Title: "Spiritus Mundi"

Author: Shaitanah

Rating: R

Timeline: post-war, Harry is 19

Summary: Harry, an Auror in training, receives an assignment to interrogate Voldemort who is a prisoner in his own dream world. + Harry copes with another tragedy in his life and meets an old flame! ;) Please R&R!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. The song 'Broken Days' belongs to For My Pain.

Special thanks: to Mizstorge for beta-reading.

A/N: Yay! I passed Linguistics and Latin, 6 more exams remain! Thank you for your awesome reviews, guys, you're my constant inspiration!

Chapter 7

Breathless

You don't want to see,
You don't want to feel
Nothing but your hopeless destiny.
You can always cry but never complain.
All those bitter tears, will it ease the pain?

Please-please-please, don't let it happen, don't leave me, don't go, don't leave me alone, I'm a wreck without you, I need you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

I can't stop repeating it to myself as I run along the hospital corridor. It seems endless. I burst into the room. The doctor is in the corner by the window talking to Arthur; Mrs Weasley's head is on her husband's shoulder, she's crying bitterly. Hermione stands up to greet me. She's very pale, but her eyes are dry. Ron must be here too, just not in this room.

And Ginny's on the bed. Not breathing. I take these final steps towards her, hoping it's just a joke, some cruel joke, a bad dream, and she'll wake up, look at me, smile at me…

I'm paralyzed. I just stand over her, looking down, and I can't even breathe. She's so beautiful and so still. It's only now that I realize and the realization is painfully bright, obvious…

She – will – never – wake – up.

I turn to look at the door. Ron comes in with a tray carrying three steaming mugs. He says something; the words pass me by. I mutter some excuse and rush out of the room.

Hermione locates me a quarter of an hour later. I'm sitting in the corner behind the open door of an empty hospital room, holding my knees up to my chest. I try to bury my face there. It's so hard to breathe past all the tears that refuse to be shed.

What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?

Hermione hugs me and whispers words of consolation. I get up so abruptly that she nearly falls.

"Fuck…" I murmur. And then I yell: "Fuck! FUCK!!!"

"Harry…"

"I'm fine!" I shout hysterically. I don't know if I feel like crying or laughing. Or both. "I should have been able to do something! Merlin, I should have been able to save her!"

"There was nothing you could do," Hermione chides softly. "Don't blame yourself, please, just don't…"

I can't. It's my hero complex. My breath comes out in short gasps. I can't stop. I slam my fist into the wall. Where are those fucking tears!? I'm supposed to weep for her!

Hermione wraps her arms around me and kisses me softly on the temple.

They say a knight is nothing without his lady fair. I had hopes, I had dreams that my life would finally be normal. It would all come true if only Ginny woke up. But she's gone, and now nothing will ever be normal.

The sky is azure and very clear above her grave. For a moment it looks like I'm back in Voldemort's beautiful dream world. Fred and George wearing identical black robes watch the procession with glazed eyes. Bill lowers his scarred face to hide tears; Fleur's hand rests on his shoulder comfortingly. Ron is standing next to me, his lips compressed tightly as if he's afraid to open his mouth. Somewhere among the Ministry personnel I notice Percy. His face is blank and white as a skull. The freckles are dim and barely visible against the family's creamy white skin.

The second death of a Weasley child. I saw the same expressions at Charlie's funeral a few years back at the end of the war.

When Dumbledore died, I said to Ginny: "How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral… and it was my fault…" Now I knew exactly how it felt.

I wander off as soon as the official ceremony is over. I just want them all to leave so that I can say good-bye to Ginny alone. I remembered the awe in her eyes when she begged, "Don't do it!" I was supposed to save her, god damn it!

Half of Hogwarts is here. Ginny's friends, my friends, the staff. I talk to Hagrid for a few minutes, and it actually makes me feel better. His was the first hello from the Wizarding World back in those days when I was 'just Harry', with no knowledge of my great destiny, with no weight of my responsibility and loss.

I see someone lurking behind a tree and smile. Malfoy. No one invited him, of course; nevertheless, I'm glad he came. I go there to have a few words with him.

"Are you all right?" he asks, trying not to look at me.

I shrug almost indifferently. "Not really. But it doesn't matter. Thank you for coming."

My words seem to make him feel even more uneasy. He clears his throat and mutters: "Yes, well, she was a pure-blood, after all."

I snort. Yeah, right.

I don't bother altering my image when I go to visit Voldemort. I'm still wearing the robes I've worn to the funeral, and my scar is still where it's supposed to be for real.

Tom looks at me and asks simply: "What's wrong?"

I don't have to explain anything. I just fall to my knees in front of him and growl: "Tell me you had nothing to do with it. Swear to me you didn't do it."

Now he understands. His face changes, pales a few shades. He takes a deep breath and holds out his hand. His fingers caress my cheek.

"Swear to me you did not do it!" I'm almost begging.

"I didn't," he whispers very quietly.

And I collapse on his chest and weep. I'm choking on tears. It's close to the effect of the Cruciatus curse. It's tearing my heart apart. Tom's hand brushes through my hair. He whispers something in Parseltongue. All my tears spent, I can only breathe in and out convulsively.

What was that black out? What did I do? Why can't I remember anything?

"It's not your fault," Voldemort says. "And she knows it, wherever she is. She has been gone since that curse hit her. Let her go."

Hours fly by. I bury my hand in Sally's fluffy fur and stroke him absent-mindedly. He yelps cheerfully.

"Nichols once asked me why I didn't kill you," I say to Voldemort. He gives me a curious gaze.

"And why is that?"

"You created me. The way I am. The moment you gave me this," I gesture at my scar. "I thought if I did something counter to what the Prophecy had said, I would change my fate. That I'd get to choose. Was I wrong?"

"We are what we are," he replies thoughtfully.

Quite soon everything is back to normal. I had a little break in my studies (Nichols was so kind to give it to me, and even then he had to go through Kingsley to deliver me the message. What is he, scared of me?). But now I'm back in the Department, preparing for another period of horrible exams. Days turn into weeks, weeks become months. Summer has come and showered the city in gold.

I had no more black outs. The night Neville and I set out to search for the final Horcrux has been erased from my memory. What I remember is hardly important; what is important, I can no longer remember.

One day, out dining with Ron and Neville at a small café in Hogsmeade, I happen to meet an old… acquaintance of mine, so to speak.

We laugh at someone's joke over the faintly glowing butterbeer. Neville tosses an entire handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans in the air and tries to catch them with his mouth. It looks simply hilarious.

"Honestly, Neville, get a girlfriend," I sigh, rubbing my weary eyes.

"I have a girlfriend!" he pouts.

"Harry probably means a live girl, not another flesh-eating geranium from your flower-bed!" Ron squeaks through bursts of laughter.

"That's cheap," Neville states coldly. "And for the record, I have a real girlfriend."

"And when do we get to meet her?"

They're still discussing this subject when I'm off to the lavatory. On my way back I bump into a waitress. She drops the tray, and we begin to apologize at the same time. We draw our wands to mend the shattered teapot and look at each other.

"Oh… Hello, Harry."

"Hi… Cho," I murmur.

She still looks dazzling though I don't idolize her anymore. Her raven hair is neatly combed and collected into a loose bun. Her eyes acquire a charming gleam as she regards me standing with my wand over the ceramic shards, staring down at them in strained silence.

"I heard about… what'd happened," Cho says uneasily. "I'm so sorry. If you ever need to talk or something…"

"Sure," I interrupt hastily. It feels too awkward. "Thanks."

We grow quiet once again, trying to avoid looking at each other. I'd really like to leave but I can't.

"So how have you been?" Cho smiles. "Heard you're doing well in the Department of Law Enforcement."

"Nah, I'm just a trainee. Worse than N.E.W.T. year at school. And you… Do you work here?"

Moron! Of course she works here! I'm getting absolutely terrified of the situation.

"It's a temporary job." Cho tugs at her lilac uniform skirt. "While I'm learning advanced magic."

"And Quidditch? Don't you play anymore?"

Cho shrugs. "I quit. Spine trauma."

I spot my friends by the door and apologize to Cho, promising to finish our conversation some other time.

"I never stopped thinking about you, Harry," she says quietly as I walk away. She probably thinks I don't hear it. I really wish I didn't.

We're on a pier, and I'm staring into the endless blue of the sky. Far, far away it blends into the greenish sea – the line of the horizon is blurred, and you can't tell exactly where the sea ends and the sky begins.

"She likes you," Voldemort remarks. "That girl in the coffee-shop."

"Long story. You don't really want to know."

His eyes become serpent-like slits for a moment. I blink; they're instantly back to normal. "I already know."

I put Cho out of my mind for a while. She's another page in that finished book. Why the hell do I feel so bad right now?

Voldemort gets up and holds out his hand, and he leads me away to the park. It's very quiet. The world is only inhabited if he wants company, but he rarely needs it. And now the world is very still around us. The waves of the ocean splashing against the pier, the setting sun, Sally's cheerful yelping in the distance.

"What's the weather like outside?" Tom asks. He looks away when I raise my head; he probably thinks it gives him an aura of vulnerability or something.

"Pretty good. It rains sometimes but not too frequently."

"I like rain."

"I don't. I get sick every time I get wet," I reply in a dull voice. "Probably something wrong with my immune system. Wizards aren't supposed to become ill as often as Muggles do, right?"

He nods. His lips twitch upward as if he's trying to hold back a smile. I don't understand what that's supposed to mean, but I let it go because he suddenly states playfully:

"I like the taste of rain on someone's skin. What do you think?"

I shrug impassively. He's obviously not satisfied with the answer. "But there must be something you do like!" Oh, I don't like that mischievous gleam in his eyes.

I lie back, my hands at the back of my head, and look up at the sky. Twilight envelops the dream world in soft, sheer haze. Tom's lips curve in a sly grin.

"I know! How about strawberry jam?"

"Strawberry's fine," I mumble.

He produces a jar of dark-red jam and a spoon. It's only now that I have a vague realization something's going to go wrong.

Tom scoops up a spoonful of jam and licks the spoon deliciously. I bite my lip with a small, shy smile. The second spoonful aviates in my direction. My mouth is full of the thick, sweet substance, and before I swallow it, Voldemort covers my lips with his.

He breaks the kiss off and smiles lazily. He opens my shirt and guides another portion of jam towards me. The spoon lists, shakes, and the jam drops on my stomach. I gasp sharply. It's viscous and cool.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tom drawls in a voice that makes me regret letting him have it his way. "I'll clean it up."

He licks the jam away, his tongue lapping at my skin in soft strokes. He smears the jam over my skin. Unable to breathe, I watch the pale-red film disappear. I run my fingers through his hair, making him look up and draw closer to me. I can taste myself through the strawberry drops on his lips.

I'm on the verge of pleasure and shock – it has become my usual condition when I'm with him. I can't stop asking myself the same question: What the fuck am I doing!?

I'm exhausted, covered in sweat and jam, and I lie panting in the soft grass. How come it's always outdoors? I wonder if Voldemort even has a house. He's always outside no matter what the weather is like.

"I smell like a cake now," I mutter sleepily. "Thanks a lot."

Voldemort chuckles. He trails a line of kisses along my back; his tongue dances over my skin, and he lifts his hand to stroke my hair. It's funny that I should feel so warm and safe in the arms of my greatest enemy. My thoughts slow down. Where were we? Ah yes, it's odd that he makes me feel…

Voldemort shifted in bed and blinked to adjust to the new reality. Merlin, this was getting easier and easier. And all the more amusing.

He put the glasses on and greeted Potter's pale mirror image with a charming smile. "Thank you ever so much, Harry. This won't take long, I promise."