A/N:

This is still the same day as the previous chapter, just in case that is less than obvious.

27. Confessions

In the end, it was only Harry, Astoria and Narcissa left in Astoria's study.

"Thank you for waiting," Astoria said to Narcissa.

The older woman nodded to her.

"First, because I do not want to set a bad example for the future; you do have a Mastery, do you not?"

"I have two, one in Charms and one in Defence Against the Dark Arts. I was the school's duelling champion my two last years," Narcissa said without blinking. "I grew up knowing we were at war, after all."

"Would you, please, consider helping Flora with her task? I know that you already are our representative at St. Mungo's and that that truly is enough for one person. But if you could just … keep an eye on Flora and point her in the right direction, or tell me if she is floundering too badly …" Astoria frowned.

"I thought she would do a good job, but Harry is right," Astoria looked at Harry and then back at Narcissa, "she knows too little. She, too, became an adult during the war and she, too, went to school under Dumbledore's lacklustre rule. That is not a great starting point. And we need a good educational system, more than we need almost anything else."

Narcissa nodded. "I will keep an eye on her, and if she doesn't meet my standards, I will help her. Or take her place, if necessary. I do want my grandchildren to have a proper education, after all." The older woman gave Astoria a soft smile.

"Nothing yet, but …"

Narcissa put a hand on Astoria's. "Do not fret about it. We are right now coming out of a war, with all that entails of strife and stress. Everything will take the time it needs, that goes for children as well. You are young. Do not fret."

Astoria smiled at her. "Right. I'm not fretting, at all. Anyway." She gave a small sigh. "I have another request to make off you, as you know the attic of the Manor better than me. Harry has agreed to try robes, if they fit him properly and do not get in his way, if he should have to run, fight or the like. Do you believe you could find something suitable in the attic? He knows they will have to be used."

Both women looked at Harry, he looked blankly back.

Slowly Narcissa nodded. "I know where to look for something. Would it be acceptable for you if I came by your rooms after lunch, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, of course, I will be sure to be there. And thanks."

Harry went for a very slow walk, more of a stroll, in the gardens after that. Then he joined the other three for lunch, for the first time in weeks. Voldemort nodded to him while still listening to Draco. When Draco stopped speaking, Voldemort looked at Harry again.

"Harry, how are you?"

"Uhm, fine. Better than usual."

"You slept well?"

"Very well. What's with the interrogation?"

Voldemort raised a brow. "I assure you, if I should interrogate you, I would do it quite differently. No emotional conflict after yesterday?"

"Oh. Right." Harry hadn't thought about it, he had in fact been very careful in not thinking about it, which might be a bit of a hint. He frowned. "I'm not … thrilled … naturally, I never was, but I still claim I need the break. And I got that. A better break than anticipated." Harry looked down into his coffee and swallowed. "Yeah, better than anticipated, what with the good night's sleep and all. What about you? It affected you too."

"I have no qualms."

"Do I have anything to apologise for?" Harry met the ruby red gaze for the first time since he sat down.

"No, Harry, you do not. Do inform me if you need another break."

"That would be alright with you?"

"As I stated, I have no qualms about it. You decide if, or when, you need another break."

Harry nodded. "I will think about it."

He wouldn't.

No matter what he thought about the help Voldemort had given, the calm and the peace and the feeling of safety, his feelings were decided. He needed that. He had to be careful not to need it too much, not to get addicted, not to need Voldemort more than he already did. But he did need breaks like that. It might very well be the difference between his mind breaking once and for all under the stress and revulsion aimed at the soul shard, and that whole situation, and him getting through it to a time where he would be able to live with it.

He had promised Hermione to do everything in his power to survive, and to live if at all possible. His mind couldn't take much more of a beating, so he would accept whatever help he could get.

Even if it came from Voldemort in the form of a false sense of calm and safety.

After lunch Narcissa shoved up at his suite with no less than five robes in different colours and styles. Because he had promised to try, Harry changed to the first one without a complaint. It was a lot smoother than he had anticipated and he liked the colour, a deep forest green, but it hung on him like an empty sack.

Narcissa nodded. "The colour is right, and with your permission, I will resize it a bit at the shoulders, and the waist, the length is good though …" She walked around him.

"Please do," Harry said meekly.

Narcissa did resize it, but when she took some steps back to watch her handiwork, he saw that she was hard pressed to remain calm. Her already pale face lost all colour.

"I'm a bit on the skinny side," he told her and watched her swallow hard. "More like skin and bones, really, but I'm already better than I was, and it goes the right way." He shrugged. "It's harder to notice with the shirt."

She nodded and he had to admire her gumption when she drew herself up and cleaned her face of all feeling.

"If the material is a bit thicker, then it will be harder to notice, until you get to a healthier weight. If you would, Mr. Potter, this might do better." She held out a black robe with golden details, but without being overwhelming. The material was thicker, but still surprisingly soft.

Harry went into the bathroom and changed, and again Narcissa resized the robe to fit him. This time he didn't look like a scarecrow, even with his wild hair. He looked, and was, far too thin, but the robe managed to conceal rather than display that fact, while also resting properly over his shoulders and cinching in at the waist. It didn't hang off him like the used clothes he had gotten from Dudley had. It actually sat just as well as his shirts and trousers, and didn't feel any more restrictive, at least not yet. The cut was simple and the colours suitable. He could deal with this.

He agreed to get the three last robes resized by Narcissa too, because she had gone through the trouble of finding them, and if Harry should feel like using the robes, then it would be good if they actually fit him properly. One of the three was of the too thin material again, but in the end, he had three robes he thought he might actually use. The black and gold one, a dark grey with silver buttons and details, and a heavier velvet one in dark green, almost black. That one had silver snakes as clasps and an embroidered silver snake up each arm, the detail given the snakes was astounding.

"At least some of these were Draco's, right?" Harry asked when Narcissa proclaimed herself satisfied.

"All of them were, Mr. Potter. I hope you don't mind. They are of a newer style than a lot of the other robes in the attic. I thought that might suit you better. I'm sure you will get the opportunity to get some new clothes soon."

"I don't mind. I was just curious. And these robes are a lot better than any of my cousins' hand-me-down rags that I got when I was a child. And thanks to you, they actually fit. Thank you for your help."

Narcissa looked at him for a long moment, then she curtsied deeply. "It was my pleasure, Mr. Potter."

She left without saying anything more and Harry changed to the black and gold robe and tried walking around in it and doing all kinds of movements that he might find himself doing if he was attacked. Never once did the robes get in his way, not even a bit.

He stopped and looked at himself in the mirror. The robes hung as perfectly as before. "Huh. If I had known about charms like this, I might actually have liked to use robes." He did know the runes to keep his warded fighting robes out of the way, but that took both time and a lot of effort to make. It wasn't something he would do for every single robe he used. But a charm, that was something else entirely.

Astoria and Draco, and even Voldemort, complimented the robes on him when he met them for tea later that day. Fortunately for Harry, none of them said anything when he showed up to dinner in slacks and shirt again.

Voldemort recognised Harry's signs of distress because of the soul shard almost before Harry fully registered it himself, and they left just after the last course was served. A bit earlier than usual.

Maybe that was what did it, Harry speculated the next day, the feeling of surprise, of inconsistency. Or maybe he had been tired after both being around and interacting with more people that day than he had in weeks, possibly months.

When they reached Harry's rooms Harry desperately tried to recall the night before, the feeling of calm and safety. He tried to get his mind back to that, tried to relive that. He was safe, even without that feeling. Voldemort wouldn't hurt him or harm him. He knew that. It would be counterproductive for him to do so. Harry knew that. He knew that. Voldemort would not hurt him.

But it was so hard to breathe. So very hard. His body was trembling, and he thought Voldemort said something. Magic spun around him for a moment and hands on his bare skin carefully steered him towards the bed. And he didn't want this, he didn't want this, he didn't want this …

It didn't matter that he had felt calm the night before, when he couldn't breathe now.

It didn't matter that Voldemort wouldn't hurt him, when the fear was eating him alive.

It didn't matter …

It didn't matter …

"No, no, no, no, no. Please no. Please no. Please! No!"

Magic straining. Tired muscles bunching. Magic snapping and snarling. Arms flailing.

A whispered word, a spell, and darkness fell immediately.

Harry's mind was a lot calmer when he came to, and he realised with a heavy sigh that he had gone straight from dinner into a panic attack. Voldemort's arms were around him, carefully holding him against a well-muscled chest. Harry felt stiff and sore, and his face was wet, but the panic attack had passed, only old adrenaline remained. It made him exhausted.

"Harry?" Voldemort said softly.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"You are awake and calm. Good."

"So tired," Harry admitted.

"Your magic was beginning to spark. I thought it best to try with a sleeping spell before I used the potion you gave me."

"You have one hell of a sleeping spell." Not before the words, calm and collected, left his mouth, the thought and fear of being asleep, defenceless, almost made him choke. "Do not ever do that unless it's absolutely necessary." He was shaking again, heart hammering in his throat. Sleeping in Voldemort's arms, no that wasn't good. That wasn't good at all. Not safe. Not safe …

"I will never force sleep upon you, in any way, if it is not absolutely paramount that I do so. It will only happen in regard to keeping the soul shard calm and keeping you alive. I give you my word, Harry."

The words rang of truth and while Harry wished he knew why they did that sometimes, what happened at those occasions, he also couldn't deny that Voldemort really had kept his word when he gave it. At least so far. That thought helped him calm down a bit again.

"How long was I out then?"

"About an hour."

"Oh."

Silence.

Silence filled with feelings and unsaid words.

Accusations and hate. So much hate.

Confining. Restraining. Resisting. Tightening.

"Talk!" Harry gasped, forcing the words out. "Please talk!" He didn't know how much time had gone by since the last word had been uttered, but he knew that the panic was far too close, even if he felt tired.

"How did the robes work out for you? Did you decide against them in the end?" Voldemort asked as if he actually wondered and didn't grasp for something out of thin air.

"No, I don't think so." His chest felt tight, but he managed to get the words out. "I liked them well enough, and I might just make them my day clothes. Or, maybe not those robes, they were a bit too … nice to use as everyday clothes."

"But you changed out of them for dinner?"

"I don't know how you do it, but I tried trousers under the robes and that didn't look good. Since I assume looks are the main reason to use robes, I can't use trousers underneath them and I need to use trousers for this very situation."

"I see your point. The slacks I use are of a thinner material, without pockets, belt loops or the like. It works well enough for me."

"I will consider transfiguring a pair." The silence was not so fraught with tension this time, but Harry decided to break it, nonetheless. "Yesterday, when we talked in bed, you called me precious." Harry swallowed hard.

"I did." Voldemort waited.

"I don't know how you meant it, but in case you are thinking of using it as an endearment, I think you should know that I don't like endearments. Really, really don't like them. Despise them vehemently. Hate them with a passion!" He snarled and forced himself to take a deep breath. "And I'm really not in a good, even remotely stable place right now. Sorry." He took another deep breath. "So, if that kind of thing is something that will be mentioned just now and again, I can … deal … with that. But if you think to use it regularly, I would … suggest … with the utmost sincerity … that you reconsider."

He would not think about that night.

Those words, tenderly spoken.

Baiting. Goading. Tormenting.

Soft spoken words, pain and burning hatred.

He would not think about that night.

Ever again.

"I intended it exactly as I stated yesterday," Voldemort said cautiously, and interrupted the thoughts Harry absolutely wasn't thinking, wasn't feeling. "You are not a thing, you are not something to use, but precious. I did not think to use it as a commonplace endearment."

"Good. Thanks." Conversation still seemed like a better alternative than keeping quiet, even if Harry usually wanted to retreat as much as possible and suffer the episodes in silence. "That … what we did last night, that does affect you too, doesn't it? I feel calm, and safe and anchored. May I ask what you feel?"

Let's see if I can get the big, bad Dark Lord to talk about feelings! That would be something! Not that Harry would use that against his husband. If Voldemort gave Harry the courtesy of not holding anything that happened during these episodes against him, then Harry could, and would, return the favour.

There was supposed to be a truce between them, after all. There couldn't be a truce if only one of them tried to uphold it.

There was a rather long, contemplative silence.

"I have thus far not attempted to put it into words, but I believe I felt somewhat more relaxed than I usually am." Voldemort hesitated. "That I felt more whole, more complete, might be something else."

"That makes sense," Harry whispered.

"Yes, it does at that."

There was a longer pause, but somehow, Harry simply knew that Voldemort wasn't done yet.

"You don't want to say the next part," Harry stated after a while.

"No, you have finally calmed down after a panic attack that nearly unleashed your magic, and what I felt last night, what I am thinking of now, will most likely not be conducive to your calm, no matter what I intend to imply by the words."

"Well, I'm sure you know that you can't say that much, and not tell all. So please order your thoughts and say them, and I will focus on breathing and not freaking out. Because it sounds like you fear I will freak out."

"That is a consideration, yes."

Harry took a deep breath, then another and another.

"Just say it, please." Another deep breath while he tried to force himself to remain relaxed, remain as calm as possible.

"I felt possessive of you. Not as if you are a thing or something that I own, more like you are a part of me."

Harry's breath left him in a whoosh.

It could be worse. He could have felt that he owned me. He could have felt that I was a thing he could place behind closed doors or use. It could have been worse.

On the other hand, he felt as if I was a part of him. I'm not. But I do hold a part of him, and that's a fact. I decidedly do not like that fact, but it is a fact. It kind of fits together with the fact that he felt more complete when our magic was thus connected.

"Alright," Harry said slowly, he was getting stiffer by the second, but he kept taking deliberately deep breaths. His mouth was dry. "Alright. And what … what are you considering doing about that?"

"Nothing, Harry, absolutely nothing. There is nothing to do about it, or with it. I felt that way because you hold a piece of my soul, and that was the closest I have felt to that soul fragment in a very long time. That is all."

"Alright. Good. Then … then we agree." He swallowed hard and said the next thing that popped up in his head. "Why are you going to rebuild Hogwarts? It will take decades, centuries even, before there will be enough children to require such an institution."

Voldemort picked up on the topic without hesitation. "But what is Wizarding Britain if not our proud institutions, Harry? First among them Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Propaganda, is what I'm hearing."

"Tsk, such an ugly word, and no, while I want us to be able to unite as a nation by shared experiences, I mean for that to happen as naturally as it did before the war. But with a better, broader curriculum, better teachers, if I can get them, a safer environment and without Houses."

"You want to do away with the Houses? You?"

"Yes, they make it difficult to unite, do they not? And we require unity more than we require House pride. Additionally, no one is able to find the Sorting Hat."

"Yeah … About that …"

"Do you happen to know something about the whereabouts of the Sorting Hat, Harry?"

Voldemort knew what Harry would answer, Harry could hear it in his voice. He could also hear amusement; he was sure of it.

"I might possibly have … burnt it … to ash … with Fiendfyre? It didn't want to burn in normal fire!" he added defensively, it wasn't like he had brought out the hellfire before trying anything else. "Besides … I never much liked the House sorting. Not how it happened nor when it happened in a child's life; like anyone knows who they are at eleven years old! It created so much hostility and strife at school, it was exhausting."

Silence.

Harry could swear he felt Voldemort's laughter against his back.

He could swear it.

"Very well." The bastard sounded completely calm, not amused, but not exasperated either. "I happen to agree with you, even if I would not have destroyed an age-old and incredibly powerful magical artefact. On another note, but still on the same topic; Astoria mentioned that you doubted Flora's capability to build a proper educational system."

"I didn't … I mean, I only said …" If either Flora or Astoria complained to Voldemort about Harry's remarks … No, Voldemort wouldn't actively hurt him. Harry had to believe that, he had to, he had to believe it, because if not …

"Rest assured that Flora does nothing without my supervision. I sign on every single order that she gives. Compared to others, she has very little freedom as it is. Now she will also have Narcissa breathing down her neck. We will never hold back on the education of our children, Harry. They are our future, and their lives, safety, health, happiness, and education are of the utmost importance to me, to all of us."

"That's good to know," Harry whispered and felt himself relax a bit. He hadn't messed up, hadn't made Voldemort annoyed.

Not this time.

Not yet.

"Do tell, looking back, what about your own education would you have wished differently?"

They spent the remaining time discussing Hogwarts and education, and when the soul shard was sated Harry surprised himself by joining Voldemort, Astoria and Draco in a parlour where they continued to discuss the same topic over a drink. Astoria had relented a bit in her no-alcohol-rule, and told him he could have some alcohol, just not more than two units each day. The firewhisky was excellent and while Harry did sit on the same sofa as Voldemort, he also had his back against the wall and a view of both the doors into the room. By the end of Harry's second glass the remains of adrenaline, panic and confusion had melted away completely.

Later, when Harry found his way to bed, he also found some hope in the fact that Voldemort hadn't given him any orders or new rules to follow. Even if he had felt possessive of Harry the evening before, and even if Harry had made that evening's episode harder than it usually was.

A/N:

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