Chapter 28

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Neville leaned against the wall beside Harry, passing him a steaming cup of tea.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, grateful for the warm drink and for the distraction from his dark thoughts.

He'd been here for three hours so far and had a pretty good idea what to put in his report. His fingers slipped inside his pocket, touching the warm metal ring and thrilling at the burst of comfort it sent him. With the Horcrux, his mind was able to focus like it hadn't been capable of doing for ages.

Unfortunately, that also meant he was more aware of the shitty situation he found himself in. More able to suffer.

"No problem," Neville replied. "Thanks for coming out to help. I feel so foolish, needing my place protected. It's mental that the BDE are coming after me so aggressively. Did you hear about what happened outside of the Leaky Cauldron?"

Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Bellatrix, right? Merlin, she's such a psycho. You're lucky you got out of there alive."

"Yeah, but it was only a matter of time until she came for me, really. After that damn Skeeter woman found out that I had purchased Voldemort and—"

Harry dropped the cup and it shattered on the rocks.

"What?" he rasped, almost grabbing the chubby man by his shirt-front. "You did what?"

"Woah," Neville said, and pointed his wand at the broken porcelain, repairing the cup. "Did you not know?"

Harry's heart was stuttering and pounding, he could feel it in his tight throat.

"You bought him?" he asked weakly, then sat down hard on the rocks.

Merlin, just saying that conjured pictures that curled his fists in fury and shot adrenaline coursing through him.

But this was Neville. Voldemort had been responsible for his parents being placed in St Mungo's and had caused him so much suffering at Hogwarts that last year.

Surely Neville deserved some vengeance, right? Harry was supposed to support this farce, after all. The Boy Who Lived hated the Dark Lord Voldemort.

He thumped his head down against his knees, which were drawn up and pressing tight to his chest. He closed his eyes.

"Harry?" Neville sounded like he was sitting next to him now. He sounded worried. "I'm sorry if you didn't know. Was it that he's alive or that I bought him?"

Bought him.

Bought him.

Harry pinched the skin of his legs through his trousers, squeezing tight until it hurt.

This information was not supposed to affect him. He was an Auror. A Dark wizard catcher. This was supposed to be his job.

Harry lifted his head and tried for nonchalance, which he was sure that Neville wasn't stupid enough to believe.

"The… buying," Harry said. "I just didn't know you… bought him."

A pause.

"Does that bother you?"

Harry closed his eyes. Come on, you can do better than this. He snaked his hand into his trouser pocket again, wrapping his fingers around the metal and trying to relax. Get through this and then fall apart at home.

He opened his eyes and regarded his friend.

"No. Of course not. It just creeps me out."

"That I bought him?"

Harry tried to shrug.

"I guess."

Neville chewed his lip.

"I wasn't well pleased with myself, either, if I'm being honest. And it certainly didn't make me feel any better. Don't know why I thought it would."

Neville eyed Harry.

"Have you… You haven't bought him yet, right?" Harry shook his head, trying not to wince. "Have you seen him?"

Harry shook his head again. It seemed like everyone but him had.

"Why did you buy him?" Harry asked, straightening out his legs, hoping this seemed more natural.

Neville frowned and looked away.

"I guess… I guess I was just curious. He was always so terrifying. I know Snape was my Boggart in school and maybe it should have been Bellatrix, but only because Voldemort was always too… inhuman to even consider. Too huge. Yet he's the reason for it all."

Harry's finger nails dug into the skin of his palm.

"I guess I wanted to see him suffer," Neville admitted.

Breathe. Breathe.

"And did you?" Harry asked, although he really did not want to hear the answer.

Neville looked over at him.

"Did I see him suffer?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, I mean, yeah. He's definitely suffering."

Neville looked uncomfortable.

"He's a total wreck. He was half asleep on my floor, eyes unable to focus, clearly severely traumatized. He…"

Neville cleared his throat.

"I didn't like seeing him like that." His voice was small. "Like a victim. He just… knelt there, kind of… trembling while I insulted him. He didn't even try to fight back when I hit him with curses."

Harry's heart froze and he wanted to tear Neville apart, how dare he touch Voldemort, the little fucking swine—

But then none of this was surprising. Harry knew Voldemort was getting tortured. He knew it was horrific. And yet he stayed away, didn't intervene.

His lack of action was far worse than Neville's actions.

"And then," Neville went on, oblivious to Harry's internal mutterings, "he just… fell asleep on my sitting room floor. For over an hour. I didn't have the heart to wake him. Would you believe I actually pitied the creature?"

Neville looked up at Harry, a bewildered expression on his face. Harry had no idea what his own face was revealing.

"It was really messed up," Neville said. "But what was more messed up was what Percy told me when he dropped him off. Did you know some people want to… have sex with him?"

Neville's eyebrows were almost touching his hairline, his lips turned up in a disgusted, slightly mocking sneer.

It took everything Harry had left to stay upright and breathing.

"Percy told me I could… do that. To him." Neville cringed and looked away. "As if I'd want to. But I guess that means that some people do. That they are. And that's…"

Neville looked guilty.

"Don't get me wrong. I hate him, I want him to suffer. But… raping him?" The other man looked down at his knees. "That's a little too far for me."

Harry tried counting in his head, tried to drown out the other man's words.

"Percy gave me a rundown on what the collar can do and what… services I could get from him. Not just sexual, mind," he added, still not looking at Harry. "Like, sex stuff was okay and hurting and maiming as long as it wasn't fatally. Apparently his collar doesn't allow that."

Or, the Dark ritual the man did with Death to ensure his immortality, but whatever. It all amounted to the same thing. Voldemort still could not die and therefore was imprisoned again by people who hurt him far beyond what most could endure. Daily. Hourly. Without even the option to escape in death.

"He said your name," Neville said quietly, and Harry's eyes snapped to him, heart stopping.

"What?"

Neville nodded.

"When he was out cold. He was twitching and… flinching. He looked like he was trapped in a nightmare. And he said your name."

Harry's body was trembling, his hands shaking.

"What did he say?"

"Just your name. Some… moaning. Like, painful moans, not…" Neville's cheeks pinked and Harry hoped his own did not. "Like he was… calling out for you."

Harry felt tears on his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, hoping Neville wouldn't notice.

"Are you okay, Harry?"

Harry tried to nod, but a sound escaped his throat. He bowed his head.

"No," he whispered.

Neville's arm came around his shoulders and pulled him close.

"I heard about you and Ginny. I'm really sorry. You guys seemed so happy."

Harry couldn't control the snort that escaped him. Neville made a commiserative sound.

"I guess the Prophet can't be trusted, can it? Sorry it wasn't… what it seemed. Is that why you're so upset?"

Harry shook his head.

"No. Ginny and I… I'm glad she's happy."

"But you're not."

Harry pressed his lips together.

"Nope."

"Why do you think Voldemort said your name?"

Harry tensed and was sure Neville felt it too. The other man's arm suddenly became wooden, but he couldn't push it away without it being suspicious.

"No idea," Harry answered. "Prolly just… traumatized, like you said."

"Did you know he was still alive?"

Thankfully, this wasn't the first time someone had asked him this question.

"No. Kingsley told me he'd killed him."

Which was true, but that was twelve years ago.

Neville nodded.

"Are you going to go see him?"

Harry wiped his nose and pulled back from Neville who let him go easily.

"I don't know," he answered, though at this point he knew going to the man again was inevitable, no matter how bad of an idea it was.

Neville looked hesitant.

"Can I be honest with you, Harry?"

Harry held his breath, and nodded.

"I know you hate him. I do too. But if you go see him, it's going to be shocking and it took me a few days to recover. I thought I wanted to see him broken, but… I'm not him. I don't get off seeing blood or trauma."

Harry nodded jerkily, hoping that was all, but Neville kept talking.

"It doesn't help. You think it will, but seeing him cower like that… It's horrible. And you seem… raw still, Harry. I don't think it will be good for you. You may want closure or maybe you even think you want to hurt him, but I guarantee you, that will change when you see him."

Harry's hand was numb where it gripped the Horcrux, the metal biting into his skin. And still, Neville continued.

"All I'm trying to say is, don't become him. Don't lower yourself to where he is. He would love to see you beaten and pathetic, but you're stronger than he is. You're better."

Neville wiped his trouser legs and stood up.

"I'm ashamed that I paid money to learn that."

He helped Harry to his feet and they changed the subject after a few moments of awkward silence, neither of them acknowledging the tear tracks on Harry's face.

.

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Harry tapped his fingers on the desk impatiently, waiting for Percy to come out of his office.

"Why don't you take a seat, Mr Potter?" Jeffers, the new Senior Undersecretary said, raising an irritated eyebrow.

"I'm fine here, thanks," Harry replied, turning back to stare at the closed door.

Now that he had made up his mind, he was filled with restless, nervous excitement.

He would see Voldemort.

It didn't have to mean anything, there was nothing to be done, but Hermione thought he should now that he had his Horcrux to balance him so he could test if he still responded to Voldemort as intensely.

So he was doing it on her suggestion, really. And Neville seemed to think he would want see Voldemort too, though he'd warned Harry against the impulse.

But Harry had never been one to heed warnings.

The door suddenly opened wide and Harry pushed off from the desk, already walking forwards.

"Mr Potter?" said Percy when he spotted him, sounding confused.

"Yup. I was hoping I could catch you for a quick word."

Percy shot a glance at Jeffers.

"I told him you were on your way out for the day, but…" Jeffers offered.

"I wouldn't take no for an answer," Harry finished the trailing sentence for him. He smirked at Percy. "I told him we're old friends and that you wouldn't mind."

Jeffers made a small, scathing sound and muttered, "Famous Harry Potter."

Harry turned, his mouth open and ready to call him out, but Percy stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Never mind, I suppose I can take a moment." He gestured into his office and then smiled at his Undersecretary. "Thank you, Jeffers."

Harry scoffed, but walked past him and into the room, sitting in the chair in front of the big carved desk. He felt a stab of sadness seeing this office again without Kingsley in it. Another life I took. Another betrayal.

Percy entered a few moments later, seeming resigned.

"You know, most people make appointments to speak with me."

Harry felt an eyebrow raise. The pretentious git.

"I've seen you in your pyjamas, Perce. I've lived at your house for weeks at a time."

"You've broken my sister's heart, too."

Harry opened his mouth and then shut it, not knowing what to say. Percy was a different beast than he was used to.

"Funny," Harry said, crossing his ankle over his knee, "she doesn't seem too heartbroken in the Prophet, holding hands with that Robbie bloke."

"And yet we all do wonder what went on there," Percy said, leaning back and seeming at ease. "She told us you're a homosexual and that's shameful enough, but we know she's hiding something for you. We just don't know what."

The fuck?

Harry tried not to react. Percy continued as he reeled.

"My family are all keeping quite a secret for you, there."

Harry felt his face heating, rage and humiliation blazing inside of him. Was Percy trying to blackmail him?

"I'd remember that next time you try bursting into my office." Percy smirked and Harry wondered why he had never realized this Weasley could be so treacherous. "You will find that I am not as… accommodating as the last Minister. He loved your antics and supported your recklessness."

Percy leaned forwards and rested his elbows on the desk.

"I like rules, Potter. I like when people follow them. When they don't, I have no problem holding them accountable."

Harry was taken aback, unprepared for this reception.

"I'm not here to discuss Ginny or any of that," Harry said, after a few moments, but Percy cut him off.

"Good. I was actually going to come see you this week anyways, so I suppose it is advantageous that you're here now."

Percy leaned back and steepled his fingers.

"I had some questions about my brother's death."

Harry felt the breath leave his chest.

"I wanted to know why you were there that day. You had seemed upset. Impatient. And then the Dark Lunatic entered and you didn't even seem surprised. You talked to him. Tried reasoning with him."

Percy's eyes were dangerous as he laced his fingers and pulled them down to rest on the desk.

"He listened to you. Why? Why did He Who Must Not Be Named listen to you, Potter?"

Harry's heart was racing. He folded his hands in his lap so they wouldn't shake.

"I'm an Auror," Harry said, trying to keep his voice even. "It's my job to try and smooth over these kinds of situations. I was trying to get him to let Ron go."

Harry saw those blue lips, that vacant expression, and blinked a few times to clear it.

"Yes," Percy said, lightly, "but why did he listen to you? You seemed to have a… rapport with him. He stopped when you asked him to."

Harry attempted his best sneer.

"I'm sure you are familiar with the fact that he and I had been trying to kill each other for years?"

"Yet he didn't reach for you, did he? You were right there, his supposed primary enemy, but he grabbed my brother instead. Why didn't he grab you?"

"The collar," Harry said, trying keep his memories of that moment as facts with no emotions. "Ron snapped the collar on him and Voldemort was… furious."

Percy nodded.

"Strange, though, that he didn't kill you before that, even. As soon as he saw you standing there. He killed the Minister, but left you alive."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Percy."

Percy leaned forward again and his eyes bored into him.

"I want to know if you were working with You Know Who when he killed my brother."

"What?" Harry spluttered. "Of course not! He was my best friend!"

"Ron was upset with you about Ginny and whatever other little secrets you four shared that no one will tell me about. Did you have him killed to silence him?"

"You can't— Merlin, you can't possibly think I would kill Ron. Jesus, Percy, do you know me at all? I can't believe you'd even—"

"Robards told me that you were working on a secret project for months before my brother and the Minister were killed. Afterwards, he said he thought it could have been He Who Must Not Be Named that you were working with."

"I wasn't working with him!"

"Did you know he was alive?"

Harry had the lie ready—

"Of course not!"

"Would you be willing to take Veritaserum to confirm that?"

Harry stopped, staring at the stranger before him.

"You're trying to throw me in prison," Harry said slowly, comprehension dawning. "You really think I wanted Ron killed."

Percy kept staring at him, eyes hard.

Harry stood.

"I don't want to fight you, Percy. This is… surprising. The tack you're taking."

Harry looked at the man seated before him, trying to reconcile him against the kid he knew at Hogwarts. The boy who was always so comically pompous, but never a real threat.

"Kingsley learned to work with me rather than against me," Harry said, "and I hope for your sake that you're willing to do that too."

"Is that a threat?" Percy said, standing as well.

"Sure," Harry answered with a shrug. "Why not. It's whatever you want it to be so long as you listen to me. You are way out of your depth with Voldemort."

Harry smiled darkly at the expression on Percy's face.

"I bet you've tried to execute him, haven't you?"

Percy's eyebrows raised in surprise before they narrowed. He crossed his arms.

Harry shot him a mock commiserating look, mouth pouting slightly.

"Did it not go as you'd expected? That must have been super frustrating."

Harry let a slow smile curl his lips.

"I'll ignore this," he gestured between them with a raised eyebrow, "so long as it doesn't happen again."

He sank his hand leisurely into his robes and fingered the metal in his pocket. He felt good.

"Leave your sister alone," Harry warned. "Mind your own business. And the next time you try and come at me, make sure you have more than flimsy rumours. Because now I see you."

Harry held his gaze for a long moment and then turned to leave.

"When you're ready to ask for my help," he said, his back to Percy, "you can make an appointment."

Harry walked to the door and left without waiting for a response.

.

.

The rain fell on his naked body, hitting his piloeretcted, shivering skin. For once, he was alone and he had the inclement weather to thank for that.

His life had been reduced to a farce where he must be grateful to icy water.

He was laying face-down, panting, his mouth open and allowing the blood to drain slowly onto the metal floor. His eyes were squeezed shut, trying to block out the memory that put him in this state, but the ghost of metal-tipped boots connecting with his now-missing teeth still rocked him back, forcing him to relive that fresh horror.

Laying supine and Immobilized, he watched as the man came closer, his heavy boots making an ominous clink on the wooden floor with every step. There was raucous, rough talk above him, but his focus was rapt on the man who stopped beside his shoulder.

"Move his head so I've got a better angle," the booted man said, and then the curse released him.

Immediately, he tried to stand, wanting to attack, wanting to wrap his fingers around their throats, bite into their flesh, tear, rip—

But hands grabbed him everywhere and he was yanked up, manhandled and arranged like a corpse to be sitting with his back against the brick wall and then mercilessly cursed motionless again.

When the figures moved away, his eyes caught a black blur coming closer and then a burst of agony hit his mouth, metal crashing into his teeth and spilling them onto the floor, blood flooding his throat.

The spell held him immobile.

Had he still been supine he would have choked and perished, but seated as he was, he remained alive to see the boot swing forward again and slam into his cheek, ripping open his wasted flesh and cracking the remaining teeth on that side.

The five subsequent blows had him screaming, though his face— a broken mess of gore and blood— was unable to move. The sound was ripped from his throat.

The boot finally receded, but still he was not released.

He was left vibrating with suppressed fury until the booted man spoke.

"And now you won't have to worry about him biting you, Amos."

Laughter warred with his panic, his humiliation, his despair as a middle-aged wizard approached, grim determination on his face.

Voldemort closed his eyes when the man began to lower his trousers.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the images, but the pain in his mouth ceased that motion immediately.

It was endlessly hypocritical how opposed the masses were to consensual homosexuality but, given a body to abuse without repercussions, they almost always found their way there eventually. It could be repressed authentic homosexual inclinations or perhaps simply that a heterosexual man's biggest fear would be to be humiliated by a homosexual act thus they used it as a torture method.

Either way, he wished his enemies could fulfill whatever revenge fantasy they had without thrusting their fetid pricks down his throat or forcing him to obey his collar and engage in their depravity.

The rain continued to fall, cascading down his frozen back, which was adorned with raised lash marks and scrapes. The water cleaned the wounds there and on his face, and his magic had healed the worst of it, enough to keep him alive.

Though his magic would not bring his teeth back, as his tongue continually discovered each time it gently swiped over the trenches made in his mangled, empty gums.

An Auror had had to step in before their allotted torture slot had concluded because the Minister did not want his hosts to know he was still immortal.

Well, immortal against all but him.

Voldemort cringed away from thinking about the boy, but that never worked.

Despite it being imperative that he focus on removing the collar whenever possible, despite his gnawing hunger, his relentless agony, his fatally exhausted body and mind, and his raging, monstrous fury, he found his thoughts powerlessly anchoring on the boy.

Caught unfailingly in contemplations of his current whereabouts, his mood, his safety.

His mortality.

It was true that the boy had his Horcrux to calm him, but knowing the idiot, he was refusing to use it. Therefore, he was suffering. Likely suicidal. He took comfort knowing that Potter's death would be an emphatic topic of conversation for the mobs that tormented him and thus, it was improbable that he had succeeded.

But this endless preoccupation he had for the boy was perilous.

Potter had betrayed him and he had not seen it coming.

It was an unforgivable insult that he had been so thoroughly duped. This was a lesson he should have mastered in his adolescence and he had been naïve and foolish to forget it.

Voldemort groaned and gingerly rolled over onto his side, his mouth still open to allow the cool rainwater to soothe his throbbing gums. The missing teeth would make it impossible to speak, as he would not be able to form words, though that was not often required of him. Unless they wanted him to beg. Or—

No.

He wrapped his arms around himself, uselessly attempting to keep warm, yet he knew his body had never provided much heat even in the best of circumstances. He pulled his legs up, tucking his elbows under his meagre thighs.

He soon fell into a restless, shallow slumber.