CHAPTER 30
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When his feet landed on the windswept grass, the sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs was already nostalgic.
He was home.
Looking around, he saw Kingsley standing in the doorway of the white building. He headed over, his heart beginning to pound with apprehension.
You can't take him from me. He's mine.
"Sir," Harry greeted, and Kingsley nodded, gesturing him inside.
When Harry passed the threshold, it was to see Lord Voldemort Immobilised on the floor, his face bloody, and another gag in his mouth. Not the metal ball this time, but a dirty washcloth.
Harry's body tensed in offended displeasure.
"What happened to him?"
Kingsley raised an eyebrow.
"I subdued him. He ran when he saw me."
"So you hit him?"
The other man sat himself in one of the wooden chairs. He sighed and dropped the two knives that they had used that evening onto the table with a thunk. The one that Voldemort had used to try to kill him again, still had blood on it.
"You lied to me, Harry."
Fuck. That was true. He was letting everyone down.
Harry swallowed, hating himself. He stood by the still-open door, unable to move in the face of his judgment.
"You said that you had not made contact," the Minister went on. "You said he was adjusting well."
He wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. What could he say? It was true.
"I cannot allow you to jeopardise the safety of our people," the other man stated, and Harry's hands clenched. "This task is vital. The rules were clear. You cannot just decide to speak with him, to get in proximity to him, even. You pledged not to."
"I know," Harry whispered.
"You can't do this job, Harry."
No.
"I can. Give me another try."
The Minister shook his head.
"I cannot risk it. He could have gotten free. You could have died."
I was supposed to die.
"I'll make sure he doesn't. I won't mess this up again, I swear."
"I think... Harry, I think you've been compromised."
Oh, fuck.
"What?"
"Nothing about this sits well with me. We don't know how he got his body back. Why he has no magic. We assumed it had to do with his resurrection, but the fact is that we just don't know." Kingsley's face hardened. "You say you don't either. Would you submit to Veritaserum about that?"
Harry took a step back, his shoulders bumping into the wall.
"You're kidding me."
Kingsley crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.
"Can we speak openly?" Harry nodded slowly and Kingsley laced his fingers. "I don't mean to insult you, but this whole situation is incredibly suspicious. You ask for a favour for the first time in your career and it's not even for yourself. It's for Voldemort."
Harry's gaze fell helplessly to the supine man for an instant and he saw that those red eyes were wide with fear.
"You've been obsessing about him," Kingsley continued. "You've stopped doing your job, you... you want him in your home."
His tone was almost derogatory. Harry tried not to flinch from it, his self-hatred burgeoning within him.
"And you say it's to hurt him," the man added, "but I'm not blind, Harry. You look at him like..."
Kingsley trailed off and then cleared his throat.
"Not like you want to hurt him," he muttered.
Harry bit his cheek, his eyes unable to meet his boss's.
"I know I haven't been focused at work. It's been... difficult knowing that he's alive and it's all my fault."
"It's more than that," Kingsley dismissed, and Harry did flinch this time, recognising that the Minister was too damn perceptive. "You don't look guilty when you stare at him. It's more like... longing."
Harry pressed further against the wall.
"I can do better. I'll... I'll keep my distance this time."
Kingsley shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I don't think this solution is working."
Fix this.
He forced his shoulders to lower. His spine to straighten.
"So he goes back to Azkaban?" he asked with disdain. "How is that better? He'll kill someone else."
"We can use magic to feed him and see to his needs. We'll make it so that no one ever has to interact with him again."
"He'll find a way."
Kingsley held his gaze.
"It's better than this plan. It's not working, Harry. You're drawn to him, and—"
"Kingsley."
Harry pushed off from the wall and moved towards the table. He gripped one of the chair-backs with his fingers, crushing the wood.
"With all due respect, sir," he said slowly and confidently while staring down at the man, "you either keep to your word and let me handle him, or things will get messy for you."
The Minister's eyes widened for a brief flash before he smoothed his features. A small, disappointed smirk showed that he had anticipated this reaction.
"I see."
Harry held his gaze, refusing to look away as the guilt ate at him.
Try to keep your job. This will be easier if you're allowed.
After a few tense moments, the man shrugged.
"I don't really need you, Potter." He pulled his hands off the table. "We know what we're looking for."
"That's bullshit. You need me. You are so very out of your depth with Voldemort."
He let go of the chair and straightened up.
"Besides," he said, "the public would riot if you crossed me. And I would be sure to tell them all about how you reneged on your promise to the Chosen One."
Kingsley's lips firmed with displeasure.
"Should I tell them, then, that you're a Death Eater?"
Harry laughed.
"Go ahead, if you think it will do anything but lead to your immediate dismissal and public humiliation. They won't like that you're upsetting their Saviour. And they certainly won't feel safe if you try and lock me up when Voldemort's still alive."
Kingsley stood, pushing his chair back forcefully and leaning his hands down on the tabletop. Trying to intimidate him.
"I could force you to take Veritaserum," the Minister threatened. "Expose you."
Harry shrugged, unconcerned.
"Good luck. Umbridge tried that when I was a kid. Didn't work then, not gonna work now."
He smiled, somehow feeling energised from this horrible conversation.
"Did you know that I'm immune to the Imperious Curse, too?" he asked, realising suddenly that everything was funny. "So go ahead and try."
Kingsley's face was furious and appalled, which just made it better.
"So, I'm right," Kingsley pronounced quietly, sounding scathing. "You're one of his. You wouldn't fight me like this if you weren't. You're a Death Eater."
That wasn't funny.
"I'm actually not," he said softly. "I don't want to hurt anyone and I swear that I will try my hardest to make sure that he can't either."
Kingsley's fist banged against the table.
"Then, why? Why throw your career away? Why risk everything for this?"
Harry hesitated, his gaze returning to the man on the floor.
"He's my purpose. No one but me can handle him."
He looked back up at Kingsley, wanting to make the Minister understand.
"I don't want to challenge you," he insisted. "I didn't want this conversation to go this way. But you have to understand that I will be staying with him. Whether you assign someone new or keep him locked up in Azkaban. I'll be there. You can't stop me."
Kingsley's gaze was hard. Calculating.
"I could kill you," he whispered.
Harry stared at him for a shocked moment and then laughed.
"Oh, that would be mental. Even ignoring what the public would do to you if you did— Voldemort is immortal. He'll be free eventually and he'll annihilate every single person alive once he finds out what you've done."
"Why? Why would Voldemort care that you were dead?"
Harry thought about how to explain, not really comprehending it himself.
"You'd said I was obsessed," he ventured. "Well, so is he."
"So obsessed that he stabbed you in the chest?"
Touché.
"It's his memories," he argued. "He's confused."
"Then this is the perfect time to separate you. He's not a danger anymore if he's got no memories. We can lock him up and forget about him."
Harry shook his head.
"I can't," he whispered.
Kingsley scoffed and the sound curdled his intestines.
"So you'd risk everyone's lives," Kingsley asked with disgust. "Rose and Hugo. Your friends and colleagues. Innocent people that look to you for protection."
Harry staggered back, his feet hitting the wall. He let the words tear into him, waking him up, because this was true. He was vile and evil to be endangering those he loved, those who deserved—
"You'd kill them all," Kingsley continued mercilessly, "to ensure that you could stay with the Dark Lord Voldemort. You would threaten the Minister for Magic for him. Blackmail him. All of this, for shameful, selfish reasons."
Harry closed his eyes.
He was a monster.
He didn't deserve the happiness he had found with Voldemort. He was a killer, a weapon, a shield. He—
"You would doom us all, for this."
Harry looked up to see Kingsley pointing with revulsion at the body on the floor. Powerless, he met those red eyes and was instantly drawn in.
Voldemort was there.
He was right there, waiting for Harry to save him. Like he'd promised. So that they could be together again.
It didn't have to be bad. He could still protect everyone and also keep the man for himself. He could do that.
"Let me stay with him, Kingsley," he begged. "Please. I'll do better. Give me one more chance to prove that you can trust me. I know that this is shocking, but it's actually harmless."
"Farsi died."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
Karim.
I'm so sorry.
"He did," Harry breathed, his self-loathing casting a shadow on everything good. "That was my fault."
"And now you almost died at his hands."
"Again," Harry confessed, "my fault."
The Minister shoved his chair and Harry looked up at him in surprise.
"Do you know what you sound like, Harry? You're blaming yourself for his crimes! He's manipulating you. You need some distance—"
You won't take him from me.
"Don't make me go to the press, Kingsley," Harry said softly, but his tone was lethal.
Kingsley turned to him with surprise. Harry raised his head.
"Let me stay here with him. I'll keep my distance. I won't interfere. Please."
The man considered him, a disapproving expression on his face.
"You've put me in a terrible position. If I let you do this, I run the risk of it all being a lie and having you be one of Voldemort's servants. That would be a huge blow for our whole society. You are a symbol for the people, Harry. Your defection will—"
"I haven't defected," Harry countered, offended. "I would never hurt anyone, not on purpose. I know... I know I have. But I'm not his servant. I just need to stay with him."
Kingsley crossed his arms.
"If I deny you, you'll go to the press and I agree that no one will believe what I say. If I kill you..." He met Harry's gaze unapologetically and Harry admired that honesty. "Then I risk that there is a chance that that could incite Voldemort to war."
Kingsley considered him closely.
"Yet I am not convinced that he would care," he concluded. "He's spent his life trying to kill you."
Harry made a disparaging sound.
"Think about it," he said. "He's the most powerful Dark Lord ever. Do you really believe that if he actually wanted me dead, I'd still be alive?"
"So you discount your own achievements?" the man countered.
Harry shrugged.
"I'm tricky to kill, it's true. But he's unmatched. The man was the most brilliant student out of Hogwarts. He travelled to get experience and master the Dark Arts. But all he ever used on me was the Killing Curse." Harry snorted. "I'm alive because he could never truly bring himself to kill me."
"You said he did. At the Battle of Hogwarts."
Harry remembered that. Those cold, calculating eyes. The way that Voldemort's head had tilted in breathless curiosity.
"Yeah," he agreed. "He did. And it killed a part of his soul. He won't be trying that again."
Kingsley stared at him and Harry pressed his advantage.
"Let me do what I was prophesied to. I'm going to do it anyways. Wouldn't you prefer to be the one granting me permission, instead of the one getting disgraced when I go against you?"
Harry stepped out of the house, gesturing for the Minister for Magic to follow him. Kingsley hesitated, but then strode past him, walking off into the gales.
"I'll be bringing someone by in an hour to bulk up the wards and strengthen security," he shouted over the sound of the waves. "You will keep your charge Immobilised while they are here."
Harry smiled.
"As you wish, sir," Harry replied, and then walked back into his home.
.
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After carefully removing that disgusting washcloth and healing Voldemort's face, Harry had backed up to Vanish his own blood on the wooden floor.
Gross.
Then, he'd poured himself a drink of water and looked down at the frozen man. He blew out an exasperated breath.
"You tried to kill me again. After I specifically asked you not to."
Those eyes searched his face, uncomprehending. Clearly, Kingsley had already Obliviated him.
All that they'd built had been lost.
Again.
He sighed and sat down, cross-legged, on the floor beside that long body.
"I have to do this differently now. Thanks to you. I have to stay away until I can figure out the ritual."
Voldemort's face grew fearful. Harry ran a gentle hand down the man's sharp cheekbone to calm him.
"So, I guess this is goodbye." That word tightened his throat momentarily and he swallowed down the sting. "For now."
His fingers had continued past the man's jaw and had begun to slide down that delicate neck. Harry watched their daring progress.
"I think he's right," he whispered, enthralled by the feel of the cool skin. "It's too confusing for you to interact with me. But this shouldn't be for long. And I'm not going anywhere. You just won't be able to see me."
When his fingers reached the neck of his robes, Harry pulled them away.
"Now I just have to figure out what to do."
He looked away, shifting to lean against the leg of the table.
His Invisibility Cloak was probably his best option. He could keep an eye out, but not be seen.
Not make contact.
That's going to be impossible.
No.
He could put others first. That was his job. He could play by the rules until he was able to return the man his memories.
Then who the fuck knows what will happen. Voldemort will hate me for making him suffer this for so long.
Harry banged his head back against the wood.
What a mess.
"I'll have to add some of my own wards until proper ones can be cast. Just to make sure you don't jump again. And I'll have to tell the Wardsmaster not to bother with Emotional Repelling wards for a bloody Dark Lord."
He snorted.
Like something as pedestrian as feelings would ever thwart Lord Voldemort.
Straightening up, he was just about to perform the Memory Charm when Hermione's otter Patronus floated into view. He felt a sinking in his stomach, knowing she would want to lecture him, too.
The otter opened its mouth and spoke in Hermione's voice.
"Harry. Can you Floo call right now? If not, come to the Ministry when he is sleeping, like planned."
Harry looked over at Voldemort and noted his astonished expression. That must be fucking nuts if you don't know about magic.
"It's alright," he said, but Voldemort did not seem to take any comfort from those words. "Let me just deal with her, and then I'll come set you to rights. You're safe, don't worry."
He stood and walked to the other part of the house where the hearth was. There was only one fireplace in this building and it was in the main room. No bedroom had a fire.
Folding himself resignedly onto the bare hardwood floor, he performed the spells to illegally set up a Floo connection. When it was done, the grate immediately flashed to green and Hermione and Ron's heads were crammed into the small space.
"Hey," he said.
"You almost died?" Hermione shrieked, and Harry grimaced, not wanting to do this.
"You went to Malfoy?" Ron cut in, his face looking betrayed. "Why would you go to him? We could have helped you!"
Harry was nodding.
"Was it him?" Hermione asked. "The report said that you were stabbed. How did he get a knife?"
Report? Great. So there was information circulating on his latest fuck up.
"What did Malfoy do?" Ron asked with disdain. "I bet he sodding loved that he could help the Chosen One. Great for his image."
Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but he couldn't be bothered.
"Harry," Hermione said, "I think you should come home. You said that you would keep your distance, but he managed to stab you, so that's obviously not happening."
"It's all sorted," he told her wearily, but Ron interjected.
"Look, let's meet up tonight, okay? Before you start looking for the Horcrux."
Harry sighed.
Why not? Who needs sleep anyways?
"Okay," he agreed.
"Stay safe, Harry."
"And this time, come to us if you're gonna die, alright?"
Harry tried a smile.
"See you tonight."
His friends vanished from his fire.
He blew out a long breath, closing his eyes.
Merlin, this was going to suck. It would be so lonely and painful to see Voldemort nearby and not be able to talk to him.
He shuffled into the other room.
"Okay, Voldemort," he said, glancing at where the man had been laying. "Time—"
He froze.
Voldemort was gone.
Harry fell to his knees, looking under the table, then jumped up and ran around the various rooms, shouting out for him. There was no sign anywhere. He shoved open the door and scanned the island— and there he was, the mad bastard.
Rolling across the grass, towards the cliff's edge.
The Dark Lord's body was still stiff as a board, but he was managing to fight the curse enough to give his muscles momentum to roll.
Harry took out his wand and hit him with a Petrificus. Voldemort's movement came to a halt and Harry jogged over to where he'd gotten to.
"You're ridiculous," Harry said with a small laugh. "What was your plan? To plunge into the water and drown?"
As he thought about that, his smile receded.
The man would probably prefer that, the chance of independent escape, rather than the reality of capture.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'll return your memories soon, I promise."
He lifted his wand and pointed it at the man's face. Voldemort's eyes widened and then narrowed in challenge. Still fighting, even when he had no idea what was going on.
"Trust me."
He took a deep breath. After he performed the Memory Charm he would have to disappear. Not intervene. He would have to devote his time to finding out how to make that potion. Or, failing that, figure out who to ask for help.
He met those eyes with resolve. Gripping his wand tighter, he filled his mind with optimism for the future. Soon, he would look into those eyes and see the man he loved staring back at him. Telling him to kneel. Disparaging him. Helping him share his burden.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Obliviate!"
.
.
Harry trailed after Voldemort as the man searched the island.
He had needed to Disillusion himself because his Cloak would not stay on him with the pounding rain and howling wind that evening.
Voldemort had inspected every inch of his new prison upon coming to. He'd tried to scale the cliffs, but Kingsley's new wards had kept him at bay. They were primarily physical wards this time, not mental ones that Voldemort could pass effortlessly through.
And it was fucking freezing.
The bastard must feel it, too, but he wouldn't stop. He walked constantly, checking and rechecking areas, his eyes scanning over everything. Never settling. Never resting.
It went on for hours. It was well after three in the morning when the man finally accepted his body's needs.
He knew that the man was paranoid, but even with the choice of a dry, empty house or the thrashing, unforgiving elements, he chose to stay outside. There were no trees, no shelter at all. Voldemort found solace in the one creepy part of the landscape, the small stone-walled graveyard, and hunkered up against that for reprieve.
He stayed unmoving for a whole half hour, staring out at the ocean, his face unreadable. The rain was pelting him and it had to be miserable, but he just acted like he didn't even notice.
When he fell asleep, Harry sat down, gazing hungrily at him for too long. He wanted desperately to touch him, but knew he couldn't. The man's thin eyelids didn't flinch with the rain, his bare head looked red from the cold, and his posture was curled up tight, his arms hugging his stomach with his legs pulled right in.
Harry set a mild warming charm on him. He couldn't leave him like that, frozen and alone.
It was a heartbreaking sight.
At four-thirty, he finally Apparated to the Ministry, dry and warm. He felt guilty for his comfort.
When he got to his new demoted office, it was to find Ron asleep in one of his chairs. Hermione must have gone home because of the ridiculous hour.
Harry considered not waking him, and simply striking out on his fake Horcrux search immediately, but he knew that would just result in them sending him another Patronus, which would require Harry to Obliviate the Dark Lord again.
He nudged Ron in the shoulder.
The man grunted, then jolted awake.
"Bugger— what time is it?" he asked groggily, sitting up.
"Five."
"Merlin." He looked up at Harry, searching his face. "Has he just fallen asleep?"
Harry shrugged wearily.
"He's not very trusting."
Ron huffed out a laugh.
"What a mad situation. I can't believe you're babysitting You-Know-Who."
Harry sighed and slumped into the chair behind his desk.
"Me neither."
Ron scrutinised him.
"How's all that going?"
Harry gave him a level look.
"About as well as you can imagine."
Ron snorted.
"So, piss poorly, eh?"
Harry nodded, a smile tugging on his lips.
"I want you to be straight with me, okay?"
That did not sound good. It was the second time someone had asked that of him today.
"What's your plan with him?" Ron asked. "You love him. That still on?"
Harry nodded hesitantly.
"Right. So, you're obviously not going to kill him. He has no memories now, though, yes? That's why he tried to kill you?"
Harry nodded again.
"Alright then, are you just going to try to get to know this new him? See if you can save him, or something else totally inappropriate, but completely a classic Harry Potter move?"
Harry looked down at his hands.
What if he told Ron the truth?
That he was planning on giving Lord Voldemort back his memories? That he didn't want a fake— had already tried that, and had learned the hard way that there was no replacement for what his heart desired.
He'll tell Hermione. And she'll hate me.
What if she didn't?
What if they could get to know Voldemort and—
Harry shook his head in incredulity.
What the fuck was he thinking? What, introduce Hermione to Voldemort? A Muggle-born married to a Blood Traitor? The same duo that had helped Harry find and destroy parts of his soul for a whole year? Would they all go on double dates and swap treacle tart recipes?
Jesus fuck.
He was out of his mind.
"What's going on there?" Ron asked with concern, and Harry looked up to see him frowning.
"Sorry. I was thinking about something else. What did you say?"
Ron continued to stare at him. Harry cleared his throat.
"The plan," he said, trying to get back on track. "Right. Well, I guess the plan is just to see how things go. I'll assess the situation and determine if he's still a threat."
"Uh huh. And if he is?"
Harry looked down at his hands again. He found a rough piece of skin on his thumb and brought it to his mouth to chew on.
"Stop that," Ron said, and Harry looked up to see the irritation on his face.
He quickly dropped his hand down into his lap.
"I don't think you expect him to change," Ron remarked, studying him. "He'll always be dangerous. I reckon there's something wrong with his brain, or maybe all that Dark magic messed him up."
He can't change. A broken egg will always grow a broken bird.
Harry sighed, closing his eyes.
"Maybe."
Ron made a sound.
"See, that's what I'm afraid of."
Harry looked up to see Ron scrutinising him with fond irritation.
"You know this is mental. You know he's hopeless and dangerous, but you're still going to try to save him anyways. It doesn't matter what I say or what Hermione guilts you into agreeing to." He released a quiet laugh. "It's what you do."
Harry took that like a blow.
Naïve. Stubborn.
Risking the world for your ego.
Everyone was right. It was about his ego. He couldn't bear to give up on someone. He was pathetic. Trained to react in a conditioned way to those in need.
He—
"Hey," Ron said, suddenly out of his seat. "I didn't mean for that to come out as an insult. It's not. Well, not really. You're a good person, Harry. Somehow... untouched from the war. You still believe in people and their worth and that's a good thing."
A good person.
Untouched from the war.
Merlin, his best friends had no idea who he was. They loved him, but they didn't see him. To have Ron believe that he was somehow innocent after all he'd done...
Harry felt tears stinging his eyes and he knew that Ron would see them there, this close to him. He looked away, but the other man just pulled him into a hug.
Harry tried to push him back, knowing that he was a traitor and a failure, yet Ron just held him tighter, speaking words into his hair and not letting go.
"You're so hard on yourself, Harry. I hate that. Whatever you decide to do, all I ask is that you keep us updated. I get that you want your privacy, but this is You-Know-Who we're talking about. If things go south and you need help, I have to be able to find you."
Harry pulled back, feeling floored, gullible—
He stared at his friend.
"You want me to tell you where he is," he breathed.
Ron held his gaze.
"Just me. I'll swear an Unbreakable Vow not to tell anyone else, not even Hermione. I just need a way to check on you."
That's a lie.
He wants to kill Voldemort. No one can be trusted with this, no one understands. They all want me to complete my prophesied purpose, my—
"You can trust me," Ron insisted, gripping his shoulder. "I just want you to be safe."
Harry pulled back, standing from his seat and out of Ron's arms.
"You'll kill him."
Ron was on his knees where he'd been next to Harry's chair.
"I won't," he said, shaking his head. "I just want to help. Someone else has to be able to—"
"It's my job, Ron. Mine. You can't help me."
"Harry—"
"He's mine!" Harry shouted, his whole body abruptly tensed to fight or flee. "Stay out of it. You worry about your family and I'll worry about mine."
Ron was looking at him with a quiet, sad resignation. He nodded.
"Alright, Harry."
Harry strode from him, irritated at Ron's disappointed expression. He kept his hand away from his wand pocket and then left the Ministry.