17. Breaking Point
"Harry?" Voldemort's voice was full off silk, smooth and cool and calm.
Harry shivered, blinked and looked up into the red gaze.
"Are you quite alright?" Voldemort asked, cautiously and still with silk.
Harry blinked at him. He had showed up for both dinner and tea today, hadn't he? His sleep wasn't good but the potions from Draco helped. It was hard to eat, but he tried, and again, the potions helped. He had been outside much of the day, reading on the beach, but he had invited Astoria to a game of Duelling Cards after tea. That had been entertaining. She swore she was going to beat him one day, but that day was far away.
What about this day, this situation, made Voldemort ask if Harry was alright? He wasn't alright, not truly, but he hadn't been for weeks. If he had ever been alright in this marriage.
If he had ever been alright in this war.
If he had ever been alright since the time he first killed a man, at eleven years old.
If he had ever been alright since he got that lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
If he had ever actually been alright at all.
"Why?" Harry asked him.
Voldemort looked down at the table where his arm lay, with Harry's hand locked around his wrist. Harry blinked at the picture for a moment, then finally registered, and drew his hand back as if he had been burned. His chair clattered to the floor when Harry stumbled backwards, swearing, tangling his legs in the chair legs. He let himself fall in a tumble and got to his feet the next moment. His gaze went from Voldemort to Astoria to Draco and back. His mouth opened and closed.
"Harry …" Voldemort began, but Harry was already running out of the room, heart thumping painfully hard in his chest.
For days he had tried to avoid just that. For days. And then it happened as if he simply looked another way, and someone had moved his hand!
He slammed through the doors to his suite, ran through his sitting room and bedroom and out onto the balcony. He should have gone outside. He should have gone out! His breathing was harsh and he leaned over the balustrade, as if to get farther away from the house and its walls, as if to get more air, more freedom.
As if to leave all this behind.
And he couldn't, because it was inside him, whatever it was, it had already happened. And it was getting worse. Maybe it was a part of the spell or the enchantment or whatever it was, the fact that he knew, deep in his bones, that running was impossible. He hadn't truly considered fleeing, not even for a second.
Running away wasn't an option. Neither was fighting.
There were no options for him. None!
He turned around, ran to his bed and buried his head in pillows before he screamed. He screamed and screamed until his newly healed throat burned. He screamed and cried because there was really nothing else he could do. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to fight.
Acceptance was the only alternative, and that hurt, especially because he didn't know what he had to accept. It hurt that he was trapped like this, after years of war and fighting. Hurt that he didn't even understand what was happening. Shouldn't he at the very least be allowed that much; to understand his end?
Hours later Harry sat cross-legged in his bed when someone knocked on the door in his sitting room. He opened the door with a wandless wave and Voldemort soon appeared from the sitting room door. He was dressed in a simple black robe and had either his appearance with hair, or used a glamour to look like that, just as he had at dinner.
"I would like to talk to you, Harry."
Harry pointed at a chair and watched him. He didn't sit down.
"Not here. Could you follow me?"
With a shrug Harry got out of the bed and followed. They went down to the ground floor, but not farther down from there. Apparently, Harry hadn't deserved a visit to the dungeon. Voldemort opened the door to the duelling room and Harry hesitated. He knew he was good, but he wasn't even going to try duelling Voldemort. Not tonight, thank you very much.
"Only to talk. This room has the best wards in the house, and I do not expect this talk to … go over too well."
With a frown Harry followed him into the room and watched as he closed the door, locked it manually and put a silencing spell over it, but other than that he did nothing. It would not be hard to leave.
By the fireplace to the left of the door there were set up two comfortable chairs, and the flames danced merrily and cast long shadows over the floors and made the windows and the mirrors glitter in the darkness.
Voldemort sat down in one chair and Harry sat down in the other. Voldemort stared into the fire with his hands on either armrest.
"First, I owe you an apology. I did not realise that I did owe you one, before the dinner tonight, and that makes it worse, in a way."
"Why do you owe me an apology and why is it worse that you didn't know until tonight?" Harry's voice, normal some hours ago, rasped out of his mouth. His head still ached after all the screaming and crying, but he felt empty now, hollowed out, and that was for the best for a conversation like this.
A conversation that started with the Dark Lord claiming that he owed Harry an apology. Harry should have been blown backwards, but he was exhausted.
"Do you remember the evening you asked if I knew what was happening between you and Nagini?"
Harry nodded.
"I told you that I had my suspicions and that I thought my suspicions were right. I told you that I would tell you more about it when it was necessary."
Harry nodded again. He had almost forgotten the whole discussion in the upheaval after the Ministry visit and everything that happened after. That evening was already three weeks in the past.
"Looking back at what happened the day after and the fallout affecting you, I was wrong to hold back the truth from you, and I do apologise. I did not realise that the situation that has bothered you these past weeks can be linked to the situation we were talking about, with Nagini and my suspicions, or assumptions. I do not know if it would have been better for you to know, but … I imagine … that it cannot have been easy … if my assumptions of what has been happening with you are correct."
"What has been happening to me?" Harry asked dully, not quite ready to believe that Voldemort hadn't known everything from the get-go, but he did want to know what was happening to him, and where that would end.
"Would you tell me the … symptoms? It will be easier to explain if I know more. And I give you my word that I will explain and answer any question that you have, to the best of my ability. I will do so tonight, and continue to answer whatever questions you have about the situation, whenever you ask."
Harry swallowed, then winced when his throat stung again.
Voldemort put his hand in a robe pocket and drew out two potions' vials. He held both out to Harry.
"One is against pain, and one is a Calming Draught, both are from Draco."
"This is not going to be a fun conversation, is it?" Harry rasped.
"No, it is not going to be fun, but I see that it is necessary and has been for some time."
Harry decided to take both potions without considering it too much. This conversation was happening, whether he wanted it to or not. And hadn't he wanted to at least know what was happening to him, only hours ago? He didn't need the extra strain if he could get away from it, so taking the Calming Draught was sensible.
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, watching him. Waiting.
Harry jumped into his explanation without thinking. Again, he wanted to know what was happening, and he didn't have much choice in this situation, so why use time and energy to deliberate over something that ultimately didn't matter?
Voldemort would get his way, in the end.
He watched the flames while speaking. Looking at Voldemort would be too much, but he could feel Voldemort's eyes on him the entire time.
"You have an effect on me that you by rights shouldn't have. I think I noticed your voice first. Maybe already on the day we married. It … sometimes sounds like silk …" Harry swallowed and forced himself to sit still and not fidget. "It's the only way I have tried to describe it … It makes me shiver in a way … it really shouldn't. I believe it was your eyes that caught my attention next, and after the debacle in the Atrium … The first two days or so after the Atrium, I feared that whatever you did to control my magic in the Atrium would continue somehow, but I didn't notice the same kind of … reaction after that day. Not quite like that. But when I looked farther back, I realised that it didn't start that day in the Atrium, either. Whatever this is.
"And after the Atrium … suddenly I sat closer to you without even noticing I did so, at the time. I spoke to you in a way I wouldn't usually have. I try not to be outright rude, but the … warmth … the cordiality … in my voice and my words didn't match what I was thinking and feeling. But I hardly noticed that, until later." Harry swallowed again, glad now that he had taken the Calming Draught. "And then … my hands decided they should touch you, without my leave. Not with your leave either, for that matter, but … they should at least follow my will … They don't. I have fought them the last few days, and tonight … I can't even remember that I moved to grab you. I certainly didn't decide to do so."
The room was silent for a while.
Voldemort, when he spoke, spoke in a calm, quiet voice, with so much silk in it that Harry didn't know if he wanted to shiver or cry. He kept his eyes on the flames and his body and face rigid, half afraid he would start leaning towards that voice, towards Voldemort.
"I could see it in your face. Your own surprise at what you had done. That is what prompted this conversation. I have more Calming Draught for when you need it."
"I just want to know what is happening to me and how bad it will be. And if I will survive … If I will survive, and still be me." The last sentence was no more than a whisper.
"You will survive, and more than just survive. I do not understand what you mean by still being you. I was under the impression that you could shake off the Imperius Curse?"
"This feels like an Imperius Curse that's getting stronger and that I can't shake off. It's taking more and more of my free will from me, and I have to wonder how bad it will become."
"I see. I do, at the moment, not exactly know what you will have to live with. There will be changes in your life, challenging changes, and you will probably go through a period where you will have to learn to accept it all, before you can try to do more than simply survive. But you will live, and you will still be you, Harry. It's nothing remotely like an Imperius Curse."
"Then why does it feel like one and why does it happen at all? What did you do?" Harry still didn't look at Voldemort.
"I will tell you my part now. I think it will be easier to get answers that way."
Harry nodded.
Voldemort was silent for a moment. "That Samhain, or Halloween if you prefer, when I came to Godric's Hollow, I had made five Horcruxes with fragments off my soul. I had shredded my soul to pieces and spread those pieces far and wide, to keep them safe and myself immortal. I made the two first Horcruxes during the summer when I was sixteen years old and, despite my own conviction at the time, that had been a … less than brilliant decision."
Harry blinked at the flames. This was not going where he had thought it would. Horcruxes? What did those have to do with him? And Voldemort admitting that he had acted stupidly? Was he dreaming?
"Since I made those two Horcruxes, I have never been entirely stable, and when I made more of them, it got worse. A lot worse. Until that Samhain, when I was about to stop a prophecy from ever getting its claws into me, or so I thought. My soul was in tatters, and when that Killing Curse rebounded, it ripped another fragment off my ragged soul. That should not have been possible, but still it happened, and when that soul fragment tried to reconnect with the rest of my soul, it could not, as I was gone. The fragment connected itself to the only living soul in the vicinity, and thus giving me my sixth, and completely unforeseen, Horcrux. You."
A pause while only the crackle from the flames could be heard.
"Harry, breathe," Voldemort whispered.
Harry gasped after air, once, twice, feeling tears burning their way down his cheeks. His heart pumped a bit harder, a bit faster, and his stomach churned. He knew he should be screaming, cursing, raging, but that didn't happen. His body refused to react to the spinning going on in his mind.
"That Calming Draught, that was double strength, wasn't it?" He couldn't even make his voice properly accusing, just gravelly, even though the pain killer potion had removed the pain from his aching throat.
"Triple," Voldemort said in a low voice.
"Ah."
"You cannot take a sleeping potion for some hours, but as I assume we have a bit to discuss, that will hardly be a problem."
"No, I don't think that will be a problem." Harry swallowed. He really felt that he should be exploding all over the place, but he just couldn't. The Calming Draught made it possible for him to actually think, and not just feel. "I guess that me being … being …" He stopped, not exploding apparently wasn't the same as being able to talk normally. "You can't … remove it … take it out?"
"No. I have not tested it, as you and Nagini are my only living Horcruxes and I am not willing to try, and risk failure, but to reabsorb my other Horcruxes, I had to destroy the vessels. Doing so to someone living would naturally kill them, and because my soul fragment is tethered to your soul, that soul fragment would be lost the moment you died."
"You are not going to kill me, are you? Because of that?" Harry watched the flames in the fireplace dance.
"I am not going to kill you, no," Voldemort stated.
Harry believed him. He almost wished he didn't, but he did believe him because it made sense. That Harry was Voldemort's Horcrux went a long way to answer quite a few questions, some old and some new. And he believed that Voldemort wouldn't kill him; why would Voldemort kill a part of his own soul?
"You have reabsorbed the other Horcruxes? And Nagini is one too? I guess you wanted to keep me close, so you knew what I was getting into, when I'm your … I'm your … with your …" He stopped, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing for a moment.
Horcrux, he thought viciously at himself. I'm his Horcrux. I have to live with it, so I should be able to say it out loud. I'm Voldemort's Horcrux. The vessel for a piece of his soul.
He didn't try to say it again.
"Why marriage, though? What brought on that idea?" He almost whispered the words, but he was convinced that Voldemort heard him.
"Yes, I have reabsorbed the other Horcruxes. Those that have not been destroyed. I made Nagini to be my sixth Horcrux years ago. Or that was what I believed at the time." He stopped for a moment. "Yes, part of the reason for the marriage offer was to be able to keep an eye on you, and yes, I could have achieved that with other methods, but in the end, marriage was the most logical. You would fight me less this way, I assumed, if you made the choice to wed me, reluctantly though it may be. And part of what I want from you, is for you to not fight me … too much, at least."
Voldemort paused. "I should tell you how I came to the conclusion that I ought to reabsorb my Horcruxes. From there the marriage might seem more logical."
"I'm not sure that marrying your decades old enemy can seem logical, but by all means; go ahead."
"It goes back about a year, to what is now called the Battle of Godric's Hollow, or the Massacre at Godric's Hollow."
Harry groaned inwardly. Why did everything have to come back to Godric's Hollow? The Calming Draught still managed to keep him calm though, so he kept his mouth shut.
"We met there, and fought, briefly."
"I remember." Harry frowned. "It was very brief … and then you … left?"
"I did, yes. Even a year later, even with my mind intact and stable, I have no solid evidence as to how or why it happened, only assumptions, but during our short fight I became … lucid, is the best word for it, for the first time in so many years. During those moments I realised what I was doing. What I had done to the society I, once upon a time, truly wanted to help, protect and improve. It was my first clear thought, my first clear perspective, on the situation in decades.
"The lucidity lasted long enough to make a mark on my mind, and I knew, for the first time, how insane I had become. I also knew that the only possible resolution would be to try and heal my mind, by healing my soul. It took me months, but I succeeded in absorbing my inanimate Horcruxes. I had kept a closer eye on them after I discovered that I not only had lost two, but that you were actively hunting them.
"When that was done, I had more time and capacity to ponder what I had let happen to the Wizarding World and how to end the war and begin rebuilding, before it was too late. And to figure out why that moment, that fight with you, gave me my mind back for a few hours.
"I recalled the mind-link that I had to you and that I had used against you, the mind-link you had managed to shut down years ago by becoming a master at Occlumency. I recalled that you are a Parselmouth despite not having any history of Parselmouths in your lineage, and I recalled the incredible pain the moment before I was banished from my own body, that Samhain. A pain that was not unlike what I felt when making a Horcrux, as if a bit of my soul got ripped out of me. I concluded that it was quite likely that I had made you my Horcrux, even without the necessary ritual. An accidental Horcrux, for lack of a better definition.
"As to why that should be of importance during that fight when it never had been a concern before …? I have come to no definitive conclusion, but after the incident in the Atrium, I believe there is a possibility that I responded to your magic, or more to the point, to the magic of your Patronus. At one point during that fight, you used the Patronus to send a message to your allies, while battling me, and the Patronus found me in its way and consequently went through me. If it was not that brief connection to you and your magic, and thus my soul shard, that gave me lucidity, then I do not know. I know that your Patronus never has gone through me before, while we often have exchanged curses."
Harry nodded slowly, he remembered he had sent that Patronus, to warn Hermione and some of the others with him that he had seen reinforcement for the Dark arrive. Not long after, Voldemort managed to knock him down and disappear.
And after that … Best not think about what had happened after that.
"As for the idea of the marriage … When I have Nagini in close proximity to me, at least for some hours every day, I stay sharper than when she does not do so. Even though that seldom happens now, as she much prefers to spend at least some time each day with me, and always has. The difference for her is that she now never goes out to hunt for a day or three at a time, as she sometimes did.
"None of us realised this change in her, me and our connection until some weeks after I had reabsorbed the last of my inanimate Horcruxes, and thus again was in the possession of the largest piece of my soul. Keeping Nagini close strengthened my soul and my mind, enough that I noticed. We even experimented to some extent. While I did not suffer much away from her for a day, her general wellbeing and health declined somewhat. Not enough to really worry, but enough to be detected.
"As neither Nagini nor I noticed anything different until some weeks after I reabsorbed my last Horcrux, I believed it safe to assume that the soul fragment in you would not make itself known before a month into the marriage, three weeks at the earliest. I assumed we had to spend quite a bit of time together for the fragment to notice me, and the bigger piece of the soul it belongs to.
"I trusted my assumption enough to disregard your obvious distress these past weeks. I did not consider that it could have anything to do with the soul shard that you carry. Why I did not consider it, I do no longer comprehend. After all, one single Patronus was enough to begin all this. The magic I gathered from you in the Atrium was more than that, so much more. Why should that not have had consequences?
"Summa summarum; I knew you held a piece of my soul and if I could keep you close, that would very likely be beneficial to me. What would then be easiest for me? Hunt you down and capture you and keep you someplace safe and then spend time with you every day, while you were utterly miserable and wanted to share that feeling in every way you possibly could? Or offer a peace treaty sealed by marriage between us, have you willingly come to me and most likely be prepared to spend some time with me every day, so long as the experience was not a terrible trial for you?"
Voldemort stopped speaking, and they sat in silence for a while, while Harry tried his best to breathe and think.
"That last part … makes sense … Unfortunately." Harry didn't worry about Voldemort's words of putting him somewhere safe. After all, that was pretty much what he had expected the whole time. Knowing the whole story, or at least a lot more, he wasn't surprised that it had been a viable option.
Harry bent forward and scrubbed his face with his hands before he drew his hands through his hair and rested his elbows on his knees. His heart was hammering in his throat and his hands were clammy.
Having to spend time in the same room as Voldemort had proven to be possible. Voldemort had been right in that regard. It wasn't Harry's idea of fun, but it wasn't horrible either. Voldemort didn't go out of his way to be cruel, nasty, or disgusting, quite the opposite, actually. Voldemort still tried, as far as Harry had experienced, to seem harmless, or maybe neutral. It even bordered somewhat on kindness, as crazy as that might seem.
Even with the vivid memories of all the man had done, to him and those he loved, it was much, much better than spending his life in a dungeon. He would much rather live like this than never see the sky and feel the wind, never use his wand or have a normal conversation again. He would have to deal with the memories no matter where he was, so it was better to deal with them while he had some freedom, then deal with them alone in the dark and dank dungeons.
If that truly had been all that was happening.
But it wasn't.
He could put together pieces too. He could read between the lines of what he experienced and what Voldemort had told him.
"As for the rest … Do you have more off that Calming Draught?"
A pale hand held out a vial to him. "Another triple dose. After that you should reduce the dose to just a doble, if that is enough."
Harry downed the potion, gave the vial back and leaned back in his chair again. Eyes closed and face towards the flames. He could feel the heat against his face, against his tear-streaked cheeks.
Calm, he was calm, or he at least was forced to be calm.
The pain in his heart threatened to tear him apart.
"What you told me just now, and what I experience … They do not … It's not the same, Voldemort. Maybe they are in the same tree, but not on the same branch."
"After you told me exactly what you endure, I recognize that. It is … more … with you."
"I do not want it to be more," Harry said through gritted teeth. "I could have dealt with what you told me Nagini experience. It would not have been ideal, but I could have handled that. This …" He turned towards Voldemort without caring about the tears that ran down his face.
"This feels like a bloody magnet. Sitting here, talking to you, it feels like something underneath my skin is actively trying to reach out to you. Something is actively trying to get me closer to you. Not one point on me, but all of my skin. Like it would want to peel off me to be closer to you if I don't get closer myself. Even with a triple dose of Calming Draught, that's what it feels like. I might not lose my will to you, but this might very well break me once and for all, anyway."
"That, I suspect, is where the challenge will be, and where you will need time to accept the reality and find a way to survive, and thrive, despite this." His voice was low, calm and silky, and not sharp or cruel or even indifferent, which was strange.
It almost made Harry cry harder.
That calm, he wanted that calm!
No, he didn't! Why would he want it! It was Voldemort! He did not want to be close to Voldemort!
"I do not want to be close to you! But sitting here, it hurts, it bloody hurts, not being closer to you then I am. If not for the Calming Draught … I don't know how bad it would be, without the Calming Draught. I don't particularly want to know, when it hurts this much with it. And you are telling me that it will always be like this?"
"I do not know enough to give any guarantees one way or another, but I would assume that it will be somewhat like this, from now on. Maybe it is worse in the beginning, or maybe it will be better if we spend more time in the same room, maybe the feeling will calm down when the soul fragment gets more used to my proximity."
Voldemort was trying to reassure him. Voldemort, the man who had killed his parents with his own wand, the man who had tried to kill him countless times and the man that had been responsible for so many of his friends' deaths … That same man was trying to reassure Harry.
"Are you willing to try and find out more? Maybe it will help knowing and not guessing?"
Harry saw the long, pale hand that was held out to him, palm up, and before he knew it, he held that hand with both of his. One hand around Voldemort's wrist, the other around his hand. He bowed his head and focused on keeping the scream back. Not even a triple dose of Calming Draught helped now.
"That was not my decision!" It was a growl.
"I understand, but try to feel if it gets easier now. For a moment, try not to fight it."
Harry breathed, just breathed, and didn't listen. He couldn't listen. It was too much. He tried to let go of Voldemort's hand. That was what he wanted, more than anything, right now. His body was fighting him, clinging to the hand he didn't want to hold. Voldemort was passive. He didn't hold Harry's hand with any strength at all, and let Harry decide what happened next.
Except Harry didn't decide, the fucking soul fragment did!
Harry growled and felt his hands spasm around Voldemort's, but he didn't manage to let go.
"Let it be for a moment," Voldemort said calmly, as if Harry wasn't clutching his hand and sobbing, partly out of rage and partly out of desperation.
What a trap! What a way to be caught, forever, his whole life, like this! Like this! Trapped!
"No!" Harry ripped his hands free and clutched them to his chest, it felt like they were burning, and his chest constricted, his head swam. He shook his head. "No." He was sobbing uncontrollably now, and wishing to stretch for the hand he had ripped himself free from. He put his arms around himself instead and held himself hard, as if to keep himself together. "No."
The pain didn't retreat, but as so often before, Harry managed to stop focusing on it. Focusing on pain could be deadly. He might not be on the battlefield right now, even with his enemy right across from him, but neither was he safe. It was just that his new enemy was a part of himself.
"Harry, this will not go away, not completely." The voice was pure silk, cool and calm, and before Harry could even think about it, he looked up and met Voldemort's red eyes. They were as calm as his voice, as peaceful, as safe … The pull towards Voldemort got worse, but Harry didn't have enough fight in him to look away. Even if he could feel the pull almost drag him out of his chair. He groaned, grit his teeth, and remained stubbornly seated, arms around himself, eyes locked on Voldemort's eyes.
"This reminds me of the Atrium," Harry rasped, "not as intense, not even close to as intense, but still … What did you do?"
He could see Voldemort hesitate. The calmness didn't flicker, not even for a moment, and he wanted that calm, he longed for it, but … Voldemort hesitated.
That couldn't be good.
"Are you going to lie to me now?" he accused. "After everything else you have told me, this is where you choose to lie?"
"No, I was merely contemplating if we should take that question another time."
"No, we won't."
Voldemort nodded slowly.
"What did you do in the Atrium, what spell did you use, and why …"
Voldemort held up a hand and maybe because he so far had let Harry talk when he wanted to, Harry stopped in surprise.
"All I did in the Atrium was gather up your magic before it had the chance to manifest into anything, and talk to you. That was all I did. There were no spells of any kind. I will not deny that your reaction did surprise me, but I did, and still mostly do, see it as a consequence of the rage, the shock and maybe even the fear that day caused you."
Harry badly wanted to call Voldemort a liar. It had to have happened because of some kind of spell! The problem was, he knew that it wasn't a lie. That sound of truth he had sometimes noticed before, was obvious in Voldemort's voice and words now.
There had been no spell. Voldemort had done nothing to spellbind Harry.
Even if it had felt like it. Even if he greatly would have preferred it, in this case.
"Then what? That was not me, as I normally am."
"I know. My best theory is that it has something to do with the soul fragment, combined with the stress and rage you felt, and the outpouring of magic. The magic that I gathered from you might have gone back into you, in a trickle. I was too focused on stopping it from spilling out, I did not even try to close the circuit. The trickle you took back, now blended with my magic and essence, made the soul fragment in you aware of my proximity in a very fast and intense manner. Thus, the enthralled reaction you experienced. Afterwards, the soul fragment had become aware of the rest of my soul, a lot earlier than I would have thought would happen, and a lot more … insistent."
"Insistent," Harry muttered. "A nice way of putting it, when it feels like my skin is going to crawl off me."
Voldemort looked at him. Harry looked back, unable to look away, until tears made the world blurry, and he closed his eyes. His body shook as if he hadn't taken a triple dose of Calming Draught, twice, this night.
He wasn't under any kind of spell. He wasn't going to lose himself, wasn't going to watch his life go by without any choices or any voice of his own.
That was good, that was better than he had feared. It truly was. But that possibility had been exchanged with the reality that for him to stay sane, or as sane as he now was, he needed Voldemort. Needed his touch. It wouldn't be enough to spend time in the same room. His body ached for close contact while he at the same time tried not to gag with fear and rage. He struggled to get to his feet, managed and staggered a few steps away before he stopped and just shivered, heard his teeth clatter, and had to accept another truth.
"It's not just my mind, is it? This doesn't just influence and harm my mind? When you experimented with Nagini, she got sick, physically sick, when she was away from you for too long, didn't she?"
"Her reactions are very mild compared to yours, but yes, she felt physically ill."
"So, I might just die from this."
"I will not let that happen, Harry."
Maybe for the first time in the almost four weeks since their marriage, there was true sharpness in his voice, something very close to a threat, or a promise. And still Harry yearned to get closer to the bastard, even knowing that it wouldn't be his own choice to be near him. Knowing that Voldemort could, and would, take that choice from him if he felt it necessary. Voldemort would not let his Horcrux suffer and die.
"I know," Harry whispered and forced himself out the door and away from Voldemort, while tears like acid ran down his face.
A/N:
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