Chapter 31: PART III

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It had taken two days for Percy to come and find him in his office. The Minister knocked once and then entered without waiting to be invited inside. He also had not made an appointment.

"Potter," he said, and closed the door behind him, his face stern.

He put up a privacy ward. Harry put down the parchment he'd been reading and leaned back in his chair.

"Yes."

"Where were you this last Tuesday evening?"

So no small talk, then. Harry had already created his defence.

"I was at home. I'd been to see Voldemort two days prior and… it was more difficult than I'd anticipated."

He knew they'd have surveillance on the cage so there was no point in hiding that visit. And he was a loner, so being at home was standard for him.

"Why did you visit him?"

Harry looked away, trying to seem uncomfortable.

"When you and I last spoke, I came away with some… questions I had wanted answered. I was angry at you, but more than that, I was angry at myself. So I asked him why he took Ron and not me."

Percy made an impatient noise.

"I don't care about that. The public are restless right now and I need something to distract them with."

"You want a scapegoat."

Percy looked at him levelly.

"If necessary, yes. What do you have to lose, Potter? You have no friends, no family, you're not good at your job. Rumour has it you're erratic and rebellious and not easy to work with. No one would miss you."

The truth stung, but that didn't mean he was expendable.

"Where is Voldemort, Percy? Is that what this is about?"

"He's in a Ministry holding cell, as I've made clear," Percy said firmly, his eyes narrowing. "His last private host was injured by him so we are keeping him away from the public for their protection."

"Bet they love that. It's a bit of an about-face on your elected platform of retribution for the victims, no?"

"Their safety comes first."

"And what about yours? Are you trying to put the blame on me somehow for Voldemort's disappearance so it doesn't fall on you?"

Percy frowned.

"You seem pretty certain he's escaped. Suspicious, that."

Harry scoffed.

"Or maybe I read the Prophet. They seem to feel like you're hiding something."

"Are you hiding something, Potter? What was it about the meeting with your nemesis that had you so spooked?"

"I already told you. We talked about Ron and that was difficult for me."

"You talked, did you? Because, if I remember correctly, he was unable to speak at all after one of our hosts were particularly vindictive with his face. He had no teeth. He couldn't have spoken with you, as you say. But I know you were there. So what did you do if it wasn't talking?"

Harry's mind was plunged into rapid thought, reviewing that night with Voldemort in a whole new light and wondering if that had been the reason for his stubborn silence. He marvelled at the possibility that all was not lost. Could it be that Voldemort had wanted to make amends, but had been unable? And— what if his attempted Legilimency had been to connect their minds to communicate mentally because physically it was impossible for him?

"Your deviant personal life," Percy continued, interrupting his raging hopeful thoughts, "could have led you to seek comfort from a man who couldn't say no. And, unwilling to pay for the privilege like the common folk, Harry Potter had to do things his own way and sneak a visit in the dead of night."

Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"So that's the angle you're going for? A sexual tryst?"

Harry ignored his panic, his racing heart, and instead shook his head, letting out a mocking laugh.

"No one will believe you."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Percy said lowly. "My sister had a lot to say about your affairs with your own gender that took place while you were still pretending you were normal with her."

"So you'd drag Ginny down to save yourself, eh?" Harry scoffed. "Pathetic. I've always wondered why the hat put you in Gryffindor. You always were about as Slytherin as they come."

"Says the man who is bending over for the Dark Lunatic. Tell me, how do you navigate the shame and guilt you must carry when you consider that your parents died for you to have sex with their murderer?"

Harry stood, knocking his chair over.

"Get out of my office before I curse you, Minister or not."

His wand was already somehow in his hand. Percy eyed it not without a little bit of fear and then smirked.

"It's over, Potter. We have evidence of you embracing the Dark Lord. Attacking a civilian attempting to exercise his right to punish the Dark Lord, and then two days later the Dark Lord goes missing."

"Missing!"

Percy's face broke into a dark grin, unbothered by his mistake.

"Fine. You want to talk straight?"

Harry wasn't sure he did, but Percy took a step towards him.

"The Dark Lord is missing."

Another step forwards.

"He was removed by you on Tuesday night. You betrayed us all and I am going to prove it."

Percy walked slowly towards him and it became obvious how very screwed Harry was. So many mistakes…. He should have just freed Voldemort and then run away with him when he'd had the chance. After all they'd been through, after Voldemort had come to the Ministry to rescue him, Harry's love had been so fragile that one encounter without speaking was enough to erase all the trust they'd built.

But then, what could he have said to make up for Ron?

An attempt at remorse. A sincere recognition of error. Something to prove that he was learning, that he was capable of change.

"It's over," Percy went on. "I'm sorry to inform you that I am here to escort you to the holding cells until we can transfer you to Azkaban."

Harry's head swam.

"You can't be fucking serious."

Percy raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, the tips dipping down in mock sympathy.

"I'm afraid so. The public will be most displeased to learn that you're a traitor."

"They won't support you in this, you know that. I'm still their Saviour."

"Not after they learn that you set the Dark Lord free and that you are a disgusting faggot that is shagging the man that killed all their families." While Harry's mind raced, Percy added, "And you are complicit in Ron's death."

"Why do you think that? You have no evidence."

"I'll get it. I'll have you behind bars forever and your days of getting away with whatever you please will be over. I know you did it and I have enough to hold you until I can find everything I need. I'm not opposed to Veritaserum either and my sister is still pretty upset with you."

Things were moving so fast, he was searching for something to say to explain it all away, but also still reeling from the possibility that Voldemort's lack of apology had been due to injury and not indifference—

And then all of a sudden, Percy had conjured restraints and was leading him out of his office, towards the holding cells.

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It was hard not to feel a sense of shared experience as he sat in his cell at the Ministry, but then Harry winced. Well, shared except for the rape, starvation, torture, and separation from his magic that Voldemort had endured. Harry had received no collar because most prisoners— all, really, except for obnoxious all-powerful Dark Lords— couldn't really do much without their wands.

So. Nothing alike whatsoever, then.

The boredom was the worst part for Harry. His cell was small, around the same size as Voldemort's had been, but this one did not have a table. Harry had spent the last week doing the only activity he was able to do: worry. And he did it either sitting, standing, or laying down.

Luckily, he had managed to discreetly reattach his Horcrux under his left armpit beneath all the coarse hair there, before they could take it from him. Being stuck in a cell while also going crazy would not have been fun.

He was laying down on the cot staring up at the ceiling when footsteps drew near. He sat up and stupidly, irrationally, he had an ardent vision of Voldemort striding into view, black robes billowing, red eyes blazing. Coming to take him away.

My hero.

Harry snorted.

Instead, Hermione came into view, looking harassed. She opened the cell, threw up a privacy ward, and came right over to him.

He tried not to let his disappointment show.

"How are you?" she asked, taking his hands and gripping them tight.

Harry shrugged.

"Any good news?"

She pursed her lips and looked away.

"Not really, but I finally have some information."

Harry nodded, trying to keep his face neutral.

"Okay. Tell me."

Hermione pulled out a stack of parchment and handed it to him. Harry looked them over, but they were all legal documents and he really didn't think he was up to deciphering what they meant.

"Just tell me, Hermione."

She nodded and grabbed his hands again, holding them firmly. She looked grim.

"Kingsley kept a cache of evidence in case you ever tried to blackmail him," she began, and looked at him, clearly hoping that would trigger something, but he was clueless.

"Of what?"

She bit her lip.

"It's not good. They have Pensieve testimony from all three guards before they died. About…"

Harry's stomach sank. About what went on in that cell with Voldemort.

"So they know."

Hermione squeezed his hand.

"I mean, it's all just conjecture until there's a trial." She hesitated. "But it's not just that."

Course not.

"What else?"

"They also have testimony showing that you visited… him. In Diagon."

Harry closed his eyes.

"They say…" Hermione's voice was small and uncertain. "They say you were acting… affectionate towards him."

Harry, his eyes still shut, remembered grasping the back of that beautiful neck and pulling the tall, powerful man down to press their foreheads together. He remembered feeling shattered yet grounded. Miserable, but filled with love. Longing.

"And then with his escape the next day—" Hermione went on, but Harry interrupted her, opening his eyes.

"Have they finally admitted he's gone, then, or are they still spreading that nonsense that they executed him?"

Hermione grimaced.

"They've finally confirmed that he's escaped. But that's not any better for you."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a newspaper, but Harry didn't feel like reading.

"Just tell me."

She rolled up the paper and took a deep breath.

"It's bad. Percy is… single-minded. Desperate. He pinned all his hopes on sending you to prison and when you being gay and… feeling affection for Voldemort wasn't enough to incarcerate you, he threw away his credibility and told them that Voldemort was free. That you freed him."

Hermione looked at him with fear and sorrow.

"He is hell-bent on… putting you in Azkaban." She paused, eyeing him despairingly. "I'm so sorry, Harry—"

"I don't care, it's fine," Harry dismissed, still trying to understand. "So, if he's saying Voldemort is free, how is the public reacting to that?"

"They're terrified. But they're also angry at Percy for lying. They don't trust him and I wouldn't be surprised if he is asked to step down."

Harry pressed his left arm tight against his body, squeezing the tiny metal ring. He breathed out slowly.

"But that won't help me either. They won't like that I freed him."

Hermione shook her head.

"No. They're not too happy about that."

Harry made a sarcastic sound in his throat. No bloody kidding. He went from their Saviour to their enemy. He wouldn't be surprised if he had his own new monikers now. The Traitor Who Lied. The Homo One.

"The papers are bad, Harry," Hermione said, as if reading his mind. "Not everyone believes the filth Percy is spreading about you, but the Prophet is calling you a Death Eater. They are saying you and Voldemort have been working together for years and that you and he…"

"Are gay lovers?" he asked sardonically. "Have they gotten there yet?"

Hermione looked away, her cheeks flushing, and nodded.

Awesome.

"So if the public hates me, I'm doomed, Hermione."

"Not everyone hates you. There is a very sizeable and incredibly vocal portion of the community that are speaking out in your defence. Neville is notable among them. Many believe you are being unfairly punished without sufficient evidence."

"But that will all fall apart once the Pensieve testimonies are made public. It's not like they're lies. It's going to show me snogging the Dark Lord— and more besides." Hermione looked away again, a frown furrowing her brow. "It will show the guards confronting me about my involvement and my defiance of their rules."

Harry chuckled, but it was without mirth. It was dark. Hopeless.

"Can they prove that you set him free?" she asked quietly. "Is there anyone who could corroborate that?"

Harry thought about Bellatrix and whether she would risk being thrown in prison herself for a chance to do it to him. He didn't think she would, and Voldemort wouldn't appreciate it if she did— though really, who knew what the fuck Voldemort wanted anymore. He didn't even know what he wanted, himself.

"How did you break him out?" she asked, drawing him back.

Harry considered telling her, but then firmly stopped himself. Everything was different now. He hated keeping secrets from her, but it felt like betrayal to Voldemort to say more than was needed.

"That doesn't matter," he muttered. "I think I'm okay there."

Hermione's face showed contrite disbelief.

"Are you sure? They may use Veritaserum on you. Or Legilimency. Can you fight that?"

Fuck. That's true. This was a criminal trial, they would do what they could to get to the truth.

Well, that's it then.

It was over.

Merlin, how many times had he come to this conclusion over the past few months? The past few years? And yet he had never wanted to accept the truth that continually dogged him. Voldemort had well and truly destroyed his life.

And yet, all he wanted was one more guilty, treacherous, perfect moment with him.

Leaning forward with a groan, he put his head in his hands.

"I'm going to Azkaban."

It was no more than he deserved. He was an Auror, he knew the laws. If others had to be held accountable for their illegal actions, so did he. He'd freed a mass-murderer and lied about it, using his job and security clearance to grant him access to do so. Perhaps Kingsley and Ron's deaths would be laid at his feet as well.

It would be deserved. I'm responsible.

"Can't…" Hermione's small, hesitant voice interrupted his self-pity, "can't he just.. break you free?"

Harry looked up at her in surprise.

"I mean, he's done it before," she continued. "Assuming you're right and you lose the trial."

Hermione did not seem pleased by the idea, but the fact that she was voicing it meant a lot. She loved him more than she hated Voldemort. He could work with that.

"Can't he help you?" she asked quietly.

Harry had to say it.

"He killed Ron."

Hermione looked away, her expression angry. She closed her eyes.

"I know that, Harry." Her voice was harsh. "But I don't want you to rot in prison."

Harry tried to picture this unexpected possibility, but hit a roadblock almost right away.

"I can't contact him," he said. "I have no idea where he is or if he even knows what's happening."

"He knows," Hermione said at once, looking at him. "It's been very publicized."

"I'm not even sure if he would want to help me."

Harry couldn't prevent the petulant misery that bled through into his tone. Hermione was silent for a few moments and then leaned back, resting against the wall.

"Well, all I'm saying is if you end up in Azkaban… I would be willing to make contact with him for you."

Harry reined in his rampant excitement with a dose of reality.

"And then what?" he asked her. "Let's just say you somehow manage that, to find the Dark Lord when he doesn't want to be found. What then? You help him save me and then…" he tried not to picture what he was about to say, "then we destroy this last Horcrux before killing him? That's how I repay another daring rescue of his?"

"I would hardly call his first one a success," Hermione said dangerously.

Harry backtracked.

"I know. I agree. He fucked that one up."

Harry did not say that Voldemort probably didn't see it that way. He came to protect Harry and that's what he'd done. Ron had just been another necessary casualty. A spare.

"But ostensibly, yes," Hermione continued, returning to his original question. "Our plan doesn't change. He still can't be free to go on murderous rampages again."

"Hermione." He closed his eyes, hating himself more than ever. "I don't think I can do that."

"Sure you can, Harry. You're the only one who can."

Harry nodded vaguely and opened his eyes, trying to get her to understand.

"I know I am likely magically capable of doing so. As the Master of Death, I can probably nullify whatever situation he's got going on."

He saw Voldemort kneeling on the floor, broken and resigned, brought before a group of violent aggressors. He saw him relaxed, eyes soft with sleep, a small smile playing about his thin lips. He saw all the potential in him and also all the danger.

"I don't know if I—" He shook his head. "No, that's not true. I know I can't kill him. I want him alive."

He looked up at Hermione to see her reaction.

"I understand," she said slowly. "It's the Horcrux in you that was destroyed. You—"

"No," Harry interjected, frustrated that he would have to spell this out. "No, Hermione. I love him."

She flinched at his words and he paused, considering letting it go, but he had to make her understand.

"Him. Not his soul. When I visited him in his cage, even with his Horcrux on me…"

He thought about what it had felt like touching him, even as he held the small metal ring in his fist.

"The pull towards him that I feel is incredible. I don't want his magic or even just to touch him to have contact with his soul. I want him. The Horcrux… It's not enough. Maybe it could have been at the start, before I got to know him, but it's not anymore."

Hermione had tears in her eyes, which were closed. Her eyebrows were pulled low and she looked like she was trying very hard to control her response.

"You still want to be with him," she rasped.

Harry nodded, but then realized she couldn't see it.

"Yes."

Hermione made a sound in her throat and Harry quickly kept talking.

"I'm not saying that I will, Hermione. Just that I want to. You asked me what I want, not what I'm doing."

"You love him." Harry flinched from the harshness in her tone, but he forced himself to bear it. He deserved her revulsion and disappointment. "Even now. Even after…"

Ron.

Even after Ron.

I'm a fucking monster.

Harry made sure he wasn't touching her as he whispered, "Yes." He didn't wait for her reaction. "But I won't do anything. I won't. I—"

"Don't be naïve," she spat, glaring at him. "You sound like an addict. If him killing your best friend and hundreds of other people hasn't changed your opinion, then nothing will. Especially considering the positive reward of the Horcrux link."

"I'm not a dog, I can resist temptation."

"Says the man who had sex with multiple men outside of his engagement."

Harry's mouth fell open.

"She told everyone about that?"

Hermione scoffed.

"Not everyone, just me and the Weasleys. And we haven't broken your trust, Harry, no matter what feelings some may have. We still love you. But you see my point, don't you? You're lying to yourself if you say you're going to help me defeat him now."

"I…" he searched for the words to convince her when even he knew it was an obvious lie, "I know what… I think I can…"

Hermione shook her head and then stood.

"I have to go. I'll be back tomorrow to go over your defence again."

"Hermione—"

"I have to go, Harry," she said, and left, the door of the cell closing with an irrevocable clang.

Harry bowed his head, self-loathing churning through him in waves.

He killed your best friend. Only a psychopath would still love a villain like that. Look what this has done to Hermione, will you continue to love him even if it takes her too? Is Lord Voldemort worth everyone you care about?

Harry fell back down onto the cot and closed his eyes.

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He had left Bella as soon as he had been free.

Immediately, he had Apparated to where he could be alone, to where he would be safe from hands and eyes and boots and magic that was not his own. He returned to his cave.

The first thing he had done was destroy it.

He had still been wearing the collar when his raging fury, his bitterness, his despair had been unleashed, but it had fallen off not long into the explosion and as soon as it had, he had conjured Fiendfyre, allowing it to dance around him, lightly searing his skin before he forced it back, commanding it as no other could. Proving his mastery, his power and strength.

The second thing he had done was sleep, though that had only been accomplished in short increments due to his residual nightmares and invasive memories.

When he was conscious, he plotted.

He ventured out only to Summon newspapers from Wizarding communities. They were… disturbing. Disappointing.

Harry had been imprisoned and would likely be thrown into Azkaban for his crime of homosexuality. Of allying with enemy. Of betrayal and deceit.

His immediate fear had been that Harry was receiving the same treatment that he had endured there. He was harassed by visions of Harry's body in his own place, reviewing the same nightmares, but having to watch Harry suffer them instead.

Yet it could not be. Surely not. Harry was their darling, despite the current events.

They would never do that to him.

He took comfort in that, but the reality of the situation was not ideal, either. His fingers had clenched with possessiveness, seeing images in the Prophet of Harry being shackled and manhandled. Sitting alone behind bars. He looked hopeless. Passive. Defeated.

It was hard to hold onto his hatred.

Despite abandoning him to the masses' bestial mercies for months, Harry had eventually come for him. Forcing a Vow on his magic had been vicious, but he suspected it would not take much to convince the boy to dissolve it.

Nevertheless, he wanted to hold onto his anger. For the boy's lies. For pretending to be that repulsive Fudge. For being so close for those few hours and yet not revealing who he was. For calling him Tom.

For denying him a chance to explain.

For leaving him in that cage to suffer and then getting caught the next moment.

The boy was not weak, his magical power was impressive, if repressed.

Harry was afraid of it. Voldemort intended to teach him how to wield it, how to make it and others bow to his will.

Yet now the boy was in prison, his trial weeks away. It was simply a question of whether Voldemort would break him out of the Ministry, or wait until he was more accessible, in Azkaban.

That he would free the boy was not in doubt. He needed the boy liberated so that Harry could face his wrath.

But Voldemort would go nowhere near another person— and certainly not back to the Ministry— until he could ensure that he was protected from such vulnerability again. It had seemed impossible that he could be caught at all, never mind twice, and therefore he needed to devise a protection against such an anomaly should it reoccur.

He had sheltered in his cave for days. Healing. Researching. Planning.

Trying to forget the words that the boy had said in the rain. The way he had stood protecting him against an attack.

His incomprehensible declaration.

Even days later, the words rang through his mind. It was a sentiment he had never understood. It meant sacrifice. Weakness. A lack of ambition and divided priorities.

As a student at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had watched that fool Dumbledore suffer from his devotion to Grindelwald. They had been forced to duel each other unwillingly and neither had been capable of hurting the other. Though their competence as wizards was outmatched by none but himself, they had ended their confrontation with a stalemate.

Dumbledore had won, but it was a farce when the defeated wizard remained alive.

Much like Harry's victory over he himself.

Love made imbeciles incapable of harming the object of their affections and thus rendered them easily wounded. Love created a defect that could be manipulated.

Love was perilous.

As it had been for his mother, in whose veins ran the noble blood of Salazar Slytherin. She had fallen victim to lust that she mistook for love and then had let herself be touched by a filthy Muggle man who had left her at the first opportunity. Her, the heir of Slytherin. Love had made her weak and blind to his inadequacies.

Voldemort rose from his seated position. He stood now over the stagnant lake, staring out across the water, his hand on the cave wall. It was quiet here. He needed quiet after the chaos he had endured.

He looked down, his gaze drawing into the still, reflective surface. Luckily, his Fiendfyre had not destroyed the lake.

He had not given his Inferi a task, not since their creation. He knew they loomed under the surface, ready. Always ready to do his bidding.

His army of Death Eaters had dwindled significantly in the twelve years he had been absent and it would take time to grow their ranks once more.

Time he did not have.

Harry needed him.

Voldemort gestured vaguely above the water and the crown of a head emerged, followed swiftly by a grotesque face and an emaciated grey frame.

The sight was not one he enjoyed.

Death.

He stared at the man. Perhaps he had been about forty when he had been recruited. Voldemort made him twirl around and watched the body obey.

It was rather like the Imperius Curse. He paused.

Imperius.

That could work.

It would be much less dangerous and could happen legally. There would be confusion, but no uproar. No risk at all, really.

He watched the body hover, a concrete illustration of his eminence, of his brilliance. He alone could reanimate the dead. He was without a peer.

And yet, that fact no longer comforted him. It felt insufficient. Incorrect.

He had a peer, one who literally controlled his mortality. His thoughts and ambitions.

And he was imprisoned.

Going back into the Ministry would be challenging. Not the act of trespass; any feat of magic was effortless for him. Rather, facing the place of his suffering could stir the memories that lingered at his peripheral incessantly. Waiting to drag him under. It would be harder to resist them there.

But perhaps he did not need to.

Whatever his method, the fact remained: Harry needed him. Dumbledore had been a fool to fall prey to the vulnerability of love. Voldemort was stronger. Wiser.

He acted from a place of hatred, which gave him strength the fool could only dream of. Strength without the fallibility. His loathing of the Ministry and everyone who had sought to restrain and injure him, would bolster him with fire and give him the focus to rescue Harry.

Love could not do that. It was fragile and weak. It had conditions. But hatred knew no ceiling. Hatred could decimate and it was what he armed himself with as he readied to reclaim the boy once more.

.

.

Hermione tripped into his cell panting, eyes wild.

"I have so much to tell you, but I don't have much time."

Harry stood up because she was still standing and he pressed his arm tight against the Horcrux to ground himself.

"Okay. What's happened?"

"There's been a lot of movement in the Ministry, Harry. Namely, Percy is on the verge of being ousted."

"What? Like, soon?"

"Today, I think. Or tomorrow at the very latest."

"What? How? Because of the lying about Voldemort thing?"

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, but also because of how… deranged he's been lately with regards to you. Apparently some evidence was tampered with, so he says, but no one had had access to it except for him so it couldn't have been."

"What evidence?"

"The Pensieve memories. Of you and Voldemort."

Harry felt his knees unlock and he fell back onto the cot. No fucking way that wasn't Voldemort tampering with evidence. What were the chances that it had just happened by fluke?

But then, Voldemort hated him. He had to. Harry had betrayed him, abandoned him. The man would be a fool to interfere at the Ministry again after what he'd been through here.

Hermione was still talking.

"…believes it. They were his most valuable asset in showing your… affection towards him. And his to you. No one else even saw them besides him so he can't use memories of them from another person, and obviously his own memories of them would be less compelling."

Which was all well and good, but—

"They will still use Veritaserum on me, though, won't they? That's all they really need."

Hermione took a breath and nodded sadly.

"Yes, that may still be what seals it for you. But for Percy, this is not looking good. His evidence is gone, he's determined to imprison you to the point where he seems almost comical. The public are not happy about it."

"So what happens if he's kicked out?"

"Your trial will still happen on Thursday, but it will likely be overseen by a new Minister."

"Who?" he asked, even though he thought he knew the answer.

Hermione pursed her lips.

"Well, I can't say for certain, but it's usually the Senior Undersecretary that takes the job until there can be an election."

Harry scoffed. Bloody brilliant.

"Jeffers," he cursed. "Wonderful. That man hates me."

"Well, so did Percy, so you're not in it any worse than you would have been."

Harry sighed. What did it matter? Hermione was right, Percy or Jeffers, it didn't change a damn thing for him. He was still going to Azkaban.