The Mirror of Eidrokcuf

by Kayliana

Harry never imagined that he'd find himself cooperating with Voldemort, but that was before the two of them were locked in a room without their magic and ordered to have sex by a very angry mirror. (Or: a crack-y f*ck-or-die fic that grew feelings. Takes place early in Deathly Hallows.) ARCHIVEOFOUROWN(d o t)ORG FOR UPDATES

2. Chapter 2

A/N:

Thank you for the lovely comments! So, this started as a oneshot but it kinda got away from me and it's going to be a much longer fic than I'd intended, so buckle up :) There's less sex in this chapter, but a lot of setup for what's to come.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2:

"Okay," Harry said, nearly collapsing back onto the bed beside Voldemort and trying to catch his breath, "you win. You proved it—twice. My mind is completely blown."

Voldemort smiled and propped himself on his side to lean over Harry. "I win?"

Harry glanced at him, involuntarily smiling back—any smile on Tom Riddle's gorgeous face was contagious and possibly also lethal. "Not like, everything," Harry said, gesturing vaguely at the room and the rest of the world beyond it. "Just this," Harry said, gesturing again at only the two of them. "You win at sex."

Voldemort laughed. "I hope you realize I'm going to quote you on that in my autobiography—it might even be the title… Harry Potter Says I Win At Sex: The Secret Life of Lord Voldemort."

"Oh god, that's terrible. Sounds like Rita Skeeter wrote it."

"Careful, you sound bitter, Harry," he teased. "Although, she has been rather a nuisance to you, hasn't she? Shall I kill her for you?" Voldemort asked, no longer teasing, still idly stroking his fingers through Harry's bangs and staring at his scar.

A chill ran down Harry's spine, effectively killing the afterglow. "No! And don't just casually offer to kill people for me—I don't want that. I'm never going to want that."

Voldemort hummed noncommittally, still playing with Harry's hair.

"Although," Harry said after a moment, "if you felt like ruining her career, I wouldn't object."

"Duly noted," Voldemort said, the hints of another smile twitching at his lips. He laid down, flat on his back beside Harry, and said, "Come here."

Harry turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow next to Voldemort, mirroring their position from a moment ago. "Round three? Or are we going to cuddle a bit first?" Harry asked, smiling.

"Technically it would be round five," Voldemort said, tugging Harry over until he rested his head on Voldemort's chest. For a moment they just laid there, Voldemort running his fingers through Harry's hair, Harry listening to Voldemort's heartbeat, and their soul bond thrumming contentedly between them.

Neither of them mentioned the wands.

It had been rather unmissable, when their wands were finally portkeyed into the room. It was in the middle of Round 1 (which was technically Round 3) and despite being buried inside of Harry at the time, Voldemort immediately sensed the magic of the portkey when it appeared with its cargo. He didn't mention it to Harry.

For his part, Harry noticed during Round 2 (which was technically Round 4). Despite being blissfully distracted and surprised by Voldemort's desire to have Harry inside him again, and despite Harry's atrocious eyesight, it was impossible not to see the entire bloody nightstand that hadn't been there before, innocently sitting by the door with their wands and some kind of book on top of it. He didn't mention it to Voldemort.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, and finally said out loud what they were both feeling. "I don't want to leave here yet." He had the irrational fear that if they left the room, this would all turn out to be a crazy dream and Voldemort would still be trying to kill him and Harry would still be on a hopeless Horcrux hunt.

"I know."

"I don't want to go back to the rest of the world, and I don't even want to think about all the shit we're going to have to sort out with each other."

Voldemort pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead. "It's not a discussion we should put off."

Harry shifted, hiding his face in the curve of Voldemort's neck. "We're going to end up arguing. I don't want to argue right now." Harry kissed Voldemort's neck and traced a hand slowly up his chest.

"Harry. Stop trying to distract me."

Harry sighed. "Fine."

"Let's just try to make it quick and painless… Give me three conditions that are absolutely non-negotiable for you. Go."

Harry sighed again. "Fine… Stop attacking Muggles and Muggleborns, stop encouraging that Pureblood supremacy bullshit, and you're not allowed to make any more Horcruxes."

"Hmm."

"Really? That's all you've got to say, is hmm?"

"I asked for non-negotiables. Were you expecting me to try to negotiate?"

"Well, yeah."

"Well, surprise," he said dryly. "I'll accept your non-negotiables if you agree to mine. First, you'll allow me to put the full range of Horcrux protective spells on you, and you'll live with me for the foreseeable future. Second, you'll assist me with a political takeover and massive overhaul of the Ministry, the details of which we'll decide together. Third, you're going to finish your magical education at Hogwarts, and then continue it further with me as your personal instructor."

"Those don't sound too bad," Harry said cautiously.

"Yes, clearly you're getting the better deal here. You're only asking me to disavow the main selling-point for most of my followers."

"And you're okay with that?"

Voldemort was silent for a moment, still absently stroking Harry's hair. "The thing about politics, about gathering a following, is that you have to play to your base and give the people who are willing to support you what they want, even if it doesn't align perfectly with your own beliefs."

"Are you going to try to tell me you secretly love Muggles? Because I'm not that stupid."

"Merlin, no. I detest them and that's not going to change. But the 'Pureblood supremacy bullshit' was more of an acquiescence to my followers than something I truly believe."

"It would be pretty hypocritical of you," Harry muttered.

"You know about my father, then?"

"I also know you killed him, and your grandparents."

"And I'll never regret that. But back to the point, yes, I'm a half-blood and I'm the most powerful wizard alive. Clearly blood status isn't what matters—magic is what matters."

"So you wouldn't have a problem with my friend Hermione, then? She's Muggleborn and she's the most brilliant witch in our year."

"Am I to meet your friends already? Are we quite there yet?" Voldemort asked lightly.

"Maybe. Don't dodge the question."

"Magic is might," Voldemort murmured. "I'll be respectful to your friends as long as they show me the same courtesy."

"And what are you going to do about your Death Eaters?"

"Their orders are about to drastically change. Those who can't or won't adapt will not survive, it's as simple as that."

Harry was silent for a moment, wondering if he should argue on principle against the implied murder, but he finally just said, "All right."

"So you accept my conditions?" Voldemort asked, then winced. "Let me rephrase that, I sounded like that infernal mirror."

Harry laughed and blurted, "Acknowledged!"

"Stop it. Do you agree to my three non-negotiable requests?"

"Yes, if you agree to mine."

"All right then. I think it's customary to seal agreements like this with a kiss."

"I think you're full of it," Harry said, but he smiled and leaned up to kiss him anyway. Harry's scar still tingled pleasantly whenever they kissed, so he took his time, deepening the kiss and running his hands through Voldemort's hair. Voldemort's hands slid up Harry's sides, slowly, before cradling his face and gently breaking the kiss.

"Let's take care of the Horcrux protective enchantments," Voldemort suggested.

"You don't want like, an actual Oath for our agreement?" Harry asked.

"That would be rather stupid, wouldn't it? Wizard's Oaths and Unbreakable Vows severely punish anyone who breaks them. And with our connection, if one of us is punished so is the other."

"Right," Harry said, feeling foolish for having asked. "So, we just—trust each other?"

"The concept is as foreign to me as I imagine it is for you. But I'm sure we'll manage somehow. Now, the protective enchantments?"

Harry sighed, and stole one more brief kiss before shifting over and laying back down beside Voldemort. "Fine. What do I have to do?"

Voldemort sat up and wordlessly summoned his wand from across the room. "Nothing. You just lay there and look pretty," he said, throwing a wink at Harry.

Harry laughed. "You're terrible."

Voldemort tilted his head in acknowledgement, then started applying the spells, briefly explaining each of them to Harry as he performed them. There was one to make him more resistant to spell damage as well as physical damage, and one that would sense danger and draw from his magic to automatically protect him if attacked while unconscious. Voldemort also added one that would strengthen their mental connection and make it possible for Harry to bring the two of them into a mindscape if he wanted, and another that would allow them to draw from each other's magic in case of emergencies. He also set up mental barriers to protect Harry from outside Legilimency attacks, since Harry had never gotten the hang of it himself.

He insisted on fixing Harry's vision too, citing his reliance on glasses as a liability to Harry and to the Horcrux. "But it'll draw attention if I suddenly stop wearing my glasses," Harry griped, but he allowed Voldemort to carry on. Voldemort simply tapped Harry's glasses with his wand and turned the lenses to regular, clear glass. "Great," Harry said, "you've turned me into a douchebag who wears fake glasses."

Voldemort smirked and put the finishing touches on the final spell, then lowered his wand. "All done. You're probably the most protected Horcrux to ever exist."

"So, what, if someone hexes me it'll just bounce off?"

"Not exactly. Any spells or curses meant to seriously harm you will be absorbed and dissipated by the protective enchantments. Minor spells and spells without harmful intent can still affect you. And obviously you should stay away from Basilisk venom, Dementors, and Fiendfyre."

"I'd say 'no problem' but I've already had run-ins with all of those, so," Harry shrugged. "I'll try."

Voldemort said nothing, but set his wand aside on the mattress and laid back down next to Harry. After a moment, he said, "Shall we see to your people first, or mine?"

"What do you mean by see to?"

"They're going to demand an explanation from you, surely?"

"Explanation for what?"

"For us, you idiot."

"Well, they won't know who you really are, so we'll just make up a story. Use a fake name and say you saved me from a hoard of Death Eaters or something, and then we started a whirlwind romance."

"No."

"No?"

"I won't be starting over from scratch with a false identity. I'm not throwing away everything I've built and everything I am."

"But Dumbledore said—"

"Dumbledore can go hang. Preferably over a bonfire."

"You said we're taking over the Ministry though? You mean for us to do that as Voldemort and Harry Potter? How's that supposed to work?"

"Technically I already have control of the Ministry. Scrimgeour's successor is an imbecile, and under the Imperius on top of that. But it won't be sustainable—the grip I have on the Ministry now is based on confusion and fear—it was a shadow takeover, and eventually there will be dissent and rebellions. I intend for the two of us to announce an end to the war, use our alliance to legitimately gain political and public favor, and make ourselves indispensible to the wellbeing of the Magical world."

"Sounds exhausting," Harry said.

"You're exhausting."

Harry yawned. "Back at you. Think it's safe to sleep here?" He stretched out beside Voldemort, shifting to get more comfortable. He rested his head on Voldemort's shoulder.

"Probably not. We really shouldn't have stayed this long—theoretically, Grindelwald could come back at any moment, or he could portkey something horrible into the room with us since he knows exactly where we are."

"Okay, nope, let's go. Like now." Harry reluctantly stood up and looked around for his clothes. He grabbed them off the floor and started to dress, while Voldemort showed off by wandlessly summoning his own clothes again.

"And where will we be going first? You never answered me," Voldemort said, somehow fully dressed already while Harry had only managed to get one leg into his trousers.

"I reckon my friends will be easier to convince than your followers…You seriously want to carry on as yourself? That's going to make this, like, an impossible sell. Ron and Hermione are going to think I'm Imperiused or on a love potion or something."

"If it doesn't go well, we can always Obliviate them."

"I'd really rather not."

"Then be persuasive." Voldemort headed for the door, pausing to examine the book on the nightstand beside Harry's wand. He cast a series of silent spells at it before seeming to decide it wasn't dangerous, then he cautiously opened the cover.

"What is it?" Harry asked, dressed now and coming to stand at Voldemort's side.

Voldemort flipped through the first few pages, brows furrowing as he read through hand-written pages full of runes, diagrams, and complicated arithmancy equations that Harry couldn't ever hope to understand.

"I think it's the ritual they invented for us…but this is impossible. It's ridiculous—the leaps in logic are so drastic they're practically madness. These specific spells shouldn't interact that way—it's not how these types of magic work." He went on in a similar vein, grumbling under his breath about how so-and-so's-theorem should negate the effect of the principle of whatever, especially when combined with the law of something-or-other—Harry didn't bother paying close attention since it all went right over his head.

Harry peered at the page for a moment, then admitted, "I have no clue what we're looking at."

Voldemort just shook his head and closed the book before tucking it into a pocket of his robes. "I have no clue how it even worked," he said, and was clearly furious about it.

"You'll figure it out," Harry said, taking one of Voldemort's hands in his own to get his attention. "Don't get all stroppy right before we go to meet my friends," he teased, reaching a hand up to Voldemort's neck to guide him down into a kiss.

Voldemort kissed him back hungrily, pressing Harry back against the door and running his hands through his hair. Harry returned the favor, finding himself a little bit obsessed with Voldemort's hair now that he had hair. After much too short of a moment, Voldemort broke the kiss and took a step back. "We really should be going."

"All right," Harry said. "Can we Apparate out, or are there wards up?"

Voldemort closed his eyes for a second, reaching out with his magic. "We can Apparate. Show me where we're going and I'll side-along you."

"Show you?"

"Picture it clearly in your mind," Voldemort said, tipping Harry's chin up and forcing eye contact.

"Oh. Right." Harry envisioned Grimmauld Place as clearly as he could, and said, "It's under a Fidelus, so I probably have to tell you too. It's Number 12 Grimmauld Place. My godfather Sirius left it to me, and the Order was using it as headquarters but they've cleared out ever since Snape, you know, picked a side. He had access to it so it's not exactly secure, but it was the best hiding place we could think of yesterday."

Voldemort blinked and stared at him with a half-surprised half-perplexed expression.

"What?" Harry asked, realizing that he'd been rambling a bit.

"You trust much too easily," Voldemort murmured, shaking his head.

"I really don't," Harry replied. "Not usually. But I trust that you're not going to hurt me. And you want me to stick around and cooperate with your plans, so I trust that you're not going to do anything stupid like hurt my friends. And I would be very annoyed if you sent Death Eaters trampling around what's technically my house, so," Harry shrugged.

Voldemort smiled, "How Slytherin of you."

Harry just shrugged again. "Come on, Apparate us before I lose my nerve. I hate side-alonging."

"Very well." Voldemort stepped closer and took Harry's arm, took one last brief look at the room that had been their temporary prison, then Disapparated.

They reappeared on the front lawn of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and Harry swayed on his feet. Voldemort reached out to steady him with both hands on his shoulders.

"I hate travelling like that," Harry muttered.

"Then you'll have to practice Apparating yourself, won't you?" Voldemort said absently, letting go of Harry and starting for the front door, beckoning for Harry to follow. "We shouldn't linger outside. Who is likely to be in the house?"

"It was just me, Hermione, and Ron, last I knew. Oh, and Kreacher, the house-elf," Harry said, "but technically anybody in the Order could show up if they wanted."

"Hm. Let's hope they don't."

"Let me go first," Harry said, opening the door. He remembered too late to warn about the fake-ghost of Dumbledore—it was swirling up in front of them, and Voldemort's wand was out in seconds, but Harry put a hand on his arm and said, "Don't. It's just there to scare off Snape if he drops by." Harry looked at the ghost-Dumbledore, and said, "I didn't kill you," then, as it started to disintegrate, Harry muttered, "but I've lost all desire to avenge your death, that's for sure."

"Who's there?" came Hermione's voice from the next room.

"It's Harry," he called.

Hermione didn't let her guard down so quickly, and asked, "What was the name of the three-headed dog we had to sneak past?"

"Fluffy," Harry answered, smiling at the memory.

"Oh thank god," Hermione said—she was still in the other room but her voice was moving closer. "Where have you been? We got Kreacher talking and figured out where the locket is, and—oh, er, hello," Hermione came into view in the doorway and realized that Harry wasn't alone.

Harry could feel the sudden tension through his bond with Voldemort—something primal and panicked that had started to pound like a heartbeat at the mention of the locket, an undercurrent of where is it must protect it so few left find it find it WHERE that had Harry reaching out to preemptively put a hand on Voldemort's wand arm, both to discourage him from drawing it and to try to calm him down.

It seemed to help, because Voldemort collected himself enough to offer a polite, "You're Hermione, I presume?"

"I am. And you are?" Hermione asked, eyeing Voldemort warily.

Harry quickly jumped in with, "Er, that's kind of a long story. But it's fine, I trust him. He's…an ally." And then, because the urgency overflowing from Voldemort's side of the bond was getting unbearable, Harry added, "Where's the locket?"

"That's sort of a long story too," Hermione said, still watching Voldemort cautiously. She was clearly unsure of how much to say in front of him. "But the, er, High Inquisitor has it," she said obliquely.

"Umbridge?" Harry groaned. "How? Why?"

"Dolores Umbridge? From the Ministry?" Voldemort asked.

"Yeah. Merlin, I hate that sadistic toad," Harry muttered, his tone vicious.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at the outburst. "Dare I ask?"

Harry held up his hand, squeezing it into a fist so the I must not tell lies scar stood out. "She's pure evil. And when she was at Hogwarts, she liked to make me write lines."

Voldemort peered at Harry's hand, then his eyes widened slightly and he seized it in his own hands, examining it closer with his eyes and his magic. "Is this from a blood quill?" Voldemort asked, his tone deadly.

"Yep."

"I am going to disembowel her."

"No, we talked about this," Harry chided, but his tone was light, almost teasing.

"You said no more casual murder offers. Disembowelment isn't murder."

Harry was about to argue, but Hermione cut in with a slightly alarmed, "I'd really like to know who your friend is now, Harry."

Harry glanced at Hermione, then back at Voldemort. He lowered his voice and said, "Maybe I should tell them alone? You could go get the locket, and by the time you're back we can all be on the same page and talk things out a bit more."

"If you think that would be best," Voldemort said quietly, glancing Hermione's way for a brief moment, then squeezing Harry's hand again before letting go and stepping backwards towards the door. "I'll return shortly." He seemed reluctant to actually leave, lingering by the door and not breaking eye contact with Harry.

"No disembowelment," Harry teased, but he was also suddenly reluctant to be separated from Voldemort.

"No promises," Voldemort teased back. Then he remembered their audience, sent a polite nod towards Hermione, and stepped outside. Seconds later Harry heard the crack of Disapparation, and he felt surprisingly empty without Voldemort there.

"Harry, who was that and where have you been?" Hermione asked, finally approaching him and throwing her arms around him. "We woke up and you were just gone! We were this close to going out and searching for you."

Harry hugged her back, and said, "It really is a long story. Where's Ron? I don't want to tell it twice."

"We've been sleeping in shifts since you disappeared yesterday. I'll wake him up." She patted him on the shoulder, then headed up the stairs to fetch Ron.

Harry went in the kitchen and started making tea because it was the polite thing to do, and also because if he timed his reveals right he'd get to watch his friends do spit-takes.

He had three cups of tea ready by the time Hermione reappeared with Ron—he'd considered making a fourth in case Voldemort returned, but decided not to since he didn't know how he took his tea.

Ron rubbed his eyes and eagerly grabbed his cup of tea, lightly punching Harry on the shoulder. "Where've you been, you git?"

Harry forced a smile, realizing that he had no idea how to even begin. "Let's go in the sitting room, and I'll explain."

There were two loveseats and an uncomfortable-looking wingback chair placed around the fireplace in the sitting room. Ron and Hermione took one loveseat, and Harry took the other, wishing that Voldemort was sharing it with him. "Well, er," Harry began.

"Spit it out, mate," Ron said, lifting his teacup to his lips.

"Okay, I'm trying. There's so much, I don't know what to even start with…Okay, er—first off, I guess, is that Grindelwald escaped from Nurmengard."

Spit-take number one. "What?" Ron said, wiping his mouth. "Seriously? Do we have to fight two Dark Lords now?"

"Not exactly," Harry hedged.

Hermione was giving him a more serious look, "Harry, that wizard with you, was that him?"

"Grindelwald? No."

"What wizard?" Ron asked, glancing around. "Is someone else here?"

"No, look, I'll get to that part," Harry said. "Er, so I don't know how exactly he got a hold of me—there's a bit of a blank spot in my memory—but I woke up and Grindelwald locked me into this room. I didn't know he was Grindelwald though, not until the end." Harry paused for a moment, realizing that if he told the story chronologically he was going to give his friends heart attacks. He wished Voldemort were there—he would know how best to tell the story to make Ron and Hermione understand. "So, er, Grindelwald and Dumbledore's portrait came up with this really terrible fucked-up plan to try to stop Voldemort and end the war."

Ron looked confused, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Grindelwald and Dumbledore's portrait?" she repeated skeptically.

"Apparently they were former lovers," Harry offered, just as Ron took another sip of tea. Spit-take number two.

"Ronald," Hermione scolded, waving her wand to clean up the mess.

"I can't help it! It's his fault," he said, gesturing at Harry, who was trying to hold back a grin. Ron pointedly set his tea down on the side table.

"Anyway," Harry said, "er, their plan involved locking me and Voldemort in a room together wearing magic-repressing collars, and, well," Harry trailed off, unable to say the rest when his friends were already shocked and horrified by just that much.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispered.

"So," Ron asked cautiously, "did you kill him?"

"No," Harry said, "but the war's over. Or it will be soon."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, while we were locked up, we realized that," Harry hesitated, genuinely worried about how they would take this next part, "apparently, when Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, he accidentally made me a Horcrux."

Hermione gasped, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Ron's face paled. Neither of them said anything.

Harry forced a wobbly smile and said, "Say something?"

"I don't know what to say," Hermione whispered.

"I'm still me," Harry said, almost desperately. "I've always been me, there's just," he trailed off.

"A piece of You-Know-Who's soul inside you," Ron supplied, still looking shell-shocked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"Harry," Hermione said, catching his eye, "We'll always be your friends, no matter what. You know that, right?"

"Of course," Harry said, pretending like he hadn't just been terrified that they would abandon him. "Thank you. I don't deserve you two."

"Of course you do," Hermione said, then she asked, "So, how did V-Voldemort react?"

"He did a complete one-eighty and said I'm under his protection now. He's not going to kill me, or hurt anyone I care about. We're going to announce a truce or something like that, soon."

Hermione's face was pale and she didn't say anything, but Harry guessed that she had just realized who her mystery guest had been.

"Bloody hell," Ron said.

"And, er, there's more—it kind of, gets worse," Harry said, forcing the words out before he could change his mind about sharing this part. "Grindelwald and Dumbledore's plan—they invented some kind of insane experimental ritual to put two of Voldemort's other Horcruxes back into his main soul. It made him more stable, more human." Harry couldn't bear to look at his friends anymore—he didn't want to see their reactions to this so he laced his hands together in his lap and stared at them instead. "But, er, we didn't know about any of that until it was all over. We didn't know who had captured us or why. We were just locked in a room together without our magic and told that we had 24 hours to have sex with each other or else we would both die."

Silence.

Harry still didn't dare to look up, so he rambled on, "So, obviously we did, and I doubt you want the details but it was as consensual as it could be, under the circumstances. We decided to make the best of it, and it was actually bloody amazing, and, er, we talked through a lot of things in this shared mindscape where Grindelwald couldn't spy on us. Once Grindelwald let us go, Voldemort fixed my Horcrux so my scar won't hurt anymore, and we're going to call off the war and take over the Ministry together instead. So…that's where we are now," Harry finished lamely, finally daring to glance up at his friends.

Ron looked horrorstruck. Hermione looked ready to cry, and as soon as Harry's eyes met hers, she launched herself across the space between them and pulled him into a fierce hug. "I am so sorry, Harry," she said into his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said quietly. "I mean, we were both forced into it, it's not like—" he trailed off and cleared his throat. "It could've been a lot worse," he said.

Hermione just hugged him tighter.

Ron cleared his throat, and said, "Did you just say you're going to take over the Ministry with You-Know-Who?"

"Yeah, but it's not as bad as it sounds," Harry said, grateful for the change of subject. "He's going to stop all the blood-purity rot, and he's going to get rid of any Death Eaters who won't adapt to the changes."

"Oh, well that's all right, then," Ron muttered sarcastically. "You realize how crazy this all sounds, yeah?"

"Believe me, I know," Harry said. "But he'll be back before long, and he can probably explain better—"

"Back? What do you mean, back? He was here?" Ron's voice went up a few octaves.

Hermione finally let go of Harry, patting his arms before giving him some space. She sat back down next to Ron and answered for him, "He was with Harry when he came back. I didn't know who he was then, but I met him for a moment. He was—polite, but still rather scary. He looked human, and he seemed, well, very fond of Harry," she said, blushing a bit.

"Merlin," Ron said. "You brought You-Know-Who here, to the Order's base, where your Muggleborn friend is hiding? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"He's not going to hurt us," Harry argued, but he was interrupted by the front door opening, and the fake-Dumbledore-ghost howling to life again.

Ron and Hermione both froze.

"I didn't kill you," Voldemort's voice said clearly, carrying from the other room. The ghost went silent, and Voldemort added, "Not directly, anyway."

Harry stood and went to the doorway that connected the sitting room to the entrance hall, and called out, "Who is it?"

He could hear the smirk in Voldemort's voice when he replied, "You know who."

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, then at Harry. "Did he just make a pun?" Ron asked, looking faint.

Harry ignored them, and called, "Prove it."

"Shall I describe what I did the last time you told me to prove it, Harry?"

Harry choked and tied not to blush. "Nope! No need," he called, then told his friends, "that's definitely him. Stay here a minute."

Harry ignored the whispered bickering that started up between his friends, and he stepped out into the entryway. A wave of relief and rightness hit him once he was close to Voldemort again. Voldemort met him halfway across the room and pulled him into a hug that sent their soul bond into a fit of happy buzzing.

"That was quick," Harry said. "Did you get it?"

Voldemort leaned back just far enough to pull the locket out from where it was hidden beneath his shirt. He took the locket off and put it around Harry's neck instead. It felt warm, and seemed to have a quiet, distant heartbeat of its own. "Don't worry, I told it to play nice," Voldemort said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So it's not going to try to possess me or my friends like the diary did?"

"Not at all. It's more or less hibernating right now."

Harry hummed, then asked, "What did you do to Umbridge?"

Voldemort smirked. "Nothing drastic—I merely set her to writing some lines," he said, faux-innocently.

Harry laughed. "Perfect."

"Except hers are appearing on her face instead of her hand."

"What do they say?"

"I am only alive due to Harry Potter's mercy, which I do not deserve."

"Sounds about right," Harry said, and he was leaning in to kiss Voldemort when the Dark Lord's eyes flicked to the side. Harry followed his glance, and saw Ron and Hermione silently lurking in the doorway. Harry paused, and took a half step back. "Oh, er," he realized he never really did a proper introduction last time, and awkwardly said, "These are my best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Ron, Hermione, this is Voldemort."

"Pleasure to meet you," Voldemort said, pulling out the old Tom Riddle charisma. "I've heard wonderful things about you."

"Can't really say the same," Ron piped up, to Hermione's visible horror. "But Harry seems to think you've changed, so…" he trailed off, seeming to lose his nerve at that point.

"A lot of things have changed," Voldemort allowed, before turning his attention back to Harry. "As a matter of fact, while I was at the Ministry, I cancelled several of the more drastic plans that were about to go into effect. Left the place in a bit of an uproar. There'll be a Death Eater meeting tomorrow night to give them their new orders. You and I should have at least a general outline of a plan by then."

Harry nodded, then yawned and leaned forward to rest his head on Voldemort's shoulder. "Tired," he mumbled.

Voldemort stroked his fingers through Harry's hair for a moment, then said, "Let's go to bed, then. Where are the bedrooms?"

"Upstairs," Harry said, fighting back another yawn, "We can use Sirius's, his name's on the door." Voldemort nudged Harry until he started moving towards the stairs. He grabbed one of Voldemort's hands, leading him along. "Night guys," Harry told Ron and Hermione as he passed, "please don't freak out and call the Order, or anything."

"We won't," Hermione promised, glancing from Harry to Voldemort.

"I'll be warding his room to within an inch of its life," Voldemort warned them, "so don't try to disturb us unless there's an emergency."

Hermione and Ron both nodded, paling slightly.

"Also, I require a Wizard's Oath from both of you, swearing that you won't tell anyone else what Harry has told you tonight about the two of us, and that you won't otherwise sabotage our safety or our plans."

"Is that really necessary?" Harry asked, then yawned again.

"Yes. I don't trust them as you do. I've only just met them. Humor me, and be our bonder?"

"Fine," Harry said. "Come on, guys."

Voldemort extended a hand, and Ron and Hermione very reluctantly stretched out theirs as well, placing them on top of Voldemort's palm. Harry placed his wand on their joined hands while Voldemort said, "Do you swear not to repeat any information Harry told you tonight about the events that transpired to bring us together, unless he or I give you express permission to do so? And do you swear not to intentionally sabotage our safety or our future plans?"

"I swear," Hermione said.

"I swear," Ron muttered.

Strings of light swirled around their hands, then disappeared.

"Much appreciated," Voldemort said, pulling his arm away and placing it around Harry's shoulders instead, ushering him towards the stairs. "We'll see you tomorrow, then."

Harry leaned into Voldemort's touch, yawned again, and said, "Night, guys."

Harry and Voldemort were halfway up the stairs when Harry heard Ron mutter to Hermione, "You saw that, right? They're acting like bloody newlyweds."

Harry chuckled, and squeezed Voldemort's hand. "I think that went well," he said, through another yawn.

"I suppose," Voldemort said, ushering Harry into Sirius's room. He stopped just inside the doorway, staring in partially-concealed horror at the posters of cars and Muggle swimsuit models, and the Gryffindor banner. "Charming," he said sarcastically, then closed the door and started applying every non-lethal privacy and defensive ward he knew.

Harry set his glasses on the nightstand, then flopped down onto the bed and fell asleep in seconds.

Voldemort finished the wards, and then sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Harry. He took out his wand and transfigured Harry's clothes into comfortable pajamas—Slytherin green to match his eyes, of course—and then levitated him carefully in order to pull down the comforter and blankets Harry hadn't bothered to get under. He set Harry back down, transfigured his own clothes into black silk pajamas, then climbed into bed beside Harry, wrapping one arm around the boy and pulling the blankets back up over both of them. Voldemort's hand automatically clutched the locket, holding it securely where it rested against Harry's heart. Finally he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep.

Harry woke first, wrapped up in Voldemort's arms and in the strongest sense of warmth and safety he'd ever experienced. He opened his eyes and was startled for a second by the fact that he could see clearly right away, without putting on his glasses, but then he remembered that Voldemort had fixed his eyesight. At some point in the night, Harry and Voldemort had turned towards each other and curled into an embrace, their legs tangled and their foreheads pressed together. Harry leaned back far enough to get a look at Voldemort's sleeping, unguarded expression—he looked younger, deceptively innocent, and stunningly beautiful. One of his hands was clutched around the locket Harry still wore. Harry decided to try to get up without waking him, so he carefully slipped the chain of the locket off of his own neck, and let it settle in the space between them. Harry started to slowly pull away, but then Voldemort's breathing changed and his eyes blinked open to meet Harry's.

"Harry," he murmured.

Harry smiled, and said, "Good morning."

Harry closed the distance between them and started a slow, lazy kiss that escalated into slow, lazy handjobs that escalated into a shedding of clothes and a whispered lubrication spell and slow, lazy morning sex.

"Oh yes, right there," Harry moaned as Voldemort's fingers moved inside him and brushed his prostate.

Voldemort smiled against Harry's lips, added a third finger, and repeated the motion. "Ready?"

"I've been ready, come on," Harry pleaded, shifting his hips and wrapping his legs around Voldemort.

"So impatient," he teased, but he withdrew his fingers and moved closer, lining his erection up with Harry's entrance. He leaned down over Harry and pressed a kiss to his lips as he slid inside, swallowing the boy's delicious moans.

"Fuck," Harry breathed, loving the stretch, the fullness, the feeling of Voldemort inside him and all around him—he was already addicted to this.

Voldemort stayed still for a moment, doing nothing but kissing Harry deeply and letting him adjust. After a moment, he said "All right?"

"Yes, move," Harry said, his hands coming up to run through Voldemort's hair as he pulled him into another kiss.

Voldemort smiled into the kiss, then pulled out and thrust back in, slowly, gently, like they had all the time in the world. He ran his hand down Harry's side, fingertips tingling with wandless magic that sent a buzz of pleasure through his entire body.

Harry jolted and broke the kiss to breathe, "What was that? Do it again."

"Interestingly enough, it's a cousin of the Cruciatus," Voldemort said casually in a professorly tone, despite being balls-deep inside of Harry, "except instead of sending pain signals to every nerve ending in the body, it sends pleasure."

"You have to teach me that," Harry said, kissing him again and shifting his hips to meet Voldemort's slow thrusts. "Later though—just keep doing it now."

"So demanding," Voldemort murmured, but he complied, sending another jolt of magic through Harry's body. He did it again, this time coordinating it with his cock hitting Harry's prostate, and that was it for Harry—he hissed Voldemort's name and came with his cock untouched.

A few more thrusts, and then Voldemort was spilling inside of Harry, his mouth latched onto his neck, kissing him there and marking him (again). He pulled back slightly to rest his forehead against Harry's for a moment, then leaned in for a kiss, both of them sated and smiling against each other's lips as they caught their breath.

"Very good morning," Harry corrected his earlier statement.

"Indeed."

Harry kissed Voldemort again, then pulled away and started to climb out of bed. Voldemort didn't make any move to follow, idly stroking the locket that had ended up back around his own neck while he watched Harry get dressed.

"Do you like French Toast?" Harry asked.

"What?" Voldemort was a bit distracted by the curve of Harry's arse as he bent over to retrieve a stray sock from the floor.

"French Toast. Do you like it?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because I'm going to go make some for breakfast," Harry said, putting his glasses on out of habit and glancing over his shoulder as he headed for the door. "So don't fall back asleep."

Voldemort didn't reply but sent him the kind of smile that almost made Harry turn around and jump back into bed with him for another round. Harry valiantly resisted the urge, and smiled back before closing the door behind him.

Harry made sure to keep quiet going down the stairs, unsure whether Ron and Hermione would still be asleep. It turned out they had both spent the night in the sitting room, each stretching out on one of the loveseats. After he found them, Harry snuck back into the kitchen, careful to stay quiet as he cooked enough French Toast for four people to feast on. He wondered whether Kreacher would pop out and have a conniption about Harry cooking his own food, but either the House Elf didn't notice or just didn't care.

Harry was plating the food when Ron and Hermione wandered in, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and heading straight for the teapot. Harry flinched when he saw the movement in his peripheral vision—anytime he cooked, years of conditioning had him still half-expecting Aunt Petunia to whack him with a spatula for inevitably messing the food up with his freakishness. Harry pushed those thoughts away and forced a smile for his friends.

"Just in time," Harry said, setting down plates for both of them, then starting to make a third. Ron wasted no time digging into his, but Hermione was waiting for Harry to join them. She blinked when Harry simply set the third plate down at the table and started on a fourth.

"Oh, right," she said under her breath.

"Hmm?" Ron asked. "This is delicious," he told Harry through a mouthful of food.

"Is he coming down for breakfast, then?" Hermione asked, and Ron paused as he remembered their newest addition.

Voldemort, with impeccable timing, stepped through the doorway and said, "He is, in fact," causing Ron to jump. "Good morning to both of you." They both mumbled back awkward polite greetings and became very interested in their plates. Voldemort passed Harry on his way to the table, ghosting his fingertips along the back of Harry's neck as he walked by. "And a very good morning to you, Harry."

Harry blushed as he brought his own plate and cup of tea to the table, sitting down at the same time as Voldemort. "Not at the table," he muttered, taking a sip of tea.

Voldemort smirked, and hissed in Parseltongue, "How about on top of the table, as soon as they leave?"

Harry choked on his tea.

"Ha!" Ron said, pointing at Harry, "That's karma for yesterday, making me spit out my tea."

"I have no idea what you're on about," Harry said, playing innocent.

Hermione shook her head with a fond smile and started on her French Toast. Voldemort's eyes glanced back and forth between the three of them, and a few surprisingly un-awkward moments passed with everyone just enjoying their breakfast.

Harry cleared his throat. "So—we're supposed to agree on a plan by tonight, then?" he asked, deliberately bringing it up in front of Ron and Hermione so he could get their input.

Voldemort glanced towards Ron and Hermione then back at Harry, and he decided not to argue against their inclusion. "We don't have to figure everything out right away, obviously. It doesn't even have to be our real plan, we just need something to spin to the Death Eaters so they won't riot."

"Just tell them you have me Imperiused," Harry suggested, taking another bite of his food.

Voldemort shook his head. "Too many people know you can resist it." He was quiet for a moment, then suggested, "We could always tell them the truth—or a version of it, anyway."

"What, that we bonded over our fuck-or-die trauma?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, and glanced towards Ron and Hermione who were awkwardly looking anywhere else.

Harry shrugged and said, "I don't keep secrets from them. I did tell them everything—well, not in detail, but everything important."

Voldemort seemed skeptical, and asked in Parseltongue, "They know you're my Horcrux?"

Harry deliberately answered in English, "Yes, they know I'm your Horcrux."

"And they know who took us and why?"

"Yes, they know Dumbledore's portrait and Grindelwald took us for a ritual to fix your soul."

"And my intention for us to take over the Ministry together?"

"Yes, they know we're going Bonnie and Clyde on the Ministry of Magic."

Voldemort rolled his eyes, somehow making it look elegant. He seemed to understand the reference even though Ron looked a bit lost. "What," Voldemort said, "is the point of having our own private language if you're just going to translate everything I say?"

Harry smirked, and hissed in Parseltongue, "Well, it's pretty hot in the bedroom, so there's that."

Voldemort chuckled, and said in English, "I agree, it is pretty hot in the bedroom," turning Harry's strategy against him and smirking when everyone else blushed. "And I find myself very glad I insisted on a Wizard's Oath—I didn't actually think you'd tell them everything."

Harry shrugged and said, "Yeah, well. Anyway—plans. We were going to make them?"

"As I was saying," Voldemort said pointedly, "we could tell them part of the truth. That we've agreed on a truce and that you're my…I think consort would be the appropriate term."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I don't like that—sounds too much like escort. How about co-Lord?" he asked, with a defiant smirk.

Voldemort quirked an eyebrow. "You're presumptuous this morning. What's gotten into you?"

"Besides you?"

Ron choked, and Hermione finally spoke up. "Harry, we love you, but please stop talking about your sex life at the table."

Harry blushed, and sputtered, "No, I just meant the Horcrux, not—anything else."

Hermione pointedly glanced at the hickey on Harry's neck, then gave him a dubious look and went back to her French Toast.

Harry desperately cast around for a change of subject, and blurted out the first thing that popped into his head, asking Voldemort, "Are we going to have to get married?"

Three sets of eyes stared at Harry in shock, and then Voldemort just started laughing.

"Oh, that's nice," Harry muttered.

"Why on earth would we have to get married?" Voldemort asked, still chuckling.

"I don't know—isn't that what they did in the old days, when rival countries or families made peace treaties? The heirs got married to seal the truce?"

"These aren't 'the old days,' and we'll be the ones making the rules. We don't have to do anything."

"All right, I was just asking. Stop laughing at me."

"Oh, Harry," Voldemort cooed, teasing him, "was that your way of dropping a hint? Do you want me to propose?"

"No, shut up," Harry grumbled, but Voldemort ignored him and continued the charade.

Voldemort pulled the locket out from his robes, taking it off of his neck and saying, "I don't have a ring, but," he placed the locket around Harry's neck and knelt on the floor by Harry's chair, grasping one of Harry's hands, "Harry James Potter," he said in a solemn tone, despite visibly holding back laughter, "keeper of my soul—will you marry me?"

"Fuck off," Harry muttered, but an involuntary grin spread across his face.

Voldemort heaved a melodramatic sigh, but then he broke into a grin as well, "How will I ever recover from this devastating rejection?"

"I don't know, go take over the world or something," Harry said flippantly, taking a bite of his food and pretending to ignore Voldemort.

"I might just do that," Voldemort said, finally standing and running an affectionate hand through Harry's hair before casually returning to his seat as though joke marriage proposals from the Dark Lord were an everyday thing.

Ron looked traumatized as he leaned over and whispered in Hermione's ear, "What just happened?" but Hermione just shook her head, looking bewildered and reluctantly charmed.

After a few moments, Voldemort said, "I'm not going to tell the Death Eaters you're my co-Lord. First of all, they'd never go for it, and secondly you'd need to come up with an appropriately impressive name, and there just isn't time for that right now." He smirked a little, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Because that's the priority, an impressive name."

"However," Voldemort continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken, "I am going to tell them that we are allies now, that the war is over, and that I will be pursuing my goals primarily through politics instead of overt violence from now on. I'm also going to make sure they know that I will personally eviscerate anyone who tries to harm you—don't argue, Harry, I'm not budging on that," he said, as Harry started to protest.

"My hero," Harry drawled sarcastically.

Voldemort smirked, and reached over to steal a bite of French Toast off of Harry's plate with his fork.

"Stop that," Harry said, his mood darkening. "Eat your own."

"Yours tastes better," Voldemort said playfully, reaching over again.

"Too bad." Harry shifted his plate farther away and curled his arm closer around it.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow and nodded towards Harry's arm, "Do you even realize you've been doing that through the entire meal? Your etiquette needs work."

"Doing what?" Harry glared as Voldemort casually tried to get his fork past Harry to steal another bite. Harry blocked him again and said, "Quit it."

"You're guarding your plate like there's still a ration on," Voldemort answered, his tone lightly teasing. "Quit hoarding the food, brat, you're not going to starve."

Harry snapped and saw red, because he had in fact been nearly starved for most of his childhood, and didn't appreciate the thoughtless reminder from the man who was the reason he'd been sent to the Dursleys in the first place.

Harry stood up so fast his chair fell over backwards, and he shouted, "No thanks to you!" In one motion he swiped his own plate and Voldemort's off the table where they crashed against the wall and shattered. Voldemort, Hermione, and Ron were all frozen to the spot in shock as Harry stormed out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs before slamming the door to whatever room he'd chosen to lock himself in this time.

After what felt like ages, Voldemort blinked, and mused out loud, "I've killed people for less than that."

Ron awkwardly piped up with, "Er—thank you, for not."

Voldemort's attention snapped to Ron and Hermione, and he demanded, "You're his friends—what the hell was that about?"

"Well," Hermione awkwardly began, "It's really not our place to tell you." At Voldemort's glare, she quickly continued, "But Harry was—not well-treated by his relatives. He would never really talk to us about it, but he was always noticeably skinnier and jumpier after the summers were over, when he came back to Hogwarts."

"I see," Voldemort said, silently fuming at the implications. "And did you share your concerns with anyone?"

"He always said not to worry about it," Ron said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"He did, but I went to McGonagall a few times," Hermione admitted, "and I even brought it up to Dumbledore once, but he said that Harry had to stay with his relatives to—" she grimaced apologetically, "to protect him from you."

Ron gave Hermione a forced half-smile and confided, "I actually brought it up with Mum and Dad a bunch of times, asked if he could come live with us—I mean, those Muggles had bars on his windows—but they said Dumbledore knew best."

"So, Harry's Muggle relatives starved and imprisoned him?" Voldemort said, his tone absolutely murderous.

"Please don't run off and kill them," Hermione said, sensing the danger in the air. "Harry would feel guilty and blame himself, and he would resent you for it."

"Resent me? For taking revenge on his abusers? What sense does that make?" Voldemort fumed.

"I think he's tried to put it behind him—he's of age now, so he never has to see them again. I think he's forgiven them, or tried to anyway. You might've noticed that he's got a pretty big capacity for forgiveness," Hermione said pointedly, looking Voldemort in the eye even though he still rather terrified her.

"I don't think he's forgiven me," Voldemort said, startled into honesty by the girl's nerve. "We've simply avoided talking about it… And besides, this outburst proves that he already resents me, so why should I not go ahead and rid the world of that filth?"

"Because Harry thinks you can be better than that," Hermione said.

"Then he should learn not to have unreasonable expectations," Voldemort said, and stood.

Ron and Hermione stood as well, slightly panicked, but Voldemort headed not for the front door, but for the stairway.

"Erm, V-Voldemort?" Hermione hesitantly called. The Dark Lord paused, and she continued, "It's best to let him cool down a while before trying to talk to him. Otherwise his temper just keeps going like Fiendfyre."

Voldemort closed his eyes and mentally prodded at his connection with Harry, which immediately rebuked him with a wall of anger that had him flinching as he opened his eyes again.

"Fine," he conceded, turning and heading for the front door instead.

"Erm?" Ron started, but trailed off nervously.

"I'm not going after Harry's relatives," Voldemort answered the unspoken question. "I'm going to speak to a few of my Death Eaters about the change in plans. They deserve to know before I tell the rest of them tonight."

"We'll, er, see you later, then?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Voldemort nodded, then—after another cautious prod at Harry's side of their bond, which was still roaring in anger—he turned and walked out the front door.

He apparated directly into his chambers at Malfoy Manor, pleased to see Nagini sleeping at the foot of his bed, curled protectively around the golden cup that was no longer a Horcrux but was still a priceless Founder's relic. He decided not to wake her, and quietly left his room and made his way to the dining room that he often used for meetings.

He sat at the head of the table, silently debating which of his Death Eaters he should speak with first.

Finally he decided, and summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey and two tumblers from Malfoy's kitchen before closing his eyes and reaching out through the magic that connected him to his followers' Dark Marks. A few moments later, there was a crack of apparition, and Voldemort opened his eyes.

Severus Snape stood near the other end of the table, staring at his master's changed appearance with well-concealed but still evident shock. "My Lord?" he finally said.

"Severus," Voldemort replied, pouring a glass of whiskey for each of them. "Sit. Have a drink." He slid one of the glasses to the seat at his right.

Severus hesitated, but finally stepped closer and took the offered seat. He curled his hand around the glass of whiskey, but didn't drink it just yet. After a long, rather awkward moment, he said, "You're looking well."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow and said, "Are you implying there was something wrong with how I looked before?" He took a drink of his own whiskey and tried not to laugh as Severus immediately tried to backtrack.

"Not at all, My Lord, I only meant that you look very different than when I last saw you. It suits you." Severus picked up his glass, apparently deciding that drinking was safer than talking.

"Relax," Voldemort said, finishing his whiskey and sitting the empty glass down. "I'm just fucking with you, as Harry would say."

Severus choked on the drink he'd just taken. "My Lord?"

Voldemort sighed, and said, "Things have changed quite drastically, Severus. It seems that Dumbledore," he injected as much contempt as possible into the name, "had one last posthumous trick up his sleeve. A last-ditch all-or-nothing attempt to end the war and settle things between Harry and I." He went quiet for a moment, then said, "Well? Aren't you going to ask? Or were you already aware of this little plot?" he asked, his tone growing considerably colder.

"Of course I wasn't, My Lord. But you're calling him Harry and not speaking of him in the past tense—I'm assuming things were settled?"

Voldemort nodded. "More or less. He's rather cross with me at the moment, though." He poured himself another drink and topped up Severus's, then asked, "What do you know of his Muggle relatives?"

Something in Severus's expression shuttered, and Voldemort knew he was getting close to sensitive topics. He had, after all, killed the woman Severus loved and had asked him to spare. "I knew his mother's sister. She was the worst kind of Muggle—jealous and small-minded and afraid of magic. From what I heard, she ended up marrying an idiotic brute not dissimilar to my father."

"And these are the people Dumbledore left Harry with?"

"Blood protections," Severus said.

"He was starved. Locked up. Probably abused."

Severus blinked. "I—wasn't aware."

Voldemort hummed. "Dumbledore was. And he sent him back anyway, year after year. Just like I was sent back to an underfunded Muggle orphanage in the middle of the London blitz."

"My Lord?"

"Oh, am I oversharing? Too bad. I want you to understand, Severus, because I know damn well that ever since I killed the Potters you've only been on your own side. Not Dumbledore's. Not mine."

"My Lord, I—"

"Don't," Voldemort snapped, interrupting him, "lie to me right now, Severus. I won't take it well." Severus went silent, and Voldemort continued, "Harry's side and my side are now the same—I hope you realize that opposing us would be both futile and monumentally stupid. Now, there will be a meeting tonight, and I'll inform all of the Death Eaters of the change in plans. I'm telling you first." He paused to let that sink in. "The war is over. Harry Potter is under my protection now. All future Death Eater operations will be as covert as possible, and Harry and I are going to gradually take over the Ministry by means of politics and public opinion. There will be no more sanctioned discrimination or violence towards Muggleborns—all of those plans, the Muggleborn registry, excluding them from Hogwarts, the Snatchers, all of that is scrapped. Harry rather insisted," he finished, with a slightly bitter smile.

Severus's jaw actually dropped, and Voldemort privately felt proud to have made such a controlled man lose his composure. After a very long moment of silent gaping, Severus recovered and said carefully, sounding stunned but resigned, "You found out, then. You know what the boy is."

"He is my Horcrux," Voldemort said, and Severus closed his eyes in something like relief. Voldemort's tone chilled as he continued, "And I'm very interested in how you knew about that, and why you didn't inform me immediately."

"Dumbledore's suspicions about the connection between you and the boy were confirmed in Potter's fifth year. Dumbledore told me that the boy was a Horcrux and that he would have to die to defeat you. He made me swear an Oath never to speak of it to anyone who didn't already know." Snape glanced at Voldemort, a hint of nervousness in his expression. "He instructed me to teach Potter Occlumency, but instead of helping him close his mind to the connection between you, I made sure the lessons failed and opened his mind further—I hoped that you would recognize what he was and keep him safe. I—I hoped that the child Lily died to protect wouldn't have to die too… Dumbledore never meant for you to know what he is."

"I fully intend to keep him safe," Voldemort said. He gazed at Severus in silence for a long moment before continuing quietly, "I gave her three chances to step aside, Severus—that's more than I've ever offered anyone who stood in my way. She refused to stop protecting him."

Severus looked away at the ground with a sharp exhalation, and said, "I would expect nothing less of her."

Voldemort politely glanced away while Severus regained his composure. They had never actually talked about it before.

After a long moment, Voldemort said, "Evidently death changed Dumbledore's perspective on the whole situation. He personally made sure that I found out what Harry is."

Severus glanced up, intrigued yet cautious. "Dumbledore? How?"

"His portrait and Gellert Grindelwald locked Harry and I in a room with magic-repressing collars on, and told us if we didn't have sex with each other we'd both be killed."

Severus's eyes snapped up to meet Voldemort's. "What?"

"It was part of a ritual they invented to make some of my Horcruxes return to my main soul."

"Dumbledore's portrait and Gellert Grindelwald?"

"Yes. They'll be dealt with," Voldemort said decisively.

Severus stared at the table in silence for a long moment, then threw back the rest of his whiskey and slid his glass forward for a refill, which Voldemort provided with a chuckle.

"I suppose I should start sending out the Muggleborns' Hogwarts letters, then," Severus said, carefully navigating back to a less volatile topic.

"Of course," Voldemort said, "Headmaster. Congratulations on the promotion."

Severus laughed softly. "You're the one who gave me the job."

"Yes, and you're going to return the favor."

"My Lord?"

"Harry will be returning to Hogwarts next month. I have no intention of leaving him unguarded. I want the Defense Against the Dark Arts job."

"Of course, My Lord," Severus said, then mused aloud, "I'm going to get so many Howlers from parents."

Voldemort smirked, but said, "They won't immediately know it's me. I'll go by my birth name—very few people are aware of it. Professor Tom Marvolo Riddle, at your service," he said, with a slight bow and a flourish of a hand gesture.

"Does this mean I can call you Tom at staff meetings?"

"Only if you're feeling very brave," Voldemort said, then the humor left his eyes as he continued very seriously, "You might still get a few Howlers, though… After everything that's happened, Harry and I are together now—obviously we'll be discreet at Hogwarts but even so, these things have a way of inevitably getting out."

Severus considered this a moment, his expression curiously blank, then he suggested, "There might be a way around the student/teacher scandal. Loathe as I am to give Potter any special treatment, we could always exempt him from the Defense class but still let him take the NEWT. He could instead be an assistant professor for Defense—your coworker instead of your student—and then no one could say you were in an unfair position of power over him."

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," Voldemort said, picking up his drink and clinking it against Severus's. "Make it happen."

"Right away, My Lord," Severus said, recognizing the dismissal. He finished his drink, then slightly unsteadily made his way towards the fireplace.

"Severus," Voldemort called, and he paused. "The exact circumstances that led to my alliance with Harry are not to become common knowledge. Nor is the fact that he's my Horcrux, or the fact that I even have Horcruxes. If you tell anyone, I will know, and there will be severe consequences. Understood?" he asked, his tone deadly as his magic reached out through Severus's Dark Mark and activated a variation of a Wizard's Oath mixed with a monitoring spell that he'd implemented into the Mark's magic when he'd invented it.

"Understood, My Lord," Severus said, shivering as he felt the Oath take effect.

"Good. Go," he said, and Severus flooed back to Hogwarts.

Voldemort swirled the whiskey around in his glass, and wondered whether Harry had calmed down yet or if he was still angry at him. He wondered whether Harry would be angry that he hadn't told him about the plan to accompany him to Hogwarts—Voldemort had wanted it to be a surprise, though, and he hoped Harry didn't stay cross with him or it would turn out to be an unpleasant rather than a pleasant surprise.

He sighed, then called his next Death Eaters, and had another drink as he waited for them to appear. It didn't take long, since they were already in the Manor.

"Lucius, Draco, Bellatrix," he greeted, when the three of them walked in. There were a few more Death Eaters who counted among his inner circle, but he didn't feel obligated to include them on this particular occasion. Bellatrix was one of his most loyal, and his best battle strategist, and Lucius, despite his fall from grace, was still his go-to person for political strategy and inside information on the Ministry. And while Draco wasn't part of the inner circle at all and was in fact rather tragically bad at being a Death Eater, Voldemort thought his reaction would be amusing, so he'd invited him along.

After a moment of shock at his changed appearance and at the half-empty bottle of Firewhisky in front of him, they all murmured, "My Lord," and bowed respectfully, although Bellatrix put more flourish than necessary into her curtsey, and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him.

Voldemort had no desire to chit-chat or open up with any of them, so he got right to the point. "Things have changed rather drastically—I've made an alliance with Harry Potter, and the war is effectively over. We will continue with political machinations, but there will be no more attacks or sanctioned discrimination against Muggleborns. There will be no more sanctioned attacks on Muggles. The previously-planned media smear campaign against Harry will not proceed. Harry Potter is now mine, and anyone who attempts to harm him will be killed as slowly and painfully as possible. I don't expect you to like these orders, but I expect you to follow them. Understood?"

There was a moment of stunned silence—Draco blinked and looked shocked, Lucius looked slightly ill, and Bellatrix looked downright betrayed. To everyone's surprise, she drew her wand and pointed it at Voldemort.

"Bella!" Lucius hissed, looking horrified. Draco's eyes widened and he backed away a few steps, putting distance between himself and his deranged aunt.

Voldemort merely tilted his head and gave her a bored, disappointed look. "Really?"

"You're not our Lord," she said, "He would never betray our cause like this. You're just a pretty imposter," she snarled, and started to cast.

Voldemort was faster, hitting her with a Crucio before she could manage a spell. He stood and stalked over to where she writhed on the ground, ignoring the two Malfoys who backed farther away. He lifted the spell and leaned over Bellatrix, wordlessly making her Dark Mark sear painfully. "I give you the honor of being among the first to know of our new plans," he said, his tone icy, "and you dare to attack me?" She whimpered, and he hit her with another Crucio before finally letting her catch her breath. "If you ever raise your wand at me again, I will kill you on the spot. Understood, Bellatrix?"

"Yes Master, I'm sorry My Lord," she whimpered.

"Good. Now this one's for Harry—he rather hates you for killing his godfather," Voldemort said, hitting her with another Crucio, and letting it go on a bit longer than before. "Get up," he spat when he finally released her. She struggled to her feet, and he said, "Now get out of my sight." He cast a wordless Imperio on her and added, "Go lock yourself in the dungeons and think about what you've done."

She fled the room unsteadily, and Voldemort remembered that Lucius and Draco were still there.

"Are either of you going to question my identity?" he asked in a mocking but deadly tone.

"No, My Lord," they said in unison, Draco shaking his head for emphasis.

"Good," Voldemort said, turning his back to them and returning to his seat. He poured himself another glass of whiskey. "Lucius, you may go. Draco, come here and have a drink with me." Draco paled a bit, and Lucius hesitated until Voldemort added, "I merely wish to gossip about Harry—you can both stop looking so terrified."

"Of course, My Lord," Lucius said. He bowed, and left the room.

Draco cautiously approached the table. Voldemort conjured a new glass and poured him some whiskey, motioning for him to sit in the seat at his right.

"Thank you, My Lord," Draco said, accepting the whiskey and downing it all at once like a shot.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Rough day?"

Draco recognized the sarcasm for what it was, and instead of answering directly, he said, "I apologize for my aunt's behavior, My Lord."

"Don't apologize on her behalf unless you're willing to take responsibility for her actions," Voldemort said mildly, "which would include taking her punishment. I don't think you really want that, do you?"

"No, My Lord."

Voldemort poured more whiskey into Draco's glass and then his own, and said, "You'll need to break that habit before September. It would be rather awkward if you called me that in class."

"In class?"

Voldemort smiled. "You're looking at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Aren't you going to congratulate me?"

"Congratulations, My L—er, Sir."

Voldemort nodded at him, and raised his own glass in his direction before drinking. "There's one other thing," he said, and waited until Draco looked up at him. "When I said Harry is mine now, I meant in every possible way." Draco blushed, and Voldemort continued, "Now, your Occlumency has improved since the last time I looked in your mind, but I'm well aware of your silly rivalry with Harry, and of your hopeless crush that fuels it. I'm offering my friendly advice, as your professor, to get over it at once."

"Sir, I—" Draco's blush had overtaken his entire face.

"Don't bother denying it. Just don't make yourself a nuisance to him this year. Maybe now that we're all on the same side, he might accept your friendship if you offered again." Voldemort actually rather doubted it, but he found it amusing to give the boy false hope. "But do take care not to offer anything more than friendship. Have a good night, Draco," Voldemort said, standing and taking a step away. He paused, put his hand on Draco's shoulder and leaned close to his ear. "And just so you know, he's every bit as good in bed as you've always fantasized." With that self-indulgently petty parting shot, he clapped Draco on the shoulder, took a few steps away and disapparated.

Disapparating after drinking was not, perhaps, his best idea.

He carefully untangled himself from the bush beside the doorstep of Number 12 Grimmauld Place and stood up with as much dignity as he could manage, hoping that no one had witnessed that.

He entered the house, told the Dumbleghost that he didn't kill it, and then reached out with his magic to sense who else was in the house. Harry, Ron, Hermione, a house elf—no one else, but there were hints of another magical signature. Someone else had been there recently, but they'd already left.

Harry came to the doorway, looking less than thrilled to see him. He was, however, the only one who could reliably verify Voldemort's identity. Harry glanced at him and hissed in Parseltongue, "Where did you run off to, then?"

Voldemort hissed back, "I needed to have a discussion with a few of my Death Eaters."

"And?" Harry asked, switching back to English.

"Are you still mad at me?" Voldemort blurted out before he could stop himself. Damn. He probably shouldn't have had those last few glasses of Firewhiskey.

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Have you been drinking?" He gestured towards his scar and said, "The bond's all—fuzzy."

"So what if I have," Voldemort said flippantly, then demanded, "Answer the question."

Harry flinched slightly at the magic in the command, and his mouth opened involuntarily but then he snapped it closed again as he shook off the compulsion and then nearly shouted, "Don't wandlessly Imperio me when you're drunk, you lunatic!"

"I'm not drunk," Voldemort argued.

"Whatever. I'm not mad at you—I'm mad at Remus at the moment—but if you keep this up I'm sure I'll get there again."

"Who's Remus? Do I need to kill them?"

"No! Merlin, go sleep it off or something," Harry snapped.

"Come with me?" Voldemort said with a suggestive smirk.

"You're drunk."

"Not that drunk," he argued, stepping closer to Harry.

"Drunk enough," Harry said, but he allowed Voldemort to pull him into brief, sloppy kiss.

"Who's drunk?" Ron asked, walking into the room, "Oh Merlin—my eyes!" he wailed.

Hermione followed him into the room and smacked him on the arm, "Shut up, Ronald."

Harry pulled back and broke the kiss, putting his hand on Voldemort's chest when he tried to chase his lips.

"Hey," Voldemort said, a smile spreading across his face, "I have a surprise for you."

"I'm afraid to ask," Harry said.

"It's a good surprise," Voldemort assured him, then said, "I'm going with you to Hogwarts this year."

Harry blinked, trying to make sense of that. "What, like 21 Jump Street?"

Hermione burst out laughing, while Ron looked confused and Voldemort looked annoyed at Harry's lack of excitement.

"Harry," he tried again, "I'm going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Harry's eyebrows went up, along with Ron's and Hermione's.

"Seriously?" Harry asked.

Voldemort nodded solemnly, then stretched out a long finger to boop Harry on the nose as he said, "Yep." After a moment he seemed to realize what he'd just done, then he frowned and admitted, "I might be slightly drunk."

"You don't say," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Should we be hiding or something?" Ron asked Hermione under his breath.

"I think we're fine, Ronald," she said, rolling her eyes. She then told Harry and Voldemort, "I'll go make some coffee." She headed for the kitchen and Ron followed.

"So," Harry asked, nudging Voldemort towards one of the loveseats and sitting down beside him, "it went that badly with the Death Eaters, then?"

"Not really," Voldemort said. "It's just that Severus is more tolerable after he gets a few drinks in him, but he won't drink unless everyone around him does too—it's one of his paranoid quirks. Although after he left, Bellatrix called me 'a pretty imposter' and tried to attack me, so I Crucio'd her."

Harry laughed, then tried to disguise it as a cough.

"It's not funny," Voldemort said.

"It's a little bit funny," Harry insisted.

"Yes, all right. I can show you the memory, if you'd like to watch her scream," he offered, smiling at Harry.

"Maybe later," Harry said diplomatically, unnerved by the thought of a torture memory being offered like a gift.

Voldemort frowned, studying Harry's expression. "I've upset you again."

"I just—I don't enjoy torture and murder and all of that. I don't want to see it."

"But she killed someone you cared about."

"So did you," Harry said, his tone deliberately mild.

Voldemort looked down at the ground, brow furrowed, then said, "I don't think it's possible to Crucio myself."

"I don't want you to! Aren't you listening?" Harry grabbed his hand and waited for him to make eye contact again before continuing. "Look, I don't want to talk about all of that yet. For now let's just focus on the future instead of the past, okay?"

"All right," Voldemort murmured, squeezing Harry's hand. His eyes seemed a little less glassy, like he was starting to sober up a bit.

"So. Hogwarts," Harry said, grasping for a change of subject. "Is this all a really elaborate plan to act out a student/teacher fantasy that you have, or is this part of our takeover plan?"

"Actually, you won't be my student. You'll be assistant professor for Defense, but you'll still take the NEWT and attend your other classes as usual. Severus thought it would minimize the outrage once people find out about us. Coworkers, instead of student and teacher."

"You told Snape we're together?" Harry said, horrified. Then he raised a dubious eyebrow and asked, "And Snape—who hates my guts—suggested giving me special treatment?"

"Well, he's doing it for his own benefit too. He doesn't want to deal with Howlers from scandalized parents."

"Why would he get the Howlers?"

"Because he's Headmaster now."

"What? No way! McGonagall was next in line."

"She's a Dumbledore loyalist. She's lucky to keep the job she has."

"Still though—Snape's going to try to expel me for breathing wrong or something."

"No he will not," Voldemort said with finality.

"If you say so."

Hermione reappeared in the doorway, carrying a large silver tray with four cups of coffee, a decanter of creamer, sugar cubes, and various flavorings. "Here we are," she said, setting the tray onto the coffee table, and mixing up a cup for herself. Ron showed up a moment later, carrying a tin of biscuits, and he sat down beside Hermione on the loveseat. They both kept stealing glances at Harry and seemed to be waiting for something.

Voldemort leaned forward to make his own coffee—Harry watched and made a mental note: creamer, no sugar. Harry put creamer, mocha, and several sugar cubes into his own, and started to take a drink when Voldemort's hand on his arm stopped him.

"What?" Harry asked.

Voldemort waved his wand over the coffee, checking Harry's and then his own for any kind of potions, poisons, or spells. Nothing. "Just checking. Your friends are acting dodgy."

"They are not," Harry said, glancing towards them only to catch a flash of guilt in Hermione's expression. "Guys?" he asked, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

"I'm just nervous," Hermione said, looking at the ground and sounding embarrassed. "I'm not quite used to being in the same room as the Dark Lord, is all."

"She's lying," Voldemort said, casually leaning back on the loveseat and draping his arm around Harry to pull him closer to his side.

Harry frowned and looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione. "Please tell me you two didn't do something stupid."

Ron shifted in his seat and parroted back, "We didn't do something stupid."

"Lying," Voldemort declared. "Badly," he added, sounding mildly amused.

"What did you do?" Harry demanded.

Hermione bit her lip and finally said, "Okay, don't get angry—I slipped a note in Remus's pocket asking him to come back and bring the antidote to Amortentia."

Harry blinked. "Amortentia," he repeated flatly. Voldemort laughed silently; he was sitting pressed so close to Harry's side that Harry felt him laughing. "Hermione, you took an Oath—why would you risk doing that?"

"I didn't tell Remus anything about the two of you, and I'm not trying to sabotage you, I'm trying to help you! Harry, honestly," she said, a pleading expression on her face as she leaned forward, "you went missing, then showed up again with—with him, and you're all over each other and saying the war is over…You're both acting like you're on a love potion. And I've been dreading the moment that it wears off and you remember who you are to each other."

Harry scoffed, and Voldemort actually laughed out loud and said, "Miss Granger," in a very professor-ish tone, "What do you know about children who were conceived using love potions?"

Hermione's jaw dropped, and she shrieked, "You got Harry pregnant?"

"What?" Harry asked, shooting an alarmed glance at Voldemort, who, damn him, was laughing again. "Could that happen?" Harry asked, "With, you know, two wizards?"

"It could," Voldemort said, "but never by accident. There's a very complicated ritual and a potion regimen that would have to be completed first."

"Huh," Harry said mildly, and Hermione gave him an odd look.

"As I was saying," Voldemort resumed, "children conceived under the influence of love potions are unable to love. They're also immune to love potions themselves," he said pointedly, then for Ron and Hermione's benefit he said, "My mother used love potions and enchantments on my father. In his right mind, he wanted nothing to do with her."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, then carefully said, "I've never read anything actually proving that the children were incapable of love—it's a rather impossible thing to prove. It seems more like old superstition mixed with victim-blaming than any kind of fact."

Voldemort casually swept his hand in front of himself, and said in a dry tone, "Behold, your empirical evidence."

Hermione seemed dubious, and Ron chose the worst possible time to speak up. "Even if you're immune and just acting besotted, Harry could still be on a love potion," Ron argued, giving the Dark Lord a suspicious look.

"I would never," Voldemort hissed, almost lapsing into Parseltongue as he drew his wand.

Harry grabbed Voldemort's wrist, grateful for his Seeker's reflexes. "Don't!"

"He implied that I would—"

"I heard," Harry interrupted. "But he doesn't know—I guess I did leave something out after all." Harry sighed, and glanced at his friends' nervous faces. "Grindelwald had told him to rape me if I resisted—my consent didn't matter for the ritual. He could've jumped me the second I was thrown in that room, and had his magic back in five minutes. But he didn't," Harry said pointedly when his friends' faces paled, "and he wouldn't have. He was patient, and decent, and he explained everything—and that was before he even knew I was a Horcrux. He wouldn't hurt me like that, and he wouldn't give me love potions."

"Harry," Hermione said cautiously, "What if he's controlling you with the Horcrux somehow?"

"I'm not," Voldemort cut in, speaking to Harry rather than the others. "This Horcrux spent 16 years clinging to your soul without the proper anchors and enchantments—by now it's entwined so closely with your own soul, I doubt it would act against you even if I tried to make it. Which I would not," he said pointedly, glaring at Hermione and Ron.

Any response they might've offered was cut off by the tapping of an owl at the window.

"I'll just," Hermione said, starting to stand.

"No," Voldemort said, a twitch of his wand forcing her back into her seat and keeping Ron in his as well. "Harry can get it. I don't trust you two not to send out a SOS letter."

"We took an Oath," Hermione reminded him.

"Which you've already found a way around by sneaking notes to an Order member and asking for something guaranteed to make him suspicious, under the guise of helping Harry."

Harry got up and said, "I told you she's clever," before walking over to the window, glancing over his shoulder a few times to keep an eye on the tense situation. Harry opened the window, and a fluffy brown owl perched on the sill and held out a package tied to its leg, then waited as he opened it.

Inside the package was a bottle of pale blue potion, and a note.

'Hermione,' the note read, 'I'm not even going to ask. I'm not able to return just yet, but please let me know if you need further help. One swallow of the antidote should suffice, and this bottle contains about six doses. Yours, R.L.'

Harry debated for a moment whether he should send a reply or an apology for losing his temper with Remus earlier, but he wasn't actually sorry for anything he'd said, and he thought it might seem suspicious so he just sent the owl off without a response.

Harry brought the potion and the letter and sat back down beside Voldemort, handing both to him.

Voldemort quickly read the letter, then handed it over to Hermione while he examined the potion and cast a few preliminary identification spells on it.

"So," Harry said awkwardly, "we both take a dose and prove that we're not on a love potion, yeah?"

"No," Voldemort said, still examining the potion. "Not without verification of what this potion is."

"Remus isn't going to send us poison, he was one of my dad's best friends," Harry argued.

"Even so, I'd rather have an expert's word for it first."

"An expert?"

"I called for Severus though the Mark. He'll be here shortly."

"You what?" Harry protested. Snape was one of the last people he wanted to see right now.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You said he already had access to this house."

"Yeah, but that Dumbledore ghost is there specifically to keep Snape away—supposedly Moody set up other spells to keep him out too."

"Could be amusing then," Voldemort said, unconcerned.

As if on cue, the front door opened, and the Dumbleghost swirled to life again with a rush of wind and a grating, gravelly voice saying, "Severus Snape...you murdered me. Traitor!"

"I did what you make me swear," Snape's voice replied, "and I'll never forgive you for it." Silence followed.

After a moment, Voldemort called out, "In here, Severus."

Snape appeared in the doorway, his expression cautious. He paused when he saw that Harry, Hermione, and Ron were present. Harry watched Snape's face as the man remained silent, and Harry realized that Snape didn't know what to say or even how to address Voldemort since he didn't know how much of the truth Ron and Hermione knew. Voldemort seemed amused to let him struggle, and Harry wasn't inclined to help him either.

Finally, Snape said simply, "You required my assistance?"

"Yes," Voldemort said, tossing the bottle of blue potion to Snape. "Tell me what this is."

Snape caught the bottle and frowned, then took out his wand and cast several diagnostic and identifying spells on the potion to reveal its ingredients. Then he opened the bottle and sniffed it. Finally he concluded, "It's an antidote developed specifically to counter Amortentia, but it's strong enough to nullify any kind of love potion." Snape put the lid back on the bottle and stepped forward to hand it back to Voldemort, curiously looking back and forth between Harry and Voldemort.

"All right then," Voldemort said, then opened the bottle. "How much is needed?"

"A mouthful should suffice," Snape said, still wearing an odd expression.

Voldemort opened the bottle, glanced at Harry, then took a drink directly from the bottle. He swallowed it, blinked, then handed the bottle over to Harry, saying, "I feel no different."

Harry stared down at the bottle, then looked at Voldemort and took a drink as well. It tasted, oddly enough, like cotton candy. He waited for a moment, then declared, "Same," sitting the bottle down on the table. "Told you guys we weren't on a love potion."

"Severus," Voldemort called—Snape had started backing slowly towards the door as soon as Voldemort drank the antidote. "Do you happen to have a Sobering Solution with you?"

"Coincidentally, I do," Severus said, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone.

"Well give it here," Voldemort snapped. Severus hurried back across the room to comply. Voldemort downed the potion, then blinked a few times as it took effect and cleared the rest of the alcohol out of his system. He scowled at Hermione and Ron, then told Harry quietly, "We are going to talk about your outburst at breakfast at some point."

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Voldemort accepted this and stood. "I see no reason to postpone the meeting with the Death Eaters until tonight. I'll tell them now and get it over with." He noted the slightly surprised look on Severus's face and realized he'd given up the game of keeping the man on his toes about how much to reveal. He didn't much care either—it wasn't as entertaining when he was completely sober.

"Oh, all right," Harry said uncertainly, standing up to follow.

"No," Voldemort said. "Your presence is not required."

"But—"

"Bellatrix tried to attack me. Me. I'm not having you in a room full of the bottom ranks who don't possess a fraction of her intelligence or loyalty."

"And what if they try to attack you too?"

"I believe I've told you before not to doubt me."

"I'm not doubting you, I'm worried about you, you berk!"

Severus, Hermione, and Ron all held their breath—but instead of anger, Voldemort reacted with a fondly exasperated smile. "Don't be," he said, running a hand through Harry's hair, "brat."

"Easy for you to say," Harry mumbled, but he didn't protest when Voldemort pulled him forward into a brief kiss.

"Yes," Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue, "It is easy for me to say, because the Dark Mark prevents any Death Eater from directly harming me. If they try, their curse rebounds onto them instead. It's not something I advertise though," he said, glancing towards Severus, who, along with Ron, looked slightly ill after witnessing the kiss. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, or deter traitors from revealing themselves."

"Of course not," Harry said, feeling a bit less nervous.

Voldemort stepped back, then took out his wand and cast a series of glamours on himself, transforming his appearance back into the white-skinned serpentine form.

Harry raised an eyebrow and stepped forward, closing the distance between them again. "What, you don't want to be called a pretty imposter again?" Harry teased in Parseltongue.

Voldemort chuckled, and merely said, "Brat."

Harry smirked and surprised the others by leaning in to kiss Voldemort again, before pulling away and murmuring, "Your brat." He caught Voldemort's eye as he stepped back and said quietly, "Come home safe."

"Of course." Voldemort started for the door, and Severus seemed to waver a moment in uncertainty before following him. "No, Severus," Voldemort said without turning around. "Stay here and keep an eye on Harry's friends until I return. They took a Wizard's Oath but they've already proved to be a bit of a nuisance."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Oi," Harry snapped.

"Keep them in line then," Voldemort told Harry over his shoulder, as he reached the door. He paused a moment, then said from the other room, "By the way, Harry, I told Severus everything. And I do mean everything."

"You what?" Harry shouted, annoyed and shocked.

"Bye!" Voldemort called, clearly amused. The front door closed, then a crack of apparition followed his departure.

"That absolute berk," Harry muttered, walking back over to where everyone was gathered and throwing himself back down on the empty loveseat.

Snape raised a critical eyebrow at him and said, "You told your friends, didn't you, Potter? Why should he not do the same?"

"Oh, you're his friend, are you?" Harry snapped. "I thought you were just around to fetch potions and lick his boots."

"Mind your impudent tongue, Potter."

"Why should I? He rather likes my impudent tongue," Harry snarked back.

Snape's face colored but before he could respond, Ron stood up from the loveseat and said, "That's it, I can't do this anymore. I'm done."

"Ron," Hermione said, fussing around him as he started for the door. "We can't help him out of this if we don't stick around," she told him, trying to be quiet, but Harry and Snape both heard.

"I don't need helped out of anything," Harry said, his temper rising.

"See!" Ron said, gesturing at Harry. "He's perfectly happy betraying everyone and bending over for You-Know-Who!"

"I'm not betraying anyone—we're ending the war!" Harry shouted. "And don't throw 'bending over' at me like it's something to be ashamed of—maybe you should try it sometime, if you can manage to pull the stick out of your arse first."

Ron drew his wand and took a step towards Harry, who responded in kind. Hermione threw an arm across Ron's chest, trying to hold him back. "Stop this right now!" she pleaded, but Ron ignored her.

"You're fucking the monster who started a war and killed your parents! Who tried to kill you too! If you're really not under a spell or a love potion, if you're actually choosing this, then you're betraying everyone who died trying to stop him!"

Harry raised his wand, and only the fact that Hermione was in the way stopped him from casting.

"Enough!" Snape finally yelled. "Expelliarmus!" Both Harry and Ron's wands flew into Snape's waiting hand. "All of you sit down and stop behaving like children!"

No one sat down. Harry jerked his head towards the door and told Ron, "Just get out. If you're going to be a stroppy little shit like you were in fourth year, I don't want you around."

"Sit down, Weasley," Snape interrupted. "The Dark Lord will deal with this when he returns."

"Fuck that," Ron muttered. "Go to hell, Harry, and take your new boyfriend with you. Come on, Hermione."

He started towards the doorway and Hermione followed only long enough to step in front of him, with her wand raised and tears in her eyes.

"Hermione, what—?" Ron said.

"I'm sorry, Ron." She lifted her wand and said, "Obliviate!"

Harry watched in shock as Ron's expression unfocused, and a tear slipped down Hermione's face.

"What happened?" Ron mumbled after a moment.

Hermione forced an unconvincing, tearful smile and said, "Harry snuck away in the middle of the night, and when he came back you got in a fight. You decided to go back to the Burrow until school starts."

"Oh," Ron said, frowning. "Are you coming with me?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ron. I'm not."

Ron frowned harder, shot a confused but annoyed look at Harry and Snape, then turned towards the door. "I'll be off then," he said.

"Stupify," said Snape, and Ron keeled over. Hermione caught him, and awkwardly lowered him to the floor.

"Professor!" Hermione snapped.

"It's Headmaster now, Miss Granger," Snape corrected, smirking when her eyebrows went up. "And I'll not risk my own skin by letting him walk out without knowing for sure what you've done to his memory."

"Wake him up and check him, then," Hermione suggested.

"No. I shall check your mind instead."

"So you can Obliviate me too?" she asked, her tone turning defensive.

"You better not," Harry interjected.

"I am only going to look," Snape stressed. "Now, you can make this quicker and easier on yourself by concentrating on the memory. Look in my eyes," he said, and waited for Hermione to comply before saying, "Legilimens."

It was strange to watch—from Harry's perspective, it looked like Hermione and Snape were having a staring contest with blank expressions on their faces. Harry wondered if that was how he and Voldemort looked when they went into their mindscape. It only lasted a few moments, then they both blinked and came back to awareness.

"You removed his knowledge of Horcruxes as well as everything Potter told him about his experience with the Dark Lord," Snape said, sounding reluctantly impressed.

Hermione nervously crossed her arms. "He might've told the Order about Horcruxes if he thought it would help, especially if he thinks he's fallen out with Harry again." For a moment, it looked like Hermione might cry again, but she pulled herself together.

"Miss Granger," Snape said quietly, "it pains me to say this, but you truly could do much better than Mr. Weasley."

Hermione stiffened and said, "I don't recall asking your opinion." She promptly snatched Ron and Harry's wands out of Snape's hand, then turned away and pointed her own wand at Ron. "Ennervate!"

Ron sat up and mumbled, "Wha' happened?"

"You were just on your way home, Ron. Here, use the Floo," she said, discreetly putting his wand into his pocket and steering him towards the fireplace.

"What did I fight with Harry about?" Ron asked her, still disoriented and not seeming to notice Harry and Snape in the room this time.

"Don't worry about it, Ron. I'm sure you'll both be over it by the time school starts."

"Okay then," he said, stepping into the fireplace. He threw down a handful of Floo powder and said, "The Burrow!" then disappeared in a swirl of flames.

Hermione's shoulders sagged the moment he was gone, and without looking at Harry or Snape, she said, "I'll be upstairs." She shoved Harry's wand back into his hands as she passed him on her way out of the room.

Harry sat back down on the loveseat, covered his face with both hands, and let out a frustrated groan.

"Never a dull moment with you, Potter," Snape commented, but with a lack of his usual malice.

"You know what, Snape? I would love to have a dull, boring, regular year. Just once. I might actually kill for it, who knows?"

"Who would you kill?" Snape asked, in an odd tone.

Harry lowered his hands from his face and gave Snape a curious look. "I don't know, it's a figure of speech…I didn't mean Voldemort, if that's what you're asking."

"Right," Snape said, "it seems that ship has definitely sailed." Snape was quiet for a moment, then said, "Potter, there are certain memories Dumbledore made me swear to show you. He said to wait until the Dark Lord started acting unusually protective of his possessions, and I think now rather qualifies."

"Okay," Harry said cautiously.

"The exact circumstances Dumbledore specified are unlikely to happen now, but all the same he made me swear."

"Okay," Harry repeated. "So, do you have a Pensieve, or..?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and said, "These aren't memories that I would extract and leave lying around unless I was literally on my death bed. I'll show you through Legilimency."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Harry muttered. "And just so you know, Voldemort put up shields in my mind against Legilimency attacks."

"I won't be attacking your mind." Snape walked over and sat on the other end of the loveseat from Harry, then had the audacity to smirk. "It won't be nearly as unpleasant as our Occlumency lessons."

Harry narrowed his eyes and said, "So you did sabotage those on purpose?"

"Yes, but not for the reason you think… You know what you are to him, correct? You know what caused your mental connection?"

Harry nodded.

"I need verbal confirmation, Potter—I'm forbidden from discussing it explicitly with anyone who doesn't already know."

"I'm his Horcrux," Harry said.

"Yes. And are you aware of what that meant for Dumbledore's plans?"

Harry swallowed. "He meant for me to sacrifice myself, after I destroyed the other Horcruxes."

"Indeed," Snape said quietly. "I tried to prevent that, by opening your mind to the connection between yourself and the Dark Lord. I thought that if he realized, if he knew what you were, then he would protect you instead of killing you."

"Well," Harry said awkwardly, "you were right. Just took us a bit longer to get there. But… you've always hated me. I don't understand why—why you even care," Harry trailed off, daring a glance up to briefly meet Snape's eyes.

Snape held the eye contact, an indecipherable look on his face. "Because Lily died to protect you, and I can't let that be in vain."

Harry's eyebrows went up, and he said, "Since when do you care about my mum?"

Snape twitched and said, "Let's just get this over with. Legilimens," he said, and when their minds linked, instead of diving into Harry's, he deliberately pulled Harry into his own memories…

Snape's childhood meeting with Lily and Petunia… telling Lily about Hogwarts, about the Dementors…dropping a tree branch on Petunia with a flare of accidental magic when she insulted him… Lily and Snape on the Hogwarts train, and James Potter being an arrogant bully…Lily being sorted into Gryffindor and Snape into Slytherin, but the two of them remaining best friends anyway…an older Lily and Snape arguing over Snape's other friends and Dark Magic, "They're evil, Sev. I don't understand how you can be friends with them." …Snape's jealousy and resentment of James Potter, and his suspicion towards the Marauders…James and Sirius tormenting Snape, and Snape calling Lily a Mudblood in anger…Snape trying to apologize and Lily refusing him…Snape begging Dumbledore to protect Lily after Snape had told the prophecy to Voldemort, and Snape agreeing to turn spy…Snape's crippling grief over her death, his demand that Dumbledore never tell anyone that Snape had sworn to protect Harry…Snape complaining about Harry to Dumbledore, comparing him to his father…Snape containing the curse in Dumbledore's hand from the Gaunt ring…Dumbledore asking Snape to kill him to spare Draco, and Snape reluctantly agreeing…Dumbledore discussing the connection between Harry and Voldemort again, and telling Snape when to tell Harry the truth…Snape's fury at Dumbledore's manipulations, "I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter—"… Snape's doe Patronus… "After all this time?" "Always."…

Snapping back into reality was jarring, and it took Harry a few moments to realize that he was sitting on a sofa next to a drained-looking Severus Snape, and that Harry's eyes were watering. Harry reached up to brush away the tears before they could spill, and he ended up knocking his glasses off his face and onto the floor. Harry watched them fall, then looked at Snape for two seconds before launching himself across the sofa and throwing his arms around the startled man.

"Potter! Stop this at once," Snape said, although his voice wavered for a moment and he was clearly even more affected by the painful memories than Harry.

Harry shook his head, which was pressed to Snape's chest, and said, "Don't call me that anymore. I'm not like my dad was. Call me Harry."

"Harry," Snape said emphatically, "get off of me, before the Dark Lord returns and grossly misinterprets this."

Harry laughed, but sniffled and sat up, releasing Snape—no, Severus. Harry had seen the man's most personal memories, he knew now how much he had lost and sacrificed, how much he'd been manipulated and lied to by Dumbledore just like Harry was, and how much he'd done to protect Harry despite resenting him—Harry wasn't going to keep calling him by his last name.

"So why don't you want anyone to know the best of you," Harry asked, repeating Dumbledore's words and daring to add at the end, "Sev?"

"Don't!" Severus snapped, glaring at Harry and standing up abruptly. He put half the room between them before continuing. "Don't you dare presume to call me that, Potter. We're not suddenly friends," he sneered the word, "just because Dumbledore made me vow to show you memories that I would've rather taken to the grave."

"We could be friends," Harry said cautiously, thinking that somehow this—suddenly trying to befriend Severus Snape—was stranger than the entire ordeal with Voldemort and the mirror.

"No," Severus snarled, "we cannot. Because I never stopped loving Lily, and you're fucking the man who murdered her!"

Harry flinched and looked at the ground.

"We've proven that you're not on a love potion," Severus continued. "Is he forcing you through the Horcrux? Is he threatening you? Did he bind you to him in some other way?"

"No," Harry said quietly, "he's not forcing me."

"Then explain this, Potter, because I don't understand!"

"I don't know how to explain it," Harry said, his voice rising, "and I don't owe you an explanation either! I thought you wanted this—you said you wanted him to protect me."

"I imagined it rather more platonically," Severus snapped.

Harry threw his arms up and said, "I don't know what you want me to say! We're connected."

"By the Horcrux."

"By more than that!"

Severus looked directly at Harry for the first time since fleeing the sofa. "Harry," he said, his tone still agitated but trying harder now to be patient, "any affection he shows you is proportional to how useful you are to him. That's how he operates. The Dark Lord is not capable of love."

"He says that too—that he can't love," Harry argued, "he believes it, even. But he obviously cares about me now—"

"You're deluding yourself," Severus interrupted, shaking his head.

"I'm not saying he loves me, I'm just saying you don't know him like I do."

"I've known him longer than you've been alive."

"I'm part of him," Harry argued.

"You're a hopeless bloody idiot is what you are," Severus said, and stomped out of the room.

"He ordered you to stay here!" Harry called after him—yes, Severus was being a right arsehole, but Harry didn't want him to get himself tortured for disobeying a direct order.

"I'm well aware of my orders, Potter!" Severus yelled back from the front entryway, causing Walburga's portrait to wake up and start shrieking about Mudbloods and traitors besmirching her home. Severus screamed back at her, "SHUT UP YOU IGNORANT FUCKING HAG!"

There was a flare of fiery light, and Harry ran over to the doorway. He peered around the corner and saw Severus directing a beam of Fiendfyre directly at the portrait, which melted as Walburga screamed. The fire tried to spread past the portrait, but Severus kept it contained, and then wrenched his wand sharply downward, ending the spell and breathing heavily as the flames disappeared. The portrait was now nothing but a charred and blackened stain, with streaks of its melted metal frame creeping down the wall like condensation.

"Whoa," Harry said, impressed and a little bit terrified. "About time someone shut her up," he added lightly.

Severus glanced up and caught Harry's eye by accident, and then Harry started laughing. To his surprise, Snape did as well, although much more reservedly. It was a bit jarring—Harry didn't think he'd ever even seen the man smile before. They didn't manage to stop until a minute later when the front door opened behind Harry, who drew his wand and spun around.

"Oh, you're back," Harry said. He put away his wand, still grinning.

Voldemort, who was no longer wearing the snakelike glamour, did not look amused in the slightest. As soon as the Dumbledore ghost started to materialize, Voldemort slashed his wand and silently dismantled the spell altogether, seemingly with no effort or thought put into it.

"Glad someone's having fun," Voldemort muttered, about to storm past Harry and Severus, who had managed to compose themselves. But then he stopped and did a double-take at the charred portrait remains. "Severus," he said, his voice deadly. "Did you cast Fiendfyre while in the vicinity of my Horcrux?"

Severus bowed his head, suddenly pale, and said, "Apologies, My Lord."

Voldemort growled and raised his wand. "Cru—"

"Don't!" Harry said, grabbing Voldemort's wrist and forcing his wand down.

Voldemort's free hand grabbed Harry by the throat and shoved him backwards against the wall. "Don't ever," he snarled, "challenge me in front of my followers." He released Harry, snatched the locket Horcrux from around his neck, then commanded Severus, "Get out."

Without waiting for a response, Voldemort swept further into the house in a swirl of black robes, leaving a stunned Harry alone again with a relieved but still wary Severus.

"You shouldn't have done that," Severus said quietly.

Harry shrugged. "I've been told I have a saving-people thing," he tried to say casually. It stung a bit, having Voldemort take back the locket when Harry had been wearing it ever since that silly fake proposal at breakfast—Harry knew the proposal hadn't meant anything and that Voldemort had been joking, but it still hurt to have him take the locket away again in a fit of anger.

Severus headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Harry," he said quietly, "give him some time to calm down before you tell him about Weasley leaving—and make sure to tell him right away that I verified that the boy was properly Obliviated."

"Careful, Sev," Harry said, smiling a bit, "people might think you actually care."

Severus scoffed, and without another word he swept out the front door and disapparated.

Harry sighed, and headed back into the sitting room, where he found Voldemort sitting in the wingback chair next to the fireplace, with his arms crossed and a scowl twisting his handsome face.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Harry?" Voldemort asked, his tone cold. "It seems like I've missed quite a bit of excitement."

"Well, a bit, yeah," Harry said, nervously running a hand through his hair. There would be no waiting for him to calm down, not now that he'd asked directly. Harry tried to stall, asking, "Do you want some tea, or—?"

"I want you to tell me why the Weasley boy and your house-elf are both gone, and why Severus saw fit to cast Fiendfyre in the entryway."

Harry sat down on the loveseat, and bought himself a few more seconds by retrieving his glasses from where they'd fallen earlier and putting them back on. "Well, there was this awful portrait of Sirius's insane old mum—really loud noises would wake her up and she'd start screaming insults and slurs—there was a permanent sticking charm on the portrait, and nobody could ever figure out a way to get rid of her. So, Severus was in a bit of a mood and the portrait went off, so, he got rid of it," Harry said, shrugging. "I was clear in the other room when he did it—I wasn't in any danger," Harry added.

Voldemort's expression darkened. "Fiendfyre is a very dark, very complicated spell—it's nearly sentient once it's cast, and it's extremely difficult to extinguish. If it had gotten away from him, even for a second, it wouldn't have mattered what room you were in—it could've burned down the entire house in minutes."

Harry swallowed, unsure what to say to that. Voldemort saved him the trouble of responding.

"And what of your friend? And the elf? Where are they?" he asked.

"I don't know about Kreacher—he's probably back at Hogwarts. I'd ordered him to work there most of the time, and only pop in here occasionally to keep the place decent. And Ron—we had a bit of a disagreement, and, er—Severus made sure he was properly Obliviated," Harry parroted, making sure to lead with that, "and then I sent him home. He doesn't remember anything I told him about us, and he doesn't even remember what Horcruxes are. So, he's not a threat or anything."

Voldemort's red eyes flashed in annoyance. "I would've liked to verify that for myself."

"Ask Hermione—she cast the Obliviate. Severus used Legilimency on her to verify it."

"I will. I can't say I trust Severus's judgment much at the moment," he said. He stood and headed for the stairs, muttering "Fiendfyre, honestly," under his breath.

Harry followed Voldemort upstairs where they found Hermione, unsurprisingly, in the library. She was sitting in an ancient looking armchair reading the Beedle the Bard book that Dumbledore had left her in his will.

"Oh, hello," she greeted them, lowering the book, but not before Voldemort caught sight of the triangular symbol on the cover.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

"It's just a collection of wizarding children's stories," Hermione answered. "Dumbledore left it to me in his will, for some unfathomable reason."

"That's Grindelwald's symbol on the cover."

"Yes," Hermione said. "We were a bit confused about why that's there, but I suppose it makes more sense now, knowing their history."

"What else did he leave you?" Voldemort asked, taking the empty armchair next to Hermione's.

There were no more chairs nearby so Harry stood behind Voldemort's, casually leaning there and folding his arms on top of it. "He left me the Snitch from my first Quiddich game, and he gave Ron this clicky light thing."

"Deluminator," Hermione chimed in. "That's what he called it."

"Right, that," Harry said.

"And what did it do?" Voldemort asked.

"It…deluminated?" Harry said.

Voldemort let out a short exhalation that might've been a scoff or a laugh.

"It captured all of the light in the area and contained it," Hermione elaborated. "And then it released it all back to where it came from."

"He also tried to give me the Sword of Gryffindor, but the Ministry said it wasn't his to give away."

"Interesting," Voldemort said, and went quiet for a moment before pursuing his original intention. "Miss Granger," he said politely, "I'm aware of your other friend's departure, and I'd like to take a look at your memory of Obliviating him, just to make sure nothing was missed."

"Professor Snape already did that," Hermione said carefully.

"I don't trust his judgment at the moment," Voldemort said coolly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Harry chimed in, "Se—er, Snape got rid of Walburga—with Fiendfyre."

"Fiendfyre!" Hermione cried, sounding scandalized. "He could've killed us all."

Voldemort glanced up at Harry and swept a hand towards Hermione in a silent 'see?' gesture. Harry just rolled his eyes.

"May I look at the memory, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked at him for a moment, fully aware that his asking was a formality and that he could and probably would just do what he wanted regardless. "You can call me Hermione," she said. "And yes, go ahead."

She made eye contact without being prompted, and Voldemort whispered, "Legilimens."

Both of their expressions went blank, and a few moments later Hermione blinked several times and Voldemort leaned back in his chair. "Very impressive for a first attempt," he told her. "It would've been better to implant a false memory of the argument you told him he had with Harry, but otherwise, well done."

"Thank you," Hermione said, looking away shyly.

"You have a natural aptitude for mind magic, Hermione. If you're interested, and of course if you don't become a problem for myself or Harry, I might be persuaded to teach you more of it."

Hermione dared to meet Voldemort's eyes again, and nodded. "I'll consider it. Thank you for offering."

Voldemort nodded magnanimously, and Harry rolled his eyes at the haughty manner.

"So, anyway," Harry said, unceremoniously walking around the front of the chair and plopping himself down sideways in Voldemort's lap, causing Hermione's eyebrows to skyrocket. "How'd the meeting go?"

"Terribly," Voldemort muttered, absently wrapping an arm around Harry's waist. "After I made the announcement, about half of the Death Eaters rioted and started a pathetic attempt at a revolt. A fourth of them fled like fucking cowards, and a fourth of them fought beside me to defeat the rebels."

"By defeat, you mean?"

"They're dead," Voldemort said bluntly.

"Ah," Harry said. Hermione listened without commenting.

"I do hope you're happy," Voldemort muttered.

Harry carefully said, "Well, the ones who were only with you for the blood supremacy and Muggle torture couldn't have really been all that useful, right?"

"That's not the point—infighting makes us look weak, and it makes me look like an ineffective leader."

"Who's going to hear about it? The ones who ran away can't exactly take the story to the Daily Prophet without admitting that they were at a Death Eater meeting too."

"Harry," Voldemort sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Harry, who'd been staring unashamedly at Voldemort's face as they spoke, suddenly blurted out, "Does it feel weird, having a nose again?"

Voldemort stilled and stared at Harry. Hermione snorted and burst into giggles.

"I'm sorry," she said through the laughter, looking horrified with herself but still unable to stop laughing.

Harry grinned, and even Voldemort chuckled after a moment.

After a moment, when Hermione finally got herself under control, Voldemort said, "It does feel a bit strange, actually," which set everyone off again. Harry pressed his face against Voldemort's shoulder as he laughed.

"This is so surreal," Hermione said, when they quieted again. "I mean, if I didn't know better, I would think you two have been together for years." Voldemort said nothing, just ran his fingers through Harry's hair. Hermione hesitantly asked, "Are…are you quite sure that the ritual isn't still affecting you both somehow? Like, encouraging affection or proximity, or anything like that?"

"Hermione," Harry started, exasperated.

"The thought did occur to me," Voldemort interrupted, "but I've checked both of us for lingering spells or compulsions, and there's nothing."

"So, then," Hermione said carefully, "it's possible that you're latching onto each other so tightly in order to cope with the trauma of being forced into a situation you couldn't control?"

"What?" Harry said.

"Miss Granger," Voldemort said coldly, "if I want a Mind Healer, I'll seek one out. And in the meantime I'll thank you to keep your speculations to yourself."

Voldemort nudged Harry until he moved off his lap and stood up, and then Voldemort stood as well.

Hermione glanced up at him, then back at the floor. "I'm sorry if I overstepped."

"See that you don't do it again," Voldemort ordered, then he swept towards the door dramatically while Harry rolled his eyes at the display. Voldemort paused in the doorway, turning around to add, "Both of you should start packing your belongings—we're relocating tonight."

"To where?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy Manor."

Harry groaned. "Why?"

"It's only for a month until we all go to Hogwarts," Voldemort said.

"Okay, but why?" Harry repeated.

"Because too many people can just waltz in here whenever they please—it's not secure, and that annoys me immensely. I personally reinforced the wards of Malfoy Manor, and only the family and myself have free reign—other Death Eaters can't randomly pop in at any moment."

Hermione quietly said, "I don't imagine I'll be welcome there, considering my blood status."

"You're welcome there if I say you are." This, surprisingly, came from Voldemort rather than Harry, but Hermione still smiled a little and nodded her head in thanks.

Harry glanced back and forth between the two of them and grinned. "I knew you two would get along," he said.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow and simply repeated, "Pack your things," before leaving the room.

"Why on earth did you think we would get along?" Hermione asked once he was gone.

"Because you're both huge nerds," Harry said fondly. "You should've heard him earlier, going on about how our ritual didn't make sense because of so-and-so's magical theory of whatever—"

"He knows the specifics of the ritual?"

"Grindelwald left us a book, but Voldemort kept saying it shouldn't be possible for it to work the way it did."

"Harry, can you convince him to let me see the book?"

"I can ask," Harry said, idly scratching the back of his neck. "But no promises. He's kind of touchy about the whole thing."

Hermione huffed a laugh. "I imagine that's an understatement."

"A bit, yeah." Harry smiled, then after a moment said, "Aren't you going to pack?"

Hermione pulled the magically-extended pouch out from under her shirt. "I have everything I need."

"Feel free to stuff some of these books in there, if you want," Harry said, gesturing vaguely at the rest of the library. "They're not doing anybody any good here."

"Oh, I intend to," Hermione said, smiling.

"Right, then. I'll just," Harry edged towards the door, waiting to see if Hermione wanted to talk about anything else.

"Okay," she said, turning back to her book. "Come find me when it's time to go."

"All right, see you."

Harry ducked out of the library and headed back downstairs, looking for Voldemort but going off of a gut feeling rather than logic or a thorough search of the house. The feeling led Harry to the kitchen, where he found Voldemort leaning against the counter while he sipped a cup of coffee and stared at the chair that Harry had knocked over at breakfast. It was still laying on the floor, although the mess of broken plates and food had been Vanished at some point.

Harry leaned against the doorway, then sheepishly said, "Hey."

Voldemort glanced up sharply, apparently not having heard his approach. "Harry."

"Erm, sorry," Harry said, nodding towards the toppled chair, "about earlier."

"I'm sorry too," Voldemort said quietly. "I wasn't being intentionally cruel. Your friends told me their suspicions about your relatives," he said, meeting Harry's eyes and waiting for his response.

Harry looked away at the ground and then decided to just get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. "The Dursleys hated me, and they hated magic, and they hated anything that wasn't normal. They made me live in the cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven. I had to cook and clean for them, but I never did it good enough and got punished by being smacked around or locked up without food." Harry paused and took a deep breath—he'd never actually told anyone any of this before, and it was excruciating. "My cousin and his friends teased me and beat me up whenever they could catch me. I never had any friends or knew anything about magic until Hogwarts. And," he hesitated, then continued, "they lied about how my parents died. They told me they died in a car accident because they were driving drunk," Harry's voice broke and he covered his mouth with his hand, trying to regain his composure. A few tears escaped, but no noise did—one of the first things Harry had learned as a child was how to cry silently.

He was pulled forward against a warm, firm chest—he hadn't even noticed Voldemort crossing the room, but he put his arms around Harry, one hand running through his hair before guiding Harry's head to rest against Voldemort's chest. Harry threw his arms around him, holding on tight as if it would help him hold himself together.

After a long moment, Voldemort spoke. "You never should've had to experience all of that—and I'm sorry that my actions made it possible." Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything, and Voldemort continued. "No one is ever going to treat you that way again…And—with your permission, of course—nothing would please me more than to find your relatives and make them suffer as you did."

Harry, to his shame, actually considered it for a moment. "No," he finally said into Voldemort's shoulder. "It wouldn't change anything, and it wouldn't make me feel better in the end."

Voldemort sighed, but said, "I'll respect your wishes in this—but do tell me immediately if you change your mind," and the eagerness in his voice in that last part made Harry laugh a little.

"Yes, My Lord," Harry teased, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Voldemort pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "I rather like it when you call me that."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They both went quiet and just stood there for a long moment, locked in an embrace, their bond thrumming between them.

"Do you need to pack your things?" Voldemort finally asked, not letting go of Harry.

"Hermione has all of our clothes and supplies and stuff."

"We should be going then."

"I guess," Harry said, but he made no move to step away from the embrace, and neither did Voldemort. "Not right this second, though."

"Not right this second," Voldemort agreed, and pressed another kiss to Harry's forehead, content to stand there and hold Harry for however long he needed.

Several minutes later, Harry loosened his grip and slid his hands down Voldemort's back as he leaned away slightly. Voldemort did the same, but kept his hands on Harry's shoulders as he looked into his eyes.

"All right now?" he asked.

Harry nodded, seeming a bit embarrassed. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Any time," Voldemort murmured, surprised to find that he meant it.

Harry forced a half-smile, then took one of Voldemort's hands and led him towards the doorway. He stopped on the way to stand his toppled chair back up, pushing it back under the table.

They left the kitchen and headed back towards the front of the house. When they reached the stairway, Harry squeezed Voldemort's hand before pulling away and heading upstairs. "I'll go get Hermione," he said. Voldemort nodded and continued on.

Harry went back up to the library, where Hermione was carefully placing a stack of books one at a time into the undetectable-extension-charm pouch. "Hey," he said, leaning in the doorway, "time to go."

"Oh, all right." She quickly shoved the rest of the books into the pouch before sealing it and replacing it around her neck, then she followed Harry out of the room.

"Hey, do you happen to know where Kreacher went?" Harry asked halfway down the stairs.

"I haven't seen him since he told us about the locket," she said. "Why?"

"Voldemort was asking—he got a little paranoid at first when he got back and Ron and Kreacher were both gone."

Hermione said nothing, but it was a very loud silence.

"Are—are you alright?" Harry ventured after a moment. "I mean, after Ron—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione said shortly.

"Okay," Harry said, backing off.

They reached the foot of the stairs in silence, and found Voldemort waiting for them in the sitting room.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As we'll ever be, I suppose," Harry said. "Honestly, it had to be Malfoy Manor," he grumbled.

"How are we getting there?" Hermione asked.

"Apparation. I'll be side-alonging the two of you."

Harry groaned again. "Great."

"Hush, brat," Voldemort said, but without malice. "Come along."

He headed for the front door, holding it open for Harry and Hermione. Once outside, he glanced around for anything amiss, then hooked his right arm around Harry's and offered his left to Hermione, who hesitantly took it.

Harry glanced over at the rather trampled-upon and half-destroyed bush next to the doorstep, and said, "What happened to that bush?"

"Never you mind," Voldemort said.

He ignored Harry's raised eyebrow, gathered his magic, and turned on the spot, apparating the three of them away.

A/N: Next time: Malfoy Manor.

There will be no love-triangle side plots, in case you're worried (they irk me). I promise this is only going to be a Harrymort/Tomarry fic... although in the interest of full disclosure, I do also ship Drarry and occasionally Snarry, but in this fic Harry is only going to be with Voldemort.

As always, comments and con-crit are very welcome!