That Profound Significance
Voldemort busied himself with unpacking. He had crafted a wide fireplace with a polished wooden mantle and he doubted that anyone had noticed its small, sixth chimney creep up through the roof. This room would be a sanctuary; somewhere where he could escape the crowd of Weasleys Harry had insisted he cohabit with for the duration of this ludicrous holiday.
It had been necessary to enlarge the bed somewhat and, out of curiosity, he had removed the spell from the quilt and sheets. Shorn of enchantment, the patchwork cover was all the colours of a dying autumn, and the sheets reflected a creamy grey sky above. The Dark Lord left them in their natural state, but for a little enlargement and a few heating charms, and began lining the walls with his books, journals, and scrolls.
He was not one for pointless trinkets or clutter but, as he expected to be in this room a great deal, he might as well ensure it was comfortable and get some work done on his less illegal ideas. He would prefer to have dear Nagini with him, but that was impossible due to the fact that - apparently - Arthur Weasley had been the wizard his beloved pet had bitten in the Department of Mysteries. It was, after all, quite difficult to differentiate human faces while possessing a snake. He had been most pleased by Harry's account of how long Mr Weasley had been in hospital. He had never, he realised, conducted a proper study of the venom's potency as it was not sweet Nagini's habit to be slow in devouring her - or his - victims.
Lastly, he took out his silver mirror, enlarging it to its proper size, and hanging it carefully on the wall he couldn't see from the bed. The precious repository of three of his Horcruxes. Long, white fingers ran reverentially down the cold glass. Harry…
There was a tentative knock on the door. "Yes?" Voldemort snapped, irritated at the interruption.
"It's M-Molly," an equally tentative voice sounded from the other side.
He sighed and turned the handle. "What can I do for you, Mrs Weasley?" he asked, stepping back to allow her into the room.
"Nice to see you're making yourself at home," she said faintly, blinking at the room and not answering the question; a round, little middle-aged witch, entirely unremarkable in every way. "I – I always wondered… why?"
"Why what?" he asked, still distracted by the image of a young man entwined in the arms of another Lord Voldemort, hardly paying her any attention.
"Why you did it – why you killed all those good people. My b-brothers. That handsome Diggory boy. Lily and James. I just… I never understood how anyone could want to do that. And so, I said to myself: Molly, if you ever meet that evil man, you make sure to ask him. And here you are," she drew herself up, "so here I am. And you're welcome in this house, your Lordship, don't get me wrong, but a promise is a promise – even if it's just to yourself."
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. The words of Harry's Mudblood friend sounded in his head. And Harry too, crying in a dusty village church, surrounded by dead bodies cast about like the human litter they were. As he had then, Voldemort struggled to find an answer to something that, to him, had never required an explanation. And now he was here. Because Harry was starting to break, just as his Death Eaters had. This visit to England had been Harry's price and, for all his protests, Lord Voldemort had not dared refuse to pay it.
It took him a moment to remember there was a witch in front of him awaiting an answer. "Because they were in my way. And Iam not evil, Molly Weasley, just as they were not good. Good and evil are an illusion. The only thing that matters is power. I have slaughtered men, women, and children, and I - " He paused, letting out a long breath through his nostrils. "But that is in the past. I have... different concerns now. You have no need to fear," he cracked a terrible, bitter smile, "Harry keeps me on a very short leash."
"Well... I can't say that I understand, but I… I appreciate your honesty." The woman looked a little pale, but she continued to stand her ground. "And Harry is a fine young man. You are very lucky to have him with you, if you don't mind my saying so." Her tone turned sharp and fierce.
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. "He is an exceptional young wizard and, yes, I am more fortunate than you realise. I love him and he loves me. It is quite… extraordinary."
Molly Weasley looked unexpectedly taken aback. "You... love him?"
"Of course," Voldemort answered, vaguely offended. "What sort of arrangement did you imagine was between us? I would have thought Professor Dumbledore would have been all too happy to acquaint you with the details."
The witch's cheeks went very pink. "I suppose he made a few allusions to - well - but I hadn't quite expected you to honestly be..." She trailed off. "You'll - have to forgive me... it's just that we always thought - well, Harry and Ginny..."
"Indeed?" the Dark Lord's mouth tightened. "He has never discussed your daughter with me. As far as I was aware, his only previous involvement was with a Miss Chang."
"Oh, my, Ginny and Harry were never -" She gave a nervous laugh, still blushing. "Not that I know of, that is. No, we all simply assumed - but that's no matter. The two of you seem to be doing - quite well together. Yes." She nodded firmly, almost to herself.
"I am aware that this is not what any of you had in mind for him," Voldemort tried to curb his annoyance at such presumption. "I certainly could never have imagined it. But Harry means the world to me and - I shall have you know - I do not use such an expression lightly."
"He means the world to us as well - which is why it's very important to us that he's happy, you understand. And he certainly seems to be." She paused, her voice full of emotion. "He never really had much of a childhood, you see, living with those ghastly relatives of his..."
"I know," Voldemort glanced away, "you may not credit it, Mrs Weasley, but I understand what it is to be an orphan wizard raised by Muggles. And, in his case, it was - as everyone knows - entirely my fault. We have, neither of us, emerged unscathed from the longest decade of our lives. Harry tells me he wants to introduce me to his cousin before we leave. I cannot tell if it is reconciliation or punishment he has in mind."
"They were perfectly horrible to him," Molly Weasley said, bristling. "Did you know that they put bars on his window to keep him from getting to school one year? Bars! A twelve-year-old boy - as though he were a regular criminal!" She exhaled angrily and shook her head. "The further away you stay from those people, the better, I say - they're certain to spoil anyone's holiday - but don't you tell him I told you that."
The crimson eyes narrowed in repressed fury, "Muggles," he hissed. "if they cannot starve or beat magic out of children, how quickly they resort to imprisonment!" Nostrils flaring, Voldemort paced the room almost like a caged animal himself. "And to do such a thing to my Harry, who does not even have it in him to hate them for it!" Blood was pounding in his ears as the room was beginning to blur. "How dare they - I shall teach them degradation, I shall put those insolent Muggles in their proper place, I-!"
There was a sharp crack, and Harry appeared looking frantic, cheeks still flushed from the chill. His eyes fell on the stout, shocked witch just inside the doorway, and instantly he was at Voldemort's side; the Dark Lord could smell his fear on the air even if he hadn't been able to sense it, frayed with panic, running beneath his Horcrux's skin. "Well - er - hello. What's going on here?"
"Mrs Weasley and I are having a discussion," Voldemort hissed, red eyes blank and terrible. Harry's worry only made it worse - it left the Dark Lord smarting at the indignity of being treated so carefully. He was not going to lose control. I am fine! But it was not fine, his mind was seething with frustration at being so careful, so managed - and it would feel so wonderful to kill something, to abandon pretence and revel in the stench of fear, even now he could smell it on the woman, and - "Harry," he gasped in a hiss that was barely a whimper, curling into himself, I must not, I must not…!
He was enveloped suddenly in warmth, arms pulling him gently into the familiar heat of Harry's body, cradling him: "It's all right," soothing Parseltongue brushed against his ear, "you're all right... you've been so brave for me… I'm so proud of you…"
And all he could do was breathe Harry's breaths and try to explain - in a tight, jumbled ball of thought - his anger had been on behalf of his Horcrux, as he tried not to look at Molly Weasley for fear of killing her for witnessing such a shameful moment of weakness. Had any of his servants seen such a thing, he would have executed them immediately.
Let's not think about that just now, all right? a tender voice wove through his fury. "Mrs Weasley?" he heard Harry say aloud without looking at her. "Perhaps we could meet you downstairs…?"
"Yes - of - of course, dear," the woman stammered, backing swiftly out of the room. Harry gave a distracted wave of his hand, shutting the door with a pulse of magic, and then they were alone.
The shame was absolute. It swallowed him whole. He felt like an ill-fitted half-thing: Lord Voldemort was no longer free to kill, yet nor could he counterfeit sufficient humanity to associate with such. It shredded his pride - he, who had deceived so many for so long, could no longer hide his rampant instability or his glaring inability to see or think or feel as others did. And why should he have to? Voldemort cried out like a wounded animal.
"Hey." There was a new note of confusion and fear in Harry's voice. Green eyes peered into his own. "Hey - what's gotten into you?"
He had crafted himself, all his long life, for one solitary purpose. In pursuit of his goal, all other concerns had seemed irrelevant. Tom Riddle had taken himself apart and remade himself into a Dark Lord more feared than any other in history. And now he was seventy-four and finding himself utterly unprepared for something so simple as what Harry was asking him to do. Voldemort buried his face in his Horcrux's hair.
Small, calloused fingers wove between his, and Harry disentangled himself from the embrace to pull him across the room, leading him to the enchanted mirror. "Tom... Look at this and tell me what you see."
"You know what I see," Voldemort said archly, "I see you and I."
"Exactly!" Harry smiled at him. "That's what really matters, isn't it? That's who you really are. You're kind, and funny, and tender, and loving - and all that is you, it's got nothing to do with me. It might feel sometimes like you're - something else… but you've only got to look in that mirror to remember that this is what matters most. That this person - you - is what's at the centre of it all." Harry's fingers squeezed his long hands. "And as long as you remember who you are… everything else will be all right. The rest of it won't be able to touch you."
The Lord Voldemort in the mirror offered him a proud, satisfied smirk and he let out a hiss of frustration. Only Harry had ever elicited such emotions within him. His desire gave him no help when dealing with these people, his avowed enemies, except to threaten him with all that was at risk should he fail. Voldemort trembled in Harry's hands. "I will not fail you, I-"
"Harry," a familiar voice called through the door, "may I come in? Molly is concerned."
A look of horror came over Harry's face. His eyes flew to the closed door. "Oh - Professor!" he called out with forced nonchalance. "I - didn't know you were here!"
Voldemort pulled away in an instant, smoothing his robes, transfiguring every appearance of vulnerability into murderous calm. He strode over to the door and opened it with a mechanical smile. "Headmaster," he breathed out as silkily as he could manage, "please come in, what can we do for you?"
Albus Dumbledore looked bemusedly from Voldemort to the young man standing behind him. "Well, hello, Tom, Harry. I hope I haven't come at a bad time. Molly was quite alarmed. She seemed to think you were having a disagreement." The Headmaster was wearing robes of plum velvet – almost the same colour as the suit he had been wearing when he came to deliver Voldemort's letter – covered with golden stars.
The Dark Lord laughed coldly, livid eyes never leaving the Headmaster's face. "We thrive on disagreement, do we not, Harry?" It was better if they assumed it to be an argument of some kind. Far more preferable to anyone realising the truth of the matter.
"Oh - er - yes," said Harry, nodding emphatically. "We have - loads of disagreements. All the time, in fact."
"You see, Headmaster?" Voldemort said softly, "nothing to concern either yourself or Mrs Weasley. I do apologise for the unnecessary inconvenience."
"It's no trouble at all," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "I always enjoy an opportunity to get out of the castle. I'm afraid it gets quite lonely this time of year… Oh, but Tom - I see you've managed to produce a passable imitation of my old mirror!"
Merely passable? His breath almost caught to think of Albus Dumbledore so close to the treasures he had not even told Harry were inside. "It was an interesting exercise," he remarked lightly, "though, of course, I could not resist a little modification…" long white fingers gestured to the ornate, silver serpents coiling around the glass.
"It is splendid spellwork indeed," Dumbledore said, studying it from behind his half-moon glasses. He looked back at the Dark Lord, eyebrows raised, "You must be quite fond of it, to bring it all the way back to Britain with you."
"It does seem a bit silly, doesn't it, when we both already have everything we want," said Harry, smiling and oblivious, as his hand slipped back into Voldemort's. "But he still insists on taking it everywhere with us!"
"It reminds me of what is important," the Dark Lord murmured, saccharine sweet, clenching Harry's hand slightly tighter than necessary. Be quiet!
Harry shot him a bewildered scowl - ow, that hurts! - while Dumbledore twinkled at both of them infuriatingly. "I'm sure it does. There are certain things I always keep on my own person as well. A handful of sweets, a warm pair of socks, a reliable watch - a man should never be too far from the things that are most important to him."
It set Voldemort's teeth on edge. His grandfather's ring, its sanctuary violated, cracked and broken… Instinctively, he took a step back, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "You are quite right, Dumbledore," he leered without an ounce of warmth. Oh, how he longed to draw his wand and match that threat with one of his own…
Irritation thrummed in the tense line of his Horcrux's shoulders."You don't have to tell him that, Professor. Did you know I've been of age for four years now and I've still got a curfew? Even though I'd like to think I'm much more capable of taking care of myself than a pair of woolly socks."
"Harry, requiring your return by a reasonable hour is hardly draconian. I'm sure you remember why I insist upon it, after what happened in Singapore."
"That was one time!" Harry burst out. "And it's not like I'd never handled a dragon on my own before!"
"A nest of Chinese Fireballs is not merely one dragon. I am certain the street children you befriended were quite enthralled by your performance, but I was the one who found you lying half-dead in the small hours of the morning with all my protective spells in tatters!"
"They were baby Chinese Fireballs," Harry informed Dumbledore, rolling his eyes, "and the mother might've got slightly - carried away when she found us playing with them - but I think half-dead is pushing it. She just knocked me around a bit, is all."
"The only reason you survived at all was because I found you in time," Voldemort hissed, crimson eyes glittering. "Indeed, the only character in your sorry explanation of events with whom I have the slightest bit of sympathy is the dragon."
"Yeah, because you both can't stand it when anyone is having any fun!" Harry glared at him. "Those dragons really liked me - they were even letting us ride them before she came along -"
"Dragons are very dangerous creatures, Harry," Dumbledore put in solemnly, although there was a distinct glint of amusement in his blue eyes. "Tom is quite right to ask you to avoid them."
"Oh, right - I should just follow his example and run around with some great hungry Basilisks instead."
"Harry," Voldemort snapped, "you were not in control of the situation. And, while it has never been my intention to prevent you from enjoying yourself, I fully intend to ensure you do not die of reckless stupidity!" When he had seen that still, prone form burned and broken… well, he had not been entirely honest when he told Harry what had happened to some of those disgusting urchins.
"You have no need to worry, Tom," Dumbledore said, smiling, "Harry has been thrust into considerable danger and emerged consistently unscathed long before you were around to protect him."
"Exactly!"
"What do you mean, exactly?" Voldemort rounded on Harry angrily. "Perhaps that line of argument might work on anyone else, but as the considerable danger I know exactly how much of that was skill and exactly how much was sheer fool's luck."
"The only lucky thing that's ever happened to me," Harry said, "is ending up with you - and that's because I don't have to worry about you murdering me in my sleep anymore!"
"For your information I have never murdered anyone in their sleep," Voldemort's crimson eyes glittered as he gazed down at Harry. The edges of the thin mouth twitched. "Where is the challenge in that?"
"And where exactly is the challenge in killing an innocent baby?" Harry asked, raising his brow. "Oh, that's right - you weren't able to."
Voldemort opened his mouth to give Harry a withering reply when the interfering, old cockroach interrupted: "And we're all glad of it - especially Tom, I'm sure. And Mrs Weasley as well - in fact, I believe she required some assistance down in the kitchen for a few minutes, Harry, if you would be so kind." Twinkling blue eyes met Voldemort's. "It would give Tom and I a splendid opportunity to catch up. I'm sorry to say we haven't had the pleasure for several years now."
"I'd be happy to!" Harry said, smiling sweetly. "Tom was so hoping you'd come by for that very reason, weren't you, Tom?"
Voldemort stared after his Horcrux in fury as Harry practically skipped out of the room, pausing only to give him one last wide smirk before shutting the door behind him. The Dark Lord turned to regard Professor Dumbledore, all ease gone from his demeanour, vanishing into stiff, icy politeness. "You wished to speak to me, Dumbledore?"
"Ah, the spirit of youth," Dumbledore sighed wistfully, staring after Harry. "To be twenty-one and free again. The young do not appreciate what a precious gift they have until it's long gone! But I suppose the same could be said for most things."
"Yes," the word sprung from Voldemort unexpectedly, a sad hiss that revealed too much.
"Which leads me precisely to that which I wished to discuss with you." Dumbledore was watching him carefully. "I do not intend to betray Harry's confidences, Tom, but I don't think I would overstepping my boundaries by saying he was rather agitated during his visit to Hogwarts yesterday."
"Harry is often agitated," Voldemort said lightly, "I fail to see why it is any business of yours."
"I'm afraid it soon might not be any business of yours if you don't begin paying it more attention."
How dare this old fool say such a thing, "Is that a threat, Dumbledore?" Voldemort said slowly, anticipation thrilling up his spine, left hand twitching, crimson eyes fixed on the Headmaster, mesmerised by the possibility of a duel. Oh yes...
"Even if I were able to," Dumbledore said calmly, "I would never attempt to separate you. I allowed Harry to leave school with you because it was his decision to make. And if this arrangement were to end, Tom, it would be for exactly the same reason."
Blood was starting to pound in Voldemort's ears just speaking to this wizard, seeping into his vision and heightening his senses. "Then, since you will not interfere, how is our - as you say - arrangement, any of your concern?" The rattle of the old man's breath, the rustle of robes, and their magic - a shifting antithesis: bright rays of power sizzling against vast, swirling darkness.
Dumbledore's eyes grew steely. "You are not the only one who cares for the boy, Tom. I have asked much of Harry since he came into my care. Too much, some would say. He is an extraordinarily resilient young man. But even he has his limits, and it pains me to watch them strained."
"I am here, am I not?" Voldemort hissed. "Enduring the hospitality of blood traitor filth. No one has died, as yet. Harry is perfectly fine - his nerves are hardly those being strained by our present situation."
"I'll admit that this visit was not a concession I'd expected of you."
"Well, professor, you may attribute it to the power of love, a conclusion you so readily draw concerning most matters. And, having done so, you may leave."
Dumbledore blinked, and then, unexpectedly, chortled. "I must say, Tom, it is certainly gratifying to see you finally accepting what I have been trying to explain to you for so long. You may say whatever you'd like, but it's clear that finding love has brought new meaning into your life. My only chagrin is that it didn't happen sooner."
"I did not find anything," Voldemort spat, red eyes gleaming with raw fury, "I forcibly took the blood of my enemy - the sacrifice that nearly destroyed me - and made it my own. My mother cursed me, Dumbledore, when she raped my filthy, Muggle father!"
"Ah… " Dumbledore looked to the window, frowning thoughtfully. "The Amortentia…" Voldemort shot him a poisonous glare. "Every day the world shows me new ways in which a person can be made a fool. You have my sincerest apologies, Tom."
The Dark Lord took a wary step back, unsure of how to respond to such a gesture from Albus Dumbledore. He wanted to hurt the Headmaster. The livid eyes lost focus. The room suddenly felt very small and airless.
"But perhaps this means you understand better than most," Dumbledore said calmly, "for you lived without it for so long. It is as I said before: only in something's absence do we truly understand its significance."
Voldemort nodded stiffly, unwilling to concede anything to the old man, yet unable to deny the truth in his words. Blank faced, he hoped his fear was not visible, that shameful, boiling fear that accompanied love, the ache of that profound significance.
"Which is precisely why I'm trying to help you, my dear boy." Dumbledore's voice was gentle, blue eyes watching him carefully. "Harry briefly mentioned what happened in June. He is still quite distressed about it. And although there are many things he can endure, I do not believe this to be one of them."
How dare Harry discuss such private matters with Dumbledore. "I do not require assistance," Voldemort said coldly.
Infuriating pity shone out of Dumbledore's gaze. "You have always needed help, dear boy."
"Do not presume to treat me like the child I once was, Dumbledore. I am no longer one of your students, nor is there between us even the remotest intimacy of acquaintance which might allow for such affectation. You are the last person in the world from whom I would ever solicit advice. Besides which, why would I take counsel from a man who, for all his vaunted wisdom on the subject, has no one who loves him and cannot even maintain cordial relations with his own family."
Dumbledore flinched visibly. Infinite sorrow was written into the wrinkles of the Headmaster's face, and he seemed, in that moment, many years older. "We are, the both of us, foolish old men who have made too many mistakes. I would like to believe I can still help others learn from my own thoughtless errors, but I can understand your unwillingness to accept advice from a man who has not even had the strength of character to follow it himself." He smiled bitterly at his own expense. "Very well. I shan't keep you any longer."
Voldemort gave him a savagely polite smile, thrilled his assessment of the wretched man's weakness had been correct, and that the barb had struck home. "Good day, professor," he drawled, insides crawling with cruel glee at seeing Albus Dumbledore crumple.
But on Dumbledore's way to the door, he paused at the precious repository of Voldemort's Horcruxes, examining the silver serpents that wound entwined along its edges. "Men have wasted away before these mirrors," he murmured, almost to himself. "It is such a pity when one's deepest desire also becomes one's deepest regret." Blue eyes bore into his and, for a moment, Voldemort was certain Dumbledore knew exactly what image it conjured when the Dark Lord stared into its depths. "See that it doesn't happen to you, Tom Riddle, before the damage is irreversible."