34. Power and Magic

Harry ducked his head under the stream of hot water, trying to drown out the screams in the back of his mind. The sound of water didn't help much.

It had been raining that day too.

One of the things that had happened during the conversation the previous evening was that Harry now was cleared by Astoria to begin to build up his strength and stamina again, if he was careful and used time and did it properly. He knew Astoria would watch him like a hawk.

Later he had fallen asleep in Voldemort's arms. Again. This time the surprise wasn't as great and he didn't discombobulate him at all, he could understand it. Why wouldn't he fall asleep when he was that relaxed? It made sense. The fact that he hadn't had any nightmares or even slept fitfully wasn't as comprehensible, but he had slept well and woken early. After a cup of coffee and his nutrient potion he had gone for a fast walk and a short swim in the lake. The weather was still hot, but overcast and Harry had a feeling it would turn wet and cold soon enough.

He flinched when a voice screamed, and someone cackled maniacally. Damn Bellatrix Lestrange. He looked at his hand with its missing little finger. Damn Bellatrix Lestrange to Hell. He could hear Hermione snarling curses with a vengeance through the rain and thunder. Someone was screaming in pain. Not Bellatrix, unfortunately. A small voice, pleading …

Harry gasped and hit the bathroom wall with the flat of his palm, the stinging pain pushed the voices aside. At least for the moment.

He sighed and got out of the shower. Dobby had a sandwich and a coffee waiting for him on the balcony and he read the papers while eating. The Prophet was still censored as he preferred, with whole articles blacked out. He could still read Titbits without any editing. He soon found Skeeters piece with the interview with him, but he didn't come far before Dobby popped in, bowed, and said:

"Master Harry sir, Lord Voldemort is asking Dobby to asking Master Harry if Master Harry is wanting to have lunch with the rest of the house."

Harry lips twitched at the thought that house elves could call Voldemort by his name when his own people flinched from just hearing it. But then, Dobby did so at Harry's urging and with Voldemort's approval, because Harry had no wish to hear about the Dark Lord more than he absolutely had to. Then he thought about Dobby's words. The screaming had mostly stopped, he should be safe to be around, he hoped.

"Dobby, would you tell Voldemort that I have a small case of 'Breakfast and Hellfire', but that I think I'm fit for company if they are willing to take that chance, and don't plan on any wild discussions."

"Dobby will be doing that right away, Master Harry!" Dobby popped away and was back just moments later. "Master Harry, Lord Voldemort is telling Dobby that there is not to be any wild discussions and that Master Harry is to be safe."

Harry closed his eyes and remembered cool, soft lips against his temple. Safe. He truly was safe. Not only in the vicinity, but in the literal arms of the man that had killed his parents to get to him; he was safe. Harry didn't for one moment believe that he would always be able to remember and act on this knowledge, anxiety and rage and hallucinations would see to that. But from time to time, maybe even most of the time if he was lucky, he would be able to remember, to truly know, that he was safe now.

Without considering it further, Harry gathered his newspapers and followed Dobby to the lunchroom. The three others were already seated.

"I have to admit Harry, I like your codeword," Astoria said with a grin and gave him a fresh cup of coffee.

"Suitably dramatic," Draco commented.

"Uhm …" Harry sat down and took the cup from Astoria with a small smile and a thanks.

"'Breakfast and Hellfire'," Astoria said.

"At least no one can claim that I didn't give warning," Harry shrugged.

"How did you sleep, Harry?" Voldemort asked.

"The night was fine, the morning was hell, even if I finally got to go swimming again. Just in time for the swimming season to come to an end." He scowled out the windows and at the heavy, grey sky. "Astoria, I keep forgetting to ask; do you want your newspapers back after I have read them?" He held up the two papers.

"I have my own, thank you." She hesitated. "What do you mean 'Do I want them back'?"

"They aren't yours? I don't subscribe to either of them, and The Prophet is edited, so I thought …" Astoria deliberately shook her head and one look at Draco told him the blond man had no idea what was going on, so Harry slowly turned to Voldemort, who drank his tea in silence.

Harry opened his mind door and felt Voldemort doing the same just moments later, like he usually did. Only on a very few occasions in the last weeks had Voldemort not opened his mind door when Harry opened his. Harry supposed those were the times when Voldemort wanted a privacy he couldn't get when the mind doors were open, so Harry didn't comment on it. Now Voldemort was feeling undeniably smug, with more than a hint of amusement on the side.

Harry blinked at him, and then blinked again. For some reason he had never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that Voldemort would have taken the time not only to send Harry his copies of the two papers, but to edit The Prophet so Harry could read it without wanting to shred the paper, or the entire world. For one moment Harry wondered if Voldemort and Astoria had planned their two-pronged attack with regards to get Harry to pay attention to what was happening in the world, by both sending him the newspapers and giving him political books and papers to read, and carefully dragging him into discussions and meetings.

He pushed the thought aside. Not only didn't it matter now, but it was Harry that at first had wanted to read the book Magical Politics. Sure, it had been on Voldemort's recommendation, but it was Harry that had decided to read it and then ask Astoria for similar books and then take her up on the offer to read about the policies that the new regime was putting into place. They had given him an offer, without any strings attached, and he had taken it. It might be seen as more manipulation, but Harry realised that it had done him good. Just as the manipulation to get him to Diagon Alley had done him good. Not all manipulations were bad, and he had never expected to avoid manipulations in a household full of Slytherins.

"Do you want your papers back?" Harry asked, eyes on Voldemort, and held up the newspapers.

"No, thank you Harry, I make certain that I am finished with them when I give them to you. But then again, maybe I would like to keep the interview you had with Miss Skeeter, if you do not want it. You do truly have a way with words, even when the words promise death and ruin."

"I haven't read it yet, but I will give it to you when I have."

"Nagini and I especially liked your comments about her. A cuddle bug, was it? And a brat and a worrywart?"

"And tattletale, do not forget that part," Harry added.

"How could I ever forget that part?" Voldemort asked, silent laughter coming towards Harry from the other side of the mind bridge.

Astoria was smiling behind her teacup and Harry helped himself to a scone. He had just eaten, but a scone with his coffee was alright.

"I hope there won't be any repercussions from my statements about Muggle technology and warfare," Harry added and sent Voldemort a worried glance. "I don't want to frighten people, but as far as I know I only spoke the truth."

"Unfortunately, I have to agree with all you said." Nothing but a calm acceptance, and a bit of unhappiness was felt from Voldemort. "Even with all the protections we have at the moment, and all the protections we will find and begin to use in the future, we will be discovered at some point." The unhappiness turned to a heavier concern. "Then we will be at war again, of that I have little doubt, against an enemy that has a lot more people than us, and weapons we cannot use or defend against."

"Of course we can use their weapons, we have hands too," Harry said dryly. "And while we right now have little to use as defence against such weapons, or such numbers, it will not happen tomorrow, next year, or even in a decade. The better we can separate our two communities, the longer we will have before they discover us, and the longer they will use to make weapons against magic."

The mood in the room had definitely taken a turn for the worse, and because Harry had spent the morning in memories of war, he didn't much want to spend any more time thinking about war.

"I'm curious, Voldemort, may I ask you a strange question?"

Voldemort looked at him and lifted an eyebrow, his own curiosity coming to meet Harry's along the bridge.

"You may, but I may not answer."

Voldemort often said that, and so far, he had answered a lot more than he had declined to answer.

"I cannot remember ever seeing you using shoes, or any kind of footwear, why is that?"

Voldemort smirked openly, eyes gleaming, amusement and smugness swirling in his mind. "I could answer you, but the answer would make a lot more sense if I showed you. Would you care to join me in the garden after lunch?"

"I believe I will," Harry answered.

That was why Voldemort led the three of them out into the garden after lunch. Astoria and Draco were easily invited by Harry, and not disinvited by Voldemort, so the answer couldn't be that much of a secret.

"Take off your shoes and socks and stand on the grass," Voldemort told them.

Both Astoria and Draco hesitated, doing so probably wasn't a proper thing to do, in pure-blood circles, but then they grinned at each other and did as Voldemort said. Harry was already barefoot on the grass.

"Release any shields or barriers you have around your magic, so it can flow free without any kind of hindrance."

Harry stripped his shields off his magic and let it loose to flow over the garden, the Manor and the rest of the grounds. Approval and satisfaction reached him from Voldemort and the man was eyeing him with a glint in his eye. Under the approval and the satisfaction was a hint of something else. Harry only got a tiny glimpse of it before Voldemort shoved it away. His action didn't worry Harry, there was no maliciousness towards Harry at all, no hatred or disapproval. And the more Harry thought of it, the more he believed the feeling Voldemort had pushed away to be along the lines of pleasure or excitement. It didn't really surprise him. Voldemort was sane now and that did change a lot about him, but not everything. Craving power and appreciating power in someone else was apparently one of the things that had not changed. Harry could live with that, and he knew Voldemort would be able to read his acceptance from his mind.

"Now, connect with your core," Voldemort said. "This might not work for everybody here, but after connecting with your core, extend your magic outwards, while staying connected with your core. As if you have one hand around something and stretch your other hand out."

Harry took a deep breath and felt the glow and the power of his magical core. He would like to say it was in his chest, or along his spine, or in his head, but it was all that, and none. His core was as insubstantial and as important as his soul, and was quite impossible to pinpoint. He was his magic, his magic was him, and now he was focusing his magic outwards, wondering what he was reaching for.

Something tickled against him. Teasing, there and gone.

He stretched further and felt a tingling sensation in his mind, in his core. A connection. A presence. A deep breath later and the sensation swelled within him. Down from the sky and air. Up from the soft earth and stone. Connection. Life. Magic. Everywhere around him. Over him, underneath him, in him, in the air and the light, and in the grass and the trees, and in the water. He could sense it, feel it, touch it.

Massive lines of energy, of magic, twisted deep under his feet, and he reached down and touched it, it sparked and sparkled and …

"Careful, Harry, do not play with the ley lines unless you know what you are doing."

Harry pulled back. Yes, better not to play with the ley lines. He had used them to power both magical rituals and wards, before, but he had never felt them, almost seen them, like this. Never connected with them directly. Broad bands of shining, pulsing energy, of magic, deep, deep underneath them.

Amusement from Voldemort. Harry had closed his eyes at some point, but he didn't need to open his eyes to know that Voldemort was assessing him with a knowing smirk in his eyes.

"Ley lines?" Astoria asked. "It's possible to actually feel them? I can't feel anything, but I might not be able to. Or maybe I'm not doing it right."

"Me neither," Draco admitted.

"If you have less magic to reach out with, it might take more time and practice to manage," Voldemort said. "It is also more hazardous to both touch and use the ley lines in magical workings, if you do not have a proper layer of magic to protect your own core from the force of the lines. It is the work of a moment to become a burnt-out husk, with no magic left, if you do not treat the lines with proper respect and care. There are rituals that can help to protect yourself before you work with the ley lines, should one want to or need to."

"But it's not only the lines, is it? It's everywhere, the magic? I can't remember ever hearing or reading about this phenomenon." Harry felt the touch and tingles of magic around him in the air. Almost like invisible, glittering dust motes that danced around him. A feeling, not something he could see.

"Ambient magic, yes," Voldemort said. "You can feel it, if you know what you are watching for, but it is not possible to use without a ritual to draw it in, not like the ley lines that can be used directly if you are strong enough and know what you are doing."

"Ambient magic. Never heard the term before," Harry admitted.

"I have a couple of books in Greek, if you are interested?"

"I could give them a try."

"My Lord, your appearance …" Astoria sounded hesitant and worried and in hindsight Harry knew he should not have opened his eyes right then.

He opened his eyes, and looked straight at Voldemort in his most serpentine form for the first time since they got married. His skin was white, his face and body gaunt and bony, his eyes were blood-shot in addition to the ruby coloured irises, he had no hair at all, and his nose was the well-known snake-like slits.

It was the form that had risen from the cauldron, with the help of Harry's own blood, forcibly taken. The form that had fought him in the Ministry a year later, just after Sirius was killed. The form he had seen and fought time and time again, for so many years.

So much fear. So much pain. So much blood. For so long.

So bloody long.

When would it stop? Would it ever?

Thunder rolled and smashed. Rain hammered down around him. People screamed and cursed and ran. Curses sailed through the air. He was casting shields behind him. Mud squelched under his feet while he ran after Hermione with five Death Eaters after them. They skidded around a corner of a house and slammed into the wall, breathing hard. The taste of mud and blood and tears on his lips.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Hermione muttered. Tears and blood mixing down her cheeks. "Neville!" she sobbed.

"Focus! We are not dead yet, Hermi!" Harry snapped, not thinking about his friend in the mud, face down and covered in blood. So much blood. He wasn't thinking about it.

"Sword!" Hermione snarled, pushing away from the wall again.

"Shield," Harry confirmed and then they were around the corner, face to face with the five Death Eaters. Harry shielded them and Hermione ripped them apart, literally, limb for limb.

Their screams blended with the rest of the noise from the battle.

"Harry?" It was a sibilant hiss and Harry realised he was at Malfoy Manor, it was light out and while the sky was grey, it wasn't raining. There was no battle. There hadn't been a battle for some time now. They were at peace. He had his wand in his hand and his magic was crackling around him. Flares of power danced through the air and extinguished. He had managed to keep most of his magic back. There were no waves of gold and black. That was something, at least.

"Do. Not. Move," Harry whispered between stiff lips. "Please!" he begged.

He could feel Astoria and Draco freeze to the side of him.

Thunder rolled and he opened his eyes wide and looked up at the dry sky. There was no thunder. There were no screams. There was no battle. The grass was green and dry beneath his feet. He was warm and not soaked through to the skin with icy rain. The battle was long over. The dead counted and cremated, the ashes spread and the wine drunk.

It was over.

It was over.

There was no war.

No battles to fight.

No enemies for him to kill and destroy.

Just his husband, that he needed to be able to live with.

Just enemies turned possible allies and friends.

Just … no Hermione.

Hermione … Hermi …

A hoarse laughter filled the air. Get a grip, Potter! I'm not going anywhere! I'm an owl or a Patronus away, as always, you bastard!

"Bitch," Harry muttered back.

A cackle was his only answer. No more real than the battle in the back of his mind.

He focused on the here and now again. On the mind bridge that his husband had kept open between them, open, but quiet. There was no hostility towards Harry, even with Voldemort's appearance, even with the threat Harry was right now. Harry swallowed hard and concentrated on the calm Voldemort was feeling. No wild hatred. No rage. No bloodlust. Just calm, with a hint of trepidation. They both knew that if Harry lost it now, Voldemort didn't have any choice but to respond, and there weren't a lot of mild spells or curses he could use against Harry's fear and rage.

If Harry truly lost it …

*You have not attacked yet,* Voldemort's voice filled his mind. *That has to count for something.*

His voice was the same as always, in here, no hiss at all. He felt the same too. Like the man Harry very slowly was getting to know and even trust. No strange, new, and unpredictable feelings. Only Voldemort, only his husband, who despite it all really tried to help Harry now. Really tried to understand him.

*I don't want to. I really, really don't want to,* Harry whispered. *But … memories and sorrow and pain … so much pain …*

*Yes, I can feel it through you, even if it is just memories. I apologise for this, Harry. I spent the morning discussing and negotiating with the goblins, when I thought we were done. It made me … irate. And touching the ley lines can at times have inadvertent consequences. This time it stripped me of my glamour.*

*You don't feel irate,* Harry commented.

Voldemort did something and now Harry could feel some exasperation from his husband before Voldemort pushed it away again, feeling mostly calm. But now that Harry knew what to look for, he noticed that the annoyance was far from gone, just pushed far back.

*My Occlumency shields help me keep it in check, but it is still there, thus my appearance. No one died.*

Harry swallowed and looked harder at Voldemort's feelings. Voldemort let him. Yes, the irritation was there, but the feeling of calm was greater and even the trepidation was closer than the irritation. There was also some approval and curiosity.

*I think … I think I will just sit down here for a while, and let you leave,* Harry stated after a while, when he thought he would be able to sit down with people around him. *It's best if I don't focus too much outwards right now. Tell me when you have left.*

*Are you safe to leave alone?* Voldemort asked.

*Safe enough for a little while, but send Dobby in about five minutes. I will try to have tea with you, but I make no promises.*

*Of course.*

Harry heard just a rustle of cloth against cloth and then silence.

Voldemort's voice filled his mind some minutes later, smooth and calm. *By the way, Harry, the answer to your question about why I do not use shoes; I find it much easier to connect both with the ley lines and with the ambient magic when my feet can touch the bare earth. Why would I use shoes when I have magic to protect and warm my feet, when required?*

*I see your point,* Harry admitted.

*Do tell me if I succeed in converting you to the cult of the bare-footed.*

Harry snorted aloud. *I like my shoes, thank you very much. But I appreciate knowing what's behind your choice.*

*But of course, husband.*

That evening when the soul shard made itself known and Voldemort and Harry retreated to Harry's room and bed, Harry asked if Voldemort was fine with resting front to front again.

"If that is your wish, Harry, then I would be happy to oblige," Voldemort said carefully. His feelings conveyed only calm reassurance and Harry found it surprisingly easy to actually snuggle close to him, just as he had done the evening before. Voldemort put his arms around him and held him with exactly the right pressure, probably helped by the open mind doors between them.

"It's been a horrid day with too many painful memories," Harry murmured.

"I gathered as much," Voldemort said, soft silk in his voice, calming, supporting, just as the arms around Harry and the thumb that slowly, gently, stroked against his shoulder.

"I feel … utterly exhausted by it," Harry admitted, a bit surprised by himself for admitting to something like that, so openly. But he was too worn out to even consider why he did or why he shouldn't or why it was alright to admit to it. Too weary to think any more, about anything.

"That is understandable, Harry, do you want a break, like yesterday?"

"No, no … I … I'm alright, right now, I just … Could you talk about something, anything, that hasn't to do with war and pain and loss? So I don't have any silence to think in, right now? Please?" He should probably be a bit abashed about the fact that his voice broke at the last word and that a few tears ran down his face, in pure exhaustion. He should probably dislike the fact the Voldemort noticed and softly wiped a way the tears with gentle fingertips. But he couldn't be bothered by it, not right now. Instead, he burrowed his face into Voldemort's neck and gave a tiny sigh when Voldemort carded a long hand through his hair a few times before he stopped and let it rest against the back of Harry's head, and thus held him against the other man.

He felt safe again in his husband's arms, even without the calm that came with being on a mental break. Safe and calm and even looked after, right here, right now. Even with the horrible and exhausting day he had had, full of pain and screams and memories of loss and rage and horror.

All he could read from Voldemort's feelings was calm and care and Harry thought there even was a bit of a wish to protect.

"I could talk about a book I finished the other day. It was Muggle fantasy novel," Voldemort inquired.

"That sounds safe enough. Please tell me about it, and what you thought about it."

"Very well. It was a novel by a Muggle author I like quite a bit. It is a part of a long series with a lot of different characters and storylines. I do not know if you have read or heard about Discworld?"

"It does ring a bell, but I don't think I have read it. Tell me about it."

So, Voldemort did, and Harry remained in his arms, exhausted and tired beyond belief, but calm and safe and cared for.

A/N:

Thank you so much for the comments, the favs and the follows! They are much appreciated! I love to hear what you think about the story and the characters! It makes writing this story even more fun! Each and every comment makes me smile!

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