CHAPTER 25

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Harry had twenty-three minutes to learn and master a complex spell that would be the only thing protecting Voldemort's memories from the irreversible Memory Charm.

But he was used to pressure. To having vast, crucial tasks thrown at him with the carefree expectation that he would succeed.

And he always did. He was Harry Potter, after all.

He turned the page, searching for anything he had missed.

This spell, Memorias Occultatum, was a nonverbal that required Harry to cast it immediately before the first Memory Charm would hit. It would then protect the memories against further Obliviates, should they occur, until the Unveiling Ritual was performed.

His timing for the casting had to be perfect and there was no way to check that it had worked until he could get the man alone and search his mind.

The text also warned that if the intended recipient was an Occlumens, then the confirmation would be harder to get. Even with a memory wipe, an Occlumens could still have trained their mind to latently shield itself if the person had been practicing the art for long enough.

Awesome.

So the eighty-year-old magical prodigy would be a breeze to crack.

Harry sighed and put the book down.

He had it. He could cast the spell flawlessly and his reaction time had always been impeccable.

I can do this.

Voldemort was counting on him and Harry refused to allow the memories of what they had been through together to be lost. He touched the rune on his stomach, letting it give him strength and remind him who he was fighting for.

He looked down at his watch. Seven forty-five.

Time to go.

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Voldemort stared straight ahead, ignoring the shouts and threats that were being hurled at him as he sat chained down in the Accused's Seat.

Harry would be here momentarily. Voldemort had been brought in only minutes before, but the clock behind the Minister's desk said that his fate would commence in six minutes.

If Harry did not appear... if he had succumbed to another's defence or changed his mind...

Voldemort would lose everything.

No magic.

No memories.

Lost in the Muggle world, unknowing of who he was and what he deserved.

His vision began to tunnel, grey shadows eliminating his peripheral, until all he could see was that clock mercilessly ticking down the seconds until it was too late.

Harry was not coming. He had become distracted by someone else, by another's need that superseded his, and it—

The door banged open and Voldemort's eyes flashed to the entrance where Harry Potter was hurrying inside, his gaze finding Voldemort at once.

A swell of agonising relief swept through him.

Here.

He is here.

He tried to let this calm him, but the situation was no less dire. The trial would commence shortly and would culminate in Lord Voldemort being struck with the rapacious Memory Charm.

His only, feeble hope rested upon his erstwhile enemy succeeding in performing a charm that was notoriously difficult to master.

And Harry's would have to be exemplary.

"Order!" the Minister called, and Voldemort felt his pulse stutter and then hasten until it was as if he were vibrating.

Unconsciously, he searched for Harry in the crowd and found the boy's gaze already locked onto him, piercing and calm.

Voldemort held that stare, using it to strengthen himself. Harry seemed confident, which afforded Voldemort a modicum of reassurance.

My equal.

If any could accomplish this feat, it would be the boy, unfailingly tenacious and unafraid.

"We are here to witness the fulfilment of the first part of Tom Marvolo Riddle's sentence," the buffoon Minister began, and Voldemort granted him a reluctant fraction of his attention. "A complete memory erasure using the Obliviate Charm. The second part is execution, which cannot occur until we have found his last Horcrux."

Execution.

Voldemort's limbs began to shake as if from the cold. He tensed them, furious that his body should betray him thus. He would not have these vultures glutting themselves on his reactions.

"It is the decision of the Wizengamot," that fiend went on, "that a suitable location will be found to house Tom Riddle in, away from the wizarding world."

Some disagreement was vocalised at that and the Minister raised his hand to forestall it.

"After Riddle killed Karim Farsi," the man said with repressed fury, and Voldemort turned his attention to him fully, managing a gloating smile that made the Minister bare his teeth, "it was apparent that we could not jeopardise the safety of our people by allowing them into proximity with such a beast."

Beast.

Voldemort savoured that. Even reduced as he was, he scared them. That thought was invigorating.

"We have decided to send our best Auror to oversee his imprisonment and ensure his secure confinement."

For a moment, trepidation pierced him. Could it be that they had changed their minds again? Were they suspicious of Harry, would it be someone else—

"Head Auror Harry Potter is more than capable of continuing his duties to keep us all safe."

Voldemort drew in a ragged breath.

It is not his duty to safeguard you, you indolent parasite. Take some responsibility for your own life.

"He will protect us and also persevere with finding the Horcrux."

Unlikely.

"This will be a quick procedure. I will administer the punishment, as the Minister for Magic."

Voldemort forced his eyes to bore into that swine, that craven rat that would dare to draw his wand and hide behind his office, too afraid to face Lord Voldemort on fair terms. As Voldemort had been cursed silent upon being dragged into this courtroom, he was unable to deride the man for his cowardice.

The Minister stepped down from his dais and walked towards him across the floor. His face was set with resignation, not even able to summon the proper satisfaction that should come with critically wounding a supremely powerful entity.

This monumental strike was wasted on the wretch. If it had been Harry... If Harry had stood before him, straight-backed and arrogant... Worthy...

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Kingsley pronounced insolently, and pointed his wand directly at Voldemort's head.

Fear blazed through him and his attention darted towards Harry, whose eyes were narrowed with concentration.

Save me.

"Prepare yourself," the fiend warned.

Prepare how?

What a trite phrase— that it would be the last thing that he heard before his mind was viciously destroyed—

He focused on the boy, resolved to flood his vision with Harry instead of witnessing his oncoming annihilation.

Harry, protect me. The timing must be perfect, you must not fail, you must—

He heard the Minister uttering the fatal syllables, yet could not tell if Harry had cast his own incantation first. Voldemort had only trust to rely on, trust that Harry would protect him, that the Minister's spell rushing towards him would not penetrate past the boy's barrier.

As he stared into Harry's determined face, he felt the impact of magic crash into his cranium, and his panic and fear reached up and swallowed him whole.

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Harry watched Lord Voldemort's eyes close, that pained, terrified expression softening to a blank mask.

His heart was thundering in his chest, petrified that his counter-spell had not worked. He tried to break into that mind, but it was impenetrable, even with the man seemingly unconscious.

"This reaction is normal," Kingsley assured the court. "There are various depths that Obliviate can sink, depending on how far back the caster wishes to remove memories. I have eliminated Tom Riddle's knowledge of magic. Of his wars and his violence. He will no longer remember Lord Voldemort."

Murmurs broke out at that mixed with a smattering of applause. Harry looked around to see his colleagues and the public marvelling at that impossibility.

Lord Voldemort— eliminated.

A sudden wave of sorrow overcame him.

This wasn't right. It wasn't natural.

"I will now wake him to determine if the charm has been successful."

Kingsley pointed his wand at Voldemort once more and Harry again fought the urge to jump in front of the defenceless man.

"Renervate!"

Those red eyes shot open, the vertical pupils dilating fast, and then blinking slowly as Voldemort hesitantly looked around.

"Tell us, who are you?" Kingsley demanded, and Voldemort did not respond, his gaze still taking in his surroundings.

Kingsley stepped closer and the movement caught Voldemort's attention, snapping his eyes onto the Minister at once.

"Who are you?" Kingsley asked Voldemort directly.

Harry saw Voldemort glance away and then turn back to face the man standing over him. After many moments, it was clear that Voldemort was not going to answer.

"Bring the Veritaserum," Kingsley ordered, and Harry panicked, until he realised that Voldemort would have no memories of Harry at all.

There were no secrets that he could spill.

Anderson brought over a phial of clear liquid and Kingsley squeezed Voldemort's jaw to force his mouth open. The man struggled viciously, but with all of his restraints limiting his movement, Kingsley was easily able to deposit ten drops onto his tongue.

Voldemort fought to spit out the potion, but Kingsley subtly used magic to help him keep Voldemort's jaws closed.

"We'll wait a few seconds, and then I'll question him," Kingsley explained, still holding the Dark Lord's face.

Leave him alone.

Harry didn't like the rough handling. Voldemort would never have allowed it.

It was up to Harry to protect him now, as he could no longer do so himself.

"Alright," Kingsley said, and then let go of Voldemort, who was panting, his eyes wild and continuing to scan the crowd.

"Who are you?"

Harry watched Voldemort bite his lips, looking frantic, but nothing could deter the Truth Serum.

"I do not know," that voice rasped, so like his, and yet so... hollow.

Unfamiliar.

Talk erupted in the courtroom and Voldemort's gaze chased it, still searching for something.

"What year is it?" Kingsley asked.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

"I am not certain," he replied slowly, seeming to get caught on that.

He looked worried. His movements dwindled and then stopped completely.

"What is this?" Kingsley asked, holding up his wand.

Voldemort frowned, studying the wood and then glanced at the crowd once more.

"I am unsure," Voldemort responded, and then more words seemed to push themselves forward. "Perhaps— a stick. A polished stick." He shook his head in frustration. "I do not know."

Kingsley nodded and then turned to the crowd with a triumphant smile.

"A success, I would say."

The courtroom erupted into tumultuous applause and cheers. Harry stayed seated, watching Voldemort flinch at the noise, his wide eyes fearful.

"Tom Riddle will return to Azkaban for now, until we determine the location he shall be confined to."

Voldemort was scrutinising Kingsley intently and Harry wondered if it was the name that had grabbed his attention.

"Thank you all for attending this historic event. I will update the public regularly on the situation."

The Minister bowed and then began to speak with his deputy.

Harry jumped down from his seat and made towards the restrained man.

He stood right in front of Lord Voldemort, searching those eyes for a hint of recognition, a spark of the fire that usually blazed in that gaze.

The man looked up at him warily and Harry released a quiet gasp.

He was a stranger, wearing Lord Voldemort's skin.

Gone. He's gone—

But no. Harry had to have succeeded in locking away those precious memories. He tried again to peek into that mind, but the barriers were solid and relentless.

"Mr Potter," Jacobs, one of his Aurors, said at his side, and Harry startled. "I'm sorry, sir, but I have to take him to Azkaban now."

Harry glanced back at Voldemort to see the man's fear rising, his body becoming rigid.

Everything in him compelled him to help, to save the man from this, but that would have to wait. He had to play his part now or he'd be thrown in jail too and Voldemort would have no means of returning to him.

We're together in this, Voldemort. Trust that I've got you.

Harry nodded to his Aurors, then watched them unlock the former Dark Lord's restraints without magic and lead him away.

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When he got home that evening, he blindly shucked off his robes, kicked his shoes aside, and trudged heavily up the stairs.

Gone.

He was gone.

Voldemort's unfamiliar face haunted him. It had been so empty and strange. Devastating.

He branded himself for me. He... cares about me, in his own way.

Harry thought about that, remembering their conversation and his own foolish declaration.

I have no love to give.

And that had hurt, but it wasn't surprising. He knew Voldemort didn't understand love. Yet the man's words were too tender, too sincere to be simply manipulation. He felt something, whatever it was.

Enough to take my mark.

Fuck.

When he got to the top of the stairs, he pushed open the door to his room, walked to the bed and burrowed underneath the covers. He felt numb. Wrung dry and defeated.

Closing his eyes, he felt harrowing loneliness clog his throat, but he couldn't cry.

He was all alone now.

Pathetically, he hugged a pillow and buried his face into the material until it was difficult to breathe. He pressed harder, picturing what Voldemort was experiencing right now. How scared he must be. And everyone was likely taunting him and revelling in his confusion.

What would they do to him like that? Would they risk needing to Obliviate him again, just to attack him with magic?

Harry's eyes began to water and he hated himself, hated—

His Floo burst to life.

He threw the blankets off, looking to his hearth, but it was cold and empty. Then he heard Hermione's voice coming from the drawing room.

"Harry? Are you home?"

Fuck. He'd forgotten to close his Floo.

"We need to talk," she persisted, and Harry fell back on his bed, knowing that he would cave because she needed answers and it was his job to assuage her fears. "Please, Harry, I—"

"I'm coming," Harry called, and then allowed himself one breath to mourn the loss of his privacy, his hard-earned wallowing.

When he stepped into the room, it was to see both Hermione and Ron's heads squished together in the fire.

"Can we come through?" Hermione asked, and Harry nodded wearily, dropping into one of the armchairs by the hearth.

His friends toppled into the room, righting themselves quickly and then turning to Harry with identical looks of shock on their faces.

"You're going away with him?" Ron asked incredulously.

Harry sighed, resting his elbow on the armrest and cradling his head in his hand.

"Harry, what is even happening?" Hermione asked, and Harry heard her sit on the sofa beside his chair. "You're leaving to an unknown location as security detail for Lord Voldemort? Why?"

Harry closed his eyes, wanting to be anywhere but here.

They're going to hate you. You're a traitor and they'll never understand.

"Crazy to see him without his memory, though, huh?" Ron said, sitting down on the arm of Harry's chair, opposite Hermione. "Blighter couldn't even recognise a wand." He laughed, shaking his head. "Mental."

Harry squeezed his fingers together until they hurt.

"Is this some form of penance, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Because that is just absurd. You don't need to sacrifice your life to watching over him. Let someone else do it."

"I don't know why they don't just keep him isolated in Azkaban," Ron muttered. "If he's so dangerous, lock him up and throw away the key."

"He'll find a way," Harry whispered, still hiding in his hand.

Karim's death was Harry's fault, yet others would fall prey to Voldemort's manipulation as well. Eventually, they'd have to feed him or check on him, and Voldemort always found a way into people's minds. He had a solution to any eventuality.

"No one is safe around him," Harry insisted, aware that he had to push this perspective— and it was true. The Dark Lord was dangerous, but that wasn't the only reason why he wanted to accompany the man. "I won't let him kill anyone else."

"Farsi's death wasn't your fault," Hermione said softly, touching Harry's arm, and Harry took that like a blow.

Your fault.

All your fault. You freed the Dark Lord and then let him chain you up. You are the one that killed Karim.

"Hey," Ron said, touching his other arm. "You're shaking, mate. Here, c'mon up."

He tugged on Harry's shoulders and pulled him back until Harry's face was exposed. He kept his eyes closed, his self-loathing thrumming through him.

"We're coming with you," Ron said, and Harry's eyes snapped open in fear as he stared at the resolute man.

"No," Harry denied breathlessly.

"You can't do this alone," Hermione began, but Harry surged to his feet, anxiety overtaking him.

He turned to face them.

"No. I'm serious. You— Your kids. You have to keep them far away from Voldemort."

"He has no memories—"

"You think that will last?" Harry said, laughing incredulously. "You think that will stop him? I'm not fucking kidding, your family can't be anywhere near him. Do you understand?"

Ron stood too.

"You won't be safe by yourself."

Harry laughed again, sharply and without humour.

"And? When the fuck have I ever been safe?"

At Voldemort's feet. Quiet, and tucked in under his legs.

"Harry, listen—"

"No, you listen. This is my problem. My responsibility."

Hermione stood as well, her face resolute.

"You expect us to let you run off with Voldemort? We're not blind, Harry! We've seen how he's changed you. You're... disappearing. Your weight, but also your personality. You're secretive again. Reckless."

"Stop," Harry begged, spinning to face the mantelpiece, hanging onto it to keep his legs steady.

"It's true," Ron said. "You took the monster home, gave him back his body, and now he's controlling you."

"He's not."

"You looked devastated today," Hermione whispered. "Heartbroken. Harry, I'm sorry, but if I didn't know better, I'd ask you if you were... if you and he..."

Harry slammed his eyes closed.

Traitor.

Monster.

You don't deserve to sully them with your presence.

Harry groped for the Floo powder and threw a handful into the fire.

"Malfoy Manor!"

As the bottom of the hearth opened wide to suck him down, spinning him rapidly into the green abyss, he frantically wondered why he had uttered that location.

Too late now.

He let the jostling momentum take him inexorably towards one of the few homes in the wizarding world that Harry Potter would never be welcome.