her, she is untouchable and as long as Fudge is in power, things will not get better. If anything, they will get worse."

He took a deep breath.

"I don't know about you, but I don't want Umbridge here for an entire school year, letting her do as she pleases. I want her out. I want her out before Halloween." Most Slytherins perked up at that with interest. "I have a plan, but I can't do it alone. I need help. Your help. Everyone's help. I know we have had our differences. I know that Slytherins are not well liked at this school, that you are seen as the black sheep of the family, but this is your time to show that you are part of this school just as much as the rest of us. That you can fight for the right thing while staying true to your Slytherin code of self-preservation, cunning and ambition."

Slow clapping came somewhere from behind him. He and the rest of the Slytherin students turned to the source.

"Real touching, Potter," sneered Mulciber. "Real sweet of you to come here trying to whisper sweet nothings into our ears. The only ones who've been in detention are insignificant half-bloods who, in my most humble opinion, deserved what they got for having Mudbloods and Muggles as their family."

Some Slytherins looked downright murderous as they glared daggers at Mulciber. Harry grinned dangerously. "And it is real rich of you Mulciber to say something like that openly to people who've gone through a pain like blood quill. At least have the decency to pretend that you care for your fellow housemates of less 'noble' and 'prestigious' backgrounds," he said in air quotations. "Hasn't your Death Eater of a father taught you some basic manners or has he forgotten what it means to be civil?"

Harry gasped dramatically, egging Mulciber on. "Oh, wait, of course he couldn't teach you any manners when he's been rotting in Azkaban for the last fourteen years because he's a Death Eater," he said cheerfully.

Mulciber looked ready to kill. He pulled out his wand and marched on Harry, a dark curse on his lips, but Harry grabbed his wrist, twisted it painfully, and leaned backwards, only to swing his head forward with force and pull Mulciber towards him.

CRACK!

He hit the bridge of Mulciber's nose with his forehead, breaking it, making blood gush out of it and for Mulciber to let go of his wand and stagger sideways, crashing into a chair, before slumping straight to the ground, unconscious. Gasps of shock and sharp intakes of breath resonated through the room. Avery and Macnair were on their feet.

"Who's next?" asked Harry, his eyes flashing with a mad glint as a Joker-like grin split his face in two.

Macnair stepped forward, yelling "Confringo!" at him. There were screams as the students ducked for cover, but Snape cast a spell that separated the crowd from Harry and the two remaining Death Eater kids. Harry easily avoided the spell. The blasting curse crashed into the barrier and exploded on impact. Closing the distance, he formed a fist with his right and connected it with Macnair's jaw. The force of his punch had Macnair spinning a full circle, before he crumpled to the ground, also unconscious.

Harry turned on Avery, who was ready to cast the Cruciatus. In one front flip, Harry was in his face and he punched him in the solar plexus; knocking all air out of his lungs and making him double over. He collapsed on his knees before Harry, clutching his abdomen and coughing.

Harry grabbed his jaw painfully with one hand, while his other twisted Avery's hair. "Your father may listen to and work for Voldemort," he whispered calmly next to Avery's ear, "and you may have aspirations to become a Death Eater like your father, but while Umbridge is still at school causing problems for the students, you are going to listen and obey me if you know what's good for you. Are we clear?"

Avery was quiet. Stubbornly glaring at him. He looked like he wanted to spit at him. Harry's eyes narrowed and his fingers dug deeper into the man's jaw. He let out a whimper.

"I asked you a question and I expect an answer. Are – we – clear?" he snarled menacingly. "I may not be Voldemort, but I won't hesitate to send you to the hospital wing with broken bones until you've agreed to work with me."

Avery nodded and Harry relaxed his grip and patted him roughly on the cheek, only to grab his face and knee him in the jaw. Avery collapsed unconscious next to his friends, with a broken jaw. Harry straightened and felt the locket warming up and vibrating excitedly against his chest. He turned to the room. Snape's barrier had disappeared.

"Umbridge is a problem. A problem that must be eliminated," he said. "You have until Sunday afternoon to decide where you stand, but it's in all our best interests to work together rather than against each other. Those who have been wronged by her, those who have been wanting revenge on her; you will get your opportunity to do it. You only have to join me. Thank you for your time and attention. I look forward to seeing you all in our first official Hogwarts Army meeting. Professor Snape will hand you out the enchanted talismans with the exact date, place and hour tomorrow evening. Potter, out."

He turned towards the exit only for Tom to call out to him over the crowd and push his way to him, dragging Harry behind him. Upon reaching him, he threw his arms around his middle and buried his face in his chest.

"That was brilliant, Harry," he beamed at him. "The speech, the fight. You sounded and looked like a superhero. Even my most stuck up classmates were in awe at your words and strength," he was saying excitedly, waving his hands around.

Smiling, Harry ruffled Tom's hair. "Thank you."

"Harry and I will definitely join you and help you get rid of Umbridge the Villain."

He chuckled. "I look forward to seeing you on Sunday then. Now go and enjoy the rest of the evening before you two head to bed."

With a final hug, Tom and Harry returned to where they were playing wizard chess. Harry was at the entrance when Snape, grabbing him by the arm, intercepted him.

"I thought I told you not to go overboard."

"They threw the first punch, or should I say the first spell. I simply defended myself."

"You broke Mulciber's nose, and Macnair and Avery's jaws," he said accusingly.

Harry shrugged, unfazed. "It is what it is. Madam Pomfrey is going to fix them up overnight."

"You said you were going to use your head … strategically," he snarled through his clenched teeth, looking disgruntled with him.

"I did," he said lightly, "both figuratively and literally. Goodnight, Professor," he greeted, yanking his arm free and walking out of the common room, feeling light and powerful.

He succeeded. He could tell. He sauntered pompously down the dungeon corridor, grinning like a maniac, his arms outstretched. He closed his eyes, inhaled the dungeon air and let out a content sigh. Ah, the sweet scent of victory, and judging by the excited buzz and the heat radiating from the locket, the horcrux was aroused and someone would be extremely excited to see him tonight.

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, desire coursing through him. He was looking forward to another passionate welcome, this time from both of the horcruxes. He couldn't wait to get to bed and dream of heated kisses and stimulating touches.

Harry felt like singing, and there was only one particular melody in his mind.

"A little bit of Diary in my life, a little bit of Locket by my side, a little bit of Ring is what I need, a little bit of Diadem's what I see, a little bit of Snake in the sun, a little bit of Voldemort all night long, a little bit of Cup, here I am, a little bit of you makes me your man."

Chapter End Notes

Voldemort in this chapter: What is Harry's game?
Me (internally): To become your husband. Literally just that. He wants to marry you and have lots of passionate sex with you. Maybe a kid or two or three as well.
Harry (internally): I'm going to bribe Voldemort's muggle parents with lots of handmade Christmas presents to show them I'm the perfect husband material for their son. That way when I propose, they will be more excited by the prospect of me being their son-in-law than Voldemort to have me as his future husband.
Me (to Harry): What sort of logic is that?
Harry: The best kind.

Codenames

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"I wish I had been there to see you punch those fuckers unconscious," said Ron in frustration as he told them what had occurred in the dungeons.

Harry chuckled. "You can accompany me tomorrow morning with some 'get well' wishes to the hospital wing," he suggested, grinning broadly. "They will be mostly mended, but I bet we'll get some nice reactions from them with our visit."

"Can I come too?" asked Ginny eagerly.

"Sure," he shrugged, "why not, it'll be fun."

"You shouldn't go to gloat, Harry," admonished him Hermione. "No matter how much they might have deserved the punches and a trip to the hospital wing with broken noses and jaws."

"I won't gloat, Hermione," he rolled his eyes. "I'm going to check on the state of their injuries, that's all and maybe verify if they've understood that I'm their boss until Halloween and not Voldemort. That they answer to me and not Voldemort. Anyway, have you finished the talismans?"

"I have done my part," huffed Hermione, "Fred and George are working on the last few talismans. They should have them done in ten minutes or so."

Harry nodded, satisfied. "Good, we're going to hand them over to McGonagall tomorrow so she can divide them accordingly and pass them on to the teachers. The Heads of Houses will distribute them among their students, and on Sunday, we will have our first official Hogwarts Army meeting."

"About that," said Ginny, crossing her arms, frowning at him, "you still haven't told us about the infamous war plans you've been working on and you promised us a preview before the meeting."

Sighing, he said, "You're right, Ginny. I did promise that, but not today. Can we do that tomorrow? I am very tired and I just want to go to bed."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but relented. "Fine, but after breakfast, you're going to tell us all about it. Because I bet you have already told Felix all about your plans," she added, grumbling and scowling, her arms still crossed.

He grinned wide. "Deal. Goodnight," he greeted and was off to bed.

The fifth-year boys' dormitory was empty, save for the sleeping figure of Voldemort, who was lying on his stomach on the edge of the bed, his left arm hanging limply over the edge, brushing the floor. His face was turned towards Harry's bed, his mouth slightly apart, allowing a bit of drool to escape the corner of his lips and soak into the pillow.

Harry approached him, smiling tenderly. He squatted next to Voldemort's sleeping form, his face inches away from his, feeling his soft breath wash over him. Mesmerised by the sight before him, Harry reached out and carded his fingers through the hair. He was tempted to lean forward and kiss his lips, but refrained from doing it.

"Sexbomb, sexbomb," he began singing to Voldemort in a whisper, "you're a sexbomb. You can give it to me when I need to come along. Sexbomb, sexbomb, you're my sexbomb and baby you can turn me on."

Leaning forward, he whispered, "Goodnight, Voldemort," before placing a soft kiss to the man's temple and heading to his apartment.

…

Just as he predicted, Locket was on him as soon as he had materialised in the Chamber of Secrets, straddling him, desperately grabbing at him with his hands, greedily devouring his mouth, trying to melt into him.

Instinctively, Harry's hands wrapped around the man's waist and tightly held him close, responding to the kisses just as eagerly and hungrily as the horcrux.

"Harry," Locket whimpered wantonly into the kiss and Harry's cock twitched as a growl formed in the back of his throat and he fisted his hand into the other's hair. "Oh, Harry."

"I thought you would be too angry to greet me like that," Harry said, smirking, leaving a trail of hot and wet kisses down the horcrux's jaw and neck, his eyes on the handsome face of Tom Riddle, who looked to be around thirty years old.

Locket moaned and shivered, jerking his hips against Harry's, brushing his erection against his, unable to form words, much less a coherent sentence.

Feeling smug, Harry nibbled on Locket's skin, and then sucked to leave behind a love bite. Locket shuddered, almost spilling himself between them. Once he was done and satisfied with the red circle forming between the neck and the shoulder on that unmarred and unblemished soft milky white skin, he pulled back to admire the half-lidded eyes glinting with hunger, lust and bliss, the lips swollen from the intense kissing, and the faint pink hue that appeared on the man's cheeks.

" So beautiful," he hissed, caressing Locket's cheek and the horcrux's eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his face into the calloused hand, nuzzling it, seeking affection much like a cat. " So eager, so responsive. I like that."

Whimpering, Locket snuggled closer, desperately nuzzling Harry's neck, his breathing agitated.

Harry wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling him back. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Voldemort, looking at them with a frown, clenching his hands tightly together, his eyes looking angry and hurt.

"You too, Voldemort," he said encouragingly, stretching out a hand to him, beckoning him to join. "Come."

Locket stilled and looked towards the other horcrux. He stared at him with a blank look, making it difficult for Harry to gauge what was going on inside Locket's mind. Meanwhile, Voldemort kept his distance.

" Come here," he hissed to him, " I know you want to, so come. Come and kiss me like I know you want."

In a flash, Voldemort was by his side, cupping his face and kissing him like a man starved, right before Locket's eyes. Harry's hand hugged the older horcrux closer, letting Voldemort's tongue explore and claim his mouth, before returning the favour.

A minute later, while he was still kissing Voldemort, with the older male pressing himself into Harry's side, Locket's lips latched themselves onto Harry's neck, nibbling and sucking, to remind him that he was still there and to tell him that he wanted more of his attention.

Two sets of wandering arms were roaming his body possessively, two sets of demanding lips were marking his skin, two tongues were leaving behind a wet trail that made goosebumps erupt on his skin, and Harry enjoyed the attention and possessiveness of both horcruxes. When it looked like the two would start fighting each other over him, Harry intervened.

"Hey, no fighting and feeling jealous of each other, there's enough of me for both of you, as well as the other horcruxes, not to mention the original."

The two horcruxes continued to scowl at each other, Locket clinging to Harry's right and Voldemort clinging to his left. Harry pulled them closer; an arm wrapped around them lovingly, and pressed a kiss on both their foreheads.

"I love both of you equally," he told them, "and that means that I will shower both of you with equal attention and affection."

That finally got them to stop glaring at one another. Instead, they snuggled closer, nuzzling his neck, revelling in the warmth coming off him and his gentle touches, a content smile on their faces. Harry too felt content, with a horcrux on each side, as he languidly drew patterns on their skins with his fingers.

…

At seven o'clock on Saturday morning, Harry woke Ron up.

"What is it?" Ron asked sleepily, bleary-eyed.

"You said you wanted to accompany me to see the three hospitalised Slytherins," Harry whispered. "I'm going to visit them right now. Are you still game?"

In an instant, all drowsiness left Ron's features and he bolted upright in his bed, uncovering the covers. "Of course I'm still game," he whispered back eagerly, standing up. "I'm not going to miss out on seeing those three in a hospital bed."

Harry stifled a laugh. "Then go wash your face and teeth and change your clothes. I'll wait for you in the common room."

Ron disappeared into the bathroom and Harry approached Voldemort's bed, where the man was still sleeping, in a slightly different position than last night, buried snuggly under the thick bed covers. Harry sat on the edge of the bed. Then, feeling daring, he lay down behind him over the covers and embraced him from behind. He pressed his nose to his nape and inhaled Voldemort's scent – the fresh, wild and heady aroma of a pine tree forest.

Unable to refrain himself, he nuzzled the man's nape and kissed it. " I love you," he whispered softly in Parseltongue.

The kiss and the confession had Voldemort stirring in his sleep and Harry's entire body froze and seized up in pure panic. He didn't dare move a single muscle, yet if he stayed there, lying next to him in bed when he opened his eyes, how in the world would he explain it without making it seem creepy.

Voldemort shifted and settled facing him; his eyes still closed and his breathing soft and calm. Harry's heart continued to thump wildly inside his chest even after confirming that Voldemort was indeed still asleep. However, contrary to what common sense would dictate after narrowly avoiding a calamity, Harry remained lying next to Voldemort in bed, admiring his relaxed features.

Again, he went against his better judgement, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Voldemort's forehead, then rested his own against it for a few brief moments, before snapping out of his daze and getting up before Ron was out of the bathroom or before the others woke and saw him snuggled up next to Voldemort.

…

Ginny was already waiting for him in the Gryffindor common room, together with Hermione, who was clutching a pouch, filled with the charmed necklaces.

"The talismans," she said and held out the pouch to him. "Fred, George and I tested them and counted them yesterday evening and everything seems to be in order. They are ready for distribution."

"Nice work, Hermione," he praised, with a broad grin, accepting the pouch and tucking it into his trouser pocket. She grinned back.

Five minutes later, Ron joined them and the three – Harry, Ron and Ginny – were off to visit the three injured Slytherins – Mulciber, Macnair and Avery. Upon reaching the door, they gently knocked on it. Pomfrey opened the door, surprised to see them so early in front of her domain.

"We are here to visit three of your patients," Harry spoke pleasantly. "Some older students from Slytherin. Mulciber, Macnair and Avery, I believe." Ron and Ginny nodded enthusiastically to corroborate his words.

With a shrewd look, the matron let them in. "Five minutes only, because after that, they are in for one final check-up before I give them leave."

"Of course," Harry smiled brightly, "five minutes are more than enough."

They entered. The three older students were already awake and lying in beds next to each other. They shot wary and hateful looks at Harry and his company, with a hint of fear in them as well.

As soon as Pomfrey left them alone, Harry pulled up a stool from the bed opposite Mulciber and placed it at the foot of his bed, sat on it and placed a hand on his ankles. Mulciber flinched at the touch, but Harry held tight onto his appendage, squeezing hard.

"What do you want, Potter?" hissed Mulciber menacingly.

"I came to check on you," Harry answered lightly, his grip still threatening. "Contrary to what you might think after yesterday's events, I didn't enjoy hurting you."

Mulciber snorted and sneered. "Oh, yeah? Well, I find that hard to believe, Potter."

" You were the ones who attacked me," said Harry, glaring at the three Slytherins, who tensed, and Mulciber bit into his lip to stifle a pained groan. Harry's hand had squeezed the boy's ankle very hard. "I merely defended myself. It's not my fault you're so weak you went out cold from a few punches and ended up with broken faces."

Harry's grip relaxed and Mulciber breathed with ease again.

"Well, you got what you came here for, now leave," snapped Macnair through clenched teeth.

"I think not," said Harry pleasantly. "There's one more thing. I want to see if I've made myself clear yesterday." He encompassed them with a hard look.

"Very clear," said Avery spitefully.

Harry's eyebrow rose up. "So, you'll work for me until Umbridge leaves the school?"

"That depends on what working for you will include," grumbled Mulciber.

"Nothing that might get you a spot in Azkaban next to your father." Mulciber glared incensed at him. "Don't look at me like that," Harry demanded, snarling. "It's your father's fault in the first place for doing Voldemort's bidding. If you grew up without him, that's because he cared more about killing and torturing others than you, apparently. He didn't even claim mind control like Draco's father when he was placed on trial to stay with you and his wife."

"You know nothing of my family, Potter," growled Mulciber, "so don't act like you have any idea what it feels like."

"You're right," Harry said lightly, "I don't know what it feels like to have a father in prison, but I do know what it feels like to grow up without parents. After all, your father worked – works – for the man who killed them. I think it is only fair that you work for me, wouldn't you agree?"

Mulciber continued to scowl. Macnair and Avery weren't any better. Harry sighed in frustration and stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, you three," he spat impatiently, "I don't expect you to kneel before me and address me as ' my Lord', okay? I don't expect you to take a branding mark to your left inner forearms that says you're my property like some sort of livestock."

They all blanched and flinched.

"What I do expect is that you treat me with respect and politeness and that you don't complain when I tell you to do something for me. After Halloween comes round, you are free to do whatever you want. If that involves taking up the Dark Mark and following in your fathers' footsteps, then that is your decision. Just know this, if you work for me, you won't regret anything, if you work for Voldemort, there's a high chance that you might end up regretting it for the rest of your lives when you end up as mindless and soulless living corpses in Azkaban. Think about it."

With that, he turned on his heel and marched out of the hospital wing, with Ron and Ginny in tow.

"That was brilliant, Harry," praised Ron.

"Thanks, Ron. I just hope my words got through to them and that they'll be joining the army."

"What now?" Ginny wondered. "We still have almost half an hour until breakfast," she said, looking at her wristwatch.

"I say we go to McGonagall and give her the pouch with the necklaces," said Harry and they were off to see McGonagall in her office.

…

Following breakfast, Harry decided it was a good idea to show the super-secret room Voldemort showed him to his friends.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Fred and George all gaped in wonder at the door that suddenly appeared before them. Their wonder turned to bewilderment when, as Harry opened the door to let them inside, there was a replica of the Gryffindor common room waiting for them on the other side.

"Welcome to the super-secret room," announced Harry proudly to his speechless group of friends. Voldemort had taken up a seat in the armchair next to the burning fireplace. "Pretty neat, isn't it? I made it look like our common room just by wishing for it."

"My God, Harry," breathed Hermione, impressed. "You have found the Room of Requirement."

"I haven't found anything," said Harry, approaching Voldemort and squeezing in the wide armchair next to him, an arm draped over his shoulders. "He did." He flashed them a broad smile.

"That's amazing, Felix," squealed Hermione, her eyes glittering. "How did you find it? I've read about it in Hogwarts: A History, but it doesn't say where it is."

"I found it by accident," he said and recounted the same story he told Harry.

"Brilliant, mate," said Ron excitedly. "Absolutely brilliant."

"Thank you."

"Okay, so what is the plan for Umbridge?" interjected Ginny, sitting on the armchair opposite theirs, her eyes shrewdly staring at their touching bodies.

With his arm still around Voldemort and his side still pressed against him, Harry told them his plan step-by-step, from the moment a group of Slytherins would tie Umbridge with ropes and carry her to the Great Hall for interrogation, all the way to the closing act with the food and the pigeons.

Voldemort had leant into him, his head resting on his shoulder and Harry had to resist the urge to pull him even closer, to hug him properly and rest his own head on top of his.

"So that's why you need the world's hottest hot sauce," concluded Fred and George. "For interrogation."

"Exactly."

"You mean torture," commented Hermione, not at all pleased. "I don't know, Harry. It sounds a bit extreme to me."

Harry snorted. "And you think that what Umbridge's been doing isn't extreme? Making children write with blood quills for something as trivial as forgetting a notebook or a textbook? Spiking the food and drink with Veritaserum to extract information from unsuspecting students? Is that not extreme for you, Hermione?"

"Of course it is, Harry," she huffed. "It's absolutely disgusting."

"Then, how can putting her through the same kind of pain be more extreme than what she has done so far?"

"I don't mind the blood quill part of her punishment or the pigeon-pecking part, but the part with the hot sauce in her eyes and nose. What if she ends up blind? What if she ends up suing us instead or sending a hit-wizard to kill us? If she really sent those Dementors after you just for saying that Voldemort was alive, she would have no qualms over hiring a professional assassin to execute us. I also hope you don't intend to record the entire interrogation. We could get into so much legal trouble for it, Harry, you have no idea."

"We'll add a clause in the magical contract that says she's not allowed to harm us directly or indirectly," said Harry casually. "And of course, we're going to edit out our interrogation method. I'm not stupid to let any outsider see how we obtained a confession from Umbridge. As for her losing sight, it would be like karma, wouldn't it? A punishment for all the bad she's done in her life."

"Okay, so but who's going to draft the contract?" wanted to know Ginny. "How are we even going to get our hands on an official document like that from here? Don't you have to go to the Ministry or Gringotts for it? Not to mention acquiring our own blood quill, because I doubt we could just nick one from Umbridge's office. She probably keeps records of how many she has and probably does inventory on a regular basis."

"Maybe we can ask the room to provide it," suggested Neville. "It is called the Room of Requirement, after all. So, if we require something, it should be able to provide it to us, right?"

"We could try," said Luna thoughtfully. "If it doesn't work, maybe a teacher could procure a contract for us. I don't know about the blood quill though."

"We'll ask some Slytherin students to get their parents to create a blood quill," said Harry, thinking of asking Robert Fawley – Tom's father – to create one. He was from a dark family; he could know how to create a blood quill. If not, then those Death Eaters who avoided imprisonment could get the job done. "Then, once we've got the confession letters and Umbridge's signature on that contract, we're going to destroy it to erase incriminatory evidence."

"Sounds good," said Fred approvingly.

"And I'm more interested in knowing why you want Lucius Malfoy to gather dirt on Fudge, when my father is also a high-ranked Ministry employee, and he's well-connected as well," said Ron, bothered. "I understand getting Draco to sneak into Umbridge's office with a phone or a camera to take pictures of incriminating documents in there, but not Lucius."

"Because I have another job in mind for your father. One he'll enjoy far more than the one I have for Lucius."

The Weasleys perked up at that.

"Really?" asked Ron intrigued. "What sort of job?"

"After Fudge resigns, it's very likely that Lucius will take over as Minister." All of his friends looked absolutely pale and horrified at the prospect of having Lucius Malfoy as Minister of Magic. "Because we all know just how much of a git he is, we're going to keep a close watch on his activities. At the slightest sign of him wanting to pass any discriminatory laws and acts against Muggleborns or sentient, intelligent magical creatures, we're going to dethrone him just like we're doing it to Fudge right now, and that's where your father comes in, Ron.

"He and Malfoy have been in each other's hairs for years, they got into a fist fight at Flourish and Blotts, your dad conducted a Ministry raid on Malfoy Manor in search of dark artefacts, Malfoy's revenge on him by slipping Voldemort's diary into Ginny's cauldron. I suppose your father would be delighted in digging up all the dirt he can on Lucius to get back at him and keep him in check with it as his Undersecretary."

Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all gaped at Harry incredulously.

"You want – You mean to say – you want our dad as Undersecretary?" stammered Ron. "You want him working for Lucius?"

"Yeah, I mean, there's going to be an empty spot after Umbridge and who better to fill it than your father," said Harry casually.

"Well," said Fred, "there's Percy. He's after the high-paying jobs at the Ministry, after all."

"He can be his father's assistant, but I wouldn't want Percy as Minister or Undersecretary. Besides, with your dad as Undersecretary, he'll have bigger pay, so you'll be able to afford a bigger house, you won't have to buy more second-hand books or clothes. You'll be able to afford yearly vacations, good broomsticks."

Ron was moved to tears.

"Are you crying Ron?" teased George good-naturedly, when he saw the gleam in Ron's eyes.

Ron immediately covered his eyes with a forearm. "Of course not, George. Don't be daft." His voice full of emotions broke just a little.

Harry felt his chest swell and tighten with emotion too. His own eyes stung a bit, but there was a bright and broad smile on his face … and Voldemort was still leaning against him.

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, he brought him closer, properly hugging him with his left arm as naturally as possible.

…

On Saturday afternoon, fifteen minutes before dinner started, McGonagall gathered all Gryffindor students in the common room and addressed them.

"You all probably know by now that Harry and his close friends have been working on a way to get rid of Umbridge for good," she spoke in her strict voice.

The other students glanced at him with hopeful, inquisitive and bemused eyes.

"I am delighted to inform you that they have come up with a plan that Harry will share with all of you and the rest of the school tomorrow. The exact hour and meeting place are already written on the enchanted necklaces that you will all receive shortly. Before I hand out the necklaces, as your Deputy Headmistress and your Head of House, I would like to impress on all of you the importance of not losing your enchanted necklaces, for if Filch or Umbridge find them, the entire operation goes down the drain and there will be severe punishments involved on Umbridge's side. Therefore, when I call your name and you receive the necklace, put it around your neck and don't take it off until we have chased that woman away from Hogwarts. Is that clear?"

"Yes," the entire common room echoed gravely.

McGonagall nodded, satisfied. "Good." She cleared her throat and consulted the list of Gryffindor students in her hands. She started with the first years and finished with the seventh years. Then, once she handed out the last necklace to the last student, she let out a sigh, rolled up the parchment and surveyed them with a proud look.

"We will get through this," she told them. "If we survived the basilisk roaming the school corridors, we'll survive Umbridge too. I will see you tomorrow at two in the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor."

She bowed and the students saluted her on her way out. Once she was gone, they all swarmed Harry, asking him all sorts of questions related to the meeting.

He was getting overwhelmed, not even sure how to make himself heard, when Ginny stepped onto the nearest table, placed the wand to her throat, filled her chest to the brim with air and thundered, "SHUT IT, WILL YOU? CAN'T YOU SEE YOU ARE BOTHERING HIM? WAIT FOR TOMORROW LIKE EVERYONE ELSE! NOW GO TO DINNER AND STOP ASKING HARRY QUESTIONS ABOUT THE MEETING AND PLANS!"

Ginny's booming voice plunged the entire common room into silence. Everyone's mouth fell open in shock. Their eyes were bulging out of their sockets in disbelief. Even Voldemort's.

With a sharp nasal huff, she placed her hands on her hips and leapt down, then turned to her friends and siblings.

"Let's go to the Great Hall, I'm starving," she said pleasantly, as if she hadn't just scared the living shit out of everyone with her screaming.

After Harry got over his shock, and the ringing in his ears had stopped, he smiled gratefully at her and whispered, "Thank you, Ginny."

She nodded and smiled back. "Anytime, Harry."

…

When Sunday came, Voldemort could feel the buzz of anticipation for the afternoon meeting in the Great Hall at breakfast. While he knew most of what Harry would tell his fellow students and the teachers, he still looked forward to seeing Harry in his Field Marshal uniform, towering over everyone, giving out orders, assigning roles, rallying people over to his cause.

He still wondered how Harry got Slytherins to join him, he was only aware of Harry putting Mulciber, Avery and Macnair's kids into the hospital wing, when the redhead told him about it eagerly at breakfast the day before, after he saw Harry arrive to the Great Hall with him and she-Weasley.

It bothered him to know that Harry didn't invite him along this time, when up until then he seemed adamant to include him in almost everything he did. He knew it was pitiful to envy she-Weasley and the redhead for witnessing Harry's speech to Mulciber, Macnair and Avery at the hospital wing, when they were going to see Harry in a military uniform commanding his troops, but he envied them. He envied them a lot. So much so, that it ate away at him from the inside.

His stomach churned and he suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore. Not even the thought of Harry sitting next to him in the armchair and hugging him to his side yesterday afternoon made him feel better.

He pushed the half-full plate away from him, rose to his feet and said, "I'm not hungry. I'm going upstairs."

Harry quickly gobbled down the last bits of his sausage and got up too. "Wait," he called after him, "I'm coming with you. We still have to discuss your workout schedule and diet regime for building muscle mass, starting tomorrow."

Right, now that his body didn't ache like hell, he supposed he was prepared for another training-slash-torture session at Harry's gym. One had to be a real masochist to put themselves through the same sort of pain repeatedly, and he was horny and masochistic enough to undergo that kind of suffering until he claimed his ultimate prize: Harry Potter.

Just imagining having his lips, his heart as well as the rest of his body to himself for the rest of eternity made him heady and willing to suffer physically to reap his reward. Because what were a few weeks or months of painful workout, when there was an eternity alongside Harry waiting for him on the other end of that suffering.

He let Harry catch up, but instead of heading to Harry's apartment, the boy pulled him towards the room of requirement, where he set up the stage for his grand speech: a large empty room, with a large oak table as stage and a giant whiteboard with erasable markers at the end of the room. There was a military uniform atop of the table, with the Field Marshal insignia on it.

The rest of the room, which was reserved for spectators, was sectioned into five sections: the four Hogwarts houses, each section marked with the house banners and flags, as well as a neutral section for the teachers at the back signalled by Hogwarts banners and flags. There were no chairs.

Harry's Generals would stand next to the table on either side of the whiteboard.

Harry immediately changed into his military uniform.

"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself a bit?" he asked. "There's still lunch before the meeting, are you going to change twice?"

"We're not going to eat lunch in the Great Hall," he deadpanned in the middle of pulling up the trousers. "We're going to ask for food and the room will provide it for us."

"Won't it be suspicious if we don't show up at lunch?"

"No, it won't," said Harry blankly, buttoning up his military jacket. "We can always say we were studying, doing homework or …" he trailed off, looking impishly at him, "having sex. I bet the entire school is just waiting to hear that their suspicions and the rumours about us are true after all." He winked and smirked seductively.

Voldemort's breath hitched and his brain stopped working properly. He wasn't sure it worked anymore, because all he could think about was Harry naked and on top of him, spreading his legs and fucking him hard, whilst hugging him close to his body and devouring him with his lips.

Still grinning, Harry – dressed as Field Marshal – beckoned him closer, where a piece of paper appeared out of thin air together with a quill and an inkbottle.

"Okay, so … for your workout we want to start with less running and cycling and fewer sets as well as repetitions," Harry narrated as he started to write down the exercises. "You will also need rest days at the beginning until you build enough stamina to work out every day. That's also when we'll start adding more types of exercises and increasing the number of sets and repetitions per each exercise. As for weight lifting, I want you to start with the dumbbells and the kettlebell and then we'll slowly move you to the barbell."

Apparently, he would work out three times a week, with Tuesdays, Thursdays and the weekends as rest days.

"As for your diet, we'll focus on protein, fats and carbohydrates. We can't neglect fibre, minerals and vitamins either so, we're looking for a good balanced ratio between all six. We'll have to increase your calorie intake and the number of meals you eat as well as start weighing your food and calculating the nutrients and the calories. Unfortunately, until Umbridge is gone, we'll have to content ourselves with regular Hogwarts food, but after Halloween, you and I are going to work out and eat all our meals together at my apartment."

Whilst Harry was enthusiastic about Voldemort's training routine and diet, Voldemort felt bored out of his mind by it. Instead, he busied himself observing Harry's features, his wild, eternally untidy hair, his marked forehead, his bright, green eyes hidden behind rectangular spectacles, which were slowly sliding down his nose, his cheekbones, his jaw, and his lips.

As Harry's hand wrote on the parchment, his gaze wandered to his broad shoulders, his calloused hands. He swallowed thickly. He could still remember how good those fingers felt against his skin, how firm and gentle they were in their ministrations, how … arousing.

Voldemort suppressed a shudder, as his hairs stood up all over his body, recalling Harry's fingers touching him. He would have liked it if Harry had touched his cock too, but he supposed he would have to wait some more before that happened.

"Here," Harry said, holding out the paper to him.

Voldemort took it and looked at it. On one side, there was a complete workout routine and on the other, there was his diet, written out in detail for each day individually. He stared at it.

"Since I work out every morning around five o'clock in the morning for two hours, whenever you have workout days, I expect you to wake up accordingly and come to the gym," the boy was saying. "Bring a change of clothes with you as well, because, as you have seen it for yourself, one sweats like crazy during intense workout and you'll need a shower after every workout session and some fresh and clean clothes. I'll do the laundry and provide you with plenty of water to stay hydrated."

"All right," he said.

"Now," Harry sighed and consulted his phone. "We still have some time before lunch and the meeting, so we might as well start working on our codenames," he announced eagerly.

"Codenames?" he grimaced.

"Yeah, that way, when we communicate through a walkie-talkie or the talismans, we'll know who we're talking about but the outsiders won't have any idea. Codenames will also protect our identities against the law. So yeah, we need codenames. I already have mine. It's 'Saviour Complex'."

He puffed out his chest, looking incredibly smug about it. The worst part was that the codename actually fit him. He did have a serious case of saviour complex.

"How fitting," he drawled.

"What about you?" he asked, his eyes sparkling. "Any ideas on what sort of codename would fit you, but not give you instantly away?"

Voldemort thought, but nothing came to him that wasn't somehow connected to his identity as the Dark Lord. "No," he said in resignation, "no ideas."

Harry hummed in thought, scrutinising him with his gaze. "Do you like snakes in general or just your snake?" he asked him.

"I like snakes in general," he answered blankly, not comprehending how that was relevant.

"Then, you could be known as 'Snake Lover'," suggested Harry.

He looked at him … unimpressed with the suggestion. "No."

"What about 'Snake-Man'?"

"No."

"'Master of Serpents'?"

Voldemort was quiet, debating it in his head. Harry went on, giving out suggestions.

"'Serpent Master'? 'Lord of Serpents'? 'Serpent Lord'? Anything with 'serpent' in it at all?"

"'Serpent Lord' sounds good, I think," he said finally.

Harry grinned. "Then 'Serpent Lord' it is."

…

An hour before the meeting, Harry's friends joined them in the room of requirement.

"Oh, there you are," greeted the redhead upon spotting them writing Harry's plan on the whiteboard. "We were wondering where you two had disappeared."

"We came here ahead of time to prepare for everything," answered Harry, not taking his eyes off the board. "And we already came up with our codenames."

"Really?" asked Granger excitedly. "What sort of codename did you choose for yourself?"

"I'm 'Saviour Complex' and Felix is 'Serpent Lord'," Harry casually answered her.

"Do we get to have codenames as well?" asked one of the twins eagerly.

"Sure you do. In fact, you must have a codename so we can hide our identities behind them."

"Wicked," the Weasley menaces breathed.

"Then I'll be known as 'Trickster'," said one of them.

"And I'll be 'Joker'," said the other.

"You can be known as 'Quidditch Geek', Ron," said one of the twins.

"And you can be known as 'Ginger Banshee', Ginny," sniggered the other.

"More like 'Forever Flat-Chested' if you ask me," teased the first twin and his sister immediately punished him by casting a Bat-Bogey Hex at him.

He let out a pained groan, but his other twin uttered the counter curse, before the snot-bats started flapping out of his brother's nose and attacking his face.

"You say something like that again and I will hex off your balls, Fred," she-Weasley threatened. "Maybe then it would be more appropriate to call you 'Forever Cock-less'."

"What about you, Hermione?" prompted Harry, capping the marker and turning to her.

"I don't know. Maybe 'Level-Headed Lass'," she answered, looking ashamed of her own suggestion. Harry beamed at her encouragingly.

"Sounds brilliant Hermione."

She blushed bright pink and smiled. "Thank you."

"What about you Neville? Luna?" he said, turning to them.

"I was thinking 'Clumsy Herbologist', because I like Herbology and … because I'm clumsy," said Longbottom, flushing bright pink and wringing his hands, while staring at his feet.

"And I would really like to be called 'Moon Fairy'," said Lovegood, looking dreamily at Harry, her pale eyes sparkling.

Harry chuckled. "Then that is how you shall be called, Luna. Pardon me, I meant to say, Moon Fairy."

' Moon Fairy', thought Voldemort deprecatingly, resisting the urged to roll his eyes and make a face. ' More than a codename it sounds like some loving nickname for a significant other.'

Harry had better not keep calling Lovegood 'Moon Fairy' after Umbridge was gone, because they might have a problem otherwise. The only one he should be referring to with a loving nickname was him and nobody else.

Chapter End Notes

More kissing between Harry and the horcruxes, now featuring Locket as well. Also, sleeping Voldemort is cute, no wonder Harry couldn't resist lying next to him for a few brief moments and confessing to him gently in Parseltongue. Unfortunately, Voldemort didn't hear it. Oh, well, there's still time for the two to get together in peace.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Hogwarts Army & Educational Decrees

Chapter Summary

Harry addresses the school, there's development in his relationship with Voldemort and Umbridge sacks Trelawney. Dumbledore returns from his trip, only to face the threat of being replaced by Umbridge as the Headmaster.

Chapter Notes

So, yeah. I skipped yesterday's upload date just so I could publish this today, 31 December, in honour of Tom Riddle's birthday. And to give you a little gift for the end of the year, before taking another two-week break from this story.

Enjoy the chapter for it is long and juicy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

At quarter to two, Harry told Hermione to stand by the door outside with the attendance sheet and welcome people inside, while Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville and the twins would be steering the students and teachers towards their respective section inside the room.

(Neville would be guiding the Hufflepuffs, Ginny the Slytherins, Luna her fellow Ravenclaws, Ron their fellow Gryffindors, while Fred and George would be showing the teachers where to stand.)

Slowly, students and teachers began to trickle inside, filling the room with excited whispers and chatter. Harry remained out of sight behind the whiteboard, inconspicuously glancing at the crowd every so often and Voldemort was keeping him company.

"Nervous?" he asked him. Harry stood there with his eyes closed, his heart thumping furiously in his chest, his stomach twisting, picking at the bandage on his left hand and breathing deeply trying to steady himself.

"A bit," he confessed. He looked at him. "Is it obvious?"

"No."

"Good," he breathed in relief. "Because I can't afford to show any hesitation out there. I may feel like panicking inside, but I must make it look as if I know what I'm doing, as if nothing can faze me."

"You know what you're doing," he told him.

Harry let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "God, Felix," he sounded shaky, "what if I forget to mention something? I mean, it can happen."

"You won't," the man assured him, "because that's why we wrote your mind map onto the whiteboard."

"But what if there's a detail we didn't put on the whiteboard and I forget to mention it and I don't notice I've forgotten to mention it until after the meeting is over?"

"If you forget to mention some minuscule detail, I'll remind you of it. I'll be right there beside you, remember?"

Harry smiled warmly at him. The locket around his neck felt warm and comforting as well. The horcrux in his mind was reaching out to him as well sending soothing and encouraging feelings his way. "Thanks, Felix," he said gratefully, while in his mind, he was thanking both horcruxes and Voldemort. "What would I do without you, huh?"

"Not much, I reckon," he teased, eliciting an amused chuckle from Harry.

"True."

As the clock on Harry's phone turned two and Hermione welcomed the last three Slytherin students, which incidentally turned out to be Mulciber, Macnair and Avery, the large door slid shut. Voldemort looked at Harry. "Ready?"

He pulled himself up, spine straight, shoulders set, and took a deep breath. Determined green eyes looked straight into crimson ones, his lip set in a stern line. "Let's do this," he said lowly and appeared before the crowd.

…

Voldemort's eyes followed Harry. He settled on the right side of the board and table, while Harry effortlessly and gracefully vaulted onto the makeshift stage wearing his military uniform and boots, and stood tall at the centre, with his legs slightly apart and his hands clasped at the back, facing the crowd. The other Generals took their places as well: the redhead, Granger and she-Weasley next to him, while Lovegood, Longbottom and the twins stood on the opposite end of the table.

Murmurs slowly died down and once there was nothing but silence, and every pair of eyes fixed on him, Harry addressed the audience.

"Fellow students, esteemed professors," he said, his voice steady, nodding at them, "we have gathered here on this fine autumn afternoon to discuss Umbridge, or rather how we are going to drive her away from this school for good before Halloween, perhaps even put her in Azkaban for the crimes she's committed under Fudge's mandate. Why, you may wonder. Unless you have been living under a rock for the past three weeks or so, you are well aware of the danger this woman poses to the safety and integrity of this school and its inhabitants with her unethical detention sessions that resemble torture more than actual discipline."

He paused, surveyed the crowd, and then resumed his speech.

"I'm sure most of you have heard about the blood quill," Harry's strong voice echoed through the room, "the horrible flesh wounds and the excruciating pain. Some of you have seen your family and friends go through that suffering, unable to prevent it. A few of you have found yourselves unjustly on the receiving end of one of the most unimaginable pains possible at Umbridge's hand, and before any of you say that I don't know what writing with a blood quill feels like, let me tell you that I know very well how painful it is, because I've been through it myself."

He raised his bandaged hand high into the air. There were gasps and sharp intakes of breath, some have covered their mouths, whispers echoed.

"Now," continued Harry, raising his voice a bit to overpower the whispering crowd, "it's been a week since it happened so the wounds have mostly healed, but you can still see a pale outline of the phrase she had me write a hundred times 'I will not question the authorities'."

He lowered his hand, put it behind his back, and began walking up and down the table.

"With a line like that you can imagine what got me detention with her." He snorted self-deprecatingly. "It wasn't me forgetting my textbook or notebook, or me copying homework from another student or for being late to her class or for speaking out of turn – no, what got me this wound was me telling her to stop using the blood quill on students. What got me detention with her was me telling her she was a monster for using her position and power to harm those she was supposed to protect as a teacher, as a Ministry employee."

He took a deep breath.

"I suppose it was easier for her to punish me the same way she has punished others than to admit I was right, because only true and most vile monsters are capable of wilfully harming children without any sort of remorse and even derive pleasure from it. Of course, Umbridge doesn't see herself as a monster or being in the wrong. In some twisted way, she has convinced herself – she has managed to rationalise – that punishing an eleven-year-old with a blood quill is acceptable. Even Fudge has approved it and he is the Minister! If the Minister agrees with her, then how could she possibly be wrong in her choice of punishment? Surely, I'm the one in the wrong here then as well as any other sane person with a little bit of empathy and common sense," he said sarcastically, only to scowl and for his expression to darken.

"Perhaps if she hadn't watched my suffering and the suffering of other students with such morbid glee and satisfaction, I would have given her the benefit of the doubt, but she clearly enjoys watching those weaker than her suffer. She clearly enjoys abusing her power to satisfy some dark and twisted craving inside her and letting such an individual roam free when we could have done something to stop her is as much of a crime – if not worse – as the harm she has done to the pupils of this school."

Voldemort's red eyes never left Harry for a second. Completely ensnared, he drank in every word that he said in that hypnotic, authoritative voice, he followed his every move, and everything in Harry's voice, posture, aura and demeanour screamed that he was an alpha, a leader, a commander, a Field Marshal.

A warm and tingling sensation spread throughout his body that made goosebumps erupt all over his skin and he had to suppress a shiver of pure arousal that was coursing through his veins.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who looked and listened to Harry with undivided attention. Students and teachers alike were all staring up at Harry in wonder, amazement and admiration, eagerly soaking in his speech. It reminded him of himself, of his days at Hogwarts when he was just starting to form the Knights of Walpurgis. The fools might have been afraid of him and he might have seen them as nothing but mindless followers with no will of their own, but he, too, was capable of eliciting such devoted looks and keeping them on a short leash with a few well-chosen words and his charisma.

It reminded him of himself – of Tom Riddle, of Voldemort – yet, at the same time, it was different. Vastly different. For one, the people Harry was addressing didn't quiver in fear of him or in fear of being tortured and, unlike him; Harry was a saviour, a beacon of light and hope, a hero, a protector. He wasn't a saint, far from it, but he had tasted power and he was determined to use it, but unlike Voldemort, who used power to make himself stronger and more feared, Harry intended to use it to help and save those who were powerless and vulnerable, those who couldn't save and protect themselves.

Pathetically admirable and noble of him, for, as far as he could discern, the boy didn't seek further recognition, fame or glory, he simply wanted to do … good, even if that meant staining his conscience for the rest of his life by driving Umbridge and Fudge to a tragic ending. And for some strange, inexplicable reason he found that sort of mentality coming from Harry incredibly intriguing, attractive and arousing.

"However," Harry continued and his mind returned to the present moment, "as the Undersecretary and Fudge's right-hand woman, Umbridge holds a lot of power, which means that we cannot confront her and challenge her authority openly without risking people being punished, either through the blood quill or her sacking someone. Therefore, our best and only option is to work from the shadows, collect evidence against her and Fudge until we've gathered enough to expose them to the public and have them thrown out of office by the enraged mob."

He stopped pacing, smirked, made eye contact with Draco Malfoy and nodded in his direction.

"Draco Malfoy has graciously and very courageously volunteered to put himself at risk in order to infiltrate Umbridge's office and obtain the necessary evidence of Umbridge's unethical and illegal activities at the school with Fudge's permission, and his father, Lucius Malfoy, has offered to gather dirt on Fudge and Umbridge's illegal and questionable practices at the Ministry. Draco's friends and other fellow pureblood Slytherins, on the other hand," he looked at his Death Eaters' children, "have agreed to spy on her by signing up for any student organisations she might set up in the following days to control the owl post and the school floo network."

All eyes were now on Draco and the Slytherins. Gazes of incredulity and disbelief, of scepticism. A buzz of whispers echoed all around them. Draco looked uncomfortable, as did most of the Slytherins.

"I am aware that most of you have had an unpleasant experience with certain Slytherin students and their Head of House and that Slytherins feel the same way about some of you, but this is not the time to hold onto past grudges and animosity when our very safety and welfare are in danger," Harry continued. "This is not the time to turn on each other with doubts and scepticism. This is a time of unity, of comradery, a chance for all of us to turn a new leaf and make history."

The eyes were on Harry again, conflicted frowns marring most of the faces.

"Now," he turned and gestured towards the whiteboard. "As you can see behind me, I have already outlined the main points of our master plan. Each one of you will play a role in this no matter how big or how small, whether on the frontlines, fighting to take down Umbridge directly, or from the sidelines, providing morale for the soldiers, because I can assure you that we will all need some entertainment once this stressful ordeal is over.

"Of course, there will be no killing and no Unforgivables; however, that does not mean that Umbridge will not suffer. I have promised those who have suffered because of Umbridge, and their loved ones, an opportunity to get revenge on her and you will all get your chance to get back at her without compromising your legal integrity in the process. All incriminating evidence will be destroyed and, if word gets out of what will transpire in the Great Hall on the twenty-eighth of this month, as your Field Marshal, I will assume full responsibility and withstand the worst of any legal repercussions.

"However, regardless of what I have just said, for the duration of this war campaign, I urge you to communicate with each other by using codenames. Think of them as your superhero – alter ego – names. That way, you protect your identity from Umbridge and the law. My Generals and I have already come up with our codenames. The codenames you use should be obscure enough for Umbridge not to figure out the real identity behinds the codename, but easily identifiable to your friends, family and comrades. Therefore, until next week – same day, same time, same place –, I want you to think of your codename and then commit that codename to your memory for the next month – perhaps even beyond. To give you a taste of what I'm talking about, I would like to introduce you to: Quidditch Geek, Level-Headed Lass, Ginger Banshee, Serpent Lord, Moon Fairy, Joker, Trickster, and Clumsy Herbologist." He introduced each one of them, then finally placed a hand on his chest and declared, "And of course, Saviour Complex."

From there, Harry proceeded to explain his plan in detail, step by step. During each step, he collected the names of volunteers who wanted to contribute their help. As anticipated, most signed up for food platoons, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to throw food at Umbridge, however there were quite a few who also wished to stay away from the fighting and concentrate on organising the party that would follow Umbridge's defeat.

Once everyone had a role – even the professors, who mostly ended up as captains to food platoons, and the party squad –, Harry capped the marker and turned to the crowd again to address it.

"Our next meeting will happen a week from now, at the same place and the same hour. I'm expecting some major developments by then in regards to the collection of incriminating evidence against Fudge and Umbridge and I'm also anticipating Umbridge to make her move as High Inquisitor. In the meantime, I urge you to consider a codename for yourselves and to take good care of the talismans you received."

He paused, his face set in a serious expression. "Now, before I let you off, I would once again like to impress upon you that from today until Halloween, we stand united against a common enemy that is Umbridge and Fudge, no matter our Hogwarts house, our backgrounds, our beliefs, or our affiliations. If we are to succeed, there can't be any dissent among us, we cannot let our differences – past and current, big and small – get in the way of our goals, because as soon as we let it happen, we'll fail and Umbridge will have her victory, and we don't want that to happen, do we?"

Harry's voice became harsh and slightly raised.

A chorus of 'NO' echoed like a war cry among the crowd.

"I hope that this truce will not dissolve as soon as the threat has been removed," he continued, once the crowd settled, "but I also hold no illusion that we will all suddenly become one big, loving family of merry misfits. However, for a month, I think we are all capable of upholding the motto 'One for all and all for one'!"

He raised his right arm high into the air, formed into a fist, and yelled. "NOW WHO'S WITH ME?"

The crowd went wild; a deafening cacophony of approving war cries and foot stomps, making the walls and the air around them shake. Harry soon joined in, looking and sounding like some Norse god of war, spurring his worshippers into a battle frenzy, and suddenly, that pleasant warmth that Voldemort felt at the beginning of Harry's speech gave way to desperate, primal, animalistic need. It clawed inside him, wanting to break free.

He suppressed a shudder of arousal and a guttural moan at the back of his throat that wanted to escape, but as much as he tried, he was sure he couldn't disguise the pure want and need he felt for Harry in that moment. The brat was already distracting, appealing and arousing enough whenever he was his usual self, but this … this military leader persona that he put on display now made him utterly irresistible.

…

Even when the crowd calmed down and gradually dispersed until it was only the two of them, Harry's eyes held that excited, frenzied gleam, and the maddened, bloodthirsty grin he sported had Voldemort wishing he could throw himself at him, tear off the uniform, and beg Harry to take him like a savage against the floor, the table, the wall.

However, no matter how desperately he wanted Harry, he had enough dignity and pride not to behave as some common whore, all wanton and lewd, even if that was exactly the effect Harry's pheromones and voice had on him and his brain.

"That went better than I anticipated," Harry admitted and his rich voice made gooseflesh erupt all over his skin.

He cleared his throat to speak. "Indeed. You had no reason to feel nervous."

Harry's deep chuckle warmed his loins and reverberated through his body, setting his nerves alight with tingles. "There's always a reason to be nervous, Felix, because one never knows what can go wrong at any given moment. One always has to expect the unexpected so that when something goes to shit, one isn't surprised."

He swallowed thickly. "Of course," he said in a clipped tone. "I should go." He was about to leave like the rest, so he wouldn't end up doing something humiliating and unbecoming of him, only to have Harry seize his arm gently. He halted.

"Stay," he whispered close to his ear, pressing himself flush against his back. Voldemort held his breath and his back felt hot from Harry's body heat. "Stay for a while longer, Felix. I wish to have a word with you, or rather I wish you to lend me your ear so I can get something off my chest."

"What is it?"

Instead of answering, Harry walked towards the table that served as his stage and beckoned him to follow. His legs moved on their own, leading him right to Harry who sat on the table, waiting for him to join him.

He sat down next to him, careful not to let their thighs touch.

For a solid minute, they said nothing, Harry was staring off into the empty room before them and Voldemort was waiting for Harry to speak his mind. When the silence became unbearable and all he could hear was his own heart thumping wildly in his ribs, Harry spoke.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you to stay and why we're just sitting here."

"Yes."

"It's because I need to ground myself," he continued to stare off into the distance. "I need to come down from the high that standing up here, inciting a mob against Umbridge and Fudge generated in me. I need to put out the thrill of the excited mob that had my blood pumping."

"Why?" he asked intrigued. He didn't expect Harry to say something like that.

"Because otherwise it will all go to my head and cloud my senses and judgement … like it happened to Voldemort."

Penetrating emerald eyes rested on him. He swallowed hard. What did he have to do with this? "I don't get it," he said instead, acting ignorant.

Harry smirked. "I'm saying that for a good moment … I felt like Voldemort," he said and he gaped at him. Harry's gaze fixed on some distant point in front of him again. "Or at least what I think he must have felt every time he had masses of Death Eaters look up at him, listening and heeding his every word, doing his bidding. The power trip, the frenzied state of mind, the thirst for blood and violence, the desire to cause mayhem, to raze everything to the ground and leave nothing but chaos and destruction in his wake … and I don't want the power I have over the others to consume me, enslave my mind. If I'm going to seize that much power, where people will obey my every command, I want to have full control of my senses. I can't lose focus for one instance; otherwise, the temptation could prove too strong and overpower my will."

He stared at Harry, who had fallen silent again. He supposed his words and concern made sense. Having that much power and sway over a group of people felt heady. It made him feel like a god, as if he held the threads of destiny in his hands and he indulged in that feeling, so much so that it blinded him.

"You know," Harry said, a thoughtful frown marring his forehead, "for the longest time, I resented my fame and nickname, because it made people look at me like I was some pre-historic wonder in a museum or some exotic animal at the zoo. They still look at me like that sometimes, although I suppose that these days they are busy deciding whether they hate me or love me."

"What sort of nickname?"

"They call me the Boy-Who-Lived, because I survived Voldemort's Killing Curse. Honestly," he scoffed derisively, "whoever thought of that nickname must have been really drunk, because it's utter horseshit, just like saying that I defeated Voldemort as a toddler is nothing but a load of dragon dung, because I didn't do anything to him. If anyone should be celebrated, it should be my mother; because she was the one who gave me protection that night, but … if people already place so much importance in me simply for surviving … I might as well embrace it all and make full use of it."

"And what do you intend to do with all of it?"

"I'm going to use my name, my fame, my money and power to make a difference in this world. The right difference. Because I don't just want to be a great wizard, Felix. I want to be a great human being."

"That's a very bold statement, Harry, and an equally impossible task," he teased.

Harry laughed; his voice and gaze warmed him from within. "Perhaps, but if there's anything I have plenty of, Felix, that's determination and resilience, and I'm determined to help people and animals and to protect this planet in any way that I can, whether through charity work as a celebrity, or as a police officer, a doctor, or a firefighter."

"You really have a complex," he remarked dryly.

Another hearty laugh spilt from Harry's lips. "I suppose. I mean … if my parents died so I could live, then I might as well make the most of my time on earth, because when I finally grow tired of living, I want to be able to look back on my life and say that I have lived a good life and that I have no regrets."

They remained quiet for a while, listening to the silence around them. He wasn't sure how this helped Harry ground his senses, when the stillness made him all too aware of their closeness and the raging and burning desire inside him. When he asked him about it, Harry said that he was doing a grounding technique he learnt with his psychologist called "5-4-3-2-1".

"What kind of exercise is that?"

"You start by acknowledging five things you can see around you. In my case that would be the walls, the house banners, the door, the table and you." Harry's intense eyes landed on him.

Voldemort gulped, unable to look away from Harry.

"Then," Harry continued, his gaze focused on him, "you name four things that you can touch around you, which are wood, fabric, stone and you."

Harry scooted closer to him until his thighs pressed against his. Voldemort's heart stuttered and a rush of blood went straight to his groin.

"After that, you acknowledge three things you can hear. For me, the three things I can hear right now are my own voice, my own heartbeat and your breathing."

Voldemort wanted to bolt out of the room and he wanted to throw himself at Harry at the same time. Harry was leaning closer, crowding his personal space, his smouldering gaze on his face, darting between his eyes and his lips.

"Harry," he breathed shakily.

"The second to last is to name two things that you can smell around you. For me, those two things are stale air and you. I can smell you. And you smell like fresh pine forest."

He shivered as Harry leaned forward and nuzzled his neck, dragging his nose along his jaw. To stop himself from reaching for Harry, he gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white.

"And finally," whispered Harry against his skin, setting his body on fire, "you must acknowledge one thing that you can taste." He pulled back slightly, rubbing his nose against his. "Can you guess what I can taste?"

"Me?" he said breathlessly.

Harry smirked like a predator. "You."

A strong, calloused hand grabbed his nape and angled his head. Before he had time to register what was happening, Harry's mouth latched onto his and Voldemort's brain short-circuited, then melted into goo as he whimpered into the kiss and held onto Harry for dear life.

Feeling emboldened by his reaction, Harry deepened the kiss, tracing his lips with his tongue, seeking entry and Voldemort gladly granted it. Harry's hot and sensual tongue plunged into his mouth, tasting, exploring, caressing, sending shivers down his spine, making his body tingle and molten desire fill and course through his veins, igniting every nerve in his body until he was aching for Harry's touch and all he could see, feel, hear, smell and taste was Harry.

Casting pride aside, he let unbridled lust take over and fuel his actions. He straddled Harry's lap, clawed at his uniform – at his hair – and kissed back with fervour. In turn, Harry's grip on him tightened, while his mouth and tongue ravaged him, quenching and fuelling a soul-deep ache and longing inside him.

He wanted this. He needed this. He needed Harry; his touch, his warmth, his affection, even if everything felt new and overwhelming, and Harry was gladly giving him all of that.

"Harry," his name spilt from him in a desperate, wanton moan. "Harry."

A growl, low and guttural, escaped Harry as he nuzzled his neck, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail against his skin. Voldemort shook, panting for air, his head light and fuzzy, and his clothed erection pressed deliciously against Harry's.

Harry's hands cupped his ass and lifted him as if he weighed nothing. A second later, he was lying on the table with Harry between his legs, towering and draping over him as a blanket and all Voldemort wanted was to snuggle closer and let him envelop his being, until he became one with Harry.

The bubble of arousal burst when the door to the Room of Requirement creaked open.

As if burnt, both he and Harry jerked away from each other and they hurried to make themselves presentable, or as presentable as one could look when flushed and still painfully hard.

When they looked at the intruder, they saw Ron Weasley, who didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual about them.

"You're still in your military uniforms?" he said incredulously. "Come on, hurry up and change or you'll be late for dinner."

Voldemort's first instinct was to curse the redhead for interrupting, but as his mind cleared and lust didn't govern him anymore, shame and panic flooded him, because if Harry's friend hadn't intervened, he would have let Harry fuck him. What was worse, he would have begged Harry to fuck him and he would have shamelessly enjoyed every single second of it, which would have been unbecoming of him.

"Give us five minutes and we'll join you," answered Harry, his voice still slightly hoarse from arousal.

"Okay. I'll wait for you at the staircase."

When the door closed behind the redhead with a loud click, the silence engulfed them again, and Voldemort felt like burying himself alive into a wall. What was he thinking, letting Harry kiss him and kissing him back; showing such a vulnerable and needy side to Harry?

Sure, he craved Harry as a starved man craved food, and he fantasised about him more than it was normal or healthy, but still. It was unbecoming of him to behave in such a fashion.

"Felix, about what happened earlier," Harry's voice pierced through his thoughts like a spear. "I just want you to know that –"

"You heard Ron, Harry," he interrupted tersely. He didn't want to hear Harry say that their kiss was just a result of confusion on his part or worse that it was a mistake, despite how into the kiss Harry seemed to be as well. "We should go."

He reached for his normal clothes to change into them and disappeared behind the whiteboard.

…

Harry knew he fucked up when he kissed Voldemort without confessing first, just how big of a fuck up it was remained to be seen, but right now, he was more interested in fixing the mess he had created with his impatience. He was not going to apologise for the kiss, because he didn't regret it. He regretted not confessing his feelings for the man in a more straightforward manner, but he would never regret tasting Voldemort's lips and skin, and holding him.

Unfortunately, Voldemort seemed determined to avoid the subject altogether so Harry indulged him and didn't attempt to speak on the matter further. For now at least, because they would have to speak about it at some point.

To quench some of the desire and ache that remembering Voldemort's flushed cheeks, his willing body, his wanton moans and his expressive crimson eyes that held so many emotions stirred in him, he masturbated before bed and, once asleep, he indulged in the attention and affection with which the two horcruxes showered him. They also eagerly responded to him and never shied away from his touches, even when the haze of lust lifted and released their senses.

"What is going on in his mind?" he asked the horcrux inside him, his arms around both soul pieces. "Does he think I took advantage of him? Does he think I'm a bastard for succumbing to my desire for him? I may have the resolve of steel, but I'm still only flesh, blood and bone. I have my limits."

"He thinks you acted on an impulse or that you might consider it a mistake."

Harry was baffled. "Why would he think that? After all those times I flirted with him, damn it. Haven't I made it clear enough that I find him attractive, do I have to spell it out for him?"

"Yes," the horcruxes said in unison.

He let out a sigh. "How thick-headed can he get? I swear to god. He's the densest genius I know."

"He's very insecure. Have patience with him."

Another sigh left him. "I know. I know." He kissed them on the forehead and the horcruxes cuddled closer.

…

Harry's plan to confess to Voldemort took a backseat when he noticed a list of new educational decrees put in place by Umbridge – and approved by Fudge, of course – hanging on the noticeboard in the common room the next day.

As expected, Umbridge would start monitoring the floo network and the owl post. She was also prohibiting extracurricular student gatherings as well as setting up her own little Inquisitorial Squad and, despite being aware of the cancellation of Divination classes; it still came as a shock when he saw the official announcement.

The only good news was that their first Hogsmeade weekend was due that Saturday.

"It's a good thing you got everyone's support before this happened," commented Ron during breakfast, which proved to be a very sullen affair.

"Yeah," he agreed, "we were in luck that this happened after the gathering."

"I wonder what will happen to Trelawney," said Neville. "I mean, she's without a job now and … Umbridge might not let her remain at the castle."

"Maybe she'll get some other role in the castle," suggested Hermione. "And if she does end up leaving, she can rent a room in Hogsmeade until she finds another job."

Harry knew that Hermione was right; that even if Trelawney were banished from Hogwarts, she would have a place to stay and that her being jobless would not last forever, but it still seemed cruel to him that she should lose her job and livelihood in a blink of an eye, simply because Umbridge didn't like her.

…

If sacking Trelawney wasn't cruel enough, Umbridge had to make a spectacle out of her banishment from Hogwarts as well.

Harry's heart clenched and his eyes stung with unshed tears at the sight of a heart-broken and sobbing Trelawney in her travelling coat, hugging her handbag to her front, standing amidst her luggage in the centre of the Entrance Courtyard, surrounded by students and staff on all sides, who couldn't do anything but watch her suffering from afar.

Even McGonagall, who didn't see eye to eye with Trelawney, couldn't bear witness to such treatment.

"S-Sixteen years," she whispered brokenly. Umbridge was regarding her with a sneer. "I've lived and taught here for sixteen years. Hogwarts is my home. Y-You can't d-do this."

"Actually," said Umbridge in that grating voice full of fake pleasantness, "I can … and I did." She held up Trelawney's notice. "You are no longer an employee of this school and as such you have no reason to remain on the grounds."

McGonagall made her way through the throng of students blocking her way and hurried to Trelawney's side to hug her, directing her bitter and reproaching look at Umbridge. Trelawney shook and cried, and the sound broke Harry's heart.

"Would you like to say something, my dear Minerva?" she prompted, a malicious smirk dancing on her lips.

"Oh, there are several things I would like to say," she ground in her thick Scottish accent.

Before Umbridge could bait her into saying what was on her mind, the crowd suddenly parted at the edge of the Entrance Courtyard to admit Dumbledore into the centre of the scene. It had been weeks, since Harry had seen him and he didn't remember Dumbledore ever looking this grave and this furious before in his life.

"Professor McGonagall, might I ask you to escort Sybill back inside," he spoke calmly but with a steely quality to his voice that carried the words through the crowd.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," she said, guiding a shocked and grateful Trelawney towards the massive castle doors. "Come, Sybill, let's get you back to your room and drink some nice cup of tea."

Trelawney's luggage lay forgotten in the middle of the courtyard and Harry made a mental note to himself to carry it to Trelawney's office as soon as the showdown between Dumbledore and Umbridge was over.

Umbridge's smug expression fell and Dumbledore's hawk-like eyes zeroed in on her. "Dumbledore," she spoke shrilly, "may I remind you that under the terms of educational decree number twenty-three, as enacted by the Minister –"

"You have the right to dismiss my teachers," he interrupted in a strong yet still collected tone. "You do not, however, have the authority to banish them from the grounds. That power remains with the headmaster."

Her lips curled into a nasty grin. "For now."

Dumbledore said nothing, but Harry could see anger bubbling in the depths of his eyes. He knew that his days as the headmaster were numbered, because Umbridge would take his declaration of authority as a challenge and Fudge would do anything to discredit Dumbledore and take away his power, the paranoid idiot that he was.

The headmaster's eyes swept over the gathering crowd and called, "And you lot, don't you have homework and studying to do?" before turning towards the castle and walking away, with Snape close behind.

As the crowd began to disperse, Harry took this opportunity to head for Trelawney's luggage and grabbed the largest trunk. Ron and Neville followed him, each taking a smaller trunk, and between the three of them, they carried the luggage up the stairs.

"Harry," panted Ron halfway through, "can we take a break? My arms are going to fall off any second now."

"Mine too," chimed in Neville.

Harry stopped on the landing and waited for the two to gather their bearings.

"Are you really not tired?" insisted Ron, when he noticed that he hadn't broken a sweat and his breathing was completely normal.

"This is nothing compared to how much weight I lift daily, Ron," he assured him, chortling. "This is as light as a feather, just slightly awkward to carry because of its size and shape. Makes it difficult to see where I'm stepping, so I have to be careful not to trip and fall."

"Say," began Neville when they resumed their climb up the stairs towards Trelawney's office, "how long do you think it will take for Dumbledore to lose his position as headmaster?"

"At this rate, a week is going to be a miracle," said Ron. "That bitch is no doubt already floo-calling Fudge to tell him how awful Dumbledore was for undermining her decision to banish Trelawney from Hogwarts, and Fudge is no doubt going to outline a decree that gives Umbridge all the power at the earliest convenience, regardless of whether people will agree with his decision or not. He's already a tyrant at this point."

"But doesn't the power to hire and sack headmasters lie with the school governors?" said Neville confused.

"It should, yes," agreed Ron, "but as you have seen, Neville, Fudge changes laws daily to fit his current mood, which is being a controlling bastard that sees threats to his position from all sides."

"If Umbridge becomes the headmistress, she will move to the headmaster's office," groaned Harry. "Which will make evidence collection and any sort of ambush impossible, since she will be guarded by a fucking password."

"Then have Draco and his goons sign up for the Inquisitorial Squad as soon as possible and then have him infiltrate Umbridge's office sometime before Hogsmeade, before Umbridge moves out of reach," said Ron.

"Good point," he agreed, "but they won't have the codenames by then and I'll have to show Malfoy how to operate a muggle phone camera so he can take pictures and still hope that the pictures don't end up all blurry and shit."

"I don't know about picture-taking, but as far as codenames are concerned, you can think of their codenames yourself," suggested Ron.

"And what should I call Malfoy?"

"I heard from dad that the Malfoys have albino peacocks strutting around the manor grounds. Malfoy looks and behaves like a peacock and because of his pale skin and bleached hair even looks like an albino."

Harry burst into laughter. "Oh my god, 'Albino Peacock'," he howled, doubling over, and even Neville was shaking and wheezing from laughing so much.

"It's the perfect codename for Malfoy, isn't it?"

"Suits him like a glove," he agreed. "What of the others? Parkinson, Nott, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Parkinson has always resembled a pug so we might as well codename her 'Pug-Woman'," said Ron with a straight face. "Crabbe and Goyle could be known as 'Sumo Pro Wrestler' and 'Heavy-weight Brute', respectively due to their size. Nott could be 'Background Bibliophile', since he's a bookworm like Hermione, but he's always in the background and doesn't draw attention to himself at all and Zabini could be called 'Chocolate Casanova', because his skin looks like chocolate and because his family is from Italy and he looks like a heartbreaker and a womanizer."

Harry sank to the ground, supporting himself against Trelawney's trunk as his entire body shook with laughter. His face felt hot, the corners of his eyes filled with tears of mirth and his bladder threatened to loosen up and let out everything it was holding.

"Ron," he squealed breathlessly, clutching his abdomen, "stop … please, I can't breathe and I'm going to pee myself."

Then, out of nowhere, a weird noise left Neville's throat that made all three laugh harder still, until they were all writhing and wheezing on the floor.

Chapter End Notes

Finally, they kiss! They're not dating yet, but we're getting close to that point and it's going to be delicious. Please, don't be mad at Ron for interrupting, better him than Ginny at any rate, because Ron definitely saw them in a compromising position, he just didn't show it.

Also, Dumbledore is back and I'm actually excited, because I have a few very interesting talks in mind between Harry and Dumbledore involving morality and Voldemort. Remember, this is NOT a bashing fic. Albus is NOT evil in this one. I want him to be a mentor and a grandfather figure to Harry; someone with whom Harry can have meaningful talks with, whenever he's facing something huge in his life and he doesn't know what to do. In turn, I want Harry to influence Dumbledore as well in a positive way.

A fun fact: the last scene of this chapter is supposed to reflect the following video https/youtu.be/PHuLy0DT_84, where the hosts of This Morning, Holly and Phillip, laugh for almost five minutes straight, because Holly made a weird sound in her throat and they are wheezing and crying and writhing and it's hilarious.

Give it a watch, it's good fun. And of course, Happy New Year's Eve everyone. Don't go too crazy on the celebrations. I will see you tomorrow with a New Year's gift as well.

A Reluctant Ally

Chapter Summary

Harry offers financial support to Trelawney, has an impromptu meeting with some Slytherins and his friends and gets confronted by Nagini, who reluctantly agrees to keep his secret from Voldemort.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It took Ron, Harry and Neville at least five minutes to collect themselves and another five to reach Trelawney's office.

"Potter, Weasley, Longbottom," McGonagall greeted them, "what are you three doing here?"

"We thought Professor Trelawney might want her things back," said Harry, pointing at the trunks. "So we carried all her luggage back up here."

McGonagall's eyes misted. "Bring them here," she instructed and showed them inside.

They placed the trunks into a corner, before approaching Trelawney, who was blowing her nose into a handkerchief and drinking tea.

"How are you feeling, Professor?" Neville ventured to ask.

"What sort of question is that, Longbottom?" snapped McGonagall impatiently. "How do you think one feels when they have lost their source of income and almost lost their home too? Horrible, that's how."

Harry took a seat next to Trelawney and placed a comforting hand on top of hers. "Professor," he called gently and Trelawney's red-rimmed eyes looked at him, "I know it's difficult, but this predicament is only temporary. I gave you my word to set things right, and I intend to keep my word."

"Yeah, you heard him yesterday, Professor," said Ron, "Umbridge will be out of here before Halloween. So, until then, you can take this month to relax and meditate, to re-energise your batteries and inner eye so to speak."

A weak, watery smile graced her lips and she covered Harry's hands with hers. "I know you will, my dear. After all, the fates are with you. They favour you. You are also a man of your word, so I have no doubt that you will make things right."

Harry turned his hand and held Trelawney's in his. "In case Umbridge becomes the headmistress next week and banishes you from the grounds," he said gravely, "I want you to go to Hogsmeade, where I will rent a room for you to wait until the coast is clear. I will also cover all your food expenses; so, you don't have to worry about being homeless or hungry."

Trelawney and McGonagall looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted another head.

"My dear, that is very generous of you, but I'm afraid I cannot accept your generosity," protested Trelawney.

"And I'm afraid I'm not going to accept no for an answer," he insisted. "Not in this case."

Trelawney burst into tears again and squeezed his hand in appreciation. "Thank you, Harry," she sobbed. "Thank you."

He squeezed back, smiling softly. "You're welcome, Professor."

…

With a couple of hours until dinner, Harry sent an urgent message to Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe, Mulciber, Macnair, Avery and Tom Fawley through the talisman. They met up in the Room of Requirement.

"You're probably wondering why I called for you," he began, once everyone was gathered. They nodded. "In short, Umbridge is on the offensive and we must push back by reacting accordingly, because we can't let her outmanoeuvre us. That's why I want you nine," he looked at Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe, Mulciber, Macnair and Avery, "to approach Umbridge tomorrow and sign up for her Inquisitorial Squad. Since you are all influential purebloods and in Slytherin, she's not going to suspect any folly. Once you've become a member and received your first assignment, I want you to report to me. Understood?"

"Yes," the chorused.

"Good," he said, satisfied. "Another thing, that little power conflict that happened today in the courtyard between Umbridge and Dumbledore will have consequences. I'm expecting another wave of educational decrees by next Monday and I'm expecting one of them instating Umbridge as the Headmistress of Hogwarts. If that happens, any data collection goes to shit, because she'll move offices and her office will be guarded by a bloody password. To counter that, we have to move faster than Fudge."

He looked at Draco. "You know what that means Malfoy, don't you?"

The blond tensed, his spine straight. "Yes. I have to infiltrate the office before Saturday."

"Exactly," agreed Harry, "and we have to make sure you do it when Umbridge is in class. That way you'll have enough time to scour her office from top to bottom, but don't actually make it look like anything is displaced, otherwise, she'll know someone was snooping around. It would be best if you had somebody accompany you, that way you would be able to focus on searching the office and the other one would focus on any outside disturbances."

"Then Pansy will go with me and keep an eye out for Umbridge," Draco said instantly, before she had time to disagree.

"All right, Draco and Pansy, you two will infiltrate Umbridge's office either on Thursday or Friday."

"What about our other classes?" she asked. "We'll have to skip classes if we want to do our task in peace."

"We'll let other teachers know about your mission and they will understand and overlook your absence," returned Harry.

"Okay." She looked satisfied and appeased by that answer.

"As for how you're actually going to collect evidence, Draco, I will lend you my phone," he pulled it out of his robe pocket to show it to him, "and you will use it to take pictures. Since I doubt you know how to operate a muggle mobile phone, I'm going to give you a brief course on how to take photos with one, because I hardly need to tell you that this is our one and only chance to search Umbridge's office and, if we fuck this up, this entire operation could go to shit. Is that clear?"

Draco gulped; sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Yes," he said tersely.

"I know that you have a lot riding on your shoulders, Malfoy, but I really need you competent enough to take pictures with the phone and steady enough to take quality photos, because what good would blurry and illegible pictures of documents be, huh? Therefore, we'll go through the basics tomorrow at five o'clock at the library."

"Okay," he agreed.

"Now," Harry sighed, "in case something goes wrong, despite our best efforts, and you find yourselves in a pinch," he addressed Draco and Pansy, "send an SOS message through the talisman and we'll send in back-up or create a diversion."

"SOS?"

"A distress signal," he clarified. "Something that will let us know you are in danger of being discovered. The rest," he turned to the others, "be on standby, in case you need to move in on my mark. If there are no questions, you are free to go, except you, Tom. I would like to have a word with you."

The older Slytherins left the room. When it was just Tom and him, he turned to the boy and addressed him. "All right, Tom, I would like to speak to your parents, but since I can't do it through letters, I figured I could do it through a phone call, since I already have a phone and your parents probably also have at least one."

Tom nodded.

"Unfortunately, I don't know their phone numbers, so I want to know if you know either your mother's phone number or you dad's phone number by heart."

Tom nodded again. "I know my mum's phone number."

Harry smiled and handed his phone to the boy. "Excellent, Tom. Then, call your mum, say hi to her and tell her I wish to speak to her."

"Okay."

He dialled the number and held the phone to his ear. The muffled ringing reached Harry's ears. On the third ring, a pleasant and warm female voice answered.

" Hello?"

"Mum, it's me, Tom."

" My baby!" she squealed excitedly. "How are you? Is everything fine?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

" Is school all right?"

"Yes."

" That woman didn't give you any more detention, did she?"

"No, I haven't been in any detention."

" Then you called just to talk a bit, huh? Where did you get a phone? Whose phone is this?"

"It's Harry's. He asked me to call you because he wants to talk to you," explained Tom.

" Harry? Which Harry?"

"Harry Potter. You know, the one who helped me when my hand was hurting."

" Oh, yes, I remember. Well, what does he want to talk to me about?"

"I don't know." Tom shrugged even though his mother couldn't see the gesture. "He didn't say."

" Well, I assume he's there, next to you, waiting to speak to me."

"Yes, he is," the boy confirmed. "I'll pass the phone to him now, so you can talk. Bye, mum."

" Bye, sweetheart!"

Tom held the phone out to him. Harry accepted it with gratitude and pressed it against his right ear. "Hello?" he began cheerfully. "Mrs Fawley? Yes, Harry Potter speaking."

"My son mentioned you wish to speak with me."

"Yes, I would have written to you, but things with Umbridge got complicated at Hogwarts, so I thought calling you would be easier."

"What happened?"

"She's monitoring the post and the floo network. I'm already setting up a network of trusted spies to mitigate the control, but it's still a risk to attempt anything at the moment."

"I understand, well, I can put my husband on the phone. I believe he will be a more adequate person to talk to about anything to do with Umbridge. Just a moment."

A few fleeting moments of silence later, a deep, raspy voice spoke into his ear. After a brief introduction and cordial small talk, Harry went straight to the point. "Actually, sir, I wanted to ask you if your offer still stands."

"Of course, it still stands. Anything I can do to get back at that woman for hurting my son, I will do gladly."

"Well then, I'm going to send all the incriminating material that we will obtain on Umbridge and Fudge by Friday through Google Drive to your e-mail sometime this week. Then, it would be much appreciated if you could make hard and soft copies of the pictures – so, print them out and store them on a USB flash drive. The more copies we have, the better. Although, to be fair, the originals would have been best."

"I can do that. I'll send you a text with my e-mail address as well as my phone number."

"Thank you in advance, Mr Fawley," he said sincerely.

"It is my pleasure, Harry."

"Another thing, I know you are a bit out of the loop when it comes to the wizarding world, but perhaps you know someone who could create a blood quill for me. I know they are illegal, but I would like to give Umbridge a taste of her own medicine. I intend to destroy it as soon as I'm done with it. We don't want to leave anything behind on our end that might compromise us legally."

Robert Fawley hummed. "It might be tricky, but let me see what I can do. I will let you know how things are going on my end as soon as possible."

"I'm also going to need you to draw up a magically binding contract for Umbridge. I will write the contents and send the final version to you so you can have it formed into an actual legal document. It goes without saying that it can't be done through the Ministry, but perhaps it can be done through Gringotts, though they'll charge extra for it. "

"I will add that on my list. If anything else pops up, just let me know."

"Thank you, sir. For helping me," his voice was thick with emotion. "I would have taken care of all this myself, but I can't do anything while at Hogwarts, except rely on outside help." A bit of frustration snuck into his voice, because it was true. Here he was, at Hogwarts, with no way of actually doing anything that required fieldwork. The only thing he could do is ask for outside favours and command his troops from within the castle walls.

"Hey, don't sweat about it, kid," Robert's reassuring voice pierced through the haze of impotency that was swelling inside him and seizing his senses. "I am happy to help you in any way that I can, because I'm not only helping you, but my son as well, and I am willing to do anything for him, no matter how illegal and unethical. So no matter the request, do not hesitate to ask for my help."

Tears stung his eyes and a knot lodged itself in his throat. "I'll keep that in mind," he croaked, blinking furiously, "and if the goblins get greedy, let me know and I will cover the expenses. It's the least I can do."

Robert chortled. "Save your money for when you're older and you'll be considering having your own family. Housing, bills, weddings, diapers, taxes and insurance are not cheap you know."

"Oh, man," sighed Harry. "Honestly, why is life so expensive?"

"That's a very good philosophical and existential question. Why is life monetised?"

"Yeah, I mean, why do you have to pay money to be alive? You need to pay for the food, for the water, for the clothes, the shoes, the house, the doctors, the medicine … everything that keeps you alive costs money and if you can't afford the essentials you're pretty much dead, one way or another."

"And in that same vein, why is death monetised, because funerals are expensive as well. Imagine spending hundreds of pounds on a coffin," he said indignantly. "It's not as if the corpse buried in it will appreciate the softness of the velvet or silk or the carvings on the wood or how shiny and polished it is or that it's oak and not mahogany or vice versa. It's a waste of money and natural resources. Oh, the poor trees."

Harry laughed. "It does sound absurd when you actually think about it."

"It is absurd. Then, you have to pay for the priest, the mass, the plot of land where the corpse will be buried," continued Robert. "Such a hassle for no fucking reason. Just chug the corpse into a ditch and that's it, then have a little shrine at home dedicated to remembering the dead."

"All this makes me want to become a self-sufficient farmer. Hey, maybe I'll turn to farming after I'm done with school. Farming and carpentry. That sounds like a good way to save money, in life and in death."

"True," chuckled Robert. "At least that way you won't have to worry about food or furniture, which is always nice."

"As for when I'm dead, either I'll make my own coffin ahead of time and have my family bury me in our backyard or ask my family to set my corpse on fire themselves and use my ashes as fertiliser for the farm fields."

"How ingenious," Robert praised.

They laughed together.

…

When the portrait swung open to let Longbottom and the redhead in, Voldemort was sitting on an armchair in front of the fireplace, pretending to study, while Granger and she-Weasley talked to each other on the sofa. At a table next to his armchair, the Weasley twins and Lee were playing Exploding Snap.

His eyes immediately looked for Harry and felt a weird mix of relief and disappointment wash over him at not seeing him. He was about to ask where Harry was when Granger did it in his stead.

"After we took the things back to Trelawney," answered the redhead, collapsed in another armchair, "Harry went ahead and called on some Slytherins to give them instructions in regards to Umbridge. The woman is clearly on the offensive and we have to react accordingly, otherwise she'll get ahead of us."

About half an hour passed and Harry had still not returned.

"What's taking him so long?" she-Weasley grumbled impatiently, her arms crossed. He shared the sentiment, but unlike her, he kept his thoughts to himself. However, just as the question left her mouth, the portrait swung open again and through the hole came Harry wearing a serious expression, accompanied by Lovegood.

"All of you, my apartment, now," was all he said in a clipped tone, before he headed for the staircase that spiralled toward the fifth-year boys' dormitory, with Lovegood close at his heel. They exchanged brief inquisitive glances, before pushing themselves up and following them upstairs.

Harry waited for them beside his apartment trunk with a raised lid. "Get in," he motioned towards the interior with a sharp nod of his head.

Was something the matter, Voldemort couldn't help but wonder at the urgency and the terseness of Harry's voice and countenance.

Without question, they climbed inside the trunk one by one, until the lid closed shut behind Harry. He urged them to take a seat while he levitated a few chairs from the dining room and set them in a semi-circle around the coffee table, then went to the kitchen to fetch a tray of glasses filled with water.

Voldemort sat in the middle of the sofa, with Weasley to his right and Granger to his left, while Lovegood, she-Weasley, Longbottom and the twins took the chairs. As usual, Harry took his place next to him by squeezing between him and the redhead.

Their thighs brushed together and heat erupted through the fabric where they touched. Voldemort's stomach tightened and his mouth went dry. He had the urge to press closer, yet move away at the same time, the memory of their kiss still fresh in his mind.

"All right, everyone, here's the latest news," he addressed them without preamble, his torso leaning forward, his hands clasped together, elbows resting on parted knees. "In light of recent educational decrees and the possibility of Umbridge replacing Dumbledore as the headmistress of Hogwarts, I have met up with Malfoy, Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Mulciber, Macnair and Avery and instructed them to apply for the Inquisitorial Squad to spy on Umbridge tomorrow.

"On Friday, Parkinson and Malfoy are infiltrating Umbridge's office while she's teaching. They are going to look through her things and take photos of anything incriminating. For that reason, I'm giving a crash course in muggle photography to Draco tomorrow so that he'll be capable of taking quality pictures with a muggle phone, otherwise, what's the point of photos if they are blurry as hell and you can't see shit."

Out of nowhere, he gasped audibly, his eyes blown wide, his mouth agape in shock – as if he'd just had an epiphany. His sharp and sudden intake of air startled them.

"Oh my god," he breathed, smacking his forehead. "Of course. The pictures!" He groaned and fell back into the sofa, dismayed. Everyone stared wide-eyed at him.

"What is it?" wondered Granger, alarmed.

"I could have taken pictures of my injury when it happened!" he exclaimed finally. "I could have photographed the back of my hand as evidence, but my dumb ass didn't even consider it as an option," he berated himself.

He was fuming, his hands pressed against his forehead, fingers twisted in his hair, making an even bigger mess of it. "I'm so mad, right now. Furious at myself for wasting such an opportunity." He glared at the ceiling.

"Don't worry, mate," said the redhead, clasping Harry's shoulder, "you'll get her to confess everything, so it doesn't really matter if we have pictures of the injuries or not. We'll have access to the lines that the students were forced to write instead."

Harry looked at his friend. "You know what? You're right. I forgot we were doing that for a moment. However, now I have a dilemma and I need your counsel on it."

He sighed, running his fingers through his messy black hair, and leaned forward again.

"The sheets of parchment containing the lines those in Umbridge's detention had to write in their blood will no doubt pop up as evidence against Umbridge if this goes to court, which no doubt will once the word gets out in the press. However, I'm unsure whether we should have each victim identify their paper and label the writing or if we should keep everything anonymous, because most of the victims are minors, and we would need parental consent to publish any personal data.

"I know that Muggles have strict and tight laws when it comes to personal data protection of minors and, while I don't know much about the wizarding stance on the matter, I'm reluctant to bring the spotlight to the victims. I don't want the press to sink their teeth into them like vulture talons and tear their dignity, reputation and humanity apart for scandal and money that such sensational news will bring."

His gaze darkened and hardened.

"I better than anyone would know that those people at the Daily Prophet don't give a shit about how the things they write and publish affect other people, their livelihoods and mental health," he continued grimly. "And they have proven time and time again that they don't care whether the person is a minor or not, because they haven't had any qualms over publishing whatever bullshit they wanted about me since I was one and as far as I can recall they haven't sought permission to write about me from the Dursleys," he sneered.

"They are a business and they only see numbers and galleon signs, instead of people and their livelihoods. If I were in a different state of mind from the one that I am now, the defamatory articles they have been publishing about me since last year would have probably driven me to suicide and they wouldn't have cared about that because any article with my name in it brings in the readership and subsequently the money they covet."

"You know, Harry," said Granger softly. "You could sue them for defamation. You and Dumbledore both. Maybe if you make them cough up money they have earned by spreading lies about you two and making you look bad without any evidence, they'll think twice before publishing anything about you in the future."

Harry regarded her with a thoughtful stare. "That's not a bad idea, Hermione. Maybe I will file in a lawsuit against them once this ordeal with Umbridge is over and I'll convince Dumbledore to do it as well … if he'll deign to talk to me this year at all," he concluded with a grimace.

"Anyway, right now, we want the media to forget about Dumbledore and me, and instead focus on Umbridge and Fudge. We could take the evidence to the Auror Department and let them take over the investigation and the case, but I'm afraid they'll try to hush up everything, not to mention that they'll probably take their sweet ass time in getting Umbridge and Fudge convicted, so that's why, no matter my feelings towards them, we need the media instead. They'll get the information to the public in record time and we want the public to be enraged. We want the public to go crazy and attack Fudge and Umbridge like rabid dogs. If we're lucky they'll lynch them, if not, they'll pressure the Ministry into handing them over to the Dementors, which also works in our favour."

A cloud of unease settled over the others at the mention of Dementors and them possibly playing a role in someone having their soul sucked out of their body. Harry surveyed them with a levelled look, his face a stone mask.

"So … what is your stance? Should we seek parental consent and publish the names of victims to make the evidence more factual or should we keep everything anonymous and vague to safeguard the mental health of those affected?" He brought the subject back to its original dilemma, though if one asked Voldemort, there was no dilemma to speak of, when Harry's opinion on the matter was already settled.

For a moment, nobody said anything, until Lovegood spoke. "Well, it is clear that your feelings are very strong and clear on that one, Harry," she said, looking straight at him with her pale silvery eyes. "And if you want to protect the children from the public eye and scrutiny by keeping their identities anonymous, then there's nothing more for us to do than to accept your decision and follow you without question or hesitation."

"Luna's right," said she-Weasley. "You're the one calling the shots here, Harry, and we're here to back you up."

Granger, Longbottom, Weasley, and the twins shared the sentiment. Harry nodded; his throat bobbed, his jaw clenched and he blinked furiously. "Thank you, everyone," he rasped, his eyes still shiny and his voice thick with emotion. Then, he cleared his throat. "I also spoke with Tom's father, Robert Fawley, in regards to the contract and the blood quill. I will also forward the files that Draco is going to procure for us to him during the weekend so he can make soft and hard copies and that's basically it," he concluded. "For now, at least. We still need to get our hands on the stun gun, I have most of the food that we'll be using for the food platoons in the pantry and the fridge, and Fred and George are working on the hot sauce."

He turned to the twins. "Speaking of which, how's the research and the development coming along? Are you making any progress?"

"Slower than we would have liked," answered one of the twins, Fred maybe, "but we are currently trying out different hot pepper combinations and concentration solutions to maximise the capsaicin levels. Once we've got to the highest number, we'll start the extraction and the liquefying processes, until we turn it into a sauce."

"Good," Harry nodded in satisfaction, "as long as the end result is ready by October 28 th, take your time researching and experimenting. You know more about Chemistry involved than I do anyway, and the more painful it will be for Umbridge, the better."

…

After the impromptu meeting at his apartment, Harry and the rest headed towards the Great Hall for dinner and after hanging out for a bit and doing some schoolwork, Harry was ready to go to bed. He headed for the bathroom where he went through his evening routine, which included urinating, brushing his teeth, another quick masturbation session thinking of Voldemort and his horcruxes, and changing into his pyjamas.

As he slipped under the covers of his dark bedroom, he felt something touch his leg and, shortly after, he heard an enraged hiss. " Ow, watch it!"

Harry yelped, rightfully so, and scrambled to his feet and reached for the light switch to inspect his bed and found himself staring agitatedly at Voldemort's snake. "Syomara," he said in English. He had to make a conscious effort to do it, "what are you doing here? Why aren't you with Felix?"

The snake bore her eyes into him. " Firstly, I think we both know that my name is not Syomara, but Nagini," she hissed coldly, addressing him directly. He froze, but refused to acknowledge what she was saying. " Secondly, we are also both aware that the one you call Felix is actually Tom or Voldemort, and thirdly, we both know that you are a speaker so don't even think about pretending you don't understand what I'm saying, because I know you do."

Harry felt like he'd been bathed in cold water as dread took hold of every part of his body, making it difficult to think and breathe.

" You know?" he hissed quietly, finally slipping into Parseltongue.

" I know."

Harry's mind was both blank and racing with questions. " Does Tom know?" he asked anxiously and he felt sick all of a sudden.

" No, he doesn't."

The breath he was holding left his lungs in an audible sigh of relief and some of the pressure in his chest subsided as he breathed with more ease.

" But if you don't answer the questions I have for you I'll make sure he finds out the entire truth, even the fact that you are in love with him," she threatened and Harry was immediately on edge again.

" You know about that, too?"

" That you love him? Of course, I know," she huffed. " I heard you confess it to him while he was sleeping."

Harry's heart stuttered. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. He couldn't breathe. Black spots invaded his vision. His limbs went cold and rigid, he felt dizzy and light-headed. Shit. This was bad. This was horrible. He felt like puking.

" What would you like to know?" his voice came out weak, resigned. He would answer any and every question the snake had if only to keep her mouth shut until he was mentally ready to come clean with Voldemort about everything.

" First, I want to know why you deceive Tom."

" I'm not deceiving him," he said defensively, " if anything, he's the one deceiving me and everyone else, claiming he is a Muggleborn that goes by the name of Felix, when in reality he's none other than Lord Voldemort."

" How can he deceive you when you know who he is?" she reasoned and Harry's brain faltered for a moment. " However, he does not know that you know the truth and you are deceiving him by not telling him that you know his true identity."

" I'm playing along with his charade. Isn't that what he wants?"

" Why do you not tell him?" insisted Nagini.

" Because I'm scared, okay?" he exploded. He ran his hands through his hair. " I'm scared that he'll hate me, if I tell him the truth, so it's easier to just not say anything."

Nagini regarded him for a while. " I suppose that's the risk you'll have to take, because he deserves to know. He deserves the truth, so he can stop feeling like you only treat him nicely because you think he's Felix. If you love Tom for Tom, then he needs to know that. The sooner, the better."

Harry fixed his stare on his feet, feeling the burn of tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat.

" Give me time," he pleaded. " I swear I'll tell him all the truth … eventually, but not now. It's too soon and I'm not ready."

" You don't have enough courage to tell him the truth, yet you can apparently muster up enough courage to kiss him and almost mate with him without properly courting him first, is that it?" she accused and Harry almost choked on his saliva as his cheeks burnt. He tried to explain himself to her, but she wouldn't listen.

" I don't want to hear your excuses, human. The only thing I care about is my Tom's feelings and his well-being and you better be serious about him, because otherwise, I'll strangle you in your sleep and eat you for dinner," she threatened.

" I'm very serious about him," he assured her.

" Well, it sure doesn't look like you are," she snapped irritably at him. " Because if you were, you would have been honest with him about everything, you would have made it clear to Tom that you desire him as your mate, you would have initiated a courting ritual with him, you would have entered a relationship with him, and finally you would have mated with him and given him hatchlings."

Harry stared at her, blinking, unable to form words. When he finally found his voice, he cleared his throat and said, " I love Tom, Nagini, and I will do everything you just said properly with him. I will treat him right. You have my word. Until then, can I count on you to keep my secret, Nagini? I know I'm asking a lot of you, but this is between Tom and me, therefore, it should fall onto me to tell him everything."

Nagini was quiet for a long while, thinking the words over, until she sighed in displeasure. " I don't like it. I don't like it one bit, because I dislike keeping things from my Tom, but I will make an exception this time and keep quiet. However, you," she jabbed the tip of her tail in his direction menacingly, " you have until summer to tell him all the truth, otherwise, I'll tell him, because the longer you wait, the more difficult and messier everything will be, and there's a higher chance of my Tom getting hurt."

His fingers twisted in his hair in exasperation. " I know, damn it. I know," he hissed impatiently, helplessly.

" At least don't wait too long to tell him that you love him," she insisted. " He deserves to be happy, loved and cherished."

Harry's chest tightened as snippets of his conversation with his inner horcrux flashed in his mind. " On that, we can agree whole-heartedly."

" Don't hurt him, human," she warned him one final time.

" Never intentionally," he assured her.

Nagini's unnerving and judging stare prickled his skin. Finally, she sighed in resignation. " It's not ideal, but as long as you don't hurt him on purpose, I suppose I'll have to content myself with it."

With that, she slithered down his bed and past him, across the living room and up the stairs where she lifted the lid of his trunk with her muscular tail and left. At least that explained how she got inside his apartment while he was away.

Harry stared after her, his mind and body still buzzing with adrenaline. He would seriously need to come up with a way – and courage – to tackle this conundrum and get the best resolution – which at this point would be Tom not hating him and still being his boyfriend.

Chapter End Notes

We're back to weekly updates for the next four chapters and then I'll take another break to work on the chapters. I hope that after the break between chapters 41 and 42 I will be able to finish this first part of the series without any more breaks, but one never knows. It all depends on how many chapters ahead I'll get and the speed of me writing chapters for this story. At any rate, I'll keep you posted on any changes.

Next chapter should focus on Draco and Pansy as they risk their hides for everyone. There will be a brief interlude featuring Harry and Voldemort at Hogsmeade as well, but it will be mostly a Slytherin-centric chapter.

One for All and All for One

Chapter Summary

Draco learns to take photos with a muggle phone, he and Pansy risk their hides for the entire school, Harry gets to spend Hogsmeade Saturday with Voldemort after kind of confessing to him and Voldemort gets jealous when Harry accepts to meet with Cho in a deserted classroom the following morning.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Punctual like a Swiss watch, Draco came to the library for his crash mobile phone photography course with Harry the following day, armed with a roll of parchment and quill to take notes. While the library wasn't full, they still retired to a more secluded corner for peace and quiet, but most importantly away from Madam Pince's hawk eyes.

"All right," began Harry, fishing out his phone from his pocket and placing it on the table between them. "Before we start with the course, I want to know what happened with Umbridge. You talked to her, yes?"

"Yes, we applied for the Inquisitorial Squad and she told us to go through the owl post. She appointed Pansy, Blaise, Theodore, and me as the supervisors for the incoming owl post, meaning that we are to open every package before it is delivered to the students and teachers and go through its contents. She also gave us a list of things we should keep an eye out and confiscate if we see them then report everything back to her after each inspection. Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Macnair and Mulciber are the supervisors for the outgoing post, so before anything goes out of Hogwarts also gets checked and, again, they have been given instructions on what to look for in those posts that is subject for confiscation."

Harry nodded. "Okay, well, ignore her instructions," he told him. "You will leave the post untouched, unless she decides to oversee your work in person or through Filch – that is the only instance where you need to play along with her, every other time, ignore everything she told you to do."

Malfoy assented.

"Good, make sure to let the others know that too."

"I will."

"And do you have the list of prohibited things with you? I would like a copy so I can let others know what to avoid from now on in their owl post."

"I do," Malfoy reached into his school bag to take it out and place it onto the table for Harry to inspect.

There were over a hundred bullet points of prohibited items that should be confiscated and reported immediately to the High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge ranging from sharp and pointy objects such as knives, scissors, hatchets, sewing and knitting needles, broches, metal hairbrushes, hairpins, muggle pencils and screwdrivers, to explosive, toxic, flammable and corrosive objects such as body deodorants, hair spray, nail polish and nail polish remover, make-up, perfumes and bleach.

"Good Lord," Harry muttered under his breath, unable to believe what he was seeing, "I mean, I suppose it makes sense to want to confiscate weapons or anything that might be used as a weapon, but pencils, hairbrushes, hairpins, perfumes and make-up? Sure, you could probably stab someone in the eye with a hairpin or a pencil and there are probably plenty of questionable ingredients involved in make-up, but still. We're not in the Middle Ages when they put lead on their skin. At least she's not banning soap and shampoo, imagine if she prohibited that as well. Absolute disaster, I tell you. Then, we would really go back to the Middle Ages when people didn't bathe at all."

"I know," agreed Draco. "Pansy (and a few other girls) flipped the moment we got to the common room. Cussed out Umbridge and her entire family and threatened bodily harm to her person, even death. She's really into make-up and fashion and she's absolutely livid that apparently she can't owl-order any make-up for the time being so and that she can't brush her hair with her usual hairbrush. If she wasn't willingly on board with taking down Umbridge before, now she is very willing to get her out of Hogwarts."

Harry covered his mouth, doing his best to smother the laughter. "I would have liked to hear the pureblood ladies cuss like vulgar muggle sailors," he sighed, still smiling. "Anyway, I'm glad to have their full support now. I will inform the rest of the school on Sunday. Was there anything else Umbridge told you or was this it?"

"Well, she hasn't said anything explicitly yet, but since all of the mentioned items on the list are prohibited," he nodded towards the list on the table between them, "expect a surprise dorm inspection in short for the entire school and the confiscation of all those items. She will probably have Filch and the Inquisitorial Squad do that. That way she will cover more terrain."

Any trace of a smile disappeared from Harry's face as gloom settled on it once again. "Shit," he cursed in a whisper, "you're right. I'm expecting her to do that sometime next week, when she becomes the headmistress, but she might try to push for an earlier date and we need to be prepared for it. I don't want any unpleasant surprises, so I might need to let everyone know as soon as possible. I might need to call for an urgency meeting before you and Pansy raid her office on Friday."

"And what will we do to avoid the confiscation of items?" wondered Draco, genuinely curious to know how he planned to solve this mess.

"Easy, we'll just use the Room of Requirement as our hiding place. The entire school – save for Umbridge and Filch – knows about it so we might as well use it to stash our prohibited goods. Everyone would just need to make sure that they properly label everything so there's no confusion or missing items once Umbridge is no longer in the picture and her decrees are no longer in place."

"Makes sense."

"Now, I just need a copy of this document here," he said, referring to the list of prohibited items, "so that the teachers can make enough copies for everyone – with the exception of Filch and Umbridge of course."

"And the members of the Inquisitorial Squad," interjected Draco. "Because each one of us got a copy."

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind when I do my math, and I will use a copying charm to get a physical copy, but let us say I would like to have a soft copy as well in the form of a picture on my phone. I'm going to guide you through each step, Draco, and you are going to take a photo of this document for me. Can you do that?"

Malfoy swallowed hard and his forehead shone in the artificial light of the library. His pale face looked even paler, almost grey, but he steeled himself with a deep breath and nodded.

"All right. Here's how you take photos with a muggle phone," he began narrating, with his phone in hand. "You start with a black screen. Now, to activate it you need to press this side button. Once the screen lights up, you press this to unlock the phone."

He went slowly, letting Draco write down every little detail and demonstrating everything

"Once the phone is unlocked, you will see this screen. These little images scattered all around it are called application icons. You only need to pay attention to this one here that says camera. Ignore everything else, because if you mess with my phone and you accidentally delete something or download something, I will be very displeased with you Draco and I will take my displeasure out on you, just so we are clear, okay?"

Again, Draco paled, gulped and began to sweat even more profusely. "Of course. Don't worry; I'm not going to touch anything else, just this camera thing."

"You better, because I have lots of cute animal pictures and pictures of food, memes, and my friends from work and I don't want to see a single one missing and I will know if you mess around, so don't think you would even be able to get away with anything," he threatened.

He cleared his throat and continued with the explanation.

"Anyway, click on the application icon to start up the application and you will see whatever you are aiming at reflected on the screen. Make sure everything looks nice and crisp before clicking this circle down here in the middle. Because this circle, once you touch it, will take a photo and if you moved your hand, it can look blurry. You can always press this to see the last picture you've taken and if it's blurry, you delete it by clicking on this trash can icon and then the phone asks you if you are sure that you want to delete the image and you press yes.

"However, if the picture looks sharp and legible, then you simply push this arrow pointing left to go back to the camera where you can keep taking pictures. Now, you try it … from the beginning. I want to see you go from the first to the last step. Look at your notes if you need to at any point of the process and take your time, we have another half an hour before dinner so, practice while you can."

He watched Draco Malfoy fumble with the muggle phone, consult notes and still mess up the photos by shaking too much. The first few times were amusing, but then he decided to give the blond a tip on how he could keep the phone stable even when he might be shaking slightly.

"So, if you feel shaky, you can always use your stomach as support. However, make sure that while you're using your stomach as a stabilizer you don't breathe."

He pressed the bottom part of his mobile to his abdomen, used the left hand to keep it in position and then kept the right loose to press the circle. The picture came out sharp and detailed. "See? It's easy. Now you try it."

Draco tried it and indeed, he managed to take a decent photo. Not as sharp as his, but he could still read everything without straining his eyes too much.

"Well done. Keep practicing."

By the time it was dinner, Draco knew how to unlock Harry's phone, how to get to the camera, take good photos and erase bad ones (just in case). Harry called it a success.

…

The rest of the week was quite busy for Harry.

He spoke to McGonagall after dinner on Tuesday about the list, possible dorm search, and arranging for Draco and Pansy's absence from classes on Friday under the pretence of asking her about career counselling and had her make copies for those who didn't have the list yet. After that, he and his friends spent at least half an hour trying to figure out the perfect time slot and day for the express meeting, but couldn't find one without making Filch and Umbridge suspicious so he decided to split the meeting into four smaller ones.

He thought of doing a meeting for each house separately, but changed his mind after Voldemort, who was comfortable in his presence again, pointed out to him that it would be too suspicious for students of an entire Hogwarts House to be absent even for thirty minutes on a school day at once. Therefore, he wasted another fifteen minutes trying to coordinate four groups of seventy students from all houses and years from three o'clock to five o'clock in the afternoon, until Voldemort provided a much easier and simple solution to his problem.

"Why don't you simply let them pick the hour that best suits them and once you fill seventy places for a meeting, you let everyone know which meetings are still available and so on until you fill out all the places."

His expression lit up with a smile. "That's a great idea," he praised. "I'll do that straight away."

However, as soon as he did that, the talismans exploded with names and numbers and they couldn't keep up with everything, so instead of making it 'first come, first serve', he went through Sunday's attendance sheet, and went from name to name asking for the required information and jotting it down next to each person.

On Wednesday, he held the meetings, where he distributed the copies of the infamous list, warned everyone about a potential dorm search and encouraged everyone to label and hide all their prohibited personal belongings in the Room of Requirement at their earliest convenience and as inconspicuously as possible by the end of the week.

On Thursday, he went through the plan again with Pansy and Draco and let Draco practice taking photos some more before leaving the mobile with him. Despite the warning and Draco's reassurance of not messing around with his phone, he still felt uneasy and fidgety without his mobile.

' It's only going to be for half a day,' he told himself. ' Everything will be fine. Nothing bad will happen.'

…

"Anything yet?" whispered Pansy from inside of the wand-illuminated broom cupboard that Draco and she were occupying on the first floor.

Draco was currently looking through a small gap in the door at the DADA classroom, waiting for Umbridge to come out of it and head for breakfast since her office was part of the classroom.

"No fresh developments," he reported. "There's no Filch in sight either."

"What's taking that bitch so long to go to the Great Hall for a fucking breakfast?" hissed Pansy in frustration. "We've been stuck in here for the past twenty minutes and she still hasn't left her damned office." She was starting to get sweaty and dizzy due to the stale and stuffy air of the cupboard, something that wasn't helping with her nerves at all.

Draco glanced at Potter's phone. It read 7:58. "Two more minutes and she should be out, Pansy. I hope."

"Yeah, well I hope this entire thing works out, because otherwise I just might commit murder for my make-up," she snarled darkly under her breath. "And your father better give me protection from the law, because I refuse to go to Azkaban for that sack of human waste, do you hear me?"

Draco sent a wary look her way from the corners of his eyes. Pansy could really send chills down his spine every now and then. "I will keep that in mind."

He returned his gaze to the classroom door and saw it open. Through it walked the stout woman in another hot pink suit (he already lost count how many different pink suits he had seen her in) and pink low-heeled sandals. He made the gap smaller and watched her leave down the corridor towards the moving staircase.

He quickly sent a message to Potter through the talisman. ' Pink Toad has left the office. Infiltration sequence initiated.'

Once her footsteps were out of earshot, he signalled Pansy that the coast was clear and they left the cupboard. They tiptoed their way towards it, and then slipped inside with almost no noise. Making a beeline for her office, which was locked, Draco unlocked it with the Alohomora. When they were inside, he locked it again.

' Infiltration successful. Data collection initiated. Current status uncompromised,' he wrote through the talisman.

' Good. Pink Toad is in the Great Hall. Keep us updated on your progress and status,' it read back.

"All right, stay at the door and listen for any disturbances," he instructed her. "Meanwhile I will got through her things."

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it," she urged him impatiently to hide how nervous she was, because while they were searching the office and collecting photos, Umbridge would be on the other side of the door giving lessons and if she decided to return to her office between lessons, they were pretty much fucked. "The sooner, the better. If we're lucky, we'll be done before lunch." She pressed her ear to the door and listened.

Draco started at the desk drawers, where he opened each and every one of them, took out all the papers, pulled up the phone camera and, using the stomach stabilizer technique, he began taking pictures, one document at a time. He was careful not only to take sharp photos, but also making sure that the order and the placement of documents wasn't disturbed, and while he was mostly focussing on the quality of the photos, he also caught glimpses of what Umbridge's papers were saying. Some were official correspondence with Fudge, in which she was reporting things to him, requesting his permission to administer Veritaserum for questioning and use Blood Quill as a disciplinary device on misbehaving students, but most of what he found were parchments with red lines spelling out the same sentences repeatedly.

The sight of dried blood made him sick to his stomach and he made sure to get over it as soon as possible.

Somewhere around halfway point, at about 8:32, his talisman heated up again and when he glanced at it, he saw, ' Pink Toad has finished eating' from one of the teachers and quickly after it, another person (most likely Potter) wrote, ' Stall her for 20 minutes'.

When the next message popped up at 8:53 that said ' Pink Toad is headed your way. Watch for the noise,' the classroom started to fill with students and their chatter and Draco managed to photograph every document in Umbridge's desk, which amounted to 100 pictures, and return everything to how it was before he started going through everything.

' Umbridge's desk complete. Current status uncompromised. Proceeding with the inspection of cabinets and the back room,' he reported, before he began looking through Umbridge's cabinets with utmost care, because the silence in the classroom signified that Umbridge was there, sitting at the teacher's desk sipping tea roughly twenty feet away from Pansy and him.

Most of the cabinets contained metal tea boxes and delicate and expensive china with cat motifs, but there were a couple of drawers that contained blood quills, and there were over thirty such quills judging by the looks of it. He snapped a few pictures of them, because this was also part of the data and evidence against Umbridge, before heading to the crowded back side-room, hidden behind curtains, where orange boxes bearing a large 'W' were taking up most of the space, making it difficult to move about without disturbing them.

He made his way towards a few locked drawers, where he found drafts of law proposals against magical creature (mainly werewolves), muggleborns and muggles, evidence of her plagiarising other people's work, her real and forged birth certificates, and notes on influential men Umbridge attempted to romance to further her career and standing within the Ministry, but ultimately failed to ensnare.

A shudder ran through him as he gagged at the thought of anyone wanting to kiss or have sex with that horrid woman, and it was quite hypocritical of her to punish students for copying homework in a hurry when she herself had been stealing credit from other people to advance her position.

With glee, Draco documented every find he uncovered, even the order signed by her, issuing the Dementor's Kiss on Harry and his muggle cousin by two Dementors. ' Potter will love this when he sees it,' he thought to himself, grinning broadly, knowing that this was the last nail in Umbridge's coffin, after Harry was done with her.

Just then, Pansy burst through the curtain, wide-eyed and panicked, mouthing Umbridge's name and mutely urging him to hide with wild arm gestures. His heart rate spiked suddenly as pure dread and terror seized his body. He hurriedly stuffed everything inside the open drawer and locked it, before diving for cover behind the boxes.

Pansy mimicked him and they lay flat on the floor, holding their breath, and straining their hearing to find out whether they were compromised or if she was simply going to leave in a few minutes after she was done doing whatever she was doing.

He glanced at the clock on the phone and saw it was 10:24. She must have finished her first lesson and now she was here to refill her teapot with more tea – if the clinking of the china and the bubbling of boiling water were any indication. Well, as long as she didn't wander here, there was no reason for alarm or distress signals. Still, they were both on high alert.

To their horror, the footsteps grew louder and the rustling of the curtains told them that she was there in the back room with them. They exchanged frightened looks. Draco didn't understand why Umbridge was there when he made sure he didn't leave anything misplaced.

Shivering, he reached for the talisman and wrote in block letters, ' WE'VE BEEN COMPROMISED! REQUESTING IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE!'

The seconds snailed by, his eyes fixed on the talisman, yet his ears focussing on Umbridge's footsteps. ' Come on, Potter,' he panicked in his mind, when twenty seconds went by and Potter hadn't replied to his distress call. ' How long does it take for you to mobilise somebody to cause a distraction?'

Another ten seconds passed, before a different set of letters appeared on his talisman. ' Diversion deployed. Expect to see results in sixty seconds. Hold your position.'

Sixty seconds? That was too long. Umbridge could discover them in the next ten seconds if she decided to come any closer.

A loud explosion as well as screams, coughs and gagging sounds came from the classroom outside the office. Umbridge hurried off to see what was happening, allowing Pansy and him to gather their bearings.

"Shit, that was close," she breathed, still shaking from the ordeal. "I thought we were done for. Are you done? Please, tell me you got everything so we can leave while she's busy investigating whatever the diversion was."

"Yeah, I'm done. Let's get out of here while we can."

He stuffed the phone into his trouser pocket and they left the office in a hurry. As soon as they were out of the office, they saw smoke everywhere and a horrible stench reached their nostrils too.

"What happened here?" demanded Umbridge shrilly, coughing.

"It was – Peeves – Professor," coughed Mulciber. "He came in here – with dung and smoke bombs – thought it would be fun to cause some mayhem."

Shielding their noses and mouths, they took advantage of the smokescreen and the loud coughing noises to make their way unseen for the door leading to the corridor, and not a moment too soon when Umbridge began to wave her wand around to disperse the smoke and open the windows to let fresh air in.

…

"Did you get everything? Did Umbridge see you leave?" inquired Harry under his breath once Pansy and Draco joined them in Herbology with a twenty-minute tardiness.

"I think we got everything and, no, she didn't see us," he whispered back, handing over his phone. "There were probably a few other things I could have looked at, but we left the office and classroom during the diversion. Still, I've managed to gather over 200 hundred photos, all very incriminating. Much appreciated for the assistance, by the way."

"Thank Mulciber, Avery, Macnair, Fred and George; they each set off a dung bomb and a smoke bomb that they found in one of the classroom cabinets to create a cover for you to sneak away unnoticed. Also, make sure to stop by the Three Broomsticks tomorrow around noon for a free butterbeer. Pansy, you too. I'm paying."

Harry opened the gallery and looked through the pictures to check for their quality and to skim over some of the contents, pausing at the order to Dementors to perform the Kiss on him and Dudley on sight. His brow creased, his grip on the phone tightened and he felt his mood sour and darken almost instantly. Voldemort noticed.

"What is it?" he asked.

Harry showed him the picture.

Once the contents of the document registered in Voldemort's mind, Harry saw rage fill his red eyes and his lips press together in a harsh and taut line. For a moment, Harry was certain Voldemort would throw caution and his disguise to the wind, because he looked ready to murder Umbridge.

Thankfully, they were in class and he had enough time to cool down, although he was tempted to poison her food during lunch. When he caught him glaring daggers at Umbridge, trying to reduce her to cinders with his murderous stare alone, Harry reached for his thigh and squeezed it lightly to redirect his attention.

It worked wonderfully, because suddenly, every particle in Voldemort's body was aware of his touch. He stiffened and his eyes locked with his. Harry smiled softly at him. "Don't worry. Her time will come. She will pay for everything she has done here and at the Ministry," he whispered, stroking his thumb on his leg. Voldemort's throat bobbed, but nodded and went back to eating his food.

Harry didn't move his hand away for the rest of the meal.

…

Harry woke up eager to spend his Hogsmeade weekend in Voldemort's company, going from shop to shop, buying sweets at Honeydukes, drinking tea and eating pastry at Madam Puddifoot's, restocking stationary at Scrivenshaft's and having a hearty meal at The Three Broomsticks. He would have preferred it if it were just the two of them, but having Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna along for the ride wasn't too bad, he supposed.

He sighed. Oh, whom was he kidding? He wanted to tell everyone to go do something else and leave Voldemort and him alone for their date. He already had to convince him to go to Hogsmeade in the first place, since Voldemort was determined to remain inside the castle, saying he didn't have a lot of wizard money.

"Don't worry, I'll pay for the things you won't have enough money," he said eagerly and apparently it wasn't the right thing to say because Voldemort looked offended.

"I don't want to owe you money," he grumbled.

"You won't," he assured him. "Regard it as a gift."

"For what? My birthday?" he snorted. "My birthday isn't until December."

"I know your birthday is in December, but that doesn't mean I can't buy you random gifts throughout the year."

"Why would you want to do that?" he insisted.

"Because I want to do it, okay? I want to buy you gifts," he said exasperatedly.

"Why? I haven't seen you buy random gifts for your other friends," Voldemort kept going.

"You're special. That's why," he said with finality.

Voldemort stared into his eyes defiantly, assessing his words. "I'm still not going."

Now, Harry was the one with questions. "Why?"

"Because I don't feel like going to Hogsmeade."

"You've never even been to Hogsmeade," pointed out Harry, completely baffled. Well, Voldemort had probably visited it more times than Harry and known it better than him, but still. If he intended to stay behind so he could go down to the Chamber of Secrets to confront the Diary, he had to thwart that encounter at all cost, because nothing good could come out of that reunion at this point.

"Your point being?"

"That there is no reason for you not to want to go to Hogsmeade." When Voldemort didn't comment on that, Harry pressed further. "Or are you perhaps avoiding me?"

Voldemort's wide, panicked eyes connected with his determined ones for a moment, before averting his gaze, blinking furiously. "Why would I be avoiding you?"

Harry got closer and leant forward, caging him on his sofa. "I don't know," he said, boring his eyes into him, "you tell me." The proximity made Voldemort squirm. "Perhaps you think I might kiss you again and you want to avoid it from happening." Voldemort swallowed hard, his breath hitched and his body tensed. "Did you dislike it that much?"

The man looked him in the eyes, opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Slowly, his neck turned red, then his cheeks and ears. He looked so sexy when he was flustered; it made him want to kiss him again.

"You know," he said in a low voice, "you can tell me if you hated it and if you don't want me to kiss you, just say it, and I won't do it ever again."

"Why would you want to kiss me at all?" he finally managed to get out.

"Because I like you," he blurted out before he could stop himself, but the utter shock on Voldemort's face was worth it. "A lot. If I didn't, you can be certain I wouldn't have kissed you back there. So, if you think that it was a mistake on my part or some failure in my judgement, I can assure you that it's neither. I was very aware of what I was doing and I want you to know that I don't regret it."

A knock interrupted them. Before he went to see whom it was, he said, "So, which is it?"

"I'll go to Hogsmeade tomorrow," Voldemort muttered with bright red cheeks, "and I didn't dislike the kiss either."

He smiled brightly. "Good." Then, he leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss on the man's cheek.

…

Harry was fully expecting his friends to be around at all times, but surprisingly all of them suddenly wanted to go to different places. Well, it was just Ron and Luna, but they whisked all the rest away with them as well. Ron dragged a confused Hermione to Gladrags while Luna took a protesting Ginny and a compliant Neville to Dervish and Banges, leaving Harry and Voldemort to explore Hogsmeade on their own.

Not wanting to dwell on what just occurred Harry grabbed the excellent opportunity that had been presented to him with both hands and escorted Voldemort to their first stop: Honeydukes.

"I'm not really into sweets," said Voldemort.

Harry felt scandalised by the statement. He inhaled loudly and sharply, putting a hand to his chest. "What do you mean you aren't into sweets?" he said dramatically. "Everybody needs sugar. Also, it is universally acknowledged that sugar is brain food, so you can't tell me that you dislike it, because you can't be a genius and not like sugar. It makes no damn sense."

Voldemort snorted and chuckled. "I don't mind chocolate and homemade cakes and pastries. I'm just not fond of other types of candy."

"Oh, I see," he said relieved. "Well then, we can go buy some Chocolate Frogs and Fudge Flies before heading to Madam Puddifoot's for some tea and cake."

"All right."

Their trip to Honeydukes was brief and cheap, however, as they arrived at the teashop, they both halted at the entrance. Harry's eye twitched and he jerked as memories of his visit to Umbridge's office assaulted his mind. Both places had the same pale pink walls, decorated with pastel-coloured frills, ribbons and bows. The only thing missing were all the plates featuring kittens.

"It's … uh, very …" Harry searched for a polite way to describe the place, trying his best to ignore all the couples publically showing affection for each other over the tea cups, "very … pink."

"It's horrible," supplied Voldemort with a horrified expression on his face, his eyes on the hand-holding and kissing teenagers.

Harry winced. "We don't have to eat and drink here, if you don't want to. Maybe we can ask for a takeaway and go eat outside."

"I would like that."

They made their way towards the cake display case to make their selection.

"At least the cakes look appetising," muttered Harry under his breath into Voldemort's ear, who agreed. The problem however was deciding on which cake to choose. He really wanted to try a chocolate-coffee cake, but was also in the mood for something tart like lime pie or a cheesecake. When he glanced at Voldemort, it seemed as if he was having the same problem.

"Have you already decided what you would like?" the owner's sweet feminine voice, who looked to be in her thirties, asked them.

"Uh, I'll have a piece of chocolate-coffee cake, please," he blurted out.

"And you?" she asked Voldemort.

"Caramel hazelnut."

"And to drink?"

"Green tea for me, with no milk and no sugar," said Harry.

"Black tea with milk and no sugar," added Voldemort.

"Thank you for your order, please take a seat. I will bring your cakes and teas momentarily," she said with a bright smile.

Harry cleared his throat. "Uh, we were wondering if we could take the order with us outside. We planned to eat it somewhere else."

The question seemed to confuse and surprise the owner, because for a moment she didn't know how to answer them. "Well," she began nervously, "it's not often that customers wish to eat and drink elsewhere – actually, this might be the first time it has happened – but I'll arrange it so you can eat your order elsewhere, if you would wait a moment."

They watched her disappear in the back of the shop. "I feel kind of bad," whispered Harry only for Voldemort to hear.

"Why? She's earning money either way, whether we eat the cakes and drink the tea here or outside," reasoned Voldemort.

"I know. It's just that … she clearly didn't expect us to ask for a takeaway. I bet she put a lot of effort into the decoration, ambience and the entire experience."

"So what?" he scoffed. "You want to sit in here surrounded by pink walls and horny couples just so you don't hurt the owner's feelings?"

"No."

"Then there's no reason to feel bad."

A minute later, the woman returned with a carton box, where she put their cakes, wooden teaspoons and paper cups, filled with steaming hot tea.

"Here's your chocolate-coffee and caramel-hazelnut cakes together with green tea, no milk, no sugar and black tea with milk and no sugar. That will be one galleon, eight sickles and twelve knuts," she announced, placing the receipt on the box.

Harry reached for his wallet and produced the said amount.

"Thank you for your purchase," she said brightly as the bell chimed to announce their departure, with Harry carrying the box with cakes and Voldemort carrying the paper cups.

They found an empty bench near the residential area, away from the high street where most of the traffic was, and sat on it to enjoy their cakes and tea in each other's company.

"Did you manage to send the material to that man, Fawley?" Voldemort inquired casually as he took a bite of his cake.

"Aha. All two hundred and forty pictures. By the time I was done, my phone battery died. Had to recharge it overnight."

"Any news on the blood quill?"

"Only that it's in the making. I still have to draft the contract and mail it to him so he can turn it into a legally and magically binding document. I'll do it by Monday."

Suddenly, the urge to yawn overtook him and he yawned, loud and wide. Of course, Voldemort noticed.

"Are you tired?" He took a sip of his tea.

"Aha," he murmured, running his hands over his face to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. "Coordinating all of this is a real nightmare, together with all the schoolwork. I barely have time to do anything else. It's like that's all I do now: get up, exercise, shower, eat, go to class, eat, do homework, work against Umbridge, eat and sleep. It's a good thing Nathan keeps sending me memes to relax and laugh every day, because otherwise I would have lost my mind already by now."

"Memes?" he inquired, trying to appear nonchalant, but Harry could hear curiosity in Voldemort's voice.

"Yeah, memes. Here, I'll show you." Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through the gallery and highlighted a few, such as: I'm on a seafood diet – I see food and I eat it, featuring a fat kid trying to flex; That moment when you see the perfect avocado at the supermarket, featuring Daenerys holding a dragon egg; To meme or not to meme that is the question, featuring Shakespeare.

"Oh, and these describe my feelings for Umbridge perfectly," he said smirking, as he showed him the following memes: I'm not saying I hate you, but if you were on fire and I had water, I'd drink it; This girl is on fire! Good, let her burn; I'm not saying I hate you, but I will be the happiest person at your funeral; I'm not saying I hate you, but if you fell off a cliff, that'd be nice.

Even Voldemort laughed at a few, so he knew he picked good ones. From memes, they moved onto a few videos that he had downloaded from YouTube about 'Achmed the Dead Terrorist' a skeleton puppet and compilations of dumb and funny game show answers.

They watched, their sides pressed together, chuckling and laughing, with Harry throwing in a few comments that made Voldemort laugh even harder.

"Felix, did you know that apparently all women look pregnant in September?"

"Looks like grapes are a vegetable."

"You know what I always take with me to the beach? Turkey. You can never go wrong with a turkey on the beach."

"I didn't know that orange was a yellow fruit, did you?"

"So, apparently Shakespeare's name wasn't William, but Arthur."

"True, I don't want to let police see pickles in the back of my car either. They could think I'm weird."

"So, if the slang word for policeman is dick, does that mean I've been carrying a policeman between my legs my entire life?"

"I wish my bathtub was big enough for scuba-diving."

"Hamsters lay eggs? I thought they were mammals not birds."

"So sheep are made of wool, huh? You learn something new every day."

"You hear that, Felix? Clothes are for children only. I suppose that we are still children, since we are still wearing our clothes. We should throw them away once we decide to become adults."

At about half past eleven, they made their way towards The Three Broomsticks for lunch. While placing their order – Shepherd's pie with garden salad for him, Cornish pasties with garden salad for Voldemort and a glass of water for both –, Harry took the opportunity to arrange the lodgings for Trelawney with Madam Rosmerta as well. They agreed he would pay upfront for the first week and the rest when he got access to his Gringotts account.

Shortly after noon, his friends joined them and a group of Slytherins walked in as well. Harry waved at them to come closer, especially Draco. After all, he had to ask him about his father's side of investigation.

"He's got his hands on a few files, nothing major though. Wait for another week or so."

"Okay, just make sure he makes a copy of every document and mails a copy to you, so we can make soft copies too."

"I will," he nodded, then grabbed the jug of butterbeer he ordered for him and said, "And thanks for the butterbeer. I really needed it after yesterday."

Harry chuckled. "You and Pansy earned it," he grinned, "together with everyone who created the diversion. So, enjoy it, Malfoy."

…

As an orphaned student, Voldemort never really had a reason to look forward to Hogsmeade weekends. It wasn't until he had started his group called Knights of Walpurgis that the weekends provided a perfect cover for them to confer in public without making it suspicious. The Room of Requirement was still a better place for their meetings, but having a meeting at a pub alongside a meal and a drink was a nice change of pace and scenery.

Despite the company, Voldemort never felt in awe or impressed with Hogsmeade, and he only ever visited shops to restock his school things, to buy elegant robes and winter wear once in a blue moon, so that he wasn't only wearing his school uniform and that he wasn't cold in winter, or to look at magical books. He didn't have money for anything else, so even though he was tempted to spend what little he had from the school fund on sweets and joke items like other children, he withheld from ever stepping a single foot in a place that could tempt him to spend money recklessly.

Therefore, today was a different – brand-new – kind of experience for him with Harry. It was his first time going to Honeydukes and while he didn't get as excited about the candy as the others did, he allowed himself to admire the shelves. He was horrified by the teashop, but found the cake and tea worth the trip so he wouldn't mind suffering the tacky decoration and equally tacky customers for five minutes, even though he didn't feel comfortable with Harry paying for his share as well. The Three Broomsticks hadn't really changed all that much or updated their menu, but what made everything so different and special was the time he spent with Harry, talking and laughing.

He felt butterflies flap their wings in his stomach remembering their time together, the kiss, the confession, because Harry confessed to him, didn't he. He told him he liked him, that their kiss in the Room of Requirement wasn't a mistake or an impulse, but something he wanted to do consciously.

Although, perhaps, maggots digging holes through his stomach were a more accurate description of what he was feeling in his insides, especially the following morning, when a sixth-year Ravenclaw girl that Harry greeted as Cho approached their table and asked Harry to meet her in a deserted classroom after breakfast.

"There's something I want to talk to you," she said timidly and he felt like puking.

His fingers wrapped tightly around the fork and he ground his teeth together, until it hurt. Images of Harry with Cho suddenly flooded his mind. Images that weren't so innocent. Images of them kissing, hugging, touching, laughing, and having sex sprouted and proliferated like bad weed.

However, what hurt even more was that Harry agreed to meet her alone, despite the confusion at her sudden request that was clearly written all over his face.

Chapter End Notes

Don't worry! Nothing bad will happen between Harry and Cho - it's Voldemort conjuring up things that he thinks will happen if Cho and Harry are alone - but there will be drama and jealousy and feelings pouring forth without a dam to stop them.

Also, bellow are the links to the videos mentioned in the chapter.

Achmed the Dead Terrorist by Jeff Dunham:
https/youtu.be/GBvfiCdk-jc
https/youtu.be/IL357BrwK7c
https/youtu.be/pH1Zaef7XXA
https/youtu.be/3L8fIrWnXRA

Funny Game Show Answers of All Time: https/youtu.be/R7ghDhpCLKM

And the memes that appear are not mine either. The credit goes to whomever came up with them. They are brilliant!

Girl Problem & Jealousy

Chapter Summary

Emotions galore.

Chapter Notes

Warning: This chapter contains a lot of emotions. Have some tissues at hand if you need them, ladies and gentlemen. I needed them for sure - quite a few too, but perhaps I'm just overly emotional and extremely sensitive.

Please, enjoy the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Voldemort couldn't calm down his racing thoughts; he couldn't distract himself long enough not to think about Harry in Cho's arms or Cho in Harry's arms. He paced up and down the Gryffindor common room like a caged lion, itching to bolt out the portrait hole after Harry.

"You know," the redhead's voice pierced through the fog in his mind, "you could always spy on them to see what they're doing."

He halted in his tracks and looked at Ron Weasley casually lounging on an armchair. "And pray tell, how would I do that unnoticed?" he sneered.

"Well, there's the Disillusionment Charm," said the redhead offhandedly, "but we've still to learn about that one with Flitwick so the next best thing for you is to use an Invisibility Cloak. Lucky for you, Harry has one in his trunk, he inherited it from his father, so all you have to do is go upstairs, go through Harry's things and use the cloak to make yourself invisible. I suggest you hurry up; Harry is not going to be in the toilet for long and if you take too long to follow, chances are you will miss a good chunk of their conversation."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why are you telling me this? Aren't you supposed to be Harry's friend?"

"I am his friend," he clarified, "but you are also my friend and I can tell that you want to eavesdrop on his conversation with Cho, because you think something might happen between them, and I want to help you out, mate."

He went rigid.

"What?" the redhead snorted. "You thought I haven't noticed how you and Harry have the hots for each other, how you two eye-fuck each other whenever your eyes meet, yet you still dance around one another like a cat around hot porridge even after you snogged in the Room of Requirement last Sunday and had your first unofficial Hogsmeade date yesterday. Heck, Luna and I even made sure you two had the entire day to yourselves and you two are still not an official couple, like what in the actual fuck are you waiting for to happen, an apocalypse, is that it?"

Voldemort choked on his saliva as heat spread across his face. "You – You saw us kissing?"

Harry's friend (and apparently his as well) sighed. "Yeah, I saw you snogging the daylights out of each other, and admit it that if I hadn't made my presence known, you two would have shagged right then and there."

Mortified, he felt his blush deepen. "If you hadn't interrupted us, I probably would have let him shag me, yes," he muttered under his breath against his better judgement, but apparently Felix had plenty of moments where his good judgement failed him and he did and said things he would have never dreamed of doing as Voldemort or even Tom Riddle.

"I thought so," said Ronald unfazed. "Look, just be glad that it wasn't Ginny who saw you, because otherwise, all hell would have broken loose."

"Why?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because she has the hots for him too, genius."

That declaration made him feel like someone submerged him in an ice-cold tub. Suddenly, all she-Weasley's strange and aggressive behaviour aimed towards him made sense. She was jealous – she was jealous of him and Harry, of the closeness between them, because she liked Harry.

An uncomfortable feeling churned his stomach again. She liked Harry. Cho also probably liked Harry, which meant that she-Weasley and Cho both wanted to date and marry Harry and kiss him and have sex with him and kids and –

His thoughts started to spiral and he was starting to feel restless and compressed. His muscles tensed and his lungs weren't functioning as they should, because it was getting difficult to breathe; his hands were all clammy, cold sweat broke out on his forehead, black and white spots swarmed his vision, he felt light-headed and nauseous – like he would vomit any second now.

"Has had them since she was eleven," continued the redhead, not noticing anything unusual with him, "so yeah, you aren't the only one who has a thing for Harry, but I can assure you that Harry only has a thing for you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he snarled through gritted teeth. He was doing his best to keep his panic under control, because that was what it was – a panic attack from just imagining Harry being with someone who wasn't him. How pathetic!

"Well it should," he countered indignantly. "Harry isn't the player or the lady-killer type of guy. When he falls in love with somebody, you can bet that it's going to be for life, so I would count myself lucky if I were you, because Harry wants and loves you. Therefore, when he gets the courage to confess properly, prepare yourself for an actual marriage proposal right from the get go. However, you are clearly still anxious about his conversation with Cho no matter what I tell you, that's why I'm telling you to go upstairs, grab Harry's cloak and fucking follow Harry and spy on them. Just don't mess up and get caught, that's like number one rule of spying and eavesdropping."

Voldemort was stunned into speechlessness and he didn't even make the effort to mask his shock that was clearly visible in his features. Even his brain stopped processing information for a few seconds. He gaped at Harry's friend. Marriage proposal? Harry would propose marriage to him? Who even proposes as a part of a love confession anyway? Harry, apparently. Moreover, why did that make him so giddy?

He blinked to clear his head and cleared his throat to get his voice back. "If I do this, can I trust you that you won't mention a single thing to Harry about this?"

"Rest assured, I won't tell Harry about it," Weasley promised.

He should probably demand an Unbreakable Vow and not rely on another's word alone, but the redhead's word was the best he had right now and he was itching to rush upstairs and tear through Harry's second trunk to get his hands on the Invisibility Cloak and go after him.

Before he knew what he was doing, his body moved on its own and he was skipping two stairs at a time. He barely even registered the muffled moans and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh that were coming from the bathroom when he opened the dormitory door, otherwise he would have been both scandalised and disgusted at whomever was having sex in the bathroom everybody used. It was beyond unhygienic.

His gaze and mind were set on Harry's bed and trunk containing the cloak. Of course, he made sure to leave nothing overtly overturned, because the last thing he needed was for Harry to know somebody was going through his personal belongings, and there, at the bottom, his hand grazed a cool, water-like texture.

His fingers closed over it and he pulled it out. The shimmering fabric was see-through on one side and solid on the other. ' This must be it,' he thought. ' The Invisibility Cloak.'

Without further ado, he returned everything to the way it was before, slipped the cloak over himself and went downstairs and through the portrait hole. He made his way towards the rendezvous point on the sixth floor, mindful of not crashing into anybody, because he doubted that, in addition to being invisible, he stopped being solid too.

As he entered the sixth floor corridor, he saw Harry walking carefree towards the abandoned classroom Cho was waiting for him, with his hands in his trousers' front pockets. He made sure to follow him as closely as possible without making any noise and when he opened the door, he slipped inside without either of the two people being the wiser.

Cho was standing at the front of the classroom and turned when she heard Harry's greeting. She greeted back. "Thank you for coming, Harry," she added with a reserved smile.

"Well, I'm curious to know what you want to talk to me about in private, so that's why I'm here," he returned light-heartedly as he joined Cho at the front. Voldemort maintained his distance, but was close enough to hear what they were saying and see everything they were doing.

Cho wrung her hands together. "Well," she began timidly, "I wanted to tell you that it's really amazing what you're doing. That you're amazing. Well, you've always been amazing. An amazing person and seeker. It's a shame you aren't playing Quidditch anymore."

Voldemort's heart drummed wildly at her words and his insides twisted and turned painfully. She was going to confess to him, he knew it. Cho was going to ask Harry to date her.

Harry looked confused by the praise and let out a fake chuckle. "Uh, thanks, I guess. I also think you're a remarkable person and an amazing seeker, if a bit annoying, whenever you obstructed my way and I lost sight of the Snitch, but surely you could have told me that in front of the others. I don't understand why we had to come to a deserted classroom for you to tell me that. Unless … you're trying to convince me to play Quidditch again, is that it? Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I'm not playing Quidditch again. I've had enough of Quidditch-induced injuries for a lifetime."

Voldemort wanted to slap his forehead in frustration. ' No, you oblivious idiot,' he thought to himself, ' she's complimenting you because she wants you to date her and she's seconds away from confessing to you, maybe even kissing you.'

Cho's face turned slightly pink. "No, I didn't mean it like that," she stammered, flustered. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Harry, it would be nice to play against you on the Quidditch pitch again, but what I want to say is that – is that –"

Her voice failed her and the sinking feeling inside Voldemort grew worse. Then, he saw the moment she grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and as if in slow motion, he watched, helplessly, as she screwed her eyes tightly shut and began to close the distance between them, while Harry's eyes grew large, as he stood transfixed.

Voldemort reached forward, ready to intervene, because he wasn't letting Cho or she-Weasley or anyone else kiss Harry, when Harry's reflexes sprang into action, grabbed Cho's shoulders and pushed her away, before their lips could touch, making her stumble backwards.

For a few seconds, all three were silent, wide-eyed and frozen still, only for Harry to break the silence with, "What the hell, Cho?" he said. "What was that just now?"

Voldemort felt relief wash over him, as he kept repeating 'they didn't kiss' to himself.

"I'm sorry, I just thought," she began agitated and on the verge of tears, "I just thought that you liked me and now that Cedric isn't around, I thought we could –"

Harry stared at her in shock, then heaved a deep sigh and carded his fingers through his hair. "Look, Cho," he spoke with gentle sternness, "you are a very beautiful woman, but I don't like you, not like that. I thought I did, but I don't. Besides, I think the real question here is not whether I like you, but rather whether you like me or are you just using me to get over Cedric?"

The girl paled and went stiff. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Regardless of your answer, my answer and my feelings won't change, but if you are doing this because you think you have to in order to overcome Cedric's death and absence, you are being unfair to me, but above all, you are doing a great disservice to yourself."

Cho pressed her trembling lips together, fighting back tears that had welled in her eyes.

Harry's gaze softened and he stepped forward. Voldemort's breath hitched.

"It's okay, Cho. I know it's hard with him gone. I know you miss him. I know you're hurting, but rushing into a relationship when you're heart and mind are not into it, whether with me or anyone else, is not the answer."

Cho's throat bobbed, her breathing hoarse and ragged, while her body spasmed from her effort to suppress her sobs. Slowly, Harry wrapped his hands tenderly around her shoulders and tugged her close to his chest.

Voldemort's own chest tightened at the embrace. ' He's only comforting her,' he told himself. ' He's only comforting her. He doesn't love her. He's not in love with her.'

"Let it out," Harry encouraged in a whisper. His hands rubbed soothing circles on her back. "Don't hold it in. Let yourself go."

Like a dam breaking, a long, heart-wrenching wail left Cho as her knees slowly gave way and she slid to the ground, bringing Harry with her. With her fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt and her face burrowed in his chest, she sobbed until she was choking on her own tears.

"Why?" she hiccoughed as she wept. "W-Why did h-he have to d-die? Why my Cedric? He was a good person, so why him?"

Harry's eyes were shut and his jaw tense, keeping his own tears at bay. "Because he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

"It's not fair," she wailed. "He didn't deserve to die. He never did anything to Voldemort, so why did he have to kill him? What did he gain from it?"

Voldemort froze, his heart stuttered.

"We were going to get married, Cedric and I," she continued to cry. "We were going to buy our own house to have a family, and now – now, there's no Cedric, no wedding, no house, no kids. I'm all that's left of that dream and even I am nothing but alone and broken."

Tears rolled down Harry's cheeks as his arms tightened around Cho. "I'm sorry," he gritted out in a broken whisper. "I'm sorry for not saving him. I – I could have done something, I could have shoved him out of the way, I could have tackled him to the ground – and I didn't. I just watched the Killing Curse snuff the life out of him the moment it hit him."

She raised her head slightly to look at Harry.

"No, Harry," she said hoarsely, shaking her head, "you have nothing to apologise. You're not at fault here. The only one who should answer for this is Voldemort. It's always him, isn't it? He only knows how to kill and destroy all that is even remotely good and beautiful in this world. Why should a monster like him be allowed to live at all when he hadn't granted my Cedric the same mercy and kindness?"

A lump formed inside Voldemort's throat, making it difficult to breath. His head was pounding; his chest felt flattened from an invisible force pressing down on him from all sides and he was certain he also had a stomach ulcer.

He needed to get out of that accursed classroom while both Harry and Cho were busy crying over the boy he had Pettigrew kill, because he had heard and seen enough. There was no danger of either of them kissing or having sex or becoming a couple, but he also didn't want to be present to hear how undeserving he was of anything good in this life. He better than anyone knew he didn't deserve love, affection, forgiveness, compassion, acceptance, or understanding, yet that didn't stop him from selfishly craving the things he had been denied from the moment he'd been conceived.

No matter how many people he had killed, no matter how many families he had destroyed, no matter how much pain and suffering he was responsible for – Harry's included –, nothing stopped him from greedily coveting Harry, or loving and understanding parents. Now that he could have both – whether as Felix, Voldemort or Tom –, he wouldn't let either escape him.

Wrapping Harry's cloak tightly around himself, he backed towards the door and cast a Silencing Charm on it, before slipping through the tiniest of cracks he could squeeze through and hurrying back to the Gryffindor tower.

…

"And?" asked Weasley gingerly when Voldemort collapsed into the armchair next to his, after he returned the cloak back to its place. "Did anything happen between Harry and Cho?"

"Nothing I thought it would."

"I told you that you had nothing to worry about," he said, with a smug grin plastered on his face. "She probably just wanted to discuss something to do with Umbridge and that requires privacy. We can't risk the Pink Toad suspecting anything is afoot."

That couldn't have been farther from what they were talking about, but he also didn't feel like correcting him. In fact, he wanted to forget the entire conversation. The only solace he had was the fact that Harry didn't harbour any romantic or sexual feelings for the Asian girl and vice versa – and the fact that the girl didn't succeed in kissing Harry was a good thing too. Everything else – Harry's hands around Cho, Harry's soft words of comfort for Cho, Harry rubbing soothing circles on Cho's back, the tears running down Harry's cheeks – he wanted to erase it from his memory.

…

"Sorry for dirtying your shirt," sniffled Cho, after she ran out of tears and steam to cry.

Harry looked down at the tear, saliva and snot-stained shirt. "Bah," he waved dismissively, "nothing a Cleaning and a Drying Charm can't fix. On the other hand, there's no spell to fix a broken heart."

Cho regarded him with puffy and red – but grateful – eyes; her cheeks still flushed an uneven red from all the crying. "Thank you, Harry. For everything. And I'm sorry for almost forcing a kiss on you. I was so focussed on myself I didn't even consider whether you wanted to do it with me or not, if you had someone else that you liked or not."

"It's fine now, Cho," he assured her. "The kiss didn't happen and I'm not mad with you, but I'm serious about what I said, don't enter a relationship when your heart and mind are still with Cedric. It wouldn't be fair neither to you nor to whomever you decided to romance."

She nodded gravely. "You know, Harry, you're the first one who's told me that, everyone else seems to think that the way to forget Cedric is by being with somebody else, somebody who can still make me his wife, who can still give me children –"

Her voice faltered as she struggled with tears again.

"I know they mean well – my friends and family – but … I can't and I don't want to forget him so easily, because if I did, then my love for him wasn't strong or real at all, but something shallow and fleeting."

She covered her mouth to smother her sobs and squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears.

"You don't have to forget him," he told her. "In fact, I don't think you should. He was a great person and man, someone you cared for deeply, and someone with whom you wanted to get married and to have a family. Just as one never forgets family and friends that have passed away, one shouldn't be forced to forget their significant others either. Therefore, mourn him, remember him, but don't forget to heal from this, even if it takes you years to recover from this loss.

A melancholic smile graced her lips. "Even if I heal, I don't think I'll ever feel what I've felt for Cedric for anyone else, Harry."

"And that's okay too, Cho," he encouraged her. "You don't have to marry anyone if you don't want to, just like you don't have to involve yourself romantically or sexually with anyone ever, if you don't want to and nobody can force you. It's your life and you're the only one who can decide how to live it, nobody else, just like nobody can ever understand your feelings unless they've lived through the same thing as you, and even then, different people experience the same things differently, so nobody could ever truly know how you feel in any given moment of your life."

Bewilderment and wonder seized her gaze and features. "When did you mature so much, Harry?" she breathed. "You almost sound like Dumbledore – old and wise – and you're only fifteen years old."

Cho's observation had him in a fit of laughter.

"I don't know when exactly I started sounding like Dumbledore, Cho," he sighed after he calmed down, "but I do know that Cedric's death made me consider a lot of things. I also started seeing a therapist to learn how to cope with grief and blame, because no matter what everyone tells me, I still feel responsible – however indirectly – for Cedric's death. Even after three months and a half, I still struggle. There are moments where my thoughts spiral and I find myself in a loop of black thoughts, wishing it would have been me who had died that day and not Cedric, because believe me, Cho, if I could switch my life for Cedric's, I would have done so in an instant. If I could have given my life for his, I would have done so without hesitation or second thoughts."

His own eyes filled with tears again and his throat felt tight and painful, making it difficult to speak and breathe, but he forced himself to calm down, to gather his bearings, not to break down again like before.

"Unfortunately," he rasped, "reality is different. No amount of regret or self-blame will change the fact that I lived and Cedric died that day, and all I can do as a person is move forward and make my survival mean something, no matter how difficult and painful being alive can get sometimes."

"I know, Harry," she said in a small voice, overcome by emotion again, "and as much as I would have given everything to have Cedric back, I also wouldn't wish you dead, because I stand by what I said: you're an amazing person, Harry."

A bitter chuckle left him. If she knew he was in love with the man who ordered Cedric's death, she wouldn't be saying that about him. On the contrary, she would have been cursing him for siding with the enemy, with the monster, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't – didn't want to – stop feeling what he felt for the man, no matter how horrible and ugly his past deeds were. No matter how broken and damaged he was.

He told himself that Voldemort – Tom – wasn't as bad or as depraved as a human being could get. He told himself that there were other monsters worse than him – those who swindled retired and disabled people out of their life savings without remorse, those who profited through modern-day slavery and human trafficking, those who raped adults and children alike and took pleasure in it.

Voldemort may be a murderer and a torturer, but he wasn't a scammer, a slaver, a human trafficker, a rapist or a paedophile.

"Somehow I doubt that, Cho," he smiled self-deprecatingly, "but thank you nonetheless."

…

He escorted Cho to the moving staircase, where they split up: she went to the library to read and study, while he returned to the Gryffindor tower. Only to stop in his tracks at seeing Ginny standing guard in front of the portrait hole.

"Ginny," he greeted in surprise, "what are you doing out here? Why aren't you in the common room?"

"Waiting for you," she said, with a pinched expression and crossed arms.

His brow creased. "Is something the matter?"

"Not really," she said curtly. "How was your conversation with Cho? What did you talk about that it took you more than an hour?" A sardonic smile twisted her lips into a grimace.

His expression hardened. "I don't know what's got into you, Ginny," he said sternly, "but I would appreciate it if you stopped acting like I've committed a felony simply by talking with a fellow student, who just so happens to be a good-looking girl. As for what Cho and I talked about, it doesn't concern you and I'm not obliged to tell you if I don't want to and quite frankly, I don't feel like telling you anything, not when you're acting like a scorned girlfriend."

Ginny's jaw tensed and her glower deepened, but she said nothing. Instead, she grabbed him roughly by the wrist and dragged him to the nearest broomstick cupboard.

There wasn't much space to move about, just as there wasn't much light to see at all, so they had to create their own.

"You're right, Harry," she spat his name, turning on him with vexation and hurt blazing in her eyes. "I'm not your girlfriend, no matter how much I want to be, and I'm not entitled to an explanation about your encounter with Cho, but I'm your friend and as your friend I want to know things like that."

Harry's brain short-circuited as he gaped in disbelief at Ginny. "What?" he whispered. He must have misheard her. She couldn't possibly have said what he thought he said. "What did you say?"

Ginny's mood soured. "Honestly, Harry," she scoffed. "Do you seriously want me to believe you were unaware of my feelings for you, that you never even considered the possibility that I might be in love with you, when I've been pining after you for the past three years like a bloody idiot?"

It wasn't that he wasn't aware, but he thought it was just a passing fancy. Something she would grow out of with time on her own without there ever being the need to talk about it and make things awkward for the two of them.

"I'm in love with you, Harry," she said, her expression like steel with earnestness and determination. "And I want you to be my boyfriend."

Uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Seconds ticked by while Harry struggled to find the right words to reject someone who he knew and cared about as a friend and as a sister, because his heart already belonged to another.

"Ginny," he breathed, "I – I'm sorry, but I can't be your boyfriend."

His response must have felt like a death sentence to Ginny, but he had to say it. He had to be honest with her, even if his words hurt her.

"Why?" she pressed.

"Because I don't feel the same for you as you feel for me. Don't get me wrong, Ginny. I love you, but only as a friend or a sister. The kind of love you feel for me, I feel it for somebody else."

She averted her gaze to hide the pain his rejection caused her. "This is about Felix, isn't it? You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Shock and surprise thrummed through him. "How do you …?" he trailed off, but the question was clear.

Ginny snorted. "Oh, please, Harry, you're so obvious it's really painful. It's like you have it written with permanent ink all over your face that you are thirsty for Felix's ass."

Heat bloomed in his face.

"I'm surprised you two aren't dating or snogging and shagging each other senseless yet with how you behave when you're in each other's company. All the heated looks, the fleeting touches, the playful teasing and flirting, how you two are always together, like you're glued at the hips, how your entire face lights up when you are in the same room as him, how he's always the first person you tell things to," she sneered.

"So, yeah, Harry, I would say you are extremely obvious in who has your heart and affection. You're like a radio broadcasting your feelings for the world to see, no wonder there are rumours and even bets going on about Felix and you. Still … I thought that I had a chance however small to become what Felix is to you."

Her eyes glistened, yet she refused to shed tears in front of him, and Harry felt like trash and scum, but he refrained from saying or doing anything. He let her say whatever was on her mind and in her heart because he owed her that much at least.

"But it wasn't meant to be." She inhaled deeply, collecting her countenance. "You know. When I started noticing you were attracted to Felix, I felt angry, with him especially. I mean, he came out of nowhere; it's barely been a month since he started attending Hogwarts and you are all over him like a lovesick puppy, while you don't even look at me if you don't have to, and I've been here from the very beginning."

Harry winced at Ginny's tone and words, unable to look her in the eye, because he knew it was all true.

"I wanted to hurt him for monopolising you like that," she continued, "but I realise now that if I did anything to him, you would hate me for it and that is something I couldn't bear. Yes, it hurts to see you two together whenever I'm in the same space with you, but it would hurt more if you hated me."

"I'm sorry for hurting you," he whispered, his throat tight and his eyes stinging.

"Hurt is inevitable in this kind of situations," she said curtly, her expression aloof. "So I don't want your apology. I don't need it. It's not as if you encouraged my feelings or led me on, it's my fault for clinging to a fantasy, a dream that will never be. However, I want you to do me a favour."

Apprehension tensed his muscles. "What sort of favour?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "No need to look so on edge," she flashed him a cynical smile. "I'm not going to ask for a kiss or for anything intimate like that, but I do want you to move your ass and make it official with Felix once and for all. That's the least you can do, you know, and you better stay together until one of you dies, because otherwise I'll kick your ass for fucking up your relationship with him."

He burst into a hysterical bout of nervous laughter. "I can do that," he smiled crookedly after recovering his wits.

"Good," she nodded sharply. "Now go and do it," she shooed him. "He's waiting for you in the common room."

He reached for the door and turned. "Thank you, Ginny," he smiled gratefully to her and she returned a half-smile. "And I hope you find someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved."

…

After she was sure enough time had passed for Harry to reach the common room, Ginny finally left the cupboard. However, instead of heading after him, she went the opposite way towards the Ravenclaw tower. She needed her friend right now. She needed Luna's company and comfort.

The moment Luna spotted her in the common room and saw her expression, she wordlessly grabbed her hand and led her upstairs to her dorm. After ensuring that it was empty, she locked it and warded it with a Silencing Charm, then guided her to her bed, where they stayed silent for several minutes, with Luna gently stroking her head in her lap, until she burst into tears and loud wails that she had been holding in since Harry rejected her.

"Why, Luna? Why doesn't Harry love me like I love him? Why does he love Felix? What so good about him anyway? He's skinny and not athletic at all and he's only known him for a little more than a month, yet he looks at him like he's his soulmate. What does he have that I don't, huh?" she demanded brokenly.

"Well," said Luna softly, "for one, he has man bits and you don't."

A wave of laughter burst out of her, only to melt into more sobbing.

"On a more serious note," continued Luna, "Felix is smart, quiet, has a really nice voice and is very good-looking. Not to mention that Harry likes his company, otherwise, he wouldn't have spent so much of his time with him or fallen in love with him."

"It hurts, Luna," she sobbed heart-broken, clawing at her chest, fighting for every scrap of air entering her lungs, because even breathing was painful. "It hurts so much, I can't breathe. It feels like dying. Why does it have to hurt so much?"

"Because rejection and unrequited love are always painful, but you will live, Ginny," she said with her serene voice. "Right now, it may not seem like that since your wounds are fresh, but you will pull through, because you are a strong woman, Ginny, and you will always have me to confide in and lean on when things get rough, because that's what friends are for, to support each other in fortune and misfortune."

Ginny sat up and looked at Luna with fresh tears in her eyes and trembling lips, moved by her words. "Thank you," she whimpered and hugged her. "Thank you for being here for me when I need you most."

She felt Luna's arms around her and they remained like that for a good while.

Chapter End Notes

I hope I did both Cho and Ginny justice, because they both deserved a respectful and tasteful resolution for their feelings - Cho opening up about her feelings for Cedric with Harry and Ginny confessing to Harry, even if he ultimately rejected her. I don't want you to read this chapter and think 'bashing', because it's not.

The same goes for Ron. I don't want to portray him as a anti-gay jerk or an oblivious idiot, but someone who supports Harry's choice of partner (even if he remains in the dark about Felix's identity) and catches on things, so while he may look and appear aloof and oblivious, he actually notices the tension between Harry and Voldemort, he just doesn't make it obvious.

Also, Harry has some really good life advice, if only he heeded it himself, that would be great. Luckily, next chapter will finally feature the long-awaited love confession and Voldemort and Harry will finally become a couple.

Love confession

Chapter Summary

Harry confesses (proposes) to Voldemort and Voldemort accepts. Lots of kissing and intimate touching ensues.

Chapter Notes

Harry moves fast. That's all I can say. Not that Voldemort minds it much, he's just as desperate for Harry's cock, so until he gets it up his ass here's some non-penetrative sexual acts for you.

This chapter includes the following consensual non-penetrative sexual acts: frottage (clothed and naked), handjobs, come marking and licking.

Enjoy! Because Voldemort and Harry certainly enjoyed their time together.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It had been over an hour since he left Cho and Harry to their conversation and Harry still hadn't returned to the common room, which in turn made Voldemort anxious.

' What are they talking about that it's taking this long?' he wondered impatiently, when the portrait hole opened and in came Harry.

"Felix," he greeted him as soon as he saw him. "May I have a word with you? In private? It's urgent."

His brow rose in question, confused by the sudden request, but agreed to it nonetheless and followed him out of the common room and towards the dorm, all the way to Harry's apartment. Once the lid slid close behind them and they were standing in the middle of the living room, Harry turned to him and said, "Ginny confessed to me."

Voldemort blinked. Wait, what? Ginny? Wasn't he talking to Cho? Where did Ginny enter the equation all of a sudden and with a love confession too? A nauseous, sinking feeling settled in Voldemort's gut. If Ginny somehow intercepted Harry on his way to the dorm, what if something happened between them? What if she kissed him?

"What?" he breathed, staring dumbfounded at Harry, feeling light-headed and dizzy.

"Ginny confessed to me," Harry repeated, his expression unreadable. "She asked me to date her."

"When?"

"Just now, actually. In a broom cupboard. She was waiting for me in front of the portrait hole."

A lump formed in his throat. His heartbeat quickened. Broom cupboards didn't have much space or light. An image of Harry and Ginny standing together in a cramped cupboard, their limbs and bodies pressed together, formed in his mind and he hated it with a passion.

Pressing his teeth together and forming his hands into fists, he forced himself to ask the dreaded question. "And? What did you do?"

Tense silence stretched between them, in which Harry's emerald gaze was fixed on him, on his eyes, until he broke it with a simple phrase that sounded too good to be true to Voldemort's ears: "I turned her down."

"Why?"

"Because I don't love her the way she loves me," said Harry, his eyes never straying from his. Voldemort's heart hitched, together with his breath. "Because my heart belongs to somebody else."

A frantic, hammer-like sound echoed in his head. "Who is it?" he asked in a whisper, both dreading and anticipating the answer, because he hoped that it was him. He wanted it to be him. Especially after what Harry said the day before, the kiss. "Who have you given your heart to?"

"You." Such a simple word, yet it carried so much weight and meaning that Voldemort stopped breathing altogether while he stared, wide-eyed and in complete shock, at the boy before him, who regarded him with fierce determination and yearning.

"You have it." Harry stepped forward, slowly diminishing the distance between them. "Have had it for some time now. I don't really know when it happened or how it happened, but somewhere between seeing you on the platform and now, I've fallen in love with you."

Voldemort was rooted to the spot, with buzzing ears, as his mind tried to comprehend the words Harry was saying. His senses were so entranced by Harry's scent, his voice, his warmth that he couldn't even bring himself to make a sound.

"I love you." A low and deep whisper caressed his ears. Ardent and hungry emerald eyes bore into his as calloused fingers cupped his face to keep him in place. "I want you. More than I can put into words. In fact, I don't think there are words to describe just how much I desire you; how much I want to touch you; how many times I've fantasised your body next to mine; how many times I've touched myself thinking about you writhing under me with my cock up your ass fucking you hard into the mattress while you cling to me and moan my name."

Voldemort's mind was blank save for the images of himself naked in Harry's arms, with Harry's lips and tongue gliding over his skin, with Harry's fingers leaving imprints on his body, with Harry's cock moving inside him stretching and filling him up with his come that flashed before his eyes and he felt the urge to moan.

Harry's thumbs brushed over his warm cheeks, until the fingers lowered and caught on his lips, tracing them lovingly.

A shiver ran through his body as molten, white-hot want and need coursed through his veins and pooled in his abdomen, in his loins. His cock twitched and stirred in his trousers, straining against the fabric, while his puckered hole quivered longingly around thin air.

Harry pressed his own body flush against his, their hips touching, and he felt Harry's erection grind against his own. He inhaled sharply.

"If it were up to me," Harry's rich voice sent vibration through his system and his warm breath made gooseflesh appear on his skin, "you would be on your back right now, naked in my bed, face flushed and lewd, as I snog and shag the living daylights out of you until you are nothing but a mess from pleasure."

"Harry," he pleaded.

"If you don't want me," continued Harry, "if you don't want what I'm offering then say it. Tell me you don't want this with me. Push me away if you hate this." He thrust his hips and rubbed his clothed hardness against his and he whimpered. "I'll stop if you tell me to."

Voldemort lunged himself at Harry. He grabbed the sides of Harry's face and clashed his lips against his, devouring it with desperation. Harry caught him around the waist, returning the kiss with the same intensity and urge. He plunged his tongue into his mouth and a blissful moan left him at the feeling of euphoria that rushed through him and made him forget everything but the fingers digging into his hips, the tongue ravishing his mouth, the lips pressing against his trying to consume him, the musky scent surrounding him.

"Harry," he breathed, his chest rising and falling with force, when they separated for air, "shut up and kiss me like you've been promising you would."

Harry laughed nervously. "So, is that a 'yes, I want to be with you'?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Because if you accept me, I want you to know that you're agreeing to marry me. If you say yes, you're agreeing to be my husband after we graduate."

He shut him up again with a kiss, because seriously, Harry talked too much, promised a lot, but did little to show for it, and while he really liked listening to how Harry wished to pleasure him, he would much rather experience it.

Now, it was Harry's turn to moan into the kiss as he jumped and hooked his legs around his waist. Harry's hands immediately cupped his ass. Voldemort's lips travelled to Harry's jaw and ear, allowing him to see and manoeuvre them toward his bedroom, where he placed him in the centre of his bed, onto soft sheets and pillows.

Propped on his forearms, Harry paused with agitated breath above him, nestled between his legs, studying his expression with loving eyes. Eyes that were only for him. Eyes that saw only him, his soul.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered huskily, rubbing his nose tenderly along his flushed cheeks and nose. "So incredibly sexy, you have no idea just how desirable you are."

He shuddered under Harry at the praise spilling from the boy's lips and the gentle touch. Nobody had ever truly called him beautiful, sexy, or desirable – at least not in a way that sounded so affectionate, so genuine. Numerous people threw lustful and objectifying looks his way when he looked like his father, but none of those people actually wanted him for him. All they saw was good looks, power and prestige that associating with a descendant of Salazar Slytherin could bring them, not because they actually cared about him or loved him. But Harry – Harry looked at him with eyes alight with both genuine want and fondness for him.

Well, for Felix Hansson, that is. Harry loved and adored Felix, not Voldemort or Tom Riddle and for once, he preferred it that way, because if posing as Felix was the only way for him to have Harry's affection then he would become Felix in every sense of the word, even if he didn't know how to do that.

"Harry," he whimpered impatiently, wantonly, pulling at him, moving his hips to create friction he craved so much. "More." He wanted Harry to praise him more, to shower him with compliments, but he also wanted him to worship his body with his lips, hands and cock.

"Sh," cooed Harry softly, thrusting back against his erection, his forehead resting against his. "I've got you, my love. I've got you."

Voldemort's arms wrapped around Harry's torso and clawed at his back, drawing him closer still as their breaths and moans mingled together, their cheeks red, their eyes glazed and hooded with pleasure building in their groins, inflating like a bubble.

Harry sought his lips again to drown their voices and drink up his lewd sounds, before lavishing his cheeks, jaw and neck with open-mouthed kisses, running his hands all over his body through the clothes, and dragging his tongue across his skin in such a sensual manner that had him gasping and clinging onto him with desperation.

As the pressure built in their lower abdomen, Harry dug his fingers into Voldemort's hips to keep him in place and picked up the pace of his dry humps, setting a fierce, urgent, fast and desperate rhythm, until white-hot, mind-numbing, spine-tingling pleasure exploded behind their eyelids in a flurry of fireworks and they came, shuddering, with eyes screwed shut and mouth agape in a silent cry of ecstasy.

For a moment, they forgot how to breathe, as if nothing else mattered, but the rush of pure adrenaline that filled their bloodstreams as they rode out their climax. Once the onslaught of euphoria subsided and their cocks stopped spurting sperm into their pants, the air found its way into their lungs again.

With a quivering sigh, Voldemort relaxed into the mattress, still light-headed from the climax and basking in the afterglow of their joint orgasm. With Harry's body draped over him like a blanket and his arms cradling him close to his body, he snuggled closer, ignoring the stickiness of his underwear and trousers.

He nuzzled Harry's neck, inhaling Harry's musky, slightly citrusy scent and sweat, while Harry peppered kisses wherever he could reach and whispered more declarations of love between each kiss, and each declaration filled Voldemort's heart and stomach with delight.

They remained like that for quite some time, enjoying each other's proximity as snakes enjoyed the sun, and they would have remained entangled in each other for hours on end, if it weren't for the fact that they had lunch to attend to in the Great Hall and that Harry had a meeting with the entire school after it.

Therefore, as much as they loathed it, they cleaned the mess in their trousers with a wave of their wands and headed back to the common room, where Weasley looked at them with a shrewd expression.

"You've been gone for a while," he remarked, giving them a one-over, and probably saw something in their faces that betrayed them. "Did something good happen?"

Harry pulled him close, with a broad grin on his face. "Felix and I are engaged," he announced to his redheaded friend.

Ron gaped at them in shock, no doubt processing the news for a few seconds, only to exhale an enormous sigh of relief and look up at the ceiling with reverence.

"Oh, praised be Merlin, finally!" he exclaimed, "I swear, if you two didn't become a couple soon on your own, I would have been forced to lock you in a room myself and only let you leave once you got together, because it was honestly quite painful watching you pine after one another and not do anything about it."

Harry's grin vanished. "Wait, you knew about us having feelings for each other, Ron?" he said, incredulous.

"Yeah, Harry, I knew," his friend rolled his eyes with a bored sigh. "I've known for a while now. I know I look oblivious and stupid, but I'm neither, because otherwise, I wouldn't be so good at chess. Also, you're not exactly subtle about it, my friend, so yeah, I noticed."

"And … you're not bothered by it?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Why would I be bothered?"

"I mean, I'm in love with a man."

"So?" the redhead shrugged. "You love who you love, I can assure you, you're not the first wizard who fell in love with another wizard and you most certainly won't be the last. As long as you are happy, mate, that is all I care about, so … let me ask you. Are you happy, Harry? Does Felix make you happy?"

He glanced at Harry and saw the blinding grin return with full force. "I am happy, Ron." He looked at him with a soft expression and Voldemort lost himself in the sea of green. "He makes me happy."

"Then you have my full support, Harry," announced Weasley with a smirk.

"Thanks, Ron," he smiled gratefully at his friend.

"Oh, I can't wait for the others to find out," he said, giddily rubbing his palms together, "I bet they'll be shocked, but also not, because it's common knowledge that you two have a thing."

…

Lunch was a curious affair for several reasons.

First, she-Weasley was absent.

Second, Harry didn't know the notion of subtlety or privacy – or perhaps he did but wilfully ignored it –, because he kept touching him in some way, shape or form in public, completely disregarding the fact that they were in public, where anyone with functional eyes and an ounce of curiosity could see them touching. It made him feel like they were one of those horny, teenage couples at Madam Puddifoot's teashop, shamelessly showing off the fact that they were together.

Third, despite the onlookers and the inevitable whispers that spread through the student populace when they saw their affectionate interaction, Voldemort quite liked the fact that Harry was touching him or randomly kissing his cheek or hand during the meal or casually and lovingly calling him 'my love'. It soothed and satisfied his jealous and possessive nature, because deep down he enjoyed the fact that these little gestures told everyone that Harry was his; that the one who had claim over the infamous Harry Potter was him and nobody else; that Harry Potter belonged to him alone.

Fourth, after the shock of witnessing Harry refer to him with a nickname, openly kiss him and hold his hand wore off; the rest of Harry's friends in their immediate vicinity bombarded them with congratulations on their engagement, good-natured teasing and very personal questions, which Harry thankfully and masterfully deflected. They might be Harry's friends, but the things Harry and he did in private were their business and nobody else's. Although, according to the Weasley twins, some people had already formed a sort of fan club where they made erotic art and wrote erotic stories about the two of them.

Voldemort was equal parts honoured, horrified, fascinated and disgusted. Teenagers these days had too much free time on their hands if they spent it speculating and fictionalising other people's love lives.

…

After they finished eating, they snuck away to the Room of Requirement to prepare for the meeting and to have a little bit more privacy to kiss in a less chaste way.

Harry's greedy lips were on his neck, licking and sucking, the moment the door closed behind them, while his hands wandered down his front. He tilted his head back, leaning fully into Harry's chest, letting him flood him with whispered endearments and lascivious caresses.

"I really love how responsive you are to my touches," rasped Harry into his ear, his hard manhood pressed into his ass. "Among other things, of course." He nibbled his earlobe.

"And what else do you love about me, Harry?" he gasped, his own cock straining against the front of his trousers.

"Your voice." A kiss on his neck. "Your eyes." Another kiss. "Your scent." He buried his nose in the nook of his neck and inhaled deeply. "How smart you are." One of Harry's hands slipped under his shirt to trace his fingers across his stomach, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. "The way you say my name." The other hand palmed his cock through layers of fabric, before slipping below the waistband of his trousers and underwear to curl around his throbbing and leaking cock. "The way your body reacts to my voice. In short, everything. I love everything about you. Everything."

He turned his head and sought Harry's lips, muffling his moans as Harry continued to pleasure him with one hand roaming across his chest and the other stroking his dick to completion.

"Let the sensations consume your being. Let the pleasure take over your senses." Harry's husky voice encouraged as the hand pumping his manhood increased the pressure and speed of the movements. "So, come for me, my love. I want to see you come undone in my arms."

The final sentence, coupled with the pressure of Harry's fingers, pushed him over the edge and he came with Harry's name on his lips. His ears buzzed, his legs felt like jelly and he was dizzy and pleasantly tired. Harry held him closer, murmuring praise, while he smeared his seed all over his cock, before bringing the coated fingers to his mouth and licking it off.

"Delicious," he declared after tasting it. "Makes me want to smear it all over you and lick it like cream." A wolfish smirk graced Harry's lips. "Or better yet, why don't I mark your with my come. I reckon you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Voldemort made a keening sound in his throat. It was incredibly embarrassing how needy, eager and desperate he sounded and looked for more, even though he was still feeling the effects of the most recent orgasm and couldn't even stand properly without Harry keeping him upright.

What was Harry doing to him? How was he doing this to him? Why no matter how many times they had kissed or touched already was he still aching for more? Why did the flames of desire come to life moments after they had engulfed and overwhelmed him entirely?

"Would you like to touch my cock? Would you like to see it too?" he asked, tempting Voldemort with the prospect of getting his hands on Harry's cock, perhaps even catching a glimpse of what was tucked away and what would one day be buried deep inside his ass.

Delirious from ecstasy, he agreed. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes."

In one smooth swoop, Harry picked him up and carried him to the bed he had wished into existence, where he stripped him. Once Voldemort was lying on his back, a blushing and satisfied mess, in nothing but his stained undergarments, Harry knelt on the bed with his legs on either side of Voldemort's legs, rid himself of his shirt and undid the button and the zipper on his trousers.

His gaze never strayed from Harry's crotch. Through the fabric of his undergarments, he could see the outline of Harry's arousal. He wet his lips in anticipation of what followed, and when Harry's rock-hard cock sprang free of its confinement, his mouth watered at the sight of the large, thick appendage intertwined with veins.

Entranced, he reached for it with his hands. Harry sucked in a breath and closed his eyes when his fingers wrapped around the shaft and squeezed gently. The cock itself twitched and throbbed under his touch. However, Harry's cock wasn't the only thing trembling, for when he looked up at Harry's face, the look of delirium he saw there astounded him.

Curious to see how his touch would affect him further, he traced the knuckles of one hand up the crotch and past the navel. The abs beneath his fingers contracted and shivers thrummed through Harry's body.

"So good," he gasped with a shaky breath. "So good, Felix. Don't stop. Don't stop," he begged with desperation.

With the same hand, he outlined the abs then followed the dip in the middle to Harry's pectorals, his shoulders, his upper arms and forearms. The muscles rippled under his touch and Harry lost himself in his ministrations, shaking and tensing, with a sheen of perspiration covering his skin, until he came into Voldemort's hand and painted Voldemort's fingers, stomach and chest with his release.

Harry's eyes raked over his body. "You look stunning like this, Felix, covered in my come," he said with approval, running his hands over his front, spreading the sperm.

Voldemort stared at the white essence. It was warm and thick and being covered in it was more arousing than he thought, or rather, the fact that it belonged to Harry made it arousing. Intrigued about the taste, he brought his fingers to his lips.

"Really?" he asked cheekily, stuck out his tongue, and glided it along the digits in a long, sensual lick; all the while staring into Harry's eyes that turned lustful at the sight of him licking his sperm.

Harry's throat bobbed. "You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now."

"Then cover me in your come as many times as you want, Harry."

He smeared whatever was left on his fingers all over Harry's muscular and defined chest then sat up and eagerly ran his tongue over the skin.

It was musky and bitter, mixed with the sweat of Harry's skin, and he loved it. Harry seemed to like having his tongue on his skin too.

Soon, his lips locked with Harry's and he was on his back again, enjoying his fiancé's kisses and tongue as he slowly made his way downward, where he kept his promise and licked him clean, making him come for the third time in a span of a few hours.

…

Harry knew that Voldemort was erotic from his daydreams while he fisted his erection imagining the real thing, but now that he had a taste of the real thing, he realised that his fiancé was a hundred times more tantalizing and enchanting than he thought, especially when smothered in his essence. His breathy moans were also a thing of beauty, the sensitivity of his skin and body to his voice and touches as well. Oh, and when the pleasure flooded him, he made for a divine sight.

Now that he was taking a quick nap before the meeting, curled up next to him in his underwear under the covers, he looked adorable beyond words.

Gently, he traced his fingers along his skin as he gazed upon the relaxed sleeping face of Dark Lord Voldemort. It still felt like a dream, the two of them together, engaged, kissing, touching intimately, and pleasuring one another.

He sighed. Good thing he removed the locket and pocketed it in his trousers before entering the common room and confessing to Voldemort, otherwise, he would have been in a lot of trouble all too soon. It wasn't that he had somehow foreseen the two of them undressing to seek sexual gratification at each other's hands and lips, that was entirely spontaneous, but he thought it would have been better if he didn't wear Locket around his neck at a time like that, and he was right.

He cradled his fiancé closer and nuzzled his face, letting his breath wash over him and his body warm Voldemort's slightly cold hands and feet. He snorted. Apparently, he got a few extra reptilian characteristics aside from the evident facial features, but at least now, he had the perfect excuse to snuggle close to him during cold days and nights without the risk of Voldemort complaining about his body heat.

As if on cue, Voldemort cuddled closer, seeking as much skin contact as he could, trying to warm himself against his human furnace and Harry was more than willing and eager to please him.

The minutes sluggishly passed by and Harry took the opportunity to go through what he would say at the meeting, all the crucial announcements, status report, the list of codenames and audience questions for matters that needed immediate answers.

Fifteen minutes before the start, he woke his fiancé with sweet words and kisses. "Love, I know you are really comfortable right now and that you would rather sleep for a while more, but there are a few things we need to do before we go to bed tonight."

"I know," sighed the man, begrudgingly reaching for his clothes and putting them on. "The meeting."

"And we also need to tell your parents about our engagement," interjected Harry, his eyes roving over Voldemort's lithe form.

He stilled. "Oh, right, I forgot about that." He turned to him. "I suppose we'll do it immediately after the meeting."

Harry circled his waist and pulled his back against his chest. "That was my plan, because I would like to spend the rest of the evening cuddling with you." He kissed his shoulder and Voldemort melted into him. "In the shower." Another kiss. "On the sofa." He nuzzled his neck. "And in the bed, because starting tonight you're moving into my apartment and into my bed."

Voldemort tilted his head towards him, with a surprised yet hopeful expression on his face. "Are you sure that you want us to share an apartment when we're not even married yet?"

"We already skipped the 'boyfriends' stage in our relationship, why not skip another and just move in together," shrugged Harry. "I did warn you that I was serious; that I'm dating you with the intention to marry you, but if you don't want to co-habit with me right now –"

He didn't get to finish the sentence, because Voldemort interrupted him with a fierce kiss that knocked the air out of his lungs.

"I didn't say that," emphasised Voldemort when they separated for air. "I just don't want you to regret it. You're still young, you might change your mind in the future, and if that happens – when that happens – it would be easier for both of us if we weren't behaving like a married couple before becoming one. That's all."

He averted his gaze to hide the doubt that had taken root in him and Harry cupped his face gently.

"Hey, listen to me," he said soothingly, but with authority, and didn't continue until Voldemort's eyes were on him and he had the man's full attention. "There's nothing for me to regret about our relationship, now or in the future, because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, however many years that is. I want us to grow old together; raise a family. I know I'm young, and that I don't really know what the future holds even if I consult with an expert like Trelawney, but that shouldn't be an indicator that I'm not capable of commitment, because I am capable, just as my age doesn't make whatever I'm feeling for you a passing fancy or not real. Because to me, this," he gestured at the two of them, "is very real."

Voldemort's throat bobbed, his eyes blinking furiously. "I'm a man," he whispered. "How do you expect to have a family with me?"

"There are a couple of ways," he smirked playfully. "Adoption. Magic. I'm sure there's a potion or a spell that allows a man to conceive and carry children."

"If there is, it's probably dark magic," he pointed out.

"Most likely, but …" he leant forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips, "I don't really care."

Voldemort's eyes widened. "You're willing to do dark magic, just so you can have a family with me?"

A chuckle escaped him. "Of course I am willing. For a family with you, I'm prepared to do anything." His gaze darkened and his voice deepened. " Anything."

Bringing him close, he kissed Voldemort fervently.

…

"Welcome to our second big meeting," greeted Harry from the stage. "Today, there are four main points that we need to go through before wrapping it up. We will start with a few announcements – or what I think will be announced in the following week –, followed by you reporting on your progress, we'll also compile a list of codenames and we'll round it all off with audience questions. Therefore, if you have a question that you need an immediate answer to, don't hesitate to ask."

With a deep breath, he straightened and laced his hands at the back.

"The most obvious announcement is that Umbridge will replace Dumbledore as the Headmistress, so don't be surprised when you see it plastered on the noticeboards. She will continue her inquisitorial work and her meddling in other teachers' business and we can expect Filch to have more freedom in his choice of punishment – Umbridge and he seem to have similar tastes when it comes to discipline, so I wouldn't be surprised if he brought out his medieval torturing devices and started using them on students again. As such, I advise you not to mess with him, in fact, don't even look at him the wrong way, no matter how tempted you might be to do it. The Inquisitorial Squad will continue to report any fresh developments to me and I will report it to the rest of you. Expect regular dormitory inspections, therefore, I remind you again that any prohibited items that you own or smuggle in should be labelled properly and hid in here.

"Now, as for our progress. Thanks to Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, we have valuable data concerning Umbridge in our possession. I am told that, in a week, Lucius Malfoy should make more progress on collecting evidence against Umbridge and Fudge. An outside contact of mine is also working on procuring the blood quill and soon he'll start working on the magical contract as well. Food ammunition is in stock, we only need to make individual rounds. We're still waiting for the stun gun and the hot sauce, and I'm still waiting for the party squad to supply me with a menu of drinks and food and the music list."

Seamus raised his hand. He was holding a roll of parchment. "Here you go, Harry."

He motioned to Ron to collect it. "I'll review it as soon as possible, before approving of it," he said. "Now," he nodded towards Hermione, who stepped forward with the attendance sheet and a pen. Harry took both before turning back to the audience. "I'm going to go through the attendance sheet and write your respective codenames next to each name. Let's start with …"

For the next twenty minutes or so, he called out names and wrote down the codenames they told him. He purposefully jumped over Draco, Pansy, Theodore, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle and arbitrarily put down the codenames Ron had suggested to him. Obviously, Draco noticed that he skipped his name and a few others so when he reached the end of the list, he wasn't surprised to see his and Pansy's hands in the air.

"Yes, Draco, Pansy?" he asked pleasantly, smiling.

"You didn't call us," the blond pointed out.

"I know."

"Why?"

"Because you, Pansy, Blaise, Theodore, Crabbe and Goyle already have codenames, I have them noted down right here." He pointed at the list.

They gaped at him.

"How is that possible, when we haven't even told you what our codenames are," protested Pansy.

"Oh, I took the liberty to assign codenames to you shortly before your infiltration mission," he said simply. "I hope you don't mind. Anyway, your codenames are 'Albino Peacock' for Draco, 'Pug-Woman' for Pansy, 'Chocolate Casanova' for Blaise, 'Background Bibliophile' for Theodore, 'Sumo Pro-Wrestler' for Crabbe and 'Heavy-weight Brute' for Goyle."

"Why do I have to be Pug-Woman?" shrieked Pansy.

Harry raised an eyebrow and regarded her with a cool stare. "Do you have anything against pugs, Pansy?" he inquired.

"No, but I don't want to be associated with them."

"Why? They are cute. Don't you want to be considered cute?"

That made Pansy's brain short-circuit. "Well, when you put it like that," she began, puffing her short hair, "I suppose it's fine."

"Well, I'm not fine with mine," argued Draco, "so can I change it to 'Silver Dragon'?"

Harry smiled like a wolf in sheep's clothing. "No. Besides what's wrong with your current one? I find it perfectly adequate, it suits you more than the one you suggested, or is it not grand enough for you?"

Malfoy turned bright red, but after his immediate group of Slytherins convinced him to accept it as is, he stopped protesting.

"All right, we've come to the end, so if there are any urgent questions, fire away," he prompted and immediately a third-year Hufflepuff girl towards the back of the room shot her arm high into the air. "Yes?"

"Are you and General Hansson dating?" she shouted.

How was that an urgent question, he wondered, but he smiled nonetheless and answered the girl's inquiry. "We're more than just dating; we're engaged to be married."

Excited whispers and cheers erupted among the students. Another hand shot up.

"When's the wedding?" shouted a fourth-year Ravenclaw boy.

His eye twitched, but his smile never faltered. Seriously, what was with those questions? "Shortly after graduation."

"Since when have you been together?" wanted to know a seventh-year Gryffindor girl.

"I don't see how that's relevant –"

"Have you had sex already?"

"No comment," he deadpanned. "And that goes for any personal questions regarding General Hansson and me. What we do in private is our business only. So, if you don't have any urgent questions in regards to our endeavour against Umbridge, then I conclude the meeting and you're all dismissed."

A chorus of disappointed sighs echoed through the Room of Requirement, but they filed out of the room anyway.

…

Erik and Ingrid Hansson took the news of their engagement well. Ingrid particularly. It was as if she was waiting for the two of them to announce it before they were even officially together. There was a bit of scepticism on Erik's part in regards to the speed at which they had become engaged, but his wife and Harry eased his worries.

"I also want to let you know that your son and I will share a bed from now on and that we'll be kissing and touching each other a lot too," he told them matter-of-factly, "but rest assured; his ass will remain intact until marriage. I'm old-fashioned like that," he assured them with a blinding smile, much to Voldemort's utter embarrassment.

"That's good to hear," beamed Ingrid. "There will be plenty of time for you two to enjoy the wonders of anal sex when you get married."

Both Voldemort and Erik looked scandalised by her blasé attitude. "Mother!" "Ingrid!"

She blinked, confused by their exaggerated reaction. "What? It's true." She looked at Harry and asked, "Will you also have children at some point?" She sounded hopeful and giddy.

"That's the idea."

She squealed in excitement.

"I suppose you intend to knock my son up, since you already talked about his ass's virginity remaining intact until marriage," inquired Erik gruffly. Apparently, he wasn't a fan of the idea that his son will be on the receiving end of anal sex or the one going through pregnancy.

Voldemort choked on his saliva, red like a tomato. "Father!"

"Well," Harry looked at Voldemort, who was sitting between his legs, with his back pressed against his chest, "I'll wait for Felix to tell me he's ready to have my children, but yes, I do intend to impregnate your son at some point." He smiled a dazzling smile at his future in-laws.

Voldemort covered his face in mortification. Apparently, that wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss with his parents. Harry laughed and kissed his nape.

…

After dinner, Harry helped his fiancé transfer his personal effects to his apartment. The clothes joined his in the bedroom closet, his school things joined his on the bookshelf, and his toiletries ended among his in the bathroom.

With Voldemort fully settled in his new home, the two of them ended together in the shower. It was exciting and intimate. They had seen each other in underwear, but this was the first time they had seen each other completely naked, with no barriers between them, and it was nerve-racking, at least for Voldemort. Therefore, Harry decided to make the experience as relaxing and pleasurable as possible, a memorable introduction to many such occasions.

"Turn your back to me," he instructed hoarsely and Voldemort did as told. He ran his slippery hands gently but firmly over Voldemort's back, shoulders and arms. "Now your front," he whispered and, as Voldemort turned, Harry saw that the other man was sporting a half-erection. A devilish smirk spread across his face.

"If my hands on your body are enough to make you excited," he spoke softly into his ear, his fingers soaping his chest and stomach, "I wonder how you managed to hide your beautiful erection from me whenever I massaged you on my sofa."

Voldemort's eyes looked down at Harry's own half-erection. "What about you?" he breathed, half-delirious, covered in goosebumps. "If simply touching and hearing me make embarrassing sounds gets you excited, how did you manage to hide your own erection from me whenever you massaged me on your leather sofa?"

His breath hitched the moment Harry's fingers reached for his cock and began pumping it.

Harry chuckled, his face an inch away from Voldemort's lips. "Oh, I was very bad at hiding just what seeing you in your underwear and hearing you moan with delight and relief was doing to my body, but I supposed you were too busy hiding your own problem to pay my crotch any attention."

Voldemort's arms wrapped around his shoulders and brought him closer, transferring some of the soap onto Harry's front, before eagerly and fervently pressing their mouths together. From shoulders, his hands wandered south, over Harry's pectorals, abs, until they reached his navel and his hard cock.

Harry's hips jerked forward, thrusting into Voldemort's fingers, while his were still gripping his shaft. Pressing closer, he let their arousals touch for a moment, before wrapping their hands around both dicks and rubbing them together until strings of white, thick sperm were coming out of them.

…

The rest of the shower was less eventful, but no less tender, because Harry made sure to place butterfly kisses wherever he could reach and to hug Voldemort whenever he got the opportunity. Once they were clean, they dried each other with towels, before slipping into their respective clothes and relaxing on the sofa in the living room.

He put on a family-friendly film featuring a St Bernard, then sat down next to Voldemort and hooked an arm around his shoulder to bring him closer. With his fiancé's head resting on his shoulder and the film playing in the background, Harry looked over the parchment that Seamus gave him.

Food looked to be okay. There were lots of fast food items and snacks, as was to be expected since it was a celebratory party, but he figured that it would not hurt anyone to eat just junk food for one evening – unless they were allergic to something, then that was a different story.

Then came the drinks. There were a few flavoured waters and juices, until he reached the long list of spirits. He quickly glanced at the music list where again three quarters of the songs were not appropriate for younger audiences.

"I'll need to have a word with Dean and Seamus," he said, frowning.

Voldemort glanced up at him. "What is it?"

"The two idiots put alcohol and songs with mature lyrics on the list that's what it is," he grumbled. "I thought I was clear when I told them to keep it kid-friendly, and that means no alcohol, no drugs, no sex, and no allusions to sex either. But no, the two thought that, just because the alcohol drinks had a fancy obscure name that I haven't heard of before and the beat of the songs is fire, I would somehow approve of this." He sighed, affronted. "Nothing, I guess I'll have to search for kid songs on my own and make my own kid program for the first few hours of the celebrations."

He pulled out his phone and began searching YouTube for more innocent songs, but the only ones that came to him were the children ones Ana Maria introduced to him during their Spanish lessons.

Until he stumbled upon a few meme songs.

The dead-fish look that Voldemort gave him when he played the iconic Nyan Cat was priceless and that only made him play a few more such songs just to annoy him, until his fiancé threatened to smash his phone to tiny bits if he didn't turn off that atrocity and let him watch the movie in peace.

Harry was very happy to oblige.

…

Around nine o'clock, they retired to bed because they were due to get up early and train before breakfast. Even though Voldemort didn't have to complete the obstacle course any longer to be with Harry, Harry still wanted to share that time in the gym with his fiancé, and Voldemort agreed to keep him company and work out alongside him.

As they snuggled under the covers in their pyjamas, facing and embracing each other, Harry couldn't stop the feeling of happiness bubbling in his chest and gut at the sight of a comfortable and relaxed Voldemort. Wishing him sweet dreams, he tightened his hold on him and placed a kiss on his forehead, before tucking Voldemort's head under his chin and praying for this bliss to never end.

Chapter End Notes

A chapter filled with steam and fluff, because both Harry and Voldemort deserve some carefree time together as fiances!

There's also a Hogwarts fan club dedicated to Harry and Felix (Voldemort). Very legit and NSFW. And Harry wouldn't be Harry if he didn't annoy his Voldie/Tom just a little bit with the following songs: Nyan Cat, Hamster Dance, Gummy Bear, and Caramelldansen (Swedish original). And the movie they watched was Beethoven (1992).

Let me know your thoughts. I read every comment and while I can sometimes be slow in answering them, I do appreciate them a lot.

Mob Justice

Chapter Summary

Umbridge's faces the wrath of a mob and Harry has another taste of what is like to have power, control and influence over someone and falls deeper into the power trap.

Chapter Notes

I apologise for skipping the Wednesday update. ️ I had some difficulties getting the words on paper, making the Umbridge scene flow, but I finished it today, went through the chapter once or twice to see if there were any glaring mistakes, but I might have easily missed a few here and there. That tends to happen to me whenever I proofread on the computer. It's like my eyes don't see certain mistakes.

Anyway, the Big Day is here (Umbridge is getting ousted) and I hope you enjoy it. Harry gets quite dark in this one with Umbridge, there's torture involved and I'm interested if you spot the reference (or rather the parallel) to an earlier chapter with the horcrux inside Harry, when the horcrux is showing Harry his past.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"Harry!" the horcrux within him exclaimed the moment he materialised in his mental rendition of the Chamber of Secrets, before engulfing him in a hug and nuzzling his neck.

With a grin on his lips, Harry caught the soul piece around the waist and pressed his nose to the man's temple, revelling in the warm welcome of the other's soul body. "Hey," he greeted back softly, nuzzling him back.

"I can't believe we're engaged and that we're living together," he said with emotion, only for him to go stiff in his arms and his voice to lose its excitement and wonder. "Well, you and the original anyway," he corrected himself morosely.

"He's still you, you know," he reminded him gently, rubbing soothing patterns onto his back until the horcrux relaxed in his embrace, "so everything that happens between him and me is also happening between you and me because of the connection, so of course we're also engaged, and Locket, Diary, Diadem, Ring, Cup and Snake too. Moreover," he cupped his face and made him look at him, "you and I have been living together for the past fourteen years; remember? There's nothing new about that," he jested to cheer him up.

"True," he conceded. "I've lived with you – inside your mind and body – all this time. No other part of me has had the privilege, nor will ever have it, so I suppose I'm special like that, aren't I?" he tried to sound nonchalant about it, but Harry could hear hope, pride and glee in his voice.

"Yes, you are," he returned with a tender smile. "Only you know what it's like to be inside my head all the time."

Horcrux's lips curled into a smug grin as he went back to nuzzling his neck, seeking skin contact and affection, something Harry was very willing to give him. From caresses to hugs and kisses, Harry didn't hold back, but always respected Voldemort's boundaries – no sex, at least not the penetrative kind or the oral kind. However, after he experienced what his counterpart had felt when Harry touched his cock or when they rubbed their erections together, the horcrux reluctantly let Harry touch him there too, while Harry whispered praise and words of love and peppered open-mouthed kisses and sensual licks onto his lips, jaw, and neck, until he was a blushing, squirming and whimpering mess. Much like his counterpart.

When the pleasure reached its peak and took hold of the horcrux, he shuddered in Harry's arms and clung to him, moaning his name reverently, over and over again. Even after the orgasmic high had passed and some clarity had returned to the horcrux, they remained lying on their sides, in each other's arms, enjoying each other's company in companionable silence by running their hands over each other's skins, rubbing their noses together and exchanging soft butterfly kisses.

As daylight approached – or rather the sound of Harry's alarm clock –, Voldemort broke the silence by saying, "Harry, now that my counterpart has moved into your apartment and bed, what do you intend to do with Locket?"

It was a good question. "Well, I don't intend to set him aside and forget about him, even though I can't exactly wear him around my neck anymore since Voldemort would see him whenever I would be shirtless, which I'm predicting will happen quite often," he remarked. "Right now, I've left him in my trouser pocket and I suppose I'll just have to carry him around like that day and night until I find a better solution to this predicament." He looked at Voldemort. "Will he still be able to manifest here with us even though he's not directly touching my skin?"

"I don't know why he shouldn't be able to," he shrugged and snuggled into him, trying to enjoy the last few moments of their alone time in Harry's head to the fullest, before Locket would be back to keeping them company at night.

…

When Harry woke up to Voldemort's body wrapped around his, his fresh pine forest scent and his relaxed sleeping face buried in his chest, something warm and tingly bloomed and burnt with a steady fire in his chest and gut and he knew he never wanted to wake up without Voldemort at his side again. Similarly, he never wanted to fall asleep without holding onto him either.

He spent the first five minutes of wakefulness observing the man in his arms, revelling in the peace and quiet of an early morning. As Voldemort continued sleeping, Harry let his hands wander ever so slightly up and down his body, starting at the shoulders, passing over the arms, slipping onto his hips and the upper portion of his exposed thigh, back over his ass, the small of his back and up to the nape. His lips soon joined in, leaving a trail of feather-like kisses all over his face, until low and groggy moans slipped past his lips and his hard cock pressed against his, which was just as hard and eager for some early morning loving.

"Harry," whispered Voldemort, his voice thick with sleep, jerking his hips to create friction between their aroused bodies. "More. Touch me more. Kiss me more," he demanded, hugging him closer.

"Whatever you say, my love." In one smooth move, Harry flipped him on his back and nestled comfortably between Voldemort's thighs. "I will give you everything you want. Everything," he assured him and swooped down to capture his lips as his hips moved rhythmically against Voldemort's, rubbing their throbbing dicks together.

Voldemort eagerly and hungrily kissed him back, his fingers sinking into Harry's messy black locks, drinking Harry up as if he were his morning fill of strong tea or coffee and his first bite of food and Harry loved it. He let him explore his mouth, then gently pushed back to map and savour his, intoxicating himself on his muffled moans of morning ecstasy. Once he had his fill, he moved to the jaw and neck, where he licked and sucked on his salty skin, leaving behind a red mark … and another … and another.

Voldemort keened and squirmed beneath him in pleasure, breathlessly calling his name, desperately tugging on his hair and meeting his thrusts, and somewhere in between he came, painting their chests and stomachs in the white of his come. Harry soon followed, adding his own sperm to Voldemort's, and as he pulled back to look at his fiancé, the erotic image before him – Voldemort with half-lidded glazed eyes, flushed skin, neck covered in hickeys and his chest and stomach bearing the evidence of their orgasm – he wanted to ravish him all over again.

And he did.

He descended upon him like a starved man, licking the sperm off him, leaving a shiny trail of saliva instead and another batch of love bites across his torso.

Halfway through, Voldemort wanted to reciprocate. He also wanted to mark him, for everyone to see that he belonged to him.

"Lie down," he ordered, and Harry obeyed. He lay on his back, let Voldemort straddle him and attach his lips onto his neck, where he licked and sucked until he too was covered in Voldemort's love marks. Then, he let him go lower, where he licked and swallowed their come on his skin and added more love bites as he went along.

By the time they finished with their second round of lovemaking, it was half past five and high time for them to get out of bed and do some morning exercise, and by the time they finished their workout, they made love for the third time that morning in the shower.

Before they headed downstairs to the common room, Harry remembered that it would be a good idea to inform his godfather about his relationship with Felix – Voldemort.

"Thank you for informing me the morning after, when you have done all sorts of lewd stuff with each other already," he said half in jest and half in reproach.

Harry blushed bright. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I completely forgot to tell you yesterday."

"You were no doubt very busy snogging and buggering your fiancé with your prick." Both Harry and Voldemort blushed at the comment.

"Sirius!" Harry said full of embarrassment.

"It's understandable," continued Sirius, unfazed by their mortification. "I only wish I were as lucky in that regard, but on a more serious note, I'm happy for you two. It surprised me how quickly you two got engaged, but as they say, if your love for each other is strong and real then all I can say is that I'm happy that you found each other when you did and to enjoy and treasure your time together."

Harry smiled gently and gratefully at his godfather. "Thank you, Sirius."

…

Another round of announcements appeared on the noticeboard of each common room on Monday morning and the only major one worth mentioning was the removal of Albus Dumbledore as the headmaster of Hogwarts and the appointment of Dolores Jane Umbridge as the new headmistress of the school. As such, her first action was to ban Dumbledore and Trelawney from the school and its grounds. Her second one was to invite the press and commemorate her achievement with a photo session and an interview for the Daily Prophet.

"Look at her," grumbled Ron as they – Harry, Voldemort, Ron and Hermione – observed the entire entourage from a window. "Promenading around all smug and shit."

"Let her," said Harry, with his arms wrapped around Voldemort's waist and his chin resting on one of his shoulders. "Let her enjoy her moment; it won't last long."

"Three weeks," complained Ron. "Her moment will last three weeks. I'd say three weeks is plenty of time to suffer Um-bitch as the headmistress."

"Agreed, but right now we must focus on finalising the preparations. We still have several things to do before we're ready to get rid of her for good."

"You're making it sound as if you plan to murder her," said Hermione in a horrified whisper.

"Oh, believe me, Hermione, if I could get away with her murder, I would kill her. Have no doubt about it," Harry assured her.

Ron gasped dramatically. "Oh, but we can get away with murder, Harry, and make it look like an accident, too," he exclaimed excitedly.

Harry looked at Ron in confusion. "Really?"

"Yeah, with your Invisibility Cloak. If we're invisible when we push her down the stairs or over the rail, everybody will believe that she tripped, lost her balance and fell from the seventh floor landing."

"Sh, Ron," Harry whispered urgently, pressing the index to his mouth. "Don't plot Umbridge's murder in broad daylight and in public where Filch or his cat can hear you." He glanced around them to see that said man and feline were not nearby. "But you're right, if we use Invisibility Cloak, we could get away with murder. How did I not think of that sooner? I could have snuck up behind her and pushed her over the edge the first time she used the blood quill on the twins," he berated himself.

"Sometimes the easiest solution is the last thing on your mind," said Ron sagely. "Besides, it's not too late yet, mate. We can still do that whenever the opportunity strikes," he encouraged, only for Hermione to hit him over the head. "Ow," he yelped and rubbed the place of impact, "what was that for, Hermione?"

"That's for encouraging Harry to commit murder."

"I would gladly help him commit it, if that makes it any better."

Hermione went both pale and red in the face. "Nobody is going to murder anybody," she huffed sternly. "Honestly you two, talking about and plotting murder as if it were a trip to Honeydukes."

Harry and Voldemort chuckled.

"As much as I'm tempted to do it, Ron," said Harry lightly, "unfortunately, Hermione is right, we can't kill her. Not now when she has just become the headmistress. Her death would be too high profile even for a very conveniently timed accident and, as things stand with Fudge, it's better if we take him and Umbridge down at roughly the same time. Who knows what he would have done if we had taken Umbridge out after two weeks of classes. In his paranoia, he would have probably accused Dumbledore or me for her sudden death, like he's been trying to frame us as raving lunatics, and thrown us in Azkaban; therefore, it has to happen like we planned by getting the word out to the public. They can tear her and Fudge apart after that and we can wipe our hands clean. Besides, we're already too deep in this to go for the easiest route to success."

"Oh well," sighed Ron, "it was worth a shot."

…

For the next three weeks, students and teachers worked tirelessly to finish the preparations for the big day.

In the first week, Harry managed to write the entire contract and had it proofread by Hermione and Voldemort to make sure he didn't leave any legal or magical loopholes, before sending the text to Robert Fawley, who had sent him the custom-made blood quill in the meantime. He also came up with his own kid's music programme for the party, removed any alcoholic beverages from the list and assigned a few professors to ensure that no student could sneak in any alcohol, even after the students of the first four years retired to bed.

Seamus and Dean had grimaced and complained, but had no choice but to comply, though they sent him a strange look when they saw ' Barbie Girl' on the list.

"What? Do you have anything against Barbies?" he said indignantly.

"No, of course not," they said.

"Good, because for a second I thought you did."

During the second week, Lucius Malfoy sent in new incriminating papers on Fudge and the muggleborn student who volunteered to procure the stun gun for them had obtained it from his police officer uncle. Fred and George had also apparently finalised their hot sauce and Harry thought it would be a good idea to start preparing ammunition rounds a little over a week in advance so they wouldn't be pressed for time later.

Eggs were already separately packaged, however flour, breadcrumbs and honey had to be measured individually and put in a container that would either easily explode on impact or make it easy for the contents to hit the target. He found an easy guide to flour bombs online and he ultimately decided to divide homemade breadcrumbs into canisters so the students could throw handfuls at Umbridge. However, he wasn't sure what to do with honey. Originally, he wanted to use balloons, but had doubts about his original plan due to honey's consistency. Therefore, he decided to look for an alternative. For a brief moment, he considered putting it into emptied eggs shells and then spend the next two weeks eating egg dishes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but he figured he could use water guns to shoot honey at Umbridge.

Now he would only have to procure enough water guns for the honey platoon. Great, more work for him in the final stretch of preparations. Why was he making his own life more difficult and complicated with his own ideas?

In the last week, the honey platoon received their final few water guns and Harry got the final official version of the contract, double-checked the ammunition before distributing it and went through the entire sequence of events with everyone again to ensure that everything went according to plan.

On Wednesday, 28 October 2015, at three o'clock in the afternoon, Harry gave the signal to launch the operation Pink Toad Ousting.

…

Under the guise of handing in their owl post report, Mulciber, Avery, Macnair, Goyle and Crabbe headed to Umbridge's office with clear instructions to restrain Umbridge and drag her to the Great Hall for interrogation. At the same time, another group of students was deployed to incapacitate Filch and his cat by putting them to sleep and locking them inside his office until the following day.

Avery knocked on the office door then looked at the other four, eagerly winding up the ends of their respective choices of restraint around their hands – rope, gag, and blindfold. Mulciber, on the other hand, was cradling a damp piece of cloth smothered in a common muggle anaesthetic.

When the woman gave them permission to enter, Avery entered first, while the others lined up behind him, hiding their hands behind their backs. While the woman's attention was on Avery who was keeping her distracted, the other four slowly moved to stand next to her and behind her. When they were in position, and the woman began sniffing the air and made a comment about a strong, pungent smell, Mulciber reached forward and pressed the cloth over her mouth and nose.

Umbridge began to struggle, flailing her arms around, trying to free herself from Mulciber's hold, but Crabbe and Goyle intervened by grabbing her arms and keeping them still so Mulciber could continue. A minute of muffled screams and struggling later, Umbridge's eyes slid shut and her body went completely limp, allowing the boys to wrap her in rope, gag her and blindfold her, before carrying in her like a log out of her office, down the flight of stairs and into the Great Hall where the rest of the school was gathered.

"Place her here on the podium," instructed Harry after they made their way through the sea of students and they did as told. "Great work," he praised them before dismissing them with a nod of his head. Then, with another nod at the twins, they whipped out their wands and cast a Rennervate at Umbridge, who jerked awake with a muffled yelp.

He let her panic for a bit, with eyes blindfolded and her mouth gagged, helplessly trying to free herself from the tightly wrapped rope, not knowing where she was or what was about to occur. A minute or so after, he crouched down to take off the blindfold.

The sudden change in light had her squinting and blinking, trying to get used to the brightness, only for her eyes to widen in alarm at the crowd surrounding her.

"Good afternoon, Headmistress," he greeted with pleasantness, sending a bright and broad smile her way. Her wide and panicked eyes were on him now. "I hope the boys haven't been too rough on you in their enthusiasm. After all, we have much to discuss and I need you fully conscious for the interrogation ahead."

A whimper escaped her. Her breathing sounded agitated.

"Sorry? I didn't catch that," he said, angling his left ear in her direction, cupping it with a hand. "It's kind of difficult to understand you through the gag, but don't worry, I'll get it off for you when I need you to speak."

His voice was soft and gentle, his expression too to some extent, but there was an underlying sense of danger, threat and unease that he wanted Umbridge to hear and see in his gestures.

"Now, you're probably wondering what's happening, yes?" She nodded; her frightened eyes were on him. "Well, you see, Headmistress, we have grown tired of you and your tyrannical ways, so we decided to just get rid of you. Isn't that great?" he said excitedly, much to her horror, because apparently getting rid of her translated into killing her.

She began screaming in distress.

"Oh, don't worry, we won't kill you," he assured her. "But we will get back at you for everything you've done to us and to other people by following the ancient law of 'eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth'. Because after we're done with you, Umbridge, you'd wish we'd just kill you instead, but I think I'd much rather leave that to the enraged public once they learn all the shit that you've done at Hogwarts and at the Ministry."

Her chest rose and fell with each agitated and sharp intake and exhale of air. Her whimpers continued and now she began trembling as well. A cruel smirk of satisfaction spread across Harry's face at the sight.

"That's right, Umbridge," he crooned, boring his unnerving emerald stare at her, his face contorted into a vicious, twisted grin, flashing his teeth like a maniac, something he was sure created a terrifying image, especially when the entire school was behind him looking at her with unabashed hatred. "Tremble, be scared, but no matter how much you beg or cry, nothing will save your from your overdue karma and don't even think about getting out of this one or coming after us, we'll make sure you won't be able to do anything legally or magically against us and you won't be able to refuse."

"But enough preamble," he sighed and rose to his feet and started pacing back and forth before her, "let's get down to business, because the sooner we get you away from Hogwarts, the sooner we'll be able to celebrate your departure and breathe and move around with more ease."

He produced Umbridge's file of transgressions and leafed through it. "I suppose the first thing on the agenda is your interrogation. I have here a file of all the incriminating evidence we managed to collect behind your back and without your knowledge so I think we should go point by point and for you to answer with absolute truth. If at some point you refuse to cooperate, worry not, we'll make you sing one way or another until you've told us everything we need for the camera."

The question formed in her eyes.

"Oh, right," he said, "I suppose I should tell you that this is being filmed and that we'll use the video as part of your grand confession of crimes. Anything that might incriminate us will be of course edited out. The public doesn't need to know to what lengths we were willing to go to get you to this point."

His smile sent chills through Umbridge and she paled. In the meantime, he removed the gag from her mouth, because if he wanted to extract a confession from her, he needed her to speak.

"How dare you treat me like this, Potter?" came out of her mouth the moment she could talk freely. "I am Senior Undersecretary to Minister Fudge, Headmistress of Hogwarts and the High Inquisitor Dolores Jane Umbridge. I deserve to be treated with respect not like a common criminal!" she shrieked.

"You are a criminal," Harry spoke coldly. "It doesn't matter behind how many respectable titles you hide or that you work at the Ministry. You are a criminal, and I treat you as scum, because that's what you are and that's what you deserve. Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, but you're in no position to demand anything from any of us, much less respect, because we don't have a single ounce of it for you."

Umbridge gaped like a toad. A very ugly one too.

"Now, let's start with the first question," Harry consulted the file. "Is it true that you used Veritaserum on unsuspecting students who also happened to be minors?"

"Yes, and I did so with Fudge's approval," she said proudly, puffing out her chest from her position on the floor.

"Then do you also admit to subjecting everyone in your detentions to writing lines with a blood quill?" A muscle in her face twitch as she strained her jaw. "Did Fudge also know and approve of your disciplinary methods?"

When Umbridge refused to answer, Harry gave a signal to Ron, who was operating the stun gun, to shock Umbridge with it. Eagerly, Ron jabbed the gun into the woman's ribcage and let a few hundred thousand volts' worth of electricity run through her body.

Everyone watched as Umbridge's body tensed, spasmed and contorted as if she were having a seizure and she screamed a high-pitched scream. After ten seconds, it stopped, but she remained jerking on the floor.

"That was fifty thousand volts," Harry nonchalantly informed Umbridge, "and I'm told that such a high voltage can cause intense muscle spasms and very sharp pain. Almost like a Cruciatus. Muggle Police sometimes uses this on criminals to subdue them. I think it's very fitting for you, and I can shock you even more if you refuse to answer my questions. So, I ask again, did you force students to write lines with a blood quill in detentions? It's a simple yes or no question."

"Y-Yes."

"See?" he said brightly. "That wasn't so difficult. What about Fudge? Did he know what you were doing here? Did he approve of your methods?"

"Yes. Bad children have to be punished severely; otherwise, they never learn their lesson."

Harry hummed in thought. "I wonder what the appropriate punishment for someone who hires hit-wizards to make anyone who has questioned their origins disappear mysteriously; someone who denounces their own family and fakes their own ancestry; someone who steals other people's hard work and presents it as their own; someone who lies and manipulates wilfully and without shame; someone who makes others miserable is."

Umbridge understood the meaning of his words. She knew he had just listed her own crimes in the most matter-of-fact manner imaginable, as if they were discussing weather over a cup of tea or coffee, for she turned white as a sheet.

"Blood quill? Electroshocks? Azkaban?" Harry continued unaffected by her reaction. "Perhaps the Dementor's Kiss or something entirely else, as long as it ends in death?" A shark-like grin spread across his face.

"Anyway," he sighed, "let's move to the next question. Is it true that you faked your own birth certificate, because you were ashamed of your own blood status as a Half-Blood, of your own muggle mother and your squib brother?"

Umbridge's face went red. "That is blasphemy!" she shrieked indignantly. "I am a Pureblood! Descended from the Selwyns! How dare you assume I am anything less than that?"

Harry signalled to Ron again and another round of fifty thousand volts coursed through her body. This one lasted for about five seconds. Enough to leave her in pain and breathless.

"Please, refrain from lying."

"You're a liar!" she spat. "Always have been. Ever since you came back from the maze spouting nonsense about the return of a certain Dark Wizard, or when you cast that Patronus on imaginary Dementors and claimed that you've been attacked and used magic in self-defence!"

Another blood-curdling scream tore from her throat as Ron shocked her again on Harry's command. This time, the shock lasted for fifteen seconds and Harry impassively regarded her writhing form.

"How can I lie about your birth certificate when I have both the original and the fake one right in front of me?" he asked with deceptive calmness, because he was boiling inside with rage.

How dared she accuse him of lying about Voldemort and Dementors? Just because she hadn't been at the graveyard when Pettigrew killed Cedric or when Voldemort came out of the cauldron, she didn't have to dismiss his words as lies or demented ramblings. However, he wouldn't push the truth on that issue, for Voldemort's sake. Not only to safeguard his disguise or to honour their contract, but because Harry wholeheartedly believed it was better for Voldemort if the world didn't know about his return.

With his newfound anonymity, he was free to move around unconcerned with public scrutiny, he could be whomever he chose to be in public and not worry about being targeted in any way. He wanted his darling fiancé to have a fresh start, a second chance at life so to speak where he had loving and caring parents who value him and his talents, a devoted, understanding and head-over-heels-in-love-with-him husband, true friends and his own family with a few children.

Unfortunately, for that to happen, Voldemort couldn't exist as a public figure anymore.

As for the Dementors – how dared she call him a liar to his face about what happened in Surrey when she was the one who gave the order for the attack and the kiss?

"You forged the document!" she accused. "You forged it to make me appear something I'm not."

"Just like I forged your signature on this kill order for me?" he dangled the very document in front of her face. She grew deathly pale. "What is it, Umbridge? Do you recognise your signature on this kill order?"

"I didn't sign any kill orders!"

"So I ordered the Dementors to kill me, is that it?" he pressed incredulously. "Why would I want to kill myself or rather turn myself into a living corpse, huh? How does that make sense?"

The toad turned purple, whether from anger, fear or frustration he wasn't sure, but he quite liked that look on her.

"Look, Umbridge," he sighed, trying to appear sympathetic, "you're fucked either way – you know you're fucked – so you might as well make it easier for yourself and just admit to everything without unnecessary melodrama, but if you're a masochist, I'm more than happy to indulge you and subject you to the most unimaginable pain possible. I can make you hurt worse than fifty thousand volts. I can also make you sing with some Veritaserum so, you can accuse me of lying, forgery and defamation all you want, because in the end, we all know what the truth is."

"Go to hell, Potter," she snarled. "This isn't over. Mark my words."

"Of course it's not over yet," he readily agreed, "but it will be soon and it won't end well for you, I can assure you that, no matter what you choose to do after today. So what will it be: cooperation or resistance?"

"I will make you regret this, Potter," she threatened.

"So, you have chosen resistance," concluded Harry lightly, ignoring her tone. He nodded towards the twins. "Joker, Trickster, do your magic."

Fred and George stepped forward with gloved hands, produced matching bottles containing their hot sauce and force-fed a spoonful of it directly into Umbridge's mouth. She tried to spit it, but they sealed it shut with a spell and Fred went ahead and closed her nostrils as well, forcing her to swallow against her will.

The effect of the hot sauce was almost immediate. Five seconds in, she started to thrash on the ground, screaming and moaning in pain. Her skin became flushed soon after, she started to sweat and drool profusely, waterfalls of tears pour out of her eyes and she gave the impression of having difficulty breathing.

"I think our dear Umbridge can take another serving," encouraged Harry, smiling pleasantly at Umbridge.

This time they filled Umbridge's nostrils with it and the sauce must have really burnt and hurt her, because she was really struggling to breathe through the nose and she started bleeding half a minute after receiving a dose of hot sauce straight inside her nose too.

A minute later, she was barely even conscious, but Harry gave the order for another dose, two drops directly into the eyes.

The screeching that ensued the moment the hot sauce made contact with the water inside her eyes made several people in the audience – mostly young ones – wince and cover their ears. Some found the sight to be a bit too much and thus turned away from everything, but the majority watched on, unfazed, excited or surprised, unable to believe that this was really happening.

After roughly five minutes, just when the sauce hit her stomach, Harry gave the permission to wash out Umbridge's eyes and nose, but not her mouth. Let her suffer for another five minutes. He also gave her some Blood-Replenishing Potion to compensate for the blood she had lost through the nose. He needed her at her full blood capacity for the written blood quill confession.

When Hermione and Ginny rinsed out the hot sauce with plenty of milk, Umbridge's eyes looked puffy and bloodshot, but she could still see, as far as Harry could tell, which was good, because he needed her to see what she was going to write with the blood quill.

"Do you feel like cooperating or do I have to go a step further and douse you in Veritaserum?" he prompted all business-like. "You've seen I don't play around with my threats. I said I would make you hurt worse than fifty thousand volts and I just did. If I say that I'll force-feed you the Truth Serum, I will do that in a blink of an eye."

If Harry were fair to Umbridge – and he wasn't, because Umbridge wasn't fair either – he would have waited for the effects of the hot sauce to wear off a little before continuing with his interrogation. Instead, he only gave her a few seconds, before he had Snape administering Veritaserum to her and commanding her to make a confession for the camera from start to finish.

"We're making progress," he crooned sarcastically when she came to the end of her confession speech. "Now, if you would be so kind and put everything you just said into writing too that would be nice. Twice. One will be for you and the other will be for me to safeguard in case you decide to rip yours apart after we're done, and of course, you will be writing with the blood quill. I wouldn't have it any other way since blood makes everything much more authentic, wouldn't you agree?" he added matter-of-factly, producing enough parchment to make two written confessions and custom-made blood quill. He untied her hands.

Umbridge didn't want to pick the blood quill he was offering to her.

"Pick it up and start writing," he instructed coldly.

She still refused to pick it up so he gave her a little encouragement: fifty thousand volts for five seconds. Another bout of screams resonated through the Great Hall.

"Pick it up and write," he repeated the command and Umbridge finally obeyed. With trembling and twitching hands, she reached for the quill and reluctantly did as told.

Harry kept a close eye on her movements, making sure that she was writing what he told her to write and that she didn't slack off because of the pain. During her third sentence, the back of her hand turned bright red, and by the time she reached half a page, jagged lines had carved themselves into her skin.

She whimpered and cried, but Harry showed no mercy or sympathy for her pain. In fact, he shocked her whenever he felt she was taking too long between lines. When she reached three quarters of her first confession, she begged him to stop.

"You'll stop when you finish," he informed her blankly, "and you still have another quarter left of your first written confession and an entire second one so if you don't want to spend the entire afternoon writing with a blood quill, I suggest you hurry up. We also have other more important things to do, like celebrating your downfall, so don't waste our time, because our time is valuable."

Halfway through, Umbridge began to look pale, her limbs started to lose strength, and the back of her hand bled profusely, therefore Harry had Snape administer a second dose of the Blood-Replenishing Potion to keep her going, but not much else. He didn't let her rest or recover, but pushed her to keep going until she had entirely lost feeling in her left hand and it looked so mangled it might have been mauled by some wild beast and better off amputated.

When it looked like she was about to faint, he threw a glass of cold water in her face and slapped her hard across it to keep her awake, the sound echoing through the room. "No sleeping," he said sternly. "There's no sleep for you, Umbridge. Not yet, anyway."

When she was done and barely conscious, he took one confession letter, fanned the parchment until the blood dried completely, folded it and handed it over to Voldemort for safekeeping. "And now, one last thing before I let you leave." He produced the contract and placed it before her. "Sign this."

"What is this?" she mumbled.

"A contract."

"What kind of contract?"

"A contract that says you commit yourself to renouncing your position at Hogwarts and the Ministry," narrated Harry. "By signing it, you also commit yourself to publicly admitting all your crimes in the next three days, subjecting yourself to an official trial and accepting the consequences."

Umbridge grew agitated.

"With your signature, you also agree not to say anything about the methods we used today to extract a confession out of you and that you will not pursue any legal action against any of us and that you will also not do anything to harm any of us in any way, directly or indirectly. If you do not uphold the conditions stated in the contract, you will die. Simple as that."

Harry bent forward to lower himself to her eye level. "It's over, Umbridge, you have no escape," he whispered, his unnerving stare made the toad uncomfortable. "Either you admit to everything yourself or I do it in your stead for I have all the documents to destroy your reputation – your very life – in my possession, in multiple copies to ensure that even if you destroy the originals, there will always be a copy available to provide evidence against you."

She trembled and sobbed. A cruel, smug grin graced Harry's face.

"As they would say in chess, this is checkmate and I have won. There is however a way for you to get out of the contract and avoid the public scrutiny for your deeds."

Hope ignited in her eyes and Harry's grin grew crueller still. "Suicide is always an option, Umbridge, for cowards like you, who don't have the guts to face the consequences of their actions or accept responsibility for their crimes."

Umbridge looked at him as if he were the devil himself and probably he sounded and looked very much like a demon, his features twisted wickedly, whispering suggestions into her ear, inciting her to do his bidding, tempting her with an easy way out. Yes, Harry was a demon and he relished in that role.

"What will it be, Umbridge?" he prompted diabolically. "Are you strong enough to withstand public scrutiny, Azkaban, perhaps even lynching or a Dementor's kiss or will you choose death instead and avoid a calamity. Either way, I will ensure that the public learns of everything you did through the media. Your name will be forever tarnished and people will curse your name and spit on your corpse and grave, but when you're dead, none of that will matter, will it?"

He could see the cogs moving in Umbridge's head, he could see her considering his suggestion and deep down, in the deepest, darkest and most ruthless parts of his soul, he hoped she would go through with it. If Fudge decided to follow her to hell, that would be much appreciated as well.

This time, Umbridge picked up the blood quill without making any fuss and without any preambles signed the contract, magically and legally binding herself to it.

With a sadistic smirk, Harry handed the contract to Voldemort, before untying and pulling Umbridge to her feet and the sea of students parted to form a path. Food platoons readied their ammunition under the command of their platoon captains.

"We have reached the end of your stay at Hogwarts, my dear Umbridge," Harry spoke softly into her ears, with hands on her shoulders and eyes on the students holding flour bombs, eggs, honey filled water guns, and fists full of breadcrumbs. "The only thing left for you is to walk your walk of shame slowly, and once you reach the end of the line, you are free to go, but remember that you only have three days to decide what you will do: obey the contract or end your own life to escape punishment. The choice is yours."

Harry gave the toad a push.

The first platoon was the flour one, commanded by Professor Sprout. "Take aim!" she called, her right arm raised high above her head. When Umbridge was within reach, she lowered it and shouted "Release!"

With a roar, dozens upon dozens of flour bombs hit Umbridge's hair, face, and body with a smack, leaving behind a white, powdery and dusty mess despite her attempts to shield her head and face from the onslaught.

Next came the egg platoon commanded by Professor Flitwick. He too shouted, "Take aim! Release!" as soon as Umbridge was in their firing range and again, shouts and dozens upon dozens of eggs cracked against Umbridge, coating her in a slippery and slimy egg whites and yolks, with bits of shell clinging to her hair and clothes.

The same happened with honey guns and breadcrumbs as Professors Hooch and Sinistra gave their commands to shoot at Umbridge.

When Umbridge reached the end, she ran outside and the rest of the Hogwarts populace followed her. Upon reaching the entrance courtyard, they saw every bird in the vicinity swarm around the woman, flapping their wings and frantically lunging themselves at her, pecking her with their beaks, making her screech and flail around as if she were being skinned alive.

Students and teachers alike laughed and cheered at the sight. "See, Umbridge!" Harry yelled with his hands cupping his mouth over the noise. "At least the birds like you! There must be something about you that's driving them crazy!"

Voldemort next to him howled with laughter and he laughed with him.

The moment Umbridge's atrocious form was out of sight, an avalanche of cheers exploded around them. While people were busy hooting, whistling, jumping up and down in glee, hugging each other, chanting 'no more Umbridge', Harry reached for Voldemort's waist and planted a passionate kiss on his lips.

Chapter End Notes

Did you notice the similarities between Harry and young Tom Riddle in this one? It's quite important because it will come into play in the following chapter when Harry learns of certain news. I mean the chapter will be titled "Harry Questions his Morality' so you know that shit gets real and deep for Harry as he sees the consequences of his actions and while he may say he wants Umbridge dead or that he wants to kill her, thinking and talking about it is different from actually killing someone - however directly or indirectly.

Afterword

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