In Willing Sacrifice

by GeMerope

When Harry Potter has the opportunity to erase Voldemort before the Dark Lord can resurrect, he finds out that walking a fine line between his own morality and the good of this world is more complicated than Harry could have ever imagined. Slow Burn, eventual HPLV.

95. C94 - Wings of Death

Thank you very much for the nice comments!
Finally I have managed a nice lengthy chapter again.

Enjoy!

---

Chapter 94 – Wings of Death

Over the past month, a restlessness had been growing that Sirius found hard to determine. Days were both clearer and blurrier than before. He fell from one day into the next, trying to find a purpose. Undeniably, he was freer now, able to move between safe spots and trail any of the others who were in the same boat as him of being wanted by the Ministry – which included everyone currently residing in Riddle House. It was a breath of fresh air from being confined to the pressing darkness that was his ancestral home. On top of it, he had near permanent access to his godson, could see Remus again and had many interesting discussions with Crouch, reminiscing about their time at Hogwarts or, in the hungover hours of bleak mornings, whisper of fears they both shared. Of rattling breaths, unnatural cold, of the memories that wouldn't leave.

Still, although his stay here was more pleasant than he could ever have imagined, considering whom exactly this house belonged to, Sirius felt just as frustratingly useless as when he'd attempted to aid the Order of the Phoenix. Only Sevvy's taunting was missing, which almost made it worse as no-one pushed him to do something. His new goal in life, to see his godson happy, was not achieved by Sirius himself. Even if he was wholly absent, Harry was perfectly happy hanging around the Dark Lord or any number of his school friends. Not that they didn't spend quality time together: especially when Voldemort was off doing what evil Dark Lords do, they found time for long talks and for helping Harry with fine-tuning his spellwork. It did not help the remaining hours of the days, in which he listlessly circled the few rooms he was allowed in. Some were still off-limits, such as a few mysteriously warded ones beyond Crouch's bedroom downstairs. If it weren't for Harry's insistence he should not venture there and his favourite pastime of pranking people being severely underappreciated in this house, he'd have attempted to break in long ago.

Even the garden lost a bit of its initial appeal when the fresh air in his nose became part of the daily routine. He wished it would be easier to visit Remus. Being part of a pack now severely limited their contact, Sirius was only allowed to go whenever Crouch had business there too – although admittedly, his new buddy did now and then make up an excuse to sneak in a visit solely for Sirius' sake. Not that it would help him today, as it was a full moon again and neither Remus nor the rest of his pack would be feeling well.

He spared a thought for the vile Ministry bint Voldemort had dragged to the wolves on Harry's request. It would be her first transformation today… In his personal opinion, it had been an awful idea to use Lycanthropy as punishment. Even if Harry didn't care what she changed into as long as it was some form of the 'half-breeds' she hated, that was not the message being sent. With Greyback's pack consisting largely of impressionable pups who'd been raised to resent mages, it would do nothing but breed more hatred. It was surprising that Voldemort seemed blind to this. Or that Greyback allowed it and still forced his pack respect the Dark Lord, according to Remus. Not that bringing up this subject would bring much, as Remus staunchly refused to speak about Moony's creator.

So, no visiting tonight. That brought him back to the boredom of this very moment, in which he apathetically lay on the floor, listening to rustling parchment and scratching quills as the kiddos were all entrenched in study. Even Ron, who was in Sirius' opinion being needlessly bullied into working for Voldemort. Crouch had shrugged Sirius' qualms about the kid being used off, saying: 'I am merely giving Weasley some much needed education, my Lord agreed that he has potential'. Crouch was a great guy, but as soon as he started spouting about one thing or the other 'his Lord' had said, all other senses and ability to think for himself appeared to take a vacation, so that was the last that Sirius had been able to say about it.

That attitude was probably what bothered him most: the idea that Voldemort's word was law. Crouch adhered to it by the letter, Ron seemed intimidated enough not to go against the man and although he knew that Harry did certainly criticise the Dark Lord, it was mostly kept behind closed doors. He'd love to show the arrogant prick some good old-fashioned Muggle-style violence whenever one of those unhinged comments about the worth of magic was uttered, yet he knew it would not be met with any support. Worse, Harry would get upset about it, and the thought of his godson's disappointed face made his heart clench and his brain fog over until those unwanted thoughts were but a distant memory.

He could not even openly complain to Remus, for fear of his old friend taking it the wrong way and getting so overly worried that he'd attempt to do something stupid. He'd been silenced by the contract, but Sirius knew Moony was both clever and shrewd, having been the one to fine-tune all of James' masterplans to make them actually viable. Honestly, the few plans that had gone completely awry had been exactly those Remus hadn't had a hand in. So if anyone could find a way around it, it'd be Remus.

One would think that spending twelve years in a cold cell with nothing to do would have made him able to handle monotony better. The opposite was true: any minute spent lounging around was a frightful reminder.

''You guys should take a break,'' Sirius said to cut the dreadful silence. He flipped around on his belly and propped his face in his hands to look up.

''We've barely studied for an hour and the first exam is this afternoon'' Harry replied, yawning and ruffling his hair in such a way that it suddenly felt as if Sirius was seeing double, a mirage of James being pasted over his godson. He blinked slowly a few times, not entirely sure whether he wanted to clear his vision. The moment was broken when Harry stared at him directly, eyes a piercing green instead of hazel. ''I never asked how you managed your O.W.L.s. Was it as dreadful as the higher year students and teachers made it out to be?''

''I didn't really get all the fuss,'' he honestly admitted. ''Remus was awfully stuck up about spending pretty much every day in the library and Peter joined the half of the school that dissolved into chaos of breakdowns and hospital visits, but James and I spent most of our free time roaming the castle. We tried to one-up each other about finding clever ways to cheat, more to avoid studying and keep up our creative streak than to really use those. We both did fine on our O.W.L.s. I only failed Astronomy because I made too many distracting jokes during the exam about certain stars that bore the names of family members I hated. Other than that, I had an A in Potions and higher in everything else. Was especially proud of my O in Muggle Studies,'' he grinned. His parents had been beyond pissed when hearing about that chosen elective, so he'd ensured to pour enough effort in to pass with flying colours. Mother hadn't been happy about his excellent grades in Defence Against the Dark Arts either, insisting the entire course was a sham as Dark Arts did not need 'defending from'. All the scars he bore from his mother's curses told another story.

''You didn't study at all?'' Hermione asked, sounding horrified. ''If you got good results without, imagine how well you could have done if you had!'' Judging by her expression, she considered this to be a personal affront.

''I didn't need to,'' he reasoned. ''The requirement for the Aurorial Appraisal was five N.E.W.T.s in any given subject of at least an E, so that's what I strove for. As the only courses I could not continue were Astronomy and Potions – an A was too low to take the advanced class - I still took enough subjects at N.E.W.T. level to be comfortable in passing five of them with an E, which I did. All strategy, see.

''What were your best subjects?'' Harry asked. ''No, let me guess: Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, Muggle studies and… errr… History?''

''Oof, the last one is way off the mark,'' Sirius laughed. ''I was good enough to get an E in my O.W.L., but as I tried to distance myself from stories about great mages in history, genealogy and all that, I actually only got an A for my N.E.W.T. You were on point with the other ones, but the last subject I got an O in was Care of Magical Creatures.''

''Oh, didn't even think of that one,'' his godson grimaced. ''There is no N.E.W.T. class for that subject currently. Not a single person in our year plans on taking it regardless of O.W.L. results, and neither did anyone in the two years above us. It was an easy pass and I feel for Hagrid, but the classes were sadly… not so stellar.''

''Outright dangerous, you mean,'' Ron muttered with a frown. ''Can't blame anyone for not wanting two more years of possible injuries. My straw was the Skrewts. One can expect to maybe get bitten or scratched when handling creatures, but bitten, scratched, burned and poisoned all at once? No thanks. Next thing you know he's going to hold educative excursions to Aragog's den to teach us about the easy-going nature of Acromantulas.''

Sirius chuckled at that, then blinked when noticing all three seriously seemed to consider it. ''You're kidding, right?'' he asked. He was not one to shy away from danger or the first person in line for a responsibility award, but even Sirius would never in a million years introduce children to giant venomous spiders with a five X rating.

Ron groaned and firmly covered his ears while Harry explained: ''Hagrid sent Ron and I into that same den on our own to look for clues when Hogwarts was under attack by a Basilisk. Told us to follow the spiders without mentioning that the spiders in the middle of its nest were as big as a freaking horse. He raised their leader by hand and thus simply expected it to not eat us out of courtesy. Which it technically didn't, but it gave permission to all of its thousand-and-something hungry children to do so. The single reason we're still alive is a miraculous rescue by an enchanted car that got a life on its own. Not a fail-safe recipe one can plan for when visiting with an entire group. Hagrid is unfortunately a tad out of touch with reality when it comes to how dangerous his favourite pets are. He gave a dragon that almost burned his house down a teddy bear.''

Sighing, Hermione threw in her two cents: ''I've tried to help by creating better lesson plans when it became clear that Umbridge would attempt to fire Hagrid, which he only laughed off, saying the creatures I suggested were too boring. Honestly, I don't agree with that hag's methods, and I'd never want Hagrid fired, but I don't think it can continue how he's teaching now either. Not a single person wants to take the course on an advanced level nowadays, which is worrisome for careers that will require it. I'm rather glad that I never considered a career path with Care. Charms, however…'' she sharpy said, in a clear attempt to pull the others back to their current studies. It worked, Harry throwing her a guilty look and turning his attention towards 'Achievements in Charming'. Sirius inwardly groaned, figuring he wouldn't be able to distract his godson enough.

It wasn't that he did not want Harry to receive good grades or that he cared nothing for his godson's future, but Sirius was confident that if James could receive stellar grades with less-than-stellar studying, his son surely would have no problems at all. Not with all the extra tutoring Harry had received on top of having inherited both James' and Lily's intelligence. The kid now and then surprised him by casting N.E.W.T. level charms and hexes absentmindedly, or by having completely mastered non-verbal spellwork while hardly appeared to notice this. When it came to his own achievements, Harry was quite dense, a trait which neither of his parents could be blamed for.

He perked up when after several more tedious hours, Harry and Hermione both got more frantic, trying to answer random questions they threw at each other about different varieties of atmospheric charms and started reciting definitions. It appeared the exam was drawing close, a perfect opportunity to get out of the house again. Narcissa had a huge weak spot and caved to Harry's begging about letting Sirius join, although he'd have to remain in his Animagus form and would be thrown out at the first sign of trying to help Harry in any way with the exam. That was fine, he would take up his duty as guard dog and ensure the premises were safe. Truthfully, Sirius was uncomfortable about the written exams being taken at Malfoy Manor instead of the more secure Riddle House, but the Malfoys had been adamant about setting up an appropriate space to imitate the Hogwarts environment, assuring their wards were more than adequate. He'd see about that…

''Remember Harry,'' Hermione said, voice pitched high with nerves, ''McGonagall explicitly stated that whenever we write an incantation down, we have to underscore the syllables that are stressed, otherwise you'll miss half of your marks!''

''I know, Mione, I know,'' Harry grumbled, looking ill as he got up and gathered a few of the notes he'd written down. Glancing at them after he too jumped to his feet, Sirius wondered if Harry was trying to become an author.

''You'll be fine, kiddo,'' Sirius reassured him with a broad smile. ''You'll crush Malfoy, I'm sure of it.''

''Not my main goal, but surely a good motivation,'' Harry chuckled weakly, spontaneously giving him a tight hug that Sirius gladly accepted. ''I'm so happy you'll be there. What would I do without your support?''

His heart sang at the recognition. Nothing would spoil his mood today anymore.

XxX

He'd never seen Narcissa so strict before, her demeanour leaps and bounds away from the kind-hearted smiles he'd gotten accustomed to. It was as if McGonagall had died and her spirit was possessing his adoptive mother. He'd found it a shame at first that she'd only watch over them today, with Lucius taking over the rest of the week as Narcissa had an important duelling tournament in Spain coming up soon. When seeing her mood now, he wasn't so sure anymore whom he'd rather have watching him closely while taking an exam. At least Lucius always looked strict in general so it would hardly be much of a change.

Harry gulped, trying to supress any nervous ticks, glancing over to Hermione and Draco at his left and right respectively. The Malfoys hadn't been kidding when insisting on creating a classroom atmosphere. The dining room had been cleared of any furniture apart from a large desk behind which Narcissa sat and three separate tables about two yards away from each other. As the exams themselves were apparently covered in anti-cheating spells too, he wasn't entirely sure why this was so necessary.

Relaxing minimally when Sirius put a heavy head on Harry's lap and looked up with those big, dark eyes, he concentrated on patting the soft fur. Better than any calming draught. Speaking of potions, it was quite unfair that Voldemort refused to hand him the one he'd created to not need sleep. If he did fluke any of the O.W.L.s, he knew whom to blame.

At last, he could escape no longer, gripping his quill when turning over the dreadful sheet –

- and was instantly thrown off by how simple it all seemed. The very first question was to give the incantation and wand movement to make objects fly. He quickly jotted down Wingardium Leviosa, 'swish and flick' and added a sketch of said movement for good measure. For a moment, he hesitated and read the question again. Was that truly all there was to it? Knowing time was ticking down, he quickly decided it had to be and moved on.

There were thirty-three questions in total, for which he had two hours, and although none of them were multiple-choice like most of Flitwick's tests had been, he found no great hurdles. Feeling far more motivated now, Harry explained the effects and counter of the Cheering charm, went all out on describing all ways he knew to create fire (although after doing so much research on it for the D.A. he could not recall anymore which of those he'd learned in class and which on self-study), wrote a lengthy paragraph about the limits of the basic Shielding charm – noting some alternatives as well as that seemed fitting - and listed all usages of the Scouring charm. It helped that he'd basically ran a household for two summers, during which this particular charm had been invaluable for deep-cleaning. For the very last question, which asked to present and explain the application of a Charm of his choosing, Harry enthusiastically jotted down everything he possibly could in the remaining time about the Healing charm 'Episkey' he'd grown so fond of ever since Voldemort had taught it to him. Only halfway through the page, did he remember it was sixth-year spell. Could points be docked for picking a spell that was not on the curriculum actually being tested? Hopefully not.

In good spirits, he was willing to answer all of Hermione's whispered questions after the two hours were up and they'd handed the answer sheets in. Normally, he got more nervous from re-chewing tests like this, but was so thrilled about how well he thought he'd done, that it was a great stress-reliever. Even more so when it appeared he'd had similar answers as Hermione, considering her perfect record. It also helped that Sirius, after switching back, kept fondly saying 'I told you so,' while ruffling his hair.

''How are my boys feeling?'' Narcissa asked, her professor-attitude having melted away the moment the last kernel of sand had left the upper part of the hourglass. When Draco and Harry both affirmed they'd expected it to be far more difficult, she raised her chin high, which was practically the same as beaming. They all sat down for lunch and chatted amicably, or so Harry thought until noticing that Narcissa absolutely refused to directly speak to Hermione.

''Ah, I haven't introduced you properly, have I?'' he awkwardly said, realising he'd broken proper etiquette. ''Narcissa, this is Hermione Granger, we've been friends since pretty much our early days in Hogwarts. She has stood by me through many difficult times and recently been made aware of my err… personal relations with Voldemort. Hermione, meet Narcissa Malfoy, who welcomed me into the family shortly before Easter.''

The reactions weren't quite what he'd hoped for. Whereas Hermione made an attempt at a polite greeting, Narcissa only dismissively spoke: ''No need to make an effort, girl. I only allow one of your kind into my home due to the Dark Lord's unending mercy. Had I known my children were affiliating themselves with you, I'd have warned them away much earlier.''

Absolutely floored, Harry could only gape, unable to rhyme how Narcissa treated him – a Half-blood no less – with how cold she was towards his friend. Hermione's only reaction was a light flushing of her face. She kept her composure, did not start yelling as Harry would have done, speaking volumes about how she was sadly far too used to this kind of treatment. Sirius did instantly jump to his feet, already opening his mouth, when Draco beat him to it.

''Mother,'' the blond drawled, and Harry was fully ready to get a punch in for whatever spiteful words would come out of Draco's mouth when his brother continued with: ''Granger has been accepted by Harry. That means she's been accepted by the Dark Lord as worthy enough of interacting with. I was sceptical at first as well, but Granger has consistently been on top of our classes throughout the years. She's even practised dark magic of her own volition. I understand yours and father's reservations. However, Granger is quite the exception.''

This calmed Sirius enough for his angry expression to die down into a glower, and Harry hoped the last would be said about it. None of them needed extra pressure or hostility at the moment.

Of course, no such luck.

''I am not,'' Hermione tersely spoke, with an expression like a thunder cloud. ''I will not be an exception to a skewed norm. I should no more need to prove my being worthy to be treated with dignity and courtesy than anyone born under luckier stars.''

''Granger, I am trying to be helpful here,'' Draco hissed under his breath, clearly annoyed at his efforts not being appreciated.

Knowing it would be impossible not to pick sides here, Harry found it easy to decide where he stood. The only reason he hadn't thrown in all the opinions he'd been wanting to voice since moving in had been due to the promise he'd given Lucius. There was no public image to blemish here though, being amongst only friends and family.

''She's right,'' he spoke up. ''It is… surprisingly nice that you are sticking up for her, but this is not the way to do it. Voldemort was always adamant that the problem he has with Muggle-borns is only their difficulties revolving integration in magical society. Well, treating every Muggle-born as if they aren't a true witch or wizard worth acknowledging until proven otherwise is not just counterproductive, but outright cruel. It's no wonder you lot drive them back to the Muggle world instead of wanting to embrace all there is to magic,'' he harshly reprimanded them, receiving a shocked look from Narcissa and a wary one from his brother.

''You and Lucius made an agreement,'' she warned quietly. ''To not challenge our beliefs.''

''And I didn't. I held back everything I wished to say, everything I feel is wrong, but I draw the line when it directly influences my friends. Hermione was born with magic, she belongs in this world with the same rights as all of us. Where is the Noblesse oblige I've heard Lucius boasting about now? Or does it only play a role when conveniently surrounded by politicians and others with the same social status as your own family? You cannot call yourself a noble house without acting like it. You look down on Muggle-borns for not playing according to the same rules as you, while at the same time refusing to apply that etiquette to them. Look, I understand that it is problematic when some mages come into this world at eleven years old and bring a whole other culture with them. We're on the same page with that. What I can't wrap my head around it why Pure-bloods of dark families complain about this without making an effort to help bring about change at the root.''

''It should not be our responsibility-'' Narcissa protested. Now it was her cheeks that had taken on a pink tint of embarrassment. ''Is it not natural to expect newcomers to adapt?''

''And adapt to what exactly?'' Harry asked, exasperated. ''I grew up with Muggles and knew nothing of the Wizarding World until I turned eleven. Did I stick to what I knew? Of course! Because no-one showed me different, because light mages were accommodating whereas dark mages were blatant about how much they looked down on me for my blood alone. I didn't even know for the longest time that there was something more to it, that your culture differed so much from my own, because no-one told me. How can you expect children to instantly look for hidden social clues after being dropped into a world of magic, when on the surface so much looks the same? When the vast majority of our society consists of mages who don't follow the old traditions at all and especially those are prone to befriend people of different blood statuses, giving no reason to make any changes? As far as I am aware, purely magical culture is mainly valued in Slytherin, which Muggle-borns specifically cannot be sorted into due to the House Founder's prejudices. This gives no learning opportunities.''

Honestly, Pure-bloods really lived in a bubble, Harry thought to himself. While it may be true that they most closely attempted to follow the will of Magic, they only interacted with each other and as such thought their culture was much wider spread than was the case. This wasn't about a handful of outsiders refusing to integrate. Literally ninety percent of the Wizarding world did not adhere to the strict customs Harry had come to learn about in the past few years – most of them only in the last two months.

May Pure-blood light families didn't see enough significance in old traditions to uphold those. Mixed families often took a bit of both worlds, usually rejecting the Pure-blood values based on the fact that their intermingling with Muggles was so looked down upon that they were cast out of that society altogether, and Muggle-borns simply didn't know better.

Narcissa attempted to object: ''You yourself only needed some fine-tuning when it came to etiquette and other social rules, it wasn't as if you rejected all of our customs. At our first Ostara ball, you created a perfect altar, which you'd already researched before…''

''Yeah, because of Voldemort!'' Harry threw in, exasperated. ''I remained unaware of any and all magical ways of life until I was almost fourteen. He saw that I lacked both knowledge and motivation, so made sure I got both. He educated me, showed me the importance of Magic, took many hours to painstakingly explain the why behind it all. Had the Pure-blood students in Slytherin-'' he threw a meaningful look at Draco ''-been less insulting of blood traitors and Muggle-borns from day one and focused on bridging gaps instead of spitting on people for not instantly participating with little to no help, it wouldn't have come to that. You want something without putting in effort to help bring it about! I bet that most Muggle-borns don't even know what is apparently expected of them, or that there's such a culture clash behind the scenes. Not everyone is a freaking Legilimens!''

No reply came, the woman clearly too stunned as her views were challenged in her own home.

His tone turned pleading now as he attempted to get his point across. ''Narcissa. I… I love being part of this family after all you gave me,'' he admitted, hoping his voice would not crack. ''It's shown me a welcoming and accepting side of you and Lucius I'd never dared hope for. But if that comes with strings attached of you wanting me to embrace the same prejudice and hatred you have, I don't need it. I can't allow myself to want it.''

As if taunting him, a beam of sunlight lit up the large, framed family portrait that now hung in a central spot on the wall behind Narcissa. Only Sirius' warm, coarse hand that grasped his – probably more for his godfather to ground himself enough not to fly off the handle than for Harry's comfort - did not make his resolve falter when announcing: ''If you refuse to grant my friends the same courtesies based on nothing but blood status, don't expect me to stick around after I'm no longer legally obligated to.''

''Cissy,'' Sirius growled as she remained silent. ''This crap is exactly why I broke ties with my family, why Dromeda never looked back.''

With a rustling of robes, Narcissa abruptly stood, looking each of them in the eyes before striding out of the room. As the door slammed behind her, a knot formed in Harry's stomach.

''I'm sorry,'' Hermione whispered remorsefully, looking genuinely apologetic. ''I did not wish to get you in trouble.''

Harry shook his head lightly. ''If I get in trouble for standing up against baseless hatred, then maybe I don't belong here after all.''

A loud, annoyed sigh made him glare at his brother, who was loading up a second plate generously now his mother wasn't there to sternly remind him of the virtues of moderation. ''You're so dramatic, Potter. For someone who can deal with the moods of the Dark Lord, you're surprisingly dense when it comes to Mother's feelings,'' he said as if talking about the weather, already starting to eat again. ''Did you really not know anything until you were fourteen? I thought that the saviour of the Wizarding world would have received an extensive education.''

''From whom?'' Harry asked in confusion. ''You know I grew up with my magic-hating Muggle family, and after I came to Hogwarts, the people I interacted with were those who'd already been rejected by you lot. Your hand of friendship also clearly was exclusive: you plainly stated that you'd only accept me if I ditched a blood-traitor like Ron. Great start. And what do you mean with reading your mother's mood?''

Now, Sirius was faster, also looking more relaxed and happier than Harry had expected after this turn of events. ''You embarrassed her in front of others,'' he clarified while chewing absentmindedly on a chicken bone. It splintered beneath sharp teeth that made Harry wonder whether humans also took on traits from their Animagus form in time instead of only the other way around. Would surely explain Wormtails' scurrying… A thought he quickly pushed away, he didn't want to be reminded of that rat. Instead, he listened as Sirius continued speaking: ''Once you threw in Voldemort's views, she could not directly challenge those without insulting His Majesty, but suddenly backpedalling and agreeing with you was out of the question, not without having some time to think it over. She'd be seen as a pushover and rash otherwise. Cissy removed herself from the situation without uttering anything for or against your arguments to indicate that need for solitude. Was always her favourite method for dealing with arguments, even when she was a snot-nosed brat who couldn't hold her wand correctly. Hey, what about you?'' he asked a tad harsher, addressing Draco.

''I've been part of Harry's army, haven't I been?'' he grunted. ''Been civil with like thirty blood-traitors, half-bloods and the like for months. I thought Harry was crazy at the start, for sticking by people who'd never see our way. Until they suddenly did. If Weasley and Granger can start using dark magic, there might be potential in others too whom I considered lost causes before.'' He looked highly uncomfortable. ''I've had time to think about this already and think I agree partially. We do have the responsibility to help make the changes we wish to see, educating those of lesser-'' his pale cheeks flamed up red when instantly being thrown three glares, ''-different blood status,'' he corrected. ''Although there are lines to draw, in my opinion. If we make an effort but the help is completely rejected, if Muggle-borns get all the tools they need and still want to return to the Muggle side of things, I don't see why I should respect those who've shown disrespect to my culture.''

''Doesn't the same go for them?'' Hermione challenged. ''You clearly disrespect my culture, insisting on 'changing my ways' to be the only right way to go!''

''Yes, because the Muggle lifestyle is harmful!'' Draco bit. ''Because it usurps the ways of magic and blends out what really matters.''

Before this could de-escalate in an unproductive shouting match, Harry decided it was better to take Hermione aside, because although he did agree to some of Draco's points, the explanation behind it was more than lacking. ''Come on,'' he told his friend, taking her hand. ''I need to show you something. Sirius, you can come along if you want to.''

Huffing, Draco pushed his plate away and tried to gather the remnants of his dignity when being left behind.

''You can't actually see his side!'' Hermione started heatedly after a minute, when Draco was out of hearing range. ''So what if those born in Muggle families keep to their own family traditions? What's wrong with that? Muggles literally don't contribute to either light or dark magic, so none of it would tip the 'balance of magic' you're so concerned about.''

Sirius, who sauntered after them, also looked intrigued, waiting for Harry to explain himself.

''Not if it would remain at that,'' Harry agreed. After a bit of searching, he opened a door. ''Careful, don't enter, just look,'' he warned.

Understandably confused, Hermione peeked over his shoulder. Inside was quite a large, stone chamber. A spiral of colourful oak leaves that started on the floor whirled up into the air in the dead centre, circling a glowing, floating crystal. Against the sides of the room stood an array of small tables with elegant half-pillars that might have functioned as chairs, according to Lucius. Long verses of ancient Latin spells covered the walls, hewn into the stone. ''What is this?'' she asked.

''A good question. One we can no longer answer,'' he replied, careful not to let her too close to not disturb the spells that lay on the entrance. ''This is the oldest room of Malfoy manor, the central one that the rest has been built around. This house does not only function as a living space, it also holds many preserved rooms from times long gone, a museum if you will. This one has been here since Armand Malfoy first settled in Britain almost a thousand years ago, but that is all the info we have. Wards were not always as developed as they are now, and laws surrounding secrecy changed severely over the past centuries depending on the ones in charge and the threat Muggles posed at the time. Surely, the purpose of this room was written down at some point, but sadly, even the library of the Malfoy family has been purged on several occasions over the centuries due to both paranoia and compliance with the law. From the energy this crystal emits and the translations of the spellwork on the walls, it's been determined that it was likely used in some sort of sacrificial rites. Not that the Ministry is aware of this of course, otherwise the Malfoys would have had to do away with it. And that is the point. Celebrating Muggle traditions does not impact magic. Muggle-borns going to live in the Muggle world again doesn't either. However, because some people wish these worlds to intermingle, there are demands of secrecy, cover-ups, getting rid of knowledge about magic or the practise of some branches of magic. This then spiralled out of control in multiple different ways.

First off, the laws of secrecy largely impacted heavy magic as the rituals are often more elaborate, flashier and harder to cover up with easy protection barriers than light spells. Weather magic was outlawed due to how noticeable severe changes in weather are, and even way back when Necromancy was technically still legal, it became forbidden from being practised out in the open for fear of discovery once Muggles were actively searching for traces of magic to condemn witches and wizards. At the same time, it became less and less common to honour Magic in grand celebrations. Instead, many witches and wizards tried to hide in plain sight by adopting Muggle customs and only adapted those with a minimal amount of magic to make it 'ours'. Of course, that was mainly done using a slew of light spells to give it just an extra touch, like how in Hogwarts the Christmas crackers are filled with some fun little charms or the trees decorated with floating lights. Nothing about it would warrant the use of heavy magic. It's not about Muggles doing their thing, it's about mages trying to accommodate to a Muggle style of life in a way that keeps skewing the balance of accepted and widely practised magic. Unfortunately, Muggle-borns are caught in the middle, used as a scapegoat for one side to blame and as a window into that other, sometimes idealised world by another.''

''Different causes creating an undesirable effect for all…'' Hermione muttered with a tinge of sorrow. ''Though as you say, much of this has been the fault of mages more than Muggles or direct descendants. The attitude of dark families does nothing to provide a welcoming environment in which I want to voluntarily be included. I'd argue it even goes further than that. You can't ignore that many old families here do not only have strong views on what type of magic is acceptable, but also have very conservative opinions and customs that completely clash with anyone trying to be more open-minded. Any evolution into a more modern society is stamped out with fake smiles and strict social etiquette. Old money and connections are an important factor in deciding a hierarchy that acts as a glass ceiling to keep Muggle-borns and even Half-bloods away. Personally, I was for example very disturbed by the fact that in this day and age, it's still considered normal to have arranged marriages in Britain. For that alone, I'd never want to be a part of this. I decide my future myself, thank you very much. I know I wouldn't need to worry about my parents cutting me off if I'd have decided to be a spinster with fifty cats.''

''I think we're getting slightly off track,'' Harry interjected, not entirely sure how magical balance was linked to the hierarchy of Pure-blood society.

''No no, she has a point,'' Sirius chimed in. ''Anyone who doesn't fit into 'their' idea of proper behaviour is an outcast and worthy of scorn. With many old families being known for preferring dark magic, anyone who does not share their other values will be quick to cast that aside too. I did the same. To me, all dark practices were so intrinsically linked to my hateful parents that it was a kneejerk reaction to embrace all they hated right after running away. I swore off both their style of life and their style of magic all at once. That pretty automatically included adopting Muggle traditions as it felt so liberating. Especially on dates that were important to them such as, say, Yule, it gave me immensely satisfying vindication to know I was actively choosing to sing Muggle Christmas carols and cast only light charms and other spellwork instead of sacrificing people to bonfires to take in their strength and warmth.''

''Your family sacrificed what?'' a wide-eyed, horrified Hermione whispered. Whipping her neck around, she asked in distress: ''Harry please tell me that your... your partner is not advocating for burning actual human beings for the sake of a party.''

Tongue-tied, Harry didn't immediately know what to say, an image flashing through his mind of Frank Bryce's blackened hand, visible in between the flames of the same fireplace Harry had peacefully slept in front of so many times. Unexpectedly – and probably unknowingly – Sirius saved him from answering when saying: ''Don't worry about it, my parents were on a whole different level of crazy. I've been quite shocked to see how tame the celebrations with an actual Dark Lord are. All he burnt on the Yule log was a single rabbit.''

Cowardly, Harry didn't have the heart to correct his godfather, partially because last Yule had indeed given him hope that his heated discussions with Voldemort about this very subject had brought about a permanent change. There hadn't been any human sacrifices that he knew of since they'd become friends, so was there really any use in announcing that Voldemort had, in fact, done so in the past?

He decided to let it rest for now in favour of drawing both of their attention back to the topic that had sparked their discussion in the first place. Closing the door to the ancient room, he turned to his godfather. ''I'm not blaming you for rejecting all your family stood for, it's completely natural to refuse to participate in something you connect with negative memories. I only want to point out why in the grander scheme of things, I must agree with some of Draco's views. What he meant with Muggle traditions being harmful is that it usurped the importance of magical balance, the proper celebrations and usage that we need to pull our world back into stability. Because you rather turned to Muggle traditions, you no longer practiced heavy magic anymore. Right now, any Muggle-born, Half-blood or so-called blood traitor who actively promotes Muggle as opposed to magical culture is contributing to the scale dipping in favour of light magic. After all, mages don't actually participate in Muggle culture in a non-magical way. Like I said before, it's still full of light spells. Then with both Grindelwald and Voldemort losing their wars, dark magic got so restricted that right now, we're at a point where the majority of the wizarding world pretty much exclusively uses light magic, the only exceptions being spells that were incorrectly classified for any number of reasons. Which is sadly only a drop in the ocean.''

''So in short,'' Hermione hesitantly started, ''We need to practice more dark magic, which is hindered by both sides? Dark Pure-bloods are so lost in their superiority complex that they reject anyone who does not instantly wish to accept their culture until proven otherwise, and light mages stick with their magic and the 'Muggle' side because of that, not contributing either… I can see what you are getting at, Viktor and I have discussed magical Lords and the balancing of magic extensively over the past weeks as you also mentioned it, and what you are saying makes sense. I do not know what the solution to it would be however.''

They'd continued walking during their talk, finally arriving at Harry's bedroom. Giving himself some time to think of a coherent reply, he opened the window to let a breeze in while the others settled down, Sirius kicking off his shoes to jump on the bed and Hermione sinking down on the desk chair. This time no open letters scattered it thankfully, although he also did not think Hermione would be as rude as Sirius had been by reading anything without permission. After inhaling the woody scent of the forest that bordered the property for a bit, Harry plopped down next to his godfather, absentmindedly taking Sirius' hand again. It felt nice, supportive even if he knew they didn't always see eye to eye on everything, including the current issue.

''A lot of attitudes would need to be changed. Pure-bloods have to be more accepting of other mages to not shun them instantly, and those who consider themselves light would need to start being more open to dark magic. Temporarily, talking to as many people as possible to slowly change their opinions is all we can do. In the long term, the only solution so far that I think could truly work is exactly what Voldemort has been striving for, separation of our worlds to a degree that we don't need to hide magic in our everyday lives due to us being protected by full dimensional barriers instead. It eliminates the need to ban certain magic out of fear for Muggles finding us, would allow dark magic to become more wide-spread and through that, old customs could be restored and more openly accepted again.''

''Easy-peasy,'' Sirius grinned. ''Let's first bother every Pure-blood we can find until they agree to be nice to Muggle-borns.''

Hermione was not so optimistic, wearing a brooding expression. ''There are so many factors to consider,'' she fretted. ''I doubt it'll go smoothly, and V-Voldemort is not known for dealing well with opposition. You can't eliminate all contact with the outside world when considering Muggle-borns, or people who wish to find a partner elsewhere. Most of the magical community currently consists of Half-bloods to some degree. That's even the case in countries that are considered dark and traditional. One of Viktor's great-grandfathers was a Muggle, did you know? If it wasn't for mages being able to marry Muggles, Viktor wouldn't even exist.''

Harry hadn't, as he generally did not decide on whether to interact with people based on their lineage. How much smaller would their society have been if there'd been no dallying with Muggles? Even when only considering a group as small as the D.A., there was a substantial amount of students with Muggle parents. In a world in which having children with Muggles would be impossible, neither Seamus, Dean, Susan, Hannah, Anthony nor Michael would have been born. And those were only the people with whom the subject had ever come up in the first place, Harry wasn't aware of the exact blood status of half of the remaining D.A. members. He'd never discussed family matters with Lavender or the Patil Twins for example. And those who definitely had two magical parents maybe had Muggle grandparents instead.

Even Voldemort had only come into this world because of a Muggle in the end, he realised, tragic though the circumstances of his birth had been.

''Can't imagine a world without Moony,'' Sirius mused, disturbed. Harry hadn't even known that one of Professor Lupin's ancestors had been a Muggle too.

To give some credit to his partner, he vaguely stated: ''Voldemort is searching for ways to integrate Muggles into our world even after the separation, in part to counter a decline in population.'' He should have known that Hermione wouldn't simply nod and let that go once mentioned, so he cursed himself instantly when she started hounding him about the how and what. ''Just… researching ways to give some Muggles access to passive magic,'' he uncomfortably revealed, not wishing to go into detail about Voldemort's current plans as Harry did not wholly agree to the specifics and still hoped to influence his partner. If a curse like lycanthropy could grant Muggles magical abilities to some extent, there had to be other ways too, less extreme methods.

''Muggles can't be given magic,'' Sirius countered. ''This sounds like Voldemort's old rhetoric that was used against Muggle-borns during the last war, accusing them of only becoming witches and wizards by stealing wands and magic somehow. It was ridiculous and toxic. Up there with the Muggle registry under 'most deranged ideas' that the Order fought against.''

This was news to Harry, as no-one on either side had ever told him that Voldemort had voiced such outlandish claims.

The confession 'You would not have found it in you to love me had we met twenty years ago' flashed through his head. It was expertly ignored.

''That's not what he meant when we talked about it,'' the teen tried to explain. ''There are mages with active magic like us and those with passive magic like Squibs. Squibs can still see through anti-Muggle wards for example, and, most importantly for Voldemort's idea, have a much higher chance at having magical children than Muggles do. For Muggles it's literally only a one-in-two-hundred-thousand chance.'' Voldemort had shown him the exact research on this subject after their last discussion concerning it. In recent years, on average only four of the roughly 800.000 annual births in the British Isles had resulted in magical offspring. Harry also only knew of two Muggle-borns in their current year at Hogwarts, although there might be one or two more that he just wasn't aware of as blood status wasn't something he discussed during class with most of his peers. ''Squibs on the other hand,'' he continued, ''have about a fifty-fifty chance even when having a child with a Muggle.'' It was a matter Voldemort had wished to speak of in great length recently, ever since Fleur had published news that highlighted the mistreatment of Squibs. The man had apparently attended some open discussions a month prior in his disguise too and become particularly interested in the 'potential' of Squibs.

''But there are barely any Squibs,'' Hermione countered with a frown. ''Plus, that does not count as giving Muggles magic. They aren't Muggles, nor are their children.''

''No, but he latched onto this idea of passive magic. No-one can turn a Muggle into a witch or wizard and giving a Muggle a wand isn't going to have any result, but there are methods to grant Muggles access to 'magic' on the same level as a Squib. It could allow the families of Muggle-borns a gateway into our world and at the same time solve our population issue. It's still in the early stages,'' he hurried to say as he knew the looks both Sirius and Hermione gave him well enough. ''So I don't really want to go into all the speculations right now. I'm just saying that Voldemort is working on it and is not so completely blind and deaf to the issues you raised as you both appear to think.''

It looked like they finally let the topic rest after that. None of it was solved per se, but he hoped that the tension had been eased, at least for today. Also welcoming was that Hermione appeared to be far more receptive to his differing opinions than she'd been a month ago. He wasn't sure what had been the decisive factor: having access to different books, talks with Viktor, generally living in a dark household or something else entirely. Whichever it had been, she'd returned more open-minded.

He sincerely hoped that his godfather was correct in that Narcissa was also reconsidering her stance, for he'd hate to have family troubles looming over him during the whole rest of his exams.

''Oh shit, exams!'' he suddenly exclaimed, sitting upright. ''Tomorrow is Transfiguration!''

Hermione too went from collected to frantic panic, whereas his godfather just groaned miserably, letting his head fall back on the pillow again. ''You two are far too motivated for this,'' he complained. ''If Transfiguration is anything like Charms was today, you're going to pass it with closed eyes and tied hands.''

His friend didn't take kindly to those complaints. ''Transfiguration is far more complex than Charms!'' she fussed. ''I can't imagine that the theoretical O.W.L. will simply ask for explanation of spell effects. Professor McGonagall was adamant that the scientific theory behind the taught spells is valued far more highly than knowing the spells themselves.''

Harry wasn't completely listening to her, anxiously rattling off the base components for any transfigurative spell: ''Body weight, viscosity, core power, concentration and movement…'' he murmured under his breath.

''Wand power,'' Hermione sternly corrected. ''And viciousness, not viscosity.''

''Oh right, McGonagall's teachings differed from Voldemort's,'' Harry groaned. ''I have to remember that for the O.W.L, even if it feels stupid to write down answers I know are wrong. Not sure how those Death Eaters will score us of course, but if they're grading us according to the official answer sheets it'll be better to stick to what we were taught at Hogwarts, I guess.''

''What do you mean with 'his teachings differed?'' his friend questioned, sounding both distraught and intrigued as they made their way back to the dining hall to get the bags they'd left behind.

''Ah, he insisted that one should never use wand power to calculate transfigurative spells as it makes it much harder to perform them when forced to use another wand for any reason. Instead, there's a method to measure one's own core power, which can be used as a base in these calculations instead. Also, viciousness was a transcribing error made about two-hundred-and-twenty years ago. McGonagall described it as the aggression or willpower put into a spell, but that's technically covered by both core or wand power and concentration. The last factor is viscosity, although it only has to be taken into account when working with fluids.''

''The resistance of a liquid or gas to a change in shape or movement of neighbouring portions relative to one another,'' Hermione rapidly recited – undoubtedly from some dusty dictionary she'd once devoured at age four - looking as if she'd had a revelation. ''That explains so much…'' Then, her dream-like expression shattered. ''But surely a teacher as proficient as Professor McGonagall must have known something that important! So many equations could be corrected to make casting easier if this is the truth. Not to mention that even Professor Dumbledore would have taught incorrect theory according to you then. They're both Masters in the field and can perform any type of Transfiguration without difficulty. That could not be if the equations were incorrect-'' she argued, predictably stubborn about going against the grain of what she'd been taught by the figures of authority she trusted.

''Not incorrect, only incomplete,'' Harry shrugged. He checked his bag to see if he'd put all items he'd brought along back into it and took the Portkey again, holding it out to Hermione and Sirius. No Malfoys were in sight, but with how those conversations had ended, it was probably best to leave them be, so the teen did not go out of his way to say his goodbyes. It was only a shame as Narcissa would only be in England again on Saturday earliest, and with the practical exams being planned to take place in the garden of Riddle House to contain any destructive or accidental magic, Harry wasn't even sure about seeing her then.

Upon returning to Riddle house, he instantly picked up their talk again as he noticed Hermione still wasn't satisfied with his answer. ''As Snape loves to remind me, magic isn't an exact science. Not even Transfiguration is completely scientific. Yes, results can be calculated more easily by researching theory first than with, say, Charms or – Merlin forbid – Divination, but that doesn't mean it won't work with force and experimentation instead. Or with only partial estimates. Dumbledore and McGonagall both may be such naturals in this field that they instinctively adapted their spellwork. Don't forget that we only learned the theory behind the spells after already performing them. You changed a match into a needle after less than an hour of practise in our first lesson, without having a clue about how the spell looked when dissected into components on paper!''

''And how did he come to have this knowledge if even Professor Dumbledore did not?'' she asked with crossed arms, still obviously unwilling to believe Voldemort's words over that of her own trusted teachers.

Slightly annoyed by her stubborn stance, Harry was more than happy to inform her of the lengths his partner had gone to, to receive as thorough of an education as possible. ''He travelled across Europe and Asia to study various branches of magic. When concentrating on transfiguration, Voldemort noticed a strange discrepancy, as this basic theory in foreign books did not translate into the same terms that are used in English literature. When digging deeper, he found that older English texts did use the correct translation, until an otherwise very reliable and popular textbook was written to be used in the Hogwarts curriculum. I forgot the exact title-''

''A Comprehensive Guide to All Things Change'' Hermione instantly said, then stuttered: ''That- that one came out two hundred and twenty-two years ago and formed the foundation of many later textbooks, including 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration', 'Intermediate Transfiguration' and 'A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration', all of which are currently used at different levels in Hogwarts. The initial guide was not practical enough as it was so thick and, well, comprehensive. It attempted to cover everything, not ideal for students whose parents could not add – or afford to add – undetectable extension charms on their schoolbags.''

Sirius gave an impressed whistle. ''You must have an amazing memory,'' he spoke. ''No wonder even little Malfoy was gushing about your intelligence.''

''Malfoy did what?'' they heard, and Harry looked up to see Ron's head appear in the frame of the door that led into the orangery and garden. He had stains of grass all over his robes that Harry knew all too well from being smacked around during training. Unsurprisingly, Barty followed him inside.

''Welcome back,'' Barty grinned, sauntering over to ruffle Harry's hair. ''Still alive huh? Thought you'd been eaten by the monstrous owl when you guys still didn't return after three hours.''

His grin faded when Harry explained what had actually held them up, attempting to summarise all they'd spoken about. Ron and Barty both had very different reactions, one getting upset at how Hermione had been treating while the Death Eater focused instead on their subsequent discussion, attempting to pick apart Harry's reasoning. When his suggestion that it would be in the best interest of Half-bloods and Muggle-borns to be pro-active about grasping for opportunities to be accepted into their new world fell on four pairs of deaf ears, he asked instead: ''Have you talked to our Lord about this?''

''Surely more than once,'' Harry answered. ''It's because of him that I've reached these conclusions and feel like I have an informed enough opinion to confidently speak of it. Our views often differ, but he's quite on the same page with this, even if he's less concerned with attempting to change the stances of Pure-bloods this instant than I would like. He's focusing on the grander picture whereas I… well, I'm a bit less patient.''

''Hot-headed, more likely,'' Barty muttered. ''Speaking of hotheads, today is the full moon. Were-wolves are a bit sensitive in the following days, but I planned on visiting later this week. Would you like to come along with Sirius and I to see the result of your vengeance?''

Oh. Umbridge. So much had happened since last month that he'd almost forgotten about the hated toad whose fate he'd sealed. He supposed he owed it in a skewed way to check up on both her and the were-wolves he'd subjected to taking her in as one of them. On the other hand, this was supposed to be her new life now. ''Wouldn't it defeat the purpose?'' he hesitantly asked. ''Greyback put her on trial and from what I gathered, all of her 'sins' will have been forgiven since being bitten. Being reminded of it instead of focusing on becoming a real part of the pack might not be productive.''

''That might be Greyback's view,'' Barty shrugged. ''I think it'll be a good opportunity to see whether it really made a change. Contracting lycanthropy was a deserving punishment sure-'' (on the side, Sirius made a disgruntled sound) ''-but that doesn't mean anyone else needs to instantly forget the deeds that made it necessary. Since no-one there knew how she really was before, you'll be one of the few who can assess whether she truly had a change of heart. Don't forget that this pack serves our Lord now. If Umbridge retained her spiteful character, we need to be aware of a possible betrayal.''

''And if you don't want to go for her, we could both visit Moony together,'' Sirius threw in with a big smile.

Now that was a convincing argument. He hadn't spoken nearly enough with Professor Lupin, who'd not visited again since deciding he would not actively help Voldemort. It had denied Harry the chance to covertly ask for help regarding Sirius' health too.

To himself alone, Harry also admitted that the were-wolf's leader had intrigued him, so having another opportunity to speak to Greyback might not be unwelcome either. He seemed upfront about his actions, unbothered by whether anyone else condoned those. Although Voldemort told Harry much, there was still always too little time to speak of everything that encompassed their plans for the future. Besides, getting another's view couldn't hurt. He wanted to know what exactly Greyback expected the role of his pack to be.

''Alright,'' he agreed. ''Although I'm pretty busy with studying in the coming weeks, so I'd prefer to wait after the O.W.L.s are over and done with. There's still a whole month before the next full moon.'' He glanced over to the dining table, where Hermione had already dived into her books again, not wasting any further time on talks. Strangely enough, the sight made him suddenly aware of how lucky he was, able to speak so openly when surrounded by the people he cared about. Right after last summer, he could never have imagined what the year would have had in store, nor that Hermione, Ron, Sirius and Barty would ever be sitting in the same room in relative comfort. His friend doing something so normal as reading textbooks while a conversation was going on about the were-wolf pack that had entered an alliance with Voldemort was both absurd and comforting.

Deciding he'd also spent far too long loitering around, Harry joined her. Politics were all well and good, but none of that would help him if Voldemort would behead him in rage over failing a subject the man had spent the better part of last term tutoring him in.

XxX

Wind whipped at his robes as he flew through the night under a blanket of stars spanning the sky so far from civilisation. Nothing and no-one lived out here for dozens of miles, not anymore. No-one except a single lonely man in a castle too large for him. It could have been the start of a fairy tale, if it wouldn't already have been the bitter ending to a story of failure.

Slipping through cracks in the wards was easy enough after having studied and mentally unravelled them in the days prior. Voldemort only needed to put his theories into practise. For three whole minutes that seemed to stretch an eternity, he sacrificed his consciousness upon touching them, going through by becoming one with the hostile shields, letting them burn him up – fatal for anyone ordinary, but the Dark lord was more magic than man, able to turn into vapour at his own wish and solidify again as a whole. A necessary skill to enter the tower he flew towards now: the windows merely thin slits in black rock too small for a person to fit through.

Frail yet clean, Grindelwald lay on a bed far too comfortable for a mere prisoner, turning over under a thick fur blanket as soon as Voldemort appeared. Had an illusion been cast upon the room? Voldemort did not detect any at first sight, his gaze drawn to a vase with wilted roses that could not be older than a week or two.

A cocky smile hadn't been the anticipated reaction, nor did the uttered words make any sense: ''At last, I knew you'd visit eventually. You have followed the wrong trail.''

Clasping his hands behind his straightened back, the Dark Lord supposed this conversation might take a more interesting turn than what he'd initially come for. ''Is that so?'' he neutrally asked.

''Yes… the long search that is doubtlessly behind you was fruitless. Killing me won't bring you what you seek. I'd thus ask you to refrain. There's still so much to live for.'' The words dripped with open sarcasm as Grindelwald sat up and spread his arms, though Voldemort detected a hint of truth beneath that layer of deceit.

He could attempt to overwhelm the former 'Lord's mind with Legilimency, tear at his memories until only a shell would be left and he'd hold all knowledge. Even in this current, seemingly healthy state, Voldemort doubted that even a man once so powerful as Grindelwald had been could withstand for long against the sheer force he typically employed, not after so many years of isolation. Unfortunately, Grindelwald would still be useful in the years to come. The itch to either drive this impostor to insanity or to murder him prickled under his skin. Alas, he could not afford to give into it.

''How come you know of me?'' he inquired, figuring that direct questions about this supposed 'long search' would only reveal a lack of knowledge.

The other was silent for a moment, seeming a tad taken aback by his jeering words being so utterly ignored. ''From my jailor, of course. One yearly visit to alleviate the guilt, during which he blabbers my ears off about all of his worldly troubles.''

A red gaze shifted to the roses once more. Well, that would make his goal all the easier to reach. He noted the 'yearly', which meant Dumbledore would not show his face here for many more months to come. ''Old loves die hard?''

Mismatched eyes grew disturbingly bright. ''You are more well-informed than he had made you out to be. Less aggressive too, I'd been prepared to be tortured a few minutes ago… What can I say? Old lies die harder, to my regret. I could never convince him to release me despite our past. Perhaps because of our past,'' he muttered.

''If I hadn't known already what a self-righteous martyr Dumbledore imagines himself to be, I'd be surprised. Struggling with guilt until the very end, how typical,'' Voldemort scoffed. ''He should have simply given in and joined you.''

''My thoughts exactly,'' Grindelwald agreed, sitting up even straighter now, some of the defensive cynicism vanishing. ''Ah, I had to learn it is never so simple. Albus was too strong-willed, too occupied with being good to accept what would have been right. I should have known he'd never willingly turn to dark magic. As soon as things became too heavy, he ran from himself, from me…''

It was quite useless to painstakingly explain here and now why Grindelwald's cause had not been right. The old wizard would be locked up in here until his death, unable to exert further influence with his flawed ideas. Voldemort swallowed his own pressing urge to always be right to focus on what was important.

He couldn't help though, but declare: ''My strong-willed and utterly good, prophesised nemesis has accepted dark magic and shall marry me in a few years time.''

Hard lines appeared in the wrinkled face. ''Harry Potter?'' he breathed. ''I detect no lie on your tongue… Albus was wholly worried about his prized student during our last talk. Your attempt at kidnapping and brainwashing the boy was successful, then? A bold move… I must commend you for the ingenuity.''

Chuckling softly, Voldemort shook his head. ''Kidnapping and brainwashing? Not quite my style. Although I cannot deny I have kept Harry a prisoner for a while, he came to me. A few years ago, in fact. No, Dumbledore has reached entirely erroneous conclusions about these recent developments. I am offering shelter, not bars.''

Grindelwald hummed, looking almost disappointed. ''It appears Albus' sharpness and brilliance has deteriorated over the years, then. A shame. Why tell me this? Do you expect me to keep this secret dear to my heart?''

''Oh no, it merely does not matter.'' He gestured to the flowers. ''He won't visit within the next few weeks, I'm sure. He'll have been dealt with by then.''

Grindelwald fell silent, the polite smile all too fake. Merlin, old loves did not die indeed. For the first time, Voldemort considered that it was a positive development that Dumbledore had not given in. He'd have been a great asset to the dark side, but these two would have made such a terrifying united force that perhaps no room would have been left for a true Dark Lord to step forward. All this power would have been denied to him if Grindelwald would have had his way. Ironically, it may have warranted the rise of a Light Lord. Balance was a fickle thing, one of the reasons why he could not follow Grindelwald's agenda and attempt to wipe out the unworthy with brutal force alone. The heavy magic he cherished should be accepted, not dominate.

''Dealt with?'' the man repeated dangerously. ''I imagined you were fearful enough to not touch him.''

Fearful? The arrogance… ''I'm sure that is what he'd like to believe,'' he neutrally stated.

''You are a fool if you do not fear his power,'' Grindelwald doubled down.

Old and wandless or not, there was an impressive static of magic in the air that stirred at the words. Was this not how he himself reacted to anyone that dared threated Evan? Interesting… Adding to the agitation, he smiled. ''I have known Dumbledore since I was eleven, I daresay I've outgrown him by now. His sharpness did diminish: I have ensured his power has been slowly stripped away as he wanders in blindness. Which brings me to an exchange I'd like to offer you.''

''You think you have enough to offer me for the knowledge you seek?'' the old wizard snarled with surprising strength. ''The wand will never be yours. It doesn't matter whether you find it, it does not matter how clever you think yourself to be.''

This man who'd once terrorised Europe thought that he'd break into Nurmengard decades later in search for a wand? There must be far more to this story that he was missing, and it was frustrating that in all of his travels, he'd apparently never found this trail of clues Grindelwald had believed he should have.

''I offer to spare your lover and reunite the both of you in exchange for the information to acquire what I need,'' he smoothly replied, arching a thin eyebrow.

There was the longing and greed he'd been searching for. This wasn't at all how he'd envisioned this conversation, but he freely admitted to being an opportunist, and multiple solutions were unfolding themselves at once without having to lift a finger. Finding Grindelwald in such a luxurious room, the blatant feelings he and Dumbledore still harboured for each other, this secret the old wizard spoke of. It all fit together perfectly, far too good to pass up on.

''Letting an enemy live…'' Grindelwald suspiciously muttered. ''Not quite in the spirit of someone who wishes to possess the Death Stick. Funny how an item with such a name can pass hands relatively peacefully. A very ironic repetition of history.''

Death Stick? Voldemort tucked away any reaction he inwardly had to the name. It sounded like a fabled artefact. In that case, it would surely be recorded somewhere in the multitude of ancient libraries he had access to. Grindelwald appeared to struggle for a minute, torn. ''Say I will tell you what you desire. What guarantee would I have for Albus' life truly being spared?''

''You can keep a personal eye on him once he is transferred to Nurmengard,'' Voldemort smiled thinly. ''I'll have to make a few adaptations, of course. There may not be any guards here now, but were his disappearance to be discovered, that won't remain so.'' He'd have to install some extra layers to keep Dumbledore hidden, so to speak.

The bubble dimension to get rid of Weasley and Black had been completed yesterday morning. Counting his own house, the temporary folds into space he'd created at Malfoy manor last year to hold the refugee beings and now this second full-fledged dimension connected to the first, he'd had plenty of practise to implement one inside this castle. It could act as a double prison if he could get Grindelwald to agree with not giving the entrance's location away to the old goat.

''It is only because of Albus that I live like this instead of rotting away with naught but bread and water,'' the other spoke. ''I would not look forward to my well-being taking a turn for the worse.''

Now Grindelwald was just being petty. Good, moving onto such details meant he was seriously considering the offer. This also meant that the declaration of how this Death Stick would never belong to him had been a mere smokescreen, empty words to make him fly into a rage and leave. They were close to having a deal, now.

''It is not my intention to boast with the capture of my enemy,'' he admitted, starting to pace. ''His imprisonment will remain unknown for as long as possible, which will also allow me to take control over Nurmengard for the time being. Your conditions here shan't suffer, nor will I exert revenge on Dumbledore by starving him. Tempting though it may be. As it can be anticipated that his disappearance cannot be kept under wraps forever and possibly be revealed before I officially take the reins in Europe, I have enough people to infiltrate the forces that will be sent to guard you in his stead. In exchange for keeping Dumbledore's presence here a secret, my followers shall ensure your comfort is not taken away.'' He stopped and turned, looking Grindelwald straight in the eye. The other took the invitation for what it was, taking a glimpse into Voldemort's mind – as far as the Dark Lord let him – to be assured of the authenticity of this offer. The pressure was fleeting, weak. Disappointing. He'd hoped the pressing static of before had indicated that Grindelwald had not weakened so much, but it appeared to have been a balling of strength for a short moment alone.

''Could you not practise wandless magic here?'' he asked, disturbed. No Dementors or other guards would have prevented the man from doing so. His hands were not shackled, his eyes not covered.

Grindelwald grunted in reply. ''To accomplish what? Levitating food to my hand that sits right next to me on the nightstand? Create light when the sun and moon bring the same? I could certainly destroy every piece of furniture in this room with an outburst of magic or start a fire on the carpet… and then what? My only true wish would be breaking out, which would require a wand.''

Voldemort's hand twitched. No matter the conditions he'd ever be left in, he'd cast magic simply for magic's sake. Grindelwald could never understand such a thing, not after spitting on Magic by taking Her name in his mouth and declaring himself a Lord.

''Dumbledore's presence in your life and your continued comfort in exchange for what I need to know to succeed in retrieving the Death Stick,'' he harshly stated, done playing games with this usurper. ''I am willing to declare a binding oath over this. Feeble though your powers are, it must be potent enough to feel it take into effect. Naturally, the crucial condition is that your information is useful enough for me to find this wand and claim ownership.''

For a moment, Grindelwald distrustfully stared at his outstretched hand.

Then, they sealed their pact.

---

The stars were much less visible here in England – its many Muggle towns drowning out the natural light. Even so, the sky lit up as Voldemort arrived home, streaks of bright neon colouring its dark canvas. Interest captured, he strode through the garden, calming the cobra lilies that sprung up with a hiss. Although they couldn't understand Parseltongue, the language of snakes confused them long enough not to continue their attack.

The backyard was a sight to behold. Or rather, the one standing in its middle was. Harry was entrancing to watch as his wand slashed through the air, leaving trails that burned on his retinas with their vibrancy.

It couldn't be for O.W.L. practise, he observed, able to identify the spells with ease through sight and smell alone. A rotting curse, a bedazzling hex, an expulso curse… Through the flashes, he could see cuts crisscrossing his partner's skin. Hairs were stuck between his fingers. Harry moved faster, striking and diving, encasing himself in a Haze shield, a repelling shield and finally, the diabolical protection that Voldemort had personally taught him a few weeks ago. Half the meadow burned up in a ring of wild blue fire.

''Letting off some steam?'' he asked, stepping through the flames with ease, knowing he could not be harmed. The cyan tongues flickered and died fast, earning a critical look. ''Your wand movement should have a bit more... flair for its maximum effect.''

A feverish laugh followed and two rabbits that had been sitting unnaturally still at the other side of the field jumped forward, crossing geometric lines he'd not noticed before as he'd focused on watching his partner so intensely. Curiously, both bared their front teeth as if going in for a kill. With a more dramatic wave of the holly wand, the fire engulfed and incinerated them, instantly shooting up high. ''That gives the maximum effect,'' Harry boasted, smile too wide, eyes too wild.

He was utterly enrapturing.

It was criminal that Harry had not graced his presence for the past two days, which had been filled with much travelling, Nurmengard having been the last stop to many. He longed to see more now, fuelling their connection with even more raw magic. Their link thrown wide open, he felt truly alive as Harry responded in kind, resuming his spellwork as Voldemort circled the garden. It was an experience to say the least, watching the younger wizard let loose without restriction, the air filled with so much tangible energy that it burned his lungs. He did not know what had brought Harry – usually so careful and harping on restraint - to this point and frankly, he did not care. Seeing this side of his partner – his entire body burning bright with electrifying euphoria and limbs let loose like he was flying as one curse after another was fired – stirred a deep, primal part Voldemort hadn't even known existed. It was more than a desire to own, more even than the need to be close he'd felt more often every day he denied himself that last step. What he had thought to be the last step. Now, staring at the enchantment that was Harry Potter, his Evan, he longed to be owned in return for the very first time in his life.

''Teach me something,'' the teen begged on the fifth round, swaying as he stumbled more than walked, already panting hard as he tried to suck in gulps of air, his throat working harder than Voldemort's own, less accustomed to breathing magic. It was difficult to say how much further his limits could be pushed. Logically, Voldemort knew this should be halted before Harry went too far. If only he could. If only this wasn't too fascinating, too captivating to stop. He'd long ago decided that being intoxicated in any form was detrimental to the senses and had cut off his ability to become inebriated, so why did he now feel like the very first time he'd indulged in firewhisky? ''What do you want to see?'' Harry asked, pleaded. Behind round spectacles, wide eyes looked up that were the exact same shade of the curse that instantly scorched Voldemort's tongue in answer.

Here, in the dead of night and with magic bursting through their minds, there was neither need nor possibility to be any less than perfectly honest.

~I wish to see you kill.~

His deepest, most desperate wish felt naked when voiced. Harry quietened, swaying lightly, wand grasped so loose that Voldemort feared it would be dropped any moment now. After the meaning of his request had sunk in, the other visibly swallowed. ''You're impossible,'' the teen whispered. ''You know I can't muster the will to cast that on anyone innocent and the guilty are not worth tearing up my own soul for.'' Regardless of the discouraging response, Harry did not request him to name something else, waiting for his reply instead with picture-perfect patience.

This hurdle had been obvious, and the Dark Lord was not so easily deterred. No thoughts left for arguing, he decided to convince Harry through other means. Once more revealing his left arm, Voldemort set the tip of his wand to the spot where the first Dark mark he'd ever created lay hidden. ''Morsmordre.''

Pulling one of his followers towards him by force instead of commanding them to follow his guidance was strange, but there was no other way in this case. The person in question did not have a mind of their own anymore, after all.

Pettigrew's knees hit the grass, empty eyes staring upwards. He was barely alive, a trapped soul waiting for the release of death without the ability to comprehend it.

He'd never given Harry many details about what had happened to the traitor beyond describing what the mark had done. After consuming Pettigrew's mind, the spell had sunk beneath his skin, dormant. Unaware of that its creator still had access, the Aurors had sent the rat to one of the closed wards of St. Mungo's, where they could do no more than attempt to keep him alive, having to stimulate his responses to all basic functions with charms. He'd been living on borrowed time.

''Wormtail,'' Harry breathed, stepping closer with shaking legs. Maybe he'd have had more qualms on another day. Less room for hatred as opposed to regret. Now… after seemingly hours of losing himself in the temptation of dark curses, now his mind and magic were so far intertwined with Voldemort's own that he must physically feel the hunger that already started to close up his throat at the promise of death... The resolution not to kill crumbled fast.

The pitiful creature reacted, the struggling thing it had become clinging on to naught but the centre of its being. ''Protection,'' the rat muttered. ''Need to find - someone strong. There's no chance- he can't be challenged. Sirius – scared. Remus – can't refuse. James – only way-''

The tidal wave of mind-blowing loathing was not his own.

''I spared you,'' Harry spat, now trembling from anger instead of fatigue. ''I spared you so Sirius and Remus would not become murderers for your pitiful sake. And now all that is left is excuses for your actions? Is there not a shimmer of decency left in your tainted soul?''

Voldemort stepped up behind his partner, hands ghosting over his shoulders. ''You know the spell darling,'' he whispered, closing his eyes to relish in the sheer emotion. Only after expressing what he yearned for had he realised the full truth of it. How long had he been waiting for this moment? For Harry to embrace the curse he'd once defied? It was as if he'd been starving, this being his only salvation. Fingers were hovering no longer, grasping desperately onto hard bone and muscle as he waited.

He wished to push, threaten that if Black would find out about Wormtail's presence here, he'd surely return to end the job himself and make Harry's previous attempt of saving him futile. It was left unspoken. There'd be no point in coercion this time – Evan would need to want it too for this to be meaningful.

''You're such a bad influence,'' Harry accused, turning slightly to give him a shockingly thoughtful look. He was about to withdraw in disappointment – not remorse, surely not – when warm fingertips lightly brushed the side of his face. ''I can feel it,'' his partner murmured, shivering, trailing down until his palm lay flat over Voldemort's heart. Strangely enough, the previous hatred and disgust had already evaporated entirely. Harry's clouded, whirling mind calmed somewhat. Blinking, Voldemort realised that the fog of ecstasy he'd noticed before lifted from his own as well. ''I feel how much you crave this. How likely you think it is that I'll refuse you nonetheless.''

''Evan-''

His partner melted against him, listening to his quickened heartbeat. ''I briefly mentioned it to you once, did I not? That the thought had crossed my mind to take care of the Dursleys myself. I've felt this urge before as well. Only never confessed this to you in so many words as I was afraid you'd take advantage of it if you knew the extent of my violent thoughts.''

The candidness in response to his own was more than welcoming. Although Voldemort knew more nonetheless, beyond that question voiced in the heat of the moment after those horrid wastes of flesh had been squashed. It had been pointless then, as neither of them had murdered the Dursleys in the end - another topic they had remained silent on for too long. Another conversation came to mind instead, one he'd dug up from Black's memories, in which far extremer and concrete thoughts of murder had surfaced. He wondered now why he had never used this information before. Perhaps because that same talk had also shown hesitance, guilt and vulnerability that Voldemort did not like see associated with killing.

''There have been very few moments in which I've been true to myself regarding those underlying wishes,'' Harry continued speaking, unaware of the exact source of the turmoil in Voldemort's mind. He turned back, the holly wand being lifted to the centre of Pettigrew's forehead. The rat did not move – did not have reason to without the ability to assess danger. ''My views have not changed,'' he warned. ''I could never delight in it like you do. I could never stop looking for better options first. You have a knack for pushing my boundaries though… Finding the one person on this world that I can kill without regret.''

None of the emotions that someone would doubtlessly need to fuel the will necessary to cast this curse for the first time were present. And yet-

''Mercy…'' Harry whispered. Then: "Avada Kedavra.''

Pettigrew's face was peaceful as the rat slumped over.

.

.

.

''Thank you,'' Voldemort earnestly spoke minutes later, when his thoughts were individual again instead of wrapped up in his partner's.

Harry swayed; the Killing Curse having pushed him over that dangerous edge. To prevent him from falling, Voldemort wrapped one arm around Harry's waist and used his other hand to encircle a thin wrist that had dropped to the side again, fingers tightly grasping the wand with which the fatal curse had been fired. The skin felt rough, the teen hadn't bothered shaving off the centaur hair for a while now there was no need to hide it. The heightened amount of physical contact sent pleasant shocks through them both, Harry pressing closer automatically.

Now he was of sounder mind than before, Voldemort concentrated on the wounds Harry had inflicted upon himself over the past hours. As pleasing as his partner's dishevelled appearance was, showing up full of cuts and bruises tomorrow for his exams wouldn't go over well. Voldemort withdrew and rolled up his left sleeve to make a small incision in the crook of his elbow. With deliberate movements, he gathered the drop that welled up with his thumb and pressed it against the lightning-bolt scar. ''Ichor gia aetha.'' As his own cold blood dissolved, a golden glow emitted from the dozens of cuts that healed over quickly.

''I feel different,'' Harry admitted softly, staring down at his hands. Reaching out, Voldemort noticed that his emotions were getting muddled, drifting away. ''Strange.'' Perhaps to not have to say anything more, he kneeled to press tremling palms firmly against the earth, muttering the necessary spells to cleanse himself from any remaining harmful residue. Pettigrew's corpse which lay a few yards away did not appear to bother him. Had Harry grown so used to the dead by this point?

Voldemort was not quite certain what to say, as the cause of these feelings could not quite be pinpointed instantly. Whether psychologically, physically or purely magically… He'd offer to cast diagnostic spells in order to find out, but the way Harry was withdrawing made him halt.

In fact, the few feelings that had been present right after the kill - confusion and a need for comfort -retreated ever further despite their mental bond remaining as open as before. Instead, a strange sharpness suddenly settled in that was very off. Alerted by it, Voldemort hauled Harry to his feet, intent on determining what was going on. He stilled when met with a calculated expression and dark red eyes.

''Oh-'' the Horcrux spoke, taking a step back and touching his own face – Harry's face, in a way that looked familiar. He'd reacted the same, had he not, right after finally regaining a body?

''Leave him be,'' Voldemort aggressively ordered, raising his wand. ''Give him back!''

He knew better than anyone the damage a Horcrux could do, how they could siphon off the living until those living were so no longer. There were a hundred unknown factors when it came to this one, but his mind was flooded with too much panic for calm analysations of the exact level of danger.

The Horcrux did not appear to be bothered, making a keen sound as it ran both hands through Harry's mess of black hair now. ''This was not intentional,'' it muttered finally, lazily eyeing him now. ''To think the first tear in his soul would bring Harry even closer to me…''

''The first?'' the Dark Lord asked, narrowing his eyes. ''Nonsense. Any deliberate kill of a being with a soul similar to one's own causes a tear,'' he stated matter-of-factly. ''The reason for it does not matter. He has consciously killed in self-defence: both Quirinus and the part of us kept inside the diary. Harry's reluctance was about avoiding further harm. His soul could not be unblemished still.''

''Incorrect,'' it spoke with an aggravatingly condescending tone. ''The first law of magic is intent. Killing in self-defence may cause rips, yes, but Harry never truly wanted to commit the murders he did, not even in the direst moments.'' Dispassionately, it looked down on Pettigrew's still form. ''I should know his soul better than you do, regardless of how much of it he's offered up to you. He did not kill this man for himself, yet he fulfilled your wish without regret. The first tear in his soul has now confronted Harry with a part of himself he wanted to believe did not truly exist. I must say that asking him to murder a man in a moment he was high on dark magic was not a sound decision. You should have this body taken care of before he returns to consciousness.''

The latter words diminished some of Voldemort's hostility. ''You do not intent to stay, then?''

A smile that might have been charming if it'd been Harry behind those lips was cast his way. ''I'm having little choice in my being here at the moment. If it were in my interest to use this body only as a host, I'd not have stopped my brethren in preparing Harry as a more suitable vessel, nor would I have delivered my rogue brother back into your hands, knowing you'd contain him.''

''What are your interests?'' He'd communicated little with his other Horcruxes, but enough to know their basic needs and wants – whether he could or would indulge in those or not. The piece in the diary had wished to relish in the past and connect to people, the diadem-Horcrux was content spending time analysing all of Ravenclaw's knowledge its vessel held, the ring kept its distance with vague threats and actually preferred being isolated… Yet he knew nothing about the one housed by Harry, nothing except that it held magic to a degree the others did not and had rejected the Locket's plans.

It did not answer immediately, using Harry's wand with ease to conjure a sheet to wrap the corpse in. ''I was not always this aware, not like the others,'' it muttered, studying the wand. ''I'd have ensured to rip those Muggles to pieces years ago if I had been. It was as if I were caught in a dream, my memories intertwined with Harry's until you lifted that fog. When Lily Potter's sacrifice was removed and it could fight my existence no longer. It took a while to recover after that, even longer to learn how to separate myself in a way that mattered. Harry's Occlumency lessons were helpful, enabling me to carve out a place for myself and take an actual form he could perceive me in. That was my goal, and I reached it months ago. Now I received more, I'm not quite sure what to do with it – I do not believe I want to do much with it.''

''That sounds implausible.''

The barking laugh was very unlike him and so much more like Harry that it sent a chill up his spine. ''Because there's always a next step? Ah, the beauty of magic lies in evolution, Voldemort. I am you, yet I am also Harry. I have decided to take my old name again, it seems very fitting considering that Tom means Twin. Living through many of the same experiences, fusing and now sharing our magical cores which we both draw from… I am the reason he can see source magic, did you realise? My presence fundamentally changed him and in return, it changed myself. You truly did me a favour by accidentally leaving me inside one with a heart big enough to fit the world.'' There was a fondness that Voldemort was not too keen on hearing. It took all willpower he could muster when the Horcrux stepped up to him with another hint of a smile. ''His love changed us both,'' Tom muttered, grasping his immobile hand.

''Love is-'' he started, unable to finish the sentence when Tom leaned forward and kissed him briefly. Immediately, Voldemort shoved him away, fury spiking.

It looked entirely unashamed of its actions, announcing almost triumphantly: ''We differed more before your resurrection than we do now. You took in his blood, opened up your mind and soul to him. You might be searching in the wrong places, or still be in denial, but if I can learn to love, then so can you. Good luck. I'll take Harry to a more comforting place to wake up. Don't make him wait too long. He'll be needing you.''

He had a minimal amount of trust left for the words uttered by a part of himself to let Tom out of his sight. There'd been no falsity to detect, despite how disturbing his words had been. Voldemort dragged Pettigrew to the far edge of the backyard and made the earth swallow him in an unnamed grave. With the state of half-life the rat had been in the past two years, the corpse was not very useable for Necromancy anymore. He'd have to remind Harry not to inform Black about the role he'd played in Pettigrew's death. If the mongrel were to find out that Harry spent his second night without company practising dark magic and offing one of his enemies, Voldemort feared that Black would insist on returning permanently. He'd hate for the lengths he'd gone to to remove the mutt from the house, to go to waste like that.

Not a few minutes later, he joined Harry in the drawing room upstairs, confused green eyes looking up to him as he entered. ''Did I faint or something?'' he asked. ''I last remember being out in the garden with you and-'' his voice trailed off, emotions once more getting muffled and clouded. Not looking forward to seeing Tom again, Voldemort decided to step in and put an end to this before it could start becoming a problem.

''You need to head to bed. Have a good night's sleep.''

Harry laughed mirthlessly. ''You think I can sleep after this?''

Voldemort could not quite grasp the negative correlation between these events and the bodies' need for a thorough slumber. If anything, casting a Killing curse on top of everything else must have been more tiring. ''Rest, then, at the very least. You'll need your strength to perform to your optimal ability tomorrow.''

''As long as you stay with me and talk a bit. I don't think I want to dream just yet. Or daydream.'' The cheerful smile faltered ever so slightly. ''Although I'd prefer if we could postpone talking about – about the murder itself. I need… some time.'' He swallowed hard. ''It at least made you happy, did it not?'' Harry still asked, gazing up at him in uncertainty. ''I thought I felt-''

The Horcrux's interruption hadn't given him much time to think about it, but that moment in which Harry had fired the curse, when Wormtail's eyes had dulled… There'd been a shot of pure elation. Briefly, Harry had walked on the same path as he did and not shied away. What could bring more happiness?

''Very much so,'' he thus replied. A serene expression flashed across Harry's face as he revelled in the memory of that feeling.

Deciding that resting together was the best compromise they would have for now, Voldemort settled down on the sofa next to Harry, pleased by the burning fire in front of which Nagini curled. Two obvious bumps showed her gluttony – had Harry been spoiling her while he'd been away? She'd been last fed less than a week ago.

''This is probably the purest happiness I've felt from you yet,'' Harry gladly observed. ''Because I accepted you with this… Wait, did you truly think my rejection of doing that was a rejection of you?'' he exclaimed, upset. ''I've told you plenty of times that I understand and accept-''

''You don't have to analyse me every second of the day,'' Voldemort cut in.

''Oh, clearly I don't analyse you often enough.''

With a huff, Harry leaned against his left side and attempted to shield himself a bit from the heat of the fire using Nagini. The serpent was only snappy for a moment upon waking until realising that not only had her master returned home, she was also allowed to curl up with them. Which practically meant the upper half of her body was piled atop Harry's tucked up legs whereas the rest of her tail protectively curled around Voldemort's instead.

It did not appear that his partner recalled anything about Tom's appearance. Considering he was still struggling with now having a torn soul and explicitly wished to leave the subject rest, Voldemort decided that mentioning it in this moment would not be productive. As his partner was insisting on not sleeping, Voldemort instead took the opportunity to distract Harry and finally get some answers at the same time. ''I'd not expected you to be up in the middle of the night in the first place, so shortly before the practical exams. Certainly not to spend your energy on curses and hexes that are doubtful to be tested. Of course, we are speaking about the Carrows, but they should stick to the Hogwarts curriculum to assess you fairly for the O.W.L.s.''

''You're going to make your Death Eaters follow the Ministry-set standardised tests for fairness' sake? I am getting the feeling that you'd have been quite the stick-in-the-mud teacher had you bound yourself to Hogwarts,'' Harry breathlessly chuckled, placing his chin on Voldemort's left shoulder to look at him affectionately. It was uncomfortable to notice this was the same look Tom had given him right before that kiss he'd rejected.

Casting it from his mind – it wasn't as if he'd been to blame for it - he gave his partner his full deserved attention.

''How dare you. I'd have turned Defence into the most varied subject of all, if only to defy Dumbledore.''

With a bit of difficulty due to Nagini's weight, the teen shifted to get even closer, a warm face pressing against the side of his neck and arms winding around his shoulders. Through their connection, he could feel thrumming warmth accompanied by an edge of that white-hot, all-encompassing feel that Harry had allowed him to touch a few, far too fleeting times. It was taunting, right around the corner. Just like Tom's parting words were taunting him now. Love. If only he could reach-

Harry withdrew with a chuckle. ''I don't doubt it. Everything to piss him off. But no, I was not in the garden to wind down. Figured that I can't keep speaking of helping you achieve balance without doing my part. Due to the current exams, I've been forced to practise light spells over and over. I tried to stick mainly to theory at first, but absolutely had to practise charms, light defensive spells and transfigurative spells. I could only use much heavy magic for runes, the basic principles are so similar that I can apply what I studied to craft practical light runic spells too with few adaptions. In either case, I wanted to… give back, in a way.''

It was a thoughtful gesture, which may please him even more than it would please Magic. One single wizard 'giving back' in this way might not make much difference in the grander scheme, but Voldemort highly appreciated his partner's way of thinking. To convey his approval, he turned to claim Harry's lips, then quickly the rest of his mouth as he'd spent too many moments when away thinking about it to not follow up now.

Nagini had fallen fast asleep once again, thankfully. For once, he was glad that neither his own bond with her nor the one between his Horcruxes was as strong as the one he had with Harry.

''A-anyways,'' the teen continued when left with a dazed smile and reddened lips. ''Couldn't sleep much anyways these past two nights with the house suddenly so empty, so I figured tonight was a great opportunity for casting heavy magic. Don't worry, I only stuck to spells I've got experience with, so I would not get into an accident with no-one around.''

''Protego Diabolica?'' he sceptically asked. At last, he felt that his brain was catching up to its usual speed now they had arrived at more familiar topics.

''That I did not break my concentration does not mean I could not feel your arrival. I wouldn't have attempted it otherwise.''

Voldemort hummed approvingly. ''And the rabbits?'' he questioned, getting even more interested in the answer when his partner grimaced.

''Errr…. Hermione asked if she could pet them – she misses her cat Crookshanks, you see. When I attempted to get them out of the cage, about five escaped at once. I caught one, two ended up in Nagini's belly and she killed but left these two when realising she was already full.''

Ah, that explained Nagini's current state. She'd completely eaten herself into a stupor.

''Throwing their corpses away seemed like a waste, so having already decided to practise some dark magic to pay back, I figured I might as well revive them to polish up my connection to the Black Cosmos. Wanted to see how long I could focus on keeping their artificial souls inside of their bodies. The last time I did this with animals, I couldn't hold it for long, but I used hundreds of insects back then, plus was interrupted by a Dementor. I hadn't planned on controlling them for anything else at first, but well…'' he broke off.

''It felt right?'' Voldemort speculated. ''Perhaps for the better, in its practical use the classification of this spell is very much alike the Patronus charm. It does not technically require a sacrifice upon casting, only to fulfil its actual purpose. Without letting it eat your enemies, you are misappropriating it for the light when it comes to balance. I must say, having something you resurrected attack you is an unorthodox use of your mastery over them. That it counted as a sacrifice at all considering its status as undead is… food for thought.''

''Does that mean you're impressed?'' Harry asked. His flirtatious tone didn't at all hide the wave of pure nervousness the teen emitted.

''That depends, how were your last two exams?'' he countered.

That the nerves made way for excitement was a promising sign. He listened with growing contentment to Harry's analysis of the completed theoretical Defence and Runes exams.

''Hopefully I managed well enough. Hermione wouldn't stop talking about having confused Ehwaz with Eihwaz during the translation part. Her fretting didn't make too much sense to me though, as she kept saying how Ehwaz means 'partnership' instead of 'defence'. Sure, Ehwaz represents symbiotic relationships between partners or friends and that is also what I wrote down, but how would Eihwaz be broken down into simply 'defence'? Besides the very obvious direct translation of 'yew tree', I thought it represented everything between life and death, immortality, transformation and healing…''

''You studied Runes exclusively with the textbooks I provided for you instead of the standard Hogwarts textbooks, I assume?''

''Sure, I only borrowed Ginny's notes at the very start to get an overview of the introduction I'd missed. Afterwards, I stuck to your recommendations as I figured you knew better.''

''Always a wise presumption to make,'' he spoke in all seriousness. The educational board didn't know their heads from their feet sometimes. ''In short, some annoyingly controlling light mages dragged their feet about children being encouraged to consider the possibility of such dark subjects as resurrection and immortality. So, they instructed that half of the applications of this rune should simply… not be taught.''

''… Wouldn't it have gotten me in trouble if I'd actually taken the O.W.L. in Runes and one of the questions would have been to translate Eihwaz?''

''You did not take the course; no-one can fault you for ordering books on this matter elsewhere. I'm quite sure that with all of the extracurricular reading Granger does, she is quite aware of these additional meanings but chose to stick with accepted answers according to the classes she attended. It's not as if this knowledge is illegal.''

''Oh, good. I'm quite sure that I used Eihwaz in the diagram I had to design for an uninterrupted sleep with the meaning of 'timelessness'.

Voldemort internally winced, hoping he'd heard that incorrectly. ''Was the question to make them fall into an unending coma?''

''Err…''

''You might want to revise Runes once more before your practical exam tomorrow.''

''If I find time,'' Harry evasively answered. ''Is there anything else on your mind?

Voldemort allowed the crude attempt to drop the talk of exams, he'd done all he could to help his partner along academically. The rest was up to Harry now. There was, in fact, more than enough on his mind to speak of. On the forefront exactly those subjects Harry wished to avoid. The thought crossed his mind to speak of his own experiences in the past two days, his infiltration of Nurmengard having spiralled into quite a different direction than anticipated.

It would be dishonest to them both, however. Wanted or not, Harry would remain wrapped up in insecurities as long as they avoided mentioning Pettigrew's murder. Worse, he might suddenly feel like talking about it without Voldemort around and search the listening ear of his godfather or friends.

To not blatantly break the unspoken agreement, he said: ''You did not faint before, Tom carried you upstairs.'' He disliked having to take his old name in his mouth, but just like he'd insisted on others respecting 'Voldemort' as his newly chosen name, he would respect his Horcrux's own identities.

''You lost me.''

''My piece of soul in you awakened. My request turned out to have some unforeseen consequences. I thought you should know.''

Stunned, Harry stared at him, all of the previous giddiness evaporating. ''I was… possessed?'' he asked in horror. ''What do you mean with consequences?'' He scrambled back, not very successfully as half of his legs were being crushed by a deeply slumbering Nagini who did not move an inch.

''It did not do so purposefully, nor did it express an interest in doing so again,'' he wearily spoke, rubbing his face. ''If you had coped better and not been so withdrawn, this would not have happened,'' he added in an attempt to explain the cause in hopes that Harry could prevent a repetition.

''You are blaming me?'' the teen asked, baffled, taking his words the entirely wrong way.

''I did not mean-''

''Maybe,'' Harry spoke, eyes now flashing fire. ''I would not have to deal with pieces of your soul wanting to possess me all the time if you hadn't tried to kill me when I was a fucking baby!''

''You're being unreasonable,'' he rebuked. Both the Diary and the Locket had only attempted to do so because it was the way they gained power. Had Harry not been a Horcrux himself, he'd simply have ended up drained. ''Evan,'' he sternly spoke. ''It is not harmful, its only wish is to protect you.''

''I thought you wished the same,'' Harry muttered, deflating and staring into the fire again. ''And now my soul is ripped.''

Was this how it felt to be powerless? There was nothing he appeared to be able to say or do to improve their situation. Their roles had been reversed a few times, Voldemort realised. Quite often, he'd been stuck in unhelpful thoughts. Harry had always found a way to make it better, even minimally. By granting him feelings, by thoughtful words… It did not seem that his partner would wish for Voldemort to strengthen the connection between them now though, and mentioning that it had been Harry's choice to kill Pettigrew in the end would not bring the desired results either. In fact, he got the idea that this was only marginally about the murder itself. Harry had expressed to only need some time to think about that. It was far more about what it had caused.

He should not have spoken of the Horcrux… but would it have helped Harry to keep it a secret? Doubtful. Also, was it really so tragic for one's soul to be torn? He'd done so purposefully, hundreds of times, even ripped some of those shreds off. By Harry's own words, it had not made him unlovable.

His usual confidence had waned so much that it was absolutely frustrating. What good was holding more magic in the palm of his hands than most mortals could comprehend, when he could use none of it to alleviate Harry's current sadness?

Once again, Tom's words insistently made themselves know.

''If I can learn to love, then so can you,''

Was there any truth to it? Was this the answer? Harry had insisted multiple times that a one-sided love was enough as long as he cared. He did care, so much so that it felt his chest held an aching cavity instead of a heart right now. It was the same he'd felt again and again when knowing his partner was in fact hoping for more beneath those placating words.

Abruptly, he stood, looking down on Harry, who still had not looked up from the flames.

He did not have time to learn, not when the one he held dear exuded misery. That left only shortcuts.

Determined to put his plan into action, Voldemort rushed into the study and pressed his wand to the mark on his arm.

Severus was always asking for more time, but tonight the deadline was up. Voldemort did not care whether that thrice-damned potion was done or not, he'd settle for any prototype his only Potion Master had concocted if needed.

---

AN: Oh oh, ping-ponging emotions everywhere and the Horcrux comes into the picture ^^'' Sounds like a recipe for disaster.
Voldemort is always so in control of every conversation until Harry reduces him to a mess X'D

the whole viciousness/viscosity debate was a result of a conversation I had with one my betas about the tutoring session in Chapter 66. According to the HP wiki (based on a screenshot of McGonagall's blackboard in the Philosopher's Stone movie) one of the theoretical components of Transfiguration is 'viciousness'. My beta argued that this dis not make much sense in the context of transfigurative spells and suggested viscosity instead. So, all details provided during this argument is obviously not canon.

Regarding the Muggle-borns statistics, obviously birth rates differ quite a lot over the years. I tried to go for an average around the 1980's to 1990's, but three were some pretty large differences. There were 827.708 live births in the UK and Ireland in 1980 for example, whereas in 1977 there were only 725.930. Since I did not want to spend a couple of hours doing more research and math for a single paragraph in this chapter, I went with a rough average of 800.000 using a few random sample years.

(Also, was 8k of this chapter supposed to turn into a frustrated rant about Pure-bloods being incompetent? No, but that's what we get when I am Angry At Politics over in the real world)

Finally, would you guys rather see the next scene from Harry's or Snape's POV?

Read and Review!
xx GeMerope