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. + Everything falls apart. The truth is revealed; and love dies. Please R&R!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Special Thanks: to Mizstorge for beta-reading.

A/N: Well, guys, one more chapter, and we're done with this. Thank you for your brilliant reviews and adds!

Chapter 10

Professional Liar

The dream reveals the truth. The very truth I wish I never knew.

The hospital ward was deserted and quiet at that time of night. The Dark Lord slipped past the night nurse and entered the room where the girl was lying in a coma. The even rise and fall of her chest indicated she was alive. But only just. Voldemort let the Cloak fall to his feet and stepped forth.

"My little princess," he whispered almost affectionately, stroking the girl's ginger hair. No reaction. "You've served your purpose. I don't need you anymore. I am truly sorry to part this way." He touched her forehead with his lips; they parted in a lazy smile, savouring the feel of her warm skin. "I shall miss you."

He seemed to recall whose body it was that was kissing her and speaking to her. He smiled once again and corrected himself: "We shall miss you."

I rush to the field where I find him sitting amidst the high grass. My voice fails me; I clench and unclench my fists neurotically, striving to focus. My anger splashes all around me like a vast ocean.

"You… liar… You killed her! You made me kill her!" I swallow the tears, gasping for air. I can't stop shaking. "You killed her!"

"It was a necessity," Voldemort says evenly. The bastard doesn't even deny anything!

I kneel beside him, place my hand on his shoulder and compress it forcefully. "You're going to pay for it."

Tom presses his lips to mine, and against my better judgment I don't resist. "She was ready to go. I saved her. I saved you both."

I pull away and draw my wand. His eyes widen, but only for a moment. Soon he's back in his usual playful mode. He attempts to kiss me again, and I punch him in the face, over and over again, sobbing uncontrollably, until blood wells up on his perfect features. He catches my wrist and throws me off, his face a mask of pure contempt.

"Yes, I killed your little bitch!" he spits maliciously. "And I was happy to do it! She was holding you back. I told you how tired I was of your constant whining!"

I give him a cold look. I cannot endure this anymore. Everything that's going on between us… He is a murderer, a liar, he is Voldemort. And I was supposed to get rid of him. I brought this on myself.

"The hell I'll wait for that bloody execution," I say, forgetting he's not aware of it yet. Or maybe he is… How the hell am I supposed to know!? "I'm going to kill you now." The wand finds its target, and just when my lips move to utter 'Avada Kedavra', he laughs at me:

"Oh no, you don't."

He throws his hands forward, and I'm spinning, sinking, flying and being ripped into the tiniest shreds before I come to my senses in my own bed. I gasp and take a shallow breath to steady my nerves. I swear, clutch my wand tighter and attempt to get back.

But I can't.

The devil has blocked me.

"No!" I scream. "No!!! You can't do this! You killed her, you murderous bastard! I'll have your life for it! I'll get you – one way or another, Tom, I'll get you!"

Sally, disturbed by my bout of hysterics, starts to bark. He's probably going to wake up the neighbours, and they will probably have the right to call the police. But to be honest, I couldn't care less.

I try to get through to him again and again, but every time some kind of barrier stops me. Finally, I relent. He won't let me get in again. He knows only too well what I want.

I raise my hands and survey them attentively. With these hands I have ruined my life.

Two days. I couldn't sleep for two days.

The day fades, and when I can't enter the dream world, I go back to the nightclub. I dive into the neon heat of the dance floor, that feverish darkness strewn with pencils of blinding light. Coloured lenses pour red, green, blue rays down on the moving, breathing mass of dancing people. I like moving to the unifying rhythm of music as a single component of that huge organism.

I spot a girl by the bar stool. Just what the doctor ordered! She catches me staring and smiles.

"How about a dance?" I suggest.

"Sure, my favourite song."

She clings to me, and the faint aroma of tobacco and perfume that comes from her clothes excites me. I don't want to be good, I don't want to be perfect, I don't want to be everybody's last hope. I don't want to be Voldemort's fuckboy.

I stare in her brown eyes, hypnotized, and close my lips over hers. Her silken red hair sweeps over my shoulder.

She winds up at my place, her clothes scattered about my bedroom. I plant soft kisses upon her pointed shoulder sprinkled with freckles. She flicks her tongue over my scar and laughs.

"Where's that from?"

I trail a path of kisses down to her breasts and whisper: "A gift from a well-wisher."

In the middle of the night a horribly loud banging snaps me out of my dreamless sleep. Staggering, not sober enough yet, I walk to the door. Hermione storms in, and I'm promptly taken aback by her abrupt inquiry: "Where have you been!? Do you realize how worried we were? We haven't heard from you for three days! For Merlin's sake, Harry! What is the matter with you?"

Tongue-tied, I try to think up a suitable answer. Hermione wrinkles her nose and eyes me reproachfully. "Have you been drinking!?"

"Ah, well… a little…"

To my terror, my one-night-stand emerges from the bedroom, smiling graciously. Her dishevelled hair ripples down her back in ginger cascade.

"Oh, hi!" she beams at Hermione. I feel so ashamed I want to fall through the floor.

"Who's this?" Hermione inquires icily.

"Err… my friend Hermione," I gesture at the new Mrs Weasley, straining my memory in the meantime. I'm so screwed! "And this… this is…"

"I'm Bianca," the girl smiles. Hermione's lips twitch faintly. The redheaded whirlwind spins around to face me and rises on her tiptoes to capture my lips in a teasing kiss. "Call me."

When the door shuts behind her, Hermione glares at me disapprovingly. I'm so drunk I can barely stand straight.

"Harry, do you think we can't see what's going on?" Ah, that annoying habit of newlyweds to say 'we' instead of 'I'. "She's the exact copy of Ginny! You're trying to replace her, but–."

"Of course, Hermione, you should know all about it. Honestly, you know so much about me that sometimes I wonder if by chance I have split personalities. It seems that you're more comfortable in my skin than I am."

She flushes indignantly, but it's too late for me to stop now. I'm high, I can't think clearly, I'm furious and I snap at my best friend: "Why don't you all sod off and let me live, for fuck's sake! Believe me, some people actually have sex before their wedding night!"

This must have stung her stern, hypocritical self. She takes a step back and looks at me with her beautiful angry eyes. I want to feel ashamed to justify her anger, but I don't.

"What did you come for?" I ask wearily.

Her voice sounds weak, almost exhausted when she draws out: "There's a National Quidditch Cup in Bulgaria next month. Viktor sent me invitation. I thought you'd want to come."

She throws the card on the table and walks out rapidly. I lower myself to the couch, exhaling slowly. I've destroyed everything. Everything.

The next day I get an owl from Malfoy. He wants to meet me. I can't express how happy I am. I just need to hang out with someone. I don't feel like apologizing to Hermione (at least, now), which means Ron will probably take her side. My personal guardian herbologist is busy at some conference. Who else? I don't have anyone else, dammit!

We take a walk and dine at a small street café. My choice, of course. Draco's face is an impenetrable mask, but the aura of squeamishness around him is almost tangible. Another source of amusement for me. What did I tell you about payback?

The probationary period is over; Malfoy is free. I know he's called me here to tell me he's leaving, and it saddens me. Believe it or not, but knowing he was out there really helped me.

"So where are you going?" I ask, sipping iced tea.

"I'm not sure yet. Around the world. It's big enough, after all."

"I wish I could join you… And who's watching over the house?"

"Ah, I sold it."

Tea splatters over my chin. I goggle my eyes at him and force a weak laugh. "You what? Who'd buy it?"

"Some distant cousin from Prague," Malfoy shrugs. He's visibly unaffected, but I can guess what turmoil simmers beneath his impassive façade. "He's pureblood, I checked his background."

So typically Malfoy! I nod in agreement.

"What about your relatives?"

"Wailing in horror," he grins. "Going crazy in their frames. I had no choice. I needed money, and Malfoy Manor was all I had."

He wouldn't let me embrace him, so I don't even try. He walks out of my life wordlessly; I let him go with a mixed feeling of sorrow and relief. He'll be away and he won't remind me of my past. Another page in that infamous book. Though I do believe he will come back if I call him.

I'm just glad he lives.

I'm tired and lost and I don't know what to do. Why does it have to be hard with him? I almost beg him to let me in. It's only natural that he doesn't respond: I'll try to kill him again, and he's well aware of that.

Something forces me to go back to his old orphanage. This place was never his home. I doubt he'd ever had a better home than Hogwarts (not unlike myself), but I can still feel his presence in the old abandoned building. I've been here only twice: in the Pensieve when Dumbledore showed me his first meeting with Tom and for real, when I'd been looking for the Horcruxes. But everything here is familiar, a little too familiar.

"If you hear me," I whisper vehemently, "know this: you had me. You know you did! I was all yours. You fucking blew it, Tom! I wish you'd just die and leave me alone. I was yours, Tom!" Tears stream down my cheeks. How could I sink so low? "I was all yours!"

I fall on my knees and lean heavily against an old iron bedstead. My hand touches something rough on the floor. I hold it up to my eyes – it's a shred of fabric. I've seen it before. It's familiar to me, the texture, the smell… I remember how I'd unwrapped it, extracted a small vial, poured sparkling silvery substance into a cauldron.

Unicorn blood… Its long-forgotten taste is now fresh on my lips.

I drop the cloth and look around. What is happening to me? Are those his feelings, his memories? Is he still there, inside my mind?

I did… I made a potion… I broke the cauldron… I splashed it on the floor… I fought the Phantom Guard and set the shack on fire… I killed Ginny…

No, wait… I don't understand anything!

I see things. I see them pass before me, someone else's memories. The potion on the floor – why is it on the floor? I see someone step inside the circle (yes, yes, there's a circle drawn in charcoal over the floorboards, and the potion slowly fills it). The potion washes over his shoes. It's me. No, it's not me. It's him. And he looks like the one from the diary.

What if he's still here?

"I killed you," I say. "I killed you, I watched you die."

Silence. There's nothing more terrifying than the complete and utter stillness that reigns within the orphanage now.

I barely remember how I get home. I fall on the bed but I get no rest. An owl hoots, Sally begins to bark, Hedwig joins the choir. I whimper and go to collect the letter. It's an urgent note from Kingsley. He wants to me come to the office immediately.

What the hell did I do to deserve being Harry Potter?

I sit at the table in Kingsley's office, my fingers tapping nervously on the surface of the table. I barely refrain from bouncing up and pacing across the room. Why does he want to see me? What's happened? What's the rush? Why do I get the feeling something's awfully wrong?

They're hiding something important.

Five days since I last talked to him. Longer than eternity. I could avoid him for a week and be none the worse for it. But that was my choice. He's shut me out, I can't get into his mind no matter how hard I try. And it's driving me insane.

Kingsley comes in, takes a seat opposite me and looks at me seriously. I shift underneath his gaze.

"Harry," he informs me. "Lord Voldemort's dead."