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Chapter Fifty-Eight—Reabsorption

Augusta sipped her tea and glared at the recalcitrant circle in front of her on the floor of her drawing room. She had no idea what to do to make it behave. She'd read dozens of books, applied dozens of levels of magical theory, and looked all through the various notes that Albus had made for her about how this particular ritual behaved and how it might find Horcruxes. And she had discovered nothing.

The circle simply didn't find Horcruxes in any of the locations Albus had suspected. Nor did it seem to find the artifacts he had suspected were Horcruxes.

That meant that she had to consider a possibility that she had been reluctant to let into her heart. Once she started doubting the man she had trusted to be leader of the Light, it was like doubting the Light.

But…

Perhaps the circle did not work because Albus's information was simply wrong. Perhaps he had never actually had accurate ideas about the location of the Horcruxes or the number of them or which artifacts they were.

Augusta drained the last of her teacup and set it down on the table next to her with a thump, standing to walk the outer edge of the circle. Even peered at up close through the strongest glasses she could Conjure, her runes were perfect. Nothing had happened to damage or change them, at least.

So what should she do if Albus was wrong and his information untrustworthy? To Augusta, it didn't matter much if Albus had trusted the wrong person or told her the wrong thing on purpose. That didn't seem like him, but it could have been a test.

Augusta folded her arms and frowned deeply. The current matriarch of the Longbottom family was not a fit subject for tests. She would have let Albus read any concerns about her loyalty or her strength in magic out of her mind, if he was that concerned about things.

So she could not trust him, at least for the moment. She would have to proceed as if she would never be able to trust him again, whether or not that was the way she wanted to proceed.

She broke the circle with a single kick of her foot, and then set about cleaning up the ritual implements and conjuring water to wash the floor. She could have called house-elves to do it, but it gave her a savage pleasure to do it herself, to know that this was the last work Albus would get out of her.

"Mother?"

Augusta looked up. Frank stood in the doorway, staring at her. Augusta snorted and gave her wand a particularly vicious jab that made the last remnants of the circle fly up into the air in an explosion of ashes. When they fell back down again, she absorbed them with sheer power before they could try to soak into the flagstones. "What is it, Frank?"

"I—Alice said that you were doing something up here and not to be disturbed. But I don't feel any ritual magic…"

"I've done my last ritual for that fool, Albus Dumbledore."

Frank looked back and forth between her and the floor. "Does that mean that you believe the peace declaration?"

"What peace declaration?" Augusta was pleased with the speed that Frank took a folded Daily Prophet out of his pocket and handed it to her. She could still command her family when it counted.

On the front page were two photographs, one of Albus smiling at what looked to be Hogwarts's Leaving Feast last year, and the other one…Augusta frowned. The face looked vaguely familiar, but all the wizarding families she could imagine having a son who looked like that didn't have one of this generation. This man probably wasn't as old as she was.

YOU-KNOW-WHO SEEKS PEACE! said the headline above that, and there was more prattle which Augusta ignored. She had come to know from long, painful years of reading the Prophet that the most pertinent details would be buried in about the sixth paragraph, which was where she looked.

The representatives of You-Know-Who have apparently been meeting with Minister Fudge for some time…suing for peace….admitted that their lord would prefer to have peace than rule over a world of ashes…

Augusta kept staring at it, but it refused to change, even when she went back and read the opening paragraphs of the story (useless, just as she'd supposed). Then she flipped the paper over and stared hard at the photograph on the front.

"Mother?"

"Yes, Frank, I believe it," Augusta said. She looked at the picture of Albus. He did nothing but twinkle happily at her, utterly ignorant, as of course a picture would be, of what his real counterpart had done.

Augusta made a sharp decision. Not a hasty one. It had been building for some time, when she thought about it, the way all her important choices did. But now she could admit it to herself.

Albus was failing, or else he had succumbed to paranoia, as she'd thought the last few months, and was letting things slip completely and utterly away from him. Well, then. He was useless either way. But the Light would need a leader, someone who was willing to negotiate with You-Know-Who and would make sure that the interests of the people they represented wouldn't be left out.

"I am going to the Ministry to speak with You-Know-Who's representatives," she told her son crisply, and handed the paper back to him. "Don't wait up. I expect I'll be quite late."

"Mother?"

"Don't keep repeating yourself like a gormless idiot," Augusta snapped, and strode down the stairs. On the way down, she spotted her daughter-in-law peering out of a door, Neville at her side.

Both of them appeared more astounded than Augusta would have liked when she gave them the same sharp nod and kept walking. But she would have to ask them about it later. For now, she had an appointment to keep.

"And you think this is the best thing we can do?"

Harry grinned up at Sirius as he studied the pictures on the front page of the Prophet. It was amazing that Voldemort had allowed himself to be photographed for such a mundane reason, but then again, it was Harry who had asked it, and he was probably less recognizable than he'd been for many years.

It gave Harry hope that the peace process really would move forwards, and not get stalled by something they couldn't have imagined happening at the last minute.

"Harry?"

"Right, sorry." Harry yanked his attention away from the paper and turned to Sirius. They were sitting in the drawing room of the Potters' cottage; Lily and James had accepted enough of the way things were turning out that Harry didn't need to hide Sirius's involvement from them anymore. "Yes. I think it's the best thing."

"Lots of people might still not believe in peace until Dumbledore agrees that Voldemort's seeking it." Sirius was frowning, plucking idly at the sleeve of his robes. Harry had wondered before why so many of them were unraveling and frayed, but now he thought he knew.

"I know. But he's never going to say it. That's why we decided to go around him. And if you're right about Augusta and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, then they'll take over when they decide it's sincere, anyway. Take over leading for Light wizards, I mean," Harry added, because Sirius had started to open his mouth.

"Okay. I just..."

"Hoped we would be able to talk Albus around?" Harry's voice turned softer without his telling it to. "Yeah, I know. There were lots of worlds where he was perfectly reasonable. I hoped he would be this time, too."

Of course, there was always the fact that in those other worlds, Albus had never known the truth of what Harry was. Harry had to accept that that had probably made the difference this time.

But unlike in the past, he refused to despair over that fact. It was done. He had added too much that was good to this world to really regret the defection of one person.

"What do you think is going to happen next?" Sirius glanced at the front page of the Prophet again. "Will people really accept this peace treaty you want to sign?"

Harry managed to smile. "I think it will be easier now that we don't have years of war behind us. For most people, peace is the new reality, and they'll take it easier because of that."

"True enough." Sirius leaned back in his chair and swung his leg in front of him. "What's going to happen next year when you go to Hogwarts?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will you still want me to give those lessons in curses and so on to Jonathan? You'll be there and you must know more than I do."

"I want you to keep on being his teacher," Harry said simply. "There will be some people who know what I am and can accept the reality, but for others, it's going to be a lot harder than the peace treaty. If I'm a child and with Jonathan and you're also there as a responsible adult, then they can account for it later when Jonathan shows how much he knows."

Sirius began to laugh, and went on until he was wheezing. Harry stared at him patiently. He didn't think what he'd said was that funny.

Then again, Sirius Blacks in all worlds tended to have a sense of humor Harry didn't always agree with.

"You think of me as a responsible adult," Sirius finally said, sitting up and wiping what appeared to be actual tears from his eyes, to Harry's utter bafflement. "That's the best thing anyone has ever said to me." He clamped his lips shut, but muffled snorts still erupted from them sometimes.

"In one life," Harry said, lowering his voice so that he knew he would sound like an oracle, "you even became the Head of the House of Black, and talked about your duty to your family, and married a witch you didn't love because you thought she would give you the best heirs."

Sirius's laughter vanished as though Harry had whisked it away with a broom. "I did not. You take that back."

"Your sons were named Orion and Cygnus," Harry continued relentlessly. "And you called your daughter Denebola because you said it had never been used before, and that was the most important factor."

"I did not."

"In another world," Harry said, and leaned nearer and lowered his voice more, so that Sirius glared at him suspiciously, "you said that your best friend in life was Severus Snape. You ended up as his lover, and you cursed James when he tried to interfere because he thought you were under a love potion."

"You are making this up," Sirius said after a long moment, but with enough of a hesitation in his voice that Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Why would I need to, when the truth is so much funnier?" Harry lounged back and winked at Sirius. "Look, I've lived more than seventeen hundred years. There's not much that surprises me anymore."

But this world, Jonathan, and Voldemort are three of those things.

Harry wondered if it was coincidence or not that he spied Voldemort's black owl winging towards him through the window a few seconds later. He shook his head as it landed next to him. "Don't you get tired of delivering letters to just one person?" he asked. He seriously doubted that Voldemort wrote letters to his Death Eaters. He could summon his minions with the burn of the Mark on their arms.

And that's something else we need to talk about, the Mark and essentially keeping people as slaves, Harry thought, as the owl hooted at him and shoved the letter in his direction. It didn't appear to be tired enough of delivering messages to keep the letter away from him.

"Yes, fine," Harry muttered, and took the letter from the owl, aware of Sirius's amused look.

"You'd think those seventeen hundred years of life would have included some experience accepting annoying letters, wouldn't you?" Sirius remarked, apparently to the owl.

"Oh, shut up," Harry muttered, and opened the letter. He stared. There was only a single line on the parchment, and normally Voldemort sent him much longer letters than that, if only because they were full of complaints.

I will agree to your method of immortality and reabsorb the rest of the Horcruxes.

Harry sat back. He couldn't catch his breath. He swallowed and swallowed and stared and stared, and still the letter remained exactly the same. He flicked his hand and cast a charm that would reveal other words scratched on the parchment beforehand or hidden with special ink, and the paper glowed and then the glow died. It was exactly as it appeared to be.

"Excuse him, he's only had seventeen hundred years of practice at this," Sirius whispered to the gently hooting owl.

Harry conjured a pillow to fling at Sirius, and stared back at the letter in wonder. Yes, this Voldemort was different from anyone he had ever known.

Harry would still speak to him, and make sure this sudden decision was sincere and not being motivated by some factor that he didn't know about and wouldn't be able to accept. But right now, wonder was what filled him. Gentle awe. Pleasure.

Which was probably exactly what Voldemort had meant him to feel when he sent the letter.

Harry sighed. Does it make his desire to reabsorb the Horcruxes matter less because he's probably doing it to make me feel a certain way?

But that was a debate that Harry had privately settled long ago, when he had been in another world where he had had a choice between a peace that someone wanted to bargain for to impress him and an "honest" peace. There were certain things that were worth everything, and the motivation barely mattered.

Especially because Harry didn't think Voldemort would continue to want him, or to want to impress him, once he understood even more about Harry's length of life, and perspective on humanity. Voldemort was unique and incredibly interesting. That didn't make Harry inclined to give him everything he wanted.

Voldemort is the type to make sacrifices and expect them to be reciprocated. I can't do exactly what he wants, though.

Harry shrugged away his uneasiness. More than likely it would work out without either of them having to make too many sacrifices.

"You're really willing to absorb the last Horcruxes?"

Harry's voice was low and came out of the darkness in the clearing as though he had materialized from it. Lord Voldemort turned in its direction and waited until his eyes had adjusted long enough to make out the small form there.

"Yes," he said, when he thought he had paused long enough to make Harry inch a little closer, and then lit the end of his wand.

The range of the Lumos Charm caught Harry's face, as he had intended. His expression was limited to a small smile, but the emotions in his eyes...

It was like looking into the starry void that Lord Voldemort had more than once glimpsed when Harry showed him his true self, and seeing it smile back at him. Take account of his existence, which normally never mattered to those impersonal and infinite forces.

"Yes," Lord Voldemort repeated. Something in the tone of his voice seemed to affect Harry negatively, however, because Harry frowned and shifted backwards a little.

"You realize that you won't get everything you want by doing so? You offered. This isn't a bargain."

"Tell me what I won't receive." Lord Voldemort found it harder than ever to take his eyes from those green ones, for all that he wished Harry didn't wear the body of a child.

"I can't promise that I'm going to be by your side forever in the way you want. Or to stop myself from growing old and dying in this world."

Lord Voldemort said nothing for long seconds. Then he said, "I was not making a bargain. I hoped that if I chose this way to become immortal, you would join me. But I can only explain what I would do with that kind of life and show you that it would be worthwhile, not persuade you against your will."

Harry narrowed his eyes and said nothing for seconds in return. But one skill Lord Voldemort had tried to perfect since he had realized he would be truly immortal was patience. He waited, and Harry finally nodded and said, "I would be open to listening to you. It doesn't mean you would ever convince me. And you only have a few decades."

"That will be enough."

Harry snorted. "We both know you're lying."

"I will make them be enough, if it is not possible to convince you to spend more time with me."

Harry studied him in utter silence. Then he nodded, and lifted his hands. For a moment, a searing darkness traveled across the clearing, and Voldemort saw through the shapes that surrounded them to the stirring death beneath.

"Very well. Shall we begin?"