The pair spent two days resting in the bed before Voldemort allowed Harry out of his sight to wash. As he settled in the bath, Harry could sense Voldemort fretting in the back of his mind, and sent over some gentle reassurance. It was the longest they'd been out of sight from each other since the resurrection, and it was hitting Voldemort hard, even though the other wizard would never admit it out loud.

(It was easier to admit it when they were curled into each other, holding on and tied together by knotted nets of soul.)

Now, he was out of Voldemort's sight once more, slowly making his way through the books Dobby had left as Voldemort worked in his study (just a few doors down), close enough that they could hear each other if they spoke aloud, but far enough that Voldemort had visited him five times already with increasingly transparent excuses.

Each and every page of the books had so much information, new knowledge, that Harry was taking breaks every few sentences to take it all in. He'd filled two scrolls of parchment with notes already, and was brimming with information to give to Voldemort. The history of the elves, their story, how they were related to and descended from High Elves - a creature now long-gone but still held within recorded memory - and how wixenkind had moulded them into what they were today.

It surprised him how rich their history was, and then he felt guilty for thinking that, and then he looked up because Voldemort was poking his head into the room again.

It wasn't a problem, exactly, but he could tell Voldemort was getting annoyed at himself for the behaviour, and Harry didn't like that. Voldemort was doing his best, but this situation had never happened before, probably ever in human history! Of course it would be weird for them. He'd even offered to come and read in Voldemort's office so the man could keep him within his eyeline, but it had been met with a quiet refusal.

Fair enough, and so Voldemort was coming to check on Harry for the sixth time that morning.

Harry marked his page and looked up as the door opened, unable to stifle a smile. "Hullo," He greeted the man. "Did you know that a boggart is actually a sign of an unhappy House Elf? They'll spawn out of the stress their magic is under. Originally they were a protective force for Elf cities."

Voldemort tilted his head as he took that in. "Interesting," He held up a letter. "I wanted to ask for your advice on something."

He was asking for Harry's advice? On… matters of the Dark?

They'd not even managed to have a proper discussion about the Dark's goals yet, with Voldemort having a lot of communications to catch up on and them both being so exhausted from the ritual. Harry didn't think he was at all qualified, but Voldemort's red eyes were fixed upon him, so he patted the sofa beside him. "What is it, Voldemort?"

They had discussed what Harry would call him in their resting days, and came to the conclusion that a simple Voldemort was best for them all.

A tiny line appeared between Voldemort's hairless brows. "A letter from Miss Fleur Delacour. Enclosed was a copy of a letter sent from her mother. She seeks my aid."

Fleur? Harry vaguely remembered he'd heard something from Ron about Fleur going on a date with Bill at some point but - "Your aid? What is she asking for help with?"

"She wishes to marry Bill Weasley and start a family here, but the political climate means that she and any children they had wouldn't be safe. As the Dark Lord, this is my duty to help her. I do not trust her enough to ask her to spy, but she does say that she is close to the Order."

Harry blinked. That was a… big problem.

"... why is she asking you?"

"Oh, right." Laying the letter to the side, Voldemort sat. "We have not had our little Talk yet, have we?"

Why did Harry feel like the room temperature had dropped 10 degrees? He was suddenly filled with anxiety - had he done something wrong? Was Voldemort going to send him away? Was Voldemort going to send him back to the Dursley's?

"Harry, I meant about the goals of the Dark," Voldemort laid his hand on Harry's, joining them in their laps. "I would never send you back there. It goes against everything I stand for, and I wouldn't want to even if it didn't. You are a part of me and precious; I will never let you be harmed again if I can help it."

Harry didn't feel cold anymore; he felt warm, not burning but comfortable.

It felt like when he had been curled up inside Voldemort, cradled safely away from the world.

That haven was gone now, but perhaps he could keep a little piece of it in this companionship.

Realising Voldemort was waiting for an answer, he stammered out a soft, "o-okay," not sure what else he could say. "So- the goals of the Dark side? I assume it's… more complicated than just killing all the muggleborns?"

Who knew Harry would be assuming that Voldemort actually had sane goals and reasoning? If someone had said this to him three weeks ago, he would have laughed in their face. Voldemort was more than just the evil villain, now. He was… just a man.

A very driven man, but a man nonetheless. Not a god. Not a monster.

A smile creased those monstrous features into something painfully human, and Harry wished he had a camera, to share with the world that Lord Voldemort was a person, too. "Indeed. I classify my goals into five broad categories, with a few extra things thrown in. First - the werewolves. I fight for the rights and freedoms of all creatures and wizards with a Dark affinity. Werewolves are Dark creatures, so I will fight for them. Dumbledore, the Lord of the Light, does the same for Light creatures, or he is supposed to." Voldemort frowned slightly. "I don't know whether he ever took the oath, but he certainly seems to have set himself up as the Lord of Light."

"The Oath?"

"The titles of Dark Lord or Lady and Light Lord or Lady harken back to the time of Camelot," Voldemort was rubbing Harry's hand gently with his thumb (whether to keep him comforted or just because he liked to, Harry wasn't certain). "They represent the two sides of all magic. Light and Dark. All wixen are descended from creatures at some point, that is where we inherit our affinities. Every muggleborn is descended from magic, either two squib lines colliding or a magical creature with a muggle. When I decided I wanted to stand as the Lord of all the Dark, I had to perform a series of rituals and spells which led me to the Lady of the Lake, the guardian of Excalibur. Before her, the prospective Lord must swear an oath to stand for the rights of all magical creatures of their chosen affinity."

"...what Affinity are House Elves?" Harry asked with a furrowed brow. Voldemort didn't seem to be fighting for their rights, but neither did Dumbledore.

"I believe they are Light, but it is not widely known. As they are descended from High Elves, minor Light is most likely. Why?"

Looking down at their joined hands, Harry bit his lip as he tried to figure out his frustrations. "Why am I the only one who actually wants to help them? I've never even seen Dumbledore interact with a House Elf, let alone champion their rights. I- I'm just one teenager, can I really do this? I feel like I've just given myself a goal that will take decades and I don't know if anyone will even help me."

"Harry, I will help you." Voldemort's voice was soft again, in that way that was so unfamiliar but reminded Harry vaguely of childhood daydreams of a knight rescuing him from the Dursleys. "It's not a part of my duties as the Dark Lord, but I have the time and the resources that you do not. Anything that's mine is yours, anyway - you are a part of me, remember? And- while I have not been approached by the House Elves directly, I was going to include them later on, when I had more control. They are not my priority because they have not asked to be. I haven't the power to be spread along too many fronts right now, but I will help you, I promise. Make no mistake, it is a monumental task you are putting before yourself, but if this is how you want to spend your time, I will help."

"I just can't believe no other muggleborns or muggle-raised wixen have protested this."

"They have," Voldemort tapped his chin as he thought. "In my lifetime there have been three official campaigns for House Elf Rights that I have heard about, all led by Muggleborns. Wix dismissed them, of course. It's all seen as just culture shock and the muggleborns don't know what they're talking about. We've always done it this way, so it must be right-" The man imitated in a mocking tone. "They always turn their ears off when it's a muggleborn talking. They were like that to me until I found my heritage. The campaigns didn't get far."

Of course they didn't. Harry had witnessed this with Hermione in his third year. All her research for Buckbeak's appeal, and everyone had brushed it off as soon as they'd heard it was Hermione Granger's research, notes, words. Hagrid wasn't a great speaker, but Hermione's name being on the documents had not helped, or so Harry had heard. "That's so stupid."

"I agree, but that is just what has happened so far. I will throw the full force of the Dark behind your movement, if that is what you need, Harry." It was an almost-blinding relief to hear that, to know that Voldemort wasn't just saying he was going to help but that he would throw his own forces in to assist.

"So, your goals. Rights for Dark creatures?" Harry tried to steer them back onto topic, hoping he wasn't flushed - his face felt kind of hot.

Voldemort nodded. "And then severely increased Muggle-raised identification and removal if anything seems wrong. Some sort of cultural immersion program, maybe. Muggleborns are the weak link between our worlds and if we want complete separation we need to be better at handling the issues they and their relatives cause. There were sixteen incidents in the last three years wherein a muggle relative or muggleborn was involved in revealing magic to another muggle when they did not have to be, and no, I am not including your brush with dementors. The statute of secrecy does not work because we are not allowed to enchant muggles beyond memory charms, and any with squib ancestry have enough magic in their systems to break down the memory charms - legal memory charms are not permanent, they fade depending on the strength of the caster. Around 20% of the muggle population has squib bloodlines at this point - and of course the relatives of muggleborns are likely to be squibs." Voldemort looked tired, Harry thought, and he squeezed the man's hand gently.

He thought about Hermione again, how against all this she would be. "It's cruel to separate the happy families though."

"Most of the families aren't happy, is the thing," Voldemort pulled his hand away and stood up to pace. "While studies have never been properly done because it is invasive and the Ministry doesn't want to harm the general opinion of muggles or muggleborns, statistics that I could access showed that abuse was happening in 40-80% of muggle-magical mixed homes. Muggles usually cannot handle being around magic because it makes them jealous and paranoid and creates a power imbalance that the muggle cannot hope to rectify. The usual child abuse rate in the UK - for both muggles and wix - hovers around the 10-20% mark. Obviously it's difficult to get proper statistics, but with the right magic you can access all sorts of records - the wix statistics I have analysed based upon Severus' records, specifically."

"He would be underestimating, then," Harry immediately pointed out, unsure how to feel knowing that his own situation was so common. "He didn't-..."

Voldemort immediately understood, and paused in his pacing to return to Harry's side. "Contrary to what you may think, Harry, Severus was only blind to your treatment because Dumbledore repeatedly told him, and all of the members of the Order, that you were treated well. He knows the signs, he's been head of Slytherin for over a decade now."

That stung, and Harry looked down at his hands again. "He never gave me a chance to just be me in his classes, you know. It was always 'your father this' and 'just like your father' and-..." He stopped, because his voice was wobbling and he didn't want to cry over Snape of all people.

"Harry," Voldemort's voice was soft and breathy again and Harry didn't know what to think about it, and then Voldemort's arm was around his shoulder, gently pulling him to rest against Voldemort's chest, just over his heart, and,

Oh.

He was back where it had all begun, and if he closed his eyes, it felt like he was back in Voldemort's body, resting in his heart, held and protected.

He exhaled, shakily, and then lapsed into silence.

Voldemort, after a while (was it two days, they had spent in bed? Three? He wasn't certain, but his memories made it stretch out forever.) recalled that Lupin was in the cell. And it had been the Full Moon. He should probably find the man, make sure he wasn't injured or starving or plotting escape.

Honestly, he trusted Harry to not let Lupin take him out of the house, and he trusted himself not to let it happen either. They were so entwined now, he would be able to tell the moment Harry realised something was wrong. Harry was bouncing beside him in borrowed clothes - Voldemort had not gone back to the Dursleys', they would have to go and buy new things for him soon - in excitement, and even Voldemort's warnings not to trust Lupin not to try and kidnap him for his safety brought his happiness down.

The corridor alongside the cell was… scratched up. Voldemort sped up, suddenly worried. Was that cell enough to contain a rampaging werewolf? He had never tested it, preferring not to keep prisoners at his private home.

He felt Harry dropping back, even as he reached the cell to find the door hanging off its hinges. He swore under his breath. The cell itself didn't have a window, but there were a few in the rooms surrounding it… A slight draft- there! Voldemort backed out of the cell and followed it to one of his storage rooms, where the window was shattered and the frame torn from the wall, leaving a hole that a werewolf could fit through. Harry was dead silent behind him.

"...I doubt he has made it out of the wards," Voldemort offered. "He doesn't have his wand. He will be easy to find."

"And if he has gotten out of the wards?" Harry's fists were clenched, he was staring at the hole in the wall, and the gap between them pulsed with abandoned, abandoned again, abandoned-alone-everyone-leaves-me.

"Then we will probably have to move to a different safe house for your safety," It felt natural to put a hand on Harry's shoulder, rubbing his thumb against the collarbone through the thin shirt. "I'm sorry, Harry. I should have reinforced the room. This is my fault."

Harry made to speak, but stopped as Nagini's head appeared in the hole in the wall. "Marvolo, the wolf is here," she flicked her tongue. "Vanish the glass for me so I can come through, please."

Before Voldemort could hold him back, Harry was bolting over to the gap- Voldemort flicked his wand to levitate the boy before he stepped on glass. He wasn't wearing shoes.

"Hey!" Harry flailed around for a moment before catching his balance on the wall. "Let me down!"

"Glass, Harry." Voldemort vanished the glass on the floor and the wooden shards from the window frame, and then lowered Harry back down as Nagini began to crawl through the hole in the wall.

Harry landed clumsily. "Right," He then jumped up to look out the window. "Remus!"

"Harry!"

Voldemort hung back as the pair hugged, letting Harry do his own thing. He was a little jealous, perhaps. He'd been used to having Harry to himself. He busied himself conjuring a robe for Lupin from upstairs, tossing it at the man as he climbed through the window.

It was strange, being a bystander in this house. He'd never imagined living in it with anyone other than Nagini.

"...What's wrong, Remus?" Harry's sadness rose up again, his fear of being abandoned, and Voldemort watched closely, noting how uncomfortable the werewolf looked.

"All of this is wrong, cub," Lupin finally said, face sunburned and tearing up as he tugged on the robe. "Necromancy- it's serious stuff. Yes, I'm glad you're here, but… human sacrifice?"

"You're mad about him killing Wormtail?" Harry glanced back at Voldemort, who had knelt to lift Nagini onto his shoulders. He offered Harry reassurance through their bond, not sure what else to do. "The same Wormtail that got my parents killed?"

"Harry, I'm glad you're here, and I'm not upset that Wormtail is dead, but- you have to understand, this is serious Dark Magic-"

"Rituals are actually Light magic, usually," Voldemort interrupted. "Precision is the hallmark of a Light spell, and rituals have that in spades. Dark as a classification is misused and doesn't mean anything beyond 'illegal' in our society."

"I-..." Lupin had flinched back at the response, as if he was realising that, yes, Voldemort was standing right there. "Yes, but human sacrifice?"

"He would have been willing, his life belonged to Harry anyway." Voldemort waved an arm dismissively and turned. "Harry, I'd like to take you shopping this afternoon, but feel free to show Lupin around first."

He needed to get away. He didn't want to hurt Harry with his jealousy, or interrupt the reunion, the tough emotions that were sure to bubble to the surface.

"-don't go."

Voldemort had barely taken a step before he felt Harry's hand on his sleeve and felt the nervous energy sparking between them. Harry didn't trust Lupin anymore, it seemed. "You're not going to lock Remus up any more?"

"I want an oath before I'll let him access any magical ingredients or a wand, but yes. If you damage anything of mine I will not be pleased," He warned the wolf with a hard stare. "This is my ancestral home. Most of the furniture and portraits are nearly a millennium old." He held the stare until he got a weakly mumbled agreement. "Good. You're allowed to wander, I will find some proper clothing for you. For now, consider yourself just a prisoner with run of the house. I will also source you safe wolfsbane for Harry's sake."

That Voldemort already had access to wolfsbane in the form of Severus, he didn't need to mention. Let Lupin think he was being magnanimous.

"If you harm Harry, try to kidnap him, or try to harm Nagini or myself, I will remove your fingers," Voldemort added. He wouldn't actually; Harry was not happy at the idea, but having a reputation did all the work for you.

"...can I show Remus my research?" Harry asked, green eyes seeming to sparkle as the joy began to flood back in. Yes, it wasn't an ideal situation but the werewolf was safe, alive, and relatively free to move around, and Harry needed human contact outside of Voldemort and Nagini.

"Of course, show him whatever you wish. I am going to prepare lunch, you can join me if you prefer." He didn't want Harry to feel abandoned, as that seemed to be a point of pain for his horcrux, but he knew Lupin wouldn't be there for Harry properly if he was in the room. So, the options.

Harry did seem to realise Voldemort was putting the choice in his hands, and released the older wizard's sleeve, patting his arm for a moment before going back over to Remus. "I'll come and get food in a bit."

"Nagini-," Voldemort began as he exited the room and she understood.

"Fine, I will watch them. I do not think the wolf is going to be trouble, he was very passive."

"Many people are passive in the face of a large snake, my dear." Voldemort teased as he helped her lower to the floor.

He had some letters to write.

"Harry," Voldemort stopped at the end of the table where Harry and Remus were eating dinner, having finished his own. "Do you want to come and read with me and Nagini?"

Harry blinked, surprised. He could see Remus' pale face, wondering what horrors 'reading' meant, but he didn't care. The fact that Voldemort was inviting him to his private evenings was yet another sign of their building relationship and Harry was starting to want to spend all of his time with the older wizard. Also, Nagini must be so lonely, he wanted to be her friend as well.

"...have you told her I'm a Parselmouth yet?" He wiped his mouth on the provided cloth - Voldemort always seemed to have sets of crockery and napkins ready to go when he cooked. The benefits of magic, he supposed - and pushed away his plate. Remus seemed resigned, eyes flicking between the two of them.

With a dip of his head, Voldemort looked down at Harry's plate - still half-full with stew and vegetables. "I did not, I thought it would be nice for you to tell her yourself. Are you full?"

Harry nodded, feeling the familiar shame of knowing the Dursleys had hurt him and he hadn't been able to stop it.

"Don't worry, we'll work in snacks throughout the day until your appetite returns," Voldemort patted his shoulder and sent the plate to the sink, where the water began to run and the brushes - marked with glowing white runes - began to scoop the leftovers away before cleaning it. Harry was starting to get used to being in a magical home again, but he couldn't help but stare for a moment. "I'll be in the library."

Harry watched Voldemort leave, and didn't realise he was smiling until Remus let out a sigh. "He's manipulating you, Harry. I'm worried for you," The werewolf seemed to have mostly gotten over that it was bad and illegal for Harry to be alive again and was back on the Protect Harry train, which was nice, he supposed. If Remus had ever actually cared before.

"I'm manipulating him too," He offered the man with a soft smile. "He doesn't know what he's doing any more than I do. Sometimes I feel like I know how his mind works better than he does. It'll work out."

It did feel like that, their minds so intertwined that they couldn't help but react to each and every thought like it was the most important thing, meeting and holding fast and soothing anything that went wrong, and Harry knew it was not healthy. But he did have faith in himself, and faith in Voldemort. Neither of them had corrupt motives, at least not toward their relationship. They just wanted each other to be alright, and Harry had faith that that would be enough.

He didn't know what conclusion they were hurtling toward, but he knew they'd be there at the end, together.