Chapter 95 – What is love
Harry huddled together, feeling cold and numb despite the fire. Why could he not just have slept through the night like a regular person, woken up refreshed in time for the first batch of practical exams, hopefully with his partner's arms wrapped around him?
The blissful fantasy automatically triggered Harry to mentally reach out before he knew what he was doing, unable to put himself at ease until at least knowing where Voldemort was… When met with a wall of frustrated desperation and a heap of further negativity, he quickly retreated. It wouldn't be healthy to pile his partner's issues on top of his own right now. But it was enough to know Voldemort was still here and hadn't left the house altogether to go on a murder spree or whatever else Harry fancied his partner liked to do to vent. It had been predictable that the other would simply leave without a word at the uttered accusation. Still, after always trying his utmost to take care of the other, it stung to be left in the cold now Harry was the one needing some form of emotional support, someone to talk to. Shockingly, he did not feel the usual amount of irrational anger rise up at being treated so unfairly. Even trying to tell himself it had been Voldemort's wish that brought them into this situation in the first place did nothing but cause an increased feel of dazedness.
He groaned miserably, pressing both hands against his forehead. It had all started so innocently, wishing only to contribute to their ultimate goal as much as he as an individual could. That he'd become so ensnared in intoxicating magic or that Voldemort would return to fuel it, Harry had not foreseen in the slightest.
Although none of that had been part of the problem yet, had it?
Figuring out what was turned out to not be so easy, especially because he couldn't decide what to focus on. Pettigrew's empty gaze, the sheer joy the murder had evoked in his partner, the strange feel of being renewed, the revelation about Tom. Determining the real source of turmoil with all that had happened in the short span of perhaps an hour at most was a daunting task. Harry could only say with utmost certainty that he'd loved being wrapped up in and crushed by heavy magic, he'd never felt more alive than when his other half watched his movements with such close intensity. Even Pettigrew's death…
Harry inhaled sharply upon recognising there still was no guilt for the act itself. The way Wormtail remained in the land of the living had been cruelty in itself. Also, Harry had quickly concluded that if Sirius were to ever find out, sparing the rat's life in the Shrieking Shack would have been pointless. One way or the other, Pettigrew had been a dead man walking. Being able to give this pitiful existence a last shimmer of meaning was more than enough for Harry to release himself from the burden of regret.
And there lay the very beginning of the problem, the smudged unravelled edge of the red thread leading into a tricky labyrinth that hid a monster in its centre. For thus far, Harry had always clung onto the belief that even when forced to erase lives, there'd either be no other choice, or he'd be swallowed by a pit of guilt. The former had been true in both other cases he'd killed. The latter should have happened once the last traces of the magic that had befuddled his mind had been given back to the earth. Yet it had not. Instead, he'd felt very clearly something new about him. Something broken. Painfully, the teen dug his fingers into the centre of his chest, as if attempting to enclose a fist around his aching heart, which he vividly imagined to now contain his damaged soul.
What did this lack of regret say about Harry? What did it say that his very first Killing curse had succeeded? He'd always considered himself to be honourable, no matter the small cracks here and there. Outbursts of anger were quickly pushed down, satisfaction at punishing Aunt Marge, Pansy or Umbridge explained away with justice, secret thoughts of murder and uncontrollable delight at the expense of the Dursley's very lives buried beneath his own sustained trauma.
Now… there was no looking away anymore. Not when the tangible tear caused by this wilful murder served as an undeniable reminder that he had wanted this. Tonight, for the very first time, Harry seriously considered that he might be evil.
To distract himself from that gruesome realisation, Harry's fingers found his scar instead, beneath which the sliver of Voldemort's soul had slumbered so far. According to his partner, it had awakened. Had taken control of his body, talked.
So far, it had shown no signs of hostility. Rather the opposite: it had stopped the Locket from realising its plans to reduce Harry to no more than a vessel and he distinctly recalled clinging onto and thanking it when it saved him once again recently, protecting Harry when the Nightmare Potion had attempted to ravage his mind with fear. Unfortunately, his experiences with the other Horcruxes who'd become aware enough to speak were held more clearly in memory. Voldemort had once described his creations as volatile and unpredictable. Who was to say that this one was an exception? Whether he wished to or not, it would be foolish to trust it. Hell, Harry had no way of judging its most recent actions considering the little detail of its presence causing a blank in his memory. Voldemort's vague words of blame weren't enough to figure out what had transpired, and Harry still didn't understand why or how it had possessed him in the first place. Until seeing his partner's memory of the events during his black-out, – which wouldn't happen anytime soon, for sure not tonight – all Harry could do was desperately hope it had been a fluke of magic.
''Tom,'' he whispered, frowning. No answer came, not that he'd expected one. It couldn't be compared to the pieces of soul trapped in objects and would most likely not gain form outside of its vessel, outside of Harry. The only way for it to answer would be to take over and speak through his own mouth, rather pointless if that subsequently meant he wouldn't be able to remember.
Besides its appearance in general, one detail stuck out: why had it reverted to using its old name again? The diary had been understandable, wanting to pose as an innocent student without revealing its connection to the Dark Lord until solid enough. The Locket however, had flown into a rage at the mere mention of his original name, and Voldemort himself firmly rejected it just the same as far as Harry was aware. He'd certainly never been asked to drop his partner's chosen name in favour of it.
Should he try searching Tom out in the mindscape he'd developed under the Locket's tutelage? He wasn't any closer to getting answers out here, and if neither sleep would come nor Voldemort would return, it might be his only real chance to settle his restless mind. There was no use moping around helplessly like some damsel in distress. Quickly coming to a decision, the teen closed his eyes and sank into the familiar meditative state necessary to open up a passage into his own deepest, innermost thoughts.
Harry opened his eyes to find the centre of – well, himself. He'd fashioned it into a cross between the D.A. training room, Gryffindor tower and the Hogwarts library. Places of comfort in which he could easily rummage through his own memories without getting hopelessly lost. The library had been the Locket's idea, droning on and on about the importance of structure when Harry had simply made piles of books and random sketches appear the first time they'd created a similar space. Well, it actually had suggested a maze of locked rooms at first for security purposes, but Harry had spent far too much of his life huddled behind a closet door to consciously add locks to what was supposed to be a safe house. He'd rely on his walls to keep intruders out while he wandered this sanctuary freely.
Sitting down in a worn red armchair, he pondered on what to do next. He'd hoped for the Horcrux to just appear, like that time when the Locket had attempted to take over Harry's mind. ''Tom?'' he called out, receiving no reply.
A bit disheartened, Harry tried other methods, summoning books that held all information he'd ever picked up about Horcruxes and hoping these memories would trigger its awareness. When that did nothing, he jumped into the books to relive those same memories in order to catch its attention and when that failed, Harry wandered the area to look for any hidden passages that might lead to the part of his mind that contained the Horcrux. To no avail.
More frustrated than before, he came to again, staring broodily into the fireplace as he tried to figure out what else he could try.
~Harrison?~
He started, astonishingly having forgotten about the serpent that was still crushing the lower half of his body. She'd been so fast asleep during his previous conversation that he had not expected her to wake for the next six hours. ~I'm here,~ he reassured her, slightly relieved when she shifted her weight more by wrapping herself entirely around him. Pins and needles prickled in his left foot at the sudden rush of blood. Comforted by her presence, he stroked the smooth scales on the top of her head. If she'd been a feline, surely he'd have heard purring soon. As she was instead a nosy snake, he got inquiring hisses instead:
~Something is wrong, I just know it. Where's Marvolo? Why are you both so... so… angry?~
Harry didn't think 'angry' was the most accurate way to describe either his or Voldemort's state of being right now, but he let that slide, having a sudden idea. ~Nagini… you were entrusted with a part of Voldemort's soul too. Can you… feel it? Does it communicate with you?~ He'd been a Horcrux much longer than she'd been, so it might be a long stretch, but at least her being turned into a Vessel had been deliberate. The snake's connection to it may be better. It wasn't as if there were any other living Horcruxes lounging about to ask.
She yawned and blinked lazily. ~I feel different than before if that's what you are asking. Stronger, better. It was a great honour to become one with my master.~
~But it never… talks to you?~
~It is part of me now,~ she replied hesitantly, not seeming to understand the question. Harry released a frustrated noise that did not translate well into Parsel. Well, it had been a long shot.
In hindsight, Nagini probably would not have shut up translating whatever the piece of soul she was so proud to host would have to say, if it truly spoke to her. Nor had he ever seen her demeanour change in a way that would indicate being possessed. Although she was inherently magical, Nagini likely did not have a core that was compatible with it, and her own soul prevented it from acting like Voldemort's inanimate Horcruxes did. It must be a blessing and a curse alike. If it were stronger and able to act through her, there might be little left of Nagini's own person by now, considering this piece of soul had been split off when Voldemort's primary focus had been his upcoming resurrection. On the other hand, it maybe could have prevented the entire kidnapping around Yule, or at least brought her back before Dumbledore's people had turned their wands on her.
~The piece of him in me is not really part of me,~ he explained. ~It has its own thoughts. Voldemort said that today, they talked… I can't remember any of that happening. It's as if I was asleep. I want to speak to it as well, but don't know how.~
~Maybe talk to it by using your stick,~ she suggested, nudging the wand in his pocket. ~You also used sticks to connect to me before, did you not?~
As helpful as Nagini was trying to be, her advice left much room for improvement. The times he'd connected to other Horcruxes, he'd only taken a place in their vessels, he hadn't called forth Voldemort's pieces of soul as he was attempting to do now. During the event Nagini mentioned, he'd only felt her. When he'd had visions of the snake being in danger, he also only felt her thoughts, her body. Even when he'd used that same method of crossing over into the Locket, Harry's mind had only shifted into its cool metal. Sure, usurping its Vessel with Harry's own full soul had somehow weakened it, but he still hadn't felt a connection to the version of the Dark Lord housed by Slytherin's Locket. The only time he'd shared Voldemort's actual thoughts had been when accidentally slipping into the man's head, into the body that could technically be regarded as the vessel of the main soul. That was different anyways, Harry believed. Voldemort was not his own Horcrux and it appeared that as the original soul, his bond with each Horcrux was different than those of the Vessels or soul pieces with each other.
~I'll try, thanks,~ he nonetheless politely said, as it of course wasn't Nagini's fault that she knew little of the ins and outs of soul magic, even less than his own limited knowledge. If it would only be so simple as waving his wand and boom, Horcrux materialised. The thought of a version of Voldemort suddenly appearing in the middle of this room, looking bewildered, at least lifted his spirits a bit.
Maybe he was tackling this the wrong way, Harry considered when pondering on Nagini's words and the memories of taking hold of other vessels. Voldemort had always called the creation of Horcruxes soul magic, yet that couldn't be all there was to it. From his studies of Necromancy, the teen knew that while souls did partially possess one's most central memories, they could not properly organise them, lacking a consciousness to reason with. Horcruxes were very atypical in that sense, a solid reflection of the one they'd split off from in that moment. Moreover, Voldemort had once suggested that the Horcruxes were alive too, so they could not only be a sliver of soul. The way they acted truthfully reminded Harry more of ghosts – minds held together by magic – than the souls he'd called back from the Cosmos. Perhaps if he'd manage to analyse what the Horcruxes were exactly, Harry could also find a way to influence it enough to establish contact.
~Come with me,~ he said, attempting to get up now he had a clearer goal in mind. With only minimal half-hearted protest, Nagini allowed it, following Harry into the adjoining study, in which most of the magical literature in the house was stowed away. If Voldemort had kept the books he'd used to study the creation of Horcruxes, they had to be here.
When finally gathering everything that looked promising, Harry considered sneaking downstairs to quickly brew himself a pot of hot coffee to prevent completely fluking the exams he'd have to take just under four hours from now (whoever had decided to place the first one at 7am deserved a round of good old fashioned Weasley Twin jinxes).
As he hovered on top of the stairs and heard the drawling voice of Snape of all people though, he quickly changed his mind.
Caffeine was overrated, Harry resolutely decided as he headed back into the study. Besides, tomorrow were the practical O.W.L.s in Defence, Charms and Runes. He should be able to pass the former two in his sleep due to all of the D.A. training, and the knowledge he still lacked by now about the latter, he'd surely not inexplicably improve by being more awake.
Thus, he sat down in Voldemort's office chair with Nagini loitering at his feet, opening the first book titled 'Wild magic volume 4: an exploration of spirits and what remains.' Curled up in a chair that was slightly too big for him, Harry mentally dug his teeth into the book, determined to figure out an answer to his dilemmas. Or at least a way to reach them.
XxX
The burning of his Mark had been expected. The timing – Severus drowsily cast a Tempus and saw it was three 'o clock in the morning – was not. He'd already decided to head over to the Dark Lord's home relatively early together with the Carrows, and set an alarm for six. Had he missed some ridiculous order? Had an emergency arisen?
In either of those scenarios, there was little time before the Dark Lord's patience would run thin. Severus' personal quarters thankfully weren't too far away from the edge of Hogwarts' wards compared to the rest of the castle and attempting to rush outside would beat having to justify leaving in the middle of the night through the monitored Floo - a security measure for his own safety after what had happened to Umbridge, the Minister of Magic had personally 'reassured' him. Severus thus quickly concealed his nightwear with an outer robe and hurried to the door. He faltered when noticing something was off about the usual burn. The Dark Mark pulsated oddly, and upon pulling back his sleeve, Severus saw the ink flash darker and fade again in a repetitive pattern.
Rooted in the spot, all sleep was wiped from his mind when Severus realised that his Lord was trying to communicate through nothing less than morse code. Where had the Dark Lord even picked up this particularly Muggle skill? Severus himself only knew morse because his mother had searched desperately for ways to covertly communicate with him through the walls of their home whenever his violent father was finally asleep. He'd bet all he had that it wasn't part of the standard Pure-blood home schooling curriculum. Getting over his bewilderment fast out of necessity and the fear of what awaited if he dawdled, Severus dug deep into his unpleasant childhood memories to figure out the message:
Potion
Well, that was so specific and helpful, Severus sarcastically thought as he gazed around his office, filled to the brim with different draughts that could be necessary in emergencies. Then, the painful pattern changed, and it did not take long before he understood the full message.
Love
Now, Severus had to admit that although he'd set aside all plans for revenge after receiving Lily' message, he was already not the most enthusiastic follower of the Dark Lord, certainly not one who jumped for joy when called to His side like those braindead maggots such as Crouch or the Lestranges. Being summoned in the middle of the night a few hours before he'd planned to visit anyways , just to bring his Lord a dubious experimental potion that hadn't even been properly tested yet, made him that much more reluctant to follow through on this order. If it wouldn't have the unpleasant consequence of his imminent death, he'd probably favour sawing his arm off and heading straight back to bed, if he were entirely truthful.
As 'imminent death' would be the outcome of doing so, Severus neatly tucked his less favourable thoughts behind layers of remaining loyalty, grabbed a vial of his latest and most promising attempt of the potion in question and went on his merry way towards certain doom.
Under the cover of darkness, he hurried out of the castle as fast as possible, thankfully going unnoticed by either Aurors or other members of staff this time. Curse Fudge, making his life unnecessarily more complicated. Flooing in comfort to Malfoy manor first would have been far preferable.
Speaking of Malfoys, it was truly remarkable how Lucius' standing hadn't tanked to the depths of the Gringotts vaults after not one, but both of his legal sons had broken into the Ministry's most highly regarded Department mere weeks after adopting Potter. Sly fox that he was, Lucius had been one of the first to contact Fudge, lamenting loudly about how Potter's incorrigible upbringing by Muggles and Dumbledore's influence had been so far beyond salvation that even Draco had become corrupted fast. Susceptible idiot that he was, Fudge had gobbled the nonsense of rebelling youths breaking their parents' hearts right up and even ended up apologising to Lucius and Narcissa for bringing the boy into their home.
Severus personally thought this would backfire rather quickly if even a semblance of the truth ever came out. Not to mention that the Dark Lord may not be pleased by Lucius slandering Potter's name to save his own hide. For the sake of friendship, Severus wasn't going to rat Lucius out, but he had clearly expressed all of those concerns, which had of course been brushed aside with the argument that everyone actually on their side would see it for what it was: a necessary ruse. Severus wasn't all too convinced, considering Lucius' last act of denying his family's ties to the Dark Lord and then never attempting to find His remains hadn't gone over well either.
When at last having crossed the wards, already feeling like his arm might actually fall off, going by the excruciating burn, he activated the Dark Mark and forgot all about Lucius' woes. He had his own to worry about.
''Do you have it?'' The Dark Lord practically snarled, already waiting in the front garden and looking madder than Severus had ever seen him. The violent demeanour instantly put Severus so far on edge that he wondered if a single misstep would erase his life altogether. He'd seen his Lord furious before, yet it was usually well-concealed, simmering beneath an icy surface of feigned civility until the Cruciatus curse was fired. Whatever had happened, it had erased all of his Lord's composure. With sharp teeth showing behind upturned lips, tense hands forming into talons and eyes flashing red, he very much looked ready for a battle over the throne of hell instead of polite conversation. Without knowing whom exactly the draught he'd maybe rather uninspiringly coined 'Mixture thirty-seven L' was intended for however, Severus' inner Potion Master could not simply hand this over without the appropriate warnings.
''My Lord, it is not yet quite complete and-''
The infamous white wand so many had learned to fear was pressed underneath Severus' chin before he was done speaking.
''Over four months, you have let me wait, Severus!'' came an unpleasant hiss. ''Four months!'' As he was dragged inside by a surprisingly strong hand that he didn't attempt to struggle against, Severus bit back a cynical comment about how four months wasn't exactly much to achieve what no potioneer had managed before, and another about how it had taken the Dark Lord himself over a decade to figure out how to create a working resurrection ritual, arguably a similar feat to what Severus had been asked to do. ''What do you have then?'' the Dark Lord asked once they reached the living room, releasing him only to start pacing frantically. The unstable mood was making him warier than usual, so Severus decided now was a better time than later to withdraw the vial from his pocket to show he did indeed bring something. Sanguine eyes snapped towards it instantly, although the pacing did not stop.
''The result of my most recent research. In theory, this must be what you asked for, my Lord. Unfortunately, I had no possibility of testing it on live subjects yet. I did not reach that stage with any of the varieties. My previous promising concoction soured half a minute after opening the flask.'' That the current version of the elixer had remained stable even after days was a positive sign. His first few attempts had blown up in the cauldron, his tenth shattered the vial after mere minutes and his twentieth had warped its own properties so much that it miraculously turned into what resembled rat poison. Only from the thirty-first attempt onwards had he found a way to stabilise the key ingredient – the human remains of a wand arm – with the components of the other base potions he'd used. After all, as the Dark Lord had pressed about time, Severus could hardly create this from scratch. Brewing even one of the base potions he'd chosen would have taken several months alone.
Showing the potion had its desired effect: the other stilled at last, madness fading to make way for reason. ''Walk me through the process, Severus,'' his Lord requested ''I must know how viable this attempt of yours is.''
Calmed somewhat by this positive turn of events, Severus thanked the stars that the Dark Lord was academically inclined enough to listen first and only decide whether to feed this potion to whomever it had been designed for, once calculating its chances of success personally.
Not willing to witness any more unstable behaviour from the most dangerous man he knew anytime soon again, he was quick to reply: ''As for the base, I created it using a powdered form of the remains I was given and diluted versions of three different existing love potions: Ceridwen' song, Amortentia and-'' he prevented a grimace just in time, finding it difficult to acknowledge what he'd done: ''Twilight moonbeams.''
''I've not heard of the latter.''
Probably for the best. If his Lord found out that Severus, one of the most accomplished potion masters of the age, had to go to a joke shop run by two barely adult menaces, Severus' career wouldn't recover. ''It's a recent creation,'' he stoically admitted, keeping it brief. ''A very mild potion that causes infatuation. By itself rather harmless and it wears off soon, but it works well in combination with stronger brews. This diminished the tendencies of unreasonable obsession Amortentia usually calls forth in the drinker. As this base mixture could not yet produce the desired result, I added extract of henbane, handpicked varieties of Rosa rugosa, blister beetles and salt. Using more recent research, I also included olive leaf extract, chamomile and diced morels to stimulate the brain's natural production of the hormones Vasopressin and Oxytonin.''
''All ingredients found in common love potions still, traditional or otherwise,'' the other cut in, not sounding pleased. ''I did not ask for an improved version of Amortentia or any other existing potion, Severus. I wanted what is distinctly not available on the market. A reproduction of that which can naturally be felt by so many. True love.''
When he'd been given this task, Severus thought the Dark Lord to have gone mad for sure. It was a well-known fact that actual, natural love was far too complex to be recreated by magical means. After weeks of studying both magical and muggle theory on the subject, it became even clearer that a real connection beyond simple infatuation could not be forced. Severus knew very well however, how love felt. The strength of his feelings for Lily would never waver, rooted so deep that he knew it to be a central part of his very being. Painful though it had been, Severus was aware that failure was not an option and used that love to produce the vial he now held in his hand. He'd been given an impossible task after all, and after too many failed attempts, Severus knew his only hope would be an equally impossible ingredient. It was a slightly soothing thought that Lily might agree to these actions. She'd died for love, it was only fitting that her remaining miracle would grant love to others.
''Of course,'' Severus muttered in response, bowing his head. He hesitated for a moment, not because he wished to conceal any details, but because he still grieved the loss. Berating himself slightly for the pause, he continued: ''During my last few attempts, I experimented with uncommon materials. This particular version contains the gilded lily I received from the woman I loved deeply, wrapped in my memories of her.''
He'd poured all of his own love into the flower Lily had conjured for him beyond the grave so many months ago. On paper, it should work: the common ingredients and mixture of the three love potions that enhanced each other positively would give that initial spark and erase even the most persistent adverse feelings towards the receptor, the hormone-inducing components would let the drinker's own mind work against them and the strength of Severus' memories combined with Lily's gift should leave an impression of deep, true love. It would still be a mere imitation - Anything more was quite literally unachievable - but no matter how briefly, it should do as required. The minor problem of course, was that it had not yet been tested. He'd wished to wait for the summer holidays, as feeding love potions to students under the nose of three Aurors was a tad too risky for Severus' liking. Even the position of Headmaster was a precarious one, the past year had shown.
Not to mention that even after working on this potion for months, he was still uncertain whom exactly the key ingredient had belonged to. Animal or even human remains were not uncommon in certain love potions, but it being a wand arm suggested that it served as the localizer of the benefactor of the conjured love. Which was a preposterous theory, seeing the mummified state this limb had been in. Whomever it had belonged to must have died a century ago. With the vast abyss of obscure magic that the Dark Lord was privy to however, Severus could not rule out the possibility, meaning that even when he was certain the potion itself should be complete, the question remained whether one still needed to add a localizer or not. He'd attempted to do so with mixture thirty-six, left the stopper off a few seconds too long when trying to add the hairs of a random witch he'd encountered in Hogsmeade and could only helplessly watch as the mixture turned milky and started smelling foul.
''Lily Potter…'' the Dark Lord muttered, his brow creased. ''An ingenious addition, Severus, I admit. With the role she played in our fates and the established connections after, this is very fitting. I knew you would be the only one who'd be able to realise my vision. You will be rewarded greatly if this works as intended.''
The words made little sense, and Severus was still trying to connect possible dots when a short burst of wandless magic ripped the glass container from his fingers. ''My Lord-'' he spoke, interrupting his own thought process to give out his last warnings. ''If you plan on using it soon, I urge you to caution. As mentioned before, my last attempt-''
As soon as those words had been uttered, the careful façade shattered again, the Dark Lord's mental state visibly declining within seconds into the erratic. Whatever sanity the man had scraped together to hear his explanation, it dissolved as soon as the sought-for answer had been given. Clearly, he'd determined the elixir to be safe enough.
''I cannot wait even longer, Severus! Do you think I would have called you here hours early if I'd had the time for careful considerations? You have no idea what is at stake! You'd better pray that your efforts indeed pay off!'' He eyed the brightly silver liquid almost with a hint of desperation, an expression Severus had never imagined to see on the serpentine face.
Something about this whole situation was very off. Being a practical man, Severus could see how love potions were an interesting option to subdue enemies or more easily control those on the fence. It could also ease political marriages for both parties or simply make one appear more charming when attempting to garner attention. As he could see none of those situations applying to the Dark Lord, he'd approached this project as somewhat of a scientific challenge to improve their chances in the political battles going on behind the scenes. His Lord had of course said it had the highest priority and was of utmost importance, but any task this man gave was, so Severus had still not thought there to be more to it than perhaps discovering a subtler, more effective version of a love potion in order for their side to gain more ground by ensnaring their enemies' minds without being discovered.
The look in those terrifying eyes spoke very different volumes. This was personal.
''If I am not overstepping any boundaries, my Lord…'' Severus asked. Typically, he did not care in the slightest what his creations would be used for. He rather preferred to remain oblivious to anything but the pleasant wafts of fresh potions in his dungeon, in fact. However, the mystery surrounding this brew, the sacrifice he'd had to make to complete it and now this entire strange conversation had raised his level of interest far beyond the usual. ''May I inquire as to the purpose of this brew?''
He was thrown one last, odd look, as if his Lord could hardly believe the question had even been asked. ''Naturally, this is all for Evan. Now get out of my way.''
It all happened too fast then. In the frozen second Severus needed to take in that information, the Dark Lord had already left the room with billowing robes, heading for the stairs. It felt like a scream worked its way up his throat, although only a light croaking left it once he dove after his Lord. Alarm bells went off in his head as Severus desperately tried and failed to catch up (a man nearing his seventies should not be this agile), the consequences of breaking the Vow he'd taken furiously speeding up his heart as if it knew its last beats were nearby.
Potter. The Dark Lord had asked him to craft a love potion to feed to Potter. There was no time or place in his head right now to calculatingly analyse the why (weren't they already together? Hadn't the boy already been absolutely besotted last year when Severus had been given a glimpse of his thoughts? Had there been a falling out?). It really did not matter now, not when his Lord was about to pour an untested draught down the boy's throat that, while harmless in theory, could potentially be deadly if any of the proportions had been even marginally incorrect. If that were the case, if Severus had brewed a potion that would harm the reckless Gryffindor he'd sworn to protect…
''No!'' he roared as soon as the Dark Lord disappeared into the study, getting in a last sprint to throw himself in front of the boy.
He received a shocked look from Lily's eyes on one side, then was caught by a clawed hand again and roughly thrown aside on the other. Not fast enough, he hadn't been fast enough…
''What is going on,'' Potter asked, bewildered. He looked tired, eyes red-rimmed behind his ridiculous glasses. At his feet coiled the Dark Lord's gigantic serpent, fangs glistening as it opened its maw at the disturbance. Potter's shocked expression morphed into anger, then. ''Voldemort, you can't just leave me like that and storm back in with Snape of all people in tow! Moreover-''
Trying his best to ignore the implication that his own presence was the most upsetting detail here, Severus strongly interrupted: ''Potter, for once in your life, do as I say and don't drink-'' trailing off when noticing that midway through that sentence, the Dark Lord had removed the stopper and set the vial to his own barely discernible lips, downing the love potion in one go.
Time was odd today. In the tiresome span of half an hour, it seemed to have been frozen thrice now. In comical slow-motion, the glass phial slipped from spindly fingers and shattered on the floor. In that moment, the puzzle pieces all clicked into place. It had been a long-standing rumour that the Dark Lord could not feel love. Dumbledore had had quite a few interesting theories about it too, which Severus had dismissed when finding out about the fearsome man being in what on the surface (according to what he could actually remember after at least one forced memory wipe) looked like a genuine relationship. He had not suspected there to be such a fundamental underlying problem with the way he'd seen these two act. Looking at them now as they were caught up in a prolonged stare, Severus felt very out of place, watching this ordeal from the side-lines. Until-
''It… does nothing,'' the Dark Lord whispered dejectedly. ''There is no difference.''
''Voldemort,'' Potter murmured, taking hands that were shaking lightly in his own. The snake reacted too, slowly winding itself around the Dark Lord instead and looking up with far too intelligent eyes for such a terrifying beast.
Severus was trying to supress shivers too, when the words caught his attention. Clever or not, he could not let such ignorance about the glorious subject of potions slide. ''It cannot do nothing,'' he insistently argued. ''These ingredients can affect each other, either for the intended purpose or adversely, but potions do not revert into water!'' As a rule of thumb, bad brews had worse and more unpredictable effect than correctly brewed potions. It would be ludicrous for nothing to happen. Anyone with basic knowledge of the discipline was aware of this principle.
He should have known that comment – true or not – would overstep the boundaries he'd already been treading upon. Without lifting a finger, the Dark Lord hauled Severus up in the air, suffocating magic manifesting in the very air. Only a firm ''Let him go,'' from Potter diverted his Lord's murderous gaze again. ''Look, I know we're all exhausted and a lot happened tonight,'' the boy continued. ''No, please don't close off again. I can't stand it when you do that. Just talk to me. That's all I wanted in the first place. Before you left.'' The tone could not have been more accusing.
His feet thankfully found the ground again quickly, and as soon as he could stand on his own legs, Severus put as much distance between him and the Dark Lord as possible, holding his wand in a firm grip in case he needed to intervene.
The man released a strangely human, frantic cry and sat down into the only chair, which had just been vacated. Disturbingly enough, the serpent's presence around his waist and shoulders did not appear enough, for the man also dragged Potter into his lap and held on tight as if squeezing a comfort animal. The teen did not protest, appearing to be more worried for Voldemort than his own safety. Bleeding-heart Gryffindors…
Of course, he should have known he would not be left in peace.
''If you are so adamant in wishing to correct me, Severus, then use this one chance to explain,'' his Lord venomously challenged. The threat of 'or stay silent forevermore' couldn't have been more blatant. ''If potions are always effective, tell me why I feel no different than before.''
Ah yes, this was exactly what he'd been looking forward to today. Playing relationship therapist for two lunatics on opposite ends of the spectrum. For Severus was well-versed enough in potion theory - which he had enough certificates to prove, thank you very much – to know with absolute certainty that a potion not taking effect could only have a single cause. The realisation crushed him nonetheless, and if he weren't bound to both of these people, he'd seriously consider tearing them a new one for forcing him to uselessly destroy the last artefact he'd had left to remember the only woman he'd ever loved by. Only decades of carefully crafting masks enabled Severus to keep standing strong as his own heart shattered at the expense of the Dark Lord and Lily's son. He could mourn later. Now, the fate of the entire country had apparently fallen into Severus' hands, for if he'd be unable to give a satisfactory explanation, who knew what kind of miseries the Dark Lord would rain down upon them all in rage.
Conjuring himself another chair to appear less imposing – he preferred to hover over students, but lecturing the Dark Lord was best done from a humble position - Severus sat down and steepled his fingers together. If anything could focus this man, it was theories that centred around magic. Although the problem at hand was technically caused be the human nature of emotions, it would not hurt to frame it through a slightly different lens to get his point across.
''The strongest healing potion in the world cannot mend non-existing wounds. The Draught of Living Dead would have no effect on a patient in St. Mungo's who has been declared to exist in a persistent vegetative state. These are two well-known exceptions to the efficacy of potions. What these two cases have in common should be rather obvious. Whereas direct spells can layer - firing five stunners at someone will knock them unconscious for longer than a single one could accomplish and possibly damage internal organs in the process – potion creation is an arduous process of calculating an exact effect. If the intended outcome has already been reached however…''
''But that can't be the case,'' Potter spoke softly, all the while studying the Dark Lord's now impassive face, fingers tenderly brushing high cheekbones. ''We have analysed his emotions over and over. If I am correct in assuming that this potion you made was intended to induce love, something else must have failed if it didn't work. Not that I agree potions are a good solution in any shape or form,'' the boy added with more sharpness. ''So often, I have said-''
''So often, you have lied,'' the Dark Lord challengingly corrected. ''To yourself most of all, yet I could not simply let it rest, knowing that if you ever decided that it was not enough after all… Well, we spoke of what would happen, then. Your despair was palpable, my dear. I knew but one thing that might improve your state of mind.'' Then, his stern gaze regrettably landed on Severus again as Potter struggled to form a coherent reply. ''Evan speaks the truth. Through our mental bond – you must know of it, should have experienced it in his memories when teaching Occlumency - we have exchanged emotions and found this one lacking.''
That was difficult to believe after suffering through two passionate possessive speeches by the Dark Lord declaring his full pride and confidence in the boy, seeing them meld into each other when dancing and observing literally every other interaction between the two. Merlin, Severus clearly recalled that during the one shared breakfast at Malfoy manor he'd been present at, the Dark Lord almost automatically pulled his chair obscenely close to Potter's, as if he could not stand to be apart a few more inches. Now too, the nauseating clinging that the both of them didn't bat an eyelash at screamed of mutual dependence if nothing else.
Perhaps he wagered a risky presumption, but hearing of this odd 'emotional exchange' and analysis of feelings, Severus suddenly had an inkling of where the problem may actually lie. Having loved Lily throughout his childhood, his teenage years and later adult life, he was acutely aware of how different the concept of romance could be in different stages of life. Although the strength of his emotions had never wavered from the first conversation they'd shared, love altered, developed.
Thus, he dared carefully ask: ''My Lord… What exactly did you imagine love should feel like?''
''Blinding,'' the man stated instantly with full confidence. ''A white-hot iron about to be forged into a weapon that stabs the heart. All-encompassing bliss that erases every shred of reason.''
Severus wanted to bite into his fist and scream.
Of course, he wasn't the Head of Slytherin house for nothing, and forced his face to show none of that frustration. ''That could indeed be a version of the emotion called love,'' he explained as if teaching a bunch of first-year Hufflepuffs how to prepare standard potion water. ''That description best fits the way that commonly, teenagers high on hormones experience their first crushes. You are not exactly in the age category where this would even be physically possible anymore, my Lord. Nor is it the healthiest form of love. Of all the potions I used, Amortentia actually mimics that particular state most closely. Naturally, that was not exactly what I had in mind when you asked me for true love. Rather, I found it logical to attempt to create a potion that would reflect the way most adults love after the initial phase of limerence is over. A love that allows us to put one's own needs aside for one's partner, that includes a healthy dose of jealousy, insecurity and joy alike, that makes that one person the most interesting and beautiful being in the world…''
When met with two disbelieving expressions, he knew there was much work left still.
XxX
A whole hour had passed, and still Voldemort could not yet grasp in full all that had been revealed following his impulsive decision to summon Severus.
Love… love was not that one encompassing feel he'd blanched at the idea of for most of his life and spent chasing after the past fleeting months? Ridiculous. All books he'd consulted to research the topic, using both Muggle fiction and textbooks of his own people, seemed to have a mutual understanding of this peculiar sensation. Certainly, there'd been descriptions of 'complexity' and side-effects, symptoms of being in love like it was some disease Voldemort had never wanted to catch. Yet all it came down to was a silent agreement taunting him from the pages, a conspiracy between the lines that when one wrote about love, all readers were expected to understand what that meant. To have the ability to apply this concept to their own lives. How was that possible if love was indeed the ever-changing stream of chaos that Severus had made it out to be?
The founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers – a Granger with certainly no relations to Harry's Granger - had once described the struggles in inventing exactly that what Severus had been ordered to, stating no-one had yet managed to create the 'truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called love'. Delving into love magic – purely out of a very temporary spurt of interest – had garnered similar insights. That love was a singular emotion. Nothing he'd read or heard in the entirety of his two lives had contradicted that view. Certainly not Harry, whose palpable, intense feelings had affirmed that love was exactly the raging storm that swallowed the mind as Voldemort had speculated it might be like. Neither had Dumbledore, who was always spouting left and right about the supposed most powerful force in the world.
It could have been a ruse. A clever way for his follower to avoid taking responsibility for the potion's ineffectiveness. However, infuriatingly, all of Severus' points did indeed confirm his own knowledge on the subject of potions, at least. Their creation was perhaps the most predictable branch of magic, even slightly more than Arithmancy. Also, the longer Voldemort analysed the reluctantly given explanation, the more a sense of embarrassment settled in. Of course it should not have been as simple as it appeared on the surface. In that case, he would have mastered love long ago. And now he'd been pressed into the sheer intricacy of it, he could at last also figure out the underlying reason for so many of his more worrisome actions in the past year. Neither duty nor care nor a magic-given connection had ever been a truly satisfying answer as to why he not only let Harry get this close, but why he'd been so eager to instigate any contact.
Having an excellent memory was a curse now, as his mind eagerly presented situations which he'd attempted to wave away with admittedly highly illogical explanations:
Being already fully aware of Harry's feelings once that little lie of Harry having a boyfriend was cleared up, he had not needed to go all out on courting rituals. He'd done so anyway, an almost nervous itch crawling over his skin until he could have Harry sitting at his table surrounded by food and gifts. Inviting all of Harry's pesky friends into his home hadn't been necessary either, let alone healing them or providing cover-ups. When they'd first arrived, he'd reasoned it would be the most effective course of action to keep Dumbledore in the dark. When thinking more deeply about it for only a minute, sending them back with carefully wiped memories would have been far more so. Only Harry's concern over their well-being had mattered. Voldemort would like to chalk that up to keeping his Horcrux loyal… only he knew full well that he'd not have had any qualms about it before seeing the teen as a potential partner. Once he did…
Memories piled atop each other now, highlighting all cases in which he'd considered Harry's feelings. Even when the trouble had been safe at Hogwarts half a country away, Voldemort had been overtaken with rage on his behalf during the short meeting in the Daily Prophet's office with the one who'd caused Harry so much sorrow by insisting he stay with his Muggle family. Merlin, he'd all but offered to drink the Nightmare potion to save Harry grief too, which had caught the both of them off guard. All the little things started adding up and Severus' words of 'the most interesting and beautiful being in the world' clung onto the sharp memory of being taken aback when truly looking at Harry at the Ostara ball. That moment in which he'd been awe-struck by his chosen partner's looks as if nothing else in the world mattered anymore.
He'd been wishing to wholeheartedly reciprocate Harry's confession for a while now, devastated beyond belief by his apparent natural inability. Just maybe, the wish to feel love had already been a good indicator in itself. He'd always strongly rejected the notion, revelled in being above the rest of humankind. And although a while ago, he'd started being more comfortable with letting go of the tight control he'd employed and seen the possible benefits of true emotions, that did not mean he'd been very keen on messy feelings. Nonetheless, he'd still longed for love. Selflessly, for the only reason he'd wanted to feel it was to at last give back to his partner in much the same way Harry had wanted to give back to him tonight.
The teen was hovering between waking and dreams now, still exhausted from that attempt. Having refused to be the first one to speak up after Severus' words ran dry, Harry had instead made himself as comfortable as possible on Voldemort's lap, clinging on while the Dark Lord attempted to come to terms with what he'd learned. The weight of Harry's head now and then grew heavier as he nodded off before something or the other jerked him awake again – likely Voldemort's own turbulent mood. His partner's senses were much duller in contrast for once, which could be accredited to the lack of sleep and magical exhaustion tonight had brought.
They were thankfully alone. Severus had already been reluctant to have a part in this from the very start, and had been very eager to be dismissed again, albeit not granted permission to leave. Through the vicinity of the Mark, Voldemort could track his follower to the dining room downstairs. What would happen to Severus was still up for debate. He'd seen a vulnerable side that Voldemort was loath to show those in his service. A second memory wipe within only a few months could take the sharp edge off Severus' mind however, and the man was far too talented and useful in his current position to do away with. Not to mention that it'd be an affront to magic to specifically target someone keen on reviving heavy magic. Before the unnecessary complications surrounding Harry, that was the reason Severus had originally joined him after all: his taking to the Dark Arts.
Severus would be a worry for later. Always the careful opportunist, he'd not go running his mouth instantly. No, Voldemort's primary focus was right here in his arms. He'd already spent an hour looking at this new insight from every angle, far longer than he would have allowed others to process internal feelings. Frankly, there was only a single doubt that remained:
''Do you think he was truthful?'' Voldemort asked quietly, shifting his grip so he could support the main weight of his partner with only one arm, having one free to wander across the small of Harry's back. It earned him a delightful, shivering sigh.
''Aren't you the lie detector here?'' came the muffled, lethargic response a few seconds later. That wouldn't do.
Voldemort made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. ''He's an excellent Occlumens, which complicates matters. Furthermore, Severus could well be thinking he spoke the truth, making the information I would dig up when deliberately piercing his mind possibly untrustworthy. Whether his words are fact or a flawed opinion is unclear. I'm asking what you think.''
Finally, Harry sat up, steadying himself by grabbing hold of Voldemort's shoulders. ''I've said it before: I'm not an expert and just stumbling along like anyone else. Like Snape probably does too. I… I want to believe him. The far more important question is: do you?''
He'd twisted and turned long enough since swallowing that love potion to find the answer quickly. Yet was believing the same as knowing? A deep inhale as he pondered on the question was rewarded with the same rich scent that had wafted off the Flutterby bushes in spring. Although the flowers did not indicate love exactly, it had already been a tell-tale sign that the scent of that which attracted him the most on this world was Harry's... essence, so to speak. Something about it inspired him.
''I've been searching for love amidst a chaotic whirlwind, without realising that whirlwind's name has been love all along.''
Hopefully, it conveyed all he meant to express. A sense of acceptance, for whether fact or wishful thinking, what mattered in the end was only their perception. If only a single outsider would indeed define this as love, that was enough of an answer. Especially when that acceptance pleasantly buzzed, feeling so very right.
It should have been obvious that waxing poetry was rather wasted on someone whose main interest lay in a sport revolving around hitting one's peers with Bludgers and counting scores to which a zero was meaninglessly added for nothing more than a heightened dramatic effect.
''Another recital from your favourites?'' Harry cluelessly guessed.
''An original,'' he clarified, pleased when a look and feel of understanding dawned on his partner at last. ''This may be… unceremonious, but I do believe that the next time I slip up and call you 'love', the conversation about it will be more productive on either end.''
The smile he received in return could have lit up all of Britain.
XxX
It wasn't as if all their problems were instantly solved. That Voldemort's response to the recent events and Harry's distress over them had been to call Snape over with a love potion the git had been secretly ordered to brew months ago hovered between 'unhealthy' and 'deranged'. There was absolutely a great need for a thousand more open and honest conversations to ensure something like that would never be allowed to happen again. For now though…
For now, Harry felt like crashing in bed and sobbing in relief for a full day. There were no but's or if's anymore, no being afraid of finding the border of where 'caring for' might end. He was loved. Voldemort loved him and admitted as much – as indirect and lyrical the words had been, their meaning was clear. Would this newfound realisation change anything? They'd already been in a relationship, and the Dark Lord hadn't held back in showing both possessiveness and passion. Would knowing the full scope of emotions that fuelled his own actions influence Voldemort's behaviour in any way? Not that Harry wanted it to be so, but his partner often jumped to conclusions he couldn't follow.
With still much unsaid, Voldemort now hovered in the kitchen doorway as Harry made them and the horde of expected guests a bite to eat. He even reluctantly prepared an extra plate for Snape, although the teen didn't quite get why the potions professor was even here. To his understanding, the Carrows were to be the examiners for all but potions, the exam of which would only be next week Saturday. Surely Snape wasn't here in the role of headmaster to ensure fairness. That had never been the man's strong suit, as had been proven to Harry time and time again during class and detentions alike.
''Are you upset about the elixir?'' his partner suddenly asked, stepping in and erecting a silencing barrier.
''What?'' Harry absent-mindedly asked as he was attempting to not let the scrambled eggs burn, then figured Voldemort had picked up on his sudden grumpiness. ''Oh err, no, I was reminded of potion class, that always ruins my mood. Now you mention it though…'' Putting the pan off the heat, he turned to the side to face the other. ''I don't necessarily agree with your attempt to… to artificially make yourself love me. Deep down, I may have been worried for what your lack of love meant, but I was being truthful when declaring that with everything else you showed, it did not matter in the end.''
''Everything else I showed, I apparently did because I was not lacking. Only in awareness.''
Unable to help himself, a grin fought its way onto Harry's face. ''You absolutely must contradict everything I say, don't you?''
''Only as much as you do with me on a daily basis.''
Huffing at the predictable reply, he continued: ''Well, I guess I view it from a different perspective now, but back then I didn't know. Besides, the point I wanted to make is-'' he halted for a second, frustrated by how jumbled his thoughts still were. ''It might not have been the optimal solution. Both your intentions and the result were good though, and especially that intent counts in my view. So no, I'm not angry at all. It's…. quite flattering how far you went to return my feelings and validate our relationship.'' Harry ended up mumbling, feeling his own face heat up as he turned towards the stove again. Harry was aware of that when in time, he'd tell his friends this whole tale, they'd likely call him crazy for being flattered rather than upset. Well, they could harbour the anger on his behalf all they wanted. He was content to see the positives instead. ''I now really have to try harder,'' he spoke in good humour.
''With what?''
''You know…'' he helplessly shrugged. ''The romantic gesture of 'I brewed myself a love potion to have the societally expected feelings for my boyfriend' will be difficult to beat.'' When seeing Voldemort's face, Harry couldn't stop a burst of laughter from bubbling up. Then, he smugly said: ''Although I do have an idea or two.'' One of which he should ask Draco for an update of, and another for which he needed Hermione's vast knowledge instead…
''If I am going overboard, do tell me to stop getting you flowers and cake,'' his partner drawled. ''It'll make it easier for your own grand gestures to shine.''
''Don't you dare. I can't have a Slytherin let me win in a competition. If Draco gets wind of it, he'll tease me for the next ten years.''
Strangely, it was easy to participate in this light conversation. If anything, Voldemort's attempts to make Harry feel better had indeed distracted from the initial problem. Unfortunately, cooking a breakfast meal he'd made a hundred times before wasn't exactly keeping him busy enough though, so as the minutes ticked by while he continued melting cheese and toasting bread, new thoughts about it slowly resurfaced. Did he really want to initiate a conversation about all of that?
''What did you actually mess up my study for so much?'' Voldemort asked as if having read his mind. Only the lack of pain indicated it had been a shot in the dark rather than Legilimency. Alright, decision made for him.
''Tom,'' he honestly admitted. The air froze, his partner instantly on edge. ''Your very brief mention of him, combined with my previous experience of Horcruxes gave a bit of an overview of what must have happened. Really not enough, however.'' Harry bit his lip. ''I supposed there would be no opportunity to see your memory of Tom's appearance today and wanted to do something nonetheless to figure out what was going on.''
Voldemort's jaw tensed slightly. For some reason, Tom appeared to be a topic the man didn't want to discuss. ''And did you? Find out more?'' he tersely inquired.
''No... After a failed attempt to find him in my mindscape through meditation, I had a conversation with Nagini that led me to believe I could find a proper way to establish contact if I knew how this piece of your soul actually functions. So, I was searching for any and all information on Horcruxes, soul magic and mind magic while you were… busy.'' He paused for a second to think. ''Truthfully, although your reveal of Tom's appearance was distressing, this research was also no more than a distraction.''
''The murder,'' the other guessed, sounding disappointed in the way that people do when trying to hide it. Checking again, Harry realised Voldemort's tone had in fact been perfectly neutral, he'd instead picked up a small trickle of the emotion that flitted through their mental link before it could be cut off.
''My own attitude regarding it,'' Harry specified. ''It was the first time I killed someone without feeling either guilt or like it was my only choice to stay alive. My response was not the best, I know. But I felt like being suffocated and needed to be… just anywhere else.'' Looking up at his partner, he was not met with understanding. Attempting to explain better, Harry elaborated: ''I'd just crashed from using dark magic that went beyond what was healthy, I was still high on feeling your power and the elation this kill had evoked in you, and then I was suddenly confronted with an irregular gap in my own morality and physically feeling the damage I'd just done to my soul. It was all too much already, and I was trying my hardest to focus on the positives, on you. And then you said that my actions - this murder which I was still attempting to ignore the full consequences of - were severe enough to make the piece of soul in me that was accidentally stored when you tried to kill me, gain awareness. I didn't know anymore what to feel, what to think and focus on. Being buried in research always seems to help you focus, I figured I might as well give it a shot. Not that I got very far, being interrupted not long after by your storming in.''
Voldemort bristled at the use of language. An indignant 'I do not storm' was only a second away.
To intercept the incoming petty argument, Harry quickly moved on: ''I know I can't hope to receive advice from you when it comes to dealing with guilt or lack thereof, because you never felt this moral dilemma I currently do. You knew your soul would get ripped to shreds, it was your main purpose even the very first time you murdered someone.''
''Was I worse for it?'' Voldemort pondered aloud with nothing more than a hint of curiosity. Harry tried not to choke in disbelief.
''That would be… the general assumption,'' he carefully said.
Voldemort stretched to full height and took a step forward, closing in as he pensively gazed down at Harry. It was both frightening and impressive how fast any lingering insecurity was set aside and he looked the part of an imposing Dark Lord again. ''I care not for general assumptions, darling. I ask you: was I worse for it?''
They'd been rather avoidant of this topic before. It was a silent agreement by now that Voldemort's more heinous acts would not be thwarted by Harry as long as the man took an effort to limit them. And despite personal critique, Harry had defended his partner's actions more than once towards Sirius, Ron and Hermione too. The answer to Voldemort's question sadly wasn't black and white.
Would Voldemort have been a better man, had he not literally schemed to murder his peers at sixteen in order to become immortal? Undoubtedly. But that hypothetical situation assumed that he'd have been an entirely different person to start with. As much as Harry loathed to admit it, Magic might have chosen another to do her bidding, for the task of achieving balance in a force of nature through any means necessary was not a burden meant for those who couldn't get their hands dirty when it counted.
''You're exactly who you are meant to be,'' he replied seriously, meeting ruby eyes. ''That includes all you did and might do.''
''And so-'' the Dark Lord quietly muttered, lifting Harry's chin with a single finger. ''Are you. Understood?''
Harry understood the words that had been turned against him so quickly, perfectly. He could tear himself up all day about who he'd become, but in the end all that mattered was that he owned up to his actions. It was time to face himself instead of seeking excuses: he was a murderer, a practitioner of the darkest arts, a necromancer, and practically engaged to the most feared Dark Lord of their age. Maybe that did indeed make him evil in the eyes of some. Thousands of people would have thousands of perspectives, and it was up to himself to decide whose opinions mattered. In Voldemort's eyes, Harry's actions had run their natural course. In his own... there'd not been a better choice to pick. Not without slighting those he cared for.
It caused a tangible shift in his mindset, easing the frayed distress that had eaten away at him before. His partner showed a small, proud smile as he noticed. ''Excellent. Now, you should get some strength back and get your mind set on the exams. They'll be right after breakfast after all,'' Voldemort unhelpfully reminded him, as always giving little space for doubt, moving on quickly.
Groaning miserably, Harry turning around to devote his attention to the food instead, throwing a load of mushrooms in the pan to sauté off. ''It'll be too much to hope you'll order Lucius to skip the exams today?''
''I clearly remember a certain someone not wishing for my interference in the decisions you and your guardians make about your life,'' Voldemort said with a mean smile. ''Something about exerting too much control. Oh, that was you.''
''It's your house though,'' he shot back.
''This location was chosen solely because Granger's wand isn't keyed into Malfoy manor. I can gladly step in and tell Lucius that using this place is no longer an option, but with an entire manor at his disposal, changing the location will be easier than the time... unless you have full confidence that Lucius will not exclude Granger against your wishes?''
''I know why they call you a tyrant now.''
Voldemort stilled, head cocked to the side in thought. ''I was under the impression that word had negative connotations,'' he finally said. ''That does not match up with your current light mood. Nor is the context severe enough.''
''Teasing,'' Harry reminded the other, amused by the slight confusion. ''Although speaking of tyrants… you hardly got the opportunity to tell me about your own trip with everything else that happened tonight. Were you not planning on visiting Nurmengard? How did that go?''
''Different than imagined. So different that I'd prefer you to view my memory of the conversation with Grindelwald to form your own opinion before we discuss it in detail.'' At Harry's concerned look, he clarified: ''Nothing that stands in the way of our goal. Nurmengard seems to be an excellent option to hide Dumbledore away. In fact, I got the impression that Grindelwald will fully aid us in ensuring the old fool stays there to live out the rest of his feeble days.'' Harry relaxed minimally at that, curiosity only growing about the mysterious statement. If this wasn't about the Headmaster, then what? Had Voldemort torn into the older wizard about using the title of Dark Lord falsely or something? ''We can speak more of this tomorrow, when we are both of clearer mind and have refreshed our ability to reason,'' Voldemort decided. ''It won't be productive to review memories while you are clinging onto wakefulness by the skin of your teeth. Also, although I can do with much less sleep, it's been almost forty-eight hours since I rested as well.''
''Didn't you sleep at all after leaving on Thursday?'' Harry asked with instant concern. So that was the reason why he had had only regular dreams yesterday…
''I had planned on doing so when coming home. That would have been plenty, had I managed to. Well, no matter-'' Unexpectedly, cold hands grasped both sides of his waist, and Harry had a hard time concentrating on cooking as sparks danced across his skin. Voldemort was holding back still, but they were both aware of how fast that could change. Magic multiplied between them, turning the air syrupy as Voldemort pressed even closer. ''It does give the perfect excuse to spend a while in bed later, exploring my… newfound realisations, does it not?'' Harry's toes curled involuntarily at the insinuation, and only the last few shreds of remaining logic told him that Voldemort might actually be oblivious to the double meaning in those words. Maybe. Or maybe he just liked torturing Harry with implications that wouldn't be followed through. Well, two could play that game, and Harry was good at bending rules in his favour.
Turning around without breaking contact, Harry grasped the front of Voldemort's robes to pull himself up, halting when his lips were only a hair's breadth away. ''Since when do we need excuses?'' Harry murmured, delighted when the red of Voldemort's eyes darkened by his dilated pupils. ''I'd say we can start right now.''
XxX
The opportunity to roam the Dark Lord's home unobserved did not present itself often. The few times he'd set foot in the place, Severus had either been accompanied by his Lord or other Death Eaters. He used the time well, pacing the room as an excuse to wander, letting his sharp gaze drift. It wasn't the most pleasant house: dark and stagnant, in a dusty way instead of the cleanness of his own dungeons. Severus couldn't imagine anyone truly feeling comfortable in here.
What stood out most were the numerous Muggle books lining the shelves and the strange scratches in the table's surface near the head of which he couldn't begin to guess the origin. Further back was a sofa and a low coffee table, an opened pack of exploding snap cards and a couple of gobstones thrown haphazardly across its gleaming surface. Potter's doing, surely. The thought of the Dark Lord playing such childish games was out of the question.
Towards the left wall, he picked up a vague smell of wolfsbane and sage, which he'd recalled noticing before in the hallway too, near a seemingly inconspicuous door to the left of the stairs. One day, he'd have to convince the Dark Lord to be shown what appeared to be a personal potion laboratory.
He stilled near the door of the veranda, peering through the four, small window panes in it. Nothing was out of the ordinary here either, a few old pots and plants. He'd likely see more of it after breakfast, when the Carrows would test the rowdy runaways. As little as he wanted to do with either the Dark Lord or his students on weekends, Severus was glad to have requested being present here today under the guise of keeping the Carrows in line so the Dark Lord himself did not need to be bothered with such a menial task. Lucius had eagerly agreed too, as always the proud father who could not wait to have Draco show off. Whether that confidence in skill was founded, they'd need to wait and see. The boy wasn't a bad student by any means, often on top of most classes, but from what he'd picked up in the teacher's lounge, Draco excelled more in theory than in practise. Only potions was an exception to that rule, which wasn't entirely surprising as he'd started teaching his godson at age seven.
Today, the boy would hopefully do better in Defence than that abysmal attempt at duelling in his second year. He wasn't only here for Draco, however, even if he was the only child Severus had a weak spot for. More so, he'd been getting increasingly antsy about being unaware of Potter's current level. As he'd correctly assessed months ago, the future course of an entire continent depended on the actions taken by this one unpredictable teenager. Whoever Potter sided with would win, period. That unfortunately wasn't where Potter's involvement ended, as he wasn't staying a quiet pawn on the board, discontent to keep in the background and offer silent support. From gathering his own group of loyal followers to seducing the Dark Lord, Potter was cutting his slice of power early. That greatly complicated the Vow Severus taken. Ergo, keeping a closer eye on the harebrained Gryffindor was of utmost importance.
Today had proven those worries to be founded more than anything. Whichever secret ability the foolish Gryffindor had to make people so eagerly flock to his side had clearly caught the Dark Lord in its clutches too. Merlin, it would have been nice to erase the past hour from his memory altogether. To stay blissfully oblivious to the irrational depths the fearsome man had fallen to in his conquest of Potter. Alas, it was also an integral part of the power in the teen's hands. Perhaps, Snape thought in uncharacteristic optimism, this most recent realisation on the Dark Lord's part would lead to some stabilisation in everyone's lives. Certainly a better situation than would have been the case if the one who wished to lead them into a new age was caught up in internal struggles instead of concentrating on his actual job.
Moreover, Severus silently admitted that there could have been much worse outcomes, considering what Potter was. A piece of the Dark Lord's soul was locked in the famous scar and Potter was likely still in possession of another. While understanding the purpose of Horcruxes, Severus was of the firm opinion that the soul was better left put together. Although too late for that, surely Potter's closeness to the Dark Lord increased the chances of remaining balanced. As achieving balance between dark and light was his Lord's true goal and everything concerning magic reflected each other in spirals, it was only logical to support a development that would stabilise the one on top.
Having looked into every nook and cranny of the living room without finding more of interest, he checked the time and wandered back towards the door. It was nearing six thirty, meaning the Carrows would be arriving very soon. They'd sensibly wished to look over their working space and prepare some targets, so Severus might as well go out to receive them. As he stepped into the equally heavily carpeted and murky hallway, his gaze was inevitably drawn to the only spot of light: the open kitchen door, one of the few rooms that apparently held a spacious window without shutters that were constantly closed. Severus froze up when taking in the scene he wished to instantly wash his eyes out for: Potter, back pressed heavily against the counter as he was trapped by the Dark Lord's looming body, face tilted upwards to passionately meet the other's lips and hands suggestively wandering all over silky robes. Oh, he hadn't needed to see that.
Thanking magic above that both had their eyes closed and a privacy ward clearly separated them – that amount of tongue could never be this silent – Severus rushed along into the front garden, praying the snogging would have stopped once the Carrows arrived.
''Searched half the castle for you, Severus,'' Amycus complained as soon as the two appeared. ''Wasn't the plan-''
''The plan changed when our Lord called me in early,'' he interrupted. He hadn't had enough sleep to deal with the other's antics today. Fortunately, Amycus accepted that excuse without further protest. Even more fortunately, a very quick glance at the kitchen upon entering the house again showed it was vacant.
His mood improved marginally, then plummeted again when he followed them into the living room and a series of blue lights flashed before they could even greet their Lord. Within the span of a few seconds, the room was overflowing with people Severus despised: one of the less tolerable Weasleys, the know-it-all Granger, Crouch and the mutt. He managed to ground out the most polite 'my Lord' he could muster before focusing his hateful glare on Sirius Black, who threw himself on a chair and loudly continued a conversation with Crouch about racing brooms that had clearly been going on for a while before being interrupted. His hair was a mess of unshaven stubble and a twisted bun with loose strands flying every which way. How undignified. Understandably, the Carrows were a tad shocked, exchanging one of their silent knowing looks.
It was a miracle their Lord allowed it, though a single glance at the man - who'd already claimed his spot at the head of the table and waited for others to serve him - was very much preoccupied with studying every single one of Potter's movements like a hungry serpent.
''Oh, take a seat,'' Potter offered upon noticing the Carrows. ''Didn't know you'd arrive this early, but there's plenty of food. No mushrooms I'm afraid. They err… got burned when I was distracted.''
''Harry, you look awful,'' Granger worriedly pointed out after she hugged Potter in greeting. ''What is wrong?''
''Didn't really get any sleep last night,'' the boy muttered. ''Lot happened.''
That was one way to summarise the night's events and Severus wasn't even privy to half of it, as he still was clueless as to what had transpired to cause both the Dark Lord and Potter to be awake at three in the morning, one surrounded by a dozen books upstairs and the other demanding love potions like a madman.
''Exam jitters?'' she sympathetically asked, oblivious as she patted his arm.
''Something like that. I'll tell you guys later. Oh damn, I forgot to brew coffee.''
''Allow me,'' the Dark Lord spoke up, rising from their table. ''The lot of you, sit down, now. And Black, either stop your yapping or transform, you're marginally more bearable as a dog,'' he menacingly ordered.
Black looked ready to protest when a light jab to the shoulder from Crouch blessedly shut him up. Severus himself waited for the rest to take their places, knowing at least half of these people had no regard to proper seating hierarchy and also wanting to claim a spot furthest from Black if possible. The Carrows again seemed a tad lost when Potter took the chair directly to their Lord's left and Black got up to drop himself in the seat next to his godson instead. As they looked over to him for guidance, he only silently shook his head. He couldn't fix this mess. Nor was it his place to fix it with the Dark Lord's right-hand man right there. At least Crouch attempted to adhere to etiquette, ignoring Black's obvious gesture of kicking the empty chair to his left back in favour of sitting on their Lord's right. Severus ended up near the end of the table, wedged between an affronted Amycus and Granger. Joy. At least it was far from Black.
He'd been so preoccupied, first with seats and then with glaring at Weasley for bad manners, who'd started eating absentmindedly despite their host not even having returned to the table, that Severus had completely missed the reason why the Dark Lord had left in the first place. Everyone fell silent when the man returned with a single mug in his hands and placed it in front of Potter.
''Here, drink. You'll need the energy,'' he insisted, then sat down as if serving coffee was an everyday occurrence. Even Potter finally looked appropriately startled.
''Thanks… erhm… where's the rest?''
''What rest?''
''You know- the rest of the pot. For everyone else.''
''I'm not an elf,'' the Dark Lord snarled, looking disgusted at the idea of providing for anyone else.
Potter mumbled something into his cup, more embarrassed than grateful as he awkwardly sipped from the only cup of coffee on the table.
The rest of breakfast was a quieter affair. Even Granger didn't run her mouth like usual, either intimidated by the Dark Lord or not wishing to look unprepared by going over the material once more so shortly before the O.W.L.s. Halfway in, Lucius dropped off Draco, who nervously joined them at the table, sitting on the edge of his seat. Most of his usual arrogance was lost when sitting among his elders. Then, as the clock struck seven, Alecto excused herself to quickly rush out into the backyard. Although the Carrows been too polite to refuse food offered by their Lord, the planned preparations still hadn't been made. At least it made the students more nervous as they uncomfortably waited. As it should be: none of them should take these tests too lightly. Only Weasley was relaxed, the coward having opted out of taking this opportunity, surely knowing he'd never in a million years could compete with the rest.
Severus' justification of taking on tasks that were beneath his Lord turned out to be rather superfluous when it turned out both the Dark Lord himself and Crouch showed an interest in watching the proceedings. Severus joined them on the balcony that looked out over the garden – a rough meadow more than anything, used as a training ground and ritual site going by the scorches in the grass. A ring of burnt earth stuck out. ''The circle for this noon?'' he asked aloud, raising an eyebrow as his interest was caught.
''We'll certainly use it for that, but that wasn't the original purpose,'' his Lord clarified as Crouch leaned over the balustrade to reciprocate some rude gesture Black had thrown him in 'good humour'. ''Barty,'' the man snapped. ''I tolerate this comradeship, but I won't have you stoop to Black's level.''
''Yes father,'' the blond muttered guiltily, eyes growing wide when realising he'd slipped up. ''I mean-''
''Just be quiet and observe before I lose all of my patience. You can thank Severus for my good mood and tolerance today.'' Severus felt as if he'd swallowed a lemon and refused to answer Crouch's mouthed 'what did you do?' in favour of listening to the continuation of his Lord's explanation: ''The ring you see was only the results of Evan's spontaneous practise last night. He experimented a bit with diabolical fire.''
Not for the last time today, Severus wanted to fling himself off a cliff. ''Of course he did,'' he muttered instead, pretending to remain entirely unaffected.
Potter playing with intractable fire... How fitting. Today would serve to be interesting, at the very least, he thought when watching Alecto at last step forward to start with the first practical exam.
AN: Ah, Snape hates dealing with our two oblivious idiot so much, and can you blame him? XD
Though Voldemort is finally, finallyyyyy not so oblivious anymore. And instantly trying his best too hehe.
Please read and review! next up: Litha celebration, Patronus lessons and sadly for Harry: more exams.
