Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
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Boblove 321: So you don't think that Voldemort is at least partly using Harry? Do you think that love will triumph in this story? ^^
Summary of the last chapter: Some of the Rebels tortured Neville for information before the Dark Army arrived and brought down the Camp. He is found by Draco and Lucius. Harry's status as the Dark Lord's lover is out in the news. The two had a fight and Harry was sent away to take some time to think about the way he was behaving (what he was hiding for Voldemort and his lies) and their relationship.
Chapter 42: 26th of December: Happy Yule Holidays
"I demand to speak with Harry Potter!" shouted the boy again, undeterred by the lack of reaction of his guards. He had woken up the day before, and since then, had resolved to call for Harry's presence until it was granted to him.
He wasn't stupid, he had understood pretty quickly what happened. The Rebel Camp had been eradicated, and most of those with which he had grown up were now dead. Harry had led the Dark Army to them.
At first, he had felt very angry with his old friend. He still was, in a way. But after about 24 hours in this room where he had awoken, healed and settled in a comfortable bed with a platter of good food at his side and minimal surveillance, he had understood a few things. This wasn't a prison, but the safe house that Harry had promised for him and all the other Rebels who wanted to settle peacefully. Harry hadn't promised anything regarding the rest of the Rebels, so he hadn't exactly broken their agreement. But he still couldn't believe that someone he had considered a friend would condone such a massacre. It seemed like the torture he suffered at the end of some of the...harsher Rebels was not unjustified like he had first thought. Harry didn't just intend to pick up the peaceful members of the Camp.
And then he learnt that this safe house belonged to the Dark Lord and that Harry was his lover. He tried to picture it in his head, but couldn't. What kind of relationship could he have with an emotionless monster? It must be horrible. Maybe the Dark Lord had surprised their exchange of letters and Harry had been forced to negotiate with him. The safety of a few against the lives of the others. Maybe he even had to bargain with his body.
Neville felt sick at the thought.
Had Harry been coerced into taking a decision?
He certainly hoped that his former friend didn't plan on bringing Death to their doors, because he couldn't imagine how he would live with himself if he had been the one to make such a deal.
.
o0o0o
It was late that night and he was still pondering the fate of his fellow Rebels when the door to his room opened. Harry shuffled in, looking exhausted and wearing expansive formal robes. He had dark circles under his eyes and was clutching some sort of necklace hidden in his robes.
Neville stayed silent as he looked at Harry's tired countenance. The young man didn't look very healthy. Maybe the guilt was weighting down on his soul ever since the attack. As bad as it might be, it reassured him that Harry was so affected by what happened. Maybe he was right in thinking that Harry had been coerced into bringing Death Eaters with him for the rescue operation. If only he had been awake during the Attack, then he would have a better idea of what happened. As it was, he could only guess that his torture stopped when the Rebels noticed Harry's arrival and put him unconscious to keep him from escaping.
Harry moved to the armchair next to him and collapsed on it with a sigh. At first, Harry just stayed there, looking straight ahead and ignoring him.
Neville waited. Harry was never the most patient guy and he hated the type of silence that was stretching between them at the moment.
Surely enough, after less than a minute, Harry started fidgeting and shot him his first glance. Neville frowned. He didn't know what to make of Harry's facial expression.
"How are you, Neville?" Harry asked after a moment.
"I'm fine, physically speaking. I'm not so fine when I think about the people that I loved who were killed because of you, though," he bit out, angrier than he thought he'd be. Why did he feel like a powerless kid in all this? When some members of the Rebel council had tried to extract information from him, he had held fast to allow the others a chance to escape. Now, it turned out he was holding out to allow the Dark Army to bring them all down. When he thought he had finally done something good to take control of his life, it turned out that he was just manipulated. He was probably condemned to mediocrity. It was so frustrating to feel like the little power and freedom you had was taken away from you.
"They would have found the Rebel Camp sooner or later anyway. At least now, those who didn't want to fight were spared," droned out Harry tiredly.
"It doesn't make it just or fair," he replied. "Those people deserved to be brought to justice and put in prison at the utmost. Not to be killed indiscriminately." No matter how much I disapproved with their methods and how unjustified the Cruciatus they shot at me were, killing people just because they oppose you will always be wrong, he continued mentally.
"What makes you think they wouldn't have been executed after their trial? I thought dying in combat was this glorious end that every fighter wants to have," Harry pointed out with a humourless smirk. The joke was in bad taste. Harry had always been slightly socially awkward like that.
"I don't know how you do it. I don't know how you can be here, mocking me about the deaths of the people with which we grew up. Don't you even feel guilty for having led the Dark Lord to the Camp?" he questioned, because he needed to know how much of his former friend was still left in that person.
Harry put a hand on his heart and rubbed it slightly, looking worried. After a moment, he sighed.
"I don't know, Nev. I just feel empty inside. Nothing at all. I figure I don't feel bad because a part of me knows that the ones that were killed chose to take part in the Rebellion. They knew the risks...
-They signed up for a better world. None of them wanted to kill or to be killed. Some of them had no choice. After the war, fourteen years ago, the purges were so intense that they would probably have been sent to prison or been executed. If not, they would have struggled to live because no one wanted to employ someone that fought for the Light. They just did what they thought was best in their situation. They didn't sign up to be criminals or anything," he argued. So Harry didn't feel remorse? None at all?
"So you think that they were right when they blew up the Ministry, then?" Harry asked disbelievingly.
"The decision to attack the Ministry incident that day was not unanimous. Most of us didn't even know what would happen exactly. The battle in the Camp, though, that was an indiscriminate massacre," replied Neville. He did not condone the attack on the Ministry. That had showed to him that the Rebels had strayed too far. But, from what he had heard of the raid on the Camp, it was much worse.
"What did you want them to do? Stay there while they shot at us with Muggle guns? And who are you, exactly, to say what was the best decision to take? If I remember correctly, you wanted out of the Rebels and asked for my help. And now that you're out, you're already nostalgic about 'the good old times'?" challenged Harry.
Neville bowed his head and frowned at the carpet, trying to put his thoughts in order. Both the Rebels and the Dark Army had committed horrible crimes, in his head. He didn't want anything to do with either of them. He looked up again to watch Harry and wondered if Harry sometimes was nostalgic about his time with the Rebels and if that justified the mocking tone Harry had taken when he used those words.
"I said I wanted peace. I didn't want anyone to die. What you did, Harry, bringing the Dark Lord and his army to the Camp...it was so wrong. You nearly got them all killed," he declared with a dead voice. He knew that a part of them were still safe. Those who had been forced to sit out the fight by the rest of the Rebels. It wasn't nearly as many people as he would have been able to saved had he been out there, or so he thought with frustration and grief tightening his chest.
"They brought it on themselves by not surrendering and by being part of a terrorist organisation," Harry defended.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
"Oh, come on. Apart from the Ministry disaster, they had never done more damage than breaking a few windows to give a bit of a fright," he argued.
"Did you know that two years ago, I witnessed a raid in Diagon Alley where they cut a man's wand hand off and would have killed a child if I hadn't been there? It was more than just harmless mischief. They stole everything they could get their hands on and got rid of anything or anyone blocking their way. I saw Tonks that day. Did you know that she was still alive? Alive and kicking, still working for the Aurors and apparently preggers with Remus' kid. Crazy, right? If the Rebels were so wonderful, why did they keep lying to us about stuff like that? Doesn't that make you wonder what else they lied about?" pressed Harry, letting his question hang at the end of his tirade, as if he wanted Neville to give an answer. The latter didn't know what to reply, so he stayed silent. He wasn't holding the Rebels as paragons of virtues either anyway. That illusion had shattered many bad decisions and horrifying councils sessions ago.
"I'll tell you why. They wanted sheep. Good, clueless Prophecy children to do their dirty work while they pretended they were Magic's gift on Earth. That Camp was messed up and I'm glad it burnt down!" Harry spat angrily.
That shook him to the bone, however. There was an important difference for him between disapproving with someone and wanting them dead.
"You're...glad that all those people died? You're not even sad for their families?" he asked incredulously. He thought that if there were someone who would sympathise with decimated families, it would have been Harry.
Harry visibly deflated at that. He suddenly looked as exhausted as when he came in and gripped whatever pendant was beneath his shirt tighter.
"I'm not glad they died. If it were just for me, we wouldn't even have had to intervene. The Dark Lord told me he'd probably have left them alone if they hadn't 'upped their games' recently with the aggressive raids and the bomb. So, no, I'm not glad. I think it was unfair. But I understand why it needed to be done. With Moody in charge, the movement has degenerated. We were supposed to stand for the 'good', to strive for a better society. But the Rebels had become, at best, vandals and scavengers, and at worst, terrorists and murderers...So yeah, I'm glad, in a way, that the Camp is down. Even if that means that all those people died..." he admitted, trailing off with a pensive frown.
Neville scrutinised the one he had considered a friend for so long.
"The guy I knew would have never been glad. He hated the idea of killing and would be buried under regrets by now. You've changed," he pronounced with a voice filled of regrets. So, his friend had died in the end.
"I had to grow up. I couldn't stay in my little happy bubble working in gardens like you did," defended Harry. The accusation was unfair, but he let it slide because he was more than the blubbering gardener he had been. He liked to think that he grew up, some time between seeing the void gazes of his parents on him for the first time and twitching on the ground as he looked at one of his tutors yelling at him to give them the information they needed on the day of the Attack.
"You let them change you," challenged Neville. 'And not for the better' was left unsaid.
Harry let out a bitter laugh.
"What? Are you going to say that I was 'converted by the Dark Side' or something cheesy like that? Because I had to get rid of that twisted place?
-You grew up there! They were your family! Sirius," he began, but was interrupted by Harry.
"They were not my family! They were a bunch of obsessive, borderline cruel tutors who did their best to turn me into a mindless killing machine! And don't you dare bring Sirius into it! He's got nothing to do with this!" shouted Harry.
"He's got everything to go with this! He got killed for the Rebels! For you. What do you think he'd say if he were here today?" asked Neville.
Harry flinched visibly and bowed down his head. So he could still feel something, after all. Just, not about the Attack.
"He wouldn't have let the Rebels go so bad. He would have stood up to Moody.
-You could have been the one to reason with Moody if you'd stayed. Maybe that's all we needed," challenged Neville.
Harry shook his head in protest.
"I was just a kid. Still am, in a way. Who knows if my staying would have done anything? Moody never listened to me when I was there in the first place anyway...And why didn't you stand up if you're so much better than I am?
It was Neville's turn to bow his head in shame. He had tried to, but had failed pathetically.
"I was weak, that's true," he confessed, before straightening up. "But I won't be anymore," he declared firmly.
"So what are you going to do, then? Wait until they let you out and seek Moody out as soon as possible?
-No, not Moody," he contradicted. Never Moody, he reinforced. The gruff old Auror was the worst of them. He might not have been alive if Moody had been there. The old man had long ago abandoned the hope that Neville could serve any useful purpose, after all.
"Then who?" asked Harry. To whom could Neville turn? The only person he knew outside the Camp was Harry and, to a lesser extent, Tonks. But did that really matter? He was tired of being told he couldn't do anything.
"I'm going to do what is right," Neville declared firmly.
"Let me guess. Instead of what is easy. Dumbledore's adage, Neville? Are you going to restart the Order?" Harry asked, a badly disguised point of curiosity in his voice. The Order had always been an ideal to aspire to in the Rebel Camp, after all. When they were younger, Dumbledore was held up in their minds close to a divine level. That was how they were brought up.
"Maybe," he answered, uncertain of what his decision to stand up for justice entailed.
"They'll never let you out of here with that sort of mentality," Harry warned rightfully.
"I won't tell them then," he replied smartly.
"How good are your Occlumency shields?" asked Harry.
He shrugged.
"Not bad.
-That's not enough," said Harry, before pausing and looking at him considerately.
"Tell you what. If you promise to take decisions that stay within the legal framework of this regime, I might be able to get you out of this safe house. After all, it's easier to put changes in place while going with the flow instead of against it. This is a dictatorship, they won't let you oppose it too directly. And remember, the upper levels of government in this regime are nearly entirely upheld by Slytherins. You have to show what's in it for them when you want to carry out changes. You're lucky that you are a Pureblood and that the Longbottom name is an old and powerful one. You might be able to get support if you do this properly," explained Harry, getting a bit enthusiastic.
Neville, however, was still lukewarm to the idea. He knew he wasn't cut to be a politician, after all.
"I don't think I could manage it," he admitted sincerely.
"What's the alternative, then? Are you going to reform the Order and attack random people around? Form another Rebellion? Go kill some Ministers to show that you are not to be trifled with? Be serious, Neville. You said you wanted peace, right? The best way for that is just to take your ideas, and make them heard pacifically. Without outright declaring yourself an enemy of the regime, of course," reasoned Harry.
It made a lot of sense. And Neville couldn't imagine himself actively attacking anyone without provocation. But...why was Harry suggesting something like that? Wasn't he with the Dark Lord? Would the Dark Lord accept political opposition to his regime like Harry encouraged him to do? Was this another trap? He didn't know if he could trust Harry after what he did to the Rebel Camp.
"Harry...won't the Dark Lord get mad that you suggested something like that to me?" he asked tentatively.
Harry shrugged and had a sad smile.
"He knows I don't agree with his way to govern. It's not as if I'm asking you to create political unrest, or anything like that. You have to subtly suggest improvements, that's all," Harry reasoned.
Neville shook his head. He wouldn't even attempt to understand how Harry could have a relationship, as twisted as it probably was, with someone of such different morals and perspectives. That is, if he hadn't been coerced into it at all, which still wasn't clear to him.
"I wouldn't know how to do that. I'm not an expert in politics. The only thing I'm good at is with plants," he stated neutrally.
"So use that, then," answered Harry suddenly.
"What?" he asked, bewildered. What had that to do with anything?
"Use that knowledge with plants and apply it to politics!" Harry said, as if it made perfect sense. "You know how you always tell people around how to treat your plants? Just do the same, but applied on politics. If you say stuff like 'Just like Devil's Snare can only grow in darkness, the current regime needs less of the glorious light of our benevolent leader' or something like that," waxed Harry pseudo-poetically with a weird grin on his face.
"Er, Harry, I don't think the Dark Lord would like to be called 'light'," Neville pointed out.
"Right. Right," Harry agreed, before sinking down in his armchair. He closed his eyes and rubbed his nose tiredly. Maybe he was so exhausted that he wasn't so coherent anymore? Why did Harry come to see him at that moment, then? Why not the day after, when he'd be less tired?
"That was rubbish, you were right. It's fine if you can't do it, I mean. Politics are not for everyone, of course. It was just, you know, an idea. I don't know, I just thought. You never know. And since I'm pretty settled in the political exchequer now, maybe I had that silly thought, that maybe you would, could, should..." babbled Harry, while shaking his head.
Neville frowned at him.
"Are you sure you're alright? You look...frazzled, Harry," he pointed out.
Harry looked at him in surprise.
"Frazzled? Right, no, I'm just tired, that's all. Trouble sleeping and all. Eh, what do you want? Happens to the best and worst of us, right?" he said, nervously clenching his hand on the pendant under his shirt.
It occurred to Neville then that Harry, for all his talk about not caring for the deaths of the other Rebels, probably had a hard time coping with what happened. He remembered Harry's expression when he said he was feeling empty inside. Perhaps Harry was troubled because he didn't feel guilty. Something in him eased at the thought, even if the conclusion worried him.
So, Neville didn't like this regime and probably never would forgive the Dark Lord and his army for storming in and killing the people he considered his family. But Harry was not with them directly. And he had offered him a chance to be free, as long as he was marginally willing to play along. Work on bettering the regime from its inside. That was a viable option.
And he would then be in a better position to help his friend when he was in trouble, hopefully. And he wouldn't hesitate to rescue him, even from the Dark Lord's clutches if he saw that Harry was abused in any way.
His decision taken, he looked at his friend and said:
"I think I'll take you up on that offer, in the end."
Harry's eyes widened disbelievingly for a second, and then his lips stretched in a relieved smile. That cemented his decision. For all his cool and uncaring act, Harry had been worried about him. And that was enough to work with at that point. Perhaps all hope was not lost for his old friend, after all.
.
o0o0o
30th of December.
I sat on the Regulus' old bed in Grimmauld Place, the Locket held tightly in my palm. I knew that this little object was the only thing that had kept me sane in this place. That, and the brief moments when I'd seen the Dark Lord in the past week.
Since my departure from his Fortress, I had only seen the man at official functions. Things had not been too strained between us, surprisingly. Every time we met up, he'd surreptitiously check for bruises on my neck and other such indications, and I'd...I supposed...reacquaint myself with his magic and his presence slowly. After a few minutes, we'd both minutely relax in each other's company again. It was a mystery why I still wasn't back at his manor, really. Every day, it was becoming less and less clear why I had left at all. He hadn't said that he didn't want me there. He had just said that I had some thinking to do about my own motives and how I was playing my relationship with him.
Lucius and Draco kind of guessed that something had happened, but they couldn't really pinpoint it, apart from slightly awkward moments from me when either of them would mention my residence at the Dark Lord's Fortress.
I had done a lot of thinking, and I had researched Horcruxes in the Black's library in the meanwhile. It had left me with a few conclusions.
Firstly, the process of doing a Horcrux was lot more gruesome and frightening than I thought it would be.
Secondly, although Marvolo was a Dark Lord with everything that it implied in bloodshed and absent conscience, he had always treated me well. I didn't know if I was an exception because of the Horcrux in my scar, but compared with his interactions with Lucius and Severus and a few others of his Inner Circle, he was more tolerant and generous with me. He had even tried to get to know me. So, his interest in me, Harry, and not, me, his Horcrux, was obvious.
Thirdly, the Dark Lord had invested more of himself in this relationship than I had with my cavalier 'this is just a mutually beneficial agreement' attitude and perspective. I had given him quite the advantage when I allowed him to show our relationship to the public, but so far, that was the only thing I had put in line for him. All the rest was just me taking, taking, taking. Taking his offer of a pardon, taking back my vaults, taking a part of his freedom away with the Duel, taking the tuition, taking the accommodation and the food, taking the friendships and links offered from those who were closed to him.
When I thought about it, by trying to keep myself aloof and protected, and not meeting him in his generosity, I had ended up putting him in the role of provider and me in the role of receiver and essentially accepting the role of the submissive, or worse, of the leech.
As it was, I deliberately prevented our relationship from growing naturally into more than a sexual arrangement and companionship by trying to shield my heart.
Fourthly, when he had said harshly that all he wanted from me was guaranteed immortality, he had only told me exactly what I was waiting for him to say. Defense mechanism or not, he had made me face my fears, in a way. He had lashed back to make me leave him. And that told me that he wanted me to say more than he let show.
Who knew the Dark Lord could understand me so well? Occlumency shields were really useless against such a perceptive man.
So, where did that reflection left me? If I wanted more of him, I needed to put myself in the line. What was I not ready to give up?
My political allegiance, because I sincerely thought that this regime could be better if he modified certain aspects of it, particularly in the case of blood discrimination. And I hoped that Neville might be able to help me with that, since he hadn't been branded as the Dark Lord's lover publicly.
My safe haven, Grimmauld Place, because I at least needed one as a failsafe, as things had a tendency to get ugly quickly between us, and this was the most warded a house could get.
My contact with Remus...Neville's life...my friendship with Draco and, to a certain extent, with Lucius...
But he wasn't asking me to give up any of that. The only thing for which he was asking was that I give up the Duel, and I wasn't ready for that. He had seemed to understand, though, the last time we talked.
So, on what was I going to compromise, to make our relationship healthier?
I could give him the Locket. It had been a failsafe for my sanity a few times now, but it was a piece of his soul, and he was probably worried over losing it. It didn't belong to me at all; in fact, I should have brought it to him when I first discovered it. I still didn't know why I hadn't. It wasn't as if I had planned to destroy it or anything of the kind, after all. I had just...greedily kept it.
But what he had really wanted, above all, was for me to just acknowledge the fact that I had my secrets just like he had his. There were a few things that I wanted to keep to myself and I couldn't pretend to being completely honest with him either. Some of those secrets, however, were straining our relationship.
One of the things that I was prepared to share to reduce the tension between us was to, once and for all, stop hiding my duelling and magical skills. One of the problems of me withholding my true duelling abilities was that it introduced the notion that I still kept myself ready for the eventual Duel. And that introduced a stress to our relationship; a useless stress, even, because I was pretty sure that I could never duel him to death...not after everything that had happened between us. Not after I fell in love with him...
It could be fun, actually, to have mock duels with him once the secrets were out of the way. Then he could show me how to fly and we could have a good time...
I smiled a bit to myself when I thought of that scenario.
.
My decision taken, I got up to my feet quickly, still holding on tight to the Horcrux and hurried downstairs before I could chicken out of my new resolution. It was nearing midnight, and tomorrow (or in a few minutes) would be the Dark Lord's birthday. I held no presumption that my return to his side would be a gift sufficient for what he deserved, but I didn't really have anything precious with me, and I hoped the Horcrux and the secrets would sweeten up the deal.
When I reached the landing, I twisted sharply and Apparated to the Dark Lord's Fortress. I landed in the entrance parlour and felt the Slytherin wards welcome me with a pleased tingling. I smiled a bit at the feeling and sought the Dark Lord's location with my magic.
He was in the library, at this time? It shouldn't have surprised me, really. The man did love his research. His location helped a bit to assuage my fears that I would find him with another man in his bed.
I checked the link; it was as closed as it had been since our last discussion. If I wasn't letting him in, he wouldn't either. I relaxed my Occlumency shields slightly. He had never pried in my mind so far, and he always seemed to know what I was thinking anyway, so they were a bit pointless.
I stood in front of the door to the library for a few instants, listening intently to try to find out what he was doing in there. I could hear the steady scratching of a quill on parchment. He was working so late and so close to his birthday. I hoped he wouldn't mind me interrupting him.
I knocked at the door, not really knowing if I should just barge in, since he obviously knew that I was there.
I heard a distracted hum answer my request and opened the door. The room was shrouded in darkness. He was not working at the central table as usual, but in an armchair in a corner of the room, a dying fire lighting up his work. He appeared to be writing a letter to someone. The image of the darkened room and of his face lit up by the glow of the fire was so strikingly similar to the first dream I ever had of him that I nearly took a step backwards in shock.
A cup of red wine was placed on the table at his side, seemingly untouched as he focused on his task. I wondered who was important enough to warrant an answer at this hour. Jealously and frustration coursed through me for the shortest moment before I clenched it down viciously. It was ridiculous, really.
I saw him quirk a small smirk at the feeling that had probably travelled through our connection.
I went to sit next to him in an adjacent armchair, resolved into waiting as long as it would take. As I sat, however, the Dark Lord quickly turned his head to me, his eyes falling directly on his Locket that was still clenched tightly in my hand.
I saw fury build up in his gaze but, before he could accuse me of hunting down his Horcrux and threatening him with it or anything of the kind, I lifted my hand and placed the Locket on the small table at his side, close to his wine glass.
I looked at the piece of metal that had been my companion for the past few days and I couldn't help but to feel a little regret at never being able to see it again. It was silly, I knew, but I had had a few discussions with that Horcrux in the last days and, once I got past his obvious egocentrism, I had learnt to deal better with my status as a Horcrux with his help.
I carefully lifted my gaze up to the Dark Lord's. He looked...somewhat between angry and bewildered. That was already better than before.
"I found it," I said a bit uselessly.
"Where?" he asked in a curt voice.
"In the safe place where I went a few times," I answered, evading the question despite my intentions for keeping an honest and open conversation as long as possible. I looked at him hesitantly. He was back to looking furious.
I sighed a bit.
"Please don't ask me where it is. It's somewhere in London. I just found it there by coincidence; I didn't go and search for it, I swear. I didn't do anything to it. It has just been keeping me sane in the past days..." I told him, before drifting off, not really knowing what to say other than that.
He frowned and watched me carefully.
"I had wondered at the lack of crisis. This is an appropriate explanation. Why bring this to me now? Did you think I would ask you to show proof that you had it?" he asked in a detached voice. His answer to all this was confusing me. I had nearly forgotten how little I understood of his thought process.
"Er, well. I thought...that you would want it back? So I brought it to you? You seemed worried that it had disappeared," I explained my actions as best I could.
He lifted an eyebrow at me.
"Because you thought I didn't already know that you had it? You came back here twice reeking of my magic and every time I met you in the past week, you were so drenched in my essence that I would have suspected that you had somehow managed to have sex with my soul fragment, if I didn't know that this one couldn't take a corporal form."
I felt my eyes widen at his words, before I frowned in vague disapproval of his joke. I decided to try on my new policy of being honest even when it exposed me a bit.
"I would never cheat on you, not even with other pieces of yourself," I stated firmly, meeting his eyes dead on.
He leaned back on his seat, a small smirk gracing his lips as he joined his fingers in thought and observed me.
"Your new resolution?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at me with his hand.
I nodded decidedly; unsurprised that he had caught on so quickly to what I was trying to convey.
His smirk quirked up slightly on one side before he said:
"I like it."
I felt my eyebrows lift on my forehead at the admission and my lips stretched in a smile without my permission. I frowned again, however, remembering what he had just told me.
"So...what do you want me to do with the Locket, if you don't want it?" I asked him.
He examined me closely again for a few moments.
"Keep it," he told me dismissively, as if he hadn't just told me to keep hold of another piece of his soul, another key to his immortality.
"If I ever need it, you'll know where to get it," he continued, confusing me impossibly more.
"Why would you ever need it?" I asked him, bewildered.
"You never know. Something could happen to me. I have learnt from my first encounter with you as a baby that one could never be too careful in those matters, and that, sometimes, an offhand comment like the one I just said could very well save me a lot of trouble," he explained in vague terms.
I didn't really understand, but I didn't press for more. He would tell me more of this story in due time. I would let him have his secrets if he allowed mine.
I had forgotten that he had seen me as a child, or that he had marginally known my parents. It must feel a bit weird for him to be in a relationship with someone he met as a baby. I asked him as much, because I was curious.
He barked a laugh at my unexpected question.
"Believe it or not, despite being a Dark Lord, because of your age, I did have reservations about starting this 'arrangement' we have, as you call it..."
"Relationship," I said, interrupting him.
"Is it, now?" he asked, with a faint smile.
I nodded at him resolutely.
"I would like to call it like that, if that's fine with you," I told him, still strong in my new honesty.
He only smirked in reply.
"As I was saying then, I did wonder if it was not...inappropriate of me to pursue you because of your age. In the Muggle world, after all, it would be considered as pedophilia, and, despite my numerous...deviances, this is not a term with which I ever classified myself, to be perfectly honest...but then, well. You were mature enough for your age and seemed hopelessly fascinated by me. I didn't see how it could be wrong. We are better than the Muggles for a reason, after all, aren't we?" he finished with a teasing question to provoke me.
"Not necessarily in everything, but I guess I can't fault your reasoning when I like the answer it led to," I replied noncommittally, knowing better than to leap against the racist generalisation.
We lapsed into silence for a few instants, detailing each other, before he spoke again.
"So, you are returning to me as a man confident of his new resolution, aren't you, Harry? Did you think that showing up here on my birthday with a Horcrux in hand and a few honest answers, and not even all of them, in fact, would be enough?" he challenged.
I shook my head.
"I have thought a lot, and I have realised that I haven't been fair to you in this relationship. I have kept this double standard that your conduct and everything you said had to be...irreproachable because you were the Dark Lord and I was right to be leery of you, while I have behaved...sometimes questionably and thought it was perfectly acceptable because, in my head, I was the 'good and honest guy'." I lifted my head to look at him directly. "I apologise for my behaviour. You haven't done anything to me to deserve that."
He barked a humourless and self-deprecating laugh that I had never heard before.
"Haven't I, now?" he asked rhetorically, before shaking his head at me. "Don't go on the other extreme now, Harry. I am still the Dark Lord. I have killed your parents, killed some of your childhood companions and been indirectly responsible for the death of your godfather. I very nearly killed you when I first met you. I am not a fragile and delicate creature and neither am I a 'good guy'," he shot back, smirking at me as always.
I frowned at him.
"I know that. But still, I'll try to be more fair now," I confirmed anyway.
He shrugged indifferently, waiting for the rest of it.
"I have also decided that I wanted to train with you and have mock duels, if you wanted," I continued firmly.
He lifted an eyebrow at that.
"And what of the element of surprise you wanted to keep so close to your chest?" he asked cautiously. "Wouldn't you want to keep it for an eventual showdown between us?" he egged on.
I bit my lip in though while I pondered the right way of putting it.
"I am not forfeiting but, at this point, I am stating that I have no intention of ever being in a serious Duel against you. And that's all I can offer at the moment," I said, watching his reaction closely.
He didn't really react to what I was saying, except for turning away from me and contemplating the dying fire in front of him, deep in thought.
After a while, he turned back to me.
"This will do for now, I suppose. It is late, however, and I have a long and painful day before me tomorrow. Are you joining me tonight, Harry?" he asked as if the last week didn't happen and I would just naturally return in his bed. Which I totally would, by the way. As if I could ever refuse that man, really.
I shook my head at my own hopeless thoughts before following him out of the library.
Something he said came back to me.
"What is going to happen tomorrow to be so painful?" I asked him.
"We will be going to Malfoy Manor and my followers, one by one, are going to present me their birthday gifts and wishes," he said, mockingly shuddering at the thought.
I lifted an eyebrow at that.
"I thought you would love to receive all those gifts! And if you don't, why do you do it at all?" I asked uncomprehendingly.
He sighed.
"When I instituted this tradition about twenty years ago, I didn't have nearly as much funds as I have now and I imagined that they would all present me with riches and precious artefacts. It was a well thought-out move. I hadn't counted on how redundant it would be and how insipid most of the gifts would be, however. One of the only reasons I kept the tradition is for the occasional surprise I get every year or so. A nice heirloom, a rare book to add to my collection. The rest goes directly to my vaults to cumulate some interest and dust," he explained, while passing an arm across my shoulders and steering me into his bedroom.
"There is, however, another hidden motive behind tomorrow's proceedings..." he said secretively.
"As always with you," I teased him.
He warningly tightened his grip on my shoulders before sending me a smirk.
"If you manage to find what it is, I will give you a nice belated Yule gift," he whispered enticingly in my ear.
I felt a thrill pass through me at his words and suddenly knew I would be paying close attention to the proceedings the day after.
When he pushed me against the door of his bedroom and titled my head to press a hungry kiss to my lips, I couldn't help but think:
It was good to be home.
.
So, Neville seems to have agreed to help Harry politically and the two lovers made amends. Harry promised to himself to be more open about their relationship, but doesn't that make him more vulnerable, in a way? What if Voldemort only lets him keep his secrets because he already knows them?
Next chapter will have everything: progression in their relationship, danger, new characters and a very unexpected and quite dramatic turn of events. Stay 'tuned'!
Thank you in advance for reviewing!