Chapter 99 – Prophecy and Poetry
There's some referrals to the first scene of chapter 85(no Place like Home) at the start of this chapter, so if you get confused at any point, I do recommend re-reading that bit since I'm not repeating in-depth what was discussed back then 😊
Enjoy!
At the old fool's apology, fingers that had been wrapped around his clenched with an aching force. An unblinking stare was pointed straight ahead as Harry deliberately forced their gazes to remain apart. For better or worse, the Dark Lord did not need to look in his partner's eyes to know what he'd find. The door between their minds was unhinged, blown wide open. He imagined lingering on the threshold of this gateway, staring into a whirling of chaos and panic.
For once, he disliked being right.
Whenever they'd spoken about the Prophecy, it had been Harry who'd adamantly claimed that nothing it said would change the way they viewed each other. His partner had stubbornly rebuked the idea that new perspectives could change one's predetermined beliefs, to the point of scoffing at the fear that fate's foretelling would impact them at all. Practically ridiculed the voiced worry that Voldemort's deep-seated desire to prioritise his own life would take the overhand.
Yet now… one single line had his partner rattled, all the trust they'd built up balancing on a precipice of doubt, waiting to topple and plunge into terror. It was understandable human nature… which still irked him. For whereas he'd been right in predicting that the confident claims were no more than a smokescreen to fool Harry himself, Voldemort had also been wrong. For just like speaking of Muggles no longer sent a searing trail of hatred through his chest, the statement that 'neither can live while the other survives' brought forth no uncontrollable panic or need to defend himself.
It left space for more productive feelings. Above all, curiosity.
Admittedly, he had a lifeline that Harry did not possess in the least: a more than exceptional memory. A conversation drifted to mind with the same fleetingness as the dream they'd shared just shy of two months ago. Another urge had come forward, then, to speak of living and surviving in a manner of epiphany. Words that had burned in his mind since rescuing his partner from the bowels of the Ministry's most secret department, without knowing the exact cause for feeling so compelled to put them into the open.
To think that of all the hundred thousand prophecies that had shattered at once, he'd indeed picked up on a sliver of theirs. Magic was truly generous to her children, and there was not a single doubt in Voldemort's mind that she'd chosen not only him, but Harry as well.
''Speak it in full.''
Voldemort gathered the remnants of his previously shredded patience and stitched them back together to voice the demand in faith of Dumbledore cooperating, instead of turning another torture curse on the old man. Allowing aggression to rise to the surface now, no matter to which recipient, would only confirm Harry's unfounded apprehension.
''Voldemort-'' the teen spoke with no more than a hesitant whisper. ''You told me once that regardless of everything… if the Prophecy turned out to be so clear-cut...''
''Which you insistently denied more than once,'' he curtly replied, keeping a tight leash on his own voice. ''Besides, a critical part is known now. There's no use in hiding further when shards of words dig into our security. Nothing is as important as context. I have attempted to make this clear to you when introducing you to poetry.''
''Poetry?'' Harry sputtered, bright eyes at last darting up to meet his. ''We're talking about Prophecies here!''
''I fail to see the difference. Both are carefully exact wordings to thrust meaning onto the world. Once, I made the grave mistake of acting upon a few lines without awareness of said context, and while I'm grateful for where that path took me, much grief could have been prevented had I not. It appears foolish to make rash decisions a second time. Thus, if we can no longer ignore it, I'd rather be well-informed. Dumbledore, lay it all out.'' He was mindful not to let any irritation show and realised at the same time that doing so was easier than expected. Once again, the details they'd discussed in their dream surfaced, of emotions giving life. Had surrendering to the struggle for control unwittingly improved the ability to take hold of himself?
Dumbledore cleared his throat as he gazed upon Harry with concern. ''For once, I must agree with him. I thought it a weapon before… However, after today, I believe there may be wisdom found in listening to the Prophecy together, as the two people most directly affected.''
How cunningly worded, Voldemort inwardly scoffed. The old fool still did not openly admit to being at fault, and yet attempted to twist the situation into an opportunity to learn more. To remain an important part of discussions that would shape the future. Should he put an end to this? Remove Dumbledore's eyes and ears before sending him off?
A tempting thought that was pushed into the background at a silent shifting in the mental link to his partner. Harry's initial response had finally been soothed by reason. Perhaps it helped that no deadly curses had been thrown so far. ''Evan,'' he muttered after a short deliberation, bending down slightly to press a kiss to the scar hidden behind a black fringe. ''Is it not better like this than if either of us were to stumble across the Prophecy on our own?'' He could only imagine his love mulling it over in the Gryffindor dorms, unable to discuss it with anyone, fretting turning into existential dread without an outlet. Harry did have a tendency to let self-destruction take the overhand.
The other swallowed, tension giving way ever so slightly. ''Yeah… fine. Sorry, I overreacted there. It feels as if your fears wormed into my head when you didn't seem to react at all.'' The painful stings to his fingers stopped as Harry withdrew, an arm being put more firmly around Voldemort's waist instead. The clear sign of pushing fear away in favour of closeness was endearing enough to forgive Harry for any ill-mannered misgivings.
As silence descended and Voldemort raised a thin eyebrow at the former Headmaster, Dumbledore inhaled deeply to speak: ''The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.''
''That is all?'' Voldemort sharply asked.
Four lines were enough to define their destiny?
The tiny silver bells that adorned the cord tying Dumbledore's beard together tinkled as he lightly shook his head. ''Almost. It ends with a summary of sorts: the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.''
Well, each poem needed a strong finishing line, in this case reiterating the point why the prophecy had been made in the first place: for the people who heard it to identify the coming of a powerful hero – or a threat. After weighing that last addition against the previous wording, the Dark Lord found no new information or layered meaning in the changing of the arrangement that would be relevant in deciphering the Prophecy. Far more interesting were the deucedly phrased fragments so open to interpretation. Of course, uncovering hidden meaning and intent was what drew him to this artform in the first place.
Voldemort was relieved to find it took merely a quiet minute of analysing the words to discover a favourable outcome. However, like the time he'd shown Harry pieces alluding to Muggle advancement, there was always new insight to be gained, and his partner had a penchant for putting unique spins on all they discussed. Once again, the Dark Lord considered the value of taking Dumbledore out of the picture before delving into this privately, but they'd come this far now… The old man had kept the Prophecy close to his heart for sixteen years. There might be value in hearing the theories he'd spun as well at the end, if only to confirm them to be the ramblings of an ailed mind.
Decision made and determined to solve this, Voldemort guided his still slightly apprehensive partner back to the drawing room for a spot of comfort, Dumbledore forced to accompany them due to the metal shackles connected to Harry's wrist. ''Evan, show me I've taught you some critical thinking. Which components strike you as most crucial in dissecting these lines?'' he asked. Harry clearly wasn't ready to let go quite yet, pulling Voldemort with him when sinking down onto the velvet sofa, although still carefully cradling the phoenix fledgling to his chest with his free hand.
Chains rattling, the old fool attempted to follow their lead and rest his ancient bones on one of the available chairs next to them, which Voldemort swiftly put an end to by changing the surface of the upholstery into painful spikes. Ironically a spell once taught to him by none other than the old transfiguration professor himself. Not sending the man away did not equal having to provide relief to the one who'd endangered them.
''Well?'' he asked again, relatively certain he'd given enough time to think it over thrice.
Infuriatingly, it was Dumbledore who answered before the one he'd invited to share their thoughts had the chance to: ''Is this your way of being belittling, Tom?'' the former Headmaster disapprovingly questioned. ''Surely, you have formed your own opinion without-''
''His name,'' Harry abruptly bit, a tremor working its way up his throat – this close to a snarl – ''Is Voldemort. You'd do well to remember that. Whichever amount of hatred you harbour, you can at least show a minimum of courtesy.''
It truly was no longer of any consequence what someone with one foot in the grave and the other in a cell called him. He was about to say so when recognising the gesture as thoughtful, and revelled in the shocked expression the outburst evoked instead. Having Harry angry on his behalf was quite the sight… and Voldemort was a man who preferred to fan flames rather than douse them.
Remarkable that his Evan of all people would hammer on about politeness. Narcissa had really done a number on her new ward.
''Your tongue is becoming rather troublesome,'' Voldemort stated, not even bothering to pull his wand for something as simple as a silencing spell. Doing so earlier might have prevented some headaches, but of course Harry had wished to hear Dumbledore's reactions… He debated briefly whether to deafen the man as well, then decided against it as witnessing some intelligent conversation for once might be a good learning opportunity. ''Until your commentary is asked for, you'll not be heard. Now, before we were so rudely interrupted…?'' he asked, wishing to finally hear what Harry would make of it.
The teen took a few deep breaths. ''Are we really doing this… like this?''
''Like what?''
''You're going to treat a prophecy that deeply affected our lives, one you did not wish to hear, like a particularly interesting chapter in one of your books now? You wish to dissect it in a calm discussion?'' He sounded baffled more than upset.
''Do you suggest a better alternative? Should I rather leave you behind in a fit of rage and pick one of my preferred coping mechanisms that you've long deemed unhealthy? I could, of course.''
Regardless of having figured that the message behind the full Prophecy might be harmless by now, Dumbledore had caused quite some damage that left him wanting for blood.
Harry's eyes narrowed, gaze turning sterner and more aged than Voldemort had seen before. Then, thoughtfully answered: ''The central points of the prophecy seem to be this power to vanquish you, as well as the power you know not seem. Because of the repetition, it may refer to the same thing both times.''
Pleased that Harry went along with his suggestion, Voldemort inquisitively asked: ''How so?'' as his own conclusion had predictably been reached with wholly different assumptions.
''Well, the whole Prophecy screams 'Harry, you're a Horcrux' to me. It all comes together when looking at it that way: my holding a piece of your soul marks me as equal, prevents you from dying as long as I live and gives me the power to kill at least a piece of you if I would be willing to sacrifice myself… which seems to be what Dumbledore had in mind. His insistence of me needing to be the last one to go with you having to be the one who kills me is likely linked to you becoming mortal again the moment I die by your hand.''
''A valid attempt.''
''But wrong,'' Harry recognised with the tiniest huff. ''Must you be frustrating today of all days?''
He didn't deem the latter question to be worth responding to. It was important for Harry to do this brainstorming on his own. If Voldemort were to explain his view and declare it the absolute truth, there would be a chance of doubt rearing its head again later. ''I'd say your view might be clouded. Your own understanding is dominated by how Dumbledore believed we should act upon the Prophecy. How he thought it would play out, as explained to Severus. You are focusing on some parts while ignoring their connection to the whole. Context, dear,'' he chided. ''Short though it may already be, if all the Prophecy kept referring to was the soul I unintentionally left with you, it would likely be no more than a single sentence. No part of it is without purpose. Such is the nature of prophecies.''
''In that case,'' Harry answered, shifting to lean more heavily into Voldemort's arms. ''There'd be no sense in mentioning I have the power to vanquish you if it also clearly states that either of us must die at the hand of the other. That basically says the same thing.'' Although disagreeing entirely with that flawed assumption, Voldemort was glad Harry was taking this challenge seriously, so he dipped his chin, spurring the other to continue with: ''If literally every word has purpose, there should also be more to the line that 'either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives'. There's a causation in there… somewhere.''
''I believe the Prophecy may refer to three powers of yours,'' Voldemort revealed, deciding that his partner had given it enough thought now to not unquestioningly agree when speaking of his own theories. ''Knowing the full wording, it struck me as odd that the power to vanquish me is mentioned twice in referral to your birth and parents. Also odd is that while in the latter sentences, death is plainly mentioned, these lines speak of vanquishing instead. We could be looking at a chronological tale here, with this part lying in the past.''
His partner blinked owlishly. ''Because you were reduced to a spirit when you came to kill me?''
''It was certainly a damaging blow. Enemies are not always conquered by killing them: I effectively lost the war that night, as well as more than a decade of precious time. In all senses of the word, you did vanquish me with a power I had not foreseen: the voluntary sacrifice of your mother, who'd have not needed to die if she'd have stood aside, as I offered.'' Harry winced minimally, though dug deeper into his embrace instead of pulling away. It was one of those strange emotional responses Voldemort might never fully understand, even if it suited his needs now. After checking to ensure Harry wasn't mentally pulling away either, he carried on: ''It granted you a rare power in form of a deflective shield to be wielded specifically against me - even years afterwards, I could not touch you, and it delayed the development of my soul. An unprecedented ability. That same night, I marked you as my equal by leaving a curse scar, which brings us to the next segment of time, the next power:''
''The Horcrux,'' Harry stated, at the same time that Voldemort declared: ''Love.''
He'd expected some scoffing at this, but the teen fell into silent contemplation.
''A power you know not…'' Harry finally stated. ''Not a power you know not of.''
Thrilled by his partner starting to pick up details faster, Voldemort sat up straighter. ''Yes,'' he insisted with fervour. ''A power unfamiliar to me, not one I simply do not know you hold.''
''I'd say it doesn't necessarily refer to love, then, but a broader spectrum of natural, complex emotions.''
Voldemort considered this and corrected his own theory. ''A valid addition.''
''In either case, this too already came about,'' the teen determined, brow knitted. ''You overcame that hurdle, so the Prophecy would only be accurate still if it had spoken of a power you knew not. And on a different note, we jumped a line too fast: I think you're wrong about the marking of equals referring to my scar.''
''Oh?'' he greedily asked, hungering to expand his vision. This was exactly what he'd wanted, was it not? Debating back and forth, nit-picking on details, Harry stepping over his own shadow to see more, to become more. Each time they got caught up in such debates brought forth the sparks that had originally fascinated him so about Harry, long before realising what he truly wanted. ''Do tell.''
He restrained himself from diving in when Harry absentmindedly wetted his lips before expounding: ''My scar was created by accident as a side-result of what truly mattered. Going by what you've taught me over the years… I know that magic is all about intent. Even accidental magic is triggered by buried desires. You decidedly did not scar me to proclaim me your equal. You didn't even want to turn me into a Horcrux, you wanted me dead. There couldn't have been a more profound lack of intent in your actions. I do see it as a symbol now… of our bonds and our history, but I can't imagine this is what the Prophecy referred to when clearly stating you'd mark me as your equal. Instead… it might not refer to a physical mark at all,'' Harry mused, closing his eyes in concentration. ''Words can leave marks of their own, being the easiest vehicle for stating a purpose.'' In Harry's voice, Voldemort heard an echo of his own, words spoken in the quiet of stolen dreams spent tutoring magical theory. When emerald eyes opened again, they shone with glimmering victory.
Frantically, the Dark Lord muttered under his breath: ''Magic is intent given form by use of physical invocations such as spells and gestures. You aren't less than I… You are the only exception to the taboo…. You command your generation as I do the ones that came before… I declared you my equal over the past few months, multiple times. Towards you, towards my followers, towards fragments of my own soul.'' He did not hold back this time when a very kissable smile graced Harry's face in response, carefully cupping the other's unshaven chin to firmly seal their lips together. He took care, however, not to press himself too flush to his love, to not crush the tiny phoenix Harry was cradling. He owed it both the power in his wand as well as Harry's life, after all.
''Judging by Astoria's frantic worrying, it seems unheard of for a spouse of a Lord to rule equally,'' his partner grinned against his mouth. ''Breaking Pure-blood etiquette again wherever you tread.''
''A few porcelain toes are collateral I can afford,'' he murmured back, pleased as he drew back.
A content hum sang through the room, their shared power manifesting. As different as their magic was, it complemented each other perfectly to form a harmony of which the sum was greater than its parts.
''So, the first three lines have already been fulfilled…'' Harry spoke, strands of hair tickling as he rested his head on Voldemort's collarbone again. Then, a sudden, startling spike of disgruntlement disrupted the peace. ''If it truly predicted you'd openly declare me your match, did we play into the hands of a set fate all along? I wished to forge my own. That was my intention when agreeing to shatter the Hall of Prophecies''
''I've made my opinion on that matter clear.''
Harry chuckled cynically. ''Right, Magic is infallible as long as it benefits you and can screw itself when the outcome is not in your favour?''
''Don't be crude, darling, that sounded almost blasphemous.'' The Dark Lord curled his lips in distaste.
''It's the basic gist of it, though,'' the other shrugged, a teasing edge to his tone that Voldemort decided to disregard. This topic was too important to jest about.
''Yet the outcome is in our favour, as I have faith it will remain if I do not neglect my duties, there's thus little point in discussing this,'' he subtly warned.
Harry raised his head for a second only to shoot him a look. ''Is it in our favour? The fourth line is troubling me most,'' he continued, steering the conversation back towards their ongoing evaluation of the Prophecy.
As this was the part Voldemort was most certain of, he decided not to prolong easing those troubles. The return of gnawing worry was unpleasant, to say the least. ''I assume you are concerned about the point made that either one of us must die at the hand of the other? I do suppose it could be understood that one of us must inevitably die. However, either will die at the hand of the other would have captured the essence of that interpretation far better. Must has another meaning that opens up new possibilities: it is a grammatical construct that limits eventualities.''
''You mean to say we can only die at each other's hand?'' Harry doubtfully asked, then quickly shook his head in denial. ''I was almost killed today,'' he fervently asserted, ''by Basilisk venom. Even if technically, I did it to myself by grabbing a venomous sword and couldn't have been harmed by an outsider, it wouldn't count as dying by the hand of the other.''
Harry's counter only made sense when thinking of literal death. ''You are overlooking the causality you pointed out, the sentence hasn't ended yet,'' he hinted, drawing a miserable groan out of his love.
''We're counting this as a date. Next time, we'll do something I find fun.''
''Is that so? Here I heard whispers of a trip you're in the midst of organising for the both of us already.''
Harry gave him an indignant look. ''How? How could you possibly know about that? The only time I mentioned it to anyone, we had a silencing barrier up!''
He laughed lowly, showing teeth as his hands found Harry's cheeks again, drawn towards warm skin like a Niffler to gold. ''I have my methods… Also, your friends should be taught not to speculate so loud amongst each other when I'm home. Don't fret, there were no specifics mentioned, only Granger going on about acquiring brochures. It did pique my curiosity.''
Harry appeared to be mentally tossing and turning about something, and Voldemort was pleasantly surprised when he continued their analysis without further grumbling. ''There's got to be some important distinction between living and surviving, it could have used the same word twice otherwise. Oh-'' he suddenly exclaimed, tilting his head as he stared off into space despite looking straight at Voldemort. ''We've talked about this before, haven't we? That you- That you didn't wish to merely survive. To have found life at last.'' His gaze focused again, hushed over Voldemort's face as he asked with a hint of accusation: ''How fast did you realise this?''
The Dark Lord didn't hide an ounce of smugness. ''About a minute in, one of the reasons I saw no need for aggression. For if the distinction between living and surviving is lyrical rather than literal, so should the connected 'dying' be.''
''We spend eternity together, or it will end in fire and blood,'' Harry muttered, a strange smile creeping on his face. ''By now, losing what we share would feel more like true death than simply ceasing to exist. This Prophecy…'' The teen shook his head in disbelief, facing Dumbledore, who'd been closely watching their entire exchange. What was going on behind that bewildered look? ''You thought it foretold the coming of someone who'd put an end to him… Instead, it spoke of nothing more or less than our bond. Of the events that would shape the future of one of her Lords. Magic is neither good nor evil, professor… putting your hopes in a prediction to support your agenda was always doomed to fail.''
''In a way,'' Voldemort added, ''the Prophecy in its entirety was a tribute to most ancient magic. An act of selfless love, the journey to discovering authentic emotions and finding those in an equal to the point of it shaping life itself. Spoken lines and unsaid implications hidden between them both perfectly frame all that defines us. A coming change, mighty enough to be sang to a Seer for all the consequences that came of it.'' He inhaled slowly, feeling more deeply connected to his patron than ever before.
And then, he at once understood.
''No…'' he corrected. ''It was not merely a tale of a future fate that made its way through the cracks of time. None of this would have happened had I not overheard the Prophecy, even if only partially. It was an intervention.''
He'd been chosen to find balance, yet the incited war had been a failure, gone far out of hand… Voldemort had lost himself, his purpose, the little humanity he'd possessed. The creation of the Prophecy itself had led him to Godric's Hollow, and all that occurred afterwards was an unstoppable avalanche, inevitably building up into a force that swept them all into a new, better direction.
Being vanquished that night had enabled a fresh start. Leaving a part of his soul with Harry granted a clear mind when gaining a body once more, at which point he had seven pieces of soul at last – Magic must have foreseen the destruction of the diary. Lily Potter's protection had kept the soul in his last Horcrux dormant enough for it not to take the overhand and grow with Harry instead of dominating its host from the start… and when using the teen's blood to fully resurrect himself, the circle had been completed, the Dark Lord reborn greater than he could ever have imagined.
Magic had seen his struggles and decided to offer a helping hand in the only way a god knew how to: using convoluted and overwhelming power to forcefully strike him a match that would enable life.
''Voldemort?'' Harry asked, concerned as he started laughing, awed and thankful.
''I will honour you for the rest of eternity,'' he zealously whispered, knowing with utter conviction that he was being heard. ''I won't fail again.'' He was brought back to earth when a firm hand covered his own and he found his partner's serious gaze. ~I merely marvelled at the workings of the benevolent force who brought us to this point,~ he explained with a quiet, hoarse hiss. There was so much more that needed to be said. Voldemort craved to painstakingly explain to his love under what lucky stars they'd been born, though acknowledged he'd have to take a step back and let this discovery sink in first. They had other plans for the evening which took priority, plans which would further their noble aim of bringing balance to their society. Ponderingly, he looked at their captive, then released the silencing spell. ''From what you told Severus, you must have reached quite a different conclusion than we did.''
Despite being able to speak again, the old man took a while to gather a coherent sentence. ''Of course I did,'' he affirmed. ''Had I not, I'd never actively have involved Harry. I took no pleasure in what I believed needed to be done.''
Regardless of how he despised Dumbledore, the Dark Lord acknowledged that only truth resonated in this profession. The self-righteous man would have gone through with it, no question, pushed away any guilt with a misplaced sense of justice, but he was no sadist. Even when Gryffindor's sword had cut Harry's skin, the old man had attempted to help instead of using this twist of fate to get rid of a Horcrux. Only because of that, did Voldemort graciously allow a few more words to pass trembling lips:
''All you have shown me today, however, is no more than the understanding that people will forever search an explanation favourable to them. I wished for a miracle to counter you and thought the Prophecy to refer to just that. Instead, the both of you see a telling of the circumstances that brought you to this moment in time, a confirmation of your combined strength. Which of those versions is closer to the truth… who can truly tell?'' Dumbledore sighed deeply. ''Which of course makes my own actions sound foolish indeed, for I put my faith in a Prophecy that I only wished to decipher the way it suited me...''
''In that case,'' Harry interjected, ''The best method of dealing with the Prophecy seems to be not making decisions based upon our understanding of it.'' He pondered for a few seconds, then added: ''Besides, regarding the explanation of the Prophecy we pieced together… isn't it fulfilled already? My vanquishing of you, the realisation of your emotions, the way we became inseparable… it's all come to pass already.''
''Partially,'' Voldemort corrected. ''Mostof it certainly has, yet the second to last line that declares a condition about the state of living and dying – literal or not - has only been set in motion. It still applies and will remain valid as long as we both wander this earth together. The goal of the Prophecy is not definite fulfilment, however.''
''Meaning?''
''That there is indeed no need to act. Either must die at the hand of the other is merely a statement of a fact that will remain true regardless of whether this death is experienced or not. So yes, when settling on our explanation - a perfectly satisfactory one in my opinion – we should do naught but accept the Prophecy's existence.''
A weight was lifted as an agreement settled between them, one not requiring being voiced out loud when their understanding of each other reached deeper than basic senses. Harry softly kissed the corner of his mouth to show approval.
''Let's leave then, we've an appointment to keep,'' Voldemort reminded.
He frowned when his partner stood and unwrapped the chains from his wrists, handing the loose ends to Voldemort. The phoenix woke at the sound and started crying out pitifully, perhaps aware that it would be parted from its master soon. Would Dumbledore feel the same pain he had when Nagini had been captured? One could only hope.
~I won't be accompanying you,~ Harry announced a bit sheepishly. ~Today forced me to admit how little I know. I was far too easily manipulated: first, dropping my guard due to overconfidence led to being mentally attacked and after, my wish to find closure drawing this conversation out gave Dumbledore too many opportunities to endanger us. The sword, the Prophecy… It could easily have ended worse than it did, so if Grindelwald is half as bad as Dumbledore, I won't wish to give him any easy opportunities to attack me. With how quickly you subdued the Professor the moment you stepped in to come to my aid, I'm confident that you won't have any trouble dealing with the pair of them.~
The sudden change of plans was displeasing. He'd wanted to boast, show the men they would hold absolute control over a taunting reflection of how their life could have been had they only followed the true path of magic. Nevertheless, it was telling that his brash Gryffindor was self-reflective enough to make this decision. ~Very well, being aware of one's own limitations is sensible,~ he conceded. ~Cage the bird and contact Barty instead, I'll leave you the mirror while dealing with our… little problem. It is time to focus on more worthwhile efforts than assuaging Albus Dumbledore.~
By the time the old fool finally caught on, he said: ''Harry… do you not wish to verify where he brings me to? That I'm not slaughtered behind your back?''
Voldemort aggressively hissed back: ''There's this little thing you may not be overly familiar with it called trust.'' Drawing his wand, the Dark Lord started weaving a starry, transparent bubble around his enemy that would make transportation less risky. He wasn't familiar enough with all of Dumbledore's skills and wouldn't put it past the man to have the ability to break off a side-apparition midway. Or to apparate himself wandlessly to safety after.
~Did you get your closure, dear?~ he tensely asked.
~In a way, I suppose. He almost admitted to having been wrong to put all his cards in the prophecy and seemed to have been genuinely hoping for the slightest chance I might have survived the ordeal of being sacrificed. For now, that'll have to be enough… having him realise he was also wrong to fight you again in the first place is too much to expect for now. Let's see if some time with Grindelwald will change that perspective.~
Harry truly put too much trust in Dumbledore's capabilities for logical thought. Done wasting time, his left hand was placed on the created sphere as his wand trailed upwards till it rested on the hidden dark mark. At last, he could do this his way. ~Morsmordre~
The house was gone in a flash, only blackness remaining as they soared through the narrow of space for a few, pressing seconds. Even the glittering cage he dragged along was invisible, though Voldemort could feel its dusty warmth beneath his palm. When his vision cleared again, he let go as if burned – any contact with his old nemesis was more than unwelcome.
''Nurmengard…?'' Dumbledore breathlessly asked, taking in the sight of the spacious entrance hall hewn of rough stone that wouldn't have been amiss in a dwarven tale. ''You brought me to Nurmengard? But how- how could you possibly cross the wards? Apparition shouldn't be possible here.''
''The first trip wasn't as pleasant,'' the Dark Lord admitted, cocking his head as he stared at his caged prisoner. ''I burned myself up, sacrificed my physical form to become one with the most hostile wards in order to pass through. Once inside, it was easy to establish a more convenient method of transportation.'' Pale fingers found the etching of an intertwined serpent and skull on the nearest pillar. ''Other than Grindelwald's mark, mine is actually useful.''
''He won't be pleased with my capture,'' the other warned, at which Voldemort couldn't help but chuckle.
''Your misjudging of people's characters is astounding. How did you live this long? Come.'' He left Dumbledore no choice as he started climbing the stairs, the shimmering bubble suspended in mid-air following behind as if pulled along by invisible ropes. His first idea had been to bind the old man with tongues of flames to drag out delicious screams, but alas, Grindelwald would be far less cooperative if his lover actually got hurt.
Then again… they were a while away from that isolated tower still.
Voldemort stopped in his tracks on top of the stairs and turned around, watching the helpless, floating form with satisfaction. At last, he held all power, power which sparked as the bone-white wand was rolled between his fingers. ''I've been holding back all day,'' he announced with a tremor of excitement. ''Your persistent involvement in our lives as of late required me to put far more time in planning than taking action.''
The other caught on remarkably fast. ''So much for trust?''
It sounded infuriatingly accusing, which Voldemort brushed off with a scoff. ''I have agreed only to keep you alive. Harry is well-aware not to expect more than exactly what I promise. Besides… I doubt he'd stop me even if he were here.'' His partner had gone as far as to commit a murder for him, after all. There was very little Harry would actively put an end to when it didn't concern those he cared for. Dumbledore had ensured he no longer belonged to that exclusive group of people.
''Silencio,'' he muttered, the spell shooting straight through transparent walls. It was similar to the shields Harry had received: impervious to all attacks but those coming from his own hand. It was followed up immediately with a slicing spell to the legs, a burning hex to withered palms and another Cruciatus that caused Dumbledore's entire body to spasm into unnatural directions.
The old man had nowhere to crawl away to, no possibility to shield himself as skin was ripped off and bones laid bare.
No, Voldemort had not sought validation like his darling had so sorely needed. All he had truly craved was the chance to carve into Dumbledore, to inflict as much damage and pain as the old man had when rejecting him over and over again.
He exhaled shakily when the rage ebbed away as fast as it had come, staring at his work of splintered bones and dripping blood. It resembled the scene of a violent homicide, only the lively fire in icy blue eyes that refused to dim not fitting the picture.
He relished in the sight for another full minute before starting to undo his efforts: mending all tears and damaged organs. How wondrous was magic, the Dark Lord absentmindedly thought, to enable one in touch with it to regrow a human body within seconds? With another wave, he took the pain away, stopped the tremors wracking his enemies' new body.
''Cathartic indeed,'' he muttered in satisfaction.
''I almost believed you were truly capable of love,'' Dumbledore rasped in a way Voldemort interpreted as spiteful, renewed vocal cords no longer affected by the silencing spell he'd cast on the old ones. ''Yet you are as horrible as you always were. Without empathy, without morals.''
With a jerking of his wand, the Dark Lord commanded the cage to start following again as they continued their trek through the empty fortress. ''If there is someone on this earth who does not love him I will break them till they do,'' he breathed, knowing it was unnecessary to specify who was meant. ''Your thinking is black-and-white once again, Dumbledore. I can assure you I found love, for all its beauty, complexity and terrifyingness. Why should that mean being unable to take pleasure in mutilating you? Morals are not a fixed norm every person on earth agrees on. That is the tricky part,'' he painstakingly explained. ''They're easily twisted by different viewpoints. You were plotting to have me murder my fiancé, attempted to manipulate and hurt him. How many would disagree with a bit of vengeance for that?''
''Feeble excuses. Hurting me was for you, not for him.''
Voldemort hummed noncommittedly. Was there much of a difference anymore? ''Are you this sanctimonious towards Grindelwald as well? Or can you live with his excuses out of desperation to find love in his soul?'' Voldemort inquired, perfectly calm on the surface. ''Do the people he murdered count for less than my own victims?''
The question had been formed like a jagged arrow and did its job well, turning out to be more effective than any silencing charm. Not a hint of a sigh left Dumbledore's lips until they'd passed the door to Grindelwald's tower – a series of doors, each difficult to pass in distinctly different ways, none of which possible to overcome without full access to magic.
''Hello, Gellert. I'm a bit early this time.''
''A second visit, it must be my lucky year,'' Grindelwald replied without looking up from the book he'd been reading: the Tales of Beedle the Bard, an odd choice. Voldemort would have thought nothing of it, had Dumbledore not tensed up the moment his gaze lowered to the cover.
''A visit you may have orchestrated?'' the former Headmaster tersely asked. ''You seem hardly surprised at our appearance.''
Mismatched eyes finally lifted from the pages. ''Now why would I do that?''
No wonder these two had kept dancing around each other for as long as they had, both just as manipulative and not shying away from blatantly using it on each other.
''I'd rather you continue this in private,'' the Dark Lord declared. ''There'll be plenty of time to do so. Grindelwald, now you have seen him safe and sound …'' He waited patiently and was rewarded with a gesture to proceed, which he gladly did. ''Obscuro, Exurda, Confundus.'' Once his prisoner was blindfolded, deafened and thoroughly confused, Voldemort tapped a specific stone in the wall with his wand, reminded of the entrance to Diagon when the robust wall twisted and turned to reveal a new door. ''A drop of blood will work just as well,'' he told Grindelwald, who gave a solemn nod and returned to his book as if he cared not for the arrival of his lover. A blatant lie: when concentrating, Voldemort could feel how fleeting magic was spiking all over the place in anticipation. ''My mercy ends if you let him escape, even if only to your own cell,'' he warned. ''Rest assured you'll not face him again in your lifetime if so.''
''I understood that the first time we struck a deal.''
''See to it that you do not become forgetful.''
Dumbledore's new room was much barer than the other cell, holding only basic necessities. It would serve to make him more dependent on Grindelwald, and in turn make Grindelwald likelier to keep his word. Giving the self-proclaimed Lord all control in this situation fit Voldemort's purposes just fine. He'd only visit every now and then for a fresh harvest. Putting a jailor in place who was only too keen to keep Dumbledore under his thumb would ensure that having a constant eye on Nurmengard was redundant, leaving energy and time to focus elsewhere.
Voldemort lifted the spells only after cutting off a chunk of silvery hair. A shame he could not simply shave it all and be done with it, as Polyjuice needed relatively fresh hair as an ingredient.
''Any last words of wisdom?'' he mockingly asked as he pocketed the hair, towering over the huddling form of his enemy.
He refrained from taking a step back when Dumbledore raised his head to look him straight in the eye. A challenge?
''If you are truly sincere about this… about Harry... Become more like him without making him more like you.''
From an outside perspective, that might already have happened. Voldemort knew better, however, knew he'd only awakened already slumbering potential and enabled Harry to be truer to his own character without giving up any of the boundaries the Dark Lord saw no point in having. And so, the last words uttered to Albus Dumbledore before making his way back home was:
''One cannot tame a force of nature.''
XxX
There hadn't been any other choice but to go along with the plan Professor Dumbledore had pulled out of his hat last-minute, as none of them had a better one to offer. Time was running thin, desperation growing as weeks passed by. Still, none of this had been a good idea to begin with. The lack of security, Dumbledore's noble gesture of heading in all alone not to hurt the rest of them, putting his faith in a House-Elf to get her boys and Hermione out of there…
It was thus no surprise when no more than fifteen minutes of agonised waiting later, they swooped in. Cloaked in black, only the stark white of skull masks visible through the pouring rain, they appeared like spectres. The entire Order had been trained for moments like these of course - they did far more than squabbling in the cellar of Grimmauld Place – and Molly was no exception, countering the first hexes shot at their group with powerful shields. She took care to use ones that were see-through, to not alert the sleeping town to their presence, as agreed upon. The Death Eaters, shockingly, played by the same rules, but it made their attacks harder to see, harder to dodge. A sizzling trail of boiling water was avoided just in time, a scream behind Molly telling it had hit someone else instead, making her wince. She couldn't afford to look back in worry.
And then, just as she stepped forward to shield her husband, Sirius and Dedalus, facing the three masked people who blocked their path, before she could even raise her wand once more to go on the offensive, it was suddenly…
over.
''What-'' she gasped in surprise as something violently hit her back, causing her to stumble forward.
''Sorry Molly. Really,'' a familiar rough voice apologised.
''Sirius…?'' she muttered before falling, falling towards the slippery cobblestones. Two red flashes crossed above her head before she hit the pavement – or would have, had a cushioning spell not broken her fall.
An immobilising spell. Sirius Black had fired an immobilising spell at her. A stunner would have been much preferable, allowing for blissful slumber that would not have left room for the confusion and betrayal she felt as the man she'd considered an ally - a friend - stepped over her outstretched arm. She wished to turn her head, see what had become of Arthur and Dedalus.
''They're protected, aren't they?'' Sirius asked, sounding tense. From this angle, Molly could see he was still clenching his wand as he approached the hooded figures. ''They're safe?''
''Those two,'' the one in the middle spoke, although it was difficult to determine whom he referred to. ''Maybe. As long as Weasley-''
''He will,'' Sirius interrupted. ''And come on Crouch, Diggle is no threat either. Not really.''
''Our Lord agrees, but I cannot say that it ensures his safety. It's not like we can let him run off. Amycus, tie Diggle up and bring him away, he's to be questioned later. As for the Weasleys…'' The oddest feel of being lifted up by invisible hands overcame Molly, her uncontrollable body rising and turning slowly until being lowered in a sitting position against the wall, head turned just far enough to meet Arthur's equally worried eyes. A pang of relief was sent through her despite the prickly situation they were in.
The Death Eater – Crouch, presumably Barty Crouch Junior, the horrible man who'd tortured Alice and Frank and who'd endangered Harry last schoolyear - didn't finish his sentence. She couldn't see him anymore now her head lolled to the wrong side, but she attempted to calm the growing panic at being captured to carefully listen.
''Barty?'' she heard a strange, metallic voice say.
''Yes, my Lord,'' the Death Eater respectfully answered, blood freezing in Molly's veins. Panic wiped the last remnants of fatigue from her mind.''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.''
Bill? They'd caught Bill as well? If the freezing spell wouldn't affect the entire body, Molly was sure she couldn't have kept bile from rising in her throat. She should never have allowed any of her children to join the Order of the Phoenix, to expose them to such brutal dangers. Her eldest had reassured her so often, told her 'It'll be fine, ma. Curse-breaking in Egypt wasn't a kid's broom ride either, ma' and it had lulled her into the false sense of security that Bill was a rock protecting his younger siblings from harm. Now the Death Eaters were on his tail – and did 'interrupted' mean he was captured? Got away? Was dead? - she realised how foolish that had been. She and Arthur were meant to defend all of their children, fight these battle for them, not alongside them.
You-Know-Who asked something, but the distorted voice and the downpour growing ever heavier prevented her from hearing what. She turned her full attention again to Crouch's answer. ''Three, including our sleeper. Our allies are all unharmed as we had the edge of surprise.''
Allies that gave the edge of surprise… like Sirius. And perhaps Remus as well? They'd arrived together after all, turned up late from god-knew-where. She didn't truly want to believe it, yet one had to be realistic about these kinds of things. Pettigrew had betrayed them as well, whereas not a soul in the Order would have suspected the kind, cheery and loyal friend... Sirius had taken the brunt of that betrayal back then, erasing any suspicion among their group that he of all people could be turned to the other side now, but Azkaban changed people. From what she'd gathered from quiet confessions and overheard snippets, Sirius had come out of that place with one purpose in mind: to commit the murder of which he'd been convicted. It should have been telling enough. And with Pettigrew no longer in You-Know-Who's service, who knew what Sirius was capable of?
Maybe she shouldn't be that harsh on him, Molly considered with a hint of shame. Sirius had done everything possible to get closer to his godson. When dear Harry had disappeared, Sirius had too… perhaps he'd not even stop at selling out the Order to get his godson back. Perhaps she would have done the same if the opportunity to exchange Ron and Harry for information had been presented to her. From his earlier words, Molly understood that Sirius was no cold-hearted killer, wishing to instantly be reassured of their safety.
Crouch didn't reply to You-Know-Who's last words, of which she only heard bits and pieces due to the pelting of rain and starting rumbling of thunder nearby. ''…head in… Nagini… upstairs… Weasley… expectations, so you… reward we've...''
One of the masked men came into view, lifting her and Arthur up once more so they floated on eye-height. ''You should be damned proud of your son,'' he spoke, and she recognised the gruff voice as Crouch's. His two 'colleagues' had disappeared. ''You raised one good kid.''
Thoroughly confused, Molly gasped for air when the immobilising spell broke, the feeling in her legs returning as feet hit the ground. Not that it allowed her a chance to flee, for her wand had been taken and conjured ropes instantly bound her hands tightly behind her back. This man was no stranger to taking prisoners. ''Where are my sons?'' she demanded to know, shooting a concerned look at Arthur, who'd started coughing painfully. Had he been hit with a malevolent spell before being frozen?
''They're fine, Molly,'' Sirius attempted to reassure her when Crouch didn't answer, instead jerking Arthur and her towards the direction of You-Know-Who's threatening manor. ''Nothing will happen to Ron and Bill.''
Arthur coughed again, then rasped: ''Sirius… in our current situation, please understand that nothing you say can be a comfort.''
A flash of hurt crossed the man's weathered face. ''I understand, Arthur…'' he said with a hint of remorse. ''I'll save it for- Ron! Ron, this way!'' he suddenly yelled, manically waving his arms and running away from them. Molly strained her neck to see, trying to calculate the risks of heading after him. It turned out she didn't have to, for her youngest son indeed came jogging straight towards them from the end of the street, the flaming mop of hair unmistakable – and much longer than she usually allowed him to grow it.
''Mum… dad…'' he breathlessly said when skidding to a halt, going straight past Sirius to envelop her in his arms. If only she could hug him back as tightly as she wanted to. Ron looked cross when drawig back abruptly. ''Hey, who bound their hands? I thought they'd be let off the hook?'' he exclaimed, red splotches appearing on his cheeks.
Crouch raised his hands in a manner very atypical for a threatening Death Eater. ''Your mother dodged Amycus' attacks like a damned ninja, kid, and I didn't even recognise the spell your dad was weaving. I didn't want to end up a puddle of goo before you arrived.''
''Well, I'm here now!'' Ron huffed, then looked around wildly. ''Didn't Bill come along too?''
''Dumbledore sent him ahead to uncover the wards. We caught him in time, of course, but I thought it better to keep them separated for now. Hey, is Harry alright?''
Ron shrugged. ''Assume so. He hadn't revealed himself by the time I left but You-Know-Who is with him so…'' he made a face. ''Wow, another sentence I never thought I'd say,'' he muttered. Molly could make heads nor tails of it, so directed her demands to Crouch instead.
''You heard my son, release us!''
He had the audacity to chuckle. Crouch took off the skull mask and wiped his forehead with the edge of a drenched sleeve, which probably didn't do much to dry it. ''Black, take them to the nest, I still have to ensure the last few members of Dumbledore's Order are accounted for. Alecto informed me that Hagrid managed avoid being stunned, and McGonagall apparently gave one impressive fight. She was gone already when I rennervated Amycus. I assume the both of them will stick to Dumbledore's original plan and head for the house soon.''
''And Vance?'' Sirius hesitantly asked.
Crouch shot him a blank look. ''There's nothing more to be said about Emmeline Vance and you know it. Go home, Black. I'll join you when the coast is clear, with Evan finally safe from anyone who'd dare harm him. I'll bring the other Weasley kid along as well then.'' He tilted his head and looked at Molly, finally acknowledging her presence. ''I'll be keeping a hold of your wands for now. Sirius can untie you when you're inside.''
''Inside where?'' Arthur warily asked. ''Ron, what is going on?''
Her boy rubbed the back of his neck and fidgeted the way he always did when caught helping Fred and George's schemes. This would not be pretty. Molly mentally prepared herself to write a set of Howlers if her growing fears ended up being justified. Her husband opened his mouth once again, but he caught the slight shake of her head just in time and fell into a brooding silence he seldomly employed.
An odd trek alongside the edge of the rainy Muggle village later, they stood in front of an old cottage that seemed to be on its last legs. The garden was overgrown with grass and weeds now flattened by the tormenting rain, and to the side of the property stood a run-down well next to a haphazard pile of timber and rusty tools. ''Err,'' Ron said, growing red again when clearing his throat. ''Mum, dad, I'll need you to err…. jump down the well.''
''We need to do what?''' she sharply asked, wondering if this was a joke.
Sirius happily spoke up: ''It's a funny entrance and ensures Slytherins keep out. That lot is way too cowardly to come five feet near something looking like it might break their legs. Or afraid a splinter would damage their robes, in Malfoy's case.''
Gryffindor courage aside, not jumping down collapsing wells was just sensible. Surprisingly, Arthur didn't hesitate, walking up to it and peering in. ''Can't be worse than flushing myself down a toilet to get to work,'' he reasoned. ''Oh boy… Here I go!''
''Arthur!'' But he'd jumped down already, instantly followed by her son. She looked over her shoulder to Sirius, shivering not only from the cold when realising he'd actively cooperated with Death Eaters.
''After you, Molly.''
Lips settling into a grim line, she stalked up to the well and jumped.
XxX
''You took your sweet time!''
Upon arrival through the stationary Portkey connecting their houses, Harry blinked up at his best friend, instantly noticing how full the living room of the Nest was: Ron's parents and Bill occupied the sofas, Sirius and Barty had settled down on the floor, and Remus – wait, Remus was here? - had claimed the only chair that had survived one of Sirius' less brilliant design ideas to dye them all bright orange to match Ron's Cannon Posters on the walls. The man still refused to admit it had been a poor choice of style.
Before he could assess the general mood, Ron rattled on: 'Mate, it really did take much longer than any of us had imagined it would. Are you okay? Oh, and before I forget-'' Ron pulled something out of the pocket of his robes before Harry could say another word, thrusting it towards his friend. ''Here.''
Harry blinked down on the Death Stick being offered to him. He opened and closed his mouth, then swallowed heavily. ''Keep it for now,'' he recommended. They didn't have nearly enough information about how the loyalty of this wand worked, so felt it was better if it wouldn't be handed from one person to another too often before figuring that out. ''As long as you use this wand and are near adult mages, you can bypass the Trace outside of wards as well.''
His friend's face cleared up. ''Hadn't thought of that. Wicked!'' He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, but his parents stayed suspiciously silent. Mrs Weasley, who was normally the first one up in arms about rule-breaking, only quietly stared down at her hands. ''So… so what happened?'' Ron continued. ''Is Dumbledore…''
Before answering, Harry patted him on the shoulder, then walked past to greet everyone, giving Barty and his godfather a hug – a tad awkward due to their positions - and shaking hands with Remus and Bill, the only one of the Weasleys who carefully returned his offered hand. Well, he'd never believed this would go smoothly.
Without knowing what had been discussed before his arrival, Harry would just need to assume he could count on them not to curse him for now. Nonetheless, he decided to join Sirius on the floor and leaned against the man's shoulder for some familiarity. The familiar smell of dusty leather was reassuring. ''Dumbledore has been captured,'' he declared, which caused a variety of responses, of which less than a handful were sighs of relief. ''On a less pleasant note, due to some of the Headmaster's actions, I almost died today.'' He grasped Sirius' hand tightly to keep the man from jumping to his feet. ''He's out of reach Siri,'' he softly spoke. ''He can't hurt me anymore. Besides, I let Voldemort-'' he paused, a tad bewildered when for the first time in weeks, saying his partner's name was met with an actual shriek and a frightened wheeze –''I let him bring Dumbledore away alone. Knowing him, I'm sure he got a little bit of revenge for me.''
''A little bit of revenge,'' Ron snorted, carefully sitting down next to his brother. ''Yeah right. Probably stung him up and pulled his entrails-''
''Ronald Weasley!'' Mrs Weasley suddenly bit, tone shooting up high. ''I will not allow you to speak of such gory actions!''
''Just telling the truth, mum!'' Ron defended himself. ''It's still You-Know-Who we're talking about! That Harry domesticated him doesn't mean-''
''Weasley-'' Barty growled, face clouding over like a storm that rolled in and all limbs tensing up. ''I'm not hearing disrespect for our Lord, am I?''
''Sheesh, I'll shut up, alright? Can't say bloody anything here anymore.'' Ron groaned, slumping back on the sofa with crossed arms.
Harry was torn between amusement at his friend's words and worry about the reactions of the remaining Weasleys so far. ''I do like when he's domestic for a change, but can hardly take credit for that,'' he settled on saying. Carefully, after debating whether to sugar-coat anything or speak the truth and deciding the truth would be more productive in the long run, Harry continued: ''Nor does it hold Voldemort back from committing whatever violence he pleases. I wouldn't want to trade places with Dumbledore for sure, but I can hardly feel sorry for someone who attempted to destroy us.'' Even if the former Professor had regretted the 'necessity' of Harry becoming a sacrifice, he'd not shown an ounce of remorse for hunting down Voldemort in the first place. Dumbledore's ultimate goal had been to kill the man Harry loved above all, an unforgiveable sin.
''Ron, Sirius and Remus explained…'' Bill started, finally speaking up. ''Something about Dumbledore having kept many secrets from us?''
Harry threw a surprised look at Remus. In all honesty, he'd not expected the werewolf to show up tonight, certainly not supporting them. He'd rejected Voldemort's plans before, made perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with dark magic or its Lord. So why this, now?
''It is… a bit more nuanced than that,'' he carefully started, ignoring Sirius' annoyed look. Especially with the Weasleys, he did not wish to pretend there was a clear right and wrong with Dumbledore turning out to be some sort of mastermind puppeteer whose mask had been ripped off. They'd had valid reasons to fight against the idea of a world in which Voldemort ruled and they'd been supported by Dumbledore's kindness and guidance for a long time. Their way of life was on the line, family members and friends had been uselessly slaughtered. Just like Sirius, they were unlikely to fully agree with the Dark Lord's ideal future… and unlike Sirius, they'd not be persuaded only because of the position Harry held.
''Before you explain,'' Arthur interrupted, hands wringing nervously. ''What has happened to the others? I heard Dedalus was captured… what of the rest?''
Most eyes shifted towards Barty, the one responsible for dealing with the Order of the Phoenix. ''Jones and Hagrid were captured as well,'' he said. ''Vance is dead.''
''No… not Emmeline-'' Mrs Weasley moaned, hands flying up to cover her mouth in shock.
''You lot came here to attack us,'' Barty harshly reminded. ''All of you were prepared to face the consequences of that, were you not? A single casualty seems a small price to pay-''
''Barty,'' Harry softly warned. ''Everyone is important. I also broke into the Ministry… does that mean I shouldn't have mourned my friends if one of them had actually died?''
The Death Eater's expression softened. ''Fine… fine. I won't begrudge your reaction, Weasley. As for the rest: it's unclear where McGonagall went, which is most disconcerting. We presume she apparated to safety when it became clear that the battle was lost. She entered our Lord's house together with the Half-Giant, yet the Carrow siblings only managed to capture Hagrid . Not a sign from McGonagall… We'll need to be careful in case she is rounding up the remaining members of the Order as we speak. Not everyone was here today after all, and if anyone can replace Dumbledore, it's her. Snape took the initiative to find her, he should be checking all places she might have gone to. At the slightly confused faces, he clarified: ''Snape was one of ours, obviously. I thought that was clear when your son explained this had all been a trap set up to close around Dumbledore. Here's to hoping McGonagall didn't see Snape do anything incriminating.''
''And Dobby?'' Harry asked, receiving a blank look from Barty. ''The House-elf! Voldemort promised me he'd be okay.''
''Oh, the elf, right. Memory-wiped and sent back to Hogwarts. They've got no business fighting the battles of mages in my opinion. Thankfully, for all their surprising strengths, their memory is incredibly easy to manipulate. So, that should be it.'' Barty faltered, then, looking at Harry with a conflicted expression. ''I'm really glad you're okay. You probably shouldn't mention the whole near-death-experience to your guardians, though.''
''True, Narcissa won't let me out of sight again if she knew,'' Harry agreed with a weak smile. ''I'm sure I'd get a repetition of the time she attempted to convince me that staying with Voldemort was a horrible idea. You know - inappropriate and dangerous and all that,'' he rolled his eyes. Keeping this entire plan from his guardians had been difficult. They knew Harry and Voldemort had been preparing for something, yet Lucius had been specifically ordered not to ask questions. If they would get a whiff of just what lethal danger he'd been in, Harry could forget about seeing the outside world until coming of age for sure.
He looked at Ron, who clearly refused to interact with his parents or brother. Whatever had been said before, Harry doubted they'd reached a harmonious conclusion. Mrs Weasley was too silent, Mr Weasley too brooding, Bill too tense. ''I know none of this is what you expected or wanted,'' he started, nervously clasping his hands together. ''But after meeting Voldemort, I discovered that so much I'd known simply wasn't true. Despite having some good intentions, Dumbledore was ultimately wrong. Even before I knew the Headmaster expected me to give my life for his cause, joining Voldemort was the only logical choice for me. He'll ensure we are protected-''
''From what?'' Mr Weasley tiredly spoke, shaking his head. ''From Muggles? Those wonderful inventive people? Family and friends to so many of us?''
''Harry… you could not know better, having grown up the way you did,'' Mrs Weasley kindly spoke before he could figure out an appropriate response to that. She hesitated, then looked at her son. ''And Ron… I can understand you felt compelled to help your best friend regardless of knowing the dangers of dark magic. But you two…'' she turned critical, angry eyes at Sirius and Remus. ''You two should have known better. You know exactly what times You-Know-Who brought us. The suspicion, the murders, the fear that settled in every nook and cranny of this country. Dumbledore may have had plans we wouldn't have agreed to, had we known. But even the Ministry is better than him.'' Her furious gaze flickered to Barty as the Death Eater drew his wand. ''Proving my point already?'' she snapped. ''Will you torture me into compliance as you did to my friends? Stun me into silence or do away with me if I don't agree with you?''
''We must all do what is necessary,'' Barty muttered, which was the least helpful thing he could have said right now.
''Stop that,'' Harry angrily interjected, grabbing his arm. ''There will always be people who disagree, Mrs Weasley is right in that we can't stamp that into the ground each and every time.''
''They will never use dark spells,'' Barty disagreed. ''What's the point if they won't contribute to the wishes of magic?'' At those words, Harry noticed Ron paled and started to fidget. This wasn't going int he direction any of them had wanted. Ron had been assured that his family would be safe, a vow Harry was determined to keep.
''The point is to strive for change without turning Britain into a bloody battleground again!'' he hissed. ''Merlin, I even got this point through to Voldemort. I think you have some overdue conversations with him. We're few enough as is without murdering left and right. Aren't you the one who regretted the war going out of hand so?''
Barty cast his eyes and wand downwards, the stubborn expression waning somewhat. ''Being in and out of battle so much as of late has taken a bit of a toll,'' he tiredly admitted. ''Too easy to lose one's grip on the reality of a peaceful life. I will… I'll stay out of this conversation until I've spoken to our Lord.'' Harry thought he understood, somewhat. Even before taking up the role of Voldemort's right-hand-man, Barty had mainly been sent on missions that required a forceful hand, hunting down specific enemies abroad or saving abused children from villainous Muggles. It likely became easier to see violence as a ready answer when entrenched in it day in day out. Harry wasn't exempt from this way of thinking either, not when the solution to dealing with his enemies had been to take away their position of power and dump them in a place they could do no harm. Both Umbridge and Dumbledore had their hands bound now… he hadn't simply lectured them and sent them off either.
The difference, however, was that both of those people had held authority. If the Weasleys would be let go without silencing contracts or memory wipes, even if they would run to the Aurors… there was little that could realistically happen. The Ministry hadn't wanted to believe that Voldemort was back when Dumbledore said it, so why would they listen to people with such little backing? They could of course join the remaining members of the Order, but that wasn't different from what they'd done before knowing more.
''Molly,'' Remus calmly spoke. ''Don't confuse my presence here with compliance to him. I'm still sceptical and fighting for my own beliefs above all. The difficulty is that there are few ways to turn. I couldn't keep following a man who was ready to turn a child who'd trusted him into a martyr, nor has my status as a werewolf warmed me up to the Ministry. I thought showing my face could give you all some reassurance. I have openly denied Voldemort my support.'' He ignored Barty's unhappyexpression at the mention of the name. ''Not only do I live, I'm also allowed to visit my friends and have open discussions with some of his followers. How much that means is still unclear, but it does mean something. Whether you agree with his visions or not after listening to them, we aren't dealing with the same man we learned to fear so, not completely.''
Surprisingly, it was Ron who spoke up and gratefully said: ''Thanks, professor.'' Then, he turned to his parents. ''See? This is what I tried to tell you. I was also hesitant at first, especially about dark magic and all, but-''
''Young man,'' Mrs Weasley cut in. ''We'll still have a stern talk about this dark magic business when we get home.'' Huffing, she rose to her feet and walked around the table, standing in front of Harry, who hurried to scramble to his feet as it looked like she expected to speak to him. ''I'm at a bit of a loss,'' she admitted, carefully observing his face as if he would dissolve into thin air any second. ''Ron mentioned that You-Know-Who saved both his life and yours… But Harry- dearie- you could have come to us. Without getting caught up in… in all of this. Our house was always open to you.'' She sounded on the edge of desperation. ''We'd have put our foot down with Dumbledore if we'd only known…''
He had to swallow down a sudden lump in his throat. ''I-'' he started, not knowing where to look. What was he supposed to say? He'd never stopped loving the Weasleys or being grateful for their hospitality. Nevertheless, he'd always felt like a guest who unnecessarily took up space and food he knew they worked too hard for to put on the table. Going to them hadn't even crossed his mind as he hadn't wanted to be a burden. ''I know. I know you even applied to adopt me,'' he admitted, taking a deep breath. ''Finding my way to Voldemort had nothing to do with thinking you didn't want me. Nor did I continue to support him because I thought I had no other choice. He offered me one, in fact. Told me I could leave with the reassurance that he'd not go after me. It just felt wrong. And now…'' he glanced over to Ron. ''Errr, how much did you tell them?''
He saw Ron's mouth move as his friend answered, but in that same moment, a shiver went down Harry's spine. Even through the tiny speck of connection between this bubble and that of his own home through the Portkey put in place, his partner's arrival was visible like a vibrant beacon as their mental connection snapped into place the way it belonged.
~Darling~ Voldemort spoke a blue flash later. The overwhelming contentment and victoriousness the man exuded became his own and Harry hardly realised how he gravitated towards his partner until he'd already grabbed the collar of Voldemort's robes and pulled the man down a few inches to urgently meet his lips.
''What a welcome,'' came the slightly breathless response when Harry returned to his senses and let go in embarrassment. ''Did I do anything in particular to deserve that? If so, remind me to repeat it.''
Coughing awkwardly, he blurted out: ''Alright, I'll remind you the next time you call a phoenix through impossible wards with a Patronus charm to save me from the brink of death again. Maybe also when you throw the next madman who is after my life into prison.''
Behind him, Harry heard Remus quietly whisper: ''Are they really always like this?'' as well as at least three deep sighs in response.
AN: Does it make sense that Polyjuice needs fresh hair? After my research into DNA sampling etc: No, it does not. However, the most canon info we have for 'freshness' needed is that the whole point of Barty keeping Moody imprisoned within Hogwarts itself was so he could keep brewing Polyjuice, and he chopped the hair off in chunks multiple times which resulted in it growing back all uneven.
I hope you guys liked the direction this went in regarding the Prophecy ^^'' I know there were some speculations about a ton of angst or Harry fleeing etc but... I think they've passed enough hurdles regarding trust to properly communicate at last. And as Voldemort said, he is blessed with an excellent memory ;)
Next chapter is the time skip that I actually wanted to put in here. It somehow didn't really feel right at the ending of a chapüter after all. Better as a new beginning :)
Please Read and Review!
xx GeMerope