Everything is J.K. Rowlings. I only claim the plot. Everything else is hers, all the characters and the magic, all of it. Please let me know what you think though, I encourage feedback of all kinds, just be nice about it!
So this chapter took me forever. As I'm sure you all noticed, given the time between updates. The Dementors and handling them were my biggest dilemma, mainly on how to interact with them and how they would operate and think. I haven't read any stories where anyone holds a conversation with a Dementor, let alone a whole group. So I had no possible inspiration to draw from. I'm still uncertain about how I handled them and where I'm having it lead but the longer I stared and debated the longer I would just postpone publishing anything. So, I decided to just upload this and live with what I've written. No more second-guessing.
Also, life has been pretty crazy in the past few months, and this chapter could be considered pretty international. Considering I wrote some of it in Japan, some in the USA, and some in Canada. Well, that's not quite true; there were parts of high chaos and others of boringly mundane. Both played a part in making it very difficult for me to focus on this story and struggle through the writing of this. Previously if I faced a roadblock where I couldn't put words to the screen, I would skip that and move on to something else. The problem is I couldn't just skip the Dementors. I wrote myself into a corner. That's not to say I wasn't writing, though. I believe I started about six or seven other fanfic stories in the interim. Some I believe have potential (about three), which doesn't help much now. However, for those of you who seem flatteringly interested in my writing style, there is hope for more stories when this one is completed. But that doesn't help much for the present, so I hope you enjoy this chapter.
I hope everyone enjoys Thanksgiving next week! I can't guarantee when the next chapter will be up but don't worry. This story has not and will not be abandoned. I've dedicated too much time to forsake it. Your reviews, genuine love, and interest in this story, though, are monumentally helpful, so thank you!
Happiness
Ominous. Depressing. Dark. Harry shivered, pulled his cloak tighter around him, and recast his warming charms. It was like the very presence of Azkaban could cancel out any attempt at warmth. It didn't help that the January chill penetrated every inch of exposed skin it could find, stinging his cheeks and numbing his lips. Shifting his feet on the small patch of frozen ground, Harry looked at the grey sky. It hadn't snowed in a few days, but it had been too cold for the snow to melt. His thestral patronus stood immovable at his side, acting as a specter guard instead of prancing around like Prongs would have done, as he stood staring at the imposing doors that lead into Azkaban Castle.
"Are you certain that I am unable to accompany you?" Marvolo asked. Harry looked over his shoulder and sighed.
There had been an argument over whether Harry met the Dementors on the grounds of Slytherin Manor or in Azkaban. Marvolo had argued that it would be safer for Harry to meet with them on Slytherin grounds because it wouldn't take long to get Harry to medical attention if things went wrong. Harry argued that Azkaban would prevent all of the villages and cities in between from suffering the Dementors traveling through them, and if things went south, Harry could apparate out. Marvolo argued that if things went south, he might not have the energy or ability to apparate. Marvolo was incredibly bitter and paranoid that no one but Death's Child could be present during the meeting.
The compromise ended up being that Marvolo would Apparate him to the island. Marvolo had then scheduled a meeting with his minions during the same time. Harry wondered if he should be concerned for the Death Eaters. "I'm certain. I'll send Reaper if things change, promise."
"Reaper?" he queried.
Harry nodded at his patronus. "Get it? Grim Reaper? My patronus is a thestral, and I'm a Child of Death." Marvolo pursed his lips, and Harry was confident he would have rolled his eyes if he didn't find the action inane. Harry shrugged and forced a chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "I thought it fit." Harry let out a breath and watched the puff of mist dissipate on the next gust of wind. "Anyway, I should get going. You've got your meeting too, remember? I'll see you after. I'll be expecting either hot chocolate or firewhiskey when this is over. Maybe both." Marvolo looked disgusted at the suggestion but didn't protest further when Harry pushed the imposing doors open. The doors were heavy, and he grunted at the effort to open them wide enough to step through.
The doors to Azkaban shut far faster than Harry had expected, and before he even realized it, he was standing alone with Reaper producing the only light. The corridor smelled dank and moldy. He'd sent word ahead via Amelia to the Aurors and guards that he would be arriving today and not be present. Harry didn't know what would happen during this meeting and didn't want any potential collateral damage.
Taking a fortifying breath, Harry started to walk, lighting his wand to accompany Reapers' light. Faintly, he could hear hoarse screams and whimpering moans lingering on the phantom wind that ghosted through the empty corridors; his echoing footsteps drowned them out, and Harry forced himself not to quicken his pace. He took comfort in the presence of his patronus, though. He had gone back and forth on whether he should have his patronus present. None of his ancestors mentioned summoning their patronus when they spoke with Dementors. Still, Harry wasn't sure if they didn't write it down because it was so obvious or because the Patronus Charm hadn't been invented yet and so they couldn't, or because as Children of Death and technically the Lord of Dementors, they were immediately protected like they were with Legilimency. Harry opted for a patronus for the comfort of it and hoped that summoning a patronus to ward off his 'subjects' wasn't some major social faux pas or something.
Calling on his magic, Harry accepted the detachment gratefully. Following the instructions from his guidebooks and his ancestors' journals, he forcibly pushed the icy fire tickling his skin away from him, loosening control of his magic as much as he was able. Mentally, he imagined pinching the thinnest thread of his magic to remain tethered to it while the rest ran wild through the decrepit castle. According to his ancestors, releasing his magic would call the Dementors to him; they would be drawn to the call of the Dark Magic and unable to resist the summons.
Harry hoped that was the case because he did not want to start hunting for them. Harry wasn't sure how to start hunting for them.
Marvolo's words of advice drifted through his mind. It had been just that morning. They had stood in Marvolo's office, the fire crackling merrily, and Harry had felt overly warm. "Remember," Marvolo had said, his red eyes appraising Harry, critiquing anything out of place or unfitting of a Lord, "they are your subjects; they obey your demands, not the other way around. Hear their concerns if they are voiced. If they are not, do not play meek and placid in hopes they accept you. Death accepted you, and so they should too. If they disobey, they must be punished accordingly."
Harry swallowed at the thought of punishing Dementors. Another thought, one growing more and more persistent the further into the castle he walked – he had already passed two larger rooms that looked like they acted as inmate processing stations – was a comment that Ashur Peverell wrote almost offhand in his journal. The Guidebook regarding Dementors had only really discussed how to make commands and summon them, not much else except for a brief mention of an oath of service with no details. Simply that there had been an oath that bound the Dementors to Necromancers, the same with ghosts and thestrals; they were all creations of Death – though the ghosts were more of an allowance than a creation – and thus fell under the Necromancer's jurisdiction. But Ashur Peverell, the first Necromancer, had commented that Dementors had been 'the guards of Darkness designed to numb those in passing by sucking memories.' That didn't exactly match Harry's experiences with them, and he wondered at the difference. Where was the disconnect, and when had it occurred?
A nudge against his magic caught his attention, and trusting his magic, Harry turned a corner and followed the sensation – a nudge morphing into an incessant pull – into a large room that reminded Harry of Marvolo's Gathering Room. He wondered briefly at a time when Azkaban Castle would have hosted the guests necessary for such a room. When had it become a prison? Marvolo or Hermione would undoubtedly know, and he made a mental note to ask later. At present, though, the room was flooded with dark-robed figures hovering off the ground.
Whether due to Reaper or being safely tucked behind his magic's mental shields, Harry didn't feel the same misery and despair he had during his previous encounters. He wasn't immune to the cold, though. The bitter chill of winter and the bone-frosting sensation of the Dementors made the whole situation acutely uncomfortable, but Harry wouldn't cast a warming charm again. He wouldn't show that human weakness in front of these creatures, his subjects.
Reaper stood at his shoulder, flaring a spectral light onto the Dementors and Harry extinguished his Lumos. He tucked his wand into the holster at his forearm; he didn't want to come off as threatening at the onset after all. The only door into the room was at his back, but sadly Harry didn't find it as comforting as he probably should have. Swallowing thickly, he took a few calming breaths, each exhale clinging to the still air, and tilted his chin. He would not cower, and he would not shiver, and he would not appear anything less than the Lord he was. Marvolo and his ancestors agreed that he must speak first; as the Lord, he needed to set the tone for the meeting.
Harry had thought about what kind of tone he wanted to set. It would set a precedent for what kind of Lord he wanted to be. He wondered if it would be different if he had actual humans as his subjects instead of Dementors, thestrals, and ghosts — only one of which he could easily communicate with. It was different with the Wizengamot or Marvolo's Death Eaters; in those situations, he wasn't the only Lord and had no complete and total control over them. Plus, he already knew what expectations and assumptions most people had made and could operate and work off of that knowledge. None of which factored into the present moment. He did not know what the Dementors thought, and his past encounters had almost resulted in his soul getting sucked more than once.
The time for thinking, planning, and strategy had passed, and now Harry had to act. He'd always worked best by reacting in the moment anyway.
"I am the newest Child of Death and, thus, your Lord," Harry said and felt relief that his voice was steady and firm. "I apologize for the delay in meeting with you, but I hope to rectify that with this meeting now. You will be free to state any concerns or issues you face in just a moment. Now, though, I wish to address the matter of the war brewing in the Wizarding World."
"Human matters are of no concern." The voice was raspy and grating but with a strange smoky quality, like someone who gargled sharp rocks daily while taking shots of whiskey. Harry couldn't tell which Dementor – and maybe there had been more than one – had spoken since they all had their hoods up, but Harry doubted he would have been able to tell with the hoods down either. The voice had sounded in his head, much like when he communed with Death.
"Yet you chose a side during the previous war, not even two decades ago."
"Magic matters are magic matters. We are not magic. The suffering and happiness of humans are all Dementors care for. We aligned with a side that provided it."
Harry frowned. Something wasn't right. "That's rather autonomous of you. You should have focused solely on the tasks that Death assigned you upon your creation. Feeding on suffering and happiness without cause goes against your oaths. You shouldn't be feeding on happiness at all. Taking jobs as prison guards also counteracts your oaths." How long had they been rebelling against their orders? Harry had never thought of it before, but their working and living in Azkaban blatantly went against the oaths too.
Chilling laughter sounded in his head, giving the sensation of needle-point fingers scraping across his skull. Harry grit his teeth to stop himself from shaking under the onslaught. "We are our own. We answer to no one. Dementors are one, and one are we."
"You answer to Death and Death's Child; you answer to me. The oaths bind you."
"It has been centuries since oaths were sworn and bound. Bindings fade with time as all things do." This was said in contradicting tones, and Harry wondered if multiple Dementors were talking simultaneously. One voice sounded childishly patronizing, another was scoffingly dismissive, and another was hauntingly amused, but it all echoed in his head. It was worse than when Death spoke because then when Harry could hear the layers of different voices, they didn't all portray different personalities within the same entity.
Harry wasn't sure which tone he preferred; all of them left him feeling off-footed as icy dread filled his stomach. The oaths had worn off? Harry hadn't accounted for this. He hadn't thought it could happen. "Then you must reswear them," Harry said and hated how his voice no longer sounded as strong.
"The oaths offer no profit. We feed and thrive under our governance. You are no longer Lord of Dementors, Child of Death."
Heart racing, Harry swallowed and licked his cold, dry lips. His mind swirled, trying to think of a way to overcome this. He had to get this to work. He'd just told the Wizengamot he was in charge and to go back now with no agreement, and his title and authority gone would cripple him. Not only that, but he had to obey Death's orders, and that included overseeing the Dementors. Bloody hell, he regretted not doing this sooner.
Mind spinning numbly and coming up empty, Harry opened his mouth and allowed pure terror and adrenaline to drive his words and actions. "Well, that's not entirely true, is it?" He said with all of the confidence he didn't feel or believe. "If I truly wasn't your Lord, then I would have no protection, would I? Yet, even surrounded, I am immune to your effects. If you did not still submit to Death, then the call of my magic wouldn't have summoned you."
Bloody hell, Harry hoped that was true. Once this was over, he would thoroughly document his Dementor experience for whoever came after him in the journal Marvolo gifted him. If someone came after him, that is. He looked around the room and tried to look self-assured in his proclamation. No Dementor disagreed immediately, so Harry pushed forward before they could question it. Swallowing back the distaste he already felt brewing in his gut, he took a page from Marvolo's book.
"So if I were to express my displeasure and Death's displeasure over your attempted mutiny during the past few centuries, by say…." Harry trailed off and flared his magic as hard as he could. He'd never consciously done this before; usually, when his magic was free, it just reacted to his emotions and could be painful, at least according to his guard members. Now he needed it to be painful on purpose. Harry didn't want to hurt others maliciously, but he also needed to prove his point and regain his authority in Death's name.
There were no screams, whimpers, or sounds, but the Dementors all wilted and cringed simultaneously. He pushed harder and, this time, heard a rasping gasp in his head, like an amplified final breath. Harry smiled, but it wasn't from enjoyment.
"We are our own. We answer not to Death." This was a unified voice, defiant and desperate.
"Now we all know that is a lie," Harry replied chidingly and flared his magic again.
The Dementors flinched again; the rasping cry felt like nails on a chalkboard. Watching the whole mass of them move as one coordinated body was strange. He knew that Dementors could move and act separately — he'd witnessed this in all of his previous encounters — and they all spoke individually if the various voice expressions in his head were anything to go by. Still, at the same time, they acted as a single unit. Selective hive mind? Harry decided to look into it later.
"You are Death's Guards, and I am Death's Child. These are not roles we can abandon. Your very being is tied to this necessary foundation of your creation." Harry spoke gently but strove to keep an edge of steel to his voice. He supposed he could sympathize with the Dementors. They had been created countless centuries ago, bound by oaths, and then essentially abandoned. He figured he couldn't blame them for an attempt at freedom, to shed the roles they'd been sworn to. He'd certainly felt that way more than once over the past few years.
"I will grant some leniency," Harry continued graciously, clasping his hands behind his back and striding further into the room. He fortified himself behind the protection of his magic and the distance it provided him. He couldn't allow guilt or shame or anxiety to infiltrate his actions. The Dementors flowed away from him; some pressed into the walls as the others crowded away. Reaper remained in place, the specter light illuminating the room hauntingly, but only Harry cast a shadow. "You operated without leadership for several centuries, and the oaths weakened. However, no matter the strength of the oaths, you knew your purpose, and your task, and you knew what Death wished. You willfully disobeyed." Harry pressed harder with his magic, not enough for cries of pain but enough for the Dementors to cringe and writhe under it. His skin prickled at his show of force, and he grimaced at the sour taste at the back of his throat. "Answer me why. What was worth invoking the potential wrath of disobedience?"
Harry let up on his punishing force in hopes of receiving an answer.
"You are not the original," the voices said. The collective mournful wailing that echoed in his head sent his hair to stand on end. Harry fisted his hands and clenched his teeth to avoid gripping his head in agony. He knew his stride faltered, though. "You were not at the beginning. We were unfairly punished. We were created for despair. We were to numb the Claimed and drain the sadness. Death got happiness; Dementors got misery."
"Death abandoned us," voices shrieked above the wailing.
"Dementors deserve the happiness," others echoed with heated vitriol. "Humans aren't worthy of it."
"No," Harry denied, raising his voice to be heard over the echoing rage pounding in his head, whipping his magic out for further emphasis. "You manipulated your purpose. It is not your place to question Death's order."
The Dementors fell silent, and Harry relented on the pressure of his magic only slightly. He hated this. He hated understanding why the Dementors disobeyed, hated that he probably would have done the same thing if he had been left with only sadness and despair for centuries. He understood the bitterness and the disdain.
Harry took another breath. "You will reswear your oaths. Death never abandoned you. You abandoned Death, blinded by your jealousy. You claim you wanted human happiness, but you just stole their greed." Harry spoke coldly. His magic was suffocatingly painful. It burned his skin to use his magic with such intentional cruelty, but he knew it was necessary. The mutiny was unforgivable, and disloyalty deserved punishment. "However, I am not disabused by your plight. We will negotiate new terms, but one thing will remain unchanged: you will no longer suck the happiness out of humans. In that oath, you will also agree to stay out of human affairs. No longer will you join sides of war unless ordered to by a Child of Death."
The Dementors stared at Harry. At least, he assumed they were staring since he still couldn't see faces, and he didn't think Dementors had eyes. But he felt the weight of their scrutinizing attention. "Negotiations?" The word was hesitant and confused. It didn't hold the same echoes as before, so Harry determined a single Dementor, or a single few, had spoken in unified uncertainty.
"Yes." Harry relaxed into his decision. He doubted Marvolo would agree with negotiations, and Death would have to accept the decision if they disagreed, but Harry thought this would work best. He didn't want to have to continuously punish the Dementors for the rest of his life until they finally agreed to reswear the oaths, and he didn't want to beg. He was more comfortable with negotiations, and they still gave him the upper hand. He couldn't allow complete autonomy and couldn't agree to such a blatant disregard for what Death originally created them for. Still, he hoped that by allowing the Dementors some input, they wouldn't be as quick to abandon the oaths if they started to fade again. "You've had a taste of autonomy, so what do you wish to remain?"
The silence of the room was broken only by Harry's own breath. He debated continuing to walk around the room because it did help in preventing the freezing cold from numbing his limbs, but it might appear too restless. So, deciding to suffer the cold for the appearance of control – Marvolo would be proud at least – Harry drew his wand and conjured a chair a few feet in front of Reaper and the door. It was a simple, solid black chair with engraved golden accents that, in better lighting, would resemble the throne that Marvolo always conjured. Still, in Reaper's ghostly light, it looked more ominous and dominating. Harry sat in the chair and wished he had cast cushioning charms. He refused to fidget in the stiff-backed chair and gripped the armrest to keep his shivers under control. It was unbearably cold, and Harry didn't think the chill would leave him for a long time.
"Why negotiate Child of Death? You proved your power."
"I did," Harry agreed amicably. He had let up on the painful pressure of his magic and tried to focus his magic now to wrap around him like a cloak or blanket to keep the chill off. It wasn't working well, but Harry still tried. "However, I have no intention of being a cruel Lord, and I will pass on eventually. You will not. You will remain with this oath for the rest of time. I'm offering the chance to make it bearable. Now, what do you wish to have?"
"Happiness." The word was a whispered plea, an echoed breath that swept through the room and penetrated his mind.
Harry swallowed. He wouldn't waver in his decision to negotiate, but the simplicity of just forcing them to his will seemed tempting in the face of the seemingly impossible request.
"You negotiated with Dementors?" Marvolo repeated, staring at Harry like he was a curiously out-of-place piece of an equation.
Harry nodded from his chair, huddled under a blanket and in front of the roaring fire, clutching his mug of firewhiskey-flavored hot chocolate. Now that he had reigned his magic back in, his emotions were flaring wildly over the outcome of the meeting. His guilt ate at him over his reckless audacity. Harry grimaced and took another drink from his mug. The chocolate and cinnamon comforted him, but it wasn't quite enough to extinguish the ice from his veins and bones. Harry doubted that feeling would fade any time soon.
"What were the terms?" Marvolo finally asked; his own mug of hot chocolate sat untouched on the coffee table, and his red eyes were unblinkingly alert in their penetrating stare.
Harry closed his eyes and used one hand to pull the blanket tighter around him. Raaja lay stretched out in front of the fire, nestled against Nagini. His snake had whined about Harry leaving but had then claimed that Harry's skin was too cold to enjoy and so had followed Nagini's practice of just curling up directly in front of the fire.
"Dementors will remain out of human affairs unless ordered by Death or the Child of Death," Harry began, reciting the oath that was now burning into his memory. He'd write it all down in his journal later, along with a lengthy apology to the future Necromancers. "Dementors will not steal happiness or souls from humans unless ordered by Death or the Child of Death. The Child of Death, in exchange, will gift Dementors with their freely given happiness once a year. When the Child of Death orders and directs the Dementors to engage in human affairs, Dementors will have the opportunity to gain happiness from the enemies that the Child of Death specifically identifies. The Dementors and the Child of Death will adhere to these demands forevermore under Death eternally."
Harry felt a little dizzy over laying out the terms. Up to this point, he'd been obeying Death and following in the footsteps that his ancestors had laid out, but this was a groundbreaking change. This was altering future Necromancers' duties and tasks. He would be committing his future descendants to a day every year in which they would sacrifice their happiness to further protect the world from the misery and depression Dementors brought in pursuit of stealing the emotion that the Dementors coveted and craved. In the course of being a fair Lord, he was sentencing his future descendants to a day of misery, all to protect the world's population. Personally, Harry didn't think it was a horrible sacrifice, but he hated taking the choice from his descendants. Especially since future generations would never suffer the misery a Dementor inflicted because the Dementors would no longer torment the population. So they would be sacrificing to prevent an unknown horror.
A sudden realization jolted Harry, and his face heated at the thought. "What is wrong?" Marvolo asked urgently, leaning closer. "Do you feel pain? Is the oath exacting punishment already?"
Harry swallowed. "No, er, I just realized that with this oath, I either need to have children to pass on the Necromancer role, or I just sentenced myself to immortality to satisfy the oath. If Death's Child doesn't gift their happiness once a year, then the Dementors are free to break the oath completely and wreak havoc on the populace in retaliation." Harry drained the rest of his hot chocolate and poured himself a mug of straight firewhiskey.
Marvolo didn't speak as Harry drained his embarrassment and guilt in large gulps of burning whiskey. He hoped Death wouldn't punish him over this benevolent Lord's decision that was already biting him in the ass, and it hadn't even been a full day.
"You were foolish," Marvolo snapped out, standing abruptly. Harry winced and watched him pace furiously. "You agreed to a deliberate weakness. Agreed to a weakness with your subjects. Worse, you dictated your own weakness. The Dementors are your subjects. You should have demanded and forced them to agree."
That was the worst part, Harry thought sullenly. They hadn't been his subjects. The Dementors truly had been free of Deaths' orders. He could sense the connection he now had with the Dementors, so light and faint, the ghost of a knot in the back of his mind that he knew tied him to them. It hadn't appeared until after the oaths were resworn. So he had been gambling with no cards. Only the strength of his magic and Death's protection saved him and allowed him to regain their submission. Now that he could feel the Dementor's connection to him, he could sense two other knots and knew immediately that it was his connection to the thestrals and ghosts; it was just so faint that he hadn't noticed. He wondered why the Dementors had managed to gain freedom but not the others.
"I'm not going to force anybody," Harry argued hotly. "I'm not you. I don't get off on power like that. I am their Lord, and I wanted cooperation, not fear."
Marvolo snarled and glared. "You could have offered a stranger's happiness then. Not your own. For the protection of strangers, a stranger is sacrificed. It would have been more prudent."
"I'm not sacrificing strangers. I'm not sacrificing anyone but myself. It's my life and my happiness, and I offer it freely," Harry said, pushing to his feet as well. The warmth of the firewhiskey fueled his irritation, and he swayed under the onslaught of emotions and alcohol. He hadn't used the de-alcoholization spell tonight because he'd wanted the full warming effects. He hadn't expected an argument, but maybe he should have. Marvolo never did well with Harry's idiotic nobility.
"The Dementors don't deserve your happiness. I do—" Marvolo cut himself off so abruptly that the silence felt unbalanced after the yelling. Harry's heart missed a beat. Did Marvolo mean… "I do not agree with this decision," Marvolo continued swiftly. Harry bit back his disheartened sigh. Marvolo's voice was tightly controlled, lacking the previous heat, but his anger was still evident. He faced away from Harry so that all Harry could see was the stiffness of his shoulders. "It was idiotic, foolish, and highly problematic. Per our agreement, I am tasked with your protection. I cannot protect you when you rashly throw away your safety for strangers, Harry."
Harry sighed, his anger ebbing, replaced with an increased sense of guilt. "I'm sorry, Marvolo. I didn't intend for the oath to add any stressors on your part. You're right. I didn't fully think things through, but it's done now, and I can't change it. The Dementors are back under control, they will obey me and no one else, and now the world is safer." Marvolo turned back to face him, and Harry reclaimed his seat in the chair, rewrapping the blanket around his shoulders. He avoided looking at Marvolo as he stared into his mug of whiskey.
"When do you gift your happiness to the Dementors?" Marvolo sneered, his tone bitter and cold.
"Master?" Nagini hissed sleepily, raising her head from the carpet, flicking her tongue at Marvolo.
"It's nothing, Nagini; go back to sleep," Marvolo hissed softly. Nagini hissed and did as asked. Raaja hadn't even stirred.
"Mid-February," Harry said quietly. The atmosphere was stilted now and tense. Marvolo wasn't shouting now, but his displeasure and disappointment were still very clear, and Harry hated that he'd caused it. "I didn't set a specific day because I need to talk to Death first, and that won't be until the seventh, and I need to actually research how to gift my happiness." Once he figured it out, he'd need to write down a guidebook on how to do it for his descendants. Harry frowned. Maybe he should write two guidebooks, one on how to gift happiness and another on the list of things a new Necromancer needed to do first and in what order. "I also need to coordinate with Amelia over using the Dementors as Azkaban guards and how they won't be as effective now that they don't suck out happiness on a whim," Harry added distractedly and took another drink from his mug.
Marvolo reclaimed his seat, but he still looked agitated. Harry wished he knew how to soothe Marvolo's agitation, especially since he was the one who put it there. The guilt ate at him; he went to take another swig of the firewhiskey, but his mug was empty. The firewhiskey wasn't as strong as the kind Tiberius had used to introduce him, but Harry could feel the effects after a full mug and a filtered mug full. The tingling in his fingers and the fuzziness in his head, despite that, though, he could still feel the chilling effects of prolonged Dementor exposure.
"A letter, Master Death Master, sir." Tobi popped into the library beside Harry's chair, preventing Harry from attempting to make amends or, more likely, make things worse.
Sighing, Harry took the letter. "Thank you, Tobi." Marvolo watched Harry open the letter but remained silent, still tense and angry. Harry groaned and sank deeper into his chair. He wondered if the night could get any worse. "We've got another problem," Harry said and handed Marvolo the letter. "It would seem that while the Ministry still wants me to facilitate peace with the Dark Creatures, there appear to be doubts about my motives, so they want a Ministry representative to tag along. A representative is already chosen," Harry said as he ran a hand through his hair.
"Amos Diggory," Marvolo said quietly, reading the letter. "A staunch Dumbledore supporter and member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
"Also, the father of the son you had Wormtail so callously murder in the graveyard," Harry added. "Remember the spare?" Harry questioned viciously. Marvolo didn't appear concerned by Harry's bitter viciousness, though. Instead, he stared into the fire, most likely thinking over the newest snag in their plans. Harry clutched at his empty mug morosely.
Regretfully, Harry hadn't given much thought to Cedric since he allied with Marvolo. The guilt of Cedric's death had eaten at him for the majority of Fifth Year, but his grief and guilt over Sirius had superseded it the following year. Since his Inheritance, his main concern had been his parent's and godfather's approval, and once he'd gotten it, he'd allowed himself to lose the weight on his conscience. Instead, he'd focused on other matters and allowed the thought of Cedric to slide. A combination of matters had allowed him to do so, but Harry could admit to himself that the main reason was pure cowardice. He hadn't known how to handle Cedric's death in relation to the new direction his life was facing, so he avoided it to the point of desensitization.
After the graveyard, Amos Diggory said he didn't blame Harry for Cedric's death. Harry wondered if that was still true. Amos hadn't approached Harry during any of the Wizengamot sessions, and, admittedly, Harry hadn't approached Amos either. He hadn't known how to broach that discussion and so avoided it altogether. Now he couldn't put it off any longer.
"A rather clever move of Dumbledore," Marvolo said musingly, and Harry dragged his thoughts to the present. "Diggory's presence will not only provide Dumbledore with an immediate account of the event, but it will also hinder any additional allegiances being made. It's also entirely logical to send a representative to such a meeting." Marvolo tapped his fingers against the armrests, his eyes glued to the flames, but Harry knew he was genuinely lost in his mind entertaining endless possibilities and outcomes. "There are two methods in which we handle this matter," Marvolo said, turning his face from the fire to Harry.
At least he looked better, Harry thought miserably. Trust a new obstacle to ease his agitation, a new problem for the genius mind to solve, a worthy distraction. Harry was glad that Marvolo no longer seemed angry and enjoyed the apparent excitement that Marvolo showed regarding the response methods. Still, Harry couldn't help but wish that he had been the one to incite the excitement. He wished it was him that Marvolo was distracted by, not Dumbledore's newest manipulations. Harry swallowed down the wave of melancholy that threatened to drown him and gave his head a small shake. Alcohol was not helping his current mood.
"The first method is to hold two meetings. One with yourself and Diggory and another hosted by you and me. I'm disinclined to this option merely due to the constraints it would put on our intended allies. It is difficult enough to schedule a meeting with the leaders of different races, let alone manage it twice. It can also appear redundant and make the wizarding populace look unfettered and weak, needing to circumvent each other so blatantly. It also cripples my authority by not being present during the initial meeting. Your position would also be suspect, as you would attend both."
Harry finally put his empty mug on the table and rubbed at his temple. "So what's the second option then?"
"All three of us go together. Myself, you, and Diggory."
"No, really, what's the second option?" Marvolo merely stared at him. "Marvolo, you just went off about how I behaved foolishly today, but that suggestion surely tops my oath bit."
Marvolo tsked. "It's logical. This way, we still provide a united front as wizards. You and I can guide the conversation the way we wish right under Diggory and Dumbledore's noses. It will take a great deal of cunning and some subtle manipulation. Diggory obviously won't know my identity."
"No," Harry denied immediately, glaring at the gleam in Marvolo's eyes. "I will not let you potentially jeopardize everything on top of making a mockery of Diggory and the crime you committed against his son just because you're bored."
"It's not due to boredom. It is the best option to achieve all of our goals."
Harry scoffed. "Fine, explain how this benefits us without getting all giddy at the thought of manipulating all parties involved."
"You wouldn't be manipulated."
"Make your points, Marvolo," Harry said, feeling incredibly tired; his head still felt too fuzzy.
"I've already explained the most basic points. It's redundant to be so repetitive."
"Marvolo," Harry groaned, "is this conversation supposed to be payback for the oath because if so, consider it effective and get to the point."
"Retaliation would hardly be equal with such inane methods, but be sure little lion, it will come." Harry swallowed at the almost purring quality of Marvolo's voice. It was a threat, but Harry felt the very opposite of threatened. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself and hoped his face wasn't burning. "However, I shall be more direct regarding this conversation. It is more effective for me to accompany you on a single excursion to meet with the vampires, Veelas, and werewolves alongside Diggory. Again, it is a more efficient use of timing for all parties. And again, it is best to at least appear as a unified front when confronting potential allies and current enemies. All the leaders have corresponded with me for months; it is foolish not to be present. It is a risk, yes, but the rewards outweigh it. Diggory will not recognize me, and if Dumbledore sees me in a pensive or through Legilimency, it is his word against yours and Diggory's. It will make him seem even more senile."
"What if he demands an oath from me? Or what if he demands you to appear? You didn't want to go out in public for this very reason. Once or twice he seems foolish, but if he gets a following, people will look deeper, and then everything is in jeopardy."
Marvolo tilted his head slightly in the concession of the point. "This is true. However, it will take time to gain that following. Time in which he will be discredited. Your twins and Severus are working on the Veritaserum alternate, and their deadline approaches. This risk will expedite the potion's necessity, but expediting the plan only benefits us."
"Why the sudden desire to rush things?"
"It is not a rush. It is inevitable. Dumbledore will fall, and his time approaches quickly. Severus has updated me on the curse infecting Dumbledore's hand. It will overcome the preventative measures by summer's end. Dumbledore will die regardless of our influence. His reputation must be annihilated soon, and you must Claim him before he dies naturally. My presence is a risk but not a great one. When people learn the truth, I will already control the populace, so their upset will be irrelevant."
Harry snorted. An upset populace was irrelevant? Harry doubted it would be so easy, but at the same time, he could understand Marvolo's view. With Dumbledore ruined and dead, even if people were upset over certain revelations, they wouldn't be able to do much but protest, and that could be shut down through various means.
"Diggory will prove the best witness to the meeting. Such a staunch Light follower, no one would question if both he and you left the meeting satisfied with the outcome. And he will be satisfied. How could he not? We shall barter for the independence of the three races. Suggest that round table idea of yours. Each creature provides a representative concerning dictating new legislation. I will wish to continue it after I take over; laying the groundwork now is beneficial. It is a sound plan that even the Light will support."
Maybe he was drunk because Marvolo's plan did hold some sense. It was a significant risk, and Harry still thought the main appeal to Marvolo was getting to flex his Slytherin skills on a new audience, but it might just work.
"So, do we meet with Diggory before this?" Harry asked. "The meeting is in three days."
Marvolo didn't grin or smile, but his smug smirk revealed his feelings of victory. "Why would we provide an enemy with equal footing? It is best to keep him as off-footed as possible throughout the meeting. If he argues the suggestions, it merely shines a better light on us. And when you discuss it later, you can allude to how the Light might not be welcoming as they proclaim and still be truthful. I know how important honesty is to you in these matters."
Harry staunchly ignored the fondness fluttering in his chest and drawled, "Yes, integrity, how awful of me."
"It might be your most egregious quality," Marvolo agreed, sounding put upon. Harry laughed. "I shall notify the other parties of the additional member and inform them not to refer to my alternate title," Marvolo continued after Harry's laughter faded. "You will write to Diggory the day before the meeting; provide him as little time to prepare as possible."
"You're too excited for this." Harry sighed. "But you have to swear that you won't terrorize Diggory. You had his son killed a little over a year ago. You will not make a mockery of him. If anything, you should apologize. Cedric didn't need to die."
"I will not apologize to anyone." Harry decided against pointing out the times that Marvolo had apologized to him. "Least of all to some mediocre sheep of Dumbledores. The boy's loss is unfortunate, but it will not be something I lament over."
Harry closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Focusing on the sleeping serpents coiled in front of the fireplace to help him keep his temper. "It was unfortunate and unnecessary. Can you at least apologize for that?"
"The whole point of this duplicity is so that Diggory does not learn my true identity. Why would I – a seemingly complete stranger – apologize for something that occurred over a year ago?"
"It's something that people do," Harry replied through gritted teeth. "The man suffered an awful and terrible loss; people offer condolences for that all the time."
Marvolo sniffed. "A needless waste of time and breath, especially considering the insincerity."
Harry pulled at his hair in frustration. "Nevermind," Harry finally said in defeat, looking mournfully at his empty mug.
The whiskey buzz was starting to fade, and he missed the warmth of the chocolate and cinnamon combination. Marvolo stared at him for a long moment before quietly casting a heating charm on his mug and levitating it towards Harry's side of the table. Harry stared at the offering for a few moments before picking it up and taking a sip. He glanced at Marvolo, who avoided his gaze by staring intently at the flames of the fire with a small frown.
"I've told you before, Harry. Don't attempt to change me. You'll only face disappointment."
Harry took a moment to admire the firelight casting a warmer glow on Marvolo's normally porcelain face, taking another sip of Marvolo's offered mug. They certainly were an odd pairing, he mused. Marvolo, with his lack of compassion and disregard for morality, and Harry, who suffered the opposite to an almost extreme degree.
"I don't want to change you," Harry admitted softly. Marvolo glanced at Harry with a strangely vulnerable wariness that Harry didn't want to think about. So he stared into the flames, watched Nagini and Raaja soak in the warmth of the fire, and tried to relax against the turmoil of the day.