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.

99. C98 - Confrontation

We're finally at a chapter that has I've personally been looking forward to for so long ^^ I hope you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I liked writing it.
I considered splitting it due to the massive length (this chapter really showed me why I usually limit myself to 3 weeks when writing instead of 4 X'D, I just kept adding onto it lol) but in the end I couldn't really find a satisfying part for a split so yeah...

Enjoy!

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Chapter 98 - Confrontation

Firecrabs cleaned, potions stoppered and feedback given – neither the Carrow siblings nor professor Snape had much to say regarding possible improvements, which Hermione carefully considered a good sign, - the witch at last sat down in the dry grass with mixed feelings. What would have been the most important exams in life so far were over with. Yet relief and pride were clouded by uncertainty. Not by the questionable validity of these O.W.L.s, Harry's explanation of that had been sound. No, what bothered her right now was the official start of the summer holidays two days ago and the inevitable dread that came with the question: how were her parents faring?

Hermione tried her utmost not to visualise their faces when the Hogwarts express had rolled up to the station without her on board. If only she could have sent a letter to explain… but there were no fancy wards on the house she called home. Post was sure to be monitored, whether sent by owl or regular mail. Even a simple slip of paper stating she was safe could be intercepted and risk being tracked back via magical residue if they got their hands on it quickly enough, or so Voldemort had explained.

Naturally, he didn't care enough for two Muggles being worried sick about their disappeared daughter to inform them of what had happened through other means, even if he very well had to have access to other methods than an underage witch did, from sending an anonymous follower to meet her parents in a public setting, to using elaborate charms to send untraceable letters.

'If their despair appears ingenuine, there'll be investigations nonetheless,' the Dark Lord had coldly stated. That her logic agreed didn't mean her heart wasn't clenching at the thought of leaving them in a state of frenzy, thinking she'd been kidnapped or worse. Finding out her family had been entirely left in the dark about her current status as a runaway, only because they were Muggles, had been a gigantic oversight of the Ministry as far as she was concerned. Once more, it had solidified her growing belief that Voldemort may not be the root of all evil in magical Britain.

''We must both have absolutely nailed Potions,'' Harry commented as he joined her, lying down onto the grass with a grin. Jerking her head up, Hermione noticed they were alone: Malfoy had made himself scarce as soon as he'd received his feedback, and all three examiners had apparently headed inside or left now their last talk with Harry was over. Her friend continued: ''Finish a Polyjuice potion, hah! Snape's attempt to trick us backfired splendidly. So grateful to Draco for being an arrogant brat when we were attempting to uncover the Heir of Slytherin and brewed it in a bathroom.'' His grin slowly faded as she did not reply. ''What's wrong? If this is about Dumbledore, we'll be absolutely safe-'' He broke off at the slight shake of her head.

''I've got confidence in you regarding that. No… I was thinking of my family.'' she struggled to sort her thoughts into an order that made sense. ''Of all currently relevant factions, Voldemort showed the most hostility towards Muggles in the past. Even now he abandoned his heinous plans to – to –'' she swallowed, realising she was speaking to someone who'd chosen to side with this man after everything. To love him in spite of pitiless murder and the wish to create an oppressive regime. ''-to target them,'' she continued carefully, as her goal was not to start another rant about the Dark Lord's wrongdoings. ''-he considers them lesser beings, which I know I've dug my heels in the sand about more than once. However, the current situation I'm in has made it clearer to me that this view seems to be the norm, not the exception.''

Harry neither rolled his eyes nor waved her words away, leaning closer with a slight frown. ''You're talking about the Ministry?''

''Not only them, I've realised far too late. Regardless of how much the Ministry, the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort's side all claim to have such opposing views on Muggles, they sure treat them similarly. Like ignorant beings best left out of the loop. Were you aware that my parents were informed by no-one about me literally being wanted by the government for the past two months?''

A bit sheepishly, her friend scratched the back of his neck. ''I wasn't, though it doesn't come as a surprise to me. Apart from Voldemort, who directly told you he finds it too great a risk to step out of the shadows for something that doesn't benefit our cause, the only institutions who'd be in a position to do so would be the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix. Looking at this logically, the Ministry is lacking information about everything regarding the break-in apart from us being the culprits, and it'll still be fresh on their minds as they remain unaware of our motivations, cannot reach Umbridge as long as the werewolves have her under their thumb so much that she pretends to voluntarily stay silent, and have zero clues about our location. That leaves the only possible loose end being our contacts: friends and family. The Ministry will have kept quiet towards your parents in hopes you'll contact them. After all, they wouldn't know to hide their reaction without being aware of your situation first. On the other hand, the Order of the Phoenix didn't inform your parents as they won't want to get involved for similar reasons as Voldemort: you're not supposed to know any of them and the Order in itself is not a legitimate organisation: any connection being found out could actually land your parents in larger trouble.''

Taken aback by his quick summary, she stared and asked: ''When did you gain so much insight in all these inner workings and motivations?''

He released a short laugh. ''I do actually discuss politics with Voldemort, you know. It's not all back-and-forth bantering or learning sacrificial rituals. As soon as it became clear that my stay here would be permanent, I made it my mission to learn more. About his plans, his followers, relevant organisational aspects and of course how our enemies tick. Which is why the reactions of both the Ministry and the Order isn't exactly shocking to me. Simply put, there's more to lose than to gain by informing your parents for most involved.''

''But it would be the right thing to do!'' Hermione indignantly spoke, getting even more upset than before. ''They're my parents! Even when leaving out emotions altogether, they're my legal guardians and should be informed whenever something happens to me.''

He nodded solemnly. ''If only that would hold any weight,'' Harry commented, absentmindedly carding his hands through the grass until finding a delicate stem to snap, twirling the picked red flower around in his hands as he considered what else to add. ''Muggles have always been left out of decisions great or small in our world. Be it court procedures or school events. It's why I find it so strange that there are so many who oppose a complete split of our worlds. Effectively, we're already halfway there, stuck in an uncomfortable middle that can only serve to upset everyone involved. Your situation is a perfect example: your parents will know that whatever happened has to involve the magical world, so I assume they're smart enough not to involve Muggle authorities. Yet they also have no possibility to contact anyone on our side without access to owls or floo powder. Nor can they cross the wards concealing the Leaky Cauldron without you there to guide them.'' He eyed her critically. ''How did you actually receive letters or packages from home? Not even Hogwarts offers a postal service for Muggle guardians to send mail with. Yet your parents wrote you throughout our time at Hogwarts.''

''The way anyone who doesn't have owl did. I sent them letters per school-owl and they'd send any post back with the same bird. Doing the same isn't possible now: it'd be incredibly suspicious if I'd make a random owl fly to their house. That's exactly what the Ministry will be waiting for.''

''Even without a letter?'' Harry questioned.

''Magical residue…''

''Is fickle,'' he quickly threw in. ''Fickle, deteriorates within a day and would be incredibly hard to trace on anything that has magic of its own. You're returning to Bulgaria today, right? Have Viktor buy an owl and send it to your parents without anything attached. No note, no items, nothing. It'll take long enough for the bird to arrive in Britain for any traceable magic to evaporate. That way, they at the very least get access to a line of communication. There'll be few addresses they have, so hopefully your parents will send it straight to Hogwarts to demand answers.''

Hermione didn't entirely buy the idea. Hogwarts was officially in the Ministry's pocket at the moment, even with Professor Snape below the surface working for both Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix. Minister Fudge could simply continue his persistent approach to censor useful information and command the Hogwarts staff to ignore any letters from Muggles. When voicing that thought, her friend shrugged.

''There's a chance of that happening, of course. But I don't think it will. With Umbridge's plans foiled, Fudge's decisions are being looked at far more critically. 'Forgetting' to inform Muggle relatives after the chaotic break-in is one thing. I'm sure he's ready to brush that off as accidental oversight. However, demanding that any teachers not answer your parents' questions would show some sort of malicious intent. The Ministry may wish to suppress information, but I doubt they'll double down on hushing everything up like that.''

''I have asked Voldemort about contacting them before…'' she hesitantly told him, thinking the Dark Lord might not be too thrilled with this plan. ''He refused to let me write them, claiming it's too dangerous…''

Harry didn't appear to share her unease even as she informed him of Voldemort's exact words, instantly saying: ''He clearly only shot down your suggestion to let them know you are safe, as it might arouse suspicion if they don't seem concerned at all. Giving them a way to hear the official version of events shouldn't be a problem. Not ideal for you as they'll likely get told you committed a crime and quit school, but your main concern was about having them be aware you aren't dead or otherwise involuntarily disappeared off the face of the world, right?''

She knew better by now than assuming what the Dark Lord did or didn't allow. As much as her friend would deny it, Harry still had rose-coloured glasses now and then. Having been told to come speak to Voldemort once more before leaving anyways, she might as well address this while at it. Not one to draw out unpleasant meetings for too long, Hermione soon rose to her feet. ''I must go,'' she announced. ''Viktor is sure to get more anxious the longer I stall.'' To lighten the mood, she added: ''Also, I'm looking forward to having a proper bath to rest my sore muscles after these two weeks. The Nest only has a dingy shower that both bachelors living there are refusing to properly fix. Says it adds to the atmosphere as it reminds them of the Quidditch showers or something.''

''We have a bath upstairs,'' Harry reminded her.

''This might be shocking for you to hear, Harry, but I still find it highly uncomfortable to share the same table as the literal Dark Lord, let alone his bathroom if it can be avoided. It's bad enough that there was no separate restroom to use in the days before Viktor could take me in. Not looking forward to repeating that experience in any way.''

His smirk was not helpful. ''Maybe think of him a bit less like 'the Dark Lord' and more like my partner,'' he mentioned cheerfully.

Not wishing to be hurtful with the truth of that she'd likely never be able to view Voldemort as just her friends' boyfriend instead of connecting the man to all his other baggage, she – hopefully diplomatically – attempted to postpone this conversation by replying with a twinge of humour: ''We'll talk again about this when you're solid enough to discuss the next steps, how about that? It's only been a couple of months ago that he became your partner.''

A guilty expression wasn't the reaction she'd expected or hoped for. Even less when Harry confessed: ''We already passed that point… I didn't attempt to keep more secrets from you or anything,'' he hurried to add before she could voice her disbelief. ''It's just that I never found a good time to talk about this without anyone who shouldn't know out of earshot. I don't think we have the time to unpack everything properly right now, but for all intents and purposes, I did already accept his proposal. Sort of.'' Harry released a frustrated noise. ''Let's just say we'd be considered engaged by Muggle standards only, not by magical ones due to complications regarding official engagements in Pure-blood circles.''

Harry was absolutely right. There was no time to unpack this.

Brushing some dirt off her robes to have something else to do than staring a hole into Harry's head, she attempted to find a more comfortable topic to end on than the freefall rollercoaster ride she envisioned when thinking of Harry's relationship. ''How are you spending the rest of the day?''

Going by his raised eyebrow, her attempt at changing topics had neither been subtle nor wholly appreciated. Thankfully, Harry had learned some tact and held out a helping hand in form of a regular answer instead of calling her out: ''Oh, the usual. Avoiding Snape mostly. He'll be here all day,'' her friend grimaced. ''Which has also made me decide to release Sirius from his suffering a few hours early. A nice game of exploding snap with him and Ron might also be enough to keep our minds off the looming threat of Dumbledore crashing the party soon. Besides that, I might get some early sleep, for if all goes to plan, everything will be set in motion later tonight. We want Dumbledore to be tired and unprepared, but there's no need to be in the same state.''

She swallowed down any questions about more details, stepping closer to give him a quick hug instead. ''Be safe, please.''

''Me? Always,'' he grinned. ''When did I ever throw myself into danger?''

She planted her hands in her hips. ''Not funny, Harry!''

An icy voice ended their teasing by cutting in: ''Ms Granger, a word.'' A shiver ran across her back even before noticing the doorframe of the orangery was filled with the ominous figure of the Dark Lord himself. She threw Harry a despairing look, which he missed as her friend was too busy hurriedly straightening his collar and messing up his hair. Harry likely didn't even notice he did so. With trepidation, she approached Voldemort, taking care to steel her fluttering nerves as she got closer.

''Yes?'' she asked, but he'd already turned around and headed back inside, expecting her to follow. Supressing a frustrated sigh, she did so, all the while ignoring the inquisitive stares of the four Death Eaters who'd gathered at the dinner table. Hermione did not bother acknowledging their presence as she would have with people she liked or recognised the authority of. They might all be teachers, but not even Snape held an ounce of her true respect, not after suffering through his abysmal classes for so many years. Out of the four of them, only Crouch had shown actual capability of proper teaching, and sadly his obsessive loyalty to Voldemort outweighed his own logic more often than not.

Funny, at Hogwarts she would likely have been more careful about showing her opinion towards teachers still in charge of marking her exams. Yet for all the Dark Lord's faults, she was certain of his insistence of educational fairness and wouldn't allow the docking of points for attitude alone. What an odd realisation to have.

''Granger,'' he addressed her again only once the office door was closed and he'd taken a seat. They'd been in this same position mere days ago, when he'd grilled her on the plans of working together with Odell to improve the situation of Muggle-borns and their families. Voldemort had been frustratingly tight-lipped when Hermione had attempted to shine a light on the Dark Lord's own ideas. Frustrating above all because she wished to take those into consideration to avoid wasting time. However, she'd gained nothing more than vague statements about experimenting with passive magic first. Would he reveal more today?

''There are a few points we must discuss before your departure. First of all, I happened to overhear Evan's suggestion about sending an owl and will permit it, provided that you be careful enough not to inform any living soul apart from Viktor Krum. His relatives are to remain unaware of any additional contact you have with the outside world.''

Of course he'd listened in, what a surprise. Privacy appeared to be a wholly unfamiliar concept to the man except when he needed it himself. Speaking of which: ''I have another request,'' she mentioned. ''Due to needing a safe way to contact Auror Odell-''

''Did I give you permission to speak?'' he harshly cut her off, glowering.

She bit back: ''Is that necessary for a regular conversation?''

The noise he made in response sounded more like a hiss than anything, and she couldn't stop a light flinch as he made a sharp jerking motion with his left hand. She remained unharmed, however, the gesture making a drawer jump open instead from which Voldemort took a stack of books. ''Some light reading to do while you are away,'' he announced more calmly, glossing over her question. ''Go on, open them.''

Not trusting this man in the least, Hermione took great care when taking the first book, ready to drop it and sprint out at the first hint of it being cursed. When lifting it did not cause her to burst into flames, the teen peered at the cover, though the words 'The path to educated gardening' told little about the actual contents, nor could she think of a reason why he'd give her such a book. Curiosity admittedly piqued, she flipped through it, blinking when the words squiggled oddly once landing on a page for longer than a few seconds. The black ink of the chapter title 'Raise your two green thumbs' twisted and turned until forming something entirely new.

With raised eyebrows, she read aloud: ''Law on Cooperation for the Implementation of Sanctions and Enforcement of Criminal Prosecution within the Jurisdiction of the International Confederation of Wizards.'' Blinking a few times more, she read it again, knowing very well such a law did not exist. ''I thought International cooperation for criminal cases is based on a set of verbal agreements within the members of the Confederation and differs case-by-case?'' she questioned, even more confused when reading the rest of the paragraphs, which quickly went from describing the scope of application of the law and definitions to details about exact sentences and sanctions, situations in which to apply them and most importantly, the role of involved parties. Including several pages about the intersection with Muggle law in case Muggles were found guilty of crimes towards mages.

''Most unfortunately, that is correct. Since it's a highly instable system, that will have to be rectified. Contained within this set of books are drafts of laws that will affect Muggles in significant ways. Most of these will be necessary only until we can complete our segregation. Others will be applied permanently. You wished to prove your mettle: here is your chance. Next time we meet, you had better have well-sourced suggestions of improvements for me to consider. A test if you will, before I am bombarded with nonsensical ideas. This will give you enough of a frame of reference to work with for starters. Odell will receive a copy of these drafts as well. Now, what was this about contact?''

She straightened her shoulders. ''The whole purpose of hiding in Bulgaria is being safe from persecution. Just like I cannot risk directly writing my parents, I can't endanger my safety by regularly sending letters to anyone else either. I attempted to come up with the securest method of communication and found my answer in the new home that has been set up for Ron and Sirius. The dimensional folds remove any chance of the stationary Portkey being traced. If a similar bubble could be created and linked in Bulgaria…''

Red eyes widened disbelievingly. ''You assume I would erect an entirely separate dimension solely for your comfort?''

Quickly, she reasoned: ''Harry mentioned that you have been attempting to experiment with the limits of these bubbles. Two connected houses within Little Hangleton hardly pose the same challenge as a gateway between Britain and Bulgaria.''

He didn't seem assuaged by her explanation. ''Do not test my patience, Granger. This thinly veiled appeal to my academic interest is far outweighed by your benefits. I could choose any other building for such a project. Preferably one I already own and which is not inhabited by people who have no business knowing of my involvement. I doubt you discussed this with Krum. No,'' he resolutely stated, figuratively wiping her plan off the table. ''Too much can go wrong, and you are still not a priority. I've already arranged for a perceived neutral party to contact you at Krum's place, with whom both you and Odell shall work.''

''A middleman?'' Hermione unhappily asked. In her eyes, that would greatly increase the threat of discovery. She also doubted Voldemort had many more Muggle-borns among his ranks, meaning there was a good chance of yet another person erasing their voice.

''Of sorts. That's the last I have to say about it until you bring me results. Your contact should be awaiting you in Bulgaria already.'' Disappointed by another unproductive talk, she gathered the stack of books in her arms, having no further arguments now an alternative had been provided. Honestly, Hermione had made her suggestion first and foremost to have an excuse to visit Britain more easily, not for safety purposes. ''You have five minutes to pack, be in the hallway at two o' clock sharp,'' Voldemort informed her, tone all business.

Upon heading down, the tension was already more palpable than it had been just a few minutes ago. In the dining room, Ron and Crouch were having an intense discussion, the Death Eater drilling on about 'Flexibility and avoiding eye contact' whereas Snape was muttering what sounded like instructions to Hogwarts' two newest teachers under his breath. It felt off to leave them all behind, knowing they were preparing for the worst – although it came as an annoying surprise that the Carrows had apparently now also been involved, whereas Hermione would be unable to act at all.

Finding her other friend wasn't difficult: Harry was tigering up and down the kitchen, face contorted with concentration as he mumbled to himself. In his hands was still the same flower he'd plucked in the garden earlier, an early blooming poppy, although strangely enough, it sported roots now and looked far healthier.

''Hey, you'll be alright, yes?'' she asked, stepping over the threshold. His eyes snapped open and she halted when noticing they were a different colour than usual. The only other time she'd seen this look had been in the Department of Mysteries. ''Harry… are you aware your irises turn purple now and then?''

His careless shrug unsettling. So was the accompanying explanation as her friend replied: ''Just when I dabble in death magic. If my eyes turn red, that's your cue to run.'' As if having said nothing out of the ordinary, Harry deposited the poppy in a vase and filled it with water with a lazy wave of his wand. Baffled, she took note that he didn't bother with a vocal incantation.

''I'll have to run regardless of your eye colour,'' she stated when he didn't appear willing to elaborate. ''About four minutes left until Voldemort kicks me out again. I wanted to have a proper goodbye this time around.''

''Oh… I'd hoped there would at least be a little more time,'' he unhappily said. After wiping his hands dry on a towel, Harry went in for another tight embrace that she fully leaned into, glad to have his support. She still wished to check on Ron as well, but right now, it was more important to get all across what had been left unsaid so far.

''I don't think I properly thanked you for the past weeks,'' she muttered into his shoulder. ''When I left the first time, I thought our bond might never be fully mended. However, like so often, you've shown me differently.'' It was astonishing how a couple of days could make such a difference, but Hermione honestly felt that she'd grown in this short period of time. She wouldn't be leaving with the feeling of trepidation about the future anymore, confident that Ron and Harry would both have her back, as she would have theirs. There was a sense of purpose now that she hadn't found before.

''You are the one who instantly asked Viktor for new reading material that told our side of the story.''

''That may be so,'' she smiled, distancing herself a bit again to look at him. ''But that alone only served to remind me there's more to this world than I knew before. I couldn't have applied that new insight without actually being here, without you giving me another chance. Even if we silently studied side-by-side for most of it, I feel I've learned far more than O. W. L. material in this fortnight. Talking to you and Ron, seeing Sirius interact with Crouch, even attending a celebration of magic all showed me a different viewpoint that I had attempted to push away before out of suspicion. That won't happen again. I'm glad you found a place for yourself Harry, truly. Seeing you surrounded by so many who care for your wellbeing, including the Malfoys and Voldemort, is a relief. Not certain I'll ever get along with any of them as people, but I was too hasty with my judgement. Especially when it comes to your partner.''

''You should say that to him, not to me,'' her friend advised in all seriousness. ''Your words about our relationship hit Voldemort deeper than he lets on. It's the main reason why he's still so distant towards you.''

It felt like a sensible thing to do, especially now she'd left her grudge about Voldemort's mental attack on her that had led up to her lashing out in the consuming fire of Litha's sun. She could recall the memory with clarity and peacefulness now, and knew Voldemort had been searching only for information, not intended to hurt her. After all she'd seen on that day, it had been wholly irrational to hurl such an accusation around. It had been fuelled by misplaced emotions, nothing more.

Like usual however, the Dark Lord left her little opportunity for speaking, impatiently waiting even before the five minutes were up. Already long having packed – having a handbag with an Undetectable Extension Charm was incredibly handy for moving quickly – she only wished Ron luck with whichever endeavours he was involved in and waved away Harry's attempt to give her the broom he'd borrowed from Viktor.

''I'm sure it was not his intention to lend it to you for a mere fortnight,'' she reasoned. ''You can bring it in person when it's safe again for the both of you to meet. And if I misinterpreted anything, I'll take the blame,'' she promised.

No sooner had Harry agreed, was she already getting blindfolded and led outside. It felt so arbitrary now she knew exactly where the house was located, but it seemed to give the paranoid man some peace of mind. Even while being practically dragged away though, Harry's advice didn't leave her mind. Once the nauseating feeling of apparition had passed and the cloth was lifted from her eyes, she hastily turned to Voldemort. ''I never apologised for what I said about you and Harry on the evening you rescued us.''

''Your opinion is as insignificant now as it was then,'' he instantly shot back, almost bored. ''Spare your breath, you have quite a few apparitions ahead of you to not leave any trails.''

''Harry thought differently,'' she countered, speaking in a more hushed tone as a masked man appeared and bowed at Voldemort's feet.

Different words, spoken at Malfoy manor a few days prior came to mind as the follower lifted the hem of his Lord's black robes to his lips and a light tinkling could be heard as the fabric no longer muffled the sound of the trinket Harry had gifted his significant other. Ron had been right when claiming Voldemort was utterly besotted…

Once the greeting was over with, she'd expected the Dark Lord to disappear without a word like last time he'd handed her to one of his minions. Instead, he regarded her without showing disdain for once. ''Perhaps we were both hasty with our words,'' he conceded. ''For Evan's sake, I shall listen to what you have to offer to rectify this situation.''

Knowing she was being carefully watched, she debated on how to best say this without coming across as either too deferring or casual. Voldemort was neither her Lord nor was he of the same social status as Hermione, certainly not when one of the man's devoted followers was witnessing their interaction.

''Lord,'' she addressed him to at least acknowledge his title as well as to avoid speaking a name she was not allowed to use. ''In a moment of hurt and fear, I made a rash statement that was out of place. I deeply wish to apologise and beg your forgiveness.'' She swallowed harshly, hoping that wasn't too much or too little. She didn't have much real experience with formal apologies.

He cocked his head as if trying to listen to something she could not discern. Then, he gave a slow nod. ''Sincere enough,'' he concluded. ''You may not need to wait another full month before I shall have another visit arranged.''

A word of thanks could not leave her mouth before the man had already disappeared in thin air.

''Alright miss,'' the Death Eater spoke. She recognised his voice as belonging to the same person who'd been first in the chain of people leading to a family friend of the Krums in May as well. He'd sounded far less friendly back then, and now offered an arm instead of roughly grabbing her shoulder. ''Time to go.''

At whirl of apparitions and semi-familiar faces later, Viktor's house came into view. She thanked her last companion profoundly before practically running up to the front door. It opened before she had a chance to ring the doorbell, Viktor's warm embrace greeting her. ''Ninny,'' he whispered affectionately, then quickly exchanged a few words with the other woman, who'd lingered near the low gate. Although her Bulgarian wasn't stellar regardless of devouring several dictionaries, Hermione at least recognised enough by now to realise he'd invited the woman in for tea, which had been declined.

''We have another guest,'' Viktor casually dropped, which Hermione was about to freeze up at when noticing he looked entirely relaxed, bordering on happy. Wary, she asked who it was, as it was unexpected for her boyfriend to be thrilled about anyone she'd imagined as Voldemort's 'contact'. Was it a mere coincidence and had someone else arrived? But Voldemort had been quite clear about this middleman awaiting her in Bulgaria. Viktor's reply confused her even further: ''An old friend,'' he said, going ahead to the living room.

Before she'd rounded the corner herself, she already heard a crystal-clear, familiar voice: ''Ah, is zat 'Ermione? 'ow wonderful! It's been far too long!''

XxX

''I thank you all for joining me on such short notice,'' Albus spoke, taking a seat at the head of the long wooden table that had been crammed into the cluttered kitchen in the cellar of Grimmauld place number twelve. He gazed around, hoping not to appear too disheartened by how few had been able to make it. So many empty seats… Two members of their revived Order had passed, Sirius was still missing in what Albus believed to be a self-imposed quest of rescuing Harry solo, Remus was in the claws of watchful werewolves… and not all those remaining were in a position to break up past midnight, if they'd even been close enough to receive his message. Both of their Aurors hadn't answered the summons, as well as Mundungus, Aberforth and Sturgis.

At least Hagrid's towering form took up several seats just by himself, he noted with a wistful smile.

Albus cleared his throat: ''Let us not draw out the reason why I asked you to break up in the dead of night: Severus managed to uncover viable information we have been eagerly waiting for. I realise this may come sudden and appear overly hurried, but we know where Voldemort lies in waiting and must strike tonight.''

''Overly hurried?'' Molly asked, voice tight and high-pitched. ''Two months. Two months have passed since my poor children were taken. If anything, this doesn't come nearly sudden enough! All this time Arthur and I spent searching for clues while you went off into the countryside doing Merlin-knows-what-''

''Dear, I'm sure Dumbledore was also doing the good work out there,'' her husband calmly spoke, taking off his horn-rimmed glasses to clean them on his sleeve. Arthur had aged much during the tiresome weeks one of their sons had been missing, subdued to horrors left to the imagination. Voldemort was not kind to prisoners, an unfortunate fact they all were highly aware of.

''Severus,'' Minerva cut in, addressing her colleague directly. She must have returned in a hurry from whichever holiday location she'd picked for her first summer weekend off, despite the late hour still wearing amusingly Muggle sandals stained with sand below her pristine castleton green robes. ''Tell us of your findings, then.''

Albus gave the boy a nod, spurring Severus to reveal all he had explained half an hour prior.

''The Dark Lord currently resides in his ancestral home once again, in the town of Little Hangleton.'' The questioning muttering that the declaration caused was rapidly calmed by a single one of Albus' looks. Severus continued as if there had not been any interruption, likely due to years of practice ignoring rowdy students. ''Yes, our previous checks of the village were all clean. No, we have no knowledge of when exactly he moved in. Do keep in mind who we're dealing with, this man can perform spells beyond our comprehension. Under the Dark Lord's watchful eye, I regrettably could not study the exact protections in place, meaning we are going in practically blind, so I do hope our expert master at Warding is of any help?'' Severus drawled, addressing William Weasley, who only nodded grimly.

''My brother's life is on the line, Professor. I will do everything to get Ron back to safety.''

''Heart-warming.'' Severus sounded a tad too scoffing for Albus' liking. Not that they could waste time on correcting manners today.

Legs of a chair scraped harshly over the stone tiles as Molly stood, hands planted firmly on the table. ''Did you see them, Severus? My sons?''

''Unless I miscounted your spawn, Molly, only one of your sons has been taken. Did you perchance lose count?''

''Severus,'' Albus now did harshly interrupt as the woman's face flushed. ''It is perfectly reasonable that the Weasleys consider Harry one of their own. To make light of that on a night like this is uncalled for. Continue with the facts, please. What would our enemies say when seeing us verbally tearing into each other so shamelessly?''

The rest muttered in agreement, more than one person throwing Severus disapproving glances even as he continued: ''Both Ronald and Potter are most certainly there and alive. The Dark Lord keeps them close, not trusting anyone else to take care they do not slip away, I presume. They seemed healthy enough. Naturally, I was granted no opportunity to examine their physical or mental state and did not dare communicate with them, so this is speculation based on their most basic needs having been met and no wounds being visible.''

''Basic needs?'' Hestia inquired with a frown. ''You-Know-Who has kept them fed?''

''They were clean, dressed, and did not appear malnourished, so unless he went through the trouble of casting an illusion upon them for my sake, it is safe to say he considers them important enough to treat with more dignity than we assumed. Nevertheless, as we have gathered today to free these children instead of speculating about their state of well-being, could we perhaps move on to planning our taking action?'' He waited all of three seconds before carrying on. ''The Dark Lord is not alone. Death Eaters come and go at all hours from what I heard, as he sleeps little. This will mean we have to split our forces just in case and perhaps draw a few out to even get a chance of facing Him ourselves. Dumbledore… your initial strategy is a feigned negotiation, is it not?''

''One of several options,'' Albus answered truthfully. ''In the past, Voldemort has been rather neglectful regarding his consideration of the strength other magic-users than witches and wizards carry. I have called upon the aid of a loyal House-Elf only too happy to join us in saving these children, whom he considers friends. Dobby!'' he called out, at which said Elf appeared, staring up with huge green eyes that were partially covered by the delightful tower of knitted hats he wore. The first few were rather shapeless, but Miss Granger's skills had decidedly improved the more she'd made, Albus noted, pleased. Knitting was a worthy skill to possess.

He kindly smiled at Dobby before making quick introductions. The many doubting faces around the table should soon be soothed. ''Most wards that keep humans out do not work the same for Elves. It is my hope that Voldemort has not yet learned from his mistakes and neglected to add additional enchantments, in which case I will keep him distracted long enough for Dobby to rescue the children behind Voldemort's back.''

''And if he has?'' Dedalus nervously questioned, fingers drumming on the high hat he'd placed on the table in front of him. ''Or if he keeps both of his prisoners close all the time as Severus mentioned, even at such an hour? Could we win in an outright fight were our ploy to be discovered?''

''I highly advise against engaging Voldemort in battle,'' Albus sternly warned. ''I can stall him for a while even in combat, yet he has greater manpower than we do and the ability to call more Death Eaters to his side. Besides, we have to consider possible collateral. Voldemort's manor may lie atop a hill, it is still part of a Muggle village from which curious onlookers could wander if spotting mysterious noise and flashes of lights. Not to even mention a possible escalation if the Ministry of Magic catches wind of this and gets involved. Worst comes to worst, all of us could end up imprisoned for breaking the Statute of Secrecy in case Voldemort and his followers flee at the right moment. Noticeable duels thus have to be avoided at all cost. If Dobby cannot gain access to Harry, Ronald and possibly Miss Granger in case the latter is also held captive in the same house, I will have to genuinely negotiate for their release. This would naturally cost us important resources in the grander scheme, but it is the only right thing to do.''

It was also of vital importance to remove Harry from the Dark Lord's clutches sooner rather than later. The typical arrogance that had bought them time wouldn't last forever. However blind Tom usually was to the power of those he deemed inferior and as little as someone so conceited would wish to be connected to a mere teenager, the possibility could not be ignored that with enough experiments, Tom might hit close to the secret behind the existence of Harry's curse scar. Each day, the chance of discovery grew.

Plus, the more Albus had pondered on that fateful day in the Department of Mysteries and the happenings after, the more he'd become convinced that the contents of the Prophecy had not remained a mystery. For a while, he'd clung onto the hope that perhaps in the chaos, it would have been destroyed unheard, or that perhaps Harry had gotten to it first. The odd silence told a different story, the Order not having been able to pick up any activity from Voldemort's side ever since. Appearing fully concentrated on his captives had to be a sign that Tom knew, and wasn't especially happy about Sybill's prediction, fully focused on turning it to his own favour.

Here was to hoping he couldn't yet, not without having all relevant facts. Knowing that the power the Dark Lord knows not referred to the protection given by Lily's sacrifice and either must die at the hand of the other to the Horcrux Voldemort would have to unknowingly kill by his own hand, was vital in understanding the possibilities around the predicted fate. Albus held firm to his interpretation of the Prophecy, according to which the child would have to be the last Horcrux standing, the one whose death would unravel the immortality Tom had unjustly clawed his way towards. If Harry would be ready and accept death to save others, if he would put the love his mother had poured onto him to a pure and selfless use, perhaps it would be enough to split off the corrupted piece of soul on the verge of this world and the next.

It was only an unfounded hope he'd not dared voice to anyone - especially not to Severus, as Albus needed unshakeable support to do what was necessary, not only based on one highly questionable possible outcome - but in the darkest days, hope made the difference between the surviving and the living.

Thus, to keep this last ace that would give them a crucial element of surprise when the end was nigh, it would not be a tremendous loss to temporarily exchange one Horcrux for another. Having found Voldemort's base of operations was already a good start to plotting how to reclaim the locket he might have to hand over today.

He moved on to giving more hands-on instructions, conjuring an image of Little Hangleton out of smoke for everyone to view, dividing roles and jotting down the planned positions and movements. Albus would take the lion share of the work himself, of course, to prevent his friends from heading into unnecessary danger, but they needed to be ready for any unwelcome surprises: from Muggles noticing them to Death Eaters roaming the town. The most complicated part was getting an overview of the unknown wards, which the potion master could sadly say little about. ''It seemed as if the house was two-fold,'' Severus reluctantly told when pressed to describe any possibly helpful detail of what he'd witnessed when invited into Voldemort's home.

''What is that supposed to mean?'' Emmeline, who'd been mostly silent before, sharply asked. The other stiffened, likely getting frustrated with all the interruptions.

Severus hesitated until both Minerva and Hestia pressed for him to elaborate. The boy appeared to regret having mentioned it at all. ''Upon arriving, I saw a crumbling house, aged and weathered, the front yard overgrown with thornbushes and a few lone dead trees standing off to the side. However, when he summoned me directly through the Dark Mark, I saw a wholly different image, the building renewed and covered in obviously magical flora. I assumed it to be similar to how Hogwarts is viewed by Muggles from the outside: a ruined castle with signs of danger.''

Albus stroked his beard. ''There is no known spell that shows the same illusions to mages as Muggle-mystifying wards do. William, have you heard of such?''

The boy denied it at first, then added thoughtfully: ''It might not be an illusion. Think about it: students travelling to Hogwarts will look straight through the metal bars of the ticket barrier between platform nine and ten at King's Cross and see only the extended Muggle platform until attempting to run into the barrier itself. Those platforms are two-fold in the same way as Professor Snape describes. I admittedly learnt only little about those kinds of dimensional wards, as they are used for utility more than defence. They all need entrances anchored to the original world.'' He grimaced, then. ''Which might of course still be problematic if You-Know-Who was the one to create those layers himself. He'd be the one person who can bypass the barriers easily through the creation of Portkeys or other direct ways of transportation.'' His usually calm brown eyes flickered suspiciously to Severus' arm.

Thinking it over, Albus supposed that even such a ward shouldn't give them too much trouble with the aid of a House-elf, whom he knew for a fact to have sealed that entrance to platform 9 ¾ before. They were prepared for dimensional wards just as well as for regular ones. As long as Tom didn't expect them to have the abilities of non-human allies at their disposal, they stood a fair chance. And why would he suspect such a thing, when Tom had hardly ever paid those lesser than him any mind?

''That theory would make sense,'' Severus affirmed. ''I haven't been back in the Dark Lord's employment for long, yet even I have heard of his plans to hide larger parts of the Wizarding world from Muggles in order to avoid conflict.''

A bomb might as well have been dropped into the room. The quiet was broken by sudden queries left and right. Albus as well was uncertain of what the boy meant. Before he could raise his own voice though, Severus was already making short work of the demands to elaborate once again. ''All we've concretely discovered about the Dark Lord's movements in the past two years is that he's lain in hiding and gathering old allies. Naturally, this meant he is far more careful than during the war. When I spoke to other Death Eaters in the past weeks, they've alluded to grander schemes of hiding mages from Muggles. Nonetheless, I've only been in his service shortly, the main purpose being uncovering the location he holds the missing children. It's hardly been a time for elaborate digging into the Dark Lord's plots as I attempted to lay low in order to gain trust. I could not start interrogating the ins and outs of this discovery, nor are any of these rumours confirmed by trustworthy sources, which is why I thought it pointless to discuss among the Order so far. I only mentioned this because it's in line with Weasley's theory of a dimensional ward. Now, can we focus? The night isn't getting longer, and these constant interruptions are less than productive.''

''I agree,'' Albus stated to calm the whole group, especially when chairs creaked dangerously, Hagrid rising and opening his mouth. ''We cannot change our course of action for mere rumours. It's understandable that precious meetings were not wasted on debating this topic before Severus could have found a source to confirm or deny this.''

''Is it?'' Minerva doubtfully asked. ''If there is truth to it, You-Know-Who's priorities lie in entirely different fields than we've been searching for. Plus, his motivations-''

''We will discuss this,'' Albus promised, intending to placate everyone to keep cool heads. ''After we have Harry, Ronald and Miss Granger safely back in our midst. There's little use in dividing opinions right now.'' The muttering slowly faded, at which he dipped his head. ''Thank you. William, once we arrive and you have checked for possible hostile wards, I will explore the house alone. In the meantime, you can shift your efforts to finding the entrance that must be there if your theory is correct. All else remains the same as discussed prior. All clear?'' he asked, taking care to fleetingly touch the surface thoughts of those who wouldn't mind it in order to gauge the mood. There was a general consensus of purpose, only tarnished by understandable nerves. Having been constructed in a hurry, their strategy was neither foolproof nor flexible should all go south. Alas, the circumstances didn't allow for watertight planning .

Sudden footsteps in the hallway made the already tense group jump, further backup not having been expected by now, until the cellar door opened to reveal their newly arrived guest. Or guests, Albus noticed with great joy. ''Remus,'' he smiled warmly, opening his arms. ''Sirius. I had not thought the both of you would make it.''

Their appearance was more than shocking, neither having shown their faces since Harry vanished. A plethora of questions naturally rose within, from what insider view the werewolf could give about Umbridge's place in the pack he'd spied on for so long, to where Sirius' search had led him all those weeks. That need for answers was only quelled by the unrelentless ticking of the clock. Executing their plan quickly and being grateful for being able to do so with bolstered manpower should be the main focus. They could go over the how and why tomorrow, when looking back at this adventure together. He briefly considered an attempt to read their minds, then refrained. Both men were excellent in protecting themselves and Albus did not wish to add strife to sate his own burning curiosity.

''Neither did we,'' the ex-Auror grinned tiredly. His hair was unkept and longer than last time they'd seen each other. After licking dry lips as chapped as the first time he'd escaped Azkaban, Sirius continued with: ''Sorry for being slow, bloody packs are a menace to trick, you know? And it wasn't much appreciated by the wolves when a glowing Phoenix showed up asking for aid, so I had to get Moony out of there fast.''

Albus had thankfully worded the message he'd sent out vaguely enough and with code words only the members of the Order knew, so he didn't overly worry about Greyback warning the Dark Lord in advance despite Albus' suspicion of them working together. Not before they would already have struck. He did file the information away that Sirius had apparently been in close enough contact with his friend to break into the werewolf community in a short enough time to help Remus escape. This likely meant the werewolf couldn't return either, cover now blown.

''Yer hurt,'' Hagrid pointed out in distress, knocking piles of junk over in his attempt to shimmy around the table. Remus' upper arm glinted red beneath claw-like rips in the grey fabric. ''Snape, happen ter have some potions?''

With an irritated look, Severus turned to the half-giant. ''I'd hardly waste a complicated brew on a few scratches. This needs emergency healing only, which Lupin truly should be able to handle by himself.''

With a familiar, mild-mannered smile, Remus drew his wand. ''Correct for once. There was merely no time to do so before. Of course, I appreciate your concerns, Hagrid.'' As he healed the wounds with a slight grimace, supported by his best friend, the newcomers were filled in on the planned course of action.

''Risky,'' Sirius only commented once Albus was done explaining. ''I love it. What could possibly go wrong?''

That question kept echoing back and forth once they'd at last broken up and were greeted by the torrential downpour lazily making its way across South-East England. The sky was as black as Tom's soul must be by now and the town they'd arrived in as sleeping as a slumbering basilisk. Waiting peacefully, yet dangerous were it to wake.

Gripping the pouch dangling from his belt that contained all items of value for this mission, Albus made his way to the ominous manor at the end of the road, one of few that lay atop the hills surrounding the more common quaint houses. William and Dobby were the only ones to follow directly in his footsteps.

Once a symbol of opulence, Riddle Manor only looked like a sad caricature of a haunted house now, perhaps influenced by Albus' knowledge of its master. Trudging on through the slating rain, he didn't look back to any of his companions, trusting their capabilities. On the way, he took care to dismantle any traps and hostile spells he stumbled across - a crisscross of familiar enchantments Gellert had also used to guard his residences - while William already started analysing their surroundings. Something shot out from underneath a pair of bushes, not quick enough for Albus' wand. A stunner later, he looked down at a pitiful being made of bone and sinew no larger than a cat. A golem, animated by blood magic… how revolting.

''Professor,'' William spoke up, his brow knitted with trouble. ''I can detect not a single ward from this distance. No anti-apparition, no defensive ones that would hinder anyone from entering, not even a Muggle-repelling one. There are only a few points of… disturbance. Difficult to pinpoint the purpose of and all over the place. They don't appear to form a cohesive network. Perhaps anchor points for this… dimensional wall.''

It couldn't have been that easy, of course. Tom always had been rather innovative. A presence could certainly be felt, emanating from the building itself the closer one got. Deeply powerful residue that only a mage of Tom's level could leave behind with no more than his mere presence. As impressive as it was terrifying, almost having a life on its own and becoming near unbearable when reaching the gates. How could they have missed this? Since when had this house been in use? Only shortly ago, he'd gone to the Gaunt shack in search for possible Horcruxes, finding nothing out of the ordinary in its vicinity.

''Homunum Revelio,'' Albus grumbled under his breath. After hearing the theory about multiple dimensions being in place, he'd almost expected it to come back negative, yet the signal that returned to his wand registered two people in very close proximity. Eyes flicked over the entrance door beyond the rusty gates, a chill rushing down his spine… ''Take Dobby and investigate these disturbances, carefully'' he decided.

''Are you certain, Professor? Some curse wards can be contained to small rooms or be tied to a structure or item. I'd need to get closer to detect those types.''

He waved the concerns away. ''I can handle those. Your main goal was to undo anti-apparition wards, which don't appear to have been put in place. That gives you time to concentrate on what you did see. In the meantime, I shall move on and distract whoever is inside.'' At Dobby's concerned look, he smiled. ''Likely only guards,'' he falsely reassured so the elf wouldn't worry. Not that they could be, not with these waves of a venomous, biting aura threatening to push him away.

The floor creaked when Albus at last stepped into a dusty hallway after taking care of the most complicated locking spell he'd ever encountered. Tom wasn't the only person who'd studied obscure charms however, and Dumbledore certainly had a few more decades of experience under his belt. When a few whispered counter spells did not have any visible effect, he took a minute to simply observe. The entrance hall wasn't nearly as derelict as the facade. An unnatural warmth emanated from thick, seamless wallpaper and all surfaces had recently been cleaned. Above his head, fresh candles burned in an old-fashioned chandelier.

Maybe he shouldn't pay so much detail to the building itself, which was nothing extraordinary when one thought about it, devoid of any art or interesting bits and bobs one might find in a functional household. Albus reluctantly admitted he found it easier than describing that which dwelled inside of it.

Stalling for a moment longer, he attempted to study the only decorative piece in the entire room, a thin stretch of ornamental leaves running across the walls. The edges were blurred and the lines appeared to squiggle, making out details impossible. An illusion? Or had there been an overlooked trap? He'd expected to be capable enough in dismantling any charm Tom could have used to hinder unwanted guests, including detection spells. Of course, the possibility that the Dark Lord had planted some creative spellwork couldn't be brushed aside.

Feeling more disturbed, Albus cast another Human-presence-revealing spell to pinpoint the exact location of the house's inhabitants, recognising the signal to come from beyond the plain wooden door on the opposite wall. A door that was thrown open before he had a chance to step closer.

''Such an unwelcome surprise.'' Voldemort spoke, a quiet hiss that permeated the hallway. ''Have you forgotten your manners, Dumbledore? We do have both a doorbell and a knocker, I'll have you know. Or are your eyes starting to fail you as much as your reflexes?''

More cheerful than he felt under that unnerving crimson stare he'd almost had the pleasure to banish to the depths of his memories, Albus responded: ''Oh, I merely wished to have an undisturbed tour of this delightful historic landmark. I was unaware you legally owned this place, Tom. One would think the deeds wouldn't pass down to the previous owners' murderer.'' The other clearly hadn't gained a better sense of humour over the years, looking unamused and raising his yew wand in response.

If the wand chose the wizard, Albus critically wondered what had possessed Ollivander to craft such a bloodthirsty thing.

''Considering the timing, I can only imagine your presence here means I shouldn't have been so quick to allow Severus back into my ranks.''

In the back of his mind, Albus knew there'd been some sort of excuse, a diversion he'd carefully considered. Somehow sluggish in the face of his adversary, those ideas slipped from his grasp and appeared unreachable. ''This is not about Severus. I am here for the children you took,'' he finally replied instead, a hint of alarm ringing somewhere in his head.

''Swooping in to rescue them after two months seems uncharacteristic and points to one of your overly pesky schemes. Do divulge in my curiosity, Dumbledore: how did you imagine this to work? Should I feel remorseful? Deliver them to your feet at the batting of your eyelashes out of the goodness of my heart?''

''You were never one to pass up a favourable deal. How about we discuss this over a cup of tea?''

A noise like the cracking of a whip sounded from the room Voldemort still hovered in the doorway of. Albus' heart skipped a beat, knowing this meant Dobby had located one of the children, it likely being the second person his revealing charm had picked up. This was less than ideal; he'd wished the elf to concentrate on aiding Bill in finding the entrance of the described dimensional wardand only act when the coast was clear. Surely the last few minutes hadn't been enough to fulfil the former task. The Elder wand dropped into his hand, but the chance to use it passed too quickly.

Not a second after the sound of apparition, a high-pitched scream followed, and then another, animalistic screech. At the commotion, Voldemort whirled around and stalked back into the room. Albus followed with trepidation, taken aback by the gruesome sight.

On the floor of a scarce dining room lay two figures: Dobby, spasming and pulling his ears as if put under the Cruciatus curse, and Ronald Weasley, blindfolded and visibly distressed about the noise, mouth opened in a silent scream. Only after the initial outrage had passed did Albus notice the shackled wrists and a ring of still unlit candled the boy sat in the middle of. Seeing all of this, combined with concluding quickly that Ronald possessed no wand, Albus - for now - forewent the suspicion that all of this could be a set-up by use of a polyjuiced imposter.

A red flash crossed the short distance between the tip of Voldemort's infamous wand and the thrashing elf, who went limp. Rushing to kneel at the still form, Albus missed both the indiscernible look the other wizard threw towards a corner of the ceiling as well as how easily that stunner could have been replaced by a Killing curse.

''I wouldn't recommend that,'' Voldemort warned in reaction to the Elder wand being put to Dobby's chest to revive the elf. ''Did you think I would take no measures against all types of magic, old man? Wake it, and it'll suffer the same as before. And for clarity's sake, the same will happen to your blasted Phoenix if you think to call it to your aid or to pull the same stunt with which you tricked our dear Minister. Now, you do have impeccable timing, I'd just concluded you lot lost interest in reclaiming this runaway and was about to use him for a higher purpose.''

As Albus' eyes hushed over the candles and Ronald's bound form again, hiding the tremble of anger in his voice as was too great a task to accomplish. ''What is this ritual?'' he asked, mentally leafing through the thousands of books he'd read in his lifetimes without finding a similar setup.

''I don't see how that is any concern of yours.''

Three worn – though clean – seats shoved back at another flick of the white wand. Ronald was grabbed by the back of his neck and hauled up onto one of them, head swivelling left and right wildly in panic. Figuring the boy had to be able to hear them as he'd reacted to Dobby, Dumbledore attempted to utter some reassuring words to calm him, interrupted by: ''Do you indeed have a favourable deal for me, Dumbledore? Or was your pathetic attempt at using a House-elf to outwit me the only trick up your sleeve? I'd be highly disappointed if so.''

''Oh, heaven forbid I disappoint you, Tom. No, I merely meant to gain an advantage, which you surely can appreciate as a diligent student of Slytherin. I do truthfully come with an offer I'm certain you'll wish to consider in return for releasing all three children. I have it on good authority that Harry and Miss Granger reside with you as well.'' Silently, Albus prayed that the girl's absence during Severus' earlier visit was not an ominous sign for her having been sacrificed in another wicked rite the same way Ronald seemed to have been about to.

''Have you not regularly bored me almost to death with preaching about the value of human life?'' Tom questioned with an haughty air that took Dumbledore back to when the boy had been a student: intent to outsmart every teacher and infinitely pleased whenever he managed to do so at the expense of others. ''Is each one of your students not worth a price of their own?''

This was surely the only person who could drive Albus to the edge of insanity. Moreso even than Gellert, who at least had a shred of human decency. Bile rose up at this poor attempt of playing games with human lives. Unable to keep up the pretence of niceties for any longer, he abruptly withdrew the bundle of cloth he'd stowed away earlier, slamming it onto the table. Thundering, he stated: ''You have made perfectly clear before that your life matters more than thousands of innocent bystanders!''

Under the table, Albus ensured to keep one hand in the pouch on his belt to grasp the handle of Gryffindor's sword, should Tom be so foolish to claim the locket right away. He would easily be able to tell what it was: even covered in fabric, the magic wrapped around the Horcrux unmistakably originated from the one sitting in front of him.

''Sinking to my standards, then, Dumbledore? What a world we're living in. Finite,'' he spoke, turning to Ronald. The chains fell to the floor in the same moment that the boy's ragged breaths became audible once more.

''Professor… Professor Dumbledore?'' came a hesitant question. Albus had expected an edge of panic, but Ronald sounded calm enough. Who knew what he'd already suffered in the past two months if this situation wasn't enough to throw him off…

''Have you been harmed?''

''No. Until today, I-''

''Enough,'' Voldemort cut in, ''Or I shall silence you once more. So, Dumbledore… you have the chance to reunite this boy with his family members, who are undoubtedly sentimentally crying out for him right now. I will allow it in return for what you have brought. You clearly failed to harm it. Perhaps I'll even throw in Granger… once you leave quietly. However, I shall not hand over Potter to you for the same price. From my point of view, I need something to fall back on, so you do not cause reckless damage once getting your wrinkly hands on all your prizes at once. Leverage, if you will, to ensure the backup you brought – yes, I know all about those stumbling recklessly through town - does not storm in and foolishly attempt to subdue me by force. Or…'' he pretended to think for a second in mockery, ''Was it truly only Potter you were after all along? Would you let me keep Weasley and Granger instead so I can resume the ritual you so rudely disrupted?''

Albus clenched his jaw. All life was valuable, but Harry still had a far larger role to play in the future than his friends did. For a few despicable seconds, this line of logic made him consider the suggestive words that stuck to his mind like honey. Until his gaze fell on the one who sat still as a statue, not uttering a word as his fate was being decided over his head by those more powerful. Shame crept up Albus' throat, and he resolutely denied the suggestion. All of this was clearly a game to Tom, from which only he could emerge victorious. The Dark Lord he shared a table with today was not as violent as Albus recalled from the last few times they'd met – on the battlefield, without exception. Nevertheless, he was callous – cold in words and actions, calculating the winning moves every second. This civil mask was no less deadly than the darkest of curses.

''What else can I offer in exchange for Harry?'' he conceded, keeping a tight grip on both the wrapped-up locket and the sword in his enchanted satchel. It left him in a vulnerable position.

Tom appeared infuriatingly victorious at having prodded where it hurt.

''Now I think about it, magic works best with equal sacrifices. My Locket does seem to be more fitting as a gift in exchange for letting your hero run loose a little while longer than his less talented friends. For Weasley … I'll accept the ability to clip your wings. Hand over your wand to me, Dumbledore.'' The demand was uttered in a perfectly soft, neutral tone, not betraying any deeper intentions than being guaranteed having the upper hand here. It would have been a reasonable request under regular circumstances, since Albus was the one who had not only approached Tom first to negotiate the release of three prisoners, but also brought a House-Elf as a trick and half of the Order of the Phoenix as a failsafe. Additionally, they were both perfectly aware that he would by no means be harmless: wandless spells were well within his grasp.

Though perhaps because of this, did warning bells go off. Recent conversations in Nurmengard of speculations about the Hallows drifted to the forefront, about the 'trail of breadcrumbs' as Gellert loved to call it. Albus had gone out of his way to keep Gellert's successor unaware of the greater plan by erasing those crumbs wherever possible. Still, Albus couldn't be everywhere, couldn't see everything. If he'd hand over his wand, this wand, which could pledge itself to a new master on a whim…

''Come now, you truly are finding it a difficult consideration? I'm practically giving them to you for free. Especially in Weasley's case, it's more than a fair exchange for taking away a perfectly good ingredient,'' Tom goaded, a hint of aggression audible.

''What about Miss Granger?'' he asked to win time to make a sound decision.

''Become hard of hearing? My condition was 'if you leave quietly'. She won't be discussed further until shortly before your departure.''

Albus twisted and turned, yet ultimately didn't see a better path to take. Only the worry about handing over the Wand of Destiny so heedlessly held him back. Then, a revelation struck, a way to triumph whether Tom was aware of the importance of the Death Stick or not. As if he'd been inspired by the heavens, Albus held his head high and proposed: ''I shall hand over my wand, on the condition that Ronald is released first and that no harm shall come to him for the remainder of today. If you break your word, the locket will be destroyed.''

''Destroyed…?'' Incredulous, Tom stared. ''You truly seem to believe you have the means to do so…'' he concluded then, eyes narrowing into slits. ''What are you hiding, Dumbledore?''

''Something I hope to not need, as I'm sure this'll get messy on both ends… One matter we surely agree on wholeheartedly is that it'd be devastating for curious Muggles or even the Ministry to disturb us on account of careless spellfire. So, these are my conditions. Ronald may get to safety unharmed, and I'll give up my wand until our negotiations reach a satisfactory outcome. Naturally, I'll still have to verify I am dealing with the real Ronald Weasley as a precaution and check for manipulative effects.''

''What do you mean?'' the boy now spoke up, sounding a tad more nervous. ''How can I prove I'm me?''

''Silence, Weasley!'' the Dark Lord once more commanded, then quietly contemplated about the bargain, fingers rapping on the surface of the table as he appeared to weigh his options. Nothing but mutual opportunity bound either of them to their word, of course. Albus wasn't foolish enough to offer an Unbreakable Vow, knowing that Voldemort would care less about Muggles or Ministry alike if anything that could lead to his death would even be hinted at. Nor was this a time to start writing complex contracts on either end. The only remaining option would be a binding oath to complete their conditions, but such magic could leave unpredictable marks. Albus wasn't exactly fond of the idea of being marked by Tom, knowing very well how that had worked out for Harry Potter. It would have to do that he'd implied having a weapon at hand to kill the Horcrux.

They stared each other down, precarious positions clear. Tom wanted the locket returned with as little risk as possible at being tricked once again. Albus intended to leave here tonight with all three of his students, of whom the use was apparently running out if his former student thought some of them disposable as 'ingredients' by this point. Neither of them was keen on a messy bloodbath tonight and both prepared for it at the same time.

''Weasley may walk in exchange for your wand,'' Voldemort at last agreed. ''Neither I nor my followers shall harm a hair on his head for the remainder of today. After he has left, negotiating the release of Potter will commence and, if you behave, we shall see about the Muggle-born.''

Satisfied for now, Albus released the handle of Gryffindor's sword as letting go of the locket was too dangerous, then drew his wand. Aware of Tom's scrutinising gaze, he moved slowly and clearly spoke the Counter-curse to the Imperius – a fickle spell mastered by few - then cast a series of diagnostic spells that should reveal harmful influence of ingested potions. When the spells came clean and Ronald's behaviour didn't change, he asked: ''For the sake of easing an old man's mind: what achievement earned you the greatest amount of House points at once?''

The boy stayed quiet for a while, which was worrisome until Tom said: ''You may answer this question, Weasley. I do admit I'm rather intrigued what service you could have possibly provided to earn you a high enough sum for this to be a question worth asking.''

Gulping, the boy stammered: ''I.. errr… earned two hundred points at the end of my second year for… for saving my sister from the Basilisk. Or well, helping Harry with doing so.'' It was hard to properly understand the words, Albus found. Possibly due to nerves, Ronald spoke incredibly quickly, almost falling over his own tongue. As the answer itself was satisfying enough, he decided not to pay it any heed.

The temperature dropped. ''Ah,'' came Tom's chilly reply, likely remembering his murderous pet's fate. ''Take your leave now before I decide your organs are better used to display my walls, you've certainly outlived your welcome.''

''Wonderful,'' Albus smiled jovially. ''Come, dear boy.''

He was already getting to his feet - swiping the locket off the table just in case - to help Ronald when the other interfered: ''I said he may walk, Dumbledore. Weasley is perfectly capable of using his own two feet for that.''

Irritated, Dumbledore shot back: ''I have nothing to gain by leaving, not without having rescued the other two. As you covered his eyes, I cannot watch helplessly as he stumbles out of here.'' Besides, it would be much preferable if Tom wouldn't realise what he planned on doing until Ronald was almost out of reach…

Taking the gamble that the other wizard would prefer not to act rash at the moment, Albus refused to take a seat again, instead carefully guiding the child towards the exit and muttering: ''Go straight ahead through the front door and follow the road. At least one of our friends is waiting at the large oak tree you'll see to your right after a minute. They'll take you away from here. Don't worry about Harry or Miss Granger, I'll get them out as well.'' He'd shuffled far enough towards the door now, took a deep breath and pressed his wand in Ronald's slightly sweaty palms. ''I ask you to safeguard this until the moment I emerge from this house again.''

''You're giving me your wand..?''

''For now,'' he said, praying that was enough to keep its loyalty. ''Go, now!''

''That is far enough, Dumbledore,'' Tom spoke behind him, sounding tense. ''What are you whispering about?''

Right before turning around to face the Dark Lord once again, he noted with relief that Ronald was able to remove the blindfold and had taken a few hurried steps towards the front door. ''I only fulfilled my end of the deal,'' he said, bracing himself for the outburst of anger to come. He was not disappointed. Hissing and spitting, Tom stood and trained his own weapon on Albus, who merely raised his hands, empty apart from the locket in his fist, chain dangling slowly in the air. ''You needed me wandless, here I am. Surely it does not come unexpected that I don't trust you to hand it back to me once we are done, without a hitch? I am no fool.''

Tom's expression changed faster than the wind. For indiscernible reasons, fury morphed into amusement, then full-on glee. ''You claim not to be foolish, when walking straight into every trap I laid for you? Ah, but you still cannot see it, can you? You cannot hear the whispered words or sense the slowness of your own movements. You may try to turn around. If you're fast enough, you have a last chance of halting your inevitable doom…''

Cold sweat dripped down Albus' back when the words hit in full force. The outlines of the pattern he hadn't been able to focus on in the hallway, the sluggishness of his own mind, how Tom appeared to move so much faster at times…

Albus attempted to look over his shoulder, already knowing he'd be too late to stop whatever Tom had put into motion. With horror, he watched as a web of neon pink lines rapidly spread across the walls, its centre connecting to the tip of the wand he'd just given to Ronald Weasley.

Within what felt like milliseconds, the glow extended to every surface, as if he were caged in a gigantic box of light. A trapped insect. As the room was flooded in pink, dormant spells flared to life: anti-apparition wards tingled beneath his feet, dampening charms settled on his skin, intent on hampering the spells that came most easy to him. Layers upon layers of protective enchantments lay a figurative noose around his neck.

He'd been standing amidst a slumbering minefield that Ronald had just woken with an unfamiliar spell that reeked of dark magic.

''Before you ask, professor,'' the boy spoke from beyond the door. Bright blue eyes shone with an amount of vindictiveness that Albus didn't understand. ''I'm neither an impostor nor put under influence. This is for all the lies. For pretending to care. For using my family to fulfil goals they'd never agree with if they knew the full extent of it.''

Voldemort must have broken the poor boy during Ronald's stay here and filled his head with falsities… Albus wanted to reason with him, but the ward solidified over the door opening into frosted glass, obscuring Ronald from view. The light dimmed. At the same time, whichever enchantment had ensnared Albus' mind snapped, the world tilting on its axis before a rush of awareness hit in full with all he'd missed without realising.

Smells returned, a mossy odour of rot coming in wafts. Wind howled through what must be a thousand cracks in the ancient house, accompanied by the rush of rain. A large bat hung at the ceiling and a couple of scurrying rats shot away to the side of the room, showing the place was infested with vermin. He'd been locked in a tunnel vision, only focusing on what Tom wanted him to, taking no notice of just how neglected the building was. Of that no-one could possibly live here.

All of this had been a set-up.

''What did you do to me?'' he gasped. ''I dismantled every trap-''

''Petty hexes and curses,'' the Dark Lord scoffed, smugness tugging at the corners of thin lips. ''Put in place to keep you busy until walking into my entanglement field. I don't expect you to be familiar with it, it uses magic inaccessible and invisible to most. Very time-consuming to cast however, and quick to dissolve, hence why I needed you here tonight. What did you think of my little show, Dumbledore? It was almost grating how slow I had to speak and move for you to keep pace. Distorting your sense of time was the trickiest part, but it succeeded so well. A shame it conflicts with the wards Weasley activated, but you're almost entirely harmless here.'' Harmless enough to take his eyes off Albus, apparently, as Tom reached inside of his robes and retrieved a small hand mirror. ''Barty,'' he spoke loud and clear, waiting until the surface rippled and another came into view. Crouch. ''State your report of the current mission.''

''Yes, my Lord,'' Crouch deferentially replied, the sound a tad metallic. ''On our part, most has been cleared. We interrupted the oldest Weasley child from snooping precariously close to the entrance and heard from our contacts that the Order is supposed to make a move on the house twenty minutes after Dumbledore headed in. That time will soon be over.''

Albus attempted to use his renewed mental speed well to strategize while Tom was busy. So much was uncertain right now and how he should act would depend on the motivations behind confining him. Had it been Tom's intention to merely deweaponize him to the fullest capability? Or lay more behind this scheme in which Ronald had been involved? The boy's puzzling accusations rang in his head.

A sharp spike of fear suddenly tore at his throat when realising he'd unwittingly handed the Elder wand to someone who might well consider Albus an enemy.

''How many are left?'' Tom asked, still busy speaking with Crouch. Pretending to scratch his nose, Albus tested a small spell – moving one of the candles on the floor a hair's breadth to the left with wandless magic – and was pleased when it succeeded. He would be more than capable of defending himself if it came down to it, even if the wards here prevented him from leaving or performing grander spells. For now, he'd wait and see what would unfold. Whatever madness had gripped Ronald, Harry wasn't as easy to influence, so perhaps he could still succeed partially by saving at least one of his students.

''Three, including our sleeper. Our allies are all unharmed as we had the edge of surprise.'' At the number, Albus' heart sank like a stone. Three of his friends were left? Moreover, there was a sleeper agent among the Order?

''Have her head in already. Nagini is waiting for her in the drawing room upstairs. The one on this side. Also, Weasley just left. He fulfilled his role even beyond my expectations, so you may give him the reward we've discussed.'' Cutting off the connection, Tom put the mirror away.

Trying to focus on the most shocking piece of information first, Albus asked in sheer disbelief: ''You bought the loyalty of a Weasley?''

''I? Hardly.'' Tom unclasped his cloak, elegantly letting it slide off his shoulder. ''Now then, isn't it time we put the old fool out of this miserable state of confusion?''

A screech answered, the bat he'd spotted earlier spreading its wings, revealing itself to be much larger than initially assumed. Now its face was no longer tucked under the leathery folds of skin, Albus realised it was certainly not a species native to Britain. It dropped and soared towards the Dark Lord, changing colour and growing in size mid-flight until stumbling into Tom's arms as a human, wrapped up instantly by the oversized cloak.

''Professor,'' Harry Potter calmly greeted, although he wasn't looking at Albus at all, eyes drawn to the motionless elf on the floor instead. ''Dobby,'' he whispered, breaking free from Tom's grasp to rush to the elf's side. His voice was coloured with worry as he asked: ''Can we wake him now? These wards should also stop elves from apparating anyone in or out, right?''

''It's an unnecessary risk, nonetheless. I'd prefer to leave it like is for now.'' Tom waited a second, then cocked his head and added with a careful frown: ''The elf isn't in pain, if that is your concern. Now, we should concentrate on our main guest instead, letting him wait for so long is rude.''

''As if you ever truly cared for etiquette,'' Harry retorted with a grin that could only be described as wolfish. ''Maybe I should snitch on you and casually drop to my guardians that you don't actually use the proper cutlery at home either when no-one else is around.''

''I'll do unspeakable things to you,'' Voldemort threatened, a threat not supported by his entirely relaxed stance and flat tone. ''Enough chatter now. Come here, it's time to move.''

Accurately recognising from the entire situation – and conversation – that he was further out of his depth than possibly ever, Albus decided to save any resistance for after he'd received a much overdue update on clearly missing vital information. He remained entirely calm as all he'd worked towards crumbled to bits. The shift in Tom's demeanour, Harry's remarkable and clearly planned appearance, Ronald's aggression, even his own surprise attack having been expected to the point he'd walked blindly into a carefully constructed trap… Much must have been going on behind the scenes that he'd been unaware of. If he were to survive this, Albus would need to think quick and adapt.

He thus didn't fight when Tom swooped closer and ordered him to take an innocent-looking marble. A Portkey, it must be. Even if the remaining three – or two – members of the Order of the Phoenix would make it into the house and attempt to dismantle the contraption that kept Albus here, they'd be no match for the Dark Lord. Playing along for now was more careful a strategy.

A sharp tug behind his navel, swirling colour and howling wind later, his feet hit the ground again. The same ground as before, Albus realised, although this time, the dining room of Riddle manor looked decidedly more in use. This must be the second version of the same building he'd entered earlier then, as described by Severus. How terribly interesting. Annoyingly, he could feel the same spells that had restricted him just a moment ago. He'd not get out of here through regular means.

While Tom seated himself at the head of the main table, Albus took note of the differences. Filled bookshelves lined the dry and whole walls, their spines a vibrant array. Another spot of colour came from bright purple cards that covered a low coffee table in the back of the room, as if people had been trading them right before breaking up in a hurry. Hadn't Ronald Weasley always had a soft spot for that hobby…?

With the typical blue flash of Portkey usage, his other student appeared once more, giving a slightly hesitant look. Albus' stomach constricted further, realising full well that Harry had just freely transported himself to Voldemort's side instead of escaping. ''So…'' the boy started. ''We'd thought of keeping up the charade a little bit longer, but I'm frankly rather tired of pretending. As you shouldn't be able to lash out too much without a wand and cannot escape, I feel safe enough not to beat around the bush: I know that you know I am a Horcrux, and that you thus need me dead. I'm not exactly happy with that plan. Less even about you keeping this a secret from me for my entire life.''

Of all the explanations whirling in his mind about what web of lies Tom had spun to make the children cooperate, he'd for some reason been wholly unprepared to hear the truth. How odd. Blinking to shake from the daze, Albus looked at the both of them: Harry's taut stance betraying how mightily the boy tried to hold back from committing a mistake, tremors shaking with more contained rage than a single body should hold, whereas Tom uncharacteristically sat at the side with an unblinking gaze focused only on Harry.

Opening his mouth, he tried to catch the right words to say. ''I was preparing to tell you,'' he whispered.

It appeared he'd not chosen wisely.

''Oh, I know,'' Harry rebuked harshly, steely eyes finally meeting his heads-on. ''You used the lessons in which we explored those memories about Voldemort to 'circle closer to the truth' until I was ready. Only, you failed your character assessment, missed it by a great many miles in so many cases.''

''Harry-''

The anger transferred from shaking limbs to harsh words. ''I asked you when I was eleven, right after I killed a man to protect the Stone,'' the boy spoke with raised voice. ''I was ready at eleven and knew you didn't tell the truth. And it wasn't just me you misjudged. You honestly thought that Voldemort's ego would get in the way of discovering what I was for months? That he wouldn't admit to failure by recognising an accidental Horcrux? It took less than a week, Professor! A week!''

''Just let me explain-''

''I thought you would finally get it, you know?'' Anger made way for disappointment and dripping hurt. Albus didn't quite know what to do with himself, being scolded by one of his students while another watched like a hungry snake and said nothing. ''When I fixed the time-loop Umbridge had threatened to destroy. Snape actually pointed out to me that surely, you'd at last have unmistakable proof of my true loyalties after I alone returned to Hogwarts despite an obvious run-in with the Dark Lord at the Ministry. But then you went and spun yourself a fantasy about us all having been kidnapped?'' Harry pulled a face. ''It'd be funny if there wouldn't literally be multiple lives on the line.''

''Severus said…?'' he muttered to himself, lightly shaking his head. No. He could accept Ronald sticking up for a friend in danger, he even understood that Harry had panicked when hearing that which he was too young to understand still despite claiming otherwise. But Severus? Pragmatic, cynical Severus, who was always ready to do what must be done?

Coldly, Tom cut in: ''Your denseness is astounding. You made the man take a Vow to protect Harry Potter or die instead, then told Severus you set out to kill the very person he's oath-bound to shield? Excellent move, truly the best way to shoot yourself in the foot. Evan, if you're quite done, I doubt Dumbledore needs to hear the entirety of events that led us here. I'm sure he has the basic picture.''

''I dunno… it's cathartic, in a way.''

A long, drawn-out hiss escaped the Dark Lord's lips that sounded most irritated.

''I remember what we agreed on,'' Harry replied, just as crabbily. ''It's not as if he can go anywhere though. And you promised to at least make an effort so he understands, to reduce chances of fighting. He doesn't look like having had the necessary epiphanies yet.''

That Albus didn't outwardly show it didn't mean the Knut had been that slow to drop, having started rolling faster with each clue. ''You turned to Tom for protection,'' he softly stated. ''After discovering what you are, aided by Severus who had no other choice but to help you or die. Without all context that I wished to reveal to you in time, it is understandable, Harry. And yet, this alliance is doomed considering your prophesised future…''

Predictably, this caused a violent reaction in form of a pulled wand. ''Not another word!'' the Dark Lord growled, rising to his feet once more. Unpredictably, Harry did the exact same, holly and yew both pointed at his throat. Well, that confirmed his suspicion, although it was unexpected that Harry would go along with it. ''Tom kept it from you, didn't he?'' he breathed. ''Did he vow to protect you in return for not asking too many questions?''

''He's told me enough.''

Albus disagreed, else Harry wouldn't have this reaction at all. As they were going nowhere and Tom looked ready to fire some painful curses, he attempted a different angle. ''I realise you may not believe me… but I never gave up on finding a way to save you,'' he revealed, although that last possibility, the hope he'd held close to his heart, was slipping from his fingers. ''To find a way to remove it-''

''Evan, get away from him,'' Voldemort threatened. ''He is overstepping. This goes beyond our deal.''

Although Albus could not understand the hissed reply, it struck him that Parseltongue could sound so vulnerable, so pained. Something unidentifiable crossed Tom's face, and if Albus wouldn't know how good of an actor the Dark Lord was, he could have been fooled into believing it had been a slip-up of actual emotion.

''It cannot be removed,'' Harry addressed him again, tone balancing precariously on a stubborn steel edge. ''Not even he can do so. Besides, being his Horcrux it what offers me protection, why would I give that up?''

There lay the crux, didn't it? The impossible situation they were locked in: Harry was aware that the price for ridding the world of the Dark Lord was sacrificing his own life, something he was obviously not mature enough to agree with, which Albus honestly could not fault the child for. Not without having been faced with the horrors released upon the world once before by Tom. Tom, who had now offered a false helping hand based on the lie of wishing no harm to a piece of his own soul, very well aware that according to a Prophecy he'd set in motion, it'd still come down to one of them needing to die regardless. He could barely comprehend how one could be so far gone to destroy oneself just to live, but he had no doubts that Tom, who valued his life above all else, would be ready to offer up shreds of himself to save the main part.

The irony of it all was that none of this had needed to come to pass when predicted, but Albus had never heard of a Prophecy that had been broken once a part had been fulfilled… which Tom had ensured over a decade ago.

Casting his disgust of Voldemort's methods aside, Albus attempted to defy Harry's statement, to get through to the boy. ''I found no possibility to extract his soul from you by ordinary means, no. However, I have reasons to believe that, should all play out as I foresaw it, you could survive and live a life far from the hardships you've had to endure so far.''

Boldly, he took a step closer. Having learnt Occlumency for months, Harry must be quite proficient by now, and Albus hoped that would make the boy overly confident. What he attempted to do required eye-contact even though it was no attack on the mind, a technique used in mind-healing instead - a sore necessity right now. To turn to Lily and James' murderer of all people showed just how scared the child must have been when discovering the terrible truth alone. ''Harry- whatever he's promised you when meeting in the Ministry… he won't be able to keep it.'' Slowly, he lifted his free hand and placed it atop messy black hair, ignoring both another angry hiss from the side as well as Harry responding in the same language.

A wand was prodded more firmly against his throat. ''What are you doing?''

''I need you to understand, Harry,'' Albus said, overwhelmed with emotion. He'd failed this child in too many ways, had not been there when guidance had been sorely needed. The least he could do was show that Voldemort's promises weren't the only option available. To show the future he wished would come to pass. The life he dearly wished Harry to have.

XxX

Talking to Professor Dumbledore turned out to be just as frustrating when having the upper hand as it was when the old wizard held all the cards. No wonder that so many people were under the impression that the eccentric wizard was madly brilliant and had hunches that turned out to be correct so often. It wasn't hard to make one right prediction when throwing a hundred wild guesses into the room. From this short talk, Harry got a better glimpse of how the man operated: with each new revelation, Dumbledore constructed a new theory until reaching the right one. He only hadn't drawn the correct conclusion between his guesses yet because so far, Dumbledore simply didn't have enough facts to do so.

What had been revealed to Harry just now did frustratingly throw him off though. When reviewing the memory of the former Headmaster's admission to Snape, there'd been hardly any emotion shown; a big part of why Harry had been in such a state of fury that he'd lashed out with destructive, accidental magic for the first time in years. From what he'd understood, Dumbledore had entirely given up on attempting to have Harry survive once all the other Horcruxes had been dealt with. So what was this now? He'd be tempted to brush it off as lies, yet that wasn't quite Dumbledore's style. The old wizard usually preferred to avoid questions instead when the truthful answer would disagreeable.

~He's getting far too close,~ Voldemort warned.

~You said yourself that he can only perform a minimum of wandless magic in here due to the previously placed wards. And if he tries Legilimency… well, I learned from the best. You promised not to interfere for now. To let me fight my own battle.~ When an aged hand touched his hair, the teen pointedly prodded his wand beneath Dumbledore's chin again with more confidence. ''What are you doing?''

''I need you to understand, Harry,'' Dumbledore spoke, voice tinged with infinite sadness. ''You may not believe me right now, but I never deliberately wished harm on you. Knowing I must inform you some day of the necessary sacrifice to defeat the one who has terrorised our country was the heaviest burden I've ever carried. Even so, I held onto the glimmer that if I correctly interpreted that prediction… Well, see the possibilities for yourself. Alucina.''

The air froze, and all Harry could see was piercing blue glinting behind half-moon spectacles. ''Fate has never touched you,'' a voice from far away sounded. Frighteningly, the mental blockades he slammed up instantly in response didn't halt the strange feeling that overcame him at all. Strands of smoke could not locate any hostile intruders. ''You have no connection to magic through him, no scar on your head, no soul clinging to yours. You are free.''

Rubbing his eyes, Harry became aware of his best friends still talking. ''Sorry, must have dozed off,'' he mentioned at Hermione's questioning look as he shook off the oddest dream. ''Drinking Ron's mysterious herb tea late evening wasn't a good idea. I still have the night shift to cover too,'' he sighed.

''Crime never rests,'' Ron joked. He still wore his Auror robes, even though finished for the day. Probably to impress Hermione, as if the woman cared about appearances. Not that his best friend would have a chance anyways as long as Hermione spent every free weekend in Bulgaria. Ron shouldn't have read so many self-help romance guides written by crooks who weren't a hair better than Lockhart. In fact, Harry was pretty sure some of them had been written by the famous author, which wasn't a surprise considering how much of a fan Ron's mum was.

He got to his feet and stretched painful limbs, aching all over like usual. Another day of catching petty thieves and salespeople of dark artefacts. An endless loop of dull interrogations. He drew his wand – willow and unicorn hair – and fixed his messy hair. He scratched the itchy centre of his chest, the spot that always felt so empty, a movement both of his friends hardly noticed anymore. He'd asked Professor Dumbledore about it once, as well as the school nurse, but neither had been able to come up with an answer. Harry had simply learned to live with it.

Days passed by in a blur. He paid a visit to Fletcher, a thief who was just the right combination of harmless, informative and slippery to be worth more as bait to catch bigger prey than in prison. One case led him to Hogwarts, a beautiful castle that had never been more than a school that he longed to be away from in exchange for exciting holidays with his parents. He barely visited Godric's Hollow nowadays, too caught up in the dredge of work for more than polite visits. He scratched his chest again, dissatisfaction a piercing, hollow thing.

Months were gone in the blink of an eye – life was comfortable, yet hardly noteworthy enough to make distinct memories. This would continue, Harry realised at some point where he was sitting eating dinner and listening to his friends chatter about their day. This would continue until one day he'd lie in a grave and be forgotten. Goosebumps raised on his arms at the thought, but what could he do? Tales of people who would rise suddenly to heroic deeds or acquire great magical prowess were no more than stories. Nothing in life had affirmed those legends to hold a grain of truth, at least not for Harry. A career change, or perhaps dating again would be the most he could do for some variety. He sighed and stared out of the window, feeling dull and tired and empty. It was as if all of his life, Harry had been searching for something that was simply missing.

Harry's eyes flew open and he sucked in gulps of air like a drowning man, disorientated yet unable to stop himself from instantly scratching desperately at the mental link connecting him to Voldemort, hungering for feelings that weren't his own. His bliss when the attempt was accepted with open arms wasn't dulled even when finding only scorching wrath that surrounded Voldemort like a burning halo. His lover stood firm between him and Dumbledore now, the old professor having been harshly smacked into the nearest wall. With difficulty, Dumbledore sat upright while Harry clawed at his own chest, joyous to find it was filled and whole, the piece of soul safe.

''What- what was that? Why did you do that?'' Teetering, he tried to find his mental balance again.

''Thought transference,'' answered Voldemort instead, looking murderous as he crossed the space between them and placed his fingertips to Harry's temples to ease him into calming down. ''An advanced form of the same spell we've used to communicate underwater. Instead of transferring direct thoughts, it plants suggestions to play out in your mind's eye. Technically harmless and even used in healing, but he clearly meant to make you doubt yourself with it… An even lousier trick than sending in House-elves.''

Said man completely ignored Voldemort. ''How did it feel?'' the Professor asked quietly, almost hopefully. ''To finally have peace and quiet? This is the life you could have, Harry, once we are all free of Tom's delusions of grandeur.''

''It was abhorrent!'' Harry exclaimed, distraught still, enough to not see how the wrinkled face crumbled at his admission.

Crestfallen, the old man muttered: ''That cannot be... My boy-''

''Hold your tongue!'' Voldemort suddenly bellowed, anger spiking ever higher. ''Crucio!''

To his credit, Dumbledore didn't make a sound. Teeth were gritted, nails dug into palms and his spine arched into an impossible angle, but he didn't scream. ''This is hardly productive,'' Harry commented after at least somewhat recovering from the strange trip into his own mind that had felt like a long nightmare, watching with only half an eye as he was both intrigued and disgusted by the sight.

''It doesn't need to be productive,'' his partner spat. ''It needs to hurt.''

''For you as well,'' Harry added softly, putting his hand on Voldemort's thin shoulder. ''Letting him get under your skin is a step back, we're both better than that.''

A familiar crackling of furious pain shot through them both even as Voldemort ended the curse. The Dark Lord towered over the old wizard, who looked up with a far stonier expression than he'd shown before. ''See, Harry?'' he slurred. Blood dripped from trembling lips. ''From one moment to the next, the mask is dropped and the violence beneath it shows. Such a man can never guarantee you safety.''

''A mask? Two years seems an awfully long time to keep up an act,'' Harry coldly countered.

Unfocused pupils located him with great difficulty. ''…years?'' he breathed in astonishment, seeming to once again re-evaluate the situation.

''Any further interrogations can be continued when he's been stowed away.'' the Dark Lord stated, irritation an unpleasant itch. ''As amusing as I initially found your idea to rub his failures in right now, it's showing to be counterproductive. Even subdued, he's proven to be dangerous.''

Harry frowned at the statement. ''My motivations weren't born out of sadism. I've had a bad history with getting proper closure.'' He balled his fist. ''I want- I need-'' He broke off, frustrated at himself for being unable to let this go.

When first having been shown undeniable proof of Dumbledore's plans, there'd been a consuming fire set alight within. That fire had simmered down once logic set in and he'd been reminded of Dumbledore's ultimate good intentions. It was hard to hate someone whose cause was objectively righteous: to defeat a violent oppressor who couldn't have cared less about the blood that stained his hands, to defeat the Dark Lord through any means necessary, including the expected sacrifice of martyrs. Without the proper context – the belief in Magic's wishes, Voldemort's changed approach and the corrupt system they currently lived in among others – it wasn't hard to see why Dumbledore had little trouble garnering sympathy for his cause as long as people could first be convinced that their feared enemy had returned back to life. Only being one of those expected to be sacrificed for this cause - without being informed of such no less -, had ensured the flames hadn't been quelled entirely. Like a tender spot that kept flaring up each time it was bumped, Harry knew he'd have to tend to it properly for it to heal. He wouldn't be able to do so in Nurmengard, with Grindelwald potentially listening in or even interfering.

''The Triwizard Tournament…'' Dumbledore spoke up with great difficulty, sitting up against the wall once again, his left hand clutching the fake locket. The handkerchief he'd wrapped it in before had fluttered to the floor, and Harry could see it hurt to hold by the way Dumbledore's fist shook and smoked. Voldemort hadn't put any deadly curses on this counterfeit, but a few nasty ones, nonetheless. ''The dark spells you used back then…'' he continued. ''But that can't be, it cannot all have been an act. I saw good in you, Harry, even long after.''

The teen reeled himself back from snapping out an answer, inhaling deeply before letting his disappointment show. ''When did you stop seeing people in all their brilliant versatility instead of branding them good and evil?'' he asked quietly. Dumbledore didn't react, trembling fingers reaching down to his waistband, frantically searching.

''Looking for this?'' Voldemort scoffed, holding up the pouch he'd cut from the old wizard's sash. ''An undetectable extension charm, hmm… And what is this? More bargaining material you kept in your back hand?'' Eyes glinted with the same intensity as the silver sword the Dark Lord pulled out of the tiny satchel. ''How generous of you to complete my collection.'' Rubies the size of eggs reflected the light around, making Harry recognise it even before reading the name engraved on the blade. He attempted to warn his partner, seeing the hilt of the enchanted sword twist and slip out of Voldemort's grasp, determined not to be wielded by anyone but a true Gryffindor. With the last bit of strength, Dumbledore heaved himself up and stuck out his hand to summon the sword.

Whatever his aim, it couldn't be good. With the reflexes of an experienced seeker, Harry jumped forward and caught it mid-air, crying out as he grasped hold of the blade, the edge cutting deep into the flesh of his palm.

''No!'' cried two voices in unison, and Harry looked up to stare at Dumbledore's horrified expression while a battering ram of swirling fear that originated from Voldemort almost made him buckle in pain a second time. All tolerance from his partner's side at letting Harry run this show as discussed prior was more than up before the first drop of blood welled to the surface. Instantaneously, Dumbledore's hands and feet were bound, shackles rising from the floorboards to prevent the Professor from moving entirely. Voldemort threw a few more incantations at their prisoner that didn't appear to have any effect at all, though the surges of magic that crossed the room told otherwise. The fake locket clattered to the floor, black on the side that had scorched Dumbledore's palm.

''It's just a cut,'' Harry mumbled as his partner snatched his hand to look it over. ''No need to fuss.'' Even as he said it, he realised there had to be more to it. Searing pain grew white-hot and started spreading, his vision going blurry within seconds. Only Voldemort's grip on him prevented his legs from giving out.

''What did you do?'' Voldemort demanded to know even as he was casting spells to figure out the damage. ''Dumbledore, what madness have you wrought this time?''

''Release me!'' the former Headmaster commanded, panicked. ''Harry, if you want to live, release me so I can call Fawkes! The sword of Gryffindor is goblin-forged!''

That declaration told him absolutely nothing, but in between tears that clung to his eyelashes from the sheer gut-wrenching agony, he saw enough of his partner's blurry face to know this was somehow a bad thing. ''You used this sword to kill Slytherin's Basilisk,'' Voldemort whispered, his breath turning ragged. ''Weapons crafted by goblins absorb the properties of that which makes it stronger. No… no!''

Basilisk… unaware of the why or how, Harry distinctly recalled feeling this exact pain when lying on the wet stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets. Forcing himself to open his eyes wider, he stared into crimson eyes. ''At least… this time there's no smiling… when seeing me go,'' he muttered incoherently. Hysterically, Harry giggled: ''You look… much prettier now too…''

Dumbledore's voice cut through his gibberish ''Harry- let me call Fawkes-''

''You cannot call your bloody bird from within this dimension, you senile goat!'' Voldemort shrieked. Then, while Harry was already busy with lazily drifting away, his partner's tone changed, a rush of comforting magic being draped over Harry like a blanket. ''But I can…'' Voldemort whispered quietly. ''By the cores of our wands and my newfound guardian, I can.''

The Gryffindor wasn't quite certain of what happened after, hovering on the brink of death while trying to cope with the most complicated shifting of emotions he'd ever felt from his love. He barely registered a bright light filling the room or the flash of golden and scarlet fire that appeared almost too late.

''Fight,'' a voice vaguely similar to Voldemort's said. ''Don't make me come out and do it for you, Harry. We don't want the old fool to feel validated in his preposterous claims of possession. Hold on just a little while longer.''

''Tom?''

''I'm here. Do not succumb to the void just yet, Harry. One mistake shouldn't keep us from eternity.''

The encouragement, this reminder that he wasn't alone, was enough to ball up his reserves and focus with all of his might so they'dkeep floating just long enough. He shot a prayer out to Magic while concentrating on his own core, a force brighter than life itself.

The pain slowly subsided as the room came into focus again.

Blessedly cold hands cradled his face as Voldemort bent down, not hesitating in the least as ravenous lips devoured Harry's. Wave upon wave of smarting anguish and relief did its very hardest to wash him away. ''H-Hey,'' the teen protested, trying to get a proper gulp of air before all breath in his lungs was stolen away again.

A melodical warble disturbed them, Harry pushing himself up from the floor on his elbow to get a better look at Fawkes. The bird hopped back and forth, ruffling its feathers and cocking its head first at Harry, then at a bound Dumbledore. Suddenly feeling very warm, the awareness hit that the old Professor had just witnessed Voldemort's unrestrained kiss. Oh.

It was Dumbledore who spoke the first coherent words, filled with wonder: ''I hadn't thought you capable of producing a Patronus, Tom.''

''A recently acquired skill,'' Voldemort answered stiffly, building his mask back up. Why that attempt was even made, Harry wasn't quite certain of, it was a tad too late to pretend not to have been affected. Although it was quite impressive how quickly the terror and frenzy that rushed back and forth through their mental link disappeared from the surface. Voldemort was even forcefully restraining the layers of heavy magic that danced across the icy skin of the fingers that gripped Harry's so very tightly.

His partner now pinned the Phoenix with his gaze even though emotionally still focused on Harry.

''Avada Kedavra.''

The distance was too short for the bird to dodge, the beast bursting into flames. Dumbledore's only reaction was a short jerk.

''Hey! He just saved me!'' Harry cried out, pulling his hand free to scramble towards the heap of ash as soon as the fire dimmed.

''Phoenixes cannot die,'' Voldemort nonchalantly informed him. ''Guiding it through wards set specifically to keep it out left an opening for Dumbledore to disappear through. However, in the first few days of their cycle, these birds are too weak to use their powers. We cannot have our enemy slipping away now his familiar knows the entryway. I did give my word to do my utmost best to capture him. Even if I'd want to let Dumbledore run, that would have had consequences.''

The Professor didn't react to Voldemort's assumption of his plan to flee at all, watching with a slight frown as Harry tenderly brushed the top of the pile away until the reborn chick's head was revealed. ''Hey there, little one,'' the teen murmured softly, scooping Fawkes up into his hand and holding the tiny bird close. ''So sorry for getting you involved in this.''

''Dumbledore,'' the Dark Lord spoke once he wasn't being utterly overwhelmed by emotion anymore. Harry had expected his partner to refuse addressing the old wizard after all of this, or at the very least send him straight to Nurmengard without further consideration. Instead, Voldemort made another attempt at conversation, mood growing serious. ''It isn't difficult to imagine you wished to use the sword to destroy my locket. Yet I must ask what your goal behind this action was. Naturally, I know your personal vendetta makes you desperately wish to murder me. Still, I cannot follow your line of thinking. You wished to use the locket and your threat of breaking it as a bargaining chip to rescue Harry at first. When it was revealed that he's here of his own free will, you made wild claims about having some sort of back-up plan to save his life despite adamantly telling Severus about how I need to kill Harry. And now… what? You attempt to destroy that which you thought gave you a smidge of control over this situation?''

Dumbledore's sad gaze was still only directed at Fawkes, even as he softly replied: ''I tried to guide every factor down the path I imagined it should go. Today, you showed me how little control I had, having dug your claws into Harry for so long that he refused to accept my aid. That he's grown dependant of you to such an extent that he recoils at the thought of being relieved of your soul. I imagined it would be best to salvage what I could and do humanity a service to the best of my abilities in ensuring one more piece of your soul would be dead before I take my last breath. To hope that the prophesised events you set in motion when going after Harry all those years ago would take care of the rest.'' Before either one of them could comment on those audacious statements, Dumbledore's gaze lowered. ''Now… I do not know what to think after what I witnessed in these few tempestuous minutes. What is trickery, what is truth. Harry, so much could be explained the easy way, by Tom doing what he does best by having found a way into your head to fool you. However, there is no denying the purity of the Patronus he cast.'' The old man shivered, looking disturbed and uncomfortable. ''That shouldn't have been possible when taking all of my research into account.'' For a moment, he appeared to harbour the wish of spilling his heart out further, but if so, the words got stuck in Dumbledore's throat.

Conflicted, Harry returned to the safety of his partner's side, having to calm Fawkes down by stroking the top of the chick's head as he leaned into Voldemort's arms. It was an odd position, all of them sitting or kneeling on the wooden floor without knowing where any of this was going. The entire situation felt unreal. He'd almost died just now and although that would probably hit in full force later, the teen couldn't properly process it as a fact straightaway.

Dumbledore looked completely out of his depth, worldview shattered when realising the one person he'd believed to be unfeeling and out to get anyone who couldn't be used – the reason why Dumbledore had felt comfortable with plotting to destroy the Dark Lord through vigilante justice instead of bringing him to court - was a human being capable of recalling such intense happiness even in a dire situation. As for Voldemort: whenever silence fell, the man was busier waging an inner battle than focusing on what was going on in the room, bar ensuring that Harry was safe, a bony arm having almost desperately encircled his waist as soon as Harry had come into reach.

In the space between the three of them, the blackened forgery and the sword of Gryffindor lay tauntingly side-by-side. ''It's a fake,'' Harry spoke up, nodding jerkily to the locket to have something to focus on. ''Put in place to win time more than anything. We first thought that, as long as you were chasing different Horcruxes, you wouldn't go after me. After hearing from Snape that I had to be the last one for some reason, I was obviously relieved, but we kept it as a diversion to stall you while we prepared for the inevitable attack.''

Another frown, deeper this time. ''Then why stop me from getting the sword?''

''Bad improv,'' Harry grimaced. ''At the worst moment, I lost my cool and wasn't thinking.'' Honestly, he should just have let Dumbledore have it. What was the worst that could have happened? The locket wasn't a Horcrux, Voldemort could have easily countered a physical attack with the thousands of spells he had mastered, and an active attack on Harry would have been thrown back at the assailant due to his shields. Alright, maybe the latter would have defeated the purpose of their entire plan of capturing Dumbledore alive, but it would have been the stubborn wizard's own fault. ''Why did you want to call Fawkes to heal me?'' he asked in return. ''Were you truly serious about not wanting me dead? The plan you revealed to Snape…''

Dumbledore's gaze hushed over Voldemort, who was still sunken in thought, then over the possessive arm holding Harry. ''I spoke the truth in both cases,'' he carefully explained. ''Which I do not feel comfortable discussing with how we stand right now. There's too much at stake and I have found that I know too little.''

A hiss slipped from Voldemort's lips, annoyance waking the man from his musings. ''Evan has spent hours convincing me to let you live. Drank a Nightmare Potion and replaced it with the Befuddlement draught you had an antidote to so you wouldn't get yourself killed by my Inferi. You should be thanking him on your knees, you old goat, and more than owe him some answers.'' The former Headmaster did no more than purse his lips at the insult, so Voldemort turned to Harry. ~You feel disappointed at not having achieved what you set out to do,~ he concluded. ~Your frustration is reasonable, but lines need to be drawn somewhere. As much as I know you do not wish to hear this, you have much left to learn in terms of deception. The moment I was forced to release some of my careful hold on him, he influenced your thoughts and-~ bony fingers almost crushed Harry's ~-was this close to erasing your entire existence. After all he's pulled, I'm not inclined to keep the fool here any longer.~

Harry frowned, trying to push away that Voldemort was speaking a sore truth. The boosts of confidence he'd received over the progress made in the past few months dwindled painfully. After finally accepting that he wanted to get close to reaching the level his partner was at... today had shown how pitifully far away that goal was. And yet, there was still that smouldering need to strive forward at any cost.

~Give me one more chance.~ Harry knew how much he was asking and wondered how much he could push his luck before Voldemort would lock him up as well just to keep Harry out of harm's way

The other critically stared him down. ~Darling…~ he warned. ~Think carefully about the wisest course of action. I can physically feel how important this closure is for you, yet it should not come at the expense of your sanity or safety. If you do not have another plan than staring at him and picking for answers you know he won't give, we should wrap this up ~

Taking the advice to heart, Harry attempted to figure out how to best proceed. In so many ways, this showdown wasn't at all what he'd imagined it to be. When envisioning it during the days leading up to this, the best scenario he'd imagined had been for Dumbledore to see the error of his ways and repent, and the worst to be his former mentor holding a grudge after realising all he'd worked for had been for nought. This… the aged man looking fragile and fumbling in the dark, seeming torn over his own beliefs while at the same time still thinking Harry might be some sort of deluded victim, only left a bad taste.

There was so much he wished to get through the thick skull beneath all that silver hair. That fighting Voldemort wasn't only foolish but damaging for their entire community. That they had so much more support than the other knew. To highlight the hypocrisy of the former headmaster showing so much prejudice against those on the 'dark' side to a point of dehumanisation, when being prejudiced was one of the main points Dumbledore judged others for. Most of all, he felt like never having been given enough credit of responsibility.

The moment he verbalised that, if only to himself, it became clear that this was the core of the dissatisfying feel he'd been circling around. The suggestions of being manipulated into Voldemort's schemes stung the most, especially when knowing he'd followed Dumbledore's plans for years until his eyes had been opened. He needed to show to the man who'd shoved him around from one plot to the next, that he'd grown beyond being used. Grown into himself in this house and with it, into power and the means to wield it, even if not quite perfectly yet.

Under the old professor's tutelage at Hogwarts, Harry had been constricted to only learning a narrow scope. Even the 'forbidden' works of magic he'd learned in secret, such as the Polyjuice potion, were still on the curriculum, just not considered appropriate for his age at the time. Voldemort on the other hand, had given him free rein of using every branch of magic known to man while at the same time providing a safety net of knowledge and protection to fall back on. Not only that, but he'd also ensured others would listen to Harry's word, orchestrated opportunities to expand political influence while giving recommendations rather than pressure. Voldemort's methods still had a great many flaws, of course, Harry wouldn't deny that. Knowingly pushing boundaries or using unfair punishment and underhanded tactics to get his way had been common enough to be noticeable. Yet the man had at least owned up to some, apologised for a few and most importantly, been willing to discuss it for the explicit purpose of bettering his ways. The only recent times Harry had felt out of his depth had been when Voldemort also hadn't been in control, not as a result of carefully plotted manipulations. It had become a journey of growing together instead of Harry being dragged along for better or worse.

The big question was how to possibly convey this to Dumbledore in a way his old mentor would truly understand. Painstakingly explaining all from start to finish as he'd done with Hermione and Ron wouldn't work. For all their hesitance, they at the very least had had a somewhat open mind after being saved by Voldemort. He didn't feel like spending hours talking to a brick wall; that wouldn't get them anywhere with the torn state Dumbledore was in. Even now, during all Harry's ponderings, the former Headmaster had barely reacted, withdrawn and silent with a permanent furrowing of his bushy eyebrows.

Recounting deep talks with Voldemort and conveying the ideas he'd come to know as truths would just be swept aside as having been influenced by lies.

Then, it struck him, the only way to show the reality of what his life had been like since truly getting to know Voldemort.

''I'm going off-script,'' Harry declared. ''Can he walk around the house?'' As expected, a disbelieving look was thrown his way when Voldemort caught onto what he planned on doing.

''Technically,'' the Dark Lord glared. ''Although I'm sorely tempted to deny this out of principle.'' Slowly, he untangled himself and stood. ~I frankly cannot understand why you are going through so much effort for someone you won't have to see again. What added value his acknowledgement of you will have. Feeling your craving hasn't helped me understand it in the slightest.~

~I'm more surprised that you don't feel the same,~ Harry retorted. ~He is your enemy more than mine.~

~Perhaps because of that, then? I never considered him as more than a danger, never let him get close enough to feel betrayed when being stabbed. If I ever required validation, certainly not from him.~ Voldemort started pacing back and forth, hands clasped behind his back and robes elegantly flowing. He stopped abruptly. ''One wrong move, one single uttered syllable without being asked to speak, and we are leaving… Dumbledore with his tongue cut out. Is that acceptable?'' he challengingly asked, the question directed at the one in chains.

''I don't suppose you'll reveal the location of this surprise destination you seem to have planned for me when our talks are over?''

''Is that acceptable?'' Voldemort merely repeated with a hint of vexation. Dumbledore clenched his jaw but nodded, at which the chains came to life and bound themselves to Harry's wrist rather than the floor so he could grant their prisoner movement. The Dark Lord stalked them akin an inky shadow as Harry guided their captive to the nearest point of interest, the orangery.

''This holds some of my best memories,'' he started, stepping over his hesitancy upon entering the warm, relaxing space. ''Most important rituals and small celebrations were held here. I learned songs and poems, had my first tasting of Voldemort's baking skills and got absolutely smashed on some enchanted whisky. Gave Snape and some other Death Eaters I saw for the first time quite the scare too when commanding Nagini around. She'll do about anything for an extra rat and some cuddles, so when I asked her to playfully snap at their ankles to get them in line, they were in for a bit of a shock, yeah. Also, this is where I shared my first proper Yule celebration with Sirius.'' Harry stopped to gauge Dumbledore's reaction at that, but the man looked perfectly level-headed, listening politely with only the slightest hint of worried creases marring his face. The teen placed a hand on the handle of the backdoor, then faltered. No need to tempt fate by letting Dumbledore step outside.

''We use the garden for larger groups of course,'' he rattled on. ''Celebrated Litha with my friends and guardians just last week. It was a good break from the O.W.L.s, as even being in hiding from the Ministry apparently isn't good enough of an excuse to sit those out according to Lucius. I think I did well on most of them, for which I also must thank Voldemort as he patiently tutored me in so many subjects during shared dreams over... well, mostly over the past year, if I remember correctly. During my fourth year at Hogwarts, we only used dreams as a method of communication so he could check up on how I was doing in the Tournament. The tutoring came later. And no, I truly didn't know he'd ordered Barty to put my name in the Goblet of Fire, but apparently it was a 'golden opportunity to test my skills' and to get some hours of research on heavy magic in at the same time. Still not sure if I wholly agree, but it did give me a lot of time with Barty and certainly made the year interesting.'' He wondered briefly whether to speak of the barely visible gravestones ahead as well, then figured he could postpone that until reaching the balcony. He stepped back into the living room instead, Dumbledore silently following without needing to be dragged, chains hanging loose.

''Not much to say here really. I mainly use this room for taking meals, passing the time with exploding snap and chatting with Barty, Sirius, Ron or whoever else is visiting. Like 'Mione, although she doesn't come around often. She's lived abroad for a while now, so bargaining for her rescue wouldn't have gotten you very far today. Other than that, the dining room is just extra storage space for all the books that don't belong into the study such as Voldemort's vast collection of Muggle literature. We actually had an interesting debate using Muggle poetry recently, but describing it in its entirety might be a bit much now. Listening to it certainly gave Ron a headache.'' He tried to supress his nerves when greeted only with pressing silence. Voldemort surely thought him mad for the way he was handling this, but Harry had an inkling that using Dumbledore's own methods might just be enough to get through to the man. After all, the former Headmaster had insisted on teaching Harry about his 'greater purpose' by using nothing more than a slowly growing puzzle of memories. This wasn't so dissimilar.

They moved on quickly, showing the hallway, Barty's bedroom, the potion laboratory and storages behind it, as well as the kitchen. Harry spoke of everyday, mundane details, such as the struggles he'd had with keeping food fresh upon arriving until one of the cabinets had been enchanted with runes to act as a fridge, or how Barty had slept in heaps of blankets in various places throughout the house for more than a year before being comfortable in a bed again, or how Draco had been taught how to grind coffee by hand, rewarding Harry with his newfound brother pointing out the correct title of a book he'd been trying to find in an unfamiliar alphabet.

Even after covering the entire ground floor, neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort commented on any of it, letting Harry do the talking. Only when they went upstairs and were about to enter the study, did his partner speak up: ''Not a word about the happenings of last week, love.'' They shared a fleeting look, Harry sending a thankful smile as he recognised the added endearment for the compromise it was. In exchange for not revealing a word about Voldemort's struggle to find true love, his partner openly admitted to having found it. For the first time, Dumbledore visibly reacted, sucking in a sharp breath.

Harry complied to the request, instead speaking of all the times Voldemort had lost himself in research to such a degree that Harry and Barty had to force the man to eat, of the way Nagini gave up on her comfy spots just to curl up at Voldemort's legs and of how Harry had brewed potions on the desk to keep the Dark Lord alive in the first few weeks. The adjacent drawing room held different stories, of warm memories and deep conversations in front of the fire, of reading together, sharing cake and their first kiss on Voldemort's last birthday. ''Seems ages ago…'' Harry mumbled nostalgically, face growing hot as he worried about having overstepped. He didn't linger very long, as most arguments with Voldemort had also taken place here, plus he felt highly uncomfortable with the added knowledge of that just shortly ago, outside of their bubble dimension, Nagini had been lurking in this very room to deal with Emmeline Vance. Dumbledore was already well aware of Voldemort's negative sides, which urged Harry to focus on the opposite. For that same reason, he didn't mention the heated shouting matches, the many murders Voldemort had informed Harry about at some point or even the disaster surrounding Sirius' death and resurrection.

In fact, the one and only time he mentioned Necromancy was when inhaling a whiff of slightly salty air out on the balcony, pointing at the gravestones below. ''You once told me that the dead should stay dead, Professor, but it didn't stop my wish to see my parents once again. Last summer, I spoke to them briefly and couldn't find it within myself to part with them again. I admit that Sirius pays his respects more often than I do nowadays, but it's a comfort to have them close, nonetheless. I realise it's controversial, considering who murdered them…'' he sighed deeply, agitatedly rubbing the back of his neck. ''However, they didn't appear to hold grudges, which gave me strength to keep going on the path I decided to walk.'' This tale unfortunately appeared to have the opposite effect on Dumbledore as the previous anecdotes, his expression clouding over, an almost angry glower appearing in his eyes as he regarded the graves. Only a warning hiss from Voldemort made the Professor close his mouth again after already having taken a breath in order to speak up.

''A-anyways, moving on,'' Harry announced, turning around to head back inside. ''Hardly anything left to see now. To the left is a small storage room – nothing worth noting apart from that Umbridge was held captive here for about a day before the werewolves handled her. Next to that we have my old bedroom, now turned guest room for my friends. Or at least it was used as that before they had their own places. I've never heard two people complain more about having to share a bed that Ron and Hermione by the way, they had a setup with dividing pillows and all, highly entertaining.'' He couldn't suppress a grin at the memory, the complaints even making it to the breakfast table.

''Besides that, there's only the bathroom and loo on that side. I'm still convinced the tub is somehow cursed: Barty has managed to slip and had to wrestle himself loose from the shower curtain multiple times, and I almost accidentally drowned myself in what Voldemort called 'two inches of water' after an exhausting day and had to be hauled out.'' He could mentally feel his partner's scowl deepen even without turning around. ''That makes today the second time he's saved my life from my own stupidity, I suppose.'' Funny, by Voldemort's own theory, there hadn't been anything to worry about in the bathroom if the Horcrux would have kept Harry from dying through ordinary means. It went to show even more how logic sometimes short-circuited in the face of strong emotions, and at the same time was a testimony to just how early his partner had started feeling those.

He paid little mind to the other guest room near the balcony, which had so far only been used by Draco for a night. Harry knew nothing about it other than it having belonged to Voldemort's father, and that it had been the last room in the house to be cleaned and redone.

Finally, they arrived at the master bedroom, Harry raising a enquiring eyebrow at his partner, who sarcastically snarked: ''If anything can convince Dumbledore to which extreme lengths you can go without me succumbing to the urge to murder you, it'll be your horrendously messy side of our bedroom.''

''It isn't that bad!''

''Made worse by the Gryffindor colours.''

''We can't all get cheered up by dark green and black,'' Harry huffed, throwing the door open to prove it really wasn't that bad. Sure, he had stuffed some dirty robes to the side instead of instantly putting them in the laundry basket and the walls had become a tad more covered in red, gold and orange recently, using some leftover banners and quidditch posters that wouldn't fit in the Nest, but all in all, Harry figured it was a whole lot tidier than the Gryffindor dorms had been. Of course, next to Voldemort's plain side anything would look disorderly. ''And at least I've got a spot of blue as well,'' he added, smiling as he walked in to pick up the miniature Swedish Short-snout from his nightstand, taking care to keep it away from Fawkes, who'd fallen asleep in his hand by this point. ''Look, it still works,'' he cheerfully said. ''It got a bit old and rusty – could barely get a plume of smoke out on good days anymore, but I came home one day to Voldemort having fixed it.''

''The same day you agreed to accompany me to the Greengrass matriarch's funeral, if memory serves me right,'' Voldemort commented, and Harry wondered why his partner had become chattier all of a sudden. The Dark Lord casually added: ''Also the same day we discussed at which point we'll officially tie the knot.''

Dumbledore did sputter now, and Harry suspected this may be an underhanded tactic to get the old man to slip up and speak without being asked to. Reaching out, he found only a drumming of impatience. Ah, the remaining shreds of tolerance for Dumbledore's presence had run out, that'd explain it. ''So, that ties up our tour,'' he thus loudly spoke. ''If anything, it should have given you a good overview of the sheer amount of events you've missed out on. Didn't even touch on Remus coming over, or going out into the Muggle town for some pizza with Barty or... well, we've only covered the tip of the iceberg, but I suppose this'll have to do. Any… questions?'' Harry finished hesitantly, biting on his lower lip. What was going on in Dumbledore's head? Had this last crazy attempt succeeded, or would he still be left with feeling he'd not done enough to show he wasn't being controlled?

XxX

Nothing but questions whirled in his tired mind. With each word that left the boy's mouth, Albus wondered whether he'd been living on a different planet altogether these past years. Nothing added up to his own intel, nothing fit the conversations he'd had with people Harry now claimed to have known about and accepted him running to Voldemort long before today. Sirius, Remus, Severus… Severus. And yet, there were too many details for this all to have been constructed by Voldemort as another layer of a trap. Too many casual touches and knowing glances for these two to be anything but deeply familiar with each other.

What stood out most was ironically nothing Harry had said, not directly. No, it had been Tom's words and actions: protectively hovering over the younger wizard from the moment Harry had dropped from the ceiling and into his arms (and wasn't becoming an Animagus without Albus' knowledge a testimony by itself of Harry indeed finding a way to learn powerful magic in secret?) and stooping to bickering over the state of their bedroom instead of wrathfully punishing whoever dared dirty the space he inhabited. And most astonishingly of all: reaching the astronomically unachievable level by speaking love. Of marriage. Several years wouldn't hold enough time for Albus to ask all the questions needed to figure out how the egotistical and downright sociopathic Tom Riddle he'd known had turned into someone who showed manic anger at the first sign of someone else hurting. For Tom had shown an extreme reaction to Harry's very nearly lethal encounter with Gryffindor's sword already before realising the full extent of the danger.

Many seconds passed in silence as Dumbledore stared into hopeful, desperate green eyes. He swallowed hard. ''Going by all your comments of hauling me off somewhere, I'll have quite some time to reflect on all you've just told me, won't I?'' he gently asked.

''Surrendering to your fate?'' Tom retorted with a hint of glee.

Albus felt the corners of his lips lift into an ironic smile. ''I'd say I'm a very experienced multi-tasker,'' he answered with a hint of cheer. ''And yet, even though I've tried to come up with ways to escape from your clutches all the while attentively listening to Harry's riveting tales, I've admittedly drawn a blank. I might as well use this gift of time wisely to give some deep thought on these revelations, as I can assure you both that I won't be so rude as to ignore your story.''

It was the best he could do for now. Escape was indeed rather hopelessly impossible without Fawkes' abilities. Yet he also couldn't quietly sit down here and start an interrogation on everything else he must have missed. Not before filtering through his own memories in peace to see if there had been any other hints that could confirm Harry's story. There had to be some, and Albus could feel them gathering at the edge of his preoccupied mind already: Sirius covering Harry so adamantly over the years had to be one puzzle piece, Severus' Occlumency lessons another, the snake's mysterious disappearance from Grimmauld Place one more, but they didn't properly fit yet in the larger picture.

He'd have to make the best of a bad situation by retreating and calmly thinking his situation over, even if he'd have no say in where to retreat to. At least he'd gathered from the given context that his life wasn't in jeopardy, for even after feeling betrayed and abandoned, Harry had pleaded for him to be spared.

There was only one jarringly missing piece of the story that he couldn't uncover on his own: ''What I still fail to understand is what you will do about the Prophecy,'' he finally spoke, turning to Tom.

''I told you not to speak of it!'' the other bit, aggression tangible. Harry's hand slipped into Voldemort's skeletal one, and the anger cooled faster than a hot coal in snow.

''But if neither can live while the other survives-'' Albus pressed on, trying to genuinely figure out what he must be overlooking. If, hypothetically, the unthinkable had happened, if Tom Riddle was trying to make this relationship work… had he at last overcome that unreasonable fear of death? Or could love have been powerful enough to nullify a Prophecy already in motion?

They stared at him now, side by side, both holding their breaths and appearing as motionless as a muggle photograph. Only then did it occur to him that: ''You weren't aware? But- but the Hall of Prophecies-''

''We shattered it,'' Harry explained, voice a small wheezing thing. He sounded devastated and trembled all over, staring straight ahead as if afraid to face the one he was clinging to. ''We shattered them all without listening. We- we didn't want to know.''

Albus felt cold and hollow, painfully aware of his mistake. ''I'm sorry,'' he breathed, those two words more sincere than anything else he'd said today. ''Forgive me.''

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AN: This sure was a long time coming. The Dumbledore POVs were probably the toughest, since I wanted to keep him in the same line of character as in his previous POVs in this story. Also tough were all the possibilities in this chapter, from Tom actually appearing to Harry getting into a situation in which he would have had to apply Necromancy etc. It was tempting to go all-out, but I imagined it would be a bit too much over the top.

This chapter was posted a day earlier than planned as a birthday gift to Milena Seyer ^^ Happy birthday Milena!
I'm back to my regular schedule now btw, since my holidays are over (although I didn't get to enjoy them as much as I had hoped since I was sick for the first half T.T).
So, the next chapter will be uploaded on the 13th of November.

Please let me know your thoughts :) Next up: Voldemort's POV on this whole situation, Prophecy shenanigans and probably a timeskip.
Read and review!
xx GeMerope