Chapter 100 - Kill the Flame
All the regulars had come and most had gone by the time a very unusual visitor stepped through the door of the Hog's head. Trouble, was the first thought shooting through Aberforth's head when spotting the silhouette of the woman's typical hat and catching a hint of green robes beneath a black travelling cloak.
The glass he'd been drying was set down with an annoyed clink so he could reach behind the counter for the only dusty bottle of Gillywater he owned.
''Minerva,'' he grunted as she hoisted herself up on a barstool and silently accepted the drink. ''Can't imagine you coming here alone is good news.''
''Last Sunday – well, technically Monday as it was past midnight, a phoenix Patronus was sent out to every member,'' she started in a hushed tone. She was the only person who could still sound clipped when whispering, Aberforth found. ''You didn't answer the summons.''
This was news to him, and he raised a disbelieving, bushy eyebrow at her. ''I throw everyone out at midnight and have been using sleeping draughts for years. Not even a stampede of Erumpents could wake me when I'm out. Believe me, enough strange creatures have been brought into this place to make damned sure of that. My blasted brother and his pet projects-''
''Your brother is the reason I'm here.''
''Of course he is,'' Aberforth snarled, wishing she'd be gone already. Yet he was a man of principle, and as long as she paid for the drinks and the clock didn't strike twelve, Minerva was as free as any other customer to use the pub. She didn't appear deterred by the rudeness. Shame, that usually worked. He might be in for a long evening.
''Aren't you the faintest bit curious about the summons I mentioned?'' The strands of candied Gillyweed swirled around in the glass as she took another sip. Aberforth was rather familiar with the drinking habits of most everyone who'd ever stepped into the Hog's Head, and he could deduct from the way she drank just a bit quicker than usual and fiddled with the glass a tad too much that Minerva was deeply troubled.
''No,'' he gruffly lied. As if someone so blinded by his brother to the point of trusting the conniving bastard completely was entitled to Aberforth's true thoughts. Whatever scheme this was about, it likely wasn't worth the headache. Nonetheless, it couldn't hurt to be in the loop, and regardless of his reluctance, Minerva wouldn't leave without having told her story. So, he went back to washing and drying glasses as he pretended to only listen with one ear.
''You must have heard of the missing students,'' she muttered sombrely. ''One of our allies at last discovered their location, so we set out to rescue them. It should have gone to plan: a strike in the dead of night with the element of surprise on our side. And yet… they were waiting for us. Only Hagrid and I even made it to the meeting spot mostly unscathed before being ambushed once more… only to find Albus wasn't there and seeing obvious signs of advanced barriers having been erected. I was forced to flee before learning more. And now… Aberforth, I don't know whom I can trust,'' she urgently pressed. Her glass was already empty. ''Some of our allies disappeared, whereas others apparently showed up at work the next day as if nothing was wrong. I fear we walked into a trap I don't comprehend the scope of.''
He paused briefly, shooting Minerva a glance. ''Albus should be fine,'' he replied. ''Heard he had a meeting with a couple bigshots just yesterday. I do have some ears that keep tabs on my brother to prevent him from doing anything too stupid, you must know. Since he mucked up with the British Ministry, Albus is clinging to the only power he has left: the International Confederacy. Fudge may have officially revoked his membership and with it technically the title of Mugwump too due to the lack of governmental support that makes him a viable representative of our country, but that isn't how any of the other countries see it. His outlandish claims are considered a problem for Britain to deal with, they still value his advice for whichever senseless reason. In either case, he was publicly seen having lunch with the representatives of Spain and Portugal yesterday afternoon.''
That only served to agitate her more, going by the way she picked up a gillyweed strand and started to nervously crumble it in between her fingers. ''Which is concerning, considering he never contacted me after this… fiasco,'' she said. ''Nor did he contact any of the other members who'd not answered that particular summons. Both our rogue and our knights haven't heard a peep since and were as unaware of anything going on as you seem to be.''
He hid his surprise at especially the two Aurors not having rushed to aid as soon as Albus snapped his fingers. Finally giving up on the pretence aloofness, Aberforth grumbled into his beard, threw the washcloth away and gestured for Minerva to follow him upstairs. There weren't any unfamiliar fellows in the pub tonight, but one could never know… ''Help yourselves when thirsty,'' he shouted at his customers, ''But if a single Knut is short by midnight, none of you'll set foot in here until the tabs are paid in full.'' Upon leaving, he grabbed both the half-empty bottle of Gillywater and a good Firewhisky he'd stored away.
''So, what exactly happened to everyone who joined this heroic rescue?'' Blast, his concern had unnecessarily grown to a point at which he couldn't even muster up sarcasm anymore. Not concern for Albus, who somehow always managed to graciously land on his feet where others stumbled. Instead, Aberforth felt tinges of worry for the people that the mighty Headmaster, Chief Warlock, Mugwump or whichever other title his brother hid behind always managed to drag down with his ruses and plans, the trusting ones who inevitably got hurt whenever Albus succeeded.
''That is the worrying bit,'' Minerva admitted. Out of habit, he loaded her up a plate of the still-warm leftover stew from dinner. She wrinkled her nose as he shoved it into her hands, but started to eat nonetheless, small bites in between her recounting. ''Emmeline, Hestia, Sirius, Hagrid and Dedalus all vanished into thin air. Not unusual for Sirius, but certainly for the others. Too many people disappearing at once to chalk it up to spontaneous holidays if you get my gist, considering we outright attacked You-Know-Who's home.''
''His home?'' Aberforth hissed, crossing his arms.
The woman dipped her chin, the lines on her face growing deeper. ''There was little choice, that was where the missing students were kept. We believed to have enough people and that we weren't being expected…''
''You-Know-Who has always been cautious. I can't believe-'' Aberforth started, getting worked up. ''Albus is many things, but surely not so dim-witted to think he can waltz into the house of one of the most powerful, paranoid wizards of our age in the hope that he wouldn't notice?''
''They'd been missing for two months, Aberforth,'' she defensively reasoned. ''We were all desperate. In any case, you were right that he must indeed have caught on soon. The plan was for Albus to scout ahead while Bill checked for wards around the place. The rest of us split into groups to check whether the village itself was safe and should follow twenty minutes later, but only Hagrid and I got so far. We were first attacked on the outskirts of Little Hangleton itself by Death Eaters, and then once more after shaking them off, as soon as we made it into the entryway of that house. I decided I didn't have enough information and apparated to Headquarters before they could strike me down, where I waited in vain for anyone else to return. And that is the point that concerns me most, more even than the five who disappeared. Molly, Arthur, Bill, Severus and Remus were all spotted in the following days acting… normal. Living their lives as if nothing happened at all without either visiting Headquarters or contacting me. I spoke to Filius three days ago and apparently Severus returned to Hogwarts and has had regular staff meetings with all teachers currently present in the school. Including the Carrow twins, who I'm quite sure I fought that night.''
Mulling her words over in his head, Aberforth dragged a chair over and opened the Firewhisky, taking a swig straight from the bottle. All of it certainly sounded off, and yet… ''You're ignoring the fact that Albus isn't known for being forthcoming,'' he grunted. ''How do you know this isn't all according to his grand plans? Maybe the other members were told more than you. I can't imagine the Weasleys going straight home after a battle to play house if there isn't a good reason for it. Albus coming up with intricate schemes is more likely than that You-Know-Who got to them if you ask me. There are of course many ways to influence people, from memory wipes to the Imperius curse, but it's more You-Know-Who's style to just finish troublesome enemies off when he doesn't have the upper hand already. The five you mentioned being missing might have gotten caught and murdered-'' he said, realising he maybe should have softened that blow when Minerva put her hand to her heart and looked pained. ''As for the rest, they might be in on some 'Plan B' you could have been excluded from for the sole reason of being known as Albus' right hand. It would fit with him showing up in another country without contacting you: for all his many faults, my brother was always insufferably competent when it comes to protecting his own life and pride.''
''You're being deliberately obtuse,'' she snapped. ''Yes, Albus often chases his goals without involving me, but we both know this is different. Too much went wrong for him to show up in public having lunch without a word to either me or any of the members of the Order who were not involved that day. Tonks and Kingsley are both sick with worry as well and uncertain how to best react. Even Dung thought the situation dire enough to disappear for the time being in case You-Know-Who is out to get the rest of us.''
Aberforth sighed deeply and grumpily stated: ''If you've made up your mind about what happened, I don't see why you're still here. I didn't even know about this 'mission' and I've got no advice to offer that you want to listen to. As usual,'' he added with a glower.
He'd only joined the Order of the Phoenix due to pressure in the first place. And it was fine as long as his daily life wasn't interrupted too much, as long as it only meant offering shelter now and then to mysterious strangers – he did have a heart – and Aberforth wasn't exactly longing to return to uncertain times of war… However, actively gathering up arms to attack a hornet's nest was no way to avoid war in his opinion. You-Know-Who had left them mostly alone for the past two years, so why provoke him? Even the students whom Albus was so certain of had been kidnapped, had apparently broken into the Ministry deliberately and stumbled across the man's path by chance even by Albus' account. If they hadn't been caught by You-Know-Who, the rowdy teens would likely be in Azkaban. Would Albus have broken them out of prisoner with the same vigour? He doubted it, adding to the suspicion that this was less about the students and more about a chance to reveal You-Know-Who towards the world, damned be whoever 'disappeared' to fulfil that goal.
Minerva indeed started heading out of the room after his harsh words, but her hand faltered when it landed on the brass doorknob. ''What would your advice be?'' she asked. ''I've thought of chasing Albus down to demand answers, or to show up at the Burrow or Hogwarts to confront those who participated in the rescue mission, yet cannot figure out the wisest course of action.''
Aberforth sighed and took another sip, letting the alcohol burn his throat. If he drank enough, maybe he could forget about Albus for a few hours again. ''Let my brother do his thing and don't get involved. If everyone else in the Order acts normal, do the same thing. Return to Hogwarts, keep your head down, make lessons plans over the summer holidays… the works. Just stay on guard. You know my opinion on Snape: once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. If anything is indeed iffy, he may have had a hand in it,'' he warned. Maybe nothing was wrong at all, but being cautious never hurt anyone.
She looked over her shoulder with a frown. ''Severus was the one to give us the address and insisted on going that night,'' she mentioned, hesitant. ''I've always put my faith in him because Albus vouched for his trustworthiness… Yet I cannot get Severus' words out of my head. Before we left, he mentioned rumours about You-Know-Who's plans, which threw the Order into a wild discussion before Albus sussed everyone. Rumours that You-Know-Who is turning a new leaf by avoiding conflict. That he wishes to hide the Wizarding world from Muggles instead of fighting them.''
''Wouldn't be such a bad idea,'' Aberforth openly pondered. ''Worked for Hogwarts and Hogsmeade so far, hasn't it? Being the only place in the country away from prying Muggle eyes made it a safe haven.'' He faltered when seeing her wary expression. ''Doesn't forgive all he's done, of course,'' he added with a mutter. ''Besides, there were a lot of lies leading up to the war as well. Might be another one of his grand promises that lead to slaughter. In either case, I'll keep my ears open Minerva, and you'll be the first one to know if I find out more on Albus' situation.'' She gave another curt nod before she was gone. Absentmindedly, Aberforth picked up the half-empty plate she'd left on the kitchen counter and emptied it quickly. ''Getting away from Muggles, huh…'' he mused quietly. ''If we'd done that earlier, then maybe Ariana… and dad…''
He shook those miserable thoughts off and cleaned up, deciding to head to bed early as he'd already announced to his customers that the pub would run by itself for the remaining time. Bet that dear old Rosmerta couldn't do that, Aberforth grinned to himself. For all the proper and upstanding citizens the Three Broomsticks boasted about having as regular clientele, the last glass would be robbed off the table if the woman were to ever leave the pub for three hours during opening times. Better to have one's customers be a bunch of ragtag outcasts with no other welcoming place to go… Just like Aberforth himself.
One more opened letter was discarded onto a growing pile.
''Any change?'' Harry carefully asked, eyeing his best friend
''More begging for me to come home, wild speculations about brainwashing, threatening parental rights – bullcrap as long as the Ministry wants to throw us in prison if you ask me - and some nice choice words about You-Know-Who. Don't want to talk about it in more detail if that's fine with you.'' Ron poked the Wand of Destiny more violently at a round black beetle that had crawled inside the Nest and was running confused circles now. ''Oh, come on stupid thing, that direction! If Sir Crouch sees you, you're going to be squashed!''
Harry sighed and picked the insect up, not as icked out by animals with more than four legs as Ron was. After bringing it outside - not that it would get very far when captured within the bubble – he considered what to say upon returning to the living room. The other had been in a foul mood for the past week, obviously having expected more from the reunion with his parents and oldest brother. A fair number of letters had gone back and forth so far, but especially Mrs Weasley had been mumpish about her son's insistence to stay in Little Hangleton. Unsurprisingly, no-one had had sudden praises to sing about those the Weasleys considered little more than thieves and murderers.
''You owe these people nothing,'' Ron's mother had claimed, to which his instant response with a sarcastic 'Just my life' hadn't gone over too well. In Harry's opinion, the Weasleys should be grateful that Ron hadn't followed in Percy's footsteps by ignoring their very existence the moment it became clear their ideals no longer matched up. Witnessing the falling-out was sad, considering just how much Ron cared for his family.
In strange contrast, none of them appeared to blame Harry either… he wondered when that would change. He imagined Ginny shouting at him about betrayal, using all the hexes and curses he'd taught her during the D.A. lessons… Not that it was a likely scenario, for if Mr and Mrs Weasley tried the approach of lying low, they probably hadn't told their other children much about the situation. Which shouldn't be too difficult with the Twins surely only dropping by occasionally now they had their own place and Charlie being in Romania. Again, Harry's worries circled back to Ginny, who usually stayed over for summer, and imagined her trying to drag answers out of her parents that no-one would give. Neither Mr or Mrs Weasley were exceptional liars, however. Ginny would soon figure out something was wrong, and surely had access to some of her brother's extendable ears…
Trying to find a different topic to distract from the sore wound the rejection had left was difficult and Ron beat him to it, surprisingly by continuing with: ''I don't understand why You-Know-Who didn't obliviate them. Isn't all of this a major risk? No memory wipes, no silencing contract, not even a hint of a threat before they were let go… I just don't get it, this seems like the worst strategy ever.''
Shrugging, Harry answered: ''Voldemort is less wary of the Ministry's competence than he ever was about Dumbledore's capabilities. Most of the safety measures currently in place were taken so he wouldn't discover us too soon. McGonagall doesn't have nearly as many resources or abilities as her predecessor did and Fudge is happy playing ignorant. So far, my partner considers all of our direct enemies mere nuisances, which is why it isn't so difficult to fully keep his promise to you: your parents aren't prisoners, not even of their own minds. They can tell whomever they wish that they met the Dark Lord now that the real Dumbledore is out of the picture.'' It didn't appear as if they'd done so however, perhaps afraid of what Voldemort might do if they revealed what they knew to anyone. There'd been few instructions before they'd been made to leave… An unknown punishment hanging over their heads could be more frightening than detailed descriptions of torture. Certainly more frightening than the truth of no consequences awaiting them at all.
Ron clearly wasn't convinced. Harry did share some of his friends' doubts, yet also trusted in Voldemort's absolute confidence. The Dark Lord hardly ever took unnecessary risks. In fact, the man could be downright paranoid when the smallest details didn't go according to plan. That, more than anything, assured Harry that all was fully under control.
''Sir Crouch seems to have fun with his new role,'' Ron remarked. ''Maybe a bit too much fun. Too many people know Dumbledore has actually been captured... including McGonagall. Even if she might have believed that he somehow made it out of that mess, she's too smart not to notice all that's been off ever since. I tell you, it's only a matter of time before she shows up at the Burrow, if she hasn't already.''
''She hasn't,'' Harry instantly replied. At Ron's raised eyebrows, he clarified: ''Your parents and Bill weren't influenced themselves, but that doesn't mean there isn't any security in place. They're still getting tracked and the Burrow as well as Bill's place is under surveillance. Voldemort knows who sets foot within a mile of their respective houses.'' It was how they'd found out a few days after locking Dumbledore up that for some reason, Fleur of all people had been visiting Bill suspiciously often. Harry had tried to explain it away by them having been colleagues at Gringotts for a while, before Fleur had been recruited to replace Voldemort as Head editor of the national newspapers in Britain and France. However, that theory didn't fly for long when the woman visited roughly every other day. Or evening, rather, leading Voldemort to suspect that she might not be as firmly on their side as previously believed and was instead sneaking off into the night to exchange information with the Order of the Phoenix. It was an especially delicate matter as she'd just been given the go on another project concerning Hermione… Fleur hadn't been confronted so far as the Daily Prophet' publishings kept lining up with Voldemort's agenda, but it would be inevitable, latest when Bill would get in contact with the remaining scattered members of the Order.
Since most of it was speculation though, Harry preferred not to dwell on it right not. Hyping up concerns with mere theories was detrimental to his own peace of mind. As he would rather concentrate on events he was certain of, Harry said: ''Speaking of Barty, guess who he met yesterday?''
''The ghost of Nicolas Flamel?'' Ron shot his wildest guess.
''Alright, that would be more interesting. No... Cedric! He did tell me he was striving for a career in politics, but I didn't think the guy would not even enjoy his summer before trying to find a job. According to Barty, Cedric is doing some sort of internship in his dad's department. You know, the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures. With the controversy Voldemort's articles caused last year, I'm sure Cedric can find some points of improvement to profile himself with.''
''Good old Cedric, always the overachiever… Ah, I miss the D. A.'' Ron sighed wistfully. ''Training here doesn't feel the same. More like I have to and not because I'm working towards something useful.''
''At least you could skip the O.W.L.s.''
Ron shuddered. ''True... I'm still immensely glad for that. Your boyfriend really saved my arse twice now I come to think of it. Once from certain death by removing those brains and once from my mum's hand after seeing my failing grades. Now no-one can ever prove how many O.W.L.s I'd have scraped together. Did you still not receive your results?''
Shaking his head, Harry pulled a face. ''Should come around mid-July, according to Draco. I'm sure that it'll be reported to Lucius before I get them myself though, since he basically convinced the other Death Eaters at Hogwarts to be the examiners in the first place. Hey, if you're in the mood for some good old-fashioned D. A. stuff… there'll be another soiree with the Slytherins in a couple days' time. Just the ones who are already in the know of Voldemort's return through their parents, of course. I'd love to have you there. It's not in Malfoy manor either as the Greengrasses offered their place this time. Since it's the summer holidays, Astoria's and Daphne's cousin Erik might join too.''
''He was a lot more interested in talking to you than to me, mate,'' Ron grumbled, mood worsening further.
''Just because he didn't know anything about you before. Come on, do you need me to beg? We could prepare for the meeting together, practise some cool new spells together that we can show off there!
To his joy, Ron reluctantly agreed. Good thing too: mingling with the Slytherins turned out to be much more bearable with his best friend by his side. Not that Harry didn't like a couple of them: especially his D. A. Members had grown on him, and both his relations with Draco and the Greengrasses had much improved since the last similar soiree during the Easter holidays. Nonetheless, he wasn't sure what to think of the rest, getting the feeling that many listened solely because the most important figures among them – Draco, Pansy and the former Slytherin Head girl Saeth – deferred to Harry. He'd hoped to see Adrian again as well, but the older boy had gone through with his plan to become a Death Eater as soon as possible, joining Voldemort's ranks the moment he had graduated. With that, Adrian had become the first Death Eater who'd belonged to Harry's army first, a strange position to be in. The Dark Lord had suggested they pick Adrian's missions together and see how well the new recruit fared before making further decisions, which Harry thought a good compromise for now.
Considering they were technically still in hiding, there were surprisingly many places to freely visit, Harry found as summer progressed. Barty took him abroad to meet the members of the Hand of Magic who were fully aware Voldemort led their organisation, the werewolf pack was a shockingly welcoming place to be – helped by Umbridge avoiding him like the plague - once Harry finally got over his remaining hesitance to visit, and after the last soiree he got multiple invitations from Slytherin students who wished to have private audiences. There was far more to do than he had time for… Life had been more slow-paced before, Harry felt. No summer before this one had felt so full, as if time itself could burst at the seams if one only crammed enough activities into a single day.
''Brush off the invitations,'' Voldemort recommended when Harry went to his partner for advice, banking on the man's experience with these kinds of issues. ''I acknowledge that you wish for a different approach with your followers than I have taken with mine, yet no good will come of it when you're being torn apart for attention. Taking into account all rules that come with such social visits, you'd be tied up all summer if you'd wish to indiscriminately divide your attention as you tend to prefer. You also openly admitted to not being able to play by their rules yet, which gives each and every one of them a prime opportunity to use these invitations as leverage to further personal schemes more than it would aid us.''
Although Harry had explicitly sought his partner out, it felt odd to receive advice on important political decisions from someone sitting cross-legged on the floor, mostly occupied by petting Nagini. If Amycus Carrow could have only seen this sight, Harry mused. Maybe the hot-headed Death Eater would think twice about accusing Harry of slander when observing every once in a while how his mighty Lord lowered himself to sitting on the floor, running a soothing hand over the scales of his familiar to calm the serpent. It truly was a privilege to see Lord Voldemort so carefree, Harry thought with a small smile playing on his lips. Good thing that keeping up the same act of constant divinity that the man displayed outside of their home was rather unnecessary when they'd started from the vulnerable position of Harry tending to the other so his health would recover. It didn't lessen the respect between them, but Harry thought it enabled him to see Voldemort in a way few others were allowed to.
''This almost sounds like 'An introductory course to becoming a lord','' the teen uncomfortably laughed. ''I know we agreed on that I guide some of my generation towards your goals instead of you doing so personally, but I cannot forget that I was not chosen. Not like you have been. Most members of dark families accept that you have some sort of magic-given right to rule them – which I still find debatable as Magic placed a burden on you rather than a crown – but I have no such power to fall back on. I'm not a Lord of Magic and will never be, nor would I insult Magic by pretending so as Grindelwald did. They all know that full well.''
''That also brings opportunities of freedom I do not have,'' Voldemort seriously stated.
''Meaning?''
''To state the obvious: you do not need to fulfil any sort of tasks in life to feel accomplished.''
''Just meet your expectations,'' Harry snorted. ''A minor feat really, as I'm sure your followers wholeheartedly agree with.''
''Your sarcasm needs work, even I picked up that thick layer of cynicism. Evan, I wish for you to strive to be all you can, to unfold yourself in every which direction you wish to expand, and I'll spare no effort or tools so you may achieve any set goals. Embracing your natural talents was a good first step. Incidentally, you have so many to choose from that staying on a fixed path for the rest of time isn't a necessity.''
Robes rustled as Voldemort took a seat next to Harry instead of continuing to pet Nagini. The serpent hissed indignantly when the hand that had been petting her vanished as the man's attention was being divided. Harry would make up for it later, he vowed. Shockingly, his fondness for Nagini had grown rather than diminished after the ordeal with the Order of the Phoenix showing up at their doorstep. For while she did kill Vance to process her trauma over being captured and tortured, the snake had proudly told Harry the kill had been as quick as possible and the corpse had remained untouched. The horror Harry had shown over her eating humans had left more of an impression than the teen had dared hope.
As soon as the Dark Lord made himself comfortable, Harry did the same by ensuring he sat on top of his partner, planting himself firmly in a bony lap, one leg on either side and facing his love. It wasn't meant as a challenge this time and he took care not to be too inappropriate. Busy schedules had just kept them apart far too often, this being their first free day together in almost a fortnight. Harry had missed the intimacy, especially now they had – hopefully temporarily – lost the ability to dream-walk, nights instead filled with shared memories that were far less satisfying. He couldn't hold back entirely, skin itching and aching for some sort of contact. Slowly, purposefully, he placed both hands on a cold chest, getting a kick out of feeling the heartbeat below his palms speed up. His own breath stuttered in response.
Voldemort let out a reverberant hum to show approval, right hand sliding to the small of Harry's back, a slight encouraging pull closing their distance an inch further, which the teen took as permission to sink his body flush against his partner's with a satisfied sigh. ''I missed you so much,'' he confessed, curling himself around the other as tightly as possible, drinking in every spark, every flutter of contentment and flare of magic. This was the only way he wanted to live, Harry happily thought as his head sank to rest on his partner's shoulder. The slender throat felt cool against his lips as Harry kissed his way up the jawbone. Just them in an unlimited space of time without interruptions or duties to think of. It was an unrealistic fantasy, knowing full well that he couldn't keep Voldemort here with him and ignore the rest of the world forever, but it was nice that the usually so busy man indulged in it for now.
In fact, he indulged for several wondrous hours that were filled with atypical silence and an exploration of each other's bodies in a sense that Harry hadn't experienced before yet was delighted to try – absent of any pressing urges or heated passion. Expert hands that languidly stroked their way across Harry's body left only a trail of soft tingling in their wake as more and more skin was exposed until they were left with no more clothing than they'd worn under the warm evening sun on a faraway beach.
''In your delirium…'' Voldemort broke the long silence, currently lying on top of him on the sofa, one hand splayed across Harry's exposed stomach and the other curled firmly around the back of his neck to control their many unhurried, deep kisses, ''When overcome by Basilisk venom, you mentioned you found me more beautiful than how you'd seen me at sixteen. Is that truly how you feel now?''
Harry lazily blinked up at the man, mind rather foggy at the moment. Their carefully paced exploration may have felt completely different from being overwhelmed by crushing dark magic and spikes of lust that wedged themselves deep into his body, it had left him dazed all the same, if not more so. ''I… yeah- I suppose,'' he unintelligibly mumbled, taking his time to drink in all he could see of his partner in this position, the ivory skin a stark contrast to his own. ''Got so used to how you look that it's hard not to. You're the person I fell in love with after all, not any of your Horcruxes. I find it hard to separate their looks from the way both the Diary and the Locket treated me. That's why, no matter how conventionally handsome you used to be, I'll always be more mesmerized by your current body. Why, were you worried about that?''
Voldemort let out a disbelieving laugh. ''Hardly. I wished to sate my curiosity, that is all. Your admiration for and attraction to me is evident, whether my appearance factored into that is irrelevant. However, it is convenient to know how much I can use my looks to affect you,'' he forthrightly admitted, pressing another long kiss to Harry's lips before getting up and fully stretching his lean body, pointed nails almost grazing the ceiling. The teen would have protested against the silent threat of more manipulation, if he hadn't been so busy being manipulated right now by the sight.
''It's been a long time since I saw your entire body though,'' Harry hinted. ''Lastly when you resurrected. To have a proper evaluation of my opinion, how about a reminder?'' The teen challenged the withered stare he was being thrown with what hopefully looked like a playful smirk instead of a desperate grimace.
''In front of Nagini?'' Voldemort asked, gesturing at the deeply slumbering serpent who'd been out of it for at least two hours already. ''Scandalous, my dear. Although… I had a look at the notes you asked me about yesterday and it'll work better sky-clad. Soul magic is hindered by interference of unnecessary physical materials. No-one should disturb us in the veranda.''
Performing magic wasn't really the same as what Harry had had in mind, but there was more to gain than to lose by agreeing. There was indeed a spell – or rather a ritual - he'd needed to wait with performing until they'd both had more time, one he'd been inspired to create by 'Wild magic volume 4: an exploration of spirits and what remains', the book on soul magic he'd started reading after being so shaken over the first account of possession by Tom. There wasn't exactly a fixed description on how to reach a stubborn figment of soul, but Harry had combined different ideas from the book to what hopefully was a plausible rite. The bulk of which he needed his partner to perform. Harry thus got to his feet and agreed without further protest.
''The whole 'unnecessary physical materials' was why I was hesitant about whether to try and pull it off alone somehow, as involving another person counts as adding physical matter as well, but as you're made of magic more than flesh, I doubt it matters with you,'' he commented, trying to justify wanting help in the first place.
A stern look pinned him down. ''It might not, if this wasn't about calling a piece of my own soul. Tom may instinctively be drawn to this body I crafted specifically to fit me.''
''Which is why I asked you to read my ideas first, see how viable it is,'' Harry shrugged. ''I'm fully aware that fickle spells like these need to be carefully controlled. As you agreed just moments ago that we can proceed, I assume you did your calculations already.''
''I've taken the range of risk into account,'' the man vaguely answered. ''Soul magic also happens to be one of my specialities, allowing me to adapt where necessary.'' Pleased to hear it, Harry went ahead to gather the necessary ingredients and tools. As Voldemort inspected a few blackthorn and rowan branches down in the storage rooms, the man commented: ''I must ask how you would have contacted Tom without me and 'pulled this off alone' as you phrased it. You would have had to completely reverse this ritual… if not devise another one from scratch.''
''I'd have used a mirror and necromantic techniques,'' Harry clarified. ''Not full Necromancy, I figured by now that living souls do not act in the same way as dead ones, but I was inspired by when you asked me to create an Inferius: I've performed all the steps before, just not necessarily in the right order. Souls of the living work a little bit like shadows, so I'd have forcefully called Tom to the surface using Despair, hooked him in place and then caught him in a mirror. I know it's not possible to actually separate Horcruxes from their original vessel, but the reflection should allow us to see and speak to each other.''
''Hold on, what do you mean by 'calling him using Despair'?'' Voldemort suspiciously asked, hand hovering mid-air above the salt container. ''Evan, you just mentioned knowing Tom's soul very much is not dead. There's no use going into the Cosmos, as his piece of soul is on this plane of existence, not there. When you mentioned calling for his soul in your notes, I was under the assumption that you'd find him within your mind.''
''Well, no,'' Harry frowned. ''The whole problem is that I cannot find him in there. I've explored every room and tunnel of the mindscape I created and still, not a whisper of his presence. He refuses to answer when I call as well. I suspect he's hiding for reasons I don't really understand. None of this would be necessary if I could simply ask him to come out for a chat. Anyways, when I guided Mrs Greengrass' soul back into our world, I still felt a connection to the Cosmos after I had returned and used Ruin's power while already on this plane of existence. Although I seem to have a stronger connection to that moon, I should be able to achieve the same effect with the others if concentrating enough.''
Voldemort narrowed his eyes for a moment after having taken in this explanation, giving Harry a long, hard stare that made him fidget. ''And what did I say after the funeral, about you using magic so instinctively?''
It was interesting to note that the Dark Lord's eyes turned a deeper shade of red whenever he glowered like this. Harry wasn't sure how to feel about the apprehension and disapproval he received through their link. Merlin, Voldemort had experimented with splitting his own soul at sixteen, using little more than a single book as source material… Was the idea of pulling Tom to the forefront by using the moon that ruled over souls such an outlandish idea? ''I disagree with your statement that I could have died right then and there,'' Harry boldly declared. ''I've thought it over a lot, properly considered all possibilities. Look, you do not technically need a Veil to protect yourself in the Black Cosmos because you have Horcruxes that tie you to this plane. I also am practically immortal due to having a sliver of your soul inside of me. Split souls work both ways: Tom wouldn't be able to get caught over there as long as he's tied to you. With him being so intertwined with me that we share magical cores – placed in the soul - I don't see how there's any worry about me getting stuck in the land of the dead. That I was still connected to the Cosmos after shedding the cloak and didn't get dragged into the abyss is proof-''
''Vague theories,'' Voldemort interjected, at which Harry let out a frustrated huff.
''Magic is not absolute! You can spend months calculating equations all you want, but in the end, there'll never be enough information without experimenting in this subject. Shouldn't you agree with me on that? Were you not the first person ever to split their soul more than once? Can you honestly say you were a hundred percent certain that you'd come out of it unscathed? Voldemort, there is more to Necromancy than what is currently known, I've already proven that. Merlin, you pushed me to go further: letting me cast death magic under duress, setting up a soul-calling without the timing being right for it… Even the resurrection of my parents was unprecedented. And now, now I'm finally committed, you try to hold me back from doing it my way? Why?''
Two icy hands clawed at Harry's shoulder to still him, and the teen defiantly raised his chin to meet ruby eyes with a glare of his own. ''I know my own limits,'' the man seriously answered. ''Even when spells do not go entirely to plan, I have good estimates on what could go wrong and how to counter it. You…. you are jumping headfirst into something you do not understand. You have no idea what you can or can't do and try it without a failsafe. After the memorial service, I was afraid to lose you to the Cosmos over not being informed of the changes you made. Now as well, you stated the intent to perform a ritual that might have had a disastrous outcome completely alone, had I not had the time to aid you.''
A shiver ran down Harry's spine. Logically, he knew that his partner had been afraid of losing him. The older wizard had shown it multiple times before, but usually only in the sense of berating him over one or the other recklessness. Voldemort had never stated it so clearly, so casually as if it were a given. Tongue-tied, Harry waited as his partner attempted to calm himself, barely supressing a burning of fear and anger that was simmering in the pit of his stomach.
Harry briefly wondered if this protectiveness was new… Voldemort had been all too happy to let him experiment with heavy magic on his own right after they'd met. Before the man had started to personally care, he'd-
That bitter line of thought was broken off quickly as Harry realised that he was being unfair. Even back then, Voldemort had guided every single ritual, sent Barty to Hogwarts to help master new spells for the Triwizard Tournament, even visited in dreams to check up on his progress and give advice. Yes, the other had encouraged him to experiment, but never without some sort of safety net. It was Harry who, after feeling more in touch with his own magic and after having taught a slew of new charms and hexes to other students that he'd barely researched, was now trying to break away from the confinements of only practising with more experienced mages around. Voldemort, on the other hand, had likely pulled all-nighters in the Hogwarts library to write theoretical essays before daring to cast anything potentially destructive to the self.
That did cause a bit of a predicament. For no matter how much the help was appreciated, he hated being restricted. How would Harry learn his own limits without ever trying to reach them?
''Evan,'' Voldemort spoke, a tad kinder. ''I meant what I said, about wishing you to progress in whichever field you choose and to embrace your talents. I'm merely asking for carefulness and to at the very least inform me whenever the urge to cast magic yet unknown to mankind strikes, so I can watch from the side-lines.''
Finally, Harry could breathe easier. Voldemort's hesitance had not been an affront to his skill or a way to seize control. Stated like this, the man's worries were put into a better perspective. Any single one of the teachers at Hogwarts would flip their lids if a fifth-year student were to casually mention experimenting with reality-altering spells. ''I can live with that,'' he thus grinned in relief. ''Also, you made it sound as if I were running around like I was about to join the headless hunt. All I just explained was my backup plan because you asked about it, a plan I'd have only resorted to if you wouldn't have refused to help. My notes alone should tell you that I didn't go ahead on my own, specifically attempting to first and foremost create a way without using dodgy spells. Using necromantic techniques shouldn't be necessary anymore now you're involved. Tom originally being a part of you makes your pull much stronger than anything I could create.''
At last, Voldemort calmed down enough for Harry to feel comfortable breaking their staring contest and continuing to pack up the essentials. To fill the silence and defend his actions further, Harry continued speaking as they walked to the veranda: ''Besides, I'd rather not force barbed hooks through my fingertips if there's another way. Using you as a channeler eliminates both the need for an imitation of shadow magic and experimental Necromancy. It also helps that we've practised the procedures of transferring consciousness and connecting to the magic of Horcruxes several times already. I feel more confident in this than replicating two elements from a ritual to that I vaguely recall and a repetition of what you called a mistake.''
''Using transferral isn't risk-free either, but certainly easier to control…'' the other merely commented with a murmur.
''True. Also, did your calculations take into account that too many consciousnesses in one vessel can cause disturbances?'' Harry asked, uncertain whether they'd ever talked about that before. Without being prompted, he elaborated: ''The Locket couldn't handle me possessing its vessel without taking damage. Whereas we haven't experienced too many difficulties with voluntarily sharing a body at times, I'd find it strange for Tom to have so little control that he'd attempt to invade a body already inhabited by two when granted access to an empty vessel that suits him perfectly. It's not as if he's unaware either – Tom has reacted to situations I'm involved in in the past, once even pushing my consciousness away to take over when I was in danger.''
Voldemort leaned against the closed door and critically regarded the cleared space in which Harry started to prepare overlapping circles of salt and charcoal. ''That does drastically cut the dangers further… We should be prepared nonetheless, the chance isn't zero. Well, I should be able to negate any unwanted fluctuations if it comes down to it,'' the man decided. ''I must point out one more possible conflict however, for the sake of prudence rather than prudery. Doing this sky-clad saves us effort and I do not mind it in general as long as it is practical, but I'm not certain you thought this through in the sense of being cautious. Last time Tom and I spoke, he was rather forward, which you cannot have forgotten about. Surges of possessiveness from your side will certainly disrupt such a delicate soul connection as the one you wish to establish. We'll all be hanging onto threads that may not snap at any cost until the ritual is completed.''
Harry faltered, messing up one of the lines, which he hurried to correct. Of course he hadn't forgotten about that, and he was still mad at Tom for daring to kiss Voldemort. ''We already talked about it, didn't we? You said he's not truly in love with you, only affected by my own feelings,'' he curtly countered. ''I trust you and figured that, since you don't have a problem with his possible attraction, it's not really my place to be insecure about it. Of course, it's a different story altogether if you are uncomfortable performing a ritual like this with Tom actually present.''
''No, I'm certain he won't cross either your or my boundaries again. What he thinks or wishes for is not my problem. Let us start, then.''
The initial excitement about catching a glance of his partner's entire body had waned a bit after the discussions about the ritual, and there was zero tension as the man undressed completely and joined him in preparing the space, drops of their blood combining on the tiles and smeared into the shape of runes. It had been a while since only the two of them had performed a rite together… Harry had forgotten how focused and stoic the Dark Lord could be when engrossed in magical purpose. He stowed his own briefs to the side as well and made sure to shield both doors. Interruptions would be more than unwelcome, and although no visitors were expected today as they'd planned to take some time to themselves until Harry would head to dinner at the Malfoys, one could never know which of Voldemort's followers or Harry's friends felt they had a reason to drop by that couldn't wait. Sirius especially was rather flexible with set boundaries, to put it mildly.
They sat opposite each other in the innermost circle, each holding an end of a branch of rowan and a branch of blackthorn to ease the process. Harry might have felt more anxiety if Voldemort would have needed to carve runes into his back again for stability as he'd done the very first time Harry had consciously melded with one of the other Horcruxes – Nagini – but such a thing was no longer necessary now he had better control over his own mind and magical core. They'd given the price up front by offering their blood on the ground instead.
The spellwork itself took significantly less time than their talks about it. With practised ease, Harry guided his own consciousness, fuelled by a stream of warm magic, through the cleansed branches as if holding dual wands and soon found himself to be looking down on his own slumped-over form through Voldemort's eyes. Well, that had been the easy part, Harry thought, ensuring he nestled in a corner of his partner's mind to watch the proceedings. As expected, the body didn't stir at all. Tom really didn't want to be reached, did he…?
''He clearly doesn't,'' a voice sounded, and the part of Harry that had been attempting to make itself as undisturbing as possible jumped. Or at least it felt that way, even if Harry was well aware his nonphysical form couldn't move in the strictest sense.
''Voldemort?'' he hesitantly asked.
''Another development, it seems,'' came the intrigued answer. ''We should have anticipated this. Last time you watched through my eyes like this was when Severus joined us, almost a year ago. Our bond had not been so strong back then, nor were you familiar with Occlumency. You're holding a better shape now, for lack of a better term. However, although such a way of communication will be useful when talking to Tom, it's a hindrance to my concentration, so try to be quiet until asked.''
Being quiet was hard when one only consisted of balled-up thoughts, which were difficult to contain. It took a few unpleasant minutes before they found a way to be comfortable, Harry focusing solely on what they both saw through Voldemort's eyes.
XxX
''Audi vocam meam, obtemperā. Animus meus, obtempera. Respondē''
The incantation thundered through the walls, rudely ending blissful sleep the same an earthquake would. Tom hissed under his breath, blearily blinking as it caught him. The spell was familiar from a time far in the past, from memories not yet influenced by Harry's life. He'd used it a dozen times on the other Horcruxes… no, that wasn't quite correct. Voldemort had used it on the others, back when they'd been one.
Could a man not get some peace and quiet for a few days after having one's existence almost erased over an error of judgement not his own? Was that too much to ask for?
Tom put up no resistance as the spell took hold, knowing a struggle was futile. With an annoyed sigh, he materialised a door on the blank wall of his fortress and floated into Harry's mindscape, expecting to find the boy there. In between dreams, he'd heard the stubborn Gryffindor calling, searching. Fully waking was still more difficult than he'd like to admit, however, and Tom did not intent to lose all privacy by allowing Harry access to the isolated space weaved in between folds of thought. Sharing a soul was difficult enough without minds intertwining uncontrollably. He should know, having taken more than a decade to become coherent and spending the majority of the months afterwards carefully separating memories to form an identity. Part Harry, part Voldemort… barely scratching the surface of something more to call himself.
Oddly, his host was nowhere to be found. There wasn't even much of a mindscape: the cross between Gryffindor common room and library had been stripped bare of any books and trinkets that usually represented he various nonphysical parts of Harry – hopes, dreams, needs. Sitting down the middle of the space as best he could in the mutilated form that was the unchangeable manifestation of himself, Tom reached out, grasping a hold of their shared magic, noticing that part of it led outside. Ah… that would explain both Harry's absence as well as the violent tugging at his shields. He'd thought the latter to be caused by the incantation Voldemort was casting, but it was more plausible that the protective charms put in place to prevent accidentally waking up in Harry's body once more were put under strain by the boy's consciousness having left. Last time Harry had retreated into a corner of his own mind, Tom had been violently pulled to the forefront. The same would have been likely to happen now, if not for those shields.
''Animus meus, respondē,''
The more often the spell was repeated, the more his limbs started to ache, pressure at first making his fingers tingle, then increasing to a painful grip. ''I can't recall being this impatient,'' Tom muttered to himself, sighing a last time before cancelling the shields.
Expecting the pull didn't lessen the impact. Being forced to possess the empty shell of Harry's body was much like being side-apparated without warning: unpleasant and dizzying. Not that Tom showed weaknesses easily, pushing the body he'd landed in up to rub his aching forehead. The tiles beneath him weren't exactly soft, and Harry had dropped onto them like a ragdoll. The pads of his fingers rested briefly on the scar he found: the only outward sign of his existence.
''Catch him next time,'' Tom grumbled, glaring at Voldemort while pointedly using wandless magic to heal the scrapes. He ignored the state they were both in, well aware of the basics of soul magic. Before the other could answer, Tom took a moment to look around. The veranda of Riddle house, their preferred spot to perform rites… From the circles and runes drawn upon the floor, he gathered that the others were attempting to balance multiple connections at once. It would likely be unwise to leave. Tom inhaled deeply, tuning into the link they all shared. Harry was around somewhere, but too many rising and falling waves interfered with his ability to pick up on the specifics of the boy's whereabouts.
''Is there anything you need in particular?'' he brusquely asked, eager to return to the quiet again.
''Not I,'' Voldemort answered. ''Your appearance and subsequent leaving without a trace caused Evan some distress, to say the least. Why have you not answered his summons?'' the man demanded to know.
Tom inhaled slowly. ''I was under the impression that my awakening did not please him,'' he said. ''I decided it was best to withdraw. Perhaps if you would not have been in the picture, I'd have opted to take a more active role, guided Harry in the ways of magic… It's too late for that, you fulfil that purpose already and I hardly wish to impose.'' It must sound implausible to Voldemort, Tom wearily thought as he received a disbelieving look. None of the other pieces of soul likely knew the notion of preferring to linger in the background. It was one of the traits Tom had received from Harry, a concept so ingrained that the boy had had to learn how to actively step into the limelight. Tom didn't feel like relearning the same, having no further goals to reach or people who'd look up to him. ''Perhaps I could have handled it better,'' he admitted, ''but you must understand that I've spent years struggling to become conscious at all. It costs much energy that is better preserved for when I need it.''
Voldemort appeared to have an inner struggle with himself, and Tom suddenly knew exactly where Harry went. No wonder the floor looked like an intricate painting. The amount of soul and mind links to uphold the stability of, with Harry having been displaced in Voldemort's mindscape while Tom took over the boy's body, was staggering. Especially fickle was the fact that the mental connection between them both had only been formed due to Tom's presence in the first place. He, the source of this unique bond, was now in a different body than either of them. That hadn't been such a problem the first few times Harry had shifted to see through Voldemort's eyes as Tom had been dragged along back then, but now he painstakingly kept himself separate in order to maintain awareness, it became a recipe for disaster if not handled carefully. Tom imagined the invisible strands of delicate soul that tethered him to the others, trembling cobwebs anchored in place only by the rust-coloured runes around them.
''You should stay in the mindscape Evan created during his Occlumency lessons. That would grant him access to you without preventing you from exerting yourself.''
The audacity of that demand… ''I should?'' he chuckled, lazily waving it away. ''I am not some sort of resource to be used, docilely sitting around until Harry has need for me. Impending danger will alert me regardless, so I've decided I'd much rather spend the remaining time sleeping, as I have done the past thirteen-and-a-half years. Having gained the possibility of being awake is plenty. I was under the impression that you too were not thrilled about my unintentional lapse into Harry's body?''
''Perhaps, but that does not negate the need for answers now you have shown yourself.''
Slowly, Tom shook his head, staring straight ahead into eyes the same shade as his own, hoping to catch a glimpse of emerald instead. Disappointingly, he did not, Voldemort's presence far too strong to give way in the slightest. ''I gave you answers, ones that satisfied all the questions Harry had once he saw your memory of our meeting. Unless he gave you one of those neat lists he's prone to making, which I doubt, this wasn't so much about questioning me as seeing me face-to-face and figuring out how much of a threat I am. Slumbering most of the time doesn't mean I haven't reviewed his memories, especially of the times you've discussed me in the past weeks.'' Harry had said something about tearing into him for that one kiss… rather hypocritical, considering what had happened with the Locket.
Tom was not going to apologise for the one selfish indulgence he'd acted upon, not when devoting the rest of his endless existence to protecting the life of two other people. If love wasn't fair, he'd cling onto that one taste he'd had of it to withstand the rest of time, having made peace with himself. Knowing it had taught Voldemort a valuable lesson as well lightened his conscience enough.
A look of frustration crossed the serpentine face, a sight that made Tom strangely proud, seeing how far the other had come in openly showing emotion. A sort of second-hand pride, as Harry had been the one to put in all the work. It once more drove home that these two deserved each other, and he… there was no place for a third with borrowed love for either. ''I am what I am,'' he finally stated. ''I've reached what I needed to in order to improve our protection and will watch over him when you cannot… Do not ask more of me.''
''Perhaps I do indeed have some remaining questions, then'' Voldemort said after a few pondering moments of silence in which Tom got the idea that the others were communicating. Was that possible? It must be, his old self would never need this long to make up his mind. ''Are you influencing our dreams?''
''Not as far as I am aware,'' Tom honestly replied, leaning back on his hands and taking in the warmth of the air around. If he must be awake, he might as well enjoy the little things in life that weren't present where he spent most of it. ''Perhaps subconsciously, though it's unlikely. Your growing closer, through distance as well as emotional bonds, is a more likely culprit, which you've theorised about before if I remember correctly.''
That answer seemed to spur another question near instantly: ''How much do you remember of Harry's daily life? Do you actively see what he does?''
''Afraid I'm spying on you?'' Tom sardonically asked. ''It doesn't quite work like that. I can review parts of his days, similar to seeing Pensieve memories, I suppose. Other than that, I am partially aware of Harry's presence whenever he meditates, as well as hear conversations that cause enough emotional turmoil to destabilise the mirrorscape I've built. In short, I see less now than I used to when Harry and I weren't separated this much.''
''And the extent of your powers?''
Had he ever been this prying? Tom supposed he must have been. Maybe the loss of his eidetic memory had been a blessing instead of the curse he'd at first believed it to be. It enabled him to forget the ugly parts. ''I hold your knowledge and a twin magical core,'' he answered with slight amusement. ''Do your math. And before you start theorising about the amount of magic a Horcrux can hold, magic grows as long as it's fed. I grew up with Harry, which left plenty of room for development. Haven't you ever gotten the impression that he's succeeded past limits that should be impossible? Not compared to us, but to regular people.''
He shouldn't have mentioned it, Tom concluded when that admission led to a new interrogation he couldn't escape from without putting all of them in danger. Voldemort drilled on about limits, speculated about Tom's influence on Harry's exceptional necromantic abilities – possible, though Tom believed the reason was their unique state of existence in itself, which he'd had no control over – and tried making more empty demands of availability that Tom refused to budge on. In the end, he was left almost wishing he'd never struggled to gasp for air and instead stayed content drowning in the abyss of incompletion.
''We're running in circles,'' Tom finally spoke when Voldemort paused for longer than a few seconds. He lay flat on his back and stared up at the moss-covered glass panes. It felt as if they'd spoken for the better part of the day, but the sky disagreed: still as bright blue as when they'd started. Sundown wouldn't be for another few hours. ''I feel like you both have larger worries in life than my presence. I'll continue as I have and will be there when I deem it necessary, not on your terms. Now, as for Harry….'' Tom sat up again, pulling his knees up to his chest and rolling his shoulders to get the stiffness out, once again looking into Voldemort's eyes. ''I know you're listening, so listen well: you are no longer the small child who cried out for company in the darkness of your closet. I failed then to become as I am now, and now it's too late to mend that. You have people who support you, people who love you, so don't cling onto a memory of what could have been. I will not answer your calls to meet in our mind, for you have to develop in the real world, not shut yourself in.''
He attempted to make the decision sound more selfless than it was. If Harry would try to make a habit of setting up meetings and curling up in the copy of his favourite armchair of the Gryffindor common room in front of a cozy fire, Tom's resolve to let the boy live his life would surely crumble. It would be much too easy to keep Harry there with him… or, if he grew bored at some point, to take over Harry's life the way the Locket had envisioned. There were many tempting possibilities at his fingertips… best kill the flame before playing with fire got them all burned to a crisp.
He'd been careful to answer Voldemort's questions without revealing just how powerful he was, because what good would it do? Tom couldn't change what he was, couldn't leave to inhabit a cold unfeeling object… the most he could do was take all the lessons he'd learned during Harry's life and try for some integrity that he hadn't possessed in his own.
''I will go now,'' he decided. ''Best end the ritual properly, Voldemort, for I shall not be held accountable for what happens if you attempt to keep me here longer.''
Whether his other self took the threat seriously or whether Harry was able to convince the man, Voldemort at last stopped inquiring about all the details of Tom's existence, only giving a curt nod. ''Your cooperation has been appreciated,'' the man stiffly said. It took much willpower not to roll his eyes. As if there'd been much of a choice. ''Before you go, Harry wishes me to pass on a message: 'Thank you.' Now, I personally-''
Tom stopped listening to Voldemort's opinion as soon as the man started talking. Thank you… Harry's message could barely have been shorter, but it said everything he'd needed to hear. A confirmation that his actions were appreciated, that the way he chose to present himself was being validated. They could co-exist peacefully as before without the boy attempting to tear down Tom's walls, walls he'd carefully erected not to become an emotional wreck, helplessly caught in the middle of a mental link between two people who loved each other so strongly that the world would sooner crumble around them than being permitted to prescribe what was right and wrong. It had the potential to drive him mad.
Closing his eyes to avoid having to face the man he'd once had been and now saw in a different light entirely, Tom evened out his breathing and waited for Voldemort to release his soul from its constraints.
XxX
''I do not want to go to dinner…'' Harry groaned as he woke feeling ill. The air was suffocatingly hot and everything was spinning. Every breath he took was liquid fire running down his sensitive throat. ''It's as if my stomach is throwing itself up.''
''Is that honestly your first complaint?'' his partner asked in exasperation.
''It's quite hard to ignore,'' he snapped back, sitting upright only to regret it moments later when his vision tilted.
Voldemort did catch him this time as he swayed, and Harry moaned in relief when iciness eased the burning. It probably wasn't healthy – everything was only so stifling hot because he'd just inhabited Voldemort's cold-blooded body and had now been thrusted back into his own – but he couldn't fight the instinct to jump into a freezer. For lack of having a freezer in the immediate vicinity, trying to cool down by eagerly pressing every inch of himself against Voldemort would have to do. ~More,~ he demanded as he pushed forward, attempting to still the dizziness by burying his forehead in the crook of his partner's neck and clinging on as tightly as possible. He frantically pressed his palms flat against the man's back, twisted and turned until arms and legs found relief from the heat by rubbing along lengths of snowy skin. Breathing properly only became possible when heaving lungs were cooled from being desperately pressed against Voldemort's bare chest. The other hissed something Harry didn't quite catch, but it was a good sign that Voldemort wasn't pushing him away. His partner thankfully complied by running blessedly cold hands up and down Harry's spine. The soothing chill combined with the trail of raw magic they left made the teen slump down into the intimate embrace in relief, unable to supress a few more obscene sounds.
''This is one dinner you cannot skip,'' Voldemort said after giving a few minutes of silence to readjust, the aftereffects of the possession gradually ebbing away. ''Lucius informed me he received your O. W. L. results, which he wishes to discuss with you this evening still.''
Harry groaned in disagreement. ''I don't want to discuss anything today. Not O.W.L.s, not Tom, nothing.'' What Harry needed most was a long night's sleep and at least a few days to ponder on everything he'd learned, as well as to reflect on his own feelings about the whole situation. It wasn't everyday that one spoke with another person occupying one's mind.
At the same time, he was astutely aware that the Malfoys cared about his education and wellbeing. Not showing up to dinner would surely worry Narcissa, whom he still had a slightly strained relationship with ever since she'd brutally rejected Hermione as one of his friends and told him point-blank that her sons shouldn't be associating with Muggle-borns. Narcissa had taken huge steps to improve ever since to rebuild their trust and Harry didn't want to be the one putting boulders in the way. He felt responsible to do his part, too… which did include adhering to their schedule of coming together as a family a few evenings a week.
''Can't you come along this once?'' he requested when seeing no plausible way to stay home without offending anyone. Feeling a tad better, Harry brushed his fingers against the back of Voldemort's head and neck, knowing those to be some of the man's weak spots, in hopes to appease him. ''I'm really not up for small talk today, and even besides the exams, they always like conversing after dinner... When you're present, they'll have more important things to discuss than what books I've read in the last few days or whatever. Please?''
His partner didn't respond, even as seconds ticked by. At the same time, the deep, heavy magic that had carried them through the entire ritual, which Harry gladly let himself be wrapped in, turned spiky, for lack of a better term. Confused, he attempted to analyse their mental connection, finding his partner to be feeling frustration and-
Mostly recovered by now, the flare of heat that shot towards his face as soon as Harry realised the full extent of Voldemort's emotions didn't have anything to do with the state the ritual had left him in and everything with how he'd practically thrown himself at the other. Harry sat entirely still while trying to figure out whether moving away would be better or worse than staying as they were until Voldemort would gather the mental strength to calm down. When Harry did move ever so slightly and the softest moan caressed the shell of his ear in direct response, did he notice that it wasn't Voldemort's hard stomach that was pressing against his. It took much willpower not to look down. Shit. It was probably a blessing that the ritual had been exhausting enough for Harry's own body to not instantly respond. At the same time, he hoped Voldemort wouldn't take that as an offense.
''Errr… should I-'' he started.
''Not a word,'' the Dark Lord hissed, fingers digging into Harry's back as if fighting the urge to dip lower, leaving painful pricks where his nails involuntarily slid into the skin as a result. ''I've made a decision,'' his partner continued, sounding slightly strangled. ''The trip you're organising sounded as if it would take us out of the country. Schedule it for the 30th. I'm certain we can afford staying overnight and be back in England in time to prepare for Lughnasadh in the afternoon of the 31st.''
The seemingly random change of topic left Harry more confused for only a couple of seconds before understanding the implications. More blood rushed to his face. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who didn't want to wait a minute longer than necessary before-
''Sure,'' he rasped, wondering why in Merlin's name his throat felt like a parched desert covered in cacti all of a sudden. ''I'll manage that.''
''Good. Also, tell anyone you care about not to delay or interrupt these plans, because if they do, you'll need another necromantic miracle after I cut their heads off.''
In any normal situation, that statement would probably be laughed off as a joke. Harry laughed nonetheless, even though fully aware that not a twinge of humour coloured the threat. It wasn't funny in the slightest, and yet he felt some strange elation over the literal Dark Lord throwing a temper tantrum on the scale of mass murder if anyone got in the way of fully enjoying their first time as soon as the man's morals allowed for.
''I love you,'' he only grinned, holding on tighter. Voldemort lost one inner battle after those three words, razor-sharp nails dipping into previously unexplored areas by carefully trailing down the curve of Harry's arse. The teen sucked in a breath and closed his eyes tightly as he enjoyed the feel of it. ''Will you kiss me if I promise to restrain you if necessary?'' he dared ask.
Fingers buried into his hair and roughly pulled his head back so Harry met the ravenous stare of his partner. Strands of pure magic caught his throat as the lust he'd noticed before intensified tenfold. Due to the abrupt movement, Harry's attention was once more pulled to the heavy weight that prodded his lower regions.
They'd probably be a bit late for dinner, he vaguely thought when teeth clamped down on his tongue.