Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. (I wonder why I even bother with these. Isn't it obvious?)
Yayyy! Thank you so much to my faithful readers and reviewers! Keep it up, the story is far from over and I have lots of things planned for the next chapters! :D
FanFiction Lover: I should have guessed it earlier for Dumbledore, really. I guess I was stuck in my little fantasy world where he's been dead for 15 years. Wait, it isn't exactly a little world now that you are all reading about it, right? :P I agree with your conclusions about Dumbles. There was so much he could have prevented, so much he could have influenced from his position of power. He could have dealt his cards way better for everyone, but I guess that everybody makes mistakes. His are only more costly because of his big load of responsibility. I also agree with you when you say that every conflict boils down to difference in opinions, interests and perceptions. I think that Severus might have meant a specific 'them' though. We'll just have to wait to know the info he's got from Hermione to know whom he meant.
At one of my reviewers' request, I'll try to do a little summary of the previous chapter in the AN from now on.
So, last chapter, Harry went back to Voldemort after a disastrous (for his mental state) experiment, Snape finally settles for a side in the conflict and Neville is in a sticky situation after Marietta tried to reveal Harry's rescue plan to the rest of the village.
Warning: poetic violence and gore
Chapter 40: 20th of December: the Attack.
Lupin, the annoying Metamorphagus Auror and Lucius' brat were standing in a triangle around Harry, an arm extended touching him as he chanted the incantations they had designed with the help of seasoned wardmasters.
According to the plan, since those four were the last to voluntarily leave the protection of the Camp indefinitely, this should allow them to take control of the rebels' wards and transfer their ownership to someone else who could put the lockdown in effect and prevent the rats from leaving the ship once they realised that the Dark Lord's forces were there.
The Dark Lord was looking over the proceedings with an alert eye, his Minister standing nervously at his side. It had been decided that Lucius would be the one holding the wards while the rest would attack. Severus and Draco would stay behind to protect him while Lucius' attention would be occupied. Lupin and the girl would be portkeyed out along with the Longbottom brat and the other Rebels who would be giving up peacefully as soon as they took over the wards. That had been one of Harry's demands.
Voldemort couldn't care less about those useless Rebels, but he wouldn't have enough fun torturing helpless little cowards to be worth antagonising Harry over them.
The young man's reaction to his absence was worrying him. He was also worried by his own reaction; even it wasn't by far as excessive as Harry's. The Dark Lord had felt a strange agitation in his youngest soul piece. It had been enough to make him restless and puzzled. It was intriguing.
He had hastened back home on the night of the 18th because he had a hunch that he was needed, only to find a completely panicked Lucius waiting for him.
Harry had Disapparated. Harry had left Malfoy Manor. Harry had vanished. No tracking charm had worked and they didn't have any blood sample or family members to do Blood Magic. To top it off, Harry wasn't in any state to defend himself. His sanity was cracking, like he had feared.
The situation had been disastrous. Lucius' worry had quickly bled over to him. In the hours while they were deciding what to do and where to go search for him, he had built plans to punish Harry appropriately for his foolishness that had ranged from brutal sex to torture sessions. He had been furious, incensed, feeding all his frustration through their link.
From the experiments they had done on it, he knew that Harry's scar would burn if he was sufficiently angry. His little Horcrux wouldn't feel comfortable anywhere else than with him.
But he had felt so relieved when he saw Harry crash down on the floor of his parlour that he had completely forgotten his plans of retribution. The young man had looked horribly exhausted and drawn; his scar had bled and painted half of his face in a gory mask. What worried him worst, however, was how faint his normally bright and sturdy magic had seemed. When he went to pick the young man up, he had felt something ease inside of him.
As he went to bed with him, he had been surprised by Harry's mushy confession when the young man was at his most vulnerable. Harry wasn't prone to verbal demonstrations of love and affection. It had been a relief, at first, but now that he almost felt...affection toward his young lover, he was nearly worried by the other's silence on the question. It was absurd. He didn't even know what he felt toward Harry. Part of it was fascination for his strength of character and a desire to crack the puzzle and understand Harry's actions and way of thinking, yes. Possessiveness, naturally: the young man was his Horcrux, after all. Attraction and a certain fondness, of course, but that had been there months ago. And that warmth that he sometimes felt when he looked at his cheeky brat...but he preferred not to dwell on that.
He shook his head minutely to bring himself out of his ridiculous sentimental thoughts and back to the present day. He detailed Harry's form as the young man performed the complicated warding spell. He had insisted on wearing his combat attire instead of his robes. The Dark Lord hadn't complained because it gave him a fabulous view of his lover's firm muscles and fine derriere on top of protecting him better. He felt desire course through him before he clenched it down. Now was not the time. It was absurd that Harry still aroused him so much after all that time.
It surprised him how their relationship had progressed in the past months. He had always thought that the minute he'd see one of his lover on a regular basis or develop a routine, he'd become bored. But, with Harry, it felt both comfortable and challenging at the same time. The young man a surprising amount of respect for him, considering his upbringing, but he didn't fear him and wasn't afraid of snapping back witty remarks or even playful was not a dull minute with him and he seemed like a bottomless well of potential as he tackled wards, battle strategy and magical philosophy with enthusiasm and intelligence. He was beginning to understand why the Prophecy had named him as his equal, even if it would take Harry years to be anywhere near him in knowledge and ability. Harry had a refreshing enthusiasm and fascination for the essence of Magic that was unusual for someone who had grown up in a magical environment. The Rebel Camp, sadly for Harry, did not seem like a hub of intellectual pursuit and magical explorations...
He saw the wards flicker and Lucius stepped up to Harry, as was discussed. They joined hands and he felt the wards shift. When they were set, his men and he got in the barriers quickly. They had about five minutes to get the neutral ones out like he promised Harry before the Rebels, who probably felt the shift in the wards as well, could reach the barriers and escape.
He glanced at the young man who was standing a few paces ahead of him, breathing deeply because of the complex and draining magic he had used and looking quickly around for the Longbottom brat who was supposed to be waiting for him. It seemed like he wasn't there. The Dark Lord lifted an eyebrow at that, but quickly deduced that something had gone wrong in their plan.
Longbottom probably leaked the escape plan to one Rebel too many. Good thing the plan had been changed and that they hadn't told him there would be an attack. If his clever little curse had worked, the culprit would be easy enough to spot, if they were still alive at all. At first, Harry had been opposed to the idea, but he had wielded to his demand in the end. With good reason. Anything else would have been foolish. It was too much of a golden opportunity to squash the Rebels to let it be ruined so easily.
Harry had told the boy that he would pick up anyone who wanted to leave the rebellion at the edge of the wards and had said that he would send a Patronus fifteen minutes before he arrived, so to be ready to walk over to the borders of the wards any day. They had set up their own Anti-Portkey and Anti-Disapparition wards before sending it away. Harry had seemed...strangely reluctant to show his Patronus, and had changed the plan so that an owl would be used. This hesitation on his part was puzzling and it went to join a growing list of things his young lover was attempting to keep from him. Attempting was the key word here. Harry wasn't nearly as good at hiding things from him as he thought. And he could deduce most of it while giving his lover the impression that he trusted him enough to wait until Harry was ready to tell him at his own pace. The relationship dynamic was coming easier to understand every day. It reminded him of psychological warfare theory, and he had always excelled at it...
In fifteen minutes of preparation the rebels would have, traps had time to be activated, but elaborate strategies couldn't be constructed. And now that the Dark Lord was in the Rat camp at last, he wouldn't let this opportunity for a massacre pass because the fleas thought they could fight back. He had brought many of his good Death Eaters with him, including Bella who was nearly frothing at the mouth at the thought of an upcoming battle, and some of his most loyal and ruthless Aurors as well. They would have a good fun, trap or not.
He nodded to Rabastan, who went to portkey out the wolf and the Metamorphagus and to tell Lucius to activate the lockdown.
Harry turned to him, his emerald eyes blazing in determination and an eyebrow lifted in question. That the young man deferred to his authority pleased him and the Dark Lord nodded in answer. They made their way to the camp followed by his men, sending detection spells and looking for magical traces indicating traps.
After a while in which they had only disarmed a few pitiful ones that looked like they were designed for animals and not the Dark army, they arrived in the vicinity of the camp.
The Dark Lord indicated to his servants and the Aurors to spread around and encircle the village. In theory, the wards were in lockdown so the Rebels wouldn't be able to escape even if they did bypass them, but he didn't want to spend hours playing hide-and-seek in the woods to find this vermin, so he had decided on this compromise, even if being so spread out it reduced their safety. He didn't think the rebels would be enough of a challenge to need as many people as he brought. They were only there to encircle the village or in case the rebels had elaborated a complex trap. His men were grouped by threes to maximise their freedom of movement while protecting the flanks of the central figure of the team.
At the moment, the camp looked deserted. They couldn't hear the usual bustling of people busying themselves to cook and clean. It looked like a miserable place to grow up; it was definitely not made for children. He stole a glance in Harry's direction to evaluate his little Horcrux's mental state. They were about to attack and kill a good portion of those with whom he grew up, after all.
The young man was standing straight and confidently with a steely and determined look that hadn't left his eyes since he woke up that morning. His magic had stabilised after the night and the day they spent together, much to their shared relief. It was now tightly wrapped around him like protective armour, waiting for an opponent on which to lash out. Harry seemed to sense his glance and turned his head to look at him from his position a bit further out on the side, a small empty smile gracing his lips. Ideally, to balance their forces evenly, Harry would have gone on the opposite side of the village completely, but the Dark Lord wanted to keep an eye on his Horcrux, so he placed him a few Death Eaters down to his right. His little set-up with Rabastan had be useful to assuage some of his doubts about Harry's aptitudes in fights and had only confirmed him that, by keeping Harry on his side, he had already won the biggest part of the fight against the rebels and acquired their trump card for his own benefit.
.
He cast a Sonorus on himself and a charm to allow him to look through the buildings that were blocking his view. The rebels were gathered in the middle of the village and some of them looked like they were shoving others. A few were standing on the rooftops and looking down at what was happening on the ground.
Fighting among themselves? They were even more pathetic a resistance than he thought.
"Attention, Rebels, you are surrounded. I do not wish for magical blood to be spilled uselessly. If you surrender peacefully, you will be Portkeyed out to a safe house and trialed, but won't be harmed. Aurors are here to oversee the procedures and make sure that nothing goes amiss. However, if you decide to foolishly persevere in your little rebellion, you will be summarily executed for High Treason. I strongly suggest that you think of your children and elderly before taking a rash decision."
He nearly rolled his eyes at his own words. He could feel surprise rolling off his followers and his Aurors...The things he did to maintain his image of respectability. It was horrendous.
He shot a look to his little Horcrux, who was smiling widely to him now, pride and gratefulness radiating from his emerald eyes. He sighed minutely. More like, 'the things he did for that brat', really.
He took comfort in that, at least, he wouldn't have to censor the press that much this time. They had plenty of witnesses of his 'good will'.
He turned his gaze back on the village from which he could now hear various voices shouting and children screaming. With his magically enhanced vision, he could see the adults steering the children away and hiding them in what was, according to Harry's plan of the camp, the small school building. So, they didn't trust him enough to take up his offer of safety for the harmless and innocent? Oh well. He couldn't be held responsible if something happened to them, then.
He saw some adults struggling and wanting to run away from the main group, but they too were steered, brought to the school and probably locked inside.
He shook his head in mock disapproval. The school building was too close to the center of the village to be really safe during a battle. But, no matter. At least now, his troops could kill everyone they saw and still respect Harry's conditions, as long as they didn't touch the school directly.
He spoke to his followers' mind directly to order them to leave the school building alone and made the count down for the assault.
Before he reached the zero, he heard the detonation of bullets being fired. His shields had been put in place since he had seen the people on the rooftops earlier. They seemed to have aimed for his head. How quaint. A newly ordained Death Eater to his left was the victim of a badly aimed shot and crumpled down with a shout. Hmm, it seems like it was magically-enhanced bullets and the pierce shields weaker than his. Interesting and revealing.
He lifted his hands and spread them forward; sending his magic down toward the snipers perched up. He snatched them down from the roofs all at the same time and smashed them on the ground in one sweeping gesture. They crashed with a resounding thud and whimpers of pain following the ominous crackles of broken bones.
Continuing as if he had never been interrupted, he gave his signal and his forces moved forward as one, spreading according to their plans and sprinting towards the center of the camp.
They quickly met fierce resistance.
The magic surged and clashed in a battle of will. Soon, screams of agony resounded in the cold December air.
It surprised him mildly that the rebels were holding their own so well, but the parasites' numbers were diminishing quickly.
The Dark Lord let the joys of massacre carry him away for a moment. The spells were whizzing around him, lighting up the air and weighting it down with warring magical energies. The shouts of pain composed a symphony that only he could hear and the sudden spurts of blood painted a red masterpiece of violence on the dirt roads and surrounding buildings.
He reached the center of the village easily, killing the vermin left and right in the most painful and creative ways possible. It felt good. It sated a hunger that had gnawed at his soul for too long. He'd definitely invade France if that would guarantee him such battles and satisfaction.
His younger soul piece stirred at his thoughts as he split open a young woman from head to toe in a sharp twist of his wand. She had been pregnant. Oh well. The baby died with her; there was nothing he could do about it now. He looked around to see if Harry had witnessed that. It would probably disgust his innocent Horcrux and make him angry with him. He'd come around eventually, he was sure, but there was the small problem that Harry could interpret it as a violation of their agreement. And that could slow down the trust that was slowly building between them. He hadn't forgotten that he needed to make the young man forfeit the Duel soon, after all, and such a setback in their mutual trust might hinder the process.
He needed not have worried. Harry was too taken by his own fighting to notice what was happening on the Dark Lord's side of the battlefield. He observed his Horcrux fighting while distractedly protecting himself from a poor attempt at an offensive.
The young man was magnificent. He was twisting and turning as was his usual strategy, but this time shooting back powerful curses and hexes that made his opponents collapse quickly before his wand. The light of the curses flying wound him made his green eyes shine of an Avada Kedevra colour. It was a delicious sight. For the moment, however, Harry wasn't killing anyone, only duelling them to submission, tying them down and pushing them aside to rest against the walls of the houses. It was slightly disappointing, but understandable considering Harry's personality.
Voldemort looked around, trying yet again to spot Moody, that mad ex-Auror that had been a pain in his ass for so long. His lips twisted in a sneer of disgust at the thought of gruffly man. He couldn't spot him. He did see, however, Bella in all her glory and madness, killing and torturing at every jab of her walnut wand, her eyes alight with delight and insanity, cackling gleefully. Rodolphus was at her side, ready to intervene if she got out of hand but with an indulgent smile on his face as he was supervising his enthusiastic wife and sending his own spells back to his attackers.
How the man managed to stay loyally at his wife's side despite her deteriorated mental state was a mystery to the Dark Lord. It must be the fabled 'power of love' Dumbledore kept yapping about until his very last moment...After all, the old man's last word on this plane of existence had been "Gellert".
Why Voldemort had kept it quiet instead of grabbing his chance at humiliating and discrediting the old leader by revealing to the world that Albus Dumbledore had been in love with his predecessor, was a mystery. Perhaps it was simply too absurd and he didn't think that anyone would believe him. If he ever told Harry, the brat would probably tell him that it was a compassionate move on his part.
Perhaps there was something to be said about how jealous he had momentarily felt towards Grinderwald when he heard of Dumbledore's lasting love for him. Not because the old man interested him, (Never that, he thought with a mental shudder as he viciously tore the head of a tall rebel off his shoulders with a swift cut of his wand) but because the former Dark Lord had inspired such deep and strong feelings to someone who was diametrically different in his views and approach.
There was something dramatic and interesting at the thought of a love between people so drastically opposed in their magic. It wasn't totally unlike the improbable relationship he currently had with his 'prophesied enemy'. Sometimes it felt as if Harry and he were so different that they were drawn to each other inexorably.
He shook his head in disdain at his own mushy feelings. He felt as if he was turning into the old Headmaster. The next thing he'd know and he'd be wearing colourful robes and eating sweets all the time. It was sickening. He made the next Rebel explode in a shower of blood and guts to compensate. There, that was better. The old man would never have done something like that.
He glanced at Harry again. There was no way he had missed that particular kill: the blood had splashed in all directions at about three meters around the body.
He frowned when he looked at the young man. Something was off.
Harry was dancing around the spells, looking strangely relaxed as he was shooting back...something from his wand. Voldemort couldn't recognise any spells, however.
It was as if Harry was only feeding some of his magic inside of his wand and letting it decide the effects it would have. His head was strangely titled backwards and eyes closed in a picture of elation. The magic was crackling in the air around him, so thick that it looked nearly palpable. His opponents kept adding to it, shooting powerful curses at his little Horcrux. They were also shouting at him what was probably personal insults and jabs for coming back to his old village with the Dark Lord's army. Harry seemed serene and unfazed by them. It wasn't how he had thought that the young man react in such a situation, particularly if one accounted the dead bodies littering the ground around him.
As he felt warmth and power flood his own magical core from the soul link, he understood: Magical trance, of course. He hadn't seen someone fall into one for years, but it happened sometimes with powerful individuals who were living through their first large-scale magical battle. He remembered his own fondly. He had never felt so in tuned with Magic than under the trance. It had felt like a divine revelation, like he had been part of something greater, of a higher omnipotent power. He had torn up the battlefield with his precious gift, ripping open the ground and swallowing entire battalions in one burst of power. It had been intoxicating. He had craved Her embrace for years after that particular happening, searching deeper and deeper into the darkest of Magic to find a way to live through it again. After years had passed and he had degenerated into a sort of snake hybrid and rendered nearly insane by his shattered soul, he had resigned himself: he should consider himself lucky to have felt it at all. And now Harry had managed it. And he could live some of it through him. The Magic was delicious, heady. He wanted to close his eyes and surrender to it, like Harry was doing at the moment, but he knew that he would kill everyone indiscriminately if he did, including his men. Some of them were preeminent members of his government and servants who had loyally served him for decades. Not to mention that he needed to preserve the magical blood, and these were members of some of the oldest bloodlines in Britain. So, regrettably, he couldn't let his grip on his magic slip.
He sighed wistfully and let the power flow through him, channelling the residue saturating the air around him and directing it to the rebels who were still standing and fighting. They all burst open at a twitch of his fingers, splattering organs and limbs in a rain of blood and tinting the central square in hues of vivid crimson and dark burgundy.
He exhaled slowly through his mouth, delighting in the afterglow and the feeling of peace that settled inside of him.
A startled gasp drew him from his silent contemplation. His little Horcrux was looking around frantically, on the verge of panicking.
The Dark Lord turned to one of his generals.
"Rabastan. The battle is over. Go portkey the rebels who surrendered to the safe house. We will begin the interrogations tomorrow. None of them is to be harmed, but none of them is to escape either. Is that clear?" he barked at his Death Eater.
"As you wish, my Lord," Rabastan replied, bowing.
He sent a telepathic message to Lucius to lower the wards temporarily and to put them up again when he and the Portkeys would be gone. Perhaps Moody or some other Rebels were still lurking around, hidden somewhere. His men would instigate a search in the forest surrounding the village.
In the meanwhile, he had to get Harry out of here. He walked up to his distraught lover and wrapped an arm around him before Disapparating to his Fortress. When they reached his parlour, he cleaned them of the blood with a wave of his hand and sighed, sitting on the couch and pulling Harry down at his side. The young man was looking at his hands with wide terrified eyes.
"You didn't kill them. I did," he said, knowing that this was what Harry was fretting over.
He heard a sharp intake of breath.
"It was a magical trance, wasn't it? Were you under it as well?" his young lover asked. As if the Dark Lord needed that to justify his actions.
"I wasn't, but it bled over somewhat through our soul link. The children were hiding in the school and are still safe and sound, if you are wondering."
Harry shook his head.
"I remember. Just like I remember that you weren't the only one killing in that battle. Under the trance, it just felt so...easy...so natural. It was like I was the most powerful person in the world and all the rest were just puny little creatures not even worthy of licking my boots. I didn't even care that I knew them; that I had grown up with them. They were just...insects blocking the way. How could I think that? How could I do that?" Harry stopped suddenly, before turning to him. "Is that how you feel all the time, sitting at the top of the country?"
The Dark Lord thought of his reply carefully. Obtaining power through a sheer amount of magic temporarily taking over one's body or through political domination over a country was quite different, after all.
"Not exactly, but I guess this taste of power could have given you a hint of what my position at the top of this country entails...or of why I would bother with politics at all. The thrills of seeing them scrape at your feet, bow before you and surrender their will to your own feel just as delicious. It is as if they are at last acknowledging a truth that you have known all your life; that you are better than all of them; that this is the right order of things...Power is intoxicating, seductive, don't you think?" he said, looking at his Horcrux from the corner of his eye and detailing his reactions.
Harry frowned at his words, thinking them over. It surprised him that the young man had calmed down so quickly after what had just happened. He supposed that the reality of it hadn't settled in yet.
"It's too much. I felt like I had no control over my own body. I..." Harry sighed, shaking his head again. "I don't think I want power. I think I just want a peaceful life. I'd get my 'thrill', like you said, doing some Wardbreaking from time to time and that would be enough for me..."
The Dark Lord burst in thrilled laughter at his lover's confession.
"And this is why you, my little Horcrux, were made for me," he said, wrapping an arm around the other's shoulder.
Harry looked puzzled by his comment.
"What do you mean? Are you going to start sprouting nonsense about soul mates again?"
The Dark Lord felt a twitch of annoyance grow inside him at the disrespectful tone, but it vanished when he saw the teasing smile on Harry's face.
"Why, you ungrateful brat. Don't you see that it's an honour I bestow upon you by simply gracing you with my presence? You should feel thankful that I favour you so.
-Yes, yes, I do, of course, oh Magnificent and Magnanimous Leader of this Nation," Harry replied, getting up and bowing exaggeratedly to him.
He smirked at the younger man, a perverse grin taking over his face.
"Do that again, facing the other way," he ordered Harry.
The teen stopped his movement mid-bow and turned around confusedly to face the back of the room.
Voldemort gripped his hips and pulled them sharply to his lap. He saw Harry's face become completely red.
"Ahh, yes, hmm, that wasn't what I had in mind..." stammered Harry
"Shut up, brat. The Supreme and Magnificent Leader of this Realm has deemed you worthy of his bed tonight. You have pleased me today, my little Horcrux," he said in a low voice, his lips close to his lover's ear and a hand caressing his hip sensuously.
Harry snorted. The Dark Lord thought he should have felt offended, really, but he is too busy feeling relieved that there would not be another comforting session to do again that evening. All the drama was draining, after a while.
"Yes, I suppose that the whole day what quite the ego boost for you. And now, what? You expect me to submit to you so easily after I felt all that power just minutes ago?" teased Harry with a small smile tugging at his lips.
"You never had a problem with it before, or do I have to remind you of all the times you have obediently spread your legs for me and begged for me to take you?
-I never begged!" shouted Harry, who had straightened up on his lap in offense.
"Perhaps not verbally, but your body says it clearly. It craves my touch, my attention," replied the Dark Lord while lightly grazing the young man's torso with his fingertips. He heard the other's breathing immediately grow shallow and he smirked at the reaction. He started to nibble on the smaller man's neck, his other hand trailing downwards to rest against Harry's awakening arousal. His lover's eyes closed and Harry tilted his head back to rest against the Dark Lord's shoulder.
Harry suddenly shuddered and drew away from him.
"This is wrong. I should feel...soiled. I killed those people. I'm a murderer. I feel like I should be curled up in a ball right now and sobbing my life out for days. The battle was horrible and so...bloody," he said, before pausing and shooting him an annoyed glare. "I saw that fountain spell you did, by the way. It's supposed to be used to dig up wells, not on people."
The Dark Lord had a careless shrug.
"Creativity in spells is key to having interesting fights. You thought I'd use boring Killing curses? After all those years of endless paperwork and peaceful negotiations? You don't know the amount of times I have stayed my hand when I wanted to punish incompetent paper pushers. I finally could find an outlet for my frustration and you thought I would just get rid of the opposition so painlessly?"
Harry shook his head at him in disagreement.
"Not necessarily, but Gods, that spell was disgusting. And so was how you finished the battle. I should at least be vomiting right now, seriously. I don't understand why I'm not."
The Dark Lord observed his lover with narrowed eyes.
"I rather prefer your current reaction. It saves me the daunting task of dealing with a distraught lover. There are more interesting ways to celebrate another victory and the end of one of the rebels branch, after all."
Harry frowned at him.
"So you think the Rebellion will continue even after today?" he asked.
The Dark Lord thought about his answer carefully.
"Moody wasn't there today, so I expect to hear from him in the near future. There's no way he'll just give up his ridiculous enterprise, even if it's so obviously doomed for failure. Apart from that, well, his underground network of supporters is extensive and may be persuaded to join in the more active movement. Also, after the Ministry bomb, we suspect that they are allied with another new group that you didn't mention in your notes.
-Do you have any suspects for whom it could be?
-Considering the nature of the attack, we have considered the Muggle government, but this possibility has been deemed unrealistic. If the Muggle government was really allied to them, we would have been bombed systematically and much more viciously than that single time. There would have been gunfights and missiles as well, at least. You saw today, they barely had a few snipers and none of them could use them properly. Not to mention that the bomb and the guns had been tampered with magically. We suspect Muggleborns or Half Bloods who still had ties with the Muggle world. There is also the possibility of the rebels having gained the support of a foreign government who sponsored them in distance," enumerated the Dark Lord, ticking them off his fingers as he went along.
"Do you really think it could be a foreign government?" asked Harry, visibly surprised.
"There's no telling at this stage, sadly. There would need to be other attacks to be able to dress a more solid profile," explained the Dark Lord. "The data that we will most likely get from our search at the rebel camp and from interrogating the remaining rebels should help us get a clearer idea, however.
Harry sighed, deflating slightly.
"Here's to hoping there won't be any other attacks though. One was enough," he said with a tired voice.
"I agree," said Voldemort. "It makes me look unable to maintain peace when such things happen."
Harry huffed disenchantingly.
"I don't know why I thought you would be worried about the death toll. Of course, you'd think that your international image is more precious."
The Dark Lord shook his head to deny his lover's statement.
"Britain needs a growing population to assert its strength again and to get the Purebloods out of their inbreeding problem.
-Even if that means they'd marry Half-Bloods or Muggleborns?" challenged Harry. Voldemort nodded this time.
"If that is what it take. They'd probably marry first and second generation Purebloods before that, however."
Harry mulled over the question for a moment, before charging back.
"So, you care about the image your country projects, about its future in terms of numbers and figures and about its population for how they can contribute to your projects..." Harry shot him a glance before smirking. "You know, that's not much for a benevolent leader. You should at least pretend you care for your people's well-being as well."
The Dark Lord had a dismissive wave.
"I have to pretend enough in front of other people, I'm not going to keep up a role when I'm at home with you. I need at least one place where I can unwind from time to time."
Harry's eyes strangely softened at his declaration and his lips stretched in a pleased smile before it widened in a cunning grin. The young man suddenly stood up, pulling him up with a hand and said:
"Come, oh Triumphant Leader. I'll get you unwound, but I can't promise a calm evening."
The Dark Lord lifted an eyebrow at his suddenly energetic lover but let himself be pulled along.
"And, pray tell, what you have in mind?" he asked impatiently. He didn't like to be kept in the dark.
Harry turned back to look at him with a wide smile.
"I explored a bit the other day and I found this room with a massive bath. I've been waiting for the right moment to test it out with you. Maybe I could even try out my massage skills on you for once. What do you think of this plan?"
Ah, yes, the royal bath room. Countless Slytherin wives had committed suicide in it through time, for some reason. Perhaps it had something to do with the depressing decoration and worrying amount of snakes slithering on the tapestries covering the walls. Said snakes also had the nasty habit of hissing comments about the physiques and actions of the bathers. Let's just say that he wasn't the one who had inspired Nagini her lewd humour. While he didn't have any problem with his appearance anymore, it was still incredibly distracting to hear a running background commentary and ridiculous suggestions. The one who had given them the idea that licking your lover's Adam's apple was pleasurable for either partner must have married a cousin too many.
"Harry, that bath is too big. It doesn't have the appropriate grips. I have found the best room for such activities elsewhere in the Fortress. Let me show you," he suggested, choosing not to kill his lover's mood over a gory story of forced concubines and arranged matches finishing in literal blood baths.
Harry shrugged indifferently, sending him a small smile and taking his word for it, seemingly unfazed at the implication that he had multiple occasions of testing the numerous baths in his home before with various lovers.
The Dark Lord sighed internally. Why must you be so perfect for me, my little Horcrux? he thought as he stopped on his way to press his lover against the cool stones of the walls and slowly explore Harry's mouth with a tenderness that surprised even him.
One day, you'll be the death of me, my Harry...he thought as he picked the other up and brought him to the bathroom in a remote wing of his Fortress.
.
(Let's hope that the Dark Lord doesn't have any prophetic blood, right?)
So, gore and feelings for this chapter. It's been a while since we've had a LV's POV.
And it was a busy chapter! Tell me what you thought of it! I've posted faster because a lot of you were eager to know what would happen in this chapter, so, you see, reviewing pays off for you too! ;)