3. Ron and Hermione

"Miss Granger," Voldemort said softly when he was sure the two young men were out of earshot, "I am certain you appreciate the fact that I am incapable of remorse. Nevertheless, the things I did to your parents in my pursuit of Harry were undeserved. Certainly, they were Muggles, and I was in the habit of using such for my experiments. There have even been times when I was glad of my actions against this Muggle-born witch to whom my precious one is so attached but, as my jealousy faded, I came to realise that it was, in part, your letters, your support which allowed him to remain with me. And so it dawned upon me that I was in the debt of this witch whose parents I had abused. Your strength of character is remarkable and quite uncommon..."

He could have said a great deal of falsities to please her vanity, but instead settled for what was almost the truth. He did, after all, read all of Harry's correspondence, just to be sure. And one or two… inappropriate letters had been known to go missing. But Voldemort was no longer a young man and he had too much pride to blandish the Mudblood overmuch.

The girl stared at him, clearly so flattered by Lord Voldemort's praises that she was unable to form words.

"...Then, of course, I read the essays and articles you send with your letters and some of them are quite good. They might even be brilliant one day if you manage to move beyond the limitations of book-learning. Even your misguided attempts at social justice evince far more ability than the majority of your peers. You are a strong and intelligent witch, Hermione Granger, and it would be disappointing were you not to use your gifts to impose your will on the world around you."

"I hardly think that enlightening others to the injustices committed daily against our magical brethren has anything to do with imposing my will!" she said, all in one breath, colour rising in her cheeks. "And my father may have been a Muggle, but he was one of the strongest, most intelligent people that I've ever known, and I - I wouldn't be half the witch I am if it weren't for -" She broke off and looked to the fire, breathing heavily. "But Harry's my friend. And it's clear that you make him - happy, and that's what's most important. Harry's happiness."

"Yes," Voldemort whispered, "that is why I agreed to return here with him even though I have great reservations as to the wisdom of such actions." He ignored her ridiculous exclamations and focused on what they could agree on. "His happiness is paramount in my considerations but I have no idea what to expect from the coming days and Harry's relentless optimism does nothing to allay my concerns. I had hoped you might advise me."

Granger looked back at him, expression softening. Voldemort could see the pity shining from her brown eyes, it irritated him intensely. "We all love Harry very much. I think if everyone sees that you love him, too, they'll be willing to try to look past everything that's happened for his sake." She paused, biting her lip. "Although perhaps it would be best if you didn't try to justify the murders you've committed. Or talk about them at all, for that matter."

"He has been encouraging me to be honest and - I quote - be myself. In my case, such a technique is would seem somewhat problematic. I apologise if I offended you, I have always had a little difficulty judging what is considered acceptable. When I was younger I assumed that others were simply weak, but Harry has made me realise that it is I who lacks certain components of feeling." How bitterly he had railed against such notions, but the Mudblood would see this from Harry's point of view and so it was Harry's views that he would give her.

Granger blinked. "Well, there's certainly nothing wrong with honesty, but no one likes to hear about how their loved ones deserved to be hurt, or killed." She paused. "Maybe - if you wouldn't want to hear someone saying something similar about Harry - maybe then you should keep it to yourself."

"If anyone offered such insult to Harry it would soon be their loved ones grieving!" Voldemort hissed at her. He took a breath and looked away, inhaling slowly through his slitted nostrils, his fingers stroking across the scales of his Horcrux. "I am like a serpent drained of poison. It is disconcerting to be unable to corral with fear and magic. I have accustomed myself to dealing with Harry as an equal, but…" He left the rest of the thought unspoken, unwilling to venture down that hole far deeper than this pathetic scene. "How can you abide this powerlessness? I am… I am afraid of Weasleys, of how they will react to Lord Voldemort. It is ludicrous and appalling!"

The girl's laughter had a quality of surprise to it before she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "They're good people - nice people. And I'm certain they'll be much more afraid of you than you of them. I daresay you have a lot more in common than you realise."

But of course they feared Lord Voldemort. As it should be. "Perhaps," and they are pureblood, after all, he considered. They must conduct themselves with some semblance of dignity. "Would you like another cup of tea, Miss Granger?"

"That's quite all right. Ron and I should probably be going, anyway - we're doing a bit of Christmas shopping with his sister this afternoon." Granger gave him a small smile. "I think you really are good for each other, you know. He cares very deeply about you. I've... never seen him stare at anyone like that before."

"Thank you, but am I to understand that we are expected to exchange… gifts?"

"Oh… well, we're doing something of a potluck this year, I think. You'll only need to bring one."

Voldemort gently shifted Nagini onto the floor and stood, "Ah, perhaps a souvenir from our travels…?" He held out a pale hand, "My thanks for your indulgence, Miss Granger."

The girl accepted his assistance off the chaise. "I know Harry can be - a bit of handful sometimes. If he's ever being difficult, and you'd like to talk about it, well - I'll do anything I can to help."

"I appreciate the offer, but I fear that, of the two of us, it is I who engenders the most difficulties. Still, Lord Voldemort shall bear your generosity in mind. Shall we head upstairs and put your beau out of his misery?"

Granger laughed, a light blush rising to her cheeks. "I'm surprised he's let us alone this long. Harry must have barricaded the door."

As soon as Harry had gotten Ron into the spare room, Harry shut the door behind him.

"But Harry," Ron whined. "We can't just leave her with him!"

"It'll be fine, Ron. I'm alone with him all the time, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but that's different. He's bloody soft on you. What does he even need to talk to her about, anyway?"

Harry ignored him, though he wordlessly locked the door behind him. Whatever it was, it probably wouldn't be made any easier by Ron bursting in on them in the middle.

It was a small room, crowded with trunks and boxes. They hadn't gotten around to unpacking much because they didn't plan to stay in Britain for very long. Harry had promised Tom that they would go somewhere near the equator after this, somewhere warm with plenty of shade for his eyes. But they had accumulated a lot of things during their travels, and this is where they kept it for the time being. A lot of it Voldemort thought could have been thrown away - jars of seashells, maps of local Muggle villages, bits of foreign currency - but Harry enjoyed looking at these mementos of their time together.

He knelt in front of a large trunk shoved up against the wall and opened its brass fastenings. "We spent three months in India last year. It rained most of the time, but I found this flying carpet while we were exploring one of the tombs. Got us in a bit of trouble with one of the guardians, but, well - we got out of there alive - and with this."

"Woah," Ron breathed, Hermione momentarily forgotten, as Harry carefully unravelled a beautiful, brightly-coloured rug. The embroidered gold and silver thread glowed in response to Harry's touch. "Merlin, Harry, I've never actually seen one of these! They've been banned for as long as I can remember!"

"She flies brilliantly," said Harry, grinning at his carpet. It was by far the best thing he'd acquired so far during his journey with Voldemort. "Tom thinks it's a waste of time - I've yet to get him to come up with me - but it's so smooth, Ron, nothing like my Firebolt -"

"Hey - are those - are those photographs?" Ron was peeking over the edge of the trunk.

Harry laughed, a little sheepishly. "Er - yeah… it's from one of those disposable - hey!"

Ron had pulled out the stack of photos and was beginning to shuffle through them. "These aren't moving."

"Yeah, I bought it at a Muggle shop," Harry said. As a result, the majority had featured Voldemort looking sulky and irritated. "They don't move."

"I always forget. How boring." Ron had stopped to stare with a sort of horrified fascination at one of Tom laughing, red eyes frozen with pleasure. Harry didn't remember where they had taken that one. It didn't matter. It was Harry's favourite.

"I didn't know he could smile," said Ron quietly. "It's a bit - freaky, actually."

"Oh, shut up." Harry laughed and took the picture from him.

"I mean it, Harry! His mouth doesn't look like he was made to smile like that! It's too… I dunno… thin, and funny-looking."

Harry ran a thumb across the photograph's glossy surface. "I don't think it's as bad as all that." It was another moment before he realised Ron was staring at him. "What?"

"You really meant it before, didn't you? About... loving him."

"Yeah," Harry said firmly.

"And it's not - y'know - weird? Being with a bloke? Being with him?"

"I don't think so." Harry grinned. "He's quite a bit of fun, actually, once you loosen him up."

Ron shook his head. "Blimey, Harry, I don't know how you do it. I mean - it's You-Know-Who. What happens when you fight? How is it that he just stopped, y'know… killing people?"

Harry turned away with a sour taste in his mouth. He put the photos back in the trunk. "We've still got a long way to go, but… I think we're getting somewhere. No one's ever cared about him before. He's never had any friends."

"I wonder why," Ron muttered.

There was a sharp knocking on the door. "Ron!" It was Hermione. "Ron, we've finished! Are you in there?"

Ron jerked to attention. "Yes, dear!"

Harry snorted, and Ron turned bright red. "Yes, dear," Harry teased as they crossed the room, "right away, dear, anything for you, dear!"

Ron shoved him at the door, and Harry, laughing, opened it.

Both Voldemort and Hermione were standing in the hallway wearing equally serious expressions and looking thoroughly unimpressed by their tomfoolery.

"Er - hello, dear," said Harry, grinning. Ron kicked him.

The crimson eyes, glowing in the darkness of the corridor, narrowed. "I assume you have been showing off that ridiculous flying rug of yours?"

"Not everyone is lucky enough to fly all by themselves, you know. And I think it's a lovely rug!"

"You mean to say… he can fly?" Ron squeaked out. Voldemort smirked.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Hermione corrected him loftily, "No spell yet devised enables wizards to fly unaided in human form."

"Yes, don't be ridiculous, Ron," Harry said, sniggering. "That's impossible."

Voldemort, obviously torn between playing along and basking in Ron's awe, gave a light little laugh and suggested they continue this discussion later.

Once the door had shut behind them, Harry lasted all of three seconds before he threw his arms around Voldemort's thin body and pulled him close. All his apprehensions and doubts from their endless night apart scattered; the image of Lord Voldemort bathed in gore and manic bloodthirst that had slipped silently into his nightmares gave way to the reality of Tom, here in his arms, vulnerable and full of love for him.

Tom returned the hug with equal fervor. "How I have missed you," he breathed in a rush of Parseltongue.

"I looked for you last night," Harry said quietly. "When I was dreaming... I couldn't find you."

"I was unable to sleep…" Thin lips kissed his forehead, "I have not rested since you left. I do hope your exploits were worthy of my anxiety."

Harry smiled against Tom's smooth, cool neck. "My chat with Dumbledore went very well, if that's what you're trying to get out of me." Voldemort swallowed against Harry's lips and made a small noise of displeasure in the back of his throat at the mention of Professor Dumbledore. "He sends his fond regards."

"Does he?" Voldemort snapped, affronted.

Harry laughed softly. "You're the one who wanted to know." Voldemort hissed and fidgeted as though he wanted to pull away from the embrace, but didn't. Harry gave him a kiss on the neck to reward him. Tom hissed again, frustrated, but unable to find the strength to resist Harry's kisses, trembling in his arms. "C'mon, don't be that way," Harry murmured, his smiling mouth finding Voldemort's ear. "I thought about you all night long, you know..."

A very different sort of hiss shivered out of those flat nostrils and Tom leaned against his chest. This was what he couldn't tell Ron - that he could make Lord Voldemort melt. That it was not just about simply keeping the Dark Lord pacified. That nothing in the world gave Harry greater pleasure than unraveling this lovely, perfect, fragile creature, than finding the right words to murmur and the right places to brush his fingers until Tom was wrecked and quivering andkeening and his.

"Thank you," Harry said softly, lips moving against Tom's ear, before he got too carried away. "For today, I mean. You were wonderful."

Another small rush of unsteady breath against his skin and, with it, the release between them of all the whispering fears, insecurities, cruelties, and violent impulses that had crawled across his lover's mind while they had been apart. Tom's voice was small and pleading. "Do not make me do this, my love. I am not as ready as you believe me to be." I will snap, and you will not forgive me.

"You are," Harry told him, sliding his hands up Voldemort's jaw and drawing the crimson eyes to meet Harry's own. "I wouldn't ask you to if I didn't know you were."

"How can you know such a thing?" he demanded, tilting his head into the cradle of Harry's fingers.

"Because I know you," Harry murmured, stroking Tom's hairless jaw, "better than you know yourself sometimes." Because you wouldn't do that to us again.

"You are my soul," he keened desperately, "you know what I am."

"Exactly," Harry breathed, and kissed him. It was a deep, burning kiss, swollen with Harry's certain and unwavering desire.

"My Harry..." the forked tongue curled between their mouths. "If you are certain of this course, we ought to make the most of our last night alone…"

"Brilliant idea," Harry smiled against those lips, and his hands ran slowly, lovingly down Tom's torso, coming to rest on his narrow hips. He trailed his nose up his lover's smooth jawline. "In fact... perhaps we ought to figure out how long you can keep quiet while I touch you… y'know, just in case…"

A shudder ran through that tall, thin body and beautiful fingers pulled him upstairs in wordless, excited agreement.