Chapter 21

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When Harry returned to the Ministry he was called into Robards's office before he even had a chance to reach his own. Everyone was still talking about Voldemort's Italian massacre and Harry pondered distractedly how to divert attention away from those damn accurate descriptions.

"Where did you go?" his boss demanded, as soon as he'd knocked.

Harry faltered, rapidly inventing excuses.

"I—"

"Are you still on that special project from Shacklebolt?"

"Oh. No." Harry wiped his palms on his trousers. "No. That's done."

Robards eyed him and then nodded.

"Good. So I want your focus back on the BDE. Don't worry about this foreign nonsense, I already talked to Kingsley and we won't be wasting any more of our men on it. Let the Italian Aurors do their jobs."

"Right."

Ever the hero, Robards was. Italy wasn't all that far away. And considering it was a Brit that had caused all that destruction…

"You were close to finding another safehouse location from Kingsley's information, weren't you?"

"Yes," Harry replied, forcing his mind back. "I'm almost ready to take a team and check it out."

Robards was shaking his head.

"You're still too famous, Potter," his boss said with distaste. "Better not sabotage anything with your presence. Give me the details and I'll assign a team."

His stomach clenched in anger and shame. What good was he here if he couldn't even do his job? Maybe Ron was right, maybe he should start looking elsewhere. But who was he if not an Auror? What other skills did he even have?

"Right."

Robards considered him and Harry tried not to react.

"You're not a bad Auror when you actually work, Potter." He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. "You're not my most dependable man, but when you show up— and I mean, not just your body in your office. When your brain shows up too, because don't think I haven't noticed your bouts of… melancholy?" Robards grimaced at the word. "Anyway. Just… focus on your work. Bring all of you to work and we'll be grand."

Harry had no idea what to say to that. He nodded once and Robards nodded back at him. The other man then turned his attention to the parchment on his desk. Harry got the hint and backed out of the room, making his way towards his own office.

He tried to ignore the posters and updates on Voldemort's latest attack. He'd have to warn the man, tell him to lay low for awhile.

"Harry," another Auror said, blocking his path, "Robards was looking for you."

"Just saw him, excuse me."

He sidled past her into his office, closed the door, and leaned against it, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes.

Voldemort was on his knees, taking his cock down his throat. He felt the sharp sting on his cheek as Voldemort struck him hard. Voldemort saying he regretted hurting Harry, that he would try… Staying with him, holding him…

Merlin, he had to pull himself together. Seeing Voldemort had left him with a clear head and energy again. Optimism. He pushed off from the door and pulled out the parchment that Voldemort had given him, smoothing it out on his desk.

Should he write to the man already? No, too desperate.

He felt good. Ready to work. With this parchment, he might even be able to act like a normal person. It was an enticing image. He could work and repair his social life and when he began to fall apart, he could beg Voldemort to fix him again.

A knock sounded on the door. Harry looked up, considering whether to open it or not.

Unfortunately, Hermione didn't give him a choice.

"There you are, Harry," she said, closing the door behind her and striding inside. "Your department seems to have been overtaken by the nightmare in Italy. Do you have any leads yet?"

Harry tried to control his expression. He looked away, folding up the parchment and putting it back in his pocket.

"Not yet. Anyways, I've been told to mind my own business about it."

Hermione frowned.

"That's rude."

"Not really, Robards reckons it's not really our problem. But enough about that." Harry looked back at her and sat on the top of his desk. "What's up? Why were you looking for me?"

Hermione sat in the chair in front of his desk.

"I'm working on some legislation on Merpeople and I wanted to pick your brain on that case you had last year. The one where one of the Death Eaters—"

"Technically not Death Eaters," Harry interrupted.

Hermione snorted.

"Fine. But I really hate that term, Harry. Baby Death Eaters?"

"Actually, I forgot to tell you. Bellatrix and her merry men are calling themselves the Knights of Walpurgis now."

"The Knights of Walpurgis?" Hermione said, leaning forwards. "That's the original name of Voldemort's—"

She cut herself off and looked quickly at Harry, an apologetic expression on her face.

Harry shrugged.

"Don't worry. I'm over it."

Hermione's eyes widened. Harry realized his mistake at once and wished he could call it back. Already, he could see the pieces falling into place, her shrewd mind connecting the dots.

She stared hard at him, brows drawing down together and biting her lips. She leaned back.

"What?" Harry said, uncomfortable under her calculating gaze. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

Hermione continued to stare and Harry couldn't take anymore. He stood up.

"Right, well, you're creeping me out, so I'll just look for that report on the Merpeople."

He searched his filing cabinet, trying to remember which month it had been during. April? Had there still been ice on the water?

"Harry Potter," Hermione said, and her tone seized his attention immediately. He looked up slowly and saw her glaring at him with stern intensity. "Is Voldemort dead?"

Harry yelped and threw up a privacy ward.

"Hermione! Jesus, you can't—"

"I already put one up before I asked, but that wouldn't really matter if the man was dead, would it?"

Harry let that hang between them for several long moments. He stared at her, no idea what his face was betraying nor any clue as to what he could say. Hermione seemed to read enough into what he did not say and her expression changed from suspicious to scared.

"No, Harry, no—"

"Of course he's dead," Harry said, much too late. "Why would you even ask that?"

Hermione gave him a slightly hysterical, incredulous look.

"You're over it? Give me a break."

She became scared again, standing up and facing him.

"Harry. Is he alive?"

"Hermione! Just because I didn't burst into tears when you said his name, doesn't mean he's alive! Christ, you're overreacting. You're inventing things that aren't true."

"Really, Harry? When I last saw you two days ago you looked like death. You had no colour in your skin, you hardly met my gaze. You couldn't even keep up with a conversation. And now?"

She gestured towards him and Harry tried to smother his terror.

"You look alive. You look refreshed and coherent and exactly like you used to after seeing him."

"He's not—"

"Don't you lie to me, Harry!" Hermione shouted, tears springing to her eyes. "Merlin!"

She turned away.

"When we came to visit, you were acting so strangely. You said you had killed him yourself and that would have had to have been recently so you should have been devastated, or sad, or something. But you just looked guilty. Like you were in trouble… "

She stared at him, horror in her eyes.

"He was there. My god, I knew it, I mean, I didn't know it, how could I know you were housing the world's Darkest wizard in your very home. But I knew something was wrong."

She seemed to rapidly reach another terrible conclusion and grabbed his arms tightly.

"The kitchen! You… oh my god, Harry— Was Voldemort in there with you? Is that why…?"

The words seemed too awful for her to say, so she just stared at him in scandalized shock.

Harry could picture exactly what she was remembering. His swollen lips, his mussed up hair. His fucking erection, which he was sure had traumatized Hermione as much as it had him. It wouldn't be long until she pieced it all together with the mysterious injury Ginny had received.

"Is he alive?" she asked, voice quiet and so startlingly young. "Am I right? Was he in your house that night?"

Harry could only stare, powerless against her formidable mind. Hermione's gaze began to harden, taking no pity on him. It was like watching a deadly avalanche happen, seeing it roll slowly down the hill towards him, ripping apart everything in its path.

"Were you really so stupid as to free him?"

She gasped, a hand coming to her mouth, eyes huge.

"Italy."

Harry had an immediate urge to Obliviate her, to knock her unconscious until his brain had a chance to catch up and fix this problem, because it was all about to be lost, everything he had gained, any chance that they had together, Hermione could end it all right now. If she went to Kingsley and told him, Harry would be in Azkaban and Voldemort would be hunted. Impossible to catch and furious at the Ministry's interference. Murderous.

"Hermione." His voice was ragged. Pleading. Desperate. "Let's go to my house. Okay? We can talk. Please." He felt his eyes sting as he saw his whole world untangling. "Please, Hermione. We can talk about this. Let me explain."

Tears were falling silently from her eyes as she grabbed her bag and slowly inclined her head.

.

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Kreacher left as soon as he had deposited their drinks on the coffee table. Harry picked up his tea and held it tight in his trembling fingers. Hermione ignored hers, sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa, foot tapping impatiently.

This was it. He had two choices. He could either tell her everything, get her on his side, and she could be an ally with him in the mess his life had become. Or he could Obliviate her and protect his secret. He was shit at lying, as he was so often told, so that option was right out.

"What were you thinking, Harry?" Hermione's voice was sad but accusatory. "What have you done? I knew you cared about him. He was being treated abysmally and I understand that you were desperate to help him, but…"

She stood and began to pace. He couldn't look at her, terrified of her judgement.

"He killed three-hundred people. Three-hundred. You set him free and he immediately began to murder people again. Whatever you thought about him, whatever… changes you thought he had made, or was capable of making… Harry."

Hermione stood in front of him and then sunk to her knees. Harry still couldn't meet her eyes.

"He fooled you," she said, and he tried to harden his heart against her words. "When someone shows you who they truly are you should listen to them. You were wrong. You thought he could change and I admit that even I was taken in by your vehemence, but it's obvious that you were wrong. You know that, don't you?"

Harry felt tears slide down his cheeks. Was he wrong? Was Voldemort incapable of change?

"I saw him today," he whispered, and Hermione sucked in a breath. Harry closed his eyes. "He was in Italy. It was my fault that he killed them, I—"

"No, Harry," Hermione said, grabbing his hands and shaking them. "That's his manipulation. He wants you to blame yourself, he'll say anything to trick you—"

Harry was shaking his head.

"No. He hated that I blamed myself. He called it asinine. But it is my fault. I mocked him, called him a coward for running away and he—"

"Running away? So you didn't free him?"

"No, I did. I brought him home." He looked up at her, trying to convey to her all his remorse, all his shame. "He was there, you were right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have endangered you all like that."

Hermione held up her hand to halt him.

"We will come back to that. What do you mean, running away? Did he leave your flat without your permission?"

Harry snorted, wiping his nose.

"As if he'd ask for permission, Hermione."

"But surely you could have stopped him if you'd wanted to. Unless…?"

Harry nodded.

"Yup. He took the collar off. It was easy for him. And then he… left."

Hermione sat back down on the sofa beside him, but did not release his hands.

"So the Dark Lord is free again and has his magic back. Merlin."

Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath. Then she nodded her head and fixed her gaze on him again, resolute.

"You know what you have to do, don't you?" she asked, and Harry would have done anything to get her to stop talking. He closed his eyes. "You have to tell Kingsley. You're not to blame for what he did in Italy, Harry, he's morally depraved. He was always going to disappoint you. Betray you. But now that he has, you know what you have to do, right? Right? Harry, please, look at me."

Harry shook his head, his throat burning and his body trembling.

"It's not your fault. You wanted to trust him and I understand that. But now you have to fix it. I'll help you. We need to tell Kingsley and then get him back. We did it once, we can do it again."

Harry sobbed out a breath.

"He's too powerful. He's immortal."

"So are you, right? And he's not infallible. Not anymore. I hate to suggest this, but… Harry, he betrayed you when he murdered those people. He showed you who he is. It is imperative that we contain him again."

Harry felt her shift off of the sofa and kneel at his feet once more.

"Harry. We can use you as bait."

His eyes flashed open, staring at her in horror. No. I could never deceive him like that.

"I know that sounds cruel, but I bet it would work. You can get him back here and we can restrain him again. We'll do it better this time. Ethically."

She laced their fingers together, her expression softening at the fresh tears falling from his eyes.

"You made a mistake, trusting him, but we can still fix this before it gets worse. He can't be allowed to gather a following again, to start another war. The Knights will cling to him if he reveals himself. We need to talk to Kingsley. We can make up a story about him putting you under the Imperius Curse or something, I know he'd be happy to believe your feelings for Voldemort were not real."

Harry reached his hand into his pocket and fisted the parchment that Voldemort had made for him. How was it possible that an hour ago he had been so optimistic, so certain that Voldemort was repentant and capable of change? Had he been manipulated? Was it his selfish need to be close to the man's soul that made him blind to his evil?

"Harry?"

Hermione touched his face, calling him back. He opened his eyes.

"I know this is a lot to take in," she said with a soft smile. "We can wait until tomorrow if you'd like. But I don't think we can wait much longer than that or he may cause even more destruction. I don't want you to blame yourself further for his actions."

Harry was breathing heavily, not really listening to what she had said. All he could think of was the awkwardly sincere way that Voldemort had tried to apologize, the soft, sweet kisses he'd snuck in, the accepting way he'd held Harry together after Harry had embarrassed himself.

Then he pictured the look he would have on his face when he realized that Harry had betrayed him. The confirmation that he had been wrong to form a connection, that Harry had only ever wanted to hurt him, and then that tiny spark of light in the Dark Lord that had begun to cautiously grow would be viciously doused. He would berate himself for being in a position to have someone that could hurt him.

Harry was Voldemort's weak spot. He was the vulnerability in the untouchable force of nature. It was an overwhelming thought, the power it gave him.

Power he wanted only to cherish, even now.

"Drink your tea, Harry," Hermione said, placing the warm cup back into his hands. "We have lots still to talk about."

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Harry's head was pounding. When he got home from work, he hung up his Auror robes, kicked off his shoes, and groped his way into the kitchen. Merlin, he hated headaches. Give him a Cruciatus any day over this. It fed his anxiety and made him feel weak and vulnerable.

He necked back a pain potion, closing his eyes and waited for the pounding to cease.

When it did, he poured himself a glass of water and went to find his favourite chair by the fire.

Sure, it wasn't noble to be hiding from his best friend, but needs must. He'd made it to the weekend at least, managing somehow to hold Hermione off for all that time.

Alone, for once, Harry allowed his mind to wander. He tried to imagine what Voldemort was doing right now. Was he still in Italy? Had he found any leads on immortality?

Does he miss me?

Harry pictured Voldemort sitting alone, maybe by the window, looking out. Pining for Harry the way that Harry was for him. He saw the lithe frame reclining in a bed, naked and powerful and so fucking sexy, and then the Dark Lord took himself in hand, closing his eyes and thinking about Harry.

Harry groaned, surrendering to his body's weakness, knowing that this was where his evening was always going to go as soon as his mind was free to conjure that pale, beautiful body.

He pulled himself out of his trousers and let his mind give him what reality could not.

Voldemort was biting into his neck, shoving him down underneath him on a bed, or— no, pinning him against that bloody wall in Italy, banging his head and ripping open his clothes.

Harry spat into his palm and continued to work his cock, inexpertly. He just wanted to come. He missed those fingers that pinched him, gripped him so tightly, shoved themselves into his mouth before thrusting inside him, working him open, getting him ready for that huge cock. Merlin, he hadn't even gotten to taste it yet, it wasn't fair, it was probably delicious, the feel of it against his teeth, lodged deep in his throat, cutting off his air—

Harry needed more. He shucked off his trousers and pants, spreading his legs to get better access. His cock was so hard, it wouldn't be long. He hadn't even visited Muggle London lately to take the edge off. And Ginny—

Don't think of her, think of Voldemort kneeling before you, holding your gaze with his searing red eyes, that pale, gorgeous skin, the sight of Lord fucking Voldemort on his knees, licking his devious tongue around your cock head, swallowing you whole, closing his eyes and moaning, Merlin, Lord Voldemort on his knees, sucking your cock, kneeling—

Harry came, releasing a guttural moan and watching as come shot out of his cock, falling onto the carpet. He pictured Voldemort there before him, on his knees, leaning back and taking Harry's come on his chest, on his face, some of it hitting the man in eye, making him wince.

Harry exhaled a deep breath. Fuck. He was so screwed.

He cleaned up his mess, got dressed, and summoned Kreacher for some dinner.

The curry was good, the potatoes and chickpeas were tender, and he wondered idly if Voldemort liked curry. He pictured sitting across from him at this table again, sharing a meal. Talking.

The image was so appealing, so right that it brought an overwhelming surge of despair that he could never have that. They—

His Floo flared green and Harry waved his hand to open the connection. Hermione's head popped out and Harry groaned.

"Leave me alone, Hermione, I'm eating dinner."

Then he noticed her expression. He was instantly on his feet and at his hearth.

"What happened?"

Hermione grimaced and Harry felt his stomach clench in trepidation. He could hear a voice behind her.

"It's Ron," she said, worry in her expression, perhaps even a hint of fear. "I told him."

Harry felt breathless and could only stare as his other best friend put hands on his wife, moving her back until Ron Weasley's furious face was staring up at him.

"We need to talk," Ron said, and without waiting for a response, he climbed through.

Hermione's hand reached out to follow, but Ron waved his wand behind him and the Floo connection cut. Then he closed it. Hermione could not join them.

Harry stared at his friend, recalling with nervousness how he had left his wand stupidly in his Auror robes by the door.

Ron's face was livid and Harry, who had always fought beside Ron, not against him, was hit with how that vicious anger warped his expression.

"You're a faggot, Potter?" Ron spat, and Harry was so shocked by the venom in his tone that he gasped.

Ron laughed darkly and moved past him. Harry turned fast to see Ron begin pacing.

"I don't know what disgusts me more, that you take it up the arse, or that you do it for fucking Voldemort."

Harry sat down hard on the hearthrug. He felt lightheaded and terrified and like he was watching the end of his life as he knew it. Ron. Please.

"Hermione told me everything," Ron said, still pacing. "How you've been cheating on my sister for months, how you let that mad creature—" Ron whipped around and faced him. "He's not even human, Harry! He's a fucking snake, literally, and you…"

The words were obviously too horrible to voice.

Ron strode to Harry's plate of curry and flung it against the wall, shattering the plate in two and exploding the mess everywhere.

It was scary. Ron was either going to end their friendship or end his life and Harry didn't know which would be worse. He sat mute and paralyzed by the cold hearth and stared. I'm so sorry, Ron. Please don't hate me.

Ron rounded on him again and Harry's breath caught.

"You rescued him? Him! Lord Voldemort, like a fucking princess in a tower. What were you thinking? Did you forget what he's done?"

Ron strode up to him and leaned down, threateningly.

"He killed Fred!" Ron shouted in his face, and Harry flinched back, watching him in horror. "He killed my brother and you're fucking him, you sick, twisted, fucking fairy! You don't even have the decency to deny it!"

A fist smashed into his face, throwing him against the bricks behind him, ears ringing, vision bursting with light. He grabbed at his nose, coughing, eyes wide and gaze locked onto Ron's who was panting, his fist raised again. Ready.

It didn't even occur to him to defend himself. He deserved this.

Harry stared, breathing roughly through his mouth, blood dripping onto his bottom teeth. There was a moment where time seemed to freeze and Harry remembered that this was his first ever friend, who had accepted him and helped share the burden of all the weight he had to carry. Jealous and pigheaded, but good. Faithful. Dependable.

But very protective of his family and Harry just had not made the cut.

"Say something!" Ron yelled, reaching down and grabbing Harry by the front of his shirt.

Harry was lifted up, removed from his crumpled position in the hearth, and dragged out onto the carpet. Ron's face was merciless. Murderous. Unfamiliar.

"You're a traitor, Harry," Ron said, throwing him to the ground.

Harry caught himself and brought his hand up again to touch his throbbing, broken nose.

"I let you into my family," Ron spat, disgusted.

Harry looked away, feeling that accusation physically. It was true. The Weasleys were like a dream he had coveted. More than anything, he wanted what Ron had when he was growing up. A family. The security and support of people who valued and wanted him.

"I could kill you for what you've done to Ginny. Look at me!" Ron roared, smacking Harry's hand away and Harry backed up against the bricks again. "Did you ever love her or were you just using her as your dirty fucking faggoty beard?"

"I love her," Harry whispered, tasting nothing but blood.

"Liar!" Ron shouted. "If you loved her, how could you betray her? With him? With a fucking monster! You—"

The door to his flat burst open and for a split second Harry wished it had been Voldemort, come to save him, to protect him. To avenge him.

"Ron, no!" Hermione shrieked, a spell blasting him away from Harry, trapping him against the wall in the sitting room.

Harry sobbed out a breath and let the floor take his weight as he closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing.

"What have you done, Ronald Weasley!" she shouted as her footsteps approached, and Harry heard her kneel down next to him. "Oh, Harry, I'm so, so sorry."

She pulled out her wand and Harry flinched. Her expression grew dark as she healed his nose, and then she rounded on Ron.

"How does this help anything?" she shouted, furious.

She stood and walked up to where Ron was still immobilized against the wall.

"You should go to Azkaban for this. I should never let you near Rose or Hugo again."

She was crying, he could hear it in her voice and Ron's eyes were beginning to shimmer as well, watching the pain his wife was in.

Harry looked away, still laying on the hearthrug.

Ron had been right. He was a traitor. Ginny deserved better, they all did, including Voldemort. The man had practically begged him to be faithful to him and Harry still hadn't done it. Continued to cheat on them both.

He was a coward. A fraud.

Hermione was still berating Ron, but Harry had had enough. He slowly pulled himself up to sitting. Hermione stopped, mid-sentence, and turned to him. Her eyes softened immediately, her tear-stained face was agonized.

"I am so sorry, Harry."

She came over to him and helped him to his feet.

"I thought he could help me convince you to tell Kingsley," Hermione said, more tears falling down her cheeks. "I'm worried about you, but obviously this was a big mistake. I'm wondering if I shouldn't just Obliviate him."

"Don't you dare, Hermione!" Ron said, but when she spun to face him, his expression grew meek.

"You're one step away from Azkaban, Ronald! I can't believe you'd hurt Harry like this! It's inexcusable."

Ron's face was full of despair.

"Please," he whispered. "Let me come home."

Hermione shook her head.

"No. You can stay with Bill for a few nights and you can prove your remorse by keeping this secret. If you say a word to anyone, it will be a long time until you see your children."

Harry watched them, mildly irritated that they were doing this here. He just wanted to lay down on his sofa. Lick his wounds, feel sorry for himself.

Maybe write to Voldemort for some commiseration.

"I want to lay down," Harry said wearily to Hermione.

"Of course," she said, and drew her wand, turning back to Ron.

Harry didn't even bother looking, he shifted his head away and faced the mantel. The Gaunt ring gleamed up at him and Harry surreptitiously slipped it onto his finger. Voldemort used to wear it all the time when he was younger without summoning the dead. It felt good to wear. Solid. Real. Although the Horcrux was gone, Harry still felt close to it.

"We're leaving Harry," said Hermione, her voice contrite. "I fixed your plate and cleaned the mess this idiot made, but your dinner is ruined. Can I get you something else?"

Harry shook his head, still refusing to turn. There was a pause and Harry knew a rapid, silent argument was occurring between the two Weasleys.

Weasleys. Hermione was a Weasley irrevocably due to her kids, despite her stubbornly keeping her maiden name after their marriage. And that— being a Weasley, being a part of something bigger— was something Harry had always wanted. He envied her place in the world and its certainty.

"Sorry," Ron ground out, and Harry almost jumped at hearing his voice again.

He would not turn, but instead nodded his head once and then heard them leave by the front door.

Harry waited. Counted to ten, then fifty, then one-hundred. All was still and so he finally allowed himself to collapse bonelessly onto the sofa. His headache was back, but he deserved to suffer so he focused on the pain and tried to ignore the voice in his head that told him that with two people now on the job, his resolve to protect Voldemort was only going to become harder.

He toyed with the ring on his finger, spinning it idly. He liked the way it looked, the way it felt. Even empty, it was like a little piece of Voldemort.

Fishing into his trouser pocket, he pulled out the folded parchment. Despite never having used it, he carried it with him everyday in case he needed it.

He needed it now.

Smoothing it out, he Summoned a quill and ink and wrote down the first thing that came to him.

I miss you.

Harry waited, watching the words get absorbed by the paper, but no reply came. A million reasons for the silence whirled in his head, the most obvious being that Harry had still not left Ginny. He felt guilty about that, but with the looming threat of being used as bait, he didn't want to be all alone.

You said you'd write.

Pathetic. He was so desperate.

Ron beat me up. Broke my nose.

Nothing. He must really hate Harry now.

Please. I need you.

He was falling apart. The words disappeared.

Please. Just tell me you're still alive.

Harry stared at the parchment, willing it to give him something, anything. A lecture, a curse, a bloody dot inked by the other man, because now it was obvious. He'd never meant to write at all, he had been manipulating Harry all along, like Hermione had said, and Harry had believed him, had loved him—

Patience. You must allow me time to Conjure a quill, Potter.

Harry choked out a relieved laugh, throwing a trembling hand over his eyes.

Alive. He's still alive. He's still talking to me.

Tell me about Weasley.

Harry smiled. He still cared. The menace in those four words sent tingles down his spine.

Hands off. It's nothing. He

He couldn't tell him why Ron had punched him. Voldemort wouldn't like his secret getting out.

It's no big deal. I was just trying to get a rise out of you.

On the contrary, someone else laying hands on what is mine is certainly worthy of my concern.

The paper swallowed his words.

Tell me why.

It's nothing, really. I don't want to fight with you.

Please. I just miss you so much.

Harry began to gnaw on the skin of his left thumb, his right hand gripping the quill so tightly that it was becoming white.

Do you. I find that interesting considering your dear fia

Harry stabbed his quill into the parchment, scratching out what Voldemort was writing before he was even through, covering it with blank ink. The mess disappeared and Harry tried to figure out what to say.

What was that.

I don't want to talk about her. Please. I don't care about her.

Harry stared at the parchment.

And yet

Harry waited for the rest of the sentence, but it seemed like Voldemort had halted his tirade. Despite being entitled to delivering one.

Thank you.

Harry wished he could sink into the paper himself, come out on the other side and crawl into the man's lap. Bury his head so tightly against that soft skin that he just disappeared.

I admit to some surprise, hearing from you. I assumed you had lost your parchment.

I didn't know what to say.

That fact still remained. It was so good to see the man's words in his actual handwriting, but the gaping chasm between them stifled his enthusiasm. What Hermione wanted him to do poisoned all his sentiments.

Where are you?

Germany.

Harry didn't like that. He didn't want Voldemort too near where Grindelwald had been imprisoned. It reminded him of when Voldemort had killed the old man simply because Grindelwald hadn't wanted to betray someone he'd once loved.

That's far.

I have been farther.

The words vanished.

Besides

He didn't say more and Harry wanted to scream. He was disappointing everyone he cared about. It was selfish of him to seek comfort from Voldemort when he could offer nothing in return.

I just miss you so much.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling that awful tightness in his throat. He swallowed a few times, refusing the tears.

Anyways. Thanks for answering. I'm glad you're still safe.

Goodbye.

Harry dropped the quill onto the floor and put the ink bottle onto the coffee table.

He let out a long, ragged breath.

That hadn't helped. If anything, it had brought his memories of Voldemort closer, made them hurt more because somewhere out there, in Germany, the person he wanted more than any other was waiting for him.

But he wouldn't wait forever.

Harry heard a tiny chime almost inside his head. He sat up, knowing instinctively that it was the parchment. Apprehensively, he pulled it out.

Your absence is noticed.

Harry felt his stomach clench, a shock of pure bliss crashing against the misery those words evoked. He watched them disappear and then fell back onto the sofa, feeling worse than he had at any time this evening.