20. Getting Up
Healer Brentwood was in Harry's suite less than half an hour after Harry finished his breakfast the morning after. Or early afternoon, as it was past twelve. The Healer got shown into the suite's drawing room by Voldemort himself, and Voldemort remained by the door. The Healer looked over his shoulder at Voldemort and then at Harry.
"It's alright," Harry said and held out a hand in greeting. "My husband can stay. But I would prefer it if we kept the examination focused on the past two months or so."
Healer Brentwood shook Harry's hand and nodded to him. "Last two months; we can keep it to that, Mr. Potter." He looked Harry over. "I think I can see one obvious problem, but would you please remove your shirt and trousers, so I can ascertain your condition?"
Harry took off his t-shirt and jeans and when he met the Healers eyes again, the Healer said:
"Mr. Potter, I'm sure I told you that you couldn't keep losing weight, that your body can't take it. You need to eat regularly to stay healthy."
He slowly and carefully touched Harry's shoulders, arms, chest and back before continuing down his legs, sometimes he waved his wand and muttered a spell. Then he used a measurement tape to take measures of him. This time he didn't stop by any of the scars that covered Harry. Harry knew how he looked, and it wasn't good.
"It's hard to stay healthy in a war," Harry answered. "I did try my best, though, I promise. Hermi wouldn't let me do anything else."
The Healer told him he could get dressed, then he did a more in-depth diagnostic charm and they sat down while he read the parchment that appeared with the results.
"The worst of this happened in the last few weeks, so maybe it's more that it's hard to eat when in a difficult position? Or in a marriage you shouldn't have agreed to?" He looked up at Harry from the parchment.
Voldemort was a statue by the door when Harry looked at him. It didn't seem like he would speak up.
"I'm not challenging that statement, but I tried my best in the situation I found myself in with the facts that I then had. And to be fair, because I kind of have to, it's not Voldemort's fault. Not directly, at least. It's not like he refuses me food or anything."
Voldemort couldn't really deny Harry food. It was a stipulation in the marriage contract. But all things considered, Harry didn't think that Voldemort would try to starve him anyway. A month ago, it would have been hard to believe, but now Harry knew that he held a fragment of Voldemort's soul, and Voldemort would have to keep him alive. More than that, if Voldemort had told the truth; Voldemort would suffer, at least a little, if Harry did.
It was strangely reassuring to know, and Harry hadn't taken the time yet to really explore that thought.
"That's good, at least. Right, Mr. Potter. You will not be surprised to hear that you are dangerously thin, again, and that you have several nutrient deficiencies, again. On a positive note, it's not nearly as bad as last time. I will prescribe you some potions, both for the vitamins and minerals that you need, and something to make sure you get enough calories in a day, even if you can't eat them all yet. Do you need me to give you a diet for the next few months, so you know without a doubt that you get what you need?"
"That can't hurt, so yes, please."
"I'm also forced to comment that you seem to have had a serious brush with death lately, as in yesterday, with an already weakened body going into complete overdrive and almost, as far as I can see, shut down on itself because of … something I honestly don't understand. The diagnostic charm tells me it happened and something of the how, but nothing of the why. My best guess is something similar to what we sometimes see in people that goes into a violent kind of shock on the battlefield."
Harry nodded slowly. "I guess that's not too far off, really. It shouldn't happen again."
"I truly hope so, for your sake, Mr. Potter, because right now, you will not survive something like that again. Do you understand me?" The Healer met his eyes.
"I understand." It wasn't like his words came as a surprise.
The Healer looked hard at him. "This is not a 'It will probably work out' situation, Mr. Potter. This is definitely a 'You will not survive' situation. I know you are used to danger and brushes with death, more than most of us, so I feel that I must speak very plainly; if this happens again, it will not work out for you, you will not walk away scot-free. You will not walk away at all."
Harry gave a sigh and glanced at Voldemort by the door. He still didn't look like he wanted to say anything, but when Harry glanced at him, the red eyes caught Harry's and the determination in them was fierce. There would be no chance of a recurrence of the day before, ever again.
"It's already decided that it won't happen again, so that shouldn't be a problem," Harry said.
The Healer went slightly green, but held onto his composure as best he could while decidedly not looking towards the door and Voldemort. Harry had to evaluate his words before he understood the Healers reaction.
"I wasn't tortured with some unknown curse or potion or anything like that. Wouldn't that have shown up on your diagnostic charm?"
The Healer slowly nodded and wrote down the necessary potions and a diet for Harry to follow. Harry gave the diet to Dobby, because that made the most sense, and Voldemort finally stirred, came farther into the room, sat down in a third chair, and held out a hand for the parchment with the potion prescriptions.
"Two of these potions I believe are too advanced for Draco as of yet," Voldemort commented after reading the short list. "Or more to the point, he cannot make them for you legally, but he most definitely can make them."
"I wouldn't want him to risk his Potions Apprenticeship," Harry said. "But if you had waited until Healer Brentwood left to mention it, it wouldn't have been a problem."
The Healer stiffened, but remained quiet, and Voldemort shot Harry an unfathomable glance.
"Would you permit me to ask Severus for those two potions?" He met Harry's gaze.
"I would rather die of malnourishment than because I trusted someone I shouldn't have."
"And I would rather you not die at all."
"Sure, that would be best." Harry shrugged a shoulder.
"You do use potions Severus has made."
"When he doesn't know that I get some of them, yes."
"Because he would never dare do something with a potion that was meant for Astoria. What makes you think that he would have a better end if he did something with a potion that is meant for my husband?"
"Excuse me for interrupting, my Lord, but the Apothecary, both in Diagon Alley and at St. Mungo's, sells these potions," Healer Brentwood said.
"I might safely buy a batch from them, once," Harry said, "but the moment it gets out that I buy those kinds of potions, they won't be safe to consume anymore."
Voldemort nodded once. "What did you do last time you needed potions?"
"Hermi made them."
"Miss Granger is not a Potion Mistress."
"Nope, but she is whatever she sets her mind to, and she decided that she was going to make potions for me, so she did. She made a perfect Polyjuice Potion in her second year at Hogwarts. Some nutrients potions aren't really much of a challenge for her."
"Severus will make the potions for you, and I will skin him alive if anything at all goes wrong." Voldemort met his gaze and held it.
Harry stared back, ground his teeth for a moment and spat out:
"Fine. Just know that when I'm dying because of that bastard, I will tell you 'I fucking told you so' all the way to my grave."
"This is hardly a polite but firm grudge."
"Right now, it's just firm. If you don't push him in my face, I won't push back."
The Dark Lord Voldemort gave a sigh. "Fine, then. Do you trust me to make them, and not to poison you?"
"If you should decide to poison me, I would very much like to hear the reasoning behind it."
"Noted." Was there a twitch of his lips?
There might have been.
Healer Brentwood gave a low cough. "I should be on my way, my Lord, Mr. Potter." He bowed low towards Voldemort and nodded to Harry.
Harry nodded back to him, but Voldemort just looked at him. The Healer reached the door before Harry asked:
"Healer Brentwood, are you Marked?"
The Healer turned and looked at him. "No, Mr. Potter. I'm hardly high enough up in the hierarchy for that. And before you ask; the contract I had to sign to work at St. Mungo's makes it impossible for me to share any confidential information at all. That was even before the neutral wards was made."
Harry looked at him for a long moment. Long enough for the Healer to shift a bit around. Voldemort watched Harry as Harry watched the Healer.
"I guess that's alright then," Harry said when the man began to visibly squirm. "Thank you."
The Healer left.
"What made you ask?" Voldemort asked.
"I'm not entirely sure. Maybe something about how he said, 'my Lord' and how he bowed. He was perfectly professional. Of course, he pretty much went out of his way to inform you that I have been severely malnourished before, even after I asked to keep the examination to the last two months. Maybe my suspicions began there; my irritation certainly did."
"It is something I should know. If I had, I might have reacted differently to your trouble with eating and keeping the food down, instead of just letting it continue."
"Draco did make me a nutrient potion; I assumed it was on your orders."
"There are other nutrient potions, better ones, that could have been made." He held up the parchment with the potions Harry now had to drink for the next months to be sure that he regained his health, and a healthy weight.
"Yes, there are," Harry admitted. "I was simply in no place to think that far."
"You seem to feel better now. A lot better than you have been in some time, I think, judging by the way you speak and move."
"I do feel a lot better." Harry looked at Voldemort. "I just hope … I wish … that I can get a couple of days before it's necessary to … What kind of word would work in this situation? Recharge, revitalise, restore … or more like calm down, relax, unwind?"
"If you find a phrase or word that you prefer, please do inform me. And we will figure out how often it is necessary and how best to manage it, in time. Right now, you feel fine?" Those red eyes met his and studied him.
"More than fine. Do you happen to know where Nagini is? I owe her an apology, and probably something to bribe her with too. I got rather … harsh with her at some point, even if I don't know how long ago that point was, right now." He frowned. "And Astoria, I shouted at her at some point too. That's not good."
"Nagini is in my suite, I will tell her that you asked after her. She won't make it hard for you, especially if you have a rabbit, or two, but no more than two. She gets sluggish if she overeats. The house elves have rabbits for Nagini's dinner."
"You feed her whole humans and then tell me that I can't give her more than two lousy rabbits, really?"
Harry was absolutely certain that Voldemort's lips twitched this time.
"If you feed her more than two rabbits, where is she going to cram a possible human then? I never know when I need her to get rid of the evidence."
Harry just shook his head at him, but didn't quite manage to suppress his grin. The joke was simply too bad to deserve an answer. The fact that Voldemort actually had tried to joke was … astounding.
Unless, of course, it wasn't meant as a joke.
It was hard to tell when talking with the Dark Lord.
Voldemort left and not long after Nagini slithered into Harry's drawing room, bringing with her a feeling of calm and safety. He could no longer remember when he had shouted at her or in what situation, but he remembered that he had shouted and that he felt bad about it. Harry apologised and offered her two rabbits, she graciously accepted, and the house elves brought them to her. Afterwards Nagini glided up to him and around him until he sat down on the sofa, and she coiled part of herself in his lap with her head on his shoulder. The feeling of calm and safety enveloped him, and he exhaled slowly, just letting himself enjoy it. He was so very tired off fear and pain and hate and strife. So very tired of fighting and of war.
A while later he went outside in the rain and collected some rocks and flowers, before he asked Dobby for a big vase or bowl that wasn't in use. He chose a clear bowl of those offered, filled it with the stones and made water that always would be clean. And then began the real work.
Two hours later he knocked carefully on the door of Astoria's study. This time only Astoria and her secretary were there, and she sent the man away as soon as she saw Harry. The smile that lit up her face as she came out from behind her desk made Harry feel even worse. Voldemort had told him that Astoria had done her best to help him, even after he had shouted at her, and he couldn't even remember it.
"Hi," he said.
"It's so good to see you up and about, you have no idea!" Astoria said, still smiling. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, no, not at all, I just … I can't remember that you talked to me yesterday, that we talked … But I would like to say thank you for trying to help, for wanting to help."
"Harry, I … of course I wanted to help. You were so very sick! I don't know the details, but Harry … you almost died," she whispered. "I was so worried!"
"I know, sorry about that, and … I think it's better that you don't know the details. For your own comfort, as well as mine."
"If you say so, only … if you do change your mind, the Dark Lord told me, and you, that you could talk to me about it. He would want a vow of silence from me, if you do, but you may talk to me. It's absolutely your choice, of course, but I wanted you to know that it's a possibility. You don't have to go through this alone."
"If I had been alone, it wouldn't have been a problem at all," Harry said bitterly.
"Yes, you said … you said you needed the Dark Lord, needed him to stay alive." She stopped. "I'm sorry. That must be … so incredibly hard on you."
Harry gave a sharp nod. "Anyway. I also wanted to apologise for shouting at you, at some point. I honestly don't remember when it happened, but I do remember raising my voice at you. And for that I'm sorry. I already apologised to Nagini, and gave her two rabbits as a gift, or a bribe. I wasn't sure if you would want rabbits too, so I made this instead." He removed the Disillusionment Charm over the bowl he held and held it out to Astoria.
In the bowl two fish were swimming sedately amongst stones, water plants and a small version of Malfoy Manor. One fish was black with a white spot on its side, the other fish was white with a black spot on its side. They had long elegant fins and tails and they glittered slightly.
"They are technically real, transfigured from flowers, but they don't need any work. The water will always be clean, and they won't need food. They are purely decorative."
Astoria stared. "They come from flowers?"
"Yes. A story Professor Slughorn once told me about my mother, gave me the idea. And I liked the idea of white with some black, and vice versa."
"Blended," Astoria said. "Thank you, I know that both power and knowledge are needed for something like this. At least if it's going to last?" She looked from the fish to him.
"It should last for years."
She smiled. "You didn't need to apologise, Harry, I understand very well why you ended up shouting. But the apology, and the gift, is accepted." She took the bowl and placed it in the middle of a small coffee table that she could see from her desk. She smiled and turned to Harry. "Will I see you for tea?"
"That's the plan. I think I will go to the library until then."
He did end up in the library, but after just a short while he put the books away and sat gazing at the flames in the fireplace while listening to the fire crackle and the rain hammer on the great windows. Dobby brought him some tea, made as he liked it, and waited while Harry took the first of a long, long line of nutrient potions. Voldemort had already made the first batch, apparently. Harry put his feet up on the ottoman and let the fire warm his feet.
He was bound to Voldemort. Bound for life. And much stronger than just through marriage. Bound soul to soul. To the man that killed his parents and had tried to kill him for so many years. The man that had killed so many of his friends or had ordered them killed.
He was bound to Voldemort for life.
For life.
Harry wondered what Hermione would have said to that, and with a sigh he closed his eyes and tried to envision that conversation.
Right. Bound. Soul to soul. You are certain, absolutely certain, that you can't get free? Hermione would have asked.
According to both Dumbledore and Voldemort, the only way to destroy … what I'm, is to destroy the vessel, me, completely. That sounds like death. Even in imagined conversations it was hard to use the word Horcrux for himself, for some reason.
Not an alternative then. This sucks.
Tell me about it.
I don't need to. You are the one who experiences the suckiness firsthand.
True.
Well, Harry, as much as it sucks … You will have to learn to live with it. I don't think trying to burn yourself with Fiendfyre will go over very well, if you shouldn't succeed, and I don't want you in a worse position than you already are. Also, I don't want you to die. I really, really don't want you to die.
Me neither, Hermi. I really don't. Not when I know that I'm not going to be tortured, or even lose my own will, as I was afraid of for a while, in the middle of all this. I do really wonder what life will be like, without the war, without all the fear and pain. But Hermi … I have to be intimately close to him, maybe several times a week! Maybe every day! How … how am I going to deal with that! I'm not allowed to retreat any more, not allowed to leave, he will never allow it, I know that. But gods, Hermi … how … how!
Don't panic. It won't help you if you panic. You don't know any rules for this situation yet, Harry. You fear what they might be, but you don't know. So, let's take the worst-case scenario and see what can be done to make it better.
Worst-case scenario. If it has to happen every day. No, several times a day. And Voldemort won't let it slide either. The Healer said that if anything close to what happened yesterday, happens again, I'm dead.
Then it's good that he won't let it slide, because I don't want you to bloody die. How many hours have you been awake now, and how do you feel?
It's nearing teatime. Voldemort already checked in on me twice, once while I worked with Astoria's gift and once here in the library, and I feel … fine. No worse than this morning. A bit more melancholy, perhaps, but that is probably because of these thoughts.
Good. Then the chance that it should happen several times a day is minimal, at least. Because if it did, then you should have noticed something by now.
Oh, that's right. That's … that's good. Thanks.
It's not a guarantee, but it's less likely. So, every day is the next worst on your list. That might still happen. What can be done to make it more tolerable?
I really don't know, Hermi. I mean, I wasn't conscious for a lot of it, but when I was conscious … Voldemort was calm and didn't say or do anything … wrong. He tried to distract me, he didn't hurt me, he didn't make me uncomfortable by touching me in any unseemly way, he didn't berate me for being foolish, afraid, having panic attacks or telling him I hate him and that he's a bastard. Shit. I can't actually say that he did anything wrong. Not at that point. All my problems are in our history. Those problems are massive, and that's what is so hard. Also … it's very hard to trust that he won't suddenly do an about face and attack me, with words, fists, or magic. I have a lifetime of memories where he would do just that, at any chance he got.
Yes, I know, but … Harry, he told you that he is sane now, or at least much saner than he has been in a very, very long time. That changes things. You have noticed that yourself, he isn't like he has been for so long. He is hardly the same man anymore. He is saner, calmer, easier to be around. Being close to you also helps to keep him sane. The chances that he would hurt you in any way, while you are stabilising each other … It's infinitesimal. He won't risk scaring or hurting you in that situation. It would ruin things, and he knows that. He is more than smart enough to know that. He told you; your condition affects him to a degree. He needs you to trust him enough to be able to be close to him in those hours. Talk to him about it. Tell him that while he didn't do anything wrong yesterday, trust is very hard to come by. And Harry, this won't change in a day or two. This needs time. But we talked about how adaptable humans are, before you went away, and that counts for something in this situation too. We can adapt to the strangest things if it means survival. Mental or physical. Remember that, and hold on. Just hold on. Things will get better, I know it. I promise they will. Remember that I love you. I miss you. I'm here for you, always.
Hermione's voice grew quiet after that and slowly Harry opened his eyes and looked at the dying fire. He desperately wished that he really could have talked to her, but also knew that if he had been able to, she would have given him advice very close to what he now had given himself. There really wasn't much else to do. Try to talk to Voldemort about how frightening and problematic he found the situation and grit his teeth and wait for it to get better through exposure and familiarity. It would take some time, no doubt, and it would be hell until it got better, but he really thought that it would get better. After all, he had lived his entire life getting used to intolerable situations. One after another.
He could, he would, do it again. That had been the original plan he had made with Hermione. Even though the plan didn't really encompass something like this.
If the plan doesn't fit, improvise, adapt, and overcome, he thought, repeating Hermione's favourite slogan from the war, which she in turn and gotten from some kind of American army branch. And that came from a witch that always had at least five different plans for every situation and that was so good at strategizing she could as well be a Seer. If someone like that could accept improvisation and adaptation to overcome her obstacles, he could too.
That was when he noticed that the other wing-back chair by the fire now was occupied.
"You can be very quiet," Harry commented to Voldemort. "I didn't notice that you came in."
"You were so deep in thought, I could almost hear you ruminate, despite your impressive Occlumency shields."
Harry made a couple of logs put themselves on the fireplace, then kindled them to be sure that they burned.
"I guess I was thinking kind of hard. I was trying to … understand and … accept the new situation. At least a bit better than I have so far. It's going to take time. And it's going to be hell until it gets better. But I don't have any choice, do I?"
"No, you do not." His voice wasn't only calm, it was also soft and cautious.
"So, I have to hope that it will get better, given enough time and … practice." He turned his head and looked at Voldemort. He had a whole face and hair now. He didn't look like the snake faced version that Harry had fought, again and again. The version of him that haunted Harry's nightmares. He looked completely human now, and slightly concerned, even if he sat relaxed in his chair, hands on the armrests and legs crossed at the ankles, pale feet bare as they so often were.
"I hope that it will never again be as bad as yesterday …" Harry stopped. "I will do my best not to make it harder, for either of us, then it has to be, but … on bad days … there is a very good chance I will fight you, really fight you. There should be a back-up plan in place, if that happens." He let out a sigh.
"Would you divulge what a bad day would entail?"
Harry closed his eyes while the smooth voice flowed over him and around him, almost making him shiver, but he fought the feeling. Was that the soul fragment making him feel like that? It had to be, didn't it? It was almost a shame. He would have liked to feel like that, all on his own, but knowing that it wasn't him … It sullied the feeling.
"Think breakfast and hellfire," Harry whispered while watching the flames. "I might show up, talk and interact, but I won't be completely … there. Just a slight nudge will push me over the edge, and … there isn't really a lot I can do about it. It's possible I will be able to give a warning, and it's possible that … that I can't." He swallowed. "That I … kind of … don't properly … notice. I can't talk more about that right now, can't think about it," he said hurriedly, almost panting. "On to something else. I had a thought earlier; how much would you say you, your personality, changed, when you became mentally stable?"
Voldemort watched him silently.
"I really can't continue on the former topic right now. We may go back to it later. If you don't want to answer my question, that's alright, of course. I was merely thinking that the more I'm able to separate the two … aspects of you … the better it would be, for me, I mean. If there even are two aspects of you, that is.
"It's exceptionally hard to trust the man that killed my parents and has tried to kill me countless times, not to try to do so again when I have him at my back. But if that man had changed drastically, almost gotten a new personality, say, because he became sane. Then that would be something I could focus on. Maybe the fear and distrust would vanish faster, though probably not overnight or anything." The words rushed out of him in a flood.
There was a beat of silence.
"Harry."
Harry turned his head and met Voldemort's red eyes with the vertical pupils. They didn't look as intimidating, nor as horrid, in this human face. Strange.
"There are quite a few less than pleasant facets to my personality, even now, but I am not insane any longer. The person that was foolish enough to believe a prophecy given by such a character, in such a situation, and act upon it, is gone. The person that would stop at nothing to dominate Britain and the entire magical world; the person that actually thought he could exterminate Muggles and Muggleborn magicals," he shook his head at his former self, "is gone. I have no need to kill indiscriminately, nor cast Crucio's at everyone that moves, even though I still do use that curse and probably always will. I am not the person that you met in that graveyard when you were fourteen years old.
"I would consider myself another person entirely, from the one I was before. There is so much I would never have done, so much I would never even have contemplated … I did do those things and I can never undo them, but neither will I ever repeat them. You asked, so I will give you an answer, even if I know that it will take time and much more than mere words for you to really believe the change."
Voldemort stopped for a moment. "I have no intention or interest, whatsoever, to use the time we have to spend with skin against skin contact, to scare you, hurt you or threaten you in any fashion. In fact, I would much appreciate it if you would let me know if I do or say anything inappropriate, or if you know anything that would help you in that situation."
Harry hesitated, pondering if he wanted to ask at all. Maybe it would be better to not know? "You do not want to scare, hurt or threaten me when we have skin against skin contact, but only then?"
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "I believed it farfetched to even try to promise that much, because again, I do not think you are able to believe me, yet. Should I have attempted to give a more comprehensive assurance? Would you be capable of believing me if I did?"
"No." Harry shook his head slowly and turned his head towards the flames again. "Probably not. But I will try to believe that you don't want, or mean, to scare, hurt or threaten me during those times, even if that will take some time to truly believe."
"Good. How do you feel now?"
It was so strange to have the Dark Lord ask him that. But was it as strange if that Dark Lord was his husband who apparently wanted to keep him healthy and alive, instead of trying to slaughter him?
"I'm not so upbeat anymore, but that comes as no surprise. It's a wonder I got to feel that optimistic for that long, anyway. Other than that, I'm alright. A bit tired, but both mind and body have been through a lot these past weeks, or years, so … that's not surprising either." He hesitated. "What about you? Do you feel anything that has its source in me?"
"No, I do not believe so."
Harry watched the flames for a while, but Voldemort didn't leave. He just sat there with Harry, in silence, watching the flames and thinking. It was strangely companionable and lent some credence to Voldemort's earlier words about being a changed man. Harry would never have found any kind of calm in the same room with the former version of Voldemort. He knew that. He also knew that this wasn't the first time he had been able to relax in close proximity to Voldemort.
"I wonder …" Harry began hesitantly, a bit unsure if he wanted to ask this, to do this, "would it be possible for me to touch you now? To see how that feels, to see if I notice anything of that attraction, when it doesn't feel like you are a freaking magnet."
"Most certainly." Voldemort rose to his feet, moved the chair closer to Harry's with a gesture with his wand and sat down again, closer but not too close. He held out a pale hand and Harry looked at it for a moment, trying to feel any of that blinding need that had driven him to grasp Voldemort's hand on earlier occasions.
There was nothing, not even a twinge.
Slowly he laid his fingers around Voldemort's. They were long and elegant, strong, and without those wicked sharp nails that the snake faced version had. There was no desperate need, no hunger for more contact, no pain, nothing like that, just … a small shimmer of magic against magic. Not uncommon when two with large magical cores touched and still, it was the first time Harry had been relaxed enough to notice it. He looked at Voldemort's face, but Voldemort was looking at their hands. Harry would say he looked enraptured, if not right out baffled.
"You have never touched anyone with a magical core that could compete with yours?" Harry asked.
Slowly Voldemort looked up at him with a small frown. "Who should that have been? Dumbledore?"
"Good point."
"Does it always feel like that, slightly pulsing, but not actually unpleasant?"
"I don't know. The only other person that can compete with my own core is Hermi, and she feels … smoother, I guess. Probably because we know each other so damn well, or maybe every person feels different. I don't know, I don't have enough information, and probably never will."
Voldemort met his gaze. "I know you are powerful, and you yourself estimate that we are comparable in magical power, but I have only felt or seen your power when you lose control of your magic. Do you shield all the time?"
Harry watched him for a moment, but it didn't seem like Voldemort saw it as impertinence or arrogance that Harry would compare his own magical power to that of Voldemort. This subject could also easily be turned on to magical cores and their expansion, and Harry still didn't want to talk about that with Voldemort. On the other hand, Voldemort so far hadn't demanded that Harry tell him about it, he had in fact accepted the change of topic if Harry asked for it. It should be possible to do it again.
Hopefully.
"Of course," Harry said in the end. "After all, that kind of power would have painted a bigger target on my back then I already had. I would have been so much easier to find on the battlefield, or in the streets for that matter."
"And now?"
"Now it's a habit. I would probably feel more … exposed with my shields down, then with them raised."
"Even if most people would do practically everything to not irritate or anger you when they feel your power?"
"That's assuming people in general aren't stupid, or mental. And in my experience, most people are one of those, or both."
Voldemort smiled a half smile at that. The red eyes shone and crinkled in the corners and one corner of his mouth curled undeniably upward. It was the biggest smile Harry had seen from him yet. The expression actually suited him.
"I will grant you that," Voldemort drawled. "After all, I seldom shield the majority of my power, but one of my idiots still went out of his way to enrage me today."
Harry watched him warily. "I'm glad that you were able to calm down again, then."
Voldemort hesitated. "It happened less than an hour ago, I am not truly calm."
"You are not? You could have fooled me, in fact, you did. Also, you don't look …" Harry frowned and studied Voldemort's face and neck. It wasn't truly what he saw, it was what he felt, the magic that was applied. And if he hadn't known that something was off, he would never have given him a second glance.
"Glamour, right?" It was much better done than Astoria's, but that wasn't really surprising.
"Yes, I use glamour right now."
Harry swallowed and looked down. Then he frowned, because he noticed that he was still holding Voldemort's hand.
"Well, that's … strange," he said and slowly let go of Voldemort's hand. There was no hint of need or desperation, just a slight feeling of … loss, maybe. Loneliness? And still; he had held onto Voldemort's hand for far longer than he had planned to do. Why had he done that? Could he really not feel any of the desperate need that the soul fragment had made him feel? He didn't think so.
It was strangely reassuring that he could touch Voldemort and still feel like himself, like he belonged in his own skin and that he decided what he did with his body. There was one specific occasion on the horizon that would have been so much worse, and it already was pretty damn bad, if Harry didn't feel in control of his own body. It wasn't that he couldn't understand, or really blamed Voldemort, much, for wanting to make sure that their marriage was valid. The time limit was unpleasant, but it was a part of Wizarding Law that a marriage that wasn't consummated three months after the ceremony got annulled. No if's or but's about it. Voldemort had in fact given Harry all the time he could give him. He no longer had the choice of retreating, no choice but to stay, but at the very least he would control his own body while having sex, and if this little test was any indicator, he should be able to control his own body and its responses most of the time. Just not all the time.
That was something, at least.
A/N:
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