Chapter 7
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Voldemort jolted awake, body thrashing, and realized in alarm that he was chained to his table again. He looked around, searching for anyone in the cell with him.
Harry?
It was empty and Voldemort insisted that he was relieved by that fact. The boy had only been gone one day so far. He may not even return to Voldemort once he was back. Not after that kiss.
But more importantly, there had been a noise that had awoken him. It had sounded like the door in the hallway.
He jerked back when the face of the Minister for Magic stepped into his peripheral. He silently berated himself as Shacklebolt entered his cell and closed the door behind him.
"Good evening, Tom."
The man looked calm but stern and Voldemort remembered that this was the man responsible for his treatment here. He glared up at him, resolving to deny the man whatever it was he had come here for.
"Harry is away with his lovely fiancée this weekend, as I'm sure he told you."
The man paused as if waiting for a response. Voldemort did not indulge him. The twinge he felt at that domestic image was viciously stifled. He was sure he knew where this was going.
"It seems that you and he have become close. Harry is quite protective of you."
The Minister watched him closely, clearly looking for a reaction. This information was not news to Voldemort.
"Why do you think that is?"
Voldemort smirked. Surely Shacklebolt did not expect him to answer that. The Minister crossed his arms and let the silence grow. Voldemort was unbothered. Silence was his constant companion and he no more felt the need to assuage this man's fears, than to bow to him.
"Tell me why he is protective of you, Tom. And I will grant you a boon."
Voldemort snorted in derision and Shacklebolt's eyes narrowed. Such weak interrogation techniques. The man placed all his cards on the table too soon, exposing his weakness. He cared about the boy. He was worried Voldemort was using him somehow.
What had the boy done to get the Minister so concerned? Interesting.
Shacklebolt stepped closer and Voldemort's smirk disappeared. He did not like people near him and this man was clearly here for intimidation purposes.
"What are your intentions towards Harry?"
Voldemort remained quiet. Shacklebolt's hand shot out and struck him hard above his mouth, right over his nose slits. He gasped, his arms jerking uselessly against their bonds to try and protect his face. He coughed, tasting blood. He was panting, eyes slammed shut, trying to master the pain, the indignation.
"Don't make me ask again."
Voldemort opened his wet eyes and allowed his smirk to return to his lips.
The second blow landed with a crack over his left eye, the force causing the whole table to scrape back across the floor. Voldemort shouted, his head slamming with pain, his eye burning. Unable to part his eyelids, he waited, listening.
The silence stretched and Voldemort's heart thudded loud enough to be audible in his hollow chest. He could feel the Minister staring at him, but he refused to bear the ache of opening his eye. The frontal bone above his socket was certainly broken and he could sense that the tissue surrounding it was swelling rapidly already.
"No?" his tormentor taunted. "Alright. You need more motivation. Which part of your body should I rip off? Your arm?"
Fingers were suddenly tracing his left elbow, drawing up to his shoulder.
"Your bollocks?"
Voldemort froze as the other hand roughly fisted his scrotum and squeezed.
"You have ten seconds to tell me what your intentions are. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm bluffing."
He had endured dismemberment before and it was not pleasant. His mind raced.
"Ten."
"Unfortunately, I find myself in a position where intentions are impossible for me," Voldemort rasped, and then those fingers between his legs yanked down hard and Voldemort gasped, trying to pull his legs together but to no avail.
His eyes had snapped open briefly and the pain radiating from the fracture was blinding. He closed them quickly.
"Six."
Voldemort seethed. He loathed performing out of the basic fear for his life— and suddenly, he resolved not to.
I will not.
His conditioned drive to avoid punishment by grudgingly complying shattered and left a shaky but ambitious call to resist.
The imbecile intended to tear off parts of his body and Voldemort could not stop him. This was a lesson once impossible for him to learn, yet perhaps it was finally getting through. He could not escape the abuse, but neither would he allow the peon to control his reactions. If it was humiliation the Minister was after, then he would not debase himself by providing it.
Right before Shacklebolt was bound to utter the resounding gong of one, Voldemort raised his eyes painfully but resolutely and cooly replied.
"Do as you will. You are a fool to think you can threaten Lord Voldemort."
The Minister's astonished face swiftly hardened, but Voldemort savoured the reaction until the shock of a severing charm struck him breathless. He looked down to see a clean, open wound underneath his penis. The Minister's hand was bloody as it clutched a mass of purple and red flesh.
Voldemort's head thumped back against the table, his panic at a pinnacle, delirious agony ripping though him.
Distantly, he heard a voice say, "Ready to talk yet, Tom?"
Voldemort was breathing roughly through his pursed lips, eyes slammed shut, trying to master his terror.
Castrated. The Minister was literally holding his testicles in his hand.
"Tell me why Harry is protecting you," the villain growled, and Voldemort could feel breath on his face as the man leaned over him.
The pain was staggering. Voldemort felt lightheaded, likely from the blood loss, and the chasm between his legs was throbbing with his heartbeat. The table was slick and tacky with his blood. His body began to shake uncontrollably, his teeth chattering.
"Shall I take your knob too, since you've decided to be obstinate?"
He knew that that threat was horrifying, as it hit him in a detached haze, but he could do nothing to control his rapid breathing nor his tunnelling vision. His logical mind stepped back, allowing his primal instincts to reign.
He fought.
He thrashed against the shackles and struggled to get free, to stop this, to flee—
"Am I still a fool for threatening Lord Voldemort, Tom?" a voice floated towards him mockingly. "Or are you the fool for thinking you could try to manipulate Harry and get away with it?"
The last thought that Voldemort had before his vision went black, was that the second severing charm hurt less, but the scream he produced because of it could have shattered glass.
.
.
Harry held tight to Ginny's hand as they walked along the Seine. A more romantic location could not have been produced. He turned and looked at his fiancée, taking in her long red hair swishing gently with their movement and her lovely brown eyes sparkling with the light from the setting sun.
It was perfect.
Except, of course, that Harry wanted nothing more than to escape.
He thought he had done an excellent job of pretending this weekend— if you ignored the inevitable fighting— and she seemed happy enough. They'd even managed to have sex twice, which was more than they'd achieved in the last four months.
"I was thinking we could head back a few hours early tonight, if that's okay?" Ginny said, a look of guilty apology on her face.
Harry's heart surged with hope and he tried to suppress it, fixing his expression into one of more appropriate remorse.
"Oh, really? How come?"
Ginny watched him for a moment and Harry was sure he'd been caught out, but then she smiled.
"I've got training early on Monday and I've still got a few things to do before then."
Harry was nodding, his mind hundreds of miles away, already planning where he would go with that golden, unexpected time.
"Yeah, I understand," he said, and pulled her closer to him, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
She burrowed in, holding his hand that rested on her arm.
"Hey, have you thought any more about what I said last night?" she added, hesitantly.
Bugger.
"Which part?" he asked lamely, trying to buy time.
She frowned at him, but they kept walking, the perfect picture of bliss.
"The part where I said we should move in together. Finally. You know, like an engaged couple."
Harry released a brittle laugh.
"We are an engaged couple, Gin. We don't have to do something just to fulfil some… expectation. I thought you liked having your space?"
Ginny scoffed.
"No, you like having your space."
Her voice was quiet. Hurt.
Damnit.
He felt trapped. He was horrible at letting people down and knew he would immediately cave if she cried. After all, what could he do? The engagement had been ridiculously long; everyone expected them to be married already. It was normal for them to be living together. He owed her that much.
"I… Well, if that's what you want—"
Ginny stopped walking and pulled away.
"What do you want, Harry? Because I feel like I'm taking advantage of you or something. I shouldn't have to convince you to want to be with me. You either do or you don't."
Harry reached out and took her hands in his, guiding her off of the path to somewhere they could escape the looks they were getting.
"I do, Gin. I want to be with you."
"You're distant. You're not affectionate. You…"
"Ginny—"
"…have these… desires for men, Harry. Is that what this is about? Is that why you won't—"
Harry's panic spiked and he felt breathless with fear.
"That's nothing, you know that. It's just—"
"I swear, it's not normal, Harry. I've asked around— quietly, don't look at me like that. I promise I haven't told a soul. But… no one else does that. No one."
Harry let go of her hands and walked off, fled down a path, needing to get as far away from that conversation as he could.
"Harry!" Ginny shouted, and he could hear her footfalls chasing him, so he dug his trainers into the cobblestones and raced away as fast as he could.
He heard her calling after him, but she was no match for his speed and desperation.
He kept running for six more blocks. He ran until his lungs stung, his eyes watered, and his legs trembled. He disappeared down a small alleyway and collapsed against the wall, heaving. He closed his eyes, shaking uncontrollably. Crying.
So this was it.
The game was up, he was exposed at last. She would tell all their friends and he would be dismissed from work. Ron would drop him faster than a grenade and he would be… nothing. He would have nothing.
Harry banged his head back against the wall, hard, his tears flicking away at the impact. It hurt. He did it again. And again. His eyes pouring tears he couldn't control.
It was over. He would lose it all.
"Hey, you okay?"
Harry looked up fast to see a man come slowly towards him, concern clear in his eyes.
"You're hurt. Did someone do this to you?"
Harry was still panting, staring at the man with wide, wet eyes. His mind was blank, wiped clean.
"Do you want me to call the police?"
Harry coughed out a laugh.
"No," he rasped. "I'm fine."
The man crouched down beside him. He was older than Harry, maybe forty-five? Black dreads, stubbly salt and pepper beard. Tall, dark, and handsome, Harry thought hysterically.
"Are you sure? Can I take you to the—"
Harry pushed off from the wall and crashed his mouth against the stranger's, his hands reaching up to frame that face. The man froze against him, obviously shocked, but then strong hands grabbed him around the waist and pulled Harry's body closer. They fell back onto the pavement, Harry on top.
Harry felt those hands working at his trousers, fingers delving under his pants. Normally, he'd insist on a bit more decorum, but right now, a fuck in a dark alley was exactly what he needed.
"Do you have a condom?" the man breathed into his ear, already having lowered Harry's pants.
The stranger kissed him again, open-mouthed and sloppy, his beard scraping the tender skin of Harry's face.
"No more talking," Harry panted against the man's neck, knowing magic protected him from any STDs and he was not carrying anything to transfer. "Fuck me."
Harry was instantly grabbed by the shoulders and spun, landing hard on his back. He felt the dirty, wet ground with his hands and it should have disgusted him, but it helped keep his panic at bay.
Fingers approached his entrance, obviously about to prepare him. Harry blocked them, grabbing the man's neck and drawing him down so that they were pressing their forehands together.
"I said, fuck me."
The bearded man moaned, then fidgeted with his own trousers, spat into his palm, and Harry's legs were lifted over the man's shoulders. He felt the cock align with his hole and then it was roughly slammed inside.
Harry yelled, his head flinging back, more tears streaming down his face. It hurt perfectly. He felt his own cock harden and he took it into his hand. Beardy tried to take over, his fingers closing on top of Harry's, but he batted them away.
"Just—"
"Fuck you," the man laughed, breathlessly. "Yeah, I got it."
Harry's back was scraping along the asphalt and Harry let his mind take him where he wanted to go, imagining a bald, pale head bumping against his shoulder, long fingers digging into his skin. That voice, hissing in his ear, Merlin, hissing Parseltongue…
Harry arched his back, exposing his neck, and teeth suddenly sunk into his throat, biting and sucking. Harry moaned, wishing it was Voldemort, wishing he could exist in a world where it would be alright for them to be together, for them to not hate each other—
Beardy slammed into him roughly and Harry's head collided with the wall.
"Fuck— I'm so sorry!" the man cursed, stopping to see if Harry was alright.
"Just— just—" Harry sobbed, so close to the edge.
"Got it," Beardy chuckled roughly, and grabbed Harry by the shoulders, fucking him deeply, punishingly.
Harry's breath was knocked out with every snap of the man's hips, and his stomach began to tighten.
Yes yes yes—
Beardy bit his neck once more and Harry spasmed into his own hand, curling around the body above him. The man slowed his thrusts while he climaxed, but then began again, obviously intending to reach his own.
Harry felt limp and used, but not satisfied. He was never satisfied. He let the stranger fuck his body for ages longer, changing their positions two more times until he grabbed Harry by the hair and finished, groaning and twitching.
They lay there for a few more minutes, Beardy having finally caught his breath. Harry gazed off into the alleyway entrance, wondering absently if anyone had seen them. It was, after all, only around eight pm.
The man shifted and pulled out, scooting back and tugging up his trousers. Harry's were gone, and he rolled over to seek them out.
"Here," the man said, handing his clothes to him.
Harry smiled meekly in thanks and began to dress.
"My name's Kevin," Beardy— Kevin, said.
He smiled awkwardly and Harry forced his mouth to mirror the look.
"Harry."
"Nice to meet you."
They both chuckled.
"Hey, if you're free, I'm just heading back to my hotel. You could join me for a nightcap? Or a cuppa?"
Harry shook his head.
"I'm sorry. I should be heading back. But thanks."
"Sure," Kevin said, sounding disappointed but accepting.
Harry turned and made to leave, but Kevin touched his arm and halted him.
"Are you sure you're okay? You were crying. I really did only come over to see if you were hurt."
"I know. I'm the one that jumped you, remember?"
The man laughed, touching his nape.
"So you're okay?"
Harry meant to say yes, but he sighed and answered, "I'm so fucked."
Kevin frowned.
"Can I help?"
"Nope. See you, Kevin. Thanks for… that. I needed that."
Kevin smiled sadly.
"Can we exchange numbers, at least? In case you change your mind? Or even if you want to just talk."
Harry reached out and squeezed his hand.
"Goodbye, Kevin."
Harry walked out of the alleyway without looking back.
.
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Harry Apparated straight to the Ministry after his encounter with Kevin. He knew he should go home and change, knew he looked rumpled and dirty, but he arrived there nonetheless. Tired. Broken. Lost.
He had so much he wanted to say. His lips still tingled from where Voldemort had bitten into them, marking him, taking him against the wall.
Merlin. Would the man do it again?
He stumbled out of the lift and was surprised to see that the two guards at the desk leading to the cells were staring at him spitefully. There was never any camaraderie between them, but this outright hostility was new.
"Mr Potter," the chubby one said, folding his arms when Harry drew near. Harry stopped, concern focusing him.
"Has something happened? Is Voldemort—?"
Harry looked towards the cells, as if he could see through them with Moody's eye.
"Your boyfriend is fine— well, as fine as he ever is," the other, blond one answered, and Harry felt a stab of fear at that unexpected moniker.
"What do you mean? How dare you call him that."
Harry knew he shouldn't draw attention to their slur, but he had to know if they knew anything.
The blond guard laughed derisively and leaned back against the wall.
"We have monitoring spells, Mr Potter."
Fucking hell.
Harry fought to control his reaction, but his mind conjured images of what they would have seen— Harry nuzzling the Dark Lord and the evil wizard ravaging him after Harry had set him free.
This was bad. First Ginny and now this. He had gone years protecting this secret and it had taken Voldemort less than a week to destroy him.
"They may not catch sound, but they show us what he's up to just fine."
"And we don't have to know what was said to figure out the meaning behind you snogging He Who Must Not Be Named."
Harry felt a swoop in his stomach at those words; both from mortification and that inescapable, inconvenient desire.
"The Minister has had words with us about our treatment of Tom, but I reckon he'd be pretty interested in your treatment of him."
Thank Merlin, they haven't said anything yet.
"Is that a threat?" Harry asked breathlessly, despite knowing the answer to that question was always yes.
"Just a reminder," the blond guard replied. "You don't have the power here, Mr Potter. We do. If you want us to keep your secret, you will stop coming by. Stop interfering."
"We take this job seriously, whatever you might think," the fat one said, glaring defiantly at Harry. "Tom belongs here, he deserves what he gets."
Harry hated that, hated how he couldn't argue without digging himself deeper.
"It's bloody revolting that you fancy the man that caused two wars and killed so many people. He killed your people."
The blond man jabbed a finger at Harry, a sickened look on his face. Harry tried to control his wince.
"Now, if you were here to rough him up a bit, then we'd pat you on the back, but what you're doing…"
"Disgusting," spat the other.
"We're doing a service to the wizarding world," the blonde one continued, sizing Harry up. "We are the heroes here and you… You're one of his now."
"I'm not," Harry whispered, unable to allow that accusation. "You don't understand."
He didn't need to explain himself to these people, but to have them think he was a Death Eater? He'd rather them know of his unnatural sexual deviance.
"We understand plenty," the fat one countered. "I'm ashamed of you. I was always so impressed by what you'd done. But now I see why you didn't kill him. It wasn't mercy or compassion at all. It was greed. Lust."
"No," Harry broke in, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't, I never felt that way for him before. I swear it."
"You can't lie to us, we saw what—"
"Fine, yes, now, but it wasn't— this is new, this is—"
"You're defending yourself?" the blond asked disbelievingly.
"No. Well, yes, but you have to understand—"
The blond walked out from behind the desk and straight up to Harry. The man was taller than he was and Harry felt a frisson of fear.
"No, Potter, you have to understand." The guard poked Harry hard in the chest. "He deserves the pain he gets. We won't let you pamper and protect him anymore, not now that we know why you're so concerned."
"I—" Harry began, wanting to correct them, but the fat guard slammed his hand down on the desk and startled Harry.
"Enough. Leave, Potter. For what you did getting him here, we'll keep your secret."
"But if you come down here anymore, for any reason, we will tell the Minister what you've done."
The guard by the desk came closer, joining his colleague. Harry was shaking with adrenaline, but he was helpless. Outmaneuvered.
"Now get lost."
Harry didn't know what to do.
"Please," he whispered, barely moving his lips, furious with himself for his weakness. "Just... let me say goodbye. He won't understand."
Both guards groaned in revulsion, the fat one even holding his mouth as if he might puke.
Harry didn't move, just stared at them, waiting for the verdict.
The blond finally looked at Harry again, but he could tell as soon as their eyes locked that it was no good. The man was sneering, arms crossed and loathing set into every line of his face.
"You're a disgrace, Potter. Get out of my sight."
Harry felt as if he might collapse, but he somehow found himself boarding the lift and retreating out of the building.
.
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Ten minutes later, Harry had collapsed onto his sofa, clutching tight to a cushion and trembling uncontrollably.
It was over.
He was ruined. He would not be able to see Voldemort anymore, those guards would expose him if he did and Harry would be left alone. Wanting. Longing for the man that had so recently become the centre of everything.
Voldemort would be left to the dubious mercy of those three monsters for as long as his immortality lasted. Raped, starved, and tortured endlessly, while Harry would be ignorant to it all. Voldemort would continue to suffer alone, undefended. It wasn't justice what they were doing; it was bloodlust.
And Ginny. She would tell everyone what he was, Harry would lose his job, his friends… he would be ridiculed and slandered in the papers again. He knew he would want to leave, to flee England, but he also knew he would not go because he couldn't abandon Voldemort to his fate.
Harry rolled onto his back, feeling the sting of the abrasions from his rough fuck in an alleyway. He barked out of self-deprecating laugh. His life was an absolute disaster.
He stared up at the ceiling.
This could not be the end. He had to see the man. But how? They used monitoring spells, had blackmail material…
… But he could only be blackmailed if they had something on him that others didn't know. Ginny could already have told everyone. So his secret could already be out. Harry allowed himself to imagine the freedom of not hiding that about himself anymore.
But, to his mortification, when he imaged himself happy and free he was smiling up at Voldemort, which punctured the whole fantasy brutally.
He could never have Voldemort.
Not only was the man a life-long prisoner and an unapologetic murderer, but the other wizard's dreams of what his own freedom would look like certainly wouldn't include Harry. Or, at least, not a Harry that was true to himself. If free, Voldemort would want to try and take over again and Harry could not stand beside him as he did so. He would never be one of his Death Eaters.
The utter hopelessness of his situation flooded him and he closed his eyes, feeling tears gather and then slowly slide down his cheeks. Silently. He could not manage to move or make a sound. He felt like he was already dead.
A sudden wooshing sound made him jump.
"Harry?"
He wiped his face and sat up to see Hermione looking at him with concern out of the fire. He really needed to set an alert on that thing. Or maybe just block it.
"Now is not a good time," he told her, not trying to mask the irritation in his voice.
"Ginny's just told us that you're fighting again. That your weekend wasn't great."
Harry grimaced and felt anger flare up in him.
"That's great, that's bloody lovely. Is she an adult or not? What's she running to you for? Can't she keep her damn mouth shut?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows and then began to climb out of the hearth.
"No, Hermione, stop— Ugh," he groaned, drawing out the sound and falling back into the sofa.
He was so very done with this conversation already. He just wanted a few minutes to lick his wounds and feel sorry for himself. Alone.
"The way she tells it, you're the immature one. You left her in Paris, running away as she called you back? Oh, Harry. What are you even doing?"
Harry snorted.
"Thanks, Hermione. Thanks so much for that support. Glad to know whose side you're on."
"I'm on the side of reason, naturally. Which does not seem to be with you right now, that's for sure."
The sofa dipped as Hermione sat beside him. Harry resolutely ignored her, eyes closed, pretending she was not there. Mature? Hardly. But he was a long way from that happy place.
"What happened?" she asked gently, the teasing tone gone. "Why did you run away?"
"She wants to move in," Harry muttered, knowing she would get it out of him anyways and he just wanted to figure out what he was doing about Voldemort.
Talking about Ginny was the last thing he wanted to do. He had to figure out how to get into that cell, unnoticed.
"That sounds reasonable. Is that not what you want?" When Harry remained silent, Hermione continued. "You did ask her to marry you, remember. You must have wanted to move in at some point."
"Nope," Harry whispered, weak and pathetic.
Hermione was silent and Harry opened his eyes accidentally and caught a shocked and angry look on her face.
"So, what have you been doing?" she asked, clearly trying to keep her voice even. "Wasting her time for twelve years? Merlin, Harry, we all knew how unconventional your relationship was, but if you tell me you've been—"
"I do love her, Hermione," he asserted, hoping that that word was enough to save him. "I do."
She looked at him skeptically.
"But, what? Because there is obviously something you're not telling me."
Harry groaned and thumped his head back onto the sofa.
"Look, can we just—"
"Why won't you marry her?"
"Hermione," Harry said, between his teeth. "I appreciate your… concern."
That was not the word he'd wanted to use.
"Harry—"
"But you're out of bounds. It's between Ginny and—"
"It's because you're gay."
Harry's head snapped up, mouth open, staring at her.
"Is that it? Did I get it right?" Hermione looked terrified by her own words. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. That just slipped out. I'm sorry if I offended you."
Harry forced his jaw muscles to relax; tried to act nonchalant. As if his whole world wasn't falling away under his feet.
"Say something. Was I right?"
Harry laughed despairingly, and stood.
"Ten points to Gryffindor."
He fled to the kitchen and necked back a mouthful of Firewhisky. Hermione made her way in after him, looking worried. The silence was heavy, but Harry could not break it.
This was it.
He was outed and now he had only to stand back and watch everything fall apart. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and pressed his face against the cupboard doors above the counter. Seeking something cooling.
His pulse was slamming in his wrists and temples and he was barely restraining a panic attack.
"It's not a big deal, Harry," Hermione said timidly into the silence, and Harry burst into wild laugher.
Not a big deal!
Nope! Who cares if he was gay? Not his fiancée and certainly not his job where Harry was treated to hearing homophobic jokes every day and present for hate crimes against homosexual men. Certainly Draco being gay had not garnered derisive comments in the press and slowly the complete alienation of that man from his family. It was no big deal, though, Hermione said so!
Harry's legs gave way, but it was no big deal, he'd wanted to sit anyway.
When Harry became aware of Hermione's hand rubbing his back he pulled away, the laughter stopping at once. He glared at her, hating her ignorant, easy dismissal of his dire situation.
"I will lose everything. Everything, Hermione. You have no idea, You—"
He felt lightheaded and, before he was gripped and dragged into the storm, he closed his eyes and pressed his face against the cool tile of the kitchen floor. It helped, and so long as Hermione didn't touch him, he could get through this. Breathe. It won't last forever and you are strong.
His pulse was calming, but his head was still spinning. He bought a knuckle up to his teeth and bit into the skin, pressing down as hard as he dared, focusing on the pain and letting it ground him.
He drew in ten deep breaths and opened his eyes slowly on the last two. Hermione was watching him, sitting beside him on the floor, her hand outstretched and ready should he ask.
"I'm here, Harry. And Ron will be too. It…" She hesitated, eyes darting away then coming back guiltily. "It seemed obvious— Harry!" she said in alarm, as Harry got up and strode back to the sitting room.
He was pacing when Hermione found him.
"Those who love you won't be shocked and won't care, Harry."
"Ginny did," Harry countered. "She cared."
"Well, she is directly affected by it, isn't she? She'd wanted to marry you."
"And she will," Harry said, stubbornly.
Hermione gave him a sad, disbelieving look.
"You can't seriously think to marry her still. If you're gay, how—"
"We manage just fine, thank you, and mind your own business!" Harry shouted, stopping to face her.
Unfortunately, Hermione was not one to cower easily.
"But you're not attracted to her, right? So how can you—"
"I haven't heard any complaints," Harry lied, briefly wondering if Hermione had.
She frowned at him.
"So you… have sex with her? Oh, Harry. You're such a martyr."
Harry growled, flinging a hand out to knock the jar of Floo Powder off the mantel, which bounced and did not break, because, magic.
"What am I supposed to do?" he shouted, completely bankrupt. "She saved my life, Hermione!"
He turned and placed his arms on the mantel, his back to her. A flash of gold momentarily caught his attention. It was the dusty Gaunt ring he'd put up there ages ago. He had intended to throw it away, but every time he'd tried, it remained in his pocket until he'd gotten home and remembered. Eventually he'd given up and chucked it up there, next to his other hated relic, the Elder Wand, which he still refused to use. Another treasure he couldn't part with, its ghost linking him to his nemesis and therefore Harry had been unable to destroy it.
The wand meant little to him, but the ring, it was his. A family heirloom. The man had actually worn it for years, had treasured it, even.
Maybe he should— but then reality caught up to him. He couldn't return it. He could never go back.
Harry covered the ring with his palm, closing his eyes and trying to absorb strength from it.
"I'm not being hyperbolic," Harry said quietly. "She actually saved my life. She fed me when I wanted to starve, pulled me out of bed when I just wanted to sleep forever. She healed me every time I tried to—"
He broke off. He owed her everything.
Hermione snuck in, somehow managing to grab him and pull him into a fierce hug.
Harry could feel her shaking, feel the warm tears on his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't know. You've had to deal with so much, your whole life. It's not fair."
Harry did not embrace her, but rested his head on top of her bushy hair and closed his eyes.
This was not getting him any closer to sneaking into that cell. He didn't believe for a second that Ron and the Weasleys would accept him. He wasn't quite certain that Hermione did, even. Ron would surely hate him simply because of how he was using his sister. But did it count as using if he intended still to marry her?
"You can't marry Ginny," Hermione said, as if reading his mind. "You can be grateful to her for being a good friend and be sad to see her go if she chooses to leave when you tell her." Hermione pulled back and Harry met her vehement eyes. "But you don't owe her your body or your life as repayment. That's sick, Harry. You're not a prize that she earns for treating you well. You're entitled to be with whoever makes you happy."
Harry felt the hysterical laughter build up in him again when he thought about who that would be. He beat it down.
"I have to marry her. She deserves—"
"What about what you deserve, Harry?"
Harry snorted bitterly.
"I deserve only the worst. I don't deserve anything at all."
"Can I say something?" Hermione asked, tentatively.
Harry eyed her warily but nodded.
"You've been different this week. More yourself. I know you've been struggling and tired, but… your eyes have changed. You're not checked out and vacant like you usually are. You're back, at least a little. And I suspect with some proper sleep and less stress you'd be right as rain."
Harry watched her, holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Hermione scoured his face, obviously looking for danger, and then proceeded cautiously.
"Does this have anything to do with… with Voldemort? And I mean, all of this. Everything seems to be coming to a head all of a sudden and I feel like he may be the cause of it all."
So she was worried about Voldemort manipulating him, like everyone else.
"He hasn't done anything wrong, Hermione. How could he?" Harry said, irritated and disappointed.
Big bad Voldemort, taking advantage of poor little Harry Potter.
"I'm not saying that," she argued, and Harry turned back to her. "What if… You said he… balanced you. Your magic, your mood. Brings out the life in you again."
Harry stared at her, weighing her words for ridicule, but found none. He nodded.
"Oh, Harry, I don't really know what I'm suggesting. It seems too unbelievable to even contemplate. But I just can't see the Dark Lord Voldemort humouring you patiently with conversation if… if there wasn't something in it for him too."
Harry's heart sunk, a harsh reminder that he had no allies in this.
"So you think he's just using me," Harry spat, frustrated, starting to pace again. "You haven't seen him, Hermione! He's not the same man he once was. He's… lonely and broken. Like me. I think we… recognize something in the other person that's alike in ourselves. Maybe it's the soul piece, or maybe it's not. I don't know, and I don't care. You won't understand, but I do. He's not using me. I can feel it, he's… He's just as conflicted as I am. He hates and fears how he feels, I know it. We're both trapped."
"I believe you, Harry," Hermione whispered. Harry turned swiftly to stare at her. "That's what I was trying to say. He wouldn't use this tactic to manipulate you. It's absurd. Why would he have thought that you were gay? He couldn't have known that. He's a smart man, he wouldn't let himself show weakness and falling for the enemy is certainly a weakness that can be used against him. They would be able to use you to punish him. As a threat. He complies or you get hurt, that kind of thing."
"Enough," Harry breathed, his chest tight, and eyes slammed shut.
He fell onto the sofa, cradling his throbbing head. Would they do that to him? Would they use Harry against him, just as they had used the information about him being gay against him? Merlin, what had he done? He had made Voldemort's position more precarious and now he was unable to protect the man at all.
"What have I done?" Harry whispered into his knees, hating himself.
At this very moment, Voldemort could be getting whipped, beaten, raped, killed…. All to punish him for kissing Harry. They had something new to mock him with.
"I can't even go to him anymore," Harry admitted, in a small, scared voice.
"Why not?"
"The guards. They…"
Harry looked up at her. When would she reach her threshold for tolerance?
"They caught us. In a compromising position."
His voice was less than a whisper.
Hermione grabbed his shoulder, as if to support herself.
"You had sex with him?" Hermione sputtered, aghast.
"What? No! I kissed him," Harry said, surprised his voice didn't shake. Surely this would be too much for her.
Hermione continued to stare at him, her mouth open and eyes wide.
"You kissed him."
Harry looked away.
"Yes."
"And the guards caught you? Jesus, that must have been terrible."
Harry looked back her, amazed that she was still talking to him.
"Yeah, it wasn't great. Well, I mean, the kiss was bloody amazing, but—"
"Harry!" Hermione cried, scandalized, but smiling. "I will try to support you, but I don't think my nerves can take details."
Harry released a shaky laugh. This conversation felt almost… normal. It was baffling. How could they be relaxing in his sitting room talking calmly about Harry having kissed the Dark Lord?
"I think you should tell Kingsley," Hermione said at last.
"Tell him, what? That I'm gay? That I… have feelings for Lord Voldemort?"
Harry felt a jolt go through him as he said it out loud for the first time.
Merlin.
He had feelings for Voldemort. Feelings that weren't hate or anger.
Hermione's lips curled up into a small smile.
"Perhaps not that. But you should tell him that you're being blackmailed."
"He'll want to know with what," Harry said, not understanding.
Hermione was nodding.
"So tell him. You kissed the man. Surprising, surely, but haven't those guards been having sex with him? I'm sure they've kissed him too."
Harry's fingers suddenly curled with rage when he thought about that.
Hermione's smile was brighter when he finally looked at her.
"What?"
"That made you jealous, didn't it? The kissing. You know he gets…" She faltered and Harry felt his chest clench. "You know. But kissing is more intimate, almost, isn't it?"
Harry groaned, grasping his hair hard until it hurt.
"Hermione, you can't talk like this. It's killing me."
Hermione laughed, but it was friendly, not scathing, so he let his breath go.
"That's an idea, I guess," Harry said, trying to focus. "I can just act like it was no different than what the guards do. Though, Kingsley knows I'm against all that, so he's sure to call me a hypocrite. And once Ginny tells everyone about me—"
"She won't, Harry. She didn't even tell us. She's just… confused. Hurt. You abandoned her in Paris when she reiterated her desire to move in with you."
Harry nodded slowly.
"Yeah, I suppose."
Harry's eyes settled on his friend who was still smiling kindly at him.
"Why are you taking this so well?" Harry asked suspiciously, still teetering on the edge of madness.
Hermione took his hand and held it firmly in her own.
"You're my best friend. I want you to be happy."
Her lips tightened a fraction, her brows lowering.
"I mean, I'm not thrilled with whom you have fallen for, obviously, but I know you don't really get a say in that. And I think this is going to be very difficult for you. Navigating your... time with Voldemort."
Hermione's face flushed slightly, but then she fixed him with a level, stern stare.
"You have to break up with Ginny, Harry. Soon. Because I will only support you in this if you're not hurting her."
She paused until Harry felt like the biggest asshole in town. Which, he supposed, he was.
"That being said," she continued, her expression softening, "it's so nice seeing you act more like your old self again. You've been like a zombie. You're either emotionless and dead or hurting people unintentionally." She smiled, rubbing his hands gently with her fingers. "We were really worried about you."
Harry snorted.
"Yeah, but he's still Voldemort, right? You can't be fine with that."
"I mean, I wish it was just about anyone else, certainly. I'd even take Malfoy instead." Hermione laughed and then met his eyes kindly. "But I trust your judgement, and if you say he has changed, then I believe you. You're not an idiot. And he's been tortured for twelve years, after all. It would be impossible for him not to have mellowed at least a little in that time. When all is said and done, he's just a man, isn't he?"
Hermione smiled at him and bumped his shoulder with hers.
"Maybe ask him if he can go easy on the Muggle killings when he gets free, though, will you?"
Harry laughed, a tad higher than he normally would have done because who the fuck knew if Voldemort would even listen to a damn word he said? But if he didn't, then could Harry really stand beside him? And if not beside him, would he be forced to stand against him again?
"So what are the terms the guards set for the blackmail?"
Harry grimaced, pulling into himself. Hopelessness bared down on him once more.
"I'm not allowed to see him anymore. I can't interfere."
Hermione nodded, sagely.
"Did you take a Vow?" Harry shook his head, but Hermione's amused tone straightened his spine. "Well, Harry, I'm really quite surprised you've not thought of a solution. I can think of a few off the top of my head—"
"Like what?" Harry asked, scooting closer and listening intently.
Hermione smirked.
"You have that wonderful Invisibility Cloak from—"
"Of course!" Harry interrupted, standing and rushing into his bedroom to retrieve it.
He threw open his wardrobe and found it, cradling it tenderly, so very grateful to his father once again. As he was leaving the room, he saw a few bottles of pain relief and extra-strength healing potions in a basket beside his socks and pocketed those as well.
"I can just sneak past with this," he said, as he walked back into the room, holding out his Cloak, and met a bemused Hermione.
"Be sure to pair that with a Silencing Charm and you should be fine."
He nodded.
"I'm sorry— I have to go. I have so much to explain to him."
"You should tell Kingsley too. The Invisibility Cloak is not a permanent solution, you know that."
Harry was nodding, eager to be off.
"Thank you, Hermione. I don't know how I ever manage anything without you."
Hermione hugged him, smiling wryly, and stood.
"Then learn something from this and stop fighting me. It'll make the whole thing go faster next time."
Harry grinned and, once she disappeared into the Floo, he Apparated straight to the Ministry, still filthy and rattled from his evening, but not willing to waste another moment.