Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
It was far worse than he could have imagined.
The smell hit his nose first. The entire room stunk, most of the smell coming from a bucket in the corner. It wasn't until he managed to set aside that smell and it's origins before he recognized it. The distinct smell of sex and blood. His head jerked to the corner he had last seen him in, and repressed the urge to vomit once more.
Harry Potter, the saviour of the Wizarding World, was passed out cold and bleeding profusely from his arm. A broken vial was hanging loosely from his right hand as blood steadily trickled down his arm and dripped on the floor. Inwardly, Voldemort cursed at the situation. Everything about this was wrong. Here was the person who was supposed to defeat him, lying on a poor excuse of a bed and on a very short path to ultimate self destruction. And to make matters worse, he would be taking his horcrux with him if he should succeed in it.
His mind flew through his options a million miles a second. He could just kill the boy, but then he would be short a piece of his soul. He could just take him and apparate them away, but then suspicions would be raised. Besides, Harry wasn't likely to be enthusiastic about that just yet. He could give him the means to get out, although that would trip off the anti-magic wards. The only logical conclusion he could come to was to get the bleeding to stop, and to send him medical supplies so he could regain strength. He would have to get him to tell him the truth sooner than he had anticipated.
Harry awoke to find that his arm wasn't bleeding anymore. It stung though, more than any of the other times. He had gone deeper this time, adding a few extras in for good measure. The pain was the only thing keeping him sane. The sun wasn't up yet; as a matter of fact, the position of the moon in the sky would suggest two or three in the morning.
He sat up to dig beneath the bed for his journal. He felt terrible for stopping their conversation the way that he did.
Hello? I'm sorry for leaving the way I did earlier, but I'm back now. I know you're probably not awake, seeing as it's so early in the morning. A few minutes trailed by without so much as a single stroke of a quill back. He was just about to give up when the writing started.
You know, I've been thinking about that game we started and never got to finish. I suppose I shall just out with it, shall I? There are a great many things I have done in my lifetime, and most of them are horrible things. I guess I'm at an impasse. I no longer wish to continue down the path I was once walking and yet I have gone so far, I have no way to change the course.
Harry thought on these words for a moment, before replying.
I believe that even though we sometimes cannot see the way in our lives, others who care for us will light the way to where we wish to be.
Those are wise words, well beyond your years. Tell me, do you take your own advice? Or is this something you have learned by observing others?
Note quite. I have a...unique position. I am able to understand the way life goes for most as I've had many tales told to me. Things like this sort of come to you when you least expect it the more you hear about other people's lives and how they have overcome darkness. He thought for a few more minutes while ink started appearing. He only started to read once it had stopped writing.
I believe that we each have to walk our own paths and that those who share a path are fools. But it seems I am made to be the fool now. I have to do what I have set out to do, only to find out I have unknowingly prevented myself from doing exactly that. And now, I am finding that I am reluctant to move forward. But enough about me, I have shared enough secrets. Harry stared at the page wondering if this person was thoughtless enough to really think he was going to be so open. Not everyone was a bloody open book.
Come now, the point of the game is to share things with each other we haven't shared with anyone else. Besides, if I started talking about things a book was telling me, no one would take me seriously.
Harry sighed. It was obvious this person wouldn't give up until he started divulging information about himself.
Fine, if you're so curious. I don't want to be a part of this bloody war. I'm tired of the fighting it brings. I've had to fight for my life since I was one, and why? Because some codger was afraid of a baby?! I had to fight to stay alive when that damn curse hit me, I've had to fight off starvation, fight to keep my cousin from finding me at school, fight this accursed madman every single year and now I have to fight my own mind to survive. The fighting is really getting to be too much, and it's all I've ever known. Shouldn't it be normal by now? The fighting? If it's all I've ever known then why am I not used to it yet? He felt tears falling onto the bound parchment as he pushed the rapidly rising emotions down.
I believe that we can all agree the fighting has gone on too long. And you, you should not have been dragged into this war. It was not your fight and an old man decided you needed to be involved. He used you, a pawn, and pretended you were a checkmate. His bluff worked, and now you are stuck dancing around the enemy's king, coming ever closer to death. For death, it seems, is inevitable for your crossroads right now.
No, you must be wrong. There MUST be another path, a third trail that no one can see just yet. I do not wish to die right now, although I often find myself wishing for death to come to my window. There simply has to be another path open to me…
The ink that appeared was arriving faster now, as though Harry had the most interesting problem in the world.
Do not worry. I believe there may be a trail; however, it will be dangerous to traverse. Getting lost is a real possibility on that trail, and deviating would be certain doom. But I'm sure there must be another path. For both of us.
Voldemort smiled, thoughts flying around his mind. If he could convince Harry that there was another path, then perhaps there was hope for his horcrux after all. The question was what to do with him afterwards?
His bond with Nagini was strong. The stronger their emotions for each other, the better their link was. It would seem that he had such a good link with the boy lately was because of their incredible hatred for each other. But what would happen if he tried to turn that hatred into a partnership? A friendship, perhaps? It would certainly have to be a strong emotional bond. Perhaps he could get the boy to look up to him? No, that would backfire quickly. He didn't exactly have a pretty past.
But what of friendship? Maybe they could look beyond the past just enough to continue forward to better the world? Or they could just retire to their day-to-day lives and enjoy each other's company without worrying about the rest of humanity.
But he feared what would happen if the emotions weren't strong enough. Nagini loved him, and he loved her, which was why their bond was so strong. He and Harry hated each other and hatred was a very passionate feeling. So what if they drop the hatred but they never learn to care for each other? If that were to happen, his horcrux would be in danger. He wouldn't be able to communicate with it as well, increasing the risk that something could happen to it without him knowing until it was too late. Even being able to platonically love each other would be incredibly ideal.
Another thought entered his mind, so swiftly and quietly he didn't realize he had thought it. What if they went a little too far and fell in love with each other?
Harry had fallen into a pitiful sleep. He hadn't been sleeping well. Endless thoughts of who could be on the other end of the journal plagued his mind while he was awake and when he slept, he dreamt of a tall, hooded person in a cloak so black it blended with the night itself. Nothing ever came of it, he just stood there and watched Harry. And the image was driving him nuts.
I haven't slept well. The responses were almost immediate now. They had spent the last few nights writing to each other. The secrets they shared were vague and small, but they were beginning to trust each other.
When was the last time you slept through the night without nightmares keeping you on the edge of consciousness? Harry wrinkled his nose as he wrote his reply.
Look, that wasn't the point. You asked me how I was, and so I replied with the truth. What would you have me do, lie?
No, I suppose you're right. Instead of sleeping, then, what did you do last night? I myself was researching in my library. Fear stabbed at Harry's heart while he thought back to the previous night. Vernon had come home from a particularly bad day at work which led to Harry having a very bad night indeed. He had watched blood trickle down his arm while semen dried in him instead of sleeping, but he couldn't very well go and his penpal that.
Nothing important.
You and I both know that isn't what you wanted to write. But alas, if you insist on keeping secrets then here's another one of mine. I was raised in an orphanage where I was constantly being ridiculed and beaten down for being different. It wasn't the worst childhood to be had, but it was far worse than most of my peers. Harry's jaw dropped. The person he was communicating with could either read his mind or was someone that he may be able to talk to somewhat openly.
I...I'm sorry. I know that must have been hard. Rather than continue writing, he started to draw. He couldn't find the words, so he would show how he could sympathise.
The black and white drawing was crude, depicting a small child holding his knees in the corner with his head down. The empty space around him was unsettling to look at in the drawing, so he added a small journal on the floor next to the boy. A single tear fell on the paper, just on the other side of the boy.