30. Claws and Questions
Even while Voldemort carefully draped his robes over his bloody and mutilated shoulders and upper-back and found his way to his own rooms, back burning and stinging, he couldn't forget Harry's questions. Harry had asked how Voldemort was after the whole ordeal, not once, but twice. Like that actually mattered to him. Like he actually cared, even if they both knew … No, Harry insisted that it was his choice. It didn't matter what the truth was, when Harry needed it to be his choice. Voldemort could, and would, respect that need.
Voldemort felt a slight twinge of regret for lying to his husband, which was a new feeling, and at the same time he was grateful for being able to. At least for the moment. He didn't know what that mind bridge would do to them, given enough time. If Harry had asked while the doors to the bridge were still open, then the lie would have been impossible. Voldemort was actually a bit impressed that he had been able to hide that much pain from the shared mindscape. It felt like his back was a mangled mess. But then, Harry had asked about his well-being twice. Maybe he hadn't been able to hide all of the pain, all of the time.
It wasn't like Voldemort didn't plan to speak to Harry about his tendency to rip Voldemort's back open in a way that truly shouldn't be possible. He simply wanted to know as much as he could about the situation before bringing it up to Harry. If Harry didn't know what was happening, then Voldemort wasn't about to spring yet another shock, yet another mystery, on him without at least trying to figure it out himself first.
When he reached his own suite, he called a house elf to get Astoria with her Healer kit. When looking at his back in a mirror, over his own shoulder, he couldn't help but grimace. Some of those scratches were quite deep and long, some might even have nicked a bone or two. This was not the result of human fingernails. It couldn't be.
Astoria arrived with both her Healer kit and her Healer's attitude and mask in place.
"My Lord, how might I be of assistance?" she asked and bowed.
This was the first time he ever had required her assistance as a Healer, for himself. He could heal the scratches himself, he had done that the last time Harry did it, but because he couldn't see them it was harder than he liked to make any kind of educated guess as to what kind of claws had made the injuries. Besides, he wanted a second opinion.
"I would like you to clean the blood off properly and then help me decide what most likely made the wounds." He turned around and showed her his back.
Astoria was silent for a moment. When she spoke, there was some tension in her voice.
"My Lord, please lay down on the bed, standing strains these kinds of injuries, and take this pain relief potion, please." She handed him a potion vial and then pointed, almost sternly at his bed. He took the potion and the pain melted away in a moment, his head cleared, and he moved to lay down on the pad of sheets Astoria had put down to make cleaning the bed afterwards easier.
"I will clean the wounds now, my Lord. Some of them are far too deep to not heal right away, I can see that much, but I will be sure to make a memory of this that we can look at together. Will that be good enough, my Lord?"
"That will do just fine, Astoria."
She set to work, and he could feel some of his back knit together again.
"You don't know who did this?" she asked after a moment.
"I know who. I do not know what."
More silence while she worked. Now and again a twinge of pain made it through the pain relief potion, but not more than that.
"My Lord, I cannot be certain, but my very best guess would be a type of big cat. No smaller than a jaguar, but I would not be surprised if it were a tiger."
"A tiger is double the size of a jaguar, are the differences in the scratches that big?"
"A moment, my Lord."
Again, he felt her prodding at his back.
"No, my Lord, you are right, the difference is not that big. But there is a difference to some of them, without a doubt. And it's all between different types of big cat, or different sizes, because the injuries look very much alike, even if some are smaller and more superficial than others. My Lord … how is Harry doing?" He could hear her swallow.
"He seemed fine, Astoria. I do not know what is going on, and if I cannot find out myself very soon, then I will speak with him about it."
"Do you want me to complete the healing now, my Lord?"
"Yes, thank you."
She did so in silence.
"Prim." There was a pop of air. "Please get me the pensieve."
"Yes, Mistress Astoria!"
A pop away and then a pop back. Voldemort sat up on the bed and saw the elf hand Astoria the basin with a deep bow, before popping away again. Astoria put her wand at her temple and then filled the pensieve with the memory.
The next half hour they spent in the pensieve trying to find any clue as to what kind of big cat, what kind of creature or what kind of being Harry had beneath his skin. They agreed that it was something, but no being, creature or beast came to mind. An Animagus could not partially shift, and Voldemort was absolutely certain he would have noticed if Harry's whole body had changed. Neither could were-creatures, if there was such a thing as a were-jaguar or were-tiger. Voldemort could not remember to ever have heard anything about such beings. There was the mythical beast that were partly big cats, but again, none were known to do partial shifts.
Astoria left him with his books and thoughts, she had meetings that she had to get back to.
Voldemort was none the wiser at teatime, but at least Harry seemed just as fine as he had when they had parted earlier that day.
The change happened at the beginning of dinner.
Harry sat down next to him with a nod and as soon as he had situated himself, Voldemort could feel the door on the other side of the mind bridge open, carefully, hesitantly, but he could feel it, while he moments before hadn't been aware of either the doors, the bridge or the shared mindscape. The door opened partially and stopped there. Harry didn't go out onto the bridge, he didn't leave his body, but he still was in that shared space.
After a short hesitation Voldemort followed suit, too curious as to what was going on, to not try. Harry started a bit beside him, but when he felt Voldemort's mind, Voldemort's feelings in the shared space, he turned and gave him a smile. A real smile that turned bigger when he felt Voldemort astonishment at the sight.
*Curious much?* Harry asked mentally.
*When you lay a trap, you can hardly complain when it works,* Voldemort answered.
The pleased feeling from Harry was impossible to miss. Impossible not to bask in, just a little bit.
*Why did you attempt this, anyway?* Voldemort asked. *I would have thought you preferred to keep your thoughts to yourself.*
*Yes, and also … no,* Harry answered enigmatically. Neither was a lie, Voldemort noted. *I don't share more thoughts now than I would have in words spoken out loud, and … I admit to being curious what this thing is and does and will do. The only way to find out is to try.*
*Should I retreat and leave you to it, then?*
*That would completely miss the point, Voldemort. We are two that share this space, I doubt I can find out much all on my lonesome.*
*You do have a point. Very well. Let us leave the doors open.*
They did and the dinner proceeded as it usually did. It was after dinner, when they had withdrawn to a parlour for a drink, that it happened. Harry and Astoria sat on the same sofa, talking, Voldemort sat turned towards Draco on his other side, discussing an upcoming press conference. Rage roared through the link, so suddenly and so hot that Voldemort got up, drew his wand and turned around, all in one motion, ready for an attack.
"The fucking bastard said what!" Harry almost shouted.
Astoria simply shrugged in the face of Harry's fury. Like it didn't even concern her. Voldemort didn't think she quite knew what was behind those burning green eyes.
He hadn't either, before now.
"It's not like I'm truly surprised, but it is getting tiresome. Rabastan has gone from irritating to rude, and I don't like rudeness."
The rage still burned, hot, furious, unyielding, but Voldemort could now read it a bit better. It was not against him or anyone in the room. However, if Rabastan Lestrange had been in the room, Voldemort didn't much doubt that he would leave naught but a bloody smear on the carpet.
"Telling you that you should crawl on the ground like the worm you are, is not simply impolite, Astoria!" There was an unmistakable snarl in Harry's voice. "It's a serious issue!"
"How dare he! Astoria, why haven't you told me this!" Draco looked stricken. He loved his wife, snake characteristics or no. The thought of her being harassed made the blond man stiff with anger, silver eyes burning almost as much as Harry's green eyes did.
Voldemort agreed. Telling his next in command that she was a worm and that she should crawl on the ground was also an insult to him, to his choice of lieutenant. Cold rage seeped in and through the door out to the mindscape. He began to close the door to stop the feeling from reaching Harry, but then Harry turned around. Green eyes burning like fire, magic crackling around him like a halo.
Wild and beautiful. An untamed mystery.
And his. His husband. His.
"Don't!" Harry said hoarsely. Panic shot through his rage.
Voldemort froze, both figuratively and literally. He stopped trying to close the door. Not because of the words, but because of the panic he now felt from Harry. The panic Harry felt at the thought of being locked out. For a moment Voldemort had feared that it was the moment of possessiveness that he felt for Harry that had made his husband panic, but it was not that.
"Why not?" Voldemort asked.
"I would much rather have your anger and know it is not turned towards me, than just see your anger and not know."
Voldemort nodded once. "It is not turned towards you."
"I know that, right now."
Voldemort nodded slowly again and left the door open. "Very well. For now, at least. Astoria, what exactly has Rabastan done and said?"
When both he, her husband and Harry looked at her with obvious fury on her behalf, it apparently became too much, and the witch squirmed. But they did get the whole story, in the end.
Voldemort thought Rabastan rather deserved to get a reminder as to why Voldemort still was named the Dark Lord. Nothing truly permanent, no, not when he could make his sentiments clear in other ways. He wasn't insane anymore, after all, he didn't have that excuse. But Rabastan would learn his lesson, once and for all.
The open doors and bridge between their minds were quite useful when it came to discover when the soul fragment made itself and its need known for Harry. Voldemort thought he noticed it first, because he had never felt it before and because he was very much alert for something like this, at this point in the evening. Even if he always before had had to make do with physical tells.
There was a disturbance, a pressure, in Harry's mind that was felt even over the bridge. It soon became more insistent, more prevalent. Voldemort could feel it the moment Harry actually noticed. There was a moment of blinding terror and hate and rage. In a sharp movement Harry turned to face him, and something happened. Their gaze met and the terror in Harry receded. He swallowed hard and nodded once. Resignation and fear took the place the terror had had.
Voldemort got to his feet and Harry followed suit without looking at him again, or at Astoria or Draco when they got up. Voldemort said good night and ushered Harry carefully out from the room. Nagini was back in Voldemort's own rooms, far enough away as to not bring Harry any more discomfort.
The resignation and fear ruled in Harry's feelings, but both hate and rage burned behind it. Desperation and grief made the backdrop. Surprisingly, it didn't feel as if either the hate or the rage was actively turned towards Voldemort himself. It was rather aimed at the situation as a whole. It wasn't that remarkable that he got the brunt of it now and again, he had caused the situation, unwittingly, but still; he had caused it. That all the rage and hate didn't rain down on him at every moment of every day was … quite unexpected.
*I do understand the hate, the rage and the resignation, Harry,* Voldemort said slowly in their mind, *the desperation and grief too, but why the fear? Do you still fear losing your own free will?*
Harry, who walked slowly, stiffly, beside him, just hugged himself and continued to gaze at the floor. In the mindscape he slightly recoiled deeper into the doorway, but he left the door open. Voldemort noticed a wavering in the fear, but it didn't disappear. Voldemort frowned. After hesitating for a moment, he decided to promote his own calm and assuredness in the mindscape. Not to manipulate Harry's feelings, but to show Harry that Voldemort didn't hold any animosity towards his husband, he didn't have any plans of any kind. There was nothing to fear from him, not anymore.
Not that he believed Harry would truly believe any of it, any time soon. But the mind bridge might very well convince him of his own safety faster than he would have without it.
It did seem to help some, for while Harry still hugged himself when they reached his rooms, his shoulders had lowered and the fear in his mind had retreated some.
*I don't want this,* Harry whispered in the mindscape after removing his robes, and standing with his back towards Voldemort, dressed in thin, grey slacks. He flinched when the soul fragment upped the need, the pain, and then he retreated further into himself, but still the door was open.
If the words hadn't been said directly into Voldemort's mind, he probably wouldn't have heard them.
*I can feel … I can feel … that you don't … You don't …* A shot of blinding, white pain went through Harry's body, Harry's mind. He gasped and whimpered and then sobbed loudly when the pain tore through him again.
Voldemort stumbled, actually stumbled, mid-step.
That was the kind of pain Harry felt every time the soul shard got desperate?!
That was the kind of pain he experienced every evening?!
It was preposterous!
With his own gasp, Voldemort enveloped Harry in his arms and pulled him close. He felt the need of the soul shard burn, and the grief roil and the fury snap, in the other man's mind. Harry clung to him now. Trembling and shaking with tears and sobs and half whispered words.
"I hate you … I hate you so much … I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!"
Voldemort no longer knew how often Harry had said those words in this situation. Close to every evening, he was sure, and he had never truly minded. He had put the other man in an absolutely despicable situation, after all. The pain alone … and Voldemort hadn't actually known that the pain was this bad. Not from the very beginning of the episode. He had believed it could become this bad, but not so soon. He would have hated himself too, if he had been in Harry's situation. But with the door to the mind bridge still open, Harry's feelings told Voldemort a different story.
There was a lot of hate there, that was true. Burning, furious, snapping and snarling, more hate than any entirely sane man could feel, could handle, and Voldemort should know, but the hate wasn't focused on Voldemort alone. Again, most of the hate was focused on the situation, on the despair, on the feeling of being cornered, being forced, being trapped. All that was Voldemort's fault, no matter how unintentional it had been, and so that was what Harry determinedly centred on, but the feelings behind the words were a lot more … spread out.
Voldemort held his husband in his arms while the man wept and shivered and cursed him through sobs. The physical pain had vanished the moment they touched, but Harry's mind was agitated. It was easier now than ever before to understand what went on in Harry's mind, even if Voldemort couldn't read his thoughts. He was grateful for that, for being able to understand the situation better while at the same time not intruding into Harry's actual thoughts. Harry felt cornered enough, violated enough, because of this situation. If Voldemort had had access to his thoughts too, that would almost certainly have driven Harry completely insane. As it was, he was alarmingly close to that already.
"Harry, try coming out onto the mind bridge," Voldemort said while his hands stroked his husband's hair and back, without Voldemort deciding to do so. "I will stay by my door, but it might help you to calm down. Please do try, for a few moments, if nothing else."
Harry gave no indication of having heard him, but then he suddenly was halfway along the bridge and his body grew slack in Voldemort's arms. Voldemort hefted him up and got them both onto the bed, Harry's back towards his own chest, as Harry preferred it.
*I should, by rights, still be upset,* Harry commented from the arch of the bridge. *I can still feel, still think.* A sigh. *I'm so very tired of this. So very, very tired.*
*I understand that better now than I did before,* Voldemort said carefully. *Is it always that painful when the soul shard gets insistent?*
A laugh, high pitched and mocking. *That? That was nothing. Try that pain times ten, and you get close to how it usually feels before we reach the bed. We left our company faster than we usually do.*
Truth, plain and simple.
*You would rather experience that kind of pain, instead of telling me that the soul shard gets agitated?*
*I would rather live with that kind of pain constantly, than being forced into a situation I did not choose! Then being trapped!* Harry shouted.
Truth, harsh and brutal.
The hatred scorched through Voldemort's mind. Entirely directed at him this time, for his thoughtless words.
It took time, but the hate did abate somewhat.
*Will the soul shard even calm down with my mind here and not fully in my own body?* Harry asked after a while.
*I do not know. Is it worth trying?*
*Yes.* Complete truth and no hesitation. *I let my feelings get the best of me, before, before the pain struck. I believe … I believe I might have hoped for some kind of miracle. That maybe … with this mind bridge … that would be enough for the soul shard. After all, we are connected in several ways now, why couldn't it be enough for that greedy soul shard?* A note of pleading in his voice. An almost frantic wish for relief, for some kind of help.
*I am sorry, Harry, I do not know the answer.*
Greif. Resignation. Despair.
And silence.
None of them spoke before Voldemort looked at the time and told Harry that Harry could try to move away now. Harry left the bridge, but left the door open behind him so Voldemort could both see his body and feel his feelings when Harry moved away from him. No pain, no desperate need. It seemed to have worked.
The door on Harry's side of the bridge began to close, slowly, giving Voldemort time to close his own door at the same pace. They both remembered what had happened earlier that day when Voldemort closed the door while Harry was still on the bridge. It was a shared space, being there alone, at least being on the bridge alone, with one of the doors closed, might not be possible. Only time and experience would tell for certain.
"I'm going for a walk, and then to bed. I have a Dreamless Sleep potion I can take tonight." Harry's voice was careful and without infliction at all, he sat still with his back to Voldemort.
"Very well. I will see you tomorrow."
"Yes."
Voldemort didn't think he imagined the tone of despondency in his husband's voice when he said that one word.
He went back to his own rooms and spent most of the night in his study, going through everything both he and the Malfoy's had on magical beings, creatures, and beasts. Nagini, when he asked, claimed that Harry did smell entirely human and always had. Obviously, he couldn't be purely human, but her statement really didn't help matters.
XXXXX
Voldemort saw Harry again at the press conference before lunch the next day. Like last time he arrived with Astoria. The energetic and keen witch had managed to get past his defences better than either of them could have hoped, and drawn him out, both from his own head and misery, and from his isolation. Like last time Astoria pointed at a chair out of the way, so Harry could be present, but not be the centre of attention, which he very obviously didn't like, for just as obvious reasons.
Harry sat down and the sleek black robe that shimmered in blue when he moved, fell around the chair's legs. Narcissa truly knew how to bring out the best in someone's features, simply by choosing the right colour and cut for a robe. The robe was fitted, but in a way that didn't highlight the fact that Harry was too skinny, it was also in a simple cut and without any elaborate embroidery. All which suited both Harry's tastes and body. The colour suited his black hair, green eyes and sun kissed skin perfectly. Nagini slithered across the floor and put her massive head right in Harry's lap in a rather possessive and self-satisfied way. Harry just stroked her head while shaking his own and taking a drink from his cup, not noticing the glances the duo got from the people in the room.
After a few moments Harry looked up from Nagini, met Voldemort's gaze and nodded. Voldemort felt the door in the mindscape slide open again, just like the evening before. Voldemort opened his own door. Both of them remained in their doorways, in their own bodies, but they could read each other's feelings and communicate mentally. Again, Harry seemed pleased by the fact that Voldemort opened his own door.
For just a moment Voldemort contemplated asking if there was a reason for this, a reason to open the doors between their minds, but in the end, he figured it was best not to ask. If this was some kind of plan to deceive him, then Voldemort would find out sooner or later.
*So very suspicious,* Harry teased, obviously reading his feelings. *Gryffindor, remember, I don't have plans within plans within plans.*
Apparently, he was in a good mood today.
*I usually draw the line with a plan within a plan,* Voldemort admitted. *More than that and it gets confusing.*
*Tsk, and here I thought you were the Heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, and you can't even keep your plans in order. What kind of Slytherin is that?*
*I most assuredly can, if they do not get too convoluted.*
*And I repeat; tsk tsk.* Across the room Harry shook his head at him, his lips twitching with a smile.
Voldemort mentally rolled his eyes at him. It got the reaction he had wished for, but not really believed he would get. Harry laughed out loud. His husband most decidedly was in a good mood today. Amusement and delight swirled on his side of the mind bridge.
Several of the people in the room, both from the press and the ones that were there to inform the press, turned to look at Harry, some with smiles on their faces, some with astonishment. Astoria's eyes shone while she watched Harry's grin.
"Please don't mind me," Harry said, and refused to look at any of them, focusing instead on his coffee and Nagini, much to Nagini's pleasure.
Some of the people from the press made notes on their notepads. Voldemort wondered if any of them had noticed that he and Harry had kept eye contact for several moments before Harry laughed. And he wondered if he should tell Draco to make sure that this little fact wasn't published. In the end he decided against it. It was more or less harmless, and the fact that Harry could laugh while in the same room as Voldemort was a point in favour of the truce, not against. After all, that the Saviour of the Wizarding World could laugh while married to the Dark Lord, ought to be seen as encouraging.
The press conference went off without any difficulties, but towards the end Voldemort saw Harry catch Draco's eye, and the blond fairly flew to his side as Harry approached a couple of witches and a wizard. The same trio he had approached at the first press conference he had been at. Rowan Sterling from the magazine Bewitched, with her intern Adelina Walsh and the photographer Wilbert Flemming.
*If you don't want me to talk to them, now is the time to say so, or may you forever hold your peace,* Harry said, with bubbly playfulness.
*Truly, what has gotten into you?* Voldemort asked, mystified. He didn't mind in the least, not that Harry talked to the press if he felt like it, nor his tone and mood, but he couldn't help but be surprised. This was something else entirely than last evening's attitude.
Something else than their entire marriage, more or less.
*Still just you, I'm afraid,* Harry answered.
Voldemort groaned silently. *I ought to stop asking that question, do I not?*
*Yeah, probably. Though, I had hoped that I could get to give that answer a few more times before you caught on.*
*I have to show my Slytherin side at some point.*
*True, true.*
Voldemort watched while Harry asked Miss Sterling to relay Harry's appreciation for all the well wishes and gifts that he had gotten for his birthday, from the very first of them to the very last.
"My Lord, you do realise that Mr. Potter uses the press to send messages to someone out there, do you not? Most likely to Miss Granger," Severus asked.
Voldemort cast a silencing spell around them. "I do realise that, yes, and I do not see a problem, so long as Harry remembers the truce and his vows."
"The very first of the well wishes," Astoria said thoughtfully. "I wonder if that has anything to do with the Patronus that breached the wards seconds into the 31st of July. I noticed it when I checked the wards that morning, if you remember me informing you, my Lord? That was probably Miss Granger."
"Yes, most likely," Voldemort said.
Astoria made a sudden movement with a hand, before she just as suddenly stilled, eyes on the other side of the room. Voldemort followed her gaze and noticed that Head of DMLE Susan Bones was talking to Harry and handing him a deep purple voucher, both were smiling. Astoria smiled too, now. Harry was feeling a bit apprehensive, with a short burst of hope and happiness. Then he was filled with determination.
"Some plot of yours, Astoria?" Voldemort asked.
"Yes, my Lord, even if Mrs Bones will make my life a nightmare if it backfires. She is a badger through and through and she sees Harry as a close friend. I got her to give him that voucher and invite him to join her. It's for a new café that will open in Diagon Alley next week. The first of its kind. I hope that an invite from someone he knows and trusts, will tempt him to leave the Manor, if only for a short trip. Permission to make sure we have the guards necessary on hand, if he should decide to take Mrs Bones up on her offer?"
"Of course. If it should become difficult, do tell me and I will join you, if you believe that it will not be counterproductive."
Astoria hesitated. "Right now, I do not know, my Lord. He seems quite … ambivalent … about you."
"That is understandable."
Astoria chose not to answer that.
Voldemort looked at Harry again. He was saying farewell to Mrs Bones, a feeling of contentment humming in his mind. Voldemort found himself wondering if Harry would more easily believe him if he told Harry he did not wish to hurt or harm him, while they both were on the mind bridge. He wondered how many times he would have to tell him before it actually worked. And he wondered if it would be at all useful, as even if Harry consciously might end up believing him sooner, his body and instincts would still need time to accept the change. Would it be best to let him take the time he needed, or would it be best to help him along? And would it truly be helpful, or would it make more trouble for his already fragile mind?
In the blink of an eye the room and atmosphere changed, when Harry's immense power rolled through the room like a storm, knocking people down and filling the air with gasps and cries. Astoria stiffened her spine and smiled blissfully as the power rolled over her, but Severus swayed before he managed to recover his composure. Voldemort basked in the power erupting from his husband. So much power thrumming in the air, unfettered, untamed, wild and glorious.
Harry's feelings were ice-cold rage. Not the hot, boiling fury from the evening before. Cold, cold rage. Cold enough that the sparks of magic around Harry were ice blue. Cold enough that ice crystals gathered in the air and spun in the light before evaporating. Cold enough that the temperature in the room dropped significantly.
"He truly is magnificent," Astoria whispered, and Voldemort didn't think she meant to be heard by anyone. Nevertheless, he agreed with her sentiment. Even if Harry right now was frightening a room full of people; there was no use to try and deny the fact that he was magnificent when he stalked through the room right up to Rabastan Lestrange.
Two swipes of his wand and small, black snakes manifested around Rabastan's throat and wrists.
"This man is your hostage till I say otherwise," he told the three snakes and pointed at Astoria with a hand. "That witch is your sister under the skin. Your hostage is being cruel towards her because she is your sister, he uses cruel words to hurt and harm her. She is strong, but now it is your task to protect her. If he is anything but meek towards her, suffocate him till he changes is attitude. If he tries to hurt her with his magic or his fists, bite him and bite to kill."
"Yes, Speaker," all three snakes hissed.
"If you show anything but the humblest attitude towards Mrs Astoria Malfoy again, the snakes will end your life, Rabastan." The words were hissed in English. "Mess with snakes and get bitten!" It was a snarl now.
Harry turned and looked straight at Voldemort. *I haven't hurt anyone. Yet. One might even argue that even if the snakes end his life, it will not be my doing. You heard my orders to them, and that I gave him a warning.*
*That is entirely true. I called for Rabastan to find a solution to the problem he has presented us with, that is why he is here at this time. Now I will not have to find a solution, as you already have done so.*
Harry gave him a sharp nod, turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. His mind was still filled with the cold fury, but also a good portion of self-satisfaction. Now the door to the mind bridge was slowly closing, again giving Voldemort time to retreat himself. The doors closed completely, and Voldemort could only give a slight inward smile as he still felt Harry's power spilling all around him; bright and glorious against his senses.
Voldemort had never felt anything like it. The fact that this was the magic of the man he had married had him in awe. That Harry was his Horcrux and had enough magical strength and ability and cunning to survive this war, had been enough to make the decision to marry him easy. Voldemort had not known of all the mysteries surrounding the man. He had not known just how much knowledge of magic he held, how much understanding, and how very much magical power.
While he regretted Harry's pain, he could not, would never, feel remorse for marrying him. Harry truly was his equal and feeling his power wash over him made him happy it was so. He could have gone his entire existence, not feeling this, not being able to revel in this, if Harry had died as a child, or in the war.
Voldemort had married his equal. He had never wanted an equal as much as he did right this moment. And he had him.
He watched while people slowly got to their feet and shook themselves after standing so close to that kind of power storm. It had been controlled and not truly harmful, nothing like the times Harry's magic had run wild. In this case it was Harry, and not his magic, that had run wild. It could in theory be equally dangerous, or even more so, but at the same time it was a lot safer and more controlled.
Rabastan was standing frozen in shock and fear. Probably realising that Voldemort wouldn't help him out of the situation he brought onto himself.
Voldemort pondered vaguely if he could get a whiplash, trying to follow Harry's rapidly changing moods.
A/N:
I'm so happy that you liked the last chapter! Good to know I write smut well enough in this setting. I have planned more scenes, not anytime soon though. I know from experience that writing smut will get tiresome at some point (at least for me), if I reach that point and begin to fade out the scenes, I'm sorry, but until then, I will do my best to write full scenes.
d'ihshtri:
I'm now writing nine chapters ahead of what I post, and Hermione is still a not back in the story, but she is getting closer.
And yes, meetings probably should happen in the Ministry too, I somehow forgot, maybe it was a security issue? I will go with that excuse, and I will try to remember to make more meetings happen at the Ministry.
In the first chapter Harry mentions that only Hermione and he has survived from the Gryffindors in their year and later it becomes clear that Harry became very depressed after something happened to Ron, so … Yeah. Doesn't look too good …
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