CHAPTER 20
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Harry paced in front of his empty fireplace, holding Voldemort's abandoned wand and swishing it aggressively.
Draco was supposed to be back by now. He had just gone home to tell Voldemort their plan so that the paranoid git didn't ruin everything, and then they were both meant to come here.
Twenty minutes ago.
It shouldn't have taken over an hour to fill the Dark Lord in. Lucius was supposed to be in London, there shouldn't have been any complications.
Where were they?
Maybe I should go check to make sure everything is alright.
What if Voldemort had refused? Said he preferred it at Malfoy Manor and Draco was still trying to convince him otherwise?
Or maybe Lucius had come home early from Gringotts and was barring them from leaving?
I'll kill him.
No. It was only— Harry checked his watch— twenty-six minutes. They could just be gathering some supplies before they came to Grimmauld.
Harry brought that pale wand to his lips, idly poking it at the corner of his mouth. Voldemort had left it here before he'd been taken. That must have been calculated. He'd had the wand on him for ages, but had decided to leave it at Harry's house— for safekeeping?— instead of bringing it with him to Malfoy Manor.
It would have given him comfort, no doubt. Even if he couldn't use it.
But he'd left it behind.
Because he trusted Harry, he—
His Floo burst to green.
"Harry!" Draco shouted, and Harry felt his knees hit the hearthrug.
The blond's face was frantic, his hair uncharacteristically mussed.
"He's gone," Draco said. "Father suspected me, he never went to London. Harry—"
"No," Harry exhaled, all his breath leaving him.
"He set me up. When I was speaking to the Dark Lord, my mother was outside in the garden, and the window— it was open and— Harry. She heard everything. Father put her there and then she— she had to! She didn't know about Scorpius! He never told her."
"What did she do?" Harry demanded, but he already knew the answer.
"She took him to the Ministry. She... she sealed his death. My son, she—"
"He's there now?" Harry asked.
Draco stopped, his brows furrowing.
"Who?"
"Voldemort!"
Draco flinched, but then nodded grimly.
"Yes, and he is livid. He was cursed silent when it happened so he couldn't tell Mother the risks of interfering. But he's—" Draco looked terrified again. "He's going to kill my son, Harry. My son."
"Draco," Harry urged. "Let me fix this. I can—"
"The Ministry won't just let him go," Draco said scathingly. "Not even for the Chosen One. He's there forever now. And he's immortal. He said he'd get out eventually and find Scorpius—"
"Let me handle this, Draco. I have to go."
And without waiting for a response, he cut the connection.
He threw on his Auror robes in the hopes that they would lend him some authority and then rushed straight to the Ministry.
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After almost two hours of arguing and explaining and frustration, he was finally allowed to see the man.
The Dark Lord had been moved straight to Azkaban as soon as Narcissa had brought him to London. It was with a procession of colleagues that Harry at last climbed the stairs to the prison's most secure cell. It was isolated, cold and damp, and at the top of a tower.
Voldemort is being housed like a Muggle fairytale princess.
Which makes me his knight come to rescue him.
Wake him with a kiss.
Stop.
Harry clenched his fists and followed Kingsley to the landing at the top of the stairs.
The cell was dark and bare, and Lord Voldemort was chained to the wall. Thick metal bands secured his wrists and ankles and, most shockingly, a metal ball was lodged into his mouth, forcing it open wide, and spilling saliva onto his shredded robes.
The Dark Lord Voldemort was bound and gagged.
It would have been Harry's fucking dream if the situation hadn't been so dire.
"Oh, he looks pissed," Robards whispered at his side, and Harry looked up, realising he had yet to take in the man's expression.
When their eyes met, Harry was hit with a staggering, piercing bolt of sadness. Voldemort looked livid, it was true, but there was more there than that. His eyes blazed with a desperate need to communicate. The look they shared was private, intimate, and Harry wished that he had been allowed to make this trip alone.
I'm so sorry. I'll get you out of here.
But then Harry paused, pulling his gaze away in confusion and breaking that booming connection.
Nothing had changed.
Being away from Voldemort had made Harry miss him terribly, made him realise how attached he had become to the man. How much he wanted him.
But Voldemort had never felt the same way. Harry had confessed how he felt on several occasions, and each time, Voldemort had not reciprocated. Had not denied that he was using Harry.
He doesn't want you.
The pain was startlingly fresh again, like the rejection had just occurred.
He doesn't want you.
Harry felt like he was falling. His eyes swam with vertigo and his chest ached with grief.
"Why does he look like a snake again?" someone asked nearby, and Harry blinked until his vision cleared. He had a job to do. "I thought that body died?"
"It did," Robards replied. "We burned it, don't you remember? Merlin, I haven't celebrated that hard in all my life." The man huffed out a laugh. "And to think, it was all a lie."
Trina, another member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, made a commiserative sound and then turned to Harry.
"Why do you think he looks like this, Mr Potter?"
Harry cleared his throat.
Because he'd been a snake when I lobbed him in the cauldron.
"I'm not sure."
Trina nodded and then turned back to stare at Voldemort. Harry still kept his gaze averted. He had to focus.
This outcome was not ideal, but there was really no other option. No matter how Harry felt, how desperately he needed the man, Voldemort had never said the same. He had let Harry leave, not denying that it had all been a ruse.
And sure, he hadn't run away like Harry had thought, but that still didn't mean that the man wanted him.
Harry had to accept that. Had to do his job. The Ministry would hold Voldemort until Harry could find his last Horcrux, and then Harry would have to finally fulfil his purpose.
I am your purpose.
Voldemort's prior confident assertion filled his brain, drowning out logic and reality. There was only him, and the promises he'd made to Harry, the way he touched him, how masterfully he took charge.
"Jeez, he's a creepy fucker," Trina said quietly to Harry, her tone uncomfortable. "He hasn't stopped staring at you since you showed up."
Harry helplessly glanced over and his eyes locked onto Voldemort's again, but he drew them away before he could get lost. Instead, he let his gaze take in the rest of the man.
His pale face was swollen with red and purple bruises, his bald head bleeding on one side. The robes Harry had given him had been torn and shoved back to accomodate the manacles that cut into the skin of his wrists and bare ankles.
And there.
Standing out starkly against that white tapestry was the fucking brand that Lucius Malfoy had seared onto his forearm.
Harry stared at it. It was a mark of ownership, put there by the unworthy piece of shit, and allowed to exist despite Harry's claim.
"Alright, Harry," Kingsley said, and Harry pulled his eyes away and turned to regard the Minister. "This is your area of expertise. What do you suggest we do?"
Give him back to me.
"Can he breathe properly with that thing in his mouth?" Harry blurted out, not meaning to have asked that.
Silence met his question and Harry realised that everyone was staring at him in shock.
"We can't kill him, remember," Harry cautioned, to cover his blunder. "That has to be our priority. Otherwise, we'll lose him again."
Harry couldn't be seen to care about the man.
I don't. I don't care about him.
"I'm sure he can breathe just fine," Robards replied, with an awkward laugh, patting Harry on the back and smiling at the others. "So there you have it, Harry. You got to see him, like you'd insisted."
Robards turned to Kingsley.
"I think we should continue this discussion back at the Ministry."
No, I can't just leave him here!
But his responsibilities beat that down.
You're the Head Auror. You have to do what is right for everyone else. And besides, he doesn't want you. He wouldn't have stayed.
Before he was swept away with his colleagues, his shoulders physically steered back down the stairs, he allowed his gaze to meet Lord Voldemort's one last time.
And that look of incredulous betrayal haunted him for hours afterwards.
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"The trial would be ridiculous, we all know he's guilty!" Robards said with frustration for the hundredth time.
"But that's the legal process, we—"
"Oh, you know as well as I do, Martha, that legal process gets thrown out the window when the public is clamouring for blood. And in this case, they have been rioting in the streets."
"It's not that bad."
"Harry, back me up here."
Harry pulled his mind away from Voldemort's accusing eyes, and forced himself to pay attention.
They were all staring at him, waiting.
Waiting to hear how best to flaunt the Ministry's victory over the Dark Lord Voldemort. They wanted to know how to sell that story, when the reality was that they were holding a prisoner they couldn't kill, and who— even as a heavily restrained Squib— terrified them.
There were strict orders of who had clearance now to visit Azkaban. There were guards just outside his cell, but they were Aurors and they were forbidden to talk to him.
As if they could, considering he has his mouth plugged.
Fuck.
Focus.
"I have to find his Horcrux," Harry said quietly.
"Yes, yes," Robards dismissed, "but what do we do with him in the meantime?"
"How did he get his body back, is what I want to know," someone said, and there were hearty agreements all around the table. "Someone is helping him. Anyone know who?"
Harry had a sudden, desperate impulse to stand and say, I am! but he quickly clamped it down. He needed to keep his position to figure this mess out. He would turn himself in when everything was finished. He'd tell them all that Harry Potter had given Lord Voldemort a bedroom in his home, allowed him the use of his wand, knelt for him, gotten wanked by him—
"Well, that filth Malfoy put his damn brand on his arm, so..."
Harry froze, murderous rage rushing through him. He imagined it then: Malfoy holding the blazing metal to Voldemort's perfect skin as the Dark Lord screamed, his bald head tilting back as he howled from that agony, with no choice but to let the bastard stake his claim—
"Now, don't start that again," Robards chastised with an eye roll. "He just wanted a bit of vengeance before bringing him in, you know that."
"So he says, but he was close to You-Know-Who. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, I say."
"Has anyone tried asking the prisoner?"
"He can't speak, Gunther, remember?" Kingsley said tiredly, rubbing his face.
"What about when they feed him. Does he talk when that thing is removed?"
"Feed him? It's been less than twenty-four hours," Robards said with a mocking laugh.
"Twenty-two," Percy offered eagerly.
Someone chuckled.
"He'll live."
Harry worked hard to keep his face blank.
Don't let them see your hatred. They can't know of your worry for him, your yearning or—
"I need to see him," Harry abruptly said, and everyone stopped talking.
"You just did," Robards replied stonily. "Last night."
Merlin. They were all discussing Voldemort's fate after a night of no sleep. Filled with vengeance and fear and public pressure.
"I need to talk to him alone," Harry amended.
Kingsley was considering him.
"I don't know if that's a wise choice," Robards began, but Harry cut him off.
"With all due respect, sir, I am the Head Auror now. You retired. I'm not really asking for permission. I'm just telling you what I plan to do."
Harry's heart thrashed in his chest.
You've just disrespected a superior. You sound like an entitled prat, like you expect everyone to bow to your wishes because you're Harry Potter.
Something heavy clunked into place within him.
Well, I am.
And they should.
A kind of giddy awareness began to bubble up.
Who's going to stop me?
He stood.
"Have the trial," he told the Minister for Magic and a table full of top Ministry workers, most of which had decades of life on him. "He'll be sentenced to death, but we can't kill him, so we'll hold him. The public needs to see that we have control, that we are following the law. I'll find his Horcrux, but to do so, I have to question him."
Everyone was staring at him in open shock, some showing displeasure. They didn't like him like this.
Not my problem.
"I'll keep you updated," Harry said, and then turned and left the room.
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When Harry finally got to the top of the tower, two Aurors were waiting for him.
"We received word that you'd be coming, sir," Zita said, giving him a quizzical look. "They didn't say much else. Is everything alright?"
Harry nodded, glancing behind her to see Lord Voldemort as he had been picturing him these many hours.
The man was still standing chained heavily to the wall, his mouth plugged with an obscene metal ball, his body thin and without magic— and yet, there was something so indomitable about him. He looked lethal, even still. It was disconcerting, but incredibly compelling.
His posture and aura reminded Harry starkly of the dragons in his fourth year at Hogwarts. They had each had a dozen handlers working to contain them, and the workers had even needed to drug and distract them to keep them subdued. But Harry remembered thinking that all of that would have meant nothing if any of the beasts had really wanted to break free. It had been clear that the dragons had been allowing themselves to be managed.
They had seen the handlers as a nuisance to be borne— for now. Not forever.
Harry's gaze hungrily took in the captured Dark Lord.
Just like him.
Voldemort looked irritated and tired, but not beaten.
Not even close.
There was an innate danger to the man. An instinctual guard went up when you saw him, like your body just knew he could fuck you up. He was clearly powerful. Ruthless.
So fucking sexy.
"Sir?" Brian said hesitantly, and Harry startled, having forgotten that they were not alone.
He pulled his gaze from that enticing sight and awkwardly turned to his subordinates.
"Sorry. Yes, everything is alright. I've just come to speak with Tom."
"Sure," Zita responded pleasantly, and Harry almost choked on a laugh.
Did she actually think that I was asking?
Harry smiled indulgently, his eyes unconsciously drawing back to Voldemort.
Fuck, but he looked good like this. Chained to the wall, his wide mouth stuffed so he couldn't speak...
Harry frowned when he noticed the new gash the man had over his left cheekbone. It looked as if he had been struck with something heavy.
"Who's been to see him?" Harry asked, his gaze still caught.
"Since he's been captured?" Zita asked, and Harry nodded absently.
"Well, quite a few people, actually. Mostly Ministry workers, but some private citizens were also granted access by the Ministry."
Those motherfuckers.
"Who touched him?" Harry demanded, voicing what he'd actually wanted to know.
"Touched?" Brian asked slowly, and Harry turned to him impatiently.
"Yes— touched. Beaten. Struck." Their faces showed mild chastisement, which Harry didn't like. If they couldn't stand behind their job, they shouldn't be doing it. "Who has given him these injuries?"
Brian and Zita looked uncomfortably at each other.
"To be honest, sir," Zita replied, "we are asked to leave the room usually when he has visitors."
Visitors.
"Are there recording spells? Charms? Do you have any idea who is injuring him?"
Zita shook her head.
"No, sir. Like I said—"
"You are told to leave when he has visitors. Christ." Harry took a deep breath. "We'll be talking about this soon. Your prisoners should not be getting assaulted while under your care."
Brian made a disdainful sound and Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, sir," Brian said, shrugging. "But, it's He Who Must Not Be Named, isn't it? We've been encouraged to look the other way, and I must say I agree."
Harry felt fury pulse through him at that— but then his own actions flashed before him.
Harry had beaten him. Struck him. Made him bleed. How was he any better than these thugs?
You're not. You're worse. You've wanted to do horrible things to him.
Harry rubbed his face tiredly.
"Just get out," he said tightly, closing his eyes and trying to get his shit together. "I'll call down when I'm ready to leave."
Harry walked blindly towards the cell, not even turning to see if they obeyed him. He kept his eyes resolutely closed until he heard the pair of retreating footsteps.
Merlin.
What had he expected? The man had terrorised everyone in the wizarding world. Of course people would want their vengeance.
Like I did.
Like I still do.
He glanced back to make sure the guards were gone, and then cast a privacy ward.
He opened his eyes.
Voldemort's blazing red stare grabbed him immediately and Harry made a keening sound in his throat.
Jesus, calm the fuck down.
He looked away, furious with himself.
He still doesn't want you. Don't let him continue to manipulate you.
Moving forward, he tapped the lock on the cell, and was surprised when it would not open. He tried again, a different spell, but nothing would work.
"That's weird," he muttered, and then looked up to see Voldemort's eyes wider than normal. Staring into his intently.
Harry had a mad thought that Voldemort wanted him to read his mind.
"I can't open it," he said, and Voldemort continued to stare pointedly, his distended mouth incredibly distracting.
"Do you want me to use Legilimency?" Harry asked slowly, expecting to receive a glare, but instead, the other man held his gaze and nodded.
Harry huffed out a disparaging laugh, knowing that he was pants at the mind arts, but he decided to give it a try. Voldemort was supposed to be ridiculously proficient at them, so maybe that would help.
"Legilimens!" Harry said, and at once, words were shoved into his brain.
Blood Magic.
Harry frowned.
"But that's illegal," he said, and Voldemort's eyes lit with condescending amusement. "Wait, why will my blood work? I didn't set this up."
Voldemort stared pointedly at him again and Harry recast the spell.
"Legilimens!"
Anyone but I.
Harry was thrown out abruptly. He nodded.
"Okay, so I just cut myself and bleed on the lock?"
Voldemort's hands clenched against the wall, but he inclined his head in answer.
Harry conjured a knife and then slit his finger at the tip. He pressed the cut against the lock and it clicked open, the door swinging inwards.
They both froze, staring at each other.
Fuck.
There he is, bound, gagged, and waiting for me.
"You know," Harry whispered, feeling himself slip effortlessly into the role he played for this man. The cruel tormenter against the undaunted prisoner. "When you had me helpless, you weren't exactly nice to me."
Words abruptly thrust themselves into his mind.
I seem to recall otherwise.
Harry's lips curled.
"Should I remove your ball gag, Master?" Harry bluntly mocked, not knowing where these words were coming from.
Voldemort's eyes glittered murderously, but there was an excitement there too. They both enjoyed this fucked up game.
"Maybe not," Harry mused. "I quite like you like this."
Harry's feet led him right up to where Voldemort was chained, and he let his gaze sweep that tall, intimidating form.
"The Great Lord Voldemort," Harry said quietly. "Caught at last."
Harry reached out and touched the man's chest, his open hand over that pounding heart.
"I missed you," Harry breathed, feeling bold and reckless as the beats under his palm sped up. "You don't belong here, do you? You belong with me. To me."
He leaned in, needing to be closer, and inhaled Voldemort's neck. Recklessly, he pressed his face against that cool skin.
"Gods, I want you," he groaned, allowing his erection to briefly push against Voldemort's thighs. "You have no idea the things I would do to you like this."
Voldemort swiftly yanked his head back and then whipped it down, smashing against Harry's nose.
"Ouch!" he cried, pulling away and cradling his face, tasting blood in his mouth.
Voldemort's eyes glimmered with gloating pleasure and Harry bit out a laugh.
"You sneaky bastard," Harry muttered, shaking his head and then healing his nose.
Their interactions were nothing but an exchange of injuries. Which, now that he thought about it, was pretty much how it had always been. The thrill and danger was what drew them towards each other.
He walked back to lean against the cell bars, taking in Voldemort's calm, satisfied expression.
"You know, it's not wise to headbutt the hand that feeds you."
Voldemort's face did not change and Harry chuckled.
"Merlin, I missed this." He looked up, and suddenly needed to know, wondering, hoping— "Did you miss me, too?"
The other man's face blanked and then reality came rushing back.
He doesn't want you.
Harry swallowed his misery, knowing that he was acting like a fool. It had never been real. It had always only been a means to an end for Voldemort.
Well, that tidies things up, then.
Harry released a sigh.
"Ignore me," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Just get it done.
"I'm here," Harry began, "because I had to see you. I hate that you're..."
Gone. Caught. Away from me.
"...here."
He took a deep breath. With extreme effort, he pulled on his duties like a heavy cloak. He was Harry Potter, Head Auror. There could be no one else.
"But that doesn't matter," he said. "I needed to tell you that they plan to put you on trial." Those eyes narrowed and Harry made himself continue. "They will sentence you to death, but you can't die, so then I'll be tasked with finding your last Horcrux."
Voldemort was studying him carefully and Harry tried not to let the guilt consume him.
You're not doing this because he turned you down; you're doing it because it's the right thing to do. It's not a punishment.
"I would have brought you here eventually," Harry said, trying to sound convincing. "It's not... I'm not going along with this because you're not interested."
Metal clanked against the wall and Harry's gaze snapped up to see fury blazing in those eyes.
"I swear, I'm not," he breathed. "I have to do it. It's my job— my..." He held that man's scorching gaze. "My purpose."
Harry hated himself. He was letting them both down.
"I just needed to tell you," he whispered.
He pushed off from the bars and let his feet take him from the cell.
"I'll try to find it fast. I know you're... stubbornly immune to all of this, but I still don't think it will be fun for you in here. Everyone is pretty pissed. I think it's best if I just... get it done."
Always the coward, Harry slunk out of the cell and shut the door. His back remained exposed to the Dark Lord as he called down to the Aurors and Harry could feel the man's hatred bearing down upon him long after he had fled from the room.