Chapter 1: The Catacombs
This is not a good idea.
In fact this may be the single worst idea Harry has ever had, and even he has to admit he's had some dumb ideas.
"It'll be worth it. Knowing what Voldie's up to has to help somehow," he muttered to himself as he glanced around a corner from under the safety of his cloak.
Following Voldemort into a graveyard in the dead of night because of a nightmare-vision is the kind of plan that only Harry would think of. Ron and Hermione would go along with it, not without some needling from Hermione granted, but they would never think to do this on their own.
If he hadn't known that time was not on his side (and it would surely take time to convince them to join him) then maybe he would have woken them up.
Voldemort approached a mausoleum. Grand and imposing, built out of white marble in the classic roman style. It would've looked right at home on the grounds of the colosseum itself. It had no visible doors. Instead, the walls were adorned with base reliefs depicting what looked like knights standing over a kneeling crowd, if Harry had his guess.
The Dark Lord slashed his wand across his palm, then flicked it at the wall. A thin stream of blood followed the movement, splashing across the face of one of the stately knights. The blood absorbed into the stones, and then where once there was a solid, if well decorated wall, there was a heavy oaken door.
The door swung open on its own, revealing a gulf of liquid blackness that Harry swore didn't look natural. Voldemort healed himself with a lazy swish of his wand, then strolled casually into the darkness beyond the threshold.
And just like that the wall was back in place.
"Alright Tommie boy, let's see what you're after." Harry jogged up to the secret door, cloak billowing around him, and took a moment to take in the base relief in more detail.
And to let Tom get some distance from the door so he wouldn't notice it opening behind him.
The knights, adorned in ornate armor topped with what Harry swore looked like duelist style robes, stood tall and proud above a kneeling mass of robed men and women. Harry reached out and let his hand trail across the carving.
"These are wizards kneeling here," he muttered to himself. "But who are they kneeling to?" He looked closely, and there on the hilts of the knights' swords, on their breastplates, and hanging around their neck, was a sigil. It looked vaguely like a hiltless dagger, pointed down, with a loop on top where the hilt ought to be.
He didn't recognize it. Doubtless Hermione would.
"I'm starting to regret not waking you guys up." But there's nothing for it but to press onward. Harry pulled his penknife out of his pocket, and before he could think about it too hard, slashed it across his palm like he'd seen Tommie boy do.
It stung like a bitch, but he'd had worse and hardly even flinched. He stuck his hand out from under the cloak and smeared a stripe of blood across the lead knight, and just like before the wall melted away into a heavy wooden door.
It swung open as Harry was pocketing his knife.
The darkness beyond was like a physical thing. A wall, taunting him, saying 'you couldn't possibly be brave enough to risk the unknown. Not when he's in here.'
Harry shook himself, firmed his lips, and plunged forward into the dark.
The moment he passed the barrier it was like a veil was lifted from him, and he could finally see what had always been there, hidden in the black.
A stone staircase with alcoves on each side, lined sparsely with lit candles and the bones of the long since dead, descended down and down and down in front of him, before ending abruptly in a T-shaped intersection. It reminded Harry of the Catacombs under Paris, but it was totally pristine. Almost lived in. The stairs were well worn, clearly oft-traveled, and there was a surprising lack of cobwebs.
And Voldemort was nowhere in sight.
"Shite!" Harry hissed to himself as he plunged down the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could. He nearly slammed into the wall at the bottom of the steps, head whipping back and forth trying to find-
There! Heading down the right hand path at a brisk pace was the wraith silhouette of the Dark Lord. With a determined nod, Harry pushed off the wall and made to follow at a relatively safe distance. Harry nearly snorted at the thought. There's no such thing as safe distance when Voldemort's involved.
The catacombs stretched on in front and around him, paths branching off and away into darkness every few feet, while the lit path Voldemort followed turned only occasionally, but always angled slightly downwards. Even so, Harry worried that if he had to retrace this path alone that he might never find his way out of this labyrinth.
Without even meaning to, he drifted closer to the Dark Lord he was following until he was barely more than ten feet away.
What the hell were you thinking? He asked himself, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart and the shaking in his hands brought about by the instantaneous adrenaline rush being anywhere near Voldemort caused in any sane, rational person.
Of course, what right does he have to call himself sane or rational in this moment? Following a Dark Lord that's out for his blood into a labyrinthian catacomb beneath the city of London on a whim is the kind of mind numbingly stupid idea that Hermione would smack him for even joking about.
Maybe it's for the best he left them behind. At least this way, if this goes horribly wrong somehow, Harry is the only one that'll have to suffer the consequences. He glances down at the wand clutched like a lifeline in his hand; sees how his tendons stand out, feels how the wood is biting painfully into his palm, and forces his grip to relax.
Not like the wand will do him any good if he's discovered. Even if he could put up anything resembling a fight against someone like Tom fucking Riddle, he legally can't.
God damn the ministry! That absolute pillock Fudge, his disgusting pink toady, and everyone else in that corrupt cesspit of incredible incompetence! Trying to neuter him for saving his own life when he's got people after his life. Fucking ridiculous!
If Voldemort weren't a whole 'nother package of awful altogether, Harry might be tempted to let him take over, just to see the look on Fudge's face when he realizes how incredibly wrong and stupid he's been before he dies.
It's a truly sad state of affairs when the legitimate government is so bad it makes you consider letting someone like sodding Voldemort overthrow it, even as a passing thought.
The Dark Lord turns rather suddenly, heading through an archway and into an expansive chamber; perfectly round, at least a hundred feet across, lit with candles that glow an eerie yet beautiful pale blue. They remind Harry of the perfectly still moments in the dead of night, when the moon shines bright enough to see, and the clouds are nowhere to be seen. In alcoves all around the chamber are life-size statues depicting the same knights from the base relief on the entrance to the catacomb.
Directly across from the arch they had entered from is a depiction of what must be these people's leader. He stands head and shoulders above the others, in armor that looks almost too ornate to be functional, a sword held aloft in his right hand with a goblet in his left. His expression has been captured masterfully, Harry thinks. He emits a certain strength that Harry cannot articulate, a regal bearing and a piercing stare that just screams: 'I'm the most powerful person in the room, and I know it.'
Voldemort approaches this statue, and as Harry looks around he notices that there are no other paths but the one they came from. A dead end? Surely not. Tom wouldn't have come all this way to appreciate a dozen or so statues, no matter how finely sculpted they may be.
Tom raises his hand above the goblet, and Harry realizes what he's doing just before he slashes his palm open again, blood flowing freely to collect in the goblet. A wave of something, a magic that Harry finds startlingly familiar and yet totally foreign washes over him. Voldemort nods to himself, seemingly satisfied, before carelessly healing himself and moving to stand in the exact center of the chamber.
He nearly brushes against Harry, and he has to scramble out of the way to prevent disaster. For a moment, Harry stands stock still, less than three feet from the Dark Lord, holding his breath and willing his heart to slow down and be quiet! Surely Tom can hear it from where he is with how hard it's beating against his ribs.
But Tom doesn't react in any way, and then the floor beneath them shudders, drops a bit all at once, and begins to descend at a rapid but not uncomfortable pace.
Bloody hell, it's a magic elevator! Like the one at the Ministry, but hidden so much better. And apparently powered by blood sacrifice.
Blood magic isn't something Harry's heard much of before. He vaguely recalls seeing several tomes in the Forbidden Section of the Library on the subject, and he's heard it mentioned in idle conversation once or twice, but it's never been brought up in any of his actual subjects.
As the chamber slides even further down into the earth, Harry makes several mental notes to fix this gap in his knowledge ASAP. He relies on blood wards to keep himself safe at his relatives house after all. He really ought to make an effort to understand the magic his mother wove in her dying moments. And on top of that; who knows how many secrets like this place are hidden across the world? Hogwarts could have so many more passages and chambers secreted away, hidden behind blood protections and false doors just waiting to be discovered.
As the chamber makes no show of stopping anytime soon, Harry's momentary excitement at the fascinating new magic gives way to nerves.
Just how far down can you even go?
Voldemort, of course, is totally unaffected; waiting with perfect posture and unnatural stillness. The bastard.
This is rather a lot of trouble and waiting, Harry realizes. Not for the first time, he wonders what it is exactly Tom is up to down here.
Eventually the chamber comes to a gentle stop, and almost immediately two knights materialize out of the shadows by the archway. Their armor is immediately identifiable as the same style as the statues above, if significantly less ornate and much more practical looking. That being said, to call their armor and robes plain would be a grave disservice to the craftsmanship that must have gone into them.
Their armor gleams and shimmers, like the surface of a gently flowing river in the sun, and clearly covers all their vital areas, even below their duelist style over-robes. The robes are dark as darkness can be, probably made of acromantula silk if Harry has his guess, and trimmed with a deep crimson that seems to almost flow across their surface like blood.
They wear no helmets, but have their hoods drawn up, casting their faces in shadow. Even so, Harry can see how unnaturally pale and gaunt they are, can see how their eyes glimmer in the darkness cast by their hoods, and he realizes what they are the moment one of them opens their mouth to speak and he sees their fangs.
"Follow us. Our Lord is expecting you." Without waiting for a reply, the two vampires turn on their heel and march out of the chamber, clearly expecting Voldemort to do as he's told.
Harry likes them already. It takes serious balls to bark an order at Lord fucking Voldemort.
Tommie boy tries valiantly to restrain a scowl as he moves to follow, and Harry almost laughs at how shit of a job he does. Not used to getting treated like a commoner, is he?
Harry follows as well, and as soon as he crosses the threshold he's hit with a wall of sounds and smells and sights the likes of which he hasn't experienced since his first trip to Diagon Alley.
Despite having gone down and down and down for ages, they've exited the elevator into what is clearly a bustling marketplace. All around him are buildings of various sizes and shapes, all built in the Roman style. White marble arches lined the street, from which hung braziers that held bright blue flames that kept the place lit well enough that Harry could see without difficulty, but that still left lingering shadows all over the place. Also hanging from the arches were baskets of whatever goods the people peddled at their shops, and by god the market stalls themselves!
They stretched on and on in every direction as far as the eye could see, each one manned by an exuberant salesman, peddling their wares to the crowds meandering their way through the packed streets. Immediately to his right Harry noticed a falafel stand, three men and a woman working assembly line fashion to put out food as fast as the impressive crowd around their stall could order it. Several goblins and a dwarf were among the crowd. Further down the road was what Harry swore was Professor Trelawney's younger and more put together sister, selling jewelry made of carved jade and other stones that the signs on her stall proclaimed would bring their wearer good fortune. In a far off corner of the marketplace, he catches a glimpse of an honest to goodness blacksmith, the sound of a hammer and anvil just audible over the raucous din of the marketplace.
Harry looks up, and there, clearly visible through the mosaic of archways and baskets and linen lines crossing the street overhead, is the night sky. For a moment, Harry wonders if that elevator ride did more than just take him down; if perhaps he's been transported to somewhere else entirely. Then he notices, just barely visible and fading more the further up he looked, there are arches behind the night sky. Just like the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
Hermione would freak if she could see this!
At first glance, Harry thinks that this is just another wizard marketplace, somewhere like Diagon Alley, but then he notices one of the vendors, one selling potion ingredients that Harry is sure are illegal, is clearly a vampire, and so are most of his clientele. Before he can figure out why so many vampires would be crowded around a potion shop, a man nearly bowls him over, and Harry notices his prominent scars and the thick hair on his palms. Werewolf.
He only just manages to avoid a collision, swearing under his breath as he dances around people as best he can.
Sure, there are witches and wizards here, but this is decidedly not a wizard marketplace. Not in the same way Diagon Alley is, at least.
Harry darts forward, trying to stick himself to Voldemort's back while at the same time keeping enough distance that he won't run into him if he should come to a sudden stop. The last thing he wants is to get lost in the crowd, or worse: discovered and killed.
The crowd doesn't exactly part around the Dark Lord and his escort, but the people do step around them in an odd mix of fear and respect, and Harry notices several vendors giving Tommie Boy sharp looks before decidedly ignoring him and going about their days.
Voldemort himself ignores everyone and everything around him, gliding imperiously through the streets like a king in a foriegn land. Something tells Harry that that is exactly what he is in this place.
What would that make him? A visiting dignitary? An unwanted intruder? Probably best not to find out.
They turned, and just like that they were leaving the marketplace and entering a vast open area not unlike the National Mall in Washington D.C. Ahead of them stretched a field of softly glowing flowers, ringed with trees whose leaves shone like sapphires, through which a multitude of paths weaved their way between statues and monuments, before ending at a series of steps that ascended a hill. Upon the summit of which sat a palatial structure that looked equal parts roman state house and castle; all gleaming white marble adorned with tapestries festooned with that same dagger like sigil Harry had seen before, and high towers visibly manned by guards in the same armor as Tommie Boy's escort.
The softly glowing flora cast easy light upon the promenade while the stars twinkled in the enchanted ceiling overhead. A gentle breeze set the flowers dancing all in unison, and brought with it the lovely fresh scent of all things growing that was like a balm to the senses after the cacophony of the marketplace. As they made their way down the path, Harry couldn't help but feel that this place was tranquil in a way that nowhere else he'd ever been could attest to.
Harry stopped where he was to appreciate the sights and sounds of pure serenity, and it was only seeing Voldemort moving, wraithlike, further and further away from him that broke him from his wonder and got him moving with purpose again.
Tom fucking Riddle doesn't belong here. Of that, Harry is absolutely sure. He knows it in his bones. He walks with single minded determination, heedless of the beauty around him, uncaring and unmoved by any of what he's seen so far.
Sacrilege! That's what it is. This place may be home to vampires and werewolves and who knows what else, but Harry knows that what he's seen so far is somehow good. This is not the dark and terrible place the wizards in the Wizengamot would make it out to be. This is these people's home.
Voldemort doesn't even understand what a home is. He will destroy this place and the people that built it as surely as he will everything else he touches.
Why is he being allowed here? Negotiations with whatever community this is? Doesn't really seem his style, Harry thinks. But then again, this place is massive, and surely has a population to match, and everything Harry has learned of vampires is that they are never to be underestimated. Hell, accounts of what exactly vampires are actually capable of are so wildly contradictory that all Harry knows for sure about them is what they look like, that sunlight most definitely kills them, and a stake through the heart will probably kill them.
Or seriously piss them off. Not a gamble he'd be willing to take.
Maybe negotiation is simply wiser than outright conquest in this case, even for the immortal Dark Lord himself.
As they ascended the steps towards the castle, Harry noticed that every few feet were hidden alcoves along the sides of the steps, from which peered the resolute countenances of more vampiric guards. The first set they passed disgorged two more guards which took up position behind Voldemort, effectively boxing him in. Voldemort doesn't so much as glance behind him, but Harry sees how his shoulders tense and his fingers clench, as if seeking the comforting weight of his wand.
Harry got the distinct impression that Tom could have walked away from whatever meeting he was heading to, right up until that moment. He's committed now. There will be no backing out, and he knows it.
Harry only hopes that this meeting goes poorly for the Dark Lord.
Their little procession; one snake faced Dark Lord clad in robes like black smoke, surrounded by four vampiric guardsmen in gleaming armor, all being tailed by one invisible Boy-Who-Lived, make their way through a massive gate, then turned into a much smaller door that still manages to dwarf anything short of the doors to the Great Hall, down a hall, and make their way into a small antechamber. There is a couch and two armchairs before a roaring hearth on one side, and a small bar stocked with who knows what on the other.
Here, the lead guards stop and turn towards Voldemort for the first time since they appeared.
"You will wait here until summoned. You will maintain a distance of at least twenty paces from Lord Erasmus Livius at all times. Failure to do so will be seen as an act of aggression. You will not draw your wand or move as if to draw your wand without express permission from Lord Erasmus Livius. Failure to do so will be seen as an act of aggression. You are a guest, here at our Lord's pleasure. And if it pleases him you will be allowed to remain."
Without waiting for a reply, the lead guards turned and simply melted into the shadows around the door as if they were never there. The rear guard took up positions at the door they had entered through. The message was clear: no going back, only forward, and only when you are told. Once again, Harry found himself impressed with these people.
Voldemort shot them a measuring look, then moved to stand before the hearth, hands clasped behind his back while he stared into the flickering flames.
With nothing better to do, Harry moved to stand by one of the armchairs, and observed his mortal nemesis in a moment of contemplation. The firelight glinted oddly against his skin, and it was only when Harry squinted that he realized it was because his skin was scaled irregularly, as if patches of it were made of snake skin. He grimaced, having to hold back a shudder at how grotesque Tommie Boy had become.
Tom was going along with this without complaint. He's either playing some sort of part in a bid to acquire something later, or he's genuinely not willing to risk the wrath of this Lord Livius person.
The former fits Harry's understanding of him better, but Tom would've hidden his agitation at being treated like a commoner better if that were the case, and the only time his facade cracked was when he realized he was boxed in by guards. Which means …
Oh shit. Tom is actually unwilling to fight Lord Livius, at least for now. What kind of power must he have to make Lord fucking Voldemort think twice about antagonizing him? Harry frowned as he considered it. Voldemort is immortal - somehow - but being resurrected took him thirteen years the last time, so it makes sense he'd want to avoid a repeat performance.
That's only considering this Lord Livius as a personal threat rather than a more organizational or political one. It's entirely possible Livius has the clout and numbers to be able to take on the Death Eaters and win. Given the scale of the city and how populated it is, it wouldn't really surprise Harry if that was the case.
So really, it makes complete sense that Voldemort wouldn't want to risk conflict with such a powerful force. And if he's unwilling to fight him, then he must be here to persuade him to his side. Hermione would suggest that he could be there for a simple nonaggression pact, but Harry knows that when it comes to Voldemort you're either with him or you're in his way. There's no such thing as neutrality to him.
Harry really hopes this meeting goes poorly.
At no signal that Harry could see, the guards at the rear of the room approached Voldemort, who turned his head to watch their approach with snake-like precision.
"Our Lord will see you now. Proceed into the throne room."
Voldemort inclined his head in acknowledgement and made for the door the other set of guards had disappeared through earlier. Harry stuck close enough that he could slip through the door before it closed, though it seemed to be a wasted effort as the door remained open until the guards followed them out, when it shut of its own accord.
They made their way through a column of pillars and into the central area of the throne room. It was a massive space, roughly as large as the Hogwarts Great Hall, but it felt narrower due to the rows of pillars on either side. In front of each pillar was stationed a single vampiric guard in perfect parade rest. To their right was a set of massive doors, heavily reinforced and bolted shut. They were clearly meant to be the main entrance, so why was it that Voldemort was led through an antechamber? Security reasons? Simple insult? Is he not worth the effort of opening the main doors?
Voldemort was headed to the left, and Harry put the thought aside as he moved to follow. At the far end of the room was a raised dais, at the center of which were two thrones, only one of which was occupied. The man sat in repose upon that throne was very clearly the same one depicted in the statue that Voldemort had used to activate the elevator. The statue had been plain marble, not a spot of color to be found, and Harry took in the sight of Lord Erasmus Livius in his throne.
He was a large man, that much was clear even as he lounged on the throne. Broad shoulders almost wider than the back of his throne, with his legs stretched out almost carelessly in front of him, one leg slightly bent. One hand was idly stroking his short beard, while the other rested on the hilt of a sword at his hip. He looked, for all the world, totally relaxed and unaware of his surroundings.
But his eyes told a different story. There were no whites to his eyes. Instead, the space around his iris was as black as pitch, contrasting sharply with the vibrant blue of his eyes and the paleness of his skin. Those eyes watched with hawk-like focus as the Dark Lord approached the dais and sank into a shallow bow.
The other vampires Harry had seen and read about all looked vaguely sickly; too pale, too gaunt, a greyish undertone to their complexion that bespoke of their inhuman nature, but Lord Livius had none of these traits. His skin was pale, yes, but it looked oddly healthy, as if this is how it was always meant to look. His features were thin and well defined, but not unnaturally so. He wouldn't have looked out of place next to Julius Caesar, Harry thinks. Really, the only thing about him that looked unusual in the extreme were his eyes, which Harry swore shone faintly, as if a candle were lit behind them.
Voldemort came out of his bow, and opened his mouth to speak. To say what, no one would ever know, for Lord Erasmus Livius chose that moment to address his guest in a voice as calm and deep as the ocean, and accented richly. Harry thought it might be an italian accent, but something about that felt off. He didn't stress the m's and n's the way an Italian speaker would, but rather breezed over them almost like they weren't there. Odd.
"Voldemort. So, the rumors of your return were true." He didn't sound surprised, or impressed, but perhaps vaguely annoyed, as if the Dark Lord were little more than a buzzing insect that kept coming through his window to irritate him.
Voldemort splayed out his hands and smiled viciously. "I have gone further in my steps towards immortality than any before. I am eternal. Death has no hold over me." Harry had to stop himself from snorting at the magnificent arrogance on display. Even as the guest in another Lord's palace, Voldemort can't stop himself from gloating. Typical.
Livius seemed about as impressed as Harry was, for his only response was to raise a single eyebrow and mutter, "Indeed." Like a parent humoring a very small and boisterous toddler.
Harry crossed his arms and leant against a pillar near the base of the dais, not more than ten feet from Livius, ready to watch these two ping pong off each other.
Voldemort's smile vanished like smoke and his arms went behind his back once again. Harry could see the hilt of his wand conspicuously visible in the front of his robes, and he wondered if Voldemort crossing his arms behind himself was an attempt at restraint.
"Why have you come?" Livius' voice was conversational, but Harry could see the seriousness of the question in his eyes.
"You know why I have come." Voldemort shot back. Livius huffed and leaned back in his throne, steepling his fingers as he regarded Tommie Boy thoughtfully.
"You are as arrogant and impatient as ever." He said matter of factly. Again Harry had to restrain himself from laughing. Oh he liked this Lord Livius!
"Now answer my question properly, or get thee gone from my sight." Voldemort's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but his voice was level, hinting at being excited when he spoke.
"I have returned, and soon my conquest of the magical world will begin. Britain is only the beginning. Join me. Swear yourself to my cause, and I will give your people all the rights and privileges befitting them that are denied to you by the ignorant governments that rule our world today." Harry froze, a cold sweat forming on his skin, as Voldemort laid out his offer.
He's lying. Harry knows this immediately. Voldemort only cares for one thing: himself. He'll use these people like he does everyone else and toss them aside once they've spent their usefulness. Livius has to see it. There's no way he'll fall for this.
But when Harry looks at the Lord on his throne, he sees contemplation in his unusual eyes.
"And what rights and privileges are my people being denied?" He intoned softly.
Voldemort smiled like a shark that smelled blood. "It would be easier to list the ones you aren't being denied, wouldn't it Erasmus?" The use of his first name clearly didn't sit well with the Vampire Lord, as his eyes immediately narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.
"I suppose you are right, Tom." Harry nearly choked trying not to gasp out in shock. Livius knows Tommie Boy's real name!? "But what guarantee would I have that you would hold up your end of the bargain?"
Riddle only shrugged. "I suppose you have none, but what you do have is a guarantee from the Ministry as it is: eradication. I only offer you a chance to save your people and gain the station owed to you once more."
For a very long time, Livius stared at Voldemort, contemplating the offer. Harry wanted to jump up and shout; 'No! Don't trust him!' But if he did, Voldemort would kill him where he stands, he's sure of it. So, he tamps the urge down as hard as he can, but it never fully leaves him.
From the shadows behind the throne steps a young woman, resplendent in gleaming armor and flowing robes, embroidered with fluid patterns in royal purple, that seemed to pulse to an unknown beat. The dagger like sigil is in place of pride over her heart, emblazoned on her pauldrons, and stitched into the edges of her robes. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face in a deceivingly simple looking crown of braids, leaving the rest of her hair to fall in gentle waves around her shoulders. She is somehow even paler than Livius, looking like she might have been carved from marble were it not for the subtle veins Harry could see on her temple, and the healthy rose hue of her lips. Her eyes are silver pools of starlight, glittering in the black void of her sclera, and Harry finds he has a hard time looking away from them once he notices them.
She places a delicate hand on Livius' shoulder, and when he looks at her his stoicness fades, replaced for an instant with such glowing affection that Harry knows that he must be this woman's father.
"Celestine, my daughter, what do you think of Voldemort's offer?" She purses her lips as she regards the Dark Lord, and Harry takes a moment to really compare her to her father. After only a moment's consideration, he decides that she gets most of her good looks from her mother. She has a similar aristocratic cut to her; features sharp and well defined, but where her father's face is thin, hers is heart shaped. Her nose is small and almost delicate looking where it sits over thin but shapely lips. Her eyes are large and expressive, nestled between high cheekbones and sharp eyebrows.
She's beautiful, Harry thinks. And then he shakes himself, pushing her distractingly good looks out of his mind as best he can while he screams in his mind for her to tell her father, unequivocally, not to trust the monster that is offering them nothing but sweet lies!
Her eyes widen subtly, and flicker to where Harry is standing and back to Voldemort so fast Harry isn't sure he actually saw it or was imagining it. She takes a deep breath in through her nose, and again her eyes cut to him and back again almost too fast to see, but this time Harry is sure of it.
He's been made.
Somehow, Celestine knows he's there.
Please don't out me, he pleads in his mind, hoping beyond hope that whatever deity is in charge of his fate is listening.
After an interminable moment of watching Celestine watch Voldemort with a considering expression, she turns to her father. Their eyes meet, and Harry swears something is being communicated without words, and then Celestine speaks.
"I would advise caution." Her voice is accented similarly to her father's, but caresses the words like warm velvet, looping around the syllables almost playfully despite the seriousness of her statement.
Livius nods and turns to regard Voldemort with his lips drawn into a tight line.
"I will consider your offer. Do not return here uninvited again." He waved his hand, and guards stepped forth seemingly from nowhere to box Voldemort in again.
Tommie Boy scowled, but bowed and turned to leave without a word, escorted by his new best friends. Harry made to follow, but glanced up at the dais and met Celestine's sparkling eyes.
Stay.
He stopped on the spot, nearly overbalancing in his attempt to cease his exit from the throne room.
That wasn't his voice. That was most definitely Celestine's voice in his head.
What?
Is that a thing vampires can do?
Well. Shit.
He turned to face the throne, now nearly in the exact same spot Tom had stood. The door to the antechamber slammed shut, and Lord Livius spoke.
"I know you are there. Reveal yourself." For a moment, Harry considered trying to run, but immediately discarded the idea. Too many guards with too sensitive senses. Bloody hell, it's a miracle he made it in here unnoticed in the first place!
Fuck it, he thought. And he whipped his invisibility cloak off in one smooth motion, immediately sinking into the deepest bow he could manage without falling on his face. It wasn't as deep as he would've liked.
"Er, uhm," Great way to start off talking to vampire royalty, that is. "Lemme start by saying that I wasn't here to spy on you. I was spying on Voldemort." A deep laugh echoed across the throne room and, startled, Harry looked up to see Lord Livius lost in mirth. His daughter looked vaguely impressed, looking him up and down with a considering eye. Slowly, unsure of the actual protocols here, Harry straightened from his bow.
"And why did you decide to spy on the Dark Lord?" Celestine asked over her father's laughter. Harry gulped, suddenly nervous under the intensity of her stare.
"Well," He ran his hand through his hair. "I had a vision of him earlier tonight. Figured it was important, and I've got the cloak. So." He shrugged, wanting very much to break eye contact with the vampiress but somehow unable to.
"Seemed like a good idea at the time. Reconnaissance, ya know?"
Celestine smirked and inclined her head, and Harry was finally able to wrench his gaze away from hers. Distantly he was aware of how his heart was pounding in his ears, but he willfully ignored it even as his eyes inevitably landed on the other member of vampire royalty present.
Livius had stopped laughing, and was now regarding him as seriously as he had Voldemort. Oh, this doesn't bode well.
"And what exactly would you say you learned on this little reconnaissance trip of yours?" Harry tried to swallow his nerves, but they got stuck in his dry throat, and he realized how incredibly thirsty he'd gotten following Voldemort throughout the night. He shook himself and squared his shoulders.
"I know that you were about to make a terrible mistake." Livius raised a single eyebrow and motioned for him to elaborate. "Voldemort is lying to you. He doesn't give a damn about your people or how the blasted ministry treats them." Harry's voice had turned to a snarl, the very real rage he feels at the ministry and Voldemort both leaking through.
"He'll use you, send you to your deaths en masse for the sake of his war, and when he's won he'll turn on you!" Harry stepped forward. "Voldemort only cares about one thing," Harry held up a finger for emphasis, then turned it towards- "Himself."
Livius stroked his beard, seemingly lost in thought, but his gaze never left Harry. As the moment dragged on, something in Harry clawed at his heart, and he spoke without thinking. Calmer now, but no less passionate.
"I had never seen or even heard of a place like this before. I had no idea the magical world in Britain extended beyond Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, truth be told. This place feels more like a home than anywhere else I've ever been in my life, except maybe Hogwarts. It's lively and peaceful and beautiful, and I will tell you this now," His eyes hardened, and his spine turned to iron with the conviction of what he was about to say.
"Voldemort understands none of these things. He will destroy this place and everyone in it as surely as he destroys everything else he touches. For your people's sake if nothing else, I implore you, don't throw your lot in with him!"
Lord Livius hmm'd thoughtfully. "Tell me, how do you know the mind of Tom Riddle so well, young one?" Harry huffed out a breath through his nose.
"Experience mostly. Been bumping into the wanker since I was a year old, and he never can keep his trap shut."
"And you have lived to tell of it." Celestine murmured. "A remarkable feat indeed." Harry shrugged self consciously.
"I've gotten lucky, I won't lie, but," he huffed out a short laugh. "Yeah, I guess it is a bit remarkable."
"What would you recommend I do instead, Mr. Potter?" Harry isn't the least bit surprised he's been recognized. "My people are persecuted and hunted across the world with no safe harbor but hidden cities like this one. We cannot continue like this lest we face extinction."
"Shit," Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting his eyes fall closed as he thought furiously. There really is no other option here, is there? He set his shoulders, and met Lord Livius with the most serious expression he could muster.
"I'll help you. Whatever change you need done? I'll do everything I can to make it happen so long as you don't join Voldemort." Celestine's brow furrowed in confusion.
"You would ask nothing of us in return?" She asked, clearly not believing it. Harry shook his head firmly.
"Much as I would appreciate your help in the coming war, it's not my place to ask it of you. That decision is yours and yours alone. Honestly, using my fame to accomplish some good for once would be its own reward." He chuckled, but it tapered off quickly. He could see the gears turning in both the vampires heads, and it almost worried him. They turned towards each other, eyes locking for several tense seconds, then Celestine crossed her arms and raised a single delicate brow, as if to say 'well have you got any better ideas?' Livius sucked on his lips, then turned to Harry once more.
"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Potter." The Vampire Lord leaned forward, spearing him with a look of such intensity that Harry could only nod. "We will accept your help, and your condition, if you will accept one of our own." Harry was immediately wary.
"What's your condition?"
"You will swear an oath, by blood and honor, and accept me as your sworn protector and comrade." Celestine replied, her fangs glistening as her smile stretched from ear to ear.
Author's Note: Here we have the first Chapter of a new project I've been working on lately. For anyone wondering why there have been no updates to Harry Potter and the Nightmare Newborn since the flurry of activity about a month ago, this is why. Or at least most of the reason. I intend to be jumping back and forth between this, HPatNN, and a third project, as the mood strikes me. Expect updates to be rather random. Oh! And this story will eventually hit a HARD MA rating, so if you want the full experience please find me on AO3. Same username, same stories.
That being said! Please leave your thoughts behind before you go! I live for ya'lls feedback.