48. Test run

Harry spent the next day going through the many, many crates of books that Hermione had left with him. The last few days she had been by many of their hiding places and gathered together their enormous book hoard to give them to Harry, because he had told her about his new library in his letters. At least, she gave him the books she didn't want in her own, brand-new library. Harry went through all the titles, one by one. Quite a few ended up in his own study or the two bookshelves in his drawing room or the one in his bedroom. Mostly known favourites, books that were good to have easy to hand and a few new titles from authors he liked.

Some rare tomes that he suspected Voldemort would like to have a look at, he put aside in their own pile. He was going to propose to have a bookshelf or two in the shared drawing room between their suites. He could place books that he believed Voldemort would like there, for easy access, and at the same time they would be safer there than in either of the libraries in the Manor. While the Manor, and the libraries, wasn't anything close to public, there was a greater chance for guests in those places than in Harry's and Voldemort's shared drawing room. Only someone with a death wish would intrude there.

Harry moved the rest of the books to the library he had made in the wing he shared with Voldemort. He got help from Dobby and Topaz to figure out if the titles already were in the library or not, and if they weren't there, they got a new home there. The titles that already were in the library ended up in another crate. That crate got sent down to the main library of the Manor, in case there were titles that weren't already there.

After all that was done it was almost teatime and Harry showered and changed and met with his husband and housemates in the conservatory. Seeing the big room filled with greenery, he remembered the conversation between Voldemort and him the morning before, where they agreed to add both a breakfast room and a conservatory to their own wing. Harry looked forward to making the rooms.

Seeing Voldemort again sitting in his scarlet wingback chair, calm, collected and perfectly turned out as always, made something shift and squirm inside Harry. He knew it was the bleed-over from his time as a Naga and all the delicious things that had happened during that short time - the bite mark was still obvious on his neck, to his silent delight -, but he still couldn't get himself to try to hold back on his feelings, at least not internally. They would dissipate soon enough, and his brain would go back to normal. Until then, he gave himself permission to find Voldemort very attractive and to revel in his voice and touch. He honestly thought it could do him some good, to truly want to be so close to the man. With familiarity comes safety, and while both his body and mind mostly remembered the fact that Voldemort was safe, some days were still more difficult than others.

During tea Harry didn't initiate any physical contact, but he came close several times before he stopped himself, as he felt that this wasn't the time nor the place, and he saw that Voldemort noticed his plight. He didn't comment, stare or even smile, but he still gave Harry more attention than he usually did, and Harry had to admit that Voldemort usually was quite attentive towards Harry whenever they were close. It was in the way he looked at Harry, the way his body was partly turned towards Harry even if he talked to someone else, and the softening around his mouth when their gazes met.

Voldemort's clear attentiveness as well as understanding look every time Harry almost touched him, helped calm him down. Voldemort knew what was going on and didn't mind, at least not after the first time Harry reached for him, when Harry swore he could see worry and an urgent question in those crimson eyes. When Harry shook his head no, it wasn't the soul shard, Voldemort drew the right conclusion and relaxed.

The fact that it was so hard to keep his hands off his husband, combined with his own decision to practice closeness now when he wanted it so much, made him speak up when Astoria and Draco were done with their tea, and he asked Voldemort to remain while the other two left.

Harry looked at Voldemort and suddenly he felt hesitant. Voldemort waited calmly, watching him.

"So … I have been going through a lot of books that Hermi brought yesterday … No, that's probably not the right place to begin, even if it's relevant. Right, the thing is, I have been thinking about what Hermi proposed, about doing something during the soul shard episodes, to make them easier to deal with. I found some books that might be interesting, even for you, of course you may already have read them, but I found several and perhaps …" He stopped and closed his mouth for a moment. "My point is that I would like to try her idea, both in regard to distraction and with regards to sitting down together before I feel the need or the pain, so maybe I will feel less forced.

"Today would be a good day for the first test, as I at the moment very much like the thought of being in your arms. And if it works, maybe we can try it now and again and hopefully, hopefully, my bad days will be a bit easier if it works out."

"I believe that seems like a decent suggestion, Harry. We might retire right after dinner, look at the books you have put aside and sit down then. That should leave us ample time before the soul shard starts to make it difficult."

Harry nodded, then swallowed hard, suddenly feeling cold. "If … if what happened yesterday don't happen again, that is." He shuddered.

He still had no idea of why or how that had happened. They had been in the middle of a duel when pain had brought him straight to his knees, without any warning whatsoever. It felt like he had been pushing through the burning need and the beginning pain and then suddenly noticed when the pain had become excruciating, but he didn't think a normal duel, even a normal duel with Hermione, was enough for him not to notice the need, let alone the beginning of the pain. Both of them were usually quite impossible to ignore. The Battle of Hogsmeade had been the only exception so far, and that had led to his collapse hours after he was supposed to collapse, not before. Which made this event only so much worse.

"I would like to know the facts of the case, if you would tell me," Voldemort said in a low, quiet voice.

Harry shuddered, but began to tell him exactly what had happened, bit by bit. He had to stop when he reached the point right after Hermione had yelled for Voldemort, he thought he was actually going to retch at just the memory of the desperation and pain. To know that there was nothing he could do, absolutely nothing, to get away from such pain … There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no one to push away, disarm or kill. Nothing he could do. Nothing. And on top of that he now knew that there was a real chance that he might lash out at Voldemort, when Voldemort meant to help him. He might harm Voldemort, harm the only one that could make the pain go away, make it possible for him to breathe again, make it possible for him to live.

So, he had begged Hermione, again and again, not to let him harm Voldemort. And while his own memories had been blurry with pain and desperation at that point, Hermione had later told him that his hands had transformed and that he had tried very hard to get free from her grip. Get free to rip into Voldemort.

And all that, all that had happened without any warning at all.

Without any warning, and hours before it should have happened.

"We will find a solution for this too, my own, my Harry." Long, cool fingers stroked his warm cheek, stroked away his desperate tears.

Harry opened eyes he hadn't realised that he had closed and looked at Voldemort. The man was kneeling in front of his chair, a hand stretched out towards his face. Now he halted and his fingers barely touched Harry's cheek.

"We will find a solution to make you safe," Voldemort said in a low voice, meeting his gaze with an assurance Harry couldn't begin to comprehend. Harry tilted his head towards the hand hovering right by his face, and the hand cradled his cheek, thumb swiping away at the silent tears.

"It hurt so bloody much." Harry closed his eyes again and just tried to focus on the hand instead of the memories of pain and confusion. "So bloody much."

"I know, my own, I understand, and we will do whatever we can to make certain that it does not happen again."

A quiet sob escaped Harry before he could stop it and he leaned towards Voldemort, breathing out in a relieved sigh when the man drew him into a hug. If he was close to Voldemort, then the pain wouldn't get the chance to ravage him for long, at the very least.

That thought was the reason Harry asked to spend time with Voldemort while the man worked. If they were close, he would be safer. And while he knew that he in a day or two would refuse that solution - because it would make him feel trapped and cornered and he would rather live with the threat of extreme pain, or the pain itself, than being trapped - right now the memory of the pain and desperation was too fresh to deny. Voldemort agreed as he didn't have any bigger meetings and the small ones he could hold in his more public study on the first floor, with Harry in the room.

Harry sat down in a big, soft chair in the corner with his notebooks, books and writing implements and put up a silencing bubble around him so he wouldn't disturb people and people wouldn't disturb him. Then, with a heavy sigh, he opened one of his notebooks and began to write with a non-magical, a Nomagi, pen, all the things he still thought about Remus Lupin, all the things he would have done to him if he had found the blasted man alive, all the reasons he hated the man, all the reasons he felt betrayed. He wrote until his wand buzzed after twenty minutes and then he put away the notebook, put away the whole topic and all the feelings, and picked up another notebook.

The next task was a bit easier, now, as the frustration and doubt and hate and grief and shock had lessened with time. He wrote down the things that were problematic with his situation, with his marriage, with his life. He wrote down the things he wouldn't discuss with Voldemort, Astoria, Draco or anyone really, but Hermione. Because she knew he was capable of feeling those things, thinking those thoughts, and still be decent enough towards Voldemort and his housemates, still be able and willing to keep to the peace treaty and his marriage vows.

He wrote about how much he hated to be bound so close to the man that had brought him and his loved ones so much pain. The vows were one thing, living in the same house was one thing, but a soul bond that would ensure he couldn't fucking live without the other man? A mind bridge that, while extremely useful, actually made it possible for the two of them to possess each other, even if that had only happened once so far. What the bloody fuck! Who needed that!

He wrote about the sorrow of knowing that he never would be able to really choose his own life now, or his own partner in life. For while he now knew that he would have choices, more than he had ever had before, more than he ever had hoped he would get, as he had believed he would die in the war, the fact still was that he wouldn't be able to travel with Hermione anymore. Or settle down in a beautiful green valley they had encountered in Argentina, nor would he ever get the chance to fall in love and be with that person. He was stuck here in Britain, by Voldemort's side, in a way he had never believed possible. In a way he hadn't really feared he would ever be stuck, because he hadn't known about the soul shard and all it would bring. And that rankled, after years where he had done what he wanted and gone where he wished, he now was absolutely dependent on having Voldemort close.

So, of course he hated that, of course it infuriated him! How could anyone believe anything else!

His wand buzzed again, and he put away the second notebook. The notebooks had been Hermione's idea. The second day they had sent letters to each other he had barely hinted at the fact that there were so many feelings, so many despairing thoughts swimming around in his brain without any outlet, even more after Remus Lupin was discovered. So much he couldn't speak about or even think about, lest it got too close and made it hard for him to interact with the new people in his life.

The day after he had gotten three notebooks in the first letter from her, with instructions on how to use them. How to set aside a certain amount of time to write in each book, and to put away the thoughts and feelings the rest of the time. To give himself an outlet and to stop himself from stewing in the feelings at the same time.

Since then, he had written in all three books every day after tea, like clockwork, except yesterday when Hermione had been with him. And it had helped, it had helped with the shock after Lupin's betrayal and it had helped with the grief over his own situation, a grief he only had pushed away until Hermione sent him those books, because feeling that grief, listening to that grief, would only make it worse. Now he could let it out, let it go, word by word, day by day, and he felt better for it already.

The first time he had really talked about it was the day before, when Hermione asked, and that had made him feel even better, even lighter. The knowledge that Hermione would always be there now, that they never had to spend that much time apart again, had removed a boulder from his chest. A boulder he had gotten so used to that when it was removed, he couldn't quite believe the relief he felt, because he had refused to look too closely at those feelings too, in case they would crush him if he did.

The third notebook was a book of good things, something to remind him that happiness still existed, also for him. Even if some days it only was very small things. He didn't have a set time for that, he could write as little or as much as he wanted, as long as it only was good things and good feelings, and he did write something every day.

Today he wrote two pages about the relief and joy about seeing Hermione again, and he smiled while he did it. Then he made himself stop, because he knew he could continue a lot longer and not really write anything new. After hesitating for a little while he wrote down the experience of being marked as a Naga, by his mate, about the feelings, the scents, the thoughts, and the delight of knowing he had a mate that wanted him. He knew that the experience would pale a bit when he got his normal brain back, but he highly doubted he would ever regret it. He wasn't human enough anymore to regret his mate, or the fact that he was claimed by him. Those were good things in his life, safe things, as was the mark on his throat. He had felt so deliriously happy with his mate in his coils, so safe, so pleased, so exhilarated. He already missed the feelings; he only hoped it would be easier when the bleed-over finally ended.

Then there was the hugs and attention he had gotten from Voldemort both last night and today. Those were good things, safe things. Even with the hours every day where they were close because of the soul shard, even with the Breaks that made the experience calmer and safer, he seldom truly wanted to be close to the man. Only twice had he truly wanted that without any kind of outside interference; the second time they had had sex and the time he was a Naga, less than 48 hours ago. The exception was last night and today, then he had wanted the closeness very much. It was interference that had made him want to be close, that was true, but it was interference from inside, from him, not the soul shard and not the calm Voldemort could force him to feel when he asked. It was him, just him, all him, even if it wasn't the human part of him.

That made all the difference, and he wasn't entirely sure if that made sense or not.

Still, it was a good thing, and he was grateful that Voldemort had agreed to try Hermione's suggestions tonight.

Finally, Harry put away the last notebook too, and looked over the three books he had brought with him before deciding to read an old favourite. He wasn't quite focused enough to try something new.

The soul shard remained calm until after dinner, much to Harry's appreciation.

Harry and Voldemort went to Harry's suite and Harry pointed at the small pile of books in one corner and told him about the idea of some bookshelves in their shared drawing room. They went through the books and Voldemort found several he hadn't read before.

"How's your Archaic Latin?" Harry asked.

"Perfect, of course," Voldemort turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course, how stupid of me. Mine is functional at best, and I have wanted to give this one a try for some time. Want to read it with me?" He held out a tome, it was old, but not actually so old as the Archaic Latin language. Harry suspected it had been copied over into new books several times without any kind of translation on the language.

Voldemort looked at the book, then slowly took it from him and leafed through the first few pages. Harry noted that his hands clutched at the book cover, before he forced himself to release his grip.

"The book will stay at the Manor," Harry said, "it's mine, you will have full access to it."

Voldemort nodded. "I would like to read this with you." He also picked up a couple of other books and they went to sit down in one of the sofas in Harry's drawing room. Voldemort enlarged the sofa by a lot, took off his robe and found a comfortable position against the back of the sofa before looking at Harry. Harry removed his robe too and sat down between Voldemort's legs. He felt his whole body relax when Voldemort put his arms around him and when one of those long hands carded through his hair, he gave a contented sigh. A soft blanket, the gift from Hermione, landed over them and a chill that had threatened to give him gooseflesh, disappeared.

"I have a few questions, but if you would prefer to begin with the book right away, I will not object." Voldemort stroked down Harry's throat and chest, it was comforting, and Harry had no trouble with talking, as long as Voldemort didn't remove his hands.

"Always so curious. We can talk."

"If I have understood things correctly one of the things that make you detest the soul shard and the closeness that you need with me to calm it down, is that you have no choice in the matter, that you are forced. Yet, today you proposed sitting down with me earlier than necessary. You specifically said it would be easier today than on other days, so I assume it has to do with the bleed-over from your Naga-self. How is that an improvement? You are pushed, gentler than on other occasions maybe, but you are still pushed into my arms."

"I'm not a Naga at the moment, even if the bleed-over gives me a bit of the Naga instincts, but I'm still not entirely human. I'm never entirely human, not anymore." He stopped for a moment. It was still weird for him to think about that, weirder still that it had taken him years and a conversation with Voldemort to actually realise it.

"And the bleed-over, the wish for closeness to my mate," Harry felt Voldemort hug him harder for a second and he knew that Voldemort liked that fact that they were mates just as much as Harry did, which was to say; a lot, "the bleed-over is me. It comes from me, not from the outside. I want this, not anyone or anything else. No outside forces. Just me. And because of that this is so much easier to deal with than it is when it's the soul shard who forces it."

Voldemort was quiet for a little while, before he kissed the side of Harry's face several times, almost making Harry purr. Harry hadn't asked him to do so, and Voldemort hadn't asked if it was alright that he did, but still, this was exactly what Harry wanted right now. Exactly what he needed. And Voldemort gave it to him with an assurance that made Harry bask in the attention and the touches. Voldemort hugged, cuddled, stroked, and kissed him because he wanted to.

His mate wanted him.

"I am grateful for that fact," Voldemort said in a low voice. "And likewise grateful that you are comfortable enough with me to ask for this when you wanted it."

"Well, as you have proven that you are somewhat weak to begging, that would have been my next choice, as I'm not at all above begging for what I want."

Voldemort shifted a bit behind him, tried to draw away, and Harry pressed himself closer, only to realise the reason for Voldemort's movement. He was getting hard, just at the thought of Harry begging.

"Harry …" Voldemort said softly, as if to a scared animal.

Harry leaned his head back and to the side to kiss Voldemort's jaw.

"Why now?" Harry asked. "You have never gotten hard when we have laid down together before, even if it has been every night for months?"

"Your genuine distress, obvious or not, is hardly exciting for me," Voldemort's tone became caustic.

"Oh, yeah, that makes perfect sense."

"I am delighted that you think so." The tone was still scathing.

"But you didn't mind biting me," Harry checked, because while he had truly loved it and would most likely want more of it, no matter his shape, not everyone liked to be a part of it. And Voldemort might very well get off on torturing people, but it sounded like Harry wasn't one of those people he would get off on torturing. At least not anymore, thank fuck. So, Harry didn't know what Voldemort thought of giving Harry the pain he sometimes wanted, almost craved.

"You were hardly in distress then, my own, and you begged me for it, so eagerly, so beautifully." Voldemort's voice got low, part smooth velvet, part yearning, and he kissed Harry's temple.

The voice, the words and their meaning made Harry harden too, and he could feel Voldemort get even harder against Harry's back. Voldemort gave a small hiss in irritation and tried again to put some space between them, and this time Harry let him. He was driven by his own want for intimacy, not the soul shards, he had a choice now, and it seemed to bother Voldemort, so he stayed put.

"I appreciate all of that and I'm very grateful that you don't like me in distress, but right now I don't mind if what we talk about gets you hard. I'm getting hard too; it happens. We can't do anything about it right now, though, so we might as well change the subject."

Voldemort kissed his temple again. "Yes, that would be wise. May I ask my next question?"

"Sure." Harry took one of Voldemort's hands and placed it against the lower part of his face. Voldemort hummed in amusement but obediently stroked his skin.

"You have been looking forward to seeing Granger again for weeks, probably months, but you spend one day together and then she is off to Greece on an errand that, while important, is hardly important enough to leave for so long when she has just reconnected with you. Why is that?"

Harry felt cold seep into him at the question and he wondered if Voldemort already knew enough to guess why Hermione had chosen to run that errand immediately instead of letting it wait. Voldemort was right, it wasn't so very important. If Harry stayed away from his Naga shape it wouldn't be a problem at all, and while he really liked that shape, it was his choice. So, Hermione could have waited with her errand for quite some time, even indefinitely. Harry thought that he and Hermione between them probably had given Voldemort enough clues to piece together why it was extremely important that they got some answers from the Naga-clan. Because not everything goes as planned and accidents happen and if there was one thing that could not, would not happen, would never, ever happen …

"Harry?" Voldemort's hand carded through his hair.

"I will tell you one part of the answer, but I … not all of it. Just … not all of it."

"Very well. Tell me what you are comfortable with, my Harry."

That was the second time he had used the possessive in front of Harry's name that day, and Harry had to admit that he didn't mind it any more than he minded 'my own'. He had been afraid the first time Voldemort called him that, afraid that it hinted at Voldemort's possessiveness taking over, hinted at less choices, stricter rules, and closed doors, but Voldemort had promised him that it wouldn't be the case. And as in every other situation where Voldemort had given Harry his word, he had kept it. Therefore, Harry didn't mind, he thought he even liked it a bit, at least with his Naga side influencing him.

He relaxed against Voldemort and took a deep breath.

"First of all, Hermi is as good as I'm at making portkeys. She might have gone to Greece, but the travel time is nothing. We agreed that she will come visit again the day after tomorrow, even if she isn't able to get any answers from the Naga-clan by then. She will just keep going back until she is satisfied.

"Also, Susan informed us, separately, that we should give the rest of you some time to … acclimatise to the two of us, together. She seemed to think that we can be a bit … much when together and that it would be better all-around if we gave you some time to recuperate between the times you have to deal with the both of us." Harry chuckled. "Both Hermi and I found this a tad hard to believe, and Susan hasn't seen us together for years, so we asked around amongst allies and friends and apparently, Susan is right. We didn't usually hang out with other people for long periods of time, keeping mostly to ourselves, and the bastards told us they were grateful for that fact.

"So, since we want to make sure that no one in the Manor puts up too much of a fight when Hermi comes for a visit, we decided to give you some time. In the beginning, don't expect it to last, though."

"Yes, I can definitely see what Head Bones indicated. You are a confusion."

"Excuse me? Did you just mangle a sentence?!" Harry snickered.

"I most certainly did not." Voldemort huffed.

"Yes, yes you did."

"A pack of wolves. A pride of lions. A murder of crows. A confusion consisting of Harry and Granger."

Harry laughed, pressing himself into Voldemort, feeling the man hug him closer.

"A confusion. We are a confusion. I like it. And I fear Susan and the others would agree with you. Our pack name is Confusion. I have to admit that I would have liked something closer to the name of my dad's pack; the Marauders, but Confusion works."

"You are feral enough for a whole pride of Nundu's, my Harry, you do not need any kind of advertising."

"Hah, coming from you, I will take that as a compliment."

"Good, I meant it as such." He hesitated for a moment. "How are you feeling? I believe the soul shard began to make its demands a little while ago, going by your reactions."

"I … yeah …" Harry took a deep breath and felt the tugging, the longing, the need for closeness, but it didn't get more insistent, it didn't get painful, because he already had skin against skin contact with Voldemort, he was already in the other man's arms. He couldn't get any closer. "I'm alright. It didn't hurt, I didn't really feel the need either, I think I just pressed closer without completely noticing it. I … have to admit that it's kind of a relief, not having to feel that need burn tonight, nor having the need turn into pain."

"I am grateful for that. It was the plan, after all."

"Yes, yes it was."

They sat silent for a moment before Harry floated the chosen book up in front of them and opened it on the first page.

"When I said that my Archaic Latin was functional at best, I didn't exaggerate. I'm afraid you will have to help me quite a bit with the translation."

"The difference is hardly that great, Harry."

"I beg to differ, I find it difficult to read, even though my regular Latin is quite good."

"Beg all you want, I like it." Voldemort's voice was pure velvet in his ear, hot breath tickling against the shell of his ear and his throat, and Harry shivered and gasped.

"No fair using that voice on me," he whined, pressing himself closer to the man behind him, gripping Voldemort's arms with his own.

Voldemort chuckled, a deep sound in his chest that was even better than the velvet smooth voice. Harry squirmed in the tight grip, almost afraid that he would end up too far away and that the soul shard would react, but Voldemort held him close, held him safe. It was a rare sound out of his husband, and Harry delighted in it.

"Would you like me to read out loud? And then you can tell me if there is something that you do not understand."

Did he want to listen to that voice read to him? What a stupid question.

"Yes, please." Harry snuggled into the arms of his husband, his mate, held tight, held safe, covered with the blanket from Hermione. He knew that his comfort, his wish, to be right here, right now, was from his Naga-self, but he didn't care. It was his wish, his choice, even if it was another part of him, a part with a different way of thinking, feeling and experiencing; it was still him, still Harry. Just Harry.

And he was allowed to enjoy the good things in life when they came along.

A/N:

Thank you so much for the comments, the favs and the follows! They are much appreciated! I love to read what you think about the story and the characters! It makes writing this story even more fun! Each and every comment makes me smile!

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