Hello again lovelies! I hope you have all been well. If not, hopefully this extra-long chapter will make you feel better :)

Thank you for all the amazing reviews -apart from that one flamer who didn't like the pairing and still decided to read, only to anonymously complain.-
Another big thanks again to my bètas ^.^

Enjoy!

Chapter eight - Turnaround

''Evan? Evan!'' Harry opened his eyes abruptly and sat up, hand instantly going to his chest, surprised when not finding anything. Had he dreamt the entire encounter? Then, he noticed the one who had called his name, the worried face of Barty entering his vision.

''Where are we?'' Harry tried to say, only a few slurred syllables coming out and he was pushed down again on the bed he'd been lying on.

''One of the guest rooms in the house. It's ridiculously large here. You should rest.''

''Voldemort...''

''He's fine. With the return of clarity and magic, he managed to take care of himself for a couple of days with moderate success. Thankfully I needed only a couple of days to retrieve what I was sent out for. Would have taken one less, but Gringotts was difficult to trick so I needed a solid, elaborate plan. Now, what the hell did you think you were doing?''

''You don't sound too angry, how much have you been told?'' Harry mumbled, grabbing his head. He'd been kept unconscious for days? No wonder he felt foggy. ''Is he angry still?'' Somehow, the thought of that possibility made him feel worse.

''I'd say so, what possessed you to try and kill yourself? Like, for real, what was that supposed to accomplish kid?'' While the concern was touching, Harry really didn't want to be reminded of it anymore. ''Damn, you're sweating like you've been bitten by a Murtlap.'' Before Harry could stop the other, Barty had brushed his bangs aside to feel his temperature and spotted the scar. To Barty's credit, he only froze for a moment before composing himself and withdrawing. ''I... see,'' were the only words wasted on his discovery before the Death Eater removed himself from the bed. ''I'll go and have.. a word... with our Lord. Yeah.''

''This cannot possibly get any worse,'' Harry told the ceiling miserably. The grey ceiling looked miserable enough itself for him to pretend he received sympathy back. He listened to the sound of footsteps as Barty rushed through the house, then to the muffled voices that came from a few rooms away. It sounded as if the both of them were arguing, which would have been hilarious if Harry hadn't known how nasty Voldemort's torturing curse could be, which he certainly didn't wish on Barty. So, what to do now? Killing Voldemort hadn't worked, neither had running away nor suicide. He also hadn't seen Hedwig anymore since the Dark Lord had found out his identity so he had no hope of sending her to get help either. His options were depressingly low. Around zero, in fact. Perhaps if Hermione or Ron would be here they could have thought of a better plan together, Harry didn't think he could outsmart Voldemort on his own. For now, he could really only wait and see what would happen.

The argument died down within the first couple of minutes already, the lack of screams also being a positive sign. Barty did not appear in his room anymore for a long time however, not even when Harry's stomach had started to rumble significantly. He'd tried moving downstairs himself, but hadn't been able to make it further than a few steps before his legs gave way, and he refused to crawl over the dusty floors to the kitchen if he wasn't absolutely starving. It was a good thing that he was used to starvation, he'd certainly hold out a day or three without food if necessary. That led him to another nauseating thought of who had fed him while he'd been knocked out. Barty hadn't been there so... had Voldemort? He shuddered at the thought. Hopefully the man was powerful enough to spell food directly into his stomach or something like that. Surely his enemy wouldn't take pleasure in hand-feeding Harry. To distract himself, Harry started daydreaming about Hogwarts. Not anything majestic, just walking down the halls, staring at the Quidditch pit, looking at the many magical paintings... it was calming and made his heart ache with longing at the same time, a bad habit he'd adopted every time he had been sent back to the Dursleys. Would he ever even see Hogwarts again? What would happen when September came around? Speaking of which, he had absolutely no idea what date it was now... He'd left the Dursleys at the eighth of July, then spent roughly two weeks here, and was knocked out for a couple of days now. He sat up again in surprise. Had he missed his own birthday?

Instantly, Harry slumped back into the pillows. Even if so, it wasn't as if Voldemort would care about something like that. It would also be embarrassing to mention it to Barty somehow, he didn't want to take up more of their attention. The way the blond man had spat out the name 'Harry Potter' during their last long conversation also made his insides twist. At the exact moment he thought that, the door opened and a rather dishevelled looking Barty walked in. ''What'd you do, wrestle Nagini?'' Harry said, entirely forgetting that there was probably supposed to be some awkward tension between the two of them now. The man gave him a disbelieving look for three entire seconds before cracking a hesitant smile.

''I wish it was anything that heroic. I tried to shower, slipped, took down the curtain with me and had to wrestle myself loose.'' At the visuals that brought forth, of Barty flailing his arms to try and conquer the shower curtain, Harry had tears streaming down his face before the sentence was finished, erasing any ice there might have been to break. ''You're a weird kid,'' Barty said fondly. ''No wonder he keeps you around. Can you walk?''

''If I could've, I wouldn't have let any of us go hungry,'' Harry replied, wiping away the tears from his eyes. ''I think you might have to try your famous dish of potatoes and eggs. Good luck trying to sell it to Voldemort.''

''I'll blame you,'' came the nonchalant reply. ''On second thought, it's better for me to fix you so you can at least give me some instructions on how to make something more decent.'' Harry blinked in surprise.

''You don't want me to cook then?''

''Are you mad? You can barely stand.''

Affronted, Harry protested: ''That is hardly anything I can't overcome. I could sit in front of the oven, or kneel on a chair or so, or-'' he stopped when Barty came over and hauled him out of bed, swinging him over one shoulder with a single movement. Harry yelped. ''Can't you use a levitation charm at least?''

''Much easier this way, watch your head. Also, I'm cooking, that's the last thing that shall be said on the matter. As if I'd let a sick person do my work for me, come on. At least you don't seem to be feverish anymore.''

''Must have been a side effect of the spells, it faded rather quickly,'' Harry clarified as he was put down on a simple wooden chair. ''Good luck trying to find anything edible though.'' Harry cast a doubtful look at the cupboards. ''Anything fresh in there will most definitely have rotten away by now, the fridge doesn't work. I recall buying some rice so that should be usable... not sure what to eat with it.''

''One thing at a time,'' Barty cheerfully countered, completely ignoring every rule of cooking ever about the importance of timing. Harry's protests didn't reach the other, who had already stuck his head in one of the cupboards. All of a sudden, the house shook, making Harry nearly fall off his chair and for Barty to hit his head against the hard wood.

''What was that?''

After retracting under a string of colourful curses and rubbing the side of his head with a painful expression, Barty answered: ''Must be our Lord taking care of those... things I went out to get. Anyhow, how do I cook rice?''

''A bit like eggs,'' Harry sighed. ''Look on the package, it should have instructions too and say how long you need to cook it for.''

''Ah! Crafty Muggles, we should do this with potion ingredients too!''

Amused by the idea of buying beetle eyes in plastic packaging with brewing instructions, Harry agreed. Once the water was cooking and Barty found some onions that only had a few black spots on the outer shell and a couple of garlic cloves that Harry had forgotten about, he kept giving instructions to keep Barty from ruining the meal. Directing someone in the kitchen was more difficult than he'd expected it would be. Or maybe Barty was just a naturally abysmal cook. Once everything was simmering and looked safe enough, Harry started chewing on his lips to try and find a way to ask what he had wanted to since the first time Barty had walked out of the bedroom.

''What... what did you and Voldemort argue over?'' he finally asked, hoping he wasn't overstepping any boundaries. The other took a moment to answer, struggling from trying to keep the rice from cooking over. ''Just lift the lid fully to let the steam out for a moment,'' he suggested.

''Ah!'' Barty exclaimed in surprise. ''Interesting, my egg water also always went over the edge and I never knew why. Anyhow, what were you asking? Oh yeah, arguing... not sure if I can really tell you.''

''Try, please?'' Harry begged. ''You don't need to give me any vital info, just... just want to know if everything is fine with... you know.'' He struggled to put it in more eloquent words and failed. ''Stuff,'' he finished lamely.

Barty scratched his neck, sighing and nervously tapping the wooden ladle he held against the counter surface. ''It was mainly about why he wanted to keep you here, I just couldn't understand why he was so calm about having the one person in the house who killed him before.''

''And?'' Harry pressed on.

''He reassured me you're not dangerous, that he thinks you yourself had little to do with his demise and it cannot happen again. As long as my Lord is fine with you, that's good enough for me.''

''He told me he would use me to get a new body,'' Harry frowned. ''Without any details on how, of course. And that he wants to run experiments since we have some sort of mental link. I don't know what to make of it, on one hand he always sounds so dispassionate about using me to further his plans, on the other he keeps talking about his goals as if he plans to talk me over to your side. Which I won't,'' he added quickly. ''Join you I mean.''

''Why ever not?''

''He killed my parents?'' Harry reminded the other with exasperation. ''I don't just 'get over' that you know? And nothing I've heard till now has convinced me that his plans are really noble. Some stuff about protecting magicians from Muggles, forcefully taking over control of the country... there's nothing concrete in there that convinces me any good changes will come out of him ruling the world. All my interactions with him were also awkward at best and frightening at the lowest points. He tortured me!''

''I told you he is difficult,'' Barty shrugged. ''He's not one to open up quickly to others, especially not to people he cannot relate to much. You and he had quite similar childhoods from what I know, and he just cannot understand how you turned out the way you did, so caring about other people and reckless. It made him question some of his own turns in life that he thought had been inevitable rather than personal decisions up until this point. Oh yeah,'' he said, looking thoughtful. ''Now I know who you really are, I can give you some more insight in your parents if you want me to. I probably know more than most people and our Lord didn't forbid me from telling you anything.''

Perking up at the words, Harry sat on the tip of his seat. ''Yes, please!'' he said breathlessly. Anyone he'd known before, with perhaps the exception of Sirius, had been incredibly tight-lipped about them and the whole situation regarding their deaths. Knowing what they died for would hopefully give him some answers. The only thing that was odd to him was why Voldemort was so forthcoming with information when Dumbledore had completely shrouded it in mystery. Could he trust Barty to say the truth?''

''I told you about the Order before right? That-''

''Burning!'' Harry suddenly shouted, seeing smoke rise from the onions that was definitely no regular steam.

''Oh fuck!'' Barty said, completely distressed. It took the both of them several minutes to try and save both the onions and the pan without setting anything else in the kitchen on fire. ''Great teamwork Evan,'' the man finally grinned, dumping the empty frying pan in a bucket of cold water. ''You'd make a good Quidditch captain, the way you give instructions. So, where was I...''

''Dumbledore's Order,'' Harry helpfully reminded him, not commenting on the name Barty still called him by. It had grown on him a bit.

''Right. Your parents were both members of it, pretty much since the beginning. Your mum had been Head girl of Gryffindor and your dad a famous Seeker for the Quidditch team so they were both some of the stars of Gryffindor, you see, exactly the people Dumbledore was searching for. High morale, ties to Muggles, good academic results... only in their later years though, James Potter was too much of a troublemaker before that and Evans had been tight buddies with Severus Snape in their first years.''

''Mum and Snape?'' Harry interrupted in shock.

''Yeah.. not as much anymore when I went to school. If I'm not mistaken, both of them were two years above me. At the point I went there and got to vaguely know them - not too well, being in a different year and house- there was already a rift in between Evans and Snape that completely broke in their sixth or seventh year. Details are a bit vague, I didn't have much to do with either of them, sorry.''

''I didn't even realise that you went to school with my parents,'' Harry mused. ''In my mind they were always these grown up adults already and you look like you're only in your thirties.''

''I am in my thirties,'' Barty laughed. ''They just got knocked up when they were barely out of school. Ah, pardon the language. I just meant to say, they didn't wait awfully long with marriage and all that. Would hardly call them grown up adults at that point.''

''I never really thought about that,'' Harry said, frowning. ''I was born in 1980 so they must have been...''

''Nineteen when getting pregnant,'' Barty whistled. ''And only fifteen when they first partook in Dumbledore's battles. Not that I am one to talk, I was sixteen when I begged my Lord to receive the Mark. Was one of the youngest Death Eaters ever, although he certainly hesitated much with marking me, I was quite the exception,'' Barty grinned proudly.

''What do you mean, fifteen?'' Harry frowned. ''Didn't Dumbledore wait until they were adults?''

Laughing in disbelief, Barty shook his head. ''They weren't official Order members till their seventeenth birthday, but his chosen few already had special missions before then. Not entirely sure about Evans. As I said, she didn't completely ditch Snape until either sixth or seventh year in Hogwarts, which was the last step necessary to being accepted into Dumbledore's little elite group. Potter though, Potter and his friends were already doing dirty work at fifteen. 'Heroic actions' they called it, fighting against the Dark Lord's army at every turn.''

''Then again, you also fought,'' Harry reminded him.

''No, although granted the status of a Death Eater, I wasn't allowed in battle until I was an adult. Dumbledore, who fought both against the Dark and the rules of the Ministry at that time, had far fewer resources, which is why he found it acceptable to let children fight. Our Lord didn't have that restriction. I cannot judge what he'd have done if he wouldn't have had enough people, I fairly admit. Knowing how firm he is in his principles though, I'd wager that he still wouldn't have budged on that.''

''I never imagined my parents as teen soldiers,'' Harry spoke, regret and sadness filling him.

''Aren't you the same? Coming here on your own, merely fourteen years old, trying to take the fate of the country on your shoulders. Who ever gave you the idea that that was your job?''

''Thirteen,'' Harry muttered, ignoring the rest with as much effort as he could muster, not wanting to think of all the times Dumbledore had given him the feeling that he had to defeat Voldemort. ''Well, fourteen very soon. I think, got dates a bit mixed up.''

Barty cut off his rambling, kneeling down in front of Harry to look him in the eyes. ''Kid, do you really want to know why the Dark Lord keeps you here?''

Confused, Harry looked up. ''What do you mean? He told me why.''

''You really think that a man as powerful as that wouldn't be able to think of at least three different ways to get a body that wouldn't involve you? And even if, that he would need to keep you awake, healthy and with company instead of dumping you in a dungeon?''

''Then why?'' Harry said, getting irritated at having to ask again and not finding any reason himself.

''Because you remind him of himself when he was younger and thinks that you deserve a break and the chances that Dumbledore never allowed either of you to get.''

Dumbfounded, Harry sat there as Barty shovelled food on the plates, which he had still managed to burn despite instructions. ''Can I... can I have a moment and eat here?'' Harry asked softly, not knowing what to make of all the emotions that whirled in his mind.

''Sure kid,'' the man replied, handing him a plate and cutlery, completely foregoing Voldemort's previous instructions of not letting Harry out of sight. ''Take as long as you need, we'll be upstairs. We'll resume the talk about your parents later? You have a habit of making conversation spin off in entirely different directions than what we started with somehow,'' Barty smiled. ''Not that that's a bad thing,'' he added. ''Don't beat yourself up over things you can't change again yeah?''

With that, the blond left, unfortunately leaving Harry to think again. For a while, he refused to waste energy on that, just trying to swallow the food, not caring about the burnt bits in it. As he stared at the empty plate, he figured that it couldn't be put off any longer. Everything he knew about Voldemort and his followers had been completely knocked upside down in the past days, the protests in his mind that screamed it could be a trap had faded to soft, doubtful whispers by now. No-one could act that well. Even if he would have put it past Voldemort himself to come up with such an elaborate illusion for the fun of it, he just couldn't see Barty going along with that, no matter how devoted he was to his Lord.

He'd have to make a decision, he knew. It was clear that Harry would be here for a while longer, and while he wasn't allowed to leave, it looked like neither of them wanted to hurt him for now. Indeed, in the twists and turns of their minds, Voldemort and Barty might even think of this as a beneficial arrangement for all involved. Truthfully, Harry wasn't entirely sure if wasn't either. There had clearly been some facts that had been kept from him over the years by people he thought could be trusted. Now, any question he had was thoroughly, almost eagerly, answered. Moreover, the longer the teen stayed, the longer he would not have to deal with having to decide what to do about Voldemort from an outside perspective. With how things stood, Harry couldn't say whether he'd wish to keep the Dark Lord's location a secret or not. Leaving would only give him more decisions he had no idea about.

Thus, as it was clear that his only option was to remain here, he'd have to choose whether he would do so as an unwilling prisoner or try to get on equal ground and try to forget about the little fact that his throat was squeezed shut as soon as he tried to take a single step outside. Barty seemed ready to accept a friendly relationship incredibly easily, and even Voldemort had -albeit in a way that threw Harry off immensely- tried to be civil instead of treating him like dirt, which he certainly could have considering that Harry was held captive by the man. Wiping black strands out of his eyes and looking at the stained, old mirror on the kitchen wall, Harry stared at his scar. Somehow, it connected him with Voldemort, creating a link that the other thought important enough to research. Well, why should the Dark Lord be the only person who got answers about it?

That particular thought would not leave his mind for the following days, which he spent mainly alone. Barty and Voldemort were up in Voldemort's room and Harry had settled in the guest room for now. It was kind of nice to have a place to retreat to, and was the only room where he was allowed to be now without Barty's company. It gave his brain too much space to spin up ridiculous scenarios and plans but that was only a minor inconvenience. Then, at one point, after mulling it over and over again in his head and trying to talk himself out of it too many times, Harry finally made a decision. One that finally felt right despite going against all of his instincts and what he'd been taught prior.

Having reached his conclusion, the teen marched out of his safe space in the early hours of the morning, throwing open the door to Voldemort's room without knocking. Both men looked up from their books. Had they really just had a reading session here?

''Take a seat,'' Voldemort commanded. For anyone else, it might have been a request instead, but with this wizard it definitely came across as an order. ''Close the door behind you.''

After obliging without a word of protest - it wouldn't do to piss off the only person with a fully working wand in the room- Harry looked at the both of them. ''I'll cooperate,'' he stated. ''With your research. I won't try to kill you anymore either,'' he added for good measure.

''As if it would make a difference in your rate of success,'' Voldemort scoffed. ''It is, however, appreciated. That will certainly speed up the time to reach results. I have one more request of you...'' Warily, Harry eyed the other, who sat in his chair in complete relaxation, forming a crooked smile with his large, lipless mouth. ''You do the cooking from now on again. The food these past days has been disastrous.''

Having expected much worse, Harry let out a short barking laugh that he instantly regretted as it sounded rather idiotic to his own ears. ''Sure thing. No offence Barty, but that didn't even taste like rice, not sure what you put in there, and I watched you the first time around. I guess I wouldn't make such a good Captain after all if my instructions were so bad.''

''The best recipe can be botched,'' Barty simply replied, clapping his shoulder jovially.

''Bartemius, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to have a word with Evan in private...'' Not needing any further words, Barty practically shot up from the couch.

''Of course, my Lord.'' He bowed. ''I'll be downstairs if you need me.''

For quite a while after, Voldemort only stared at him, creases in his forehead and long fingernails tapping against his left armrest, making odd squeaky noises in the leather at times. Harry tried his hardest not to fidget under the scrutinising stare, then finally couldn't take it anymore.

''What!'' he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

''One hundred and ninety eight seconds. Remarkable, I had though your patience would wear thin in less than three minutes,'' the man spoke, sounding as if noting down a particularly interesting observation. Harry spluttering after went ignored. ''Now then, after figuring out that piece of your mind, I have some questions. First of all, I am pleased about your sudden change of mind. I also admit that it is highly suspicious and I'd rather not have you try one of your schemes again, it won't work out well for you and will highly annoy me.''

''There are no schemes on my behalf anymore,'' Harry reluctantly admitted.

''I'd like to hear your motivation then.''

Harry's half-shrug wasn't taken for a proper answer, so he had to struggle to get his thoughts in order about it. ''I tried to come up with new plans... all of them weren't really great. Also, deep down I really do want to believe you.'' He carded his fingers through his hair nervously. ''That won't make me forget about any of the bad stuff you've done, or has been done in your name. Even criminals deserve second chances though, I firmly believe that.''

''Oh?'' Voldemort spurred him on, leaning forwards a bit.

''Growing up, the Dursleys -my family- made people believe I was a delinquent of sorts so they wouldn't interact with me. The amount of people around who, based solely on that information, thought it would have been better to remove me from society for the rest of my life, was shocking. Even with real criminals, I doubt life-long imprisonment or death are good punishments. As Barty told me before, everyone has their own reasons for doing what they do... I don't agree with that people should just get away with breaking the laws that have been put in place under a democratic consensus, but I do think that the punishment that would be waiting for either of you wouldn't make things better. If I found you to be a raging psychopath, intent on an instant new slaughter, it would've been very different. Now...'' he made a vague hand gesture, ''I think you were punished quite harshly by barely even existing for over a decade, being confined to the bodies of animals and other people. It looks like it certainly made you rethink your strategies. For Barty too: he was imprisoned already for a year and looks like he isn't very willing to commit the same crimes he was convicted for again.''

''He was convicted of being a Death Eater,'' Voldemort said. ''They didn't care how many or few laws he actually broke, it was enough that he belonged to the losing side of the war.''

''That's also not fair,'' Harry frowned. ''I know he regards himself as a soldier. I disagree with war outcomes where the soldiers of the victors automatically walk free and the losers get punished. They were already punished for not being able to reach what they fought for in my opinion.''

''I have to disagree on that with you, and do not fault the Ministry for it,'' the other surprisingly answered. ''In regular situations, people should be judged by their crimes indeed... not in war: if you apply the principle of being innocent until proven otherwise, many of my Death Eaters would have walked free, and I am convinced that, if they'd gotten the feeling that they could've gotten away with that, they would have swiftly attempted to start a war again, with or without me. That applies to other wars too: if not at least the leaders and fighters of the losing side are punished with more than their loss, they'll just try again. What would stop them otherwise?''

Harry quieted down at that, not having a better answer. ''So you do not mind that the people you trained got locked up?''

''Not minding and understanding are completely different sides of this debate Evan. I mind, naturally, these are people I put time and effort in, some I even cared for as friends as much as I am able to. To know that they have to rot away now, sucked dry by Dementors... pains me.'' It was as much emotion as Harry had ever seen on the man's face. It was odd to see such a hurt look on that small, waxy face. ''Alas, it also is not possible to break them free and release them from their sentence. Most have been there for so long now that their personalities are bound to have changed in ways I cannot comprehend. Starting my new campaign with a massive break-out and panic all over the country would be very counterproductive. Like you, I do not think any of them were at the start guilty enough to warrant a one-way trip to Azkaban with no possibility of rehabilitation, but this was what they were sentenced to and until I have legal influence in this country, it is not up to me to change that.''

''That's... heavy,'' Harry only mumbled. ''How would you have dealt with the Order of the Phoenix if you'd have won?''

''I said before that I couldn't fault the Ministry... I would most likely have done the same to them. It is easier to subdue those you know would oppose you in a place they have no hope of escaping from, than trying to watch their movements after letting them go.''

Harry struggled with understanding his own feelings on that. To him, it was either okay to do something or not... Knowing that Voldemort found it reasonable that his followers got punished in a way that hurt them and regretting it at the same time was odd... especially when knowing that if the roles had been reversed, the same would have happened.

''You do not need to bother yourself with the complications of war,'' the other spoke softly.

''You were the one who made me a part of this war,'' he accused. ''You tried to kill me when I was only one year old. Why? How can killing a baby be excused?''

Voldemort made a noise that Harry couldn't place very well.

''Did Barty tell you about your parents and the circumstances of their deaths?''

Harry gave a guilty look. ''He tried, then the conversation kind of... spiralled off. I only knew they were part of the Order and you went after them out of battle because they hid.''

''That is only partially true... James and Lily Potter... both of them were exceptional mages. Powerful, protective of those they loved, stubbornly fighting for what they believed in.'' Harry found it disturbing how fond the Dark Lord sounded. ''I tried to recruit them to my side several times. I should have known after their first rejection that it wouldn't work out. They had perhaps been convinced by Dumbledore early enough in their life to make any attempts futile from the start. Still, I thought that if I showed them how used they had been by Dumbledore, they might see reason. I didn't succeed, they both defied me three times in total. My hesitation cost one of my Death Eaters her life, after which I decided it was not worth trying again. I wished to leave it at that, accepted that I would have to eliminate these people in the end, no matter what my own feelings about that were. As with all of my enemies, they would have perished in battle or been captured during raids on positions they defended. Both of your parents were strong however, and managed to hold their own, so I let them go, not having particular priority on their heads. That all changed in a single night... I am not aware of how many lines of the prophecy you heard, but for me, only hearing the start was good enough, I believed back then.''

''Wait, you've lost me. Prophecy?'' Harry asked, confused.

''What do you not understand? How many prophecies were you told of? I meant the one Sybill Trelawney made to Dumbledore about a year before your birth. Surely-''

''I know of absolutely zero prophecies that involve me,'' Harry cut him off, his hands shaking when he found out that, once again, Dumbledore seemed to have withheld information from him. If this prophecy was real, he reminded himself to calm down. If Dumbledore actually knew of this. Harry couldn't just assume that Voldemort spoke the truth without further proof.

''That... complicates things,'' the other spoke, forehead creasing again. ''I had thought you already knew. In short, a prophecy was made that predicted a child would be born that could vanquish me, stating the circumstances around the child's birth. That child was you. Your parents went into hiding as soon as they were made aware of the prophecy. I at least credit Dumbledore with the fact that he tried to protect you from me, knowing that I could not risk having such a weakness and that I would go after your life. In the grand scheme of things, I didn't think the life of a baby was worth more than my own.'' The absolutely unapologetic tone made it hard for Harry to respond. ''So then, I waited no longer for your parents to appear in battle, being certain that they wouldn't, that every single day they would strengthen the defences around your home. It still took me a while to find, there was a Fidelius charm, which I had not accounted for. Them being both only twenty-one and to my knowledge not very apt with warding spells made me overlook that they could have such a complicated protective barrier in place. Since it was Dumbledore who suggested they go into hiding though, it isn't hard to imagine who put it up.''

''I know that part,'' Harry said, relieved to be able to verify at least a part of the story. It made the rest have more credibility too. ''They swapped Secret Keepers from Sirius to Wormtail, who betrayed them out of fear for you,'' his voice had gotten a hard edge to it. ''Not the most honourable tactic to have him spy on his former friends to deliver them to death.''

''No, it wasn't, I never claimed be upright with my plans. By that time, I had already decided that you needed to die, and your parents with it. Wormtail coming to me was incredibly convenient, why would I have refused his information when what he wanted in return was so easy to give? So, I set out to your house, and the rest is history. Both of them perished by my hand while protecting you, the killing curse rebounded, and I was ripped away from my body.''

At that moment, Harry recalled a particular detail with absolute clarity. ''That is not all,'' he spoke. ''You didn't try to kill my mother. You offered her a chance to live several times. Why? Why would you do so if she was one of your enemies?''

''As much as I'd like to tell you that I suddenly found mercy, it was simply because of a request. Severus Snape pleaded me to spare her. As he had served me well up until that point and had valuable skills that placed him in a prominent position rather fast, I thought to grant him that.''

Harry wasn't entirely sure what to be more surprised about: that Snape had enough compassion in him to still wish to protect his former friend who had 'ditched him' in their last years at Hogwarts according to Barty, or that Snape had been a Death Eater. He opted for the latter, thinking Voldemort could possibly clear up that fact more easily than Snape's emotions. Actually, Harry didn't think he wanted to get into any emotions his surly potion professor had, absolutely not when it regarded Harry's mum. ''He worked for you?'' he thus asked. ''How is that possible? Dumbledore always vied for Snape's trustworthiness and the git also tried to stop you from getting the Stone. That doesn't really sound like a loyal follower.''

''Truthfully, I do not know as of yet. I wager that me killing your mother against his will weighed heavier on him than I could have imagined back then. I haven't spoken to him since, not trusting Severus even when I possessed Quirinius as he was so much under Dumbledore's thumb by then. He could have had many reasons for being there though. If Dumbledore offered him a chance to stay out of Azkaban, it is understandable that he would take it. Knowing the old fool, he must have thought that it would be handy to keep a former follower of mine close in case I returned. I'm certain that Severus felt it, the moment I procured this body.''

''How do you figure that?''

''All of my closer followers were granted a Mark that I used to summon, reward or punish them. You can ask Barty to show his next time if you are interested. The spell I used to create it with, ties all bearers of the Mark to me. It became faint when I died, which is how they should have known I was still out there in some form, it would have disappeared completely otherwise.''

''Okay... can I ask something else?''

''Feel free, I don't exactly have much else to do here.''

''To come back to the prophecy... you said you wanted to kill me before I would kill you. That seems pretty straightforward so, why are you keeping me alive now? I'm pretty sure that if you bash my head in, it won't magically heal,'' he cursed himself instantly after, why did he have to give Voldemort ideas?

The man chuckled at that. ''That once may have been a tempting thought, now it would be quite useless. If I wanted you dead, I could have also let you complete your attempt from a few days ago. Simply said, I do not know enough: I only heard the first part of the prophecy before making overhasty decisions, what if the second part gives me different information? Secondly, how do I know whether this prophecy is still valid? You vanquished me like it foretold, why would it mean you'd have the power to do so more than once? Also, I noticed some abnormalities in you that I'd like to explore before coming once more to overhasty conclusions. At the moment, killing you may be very hazardous to my health indeed.''

''So who has the prophecy then? Can you find out the rest?''

''Theoretically, once I have a body I could work towards solving that mystery. Dumbledore has a copy, while the original is kept within the Ministry of Magic in the Hall of Prophecies. Both are out of my reach at the moment, which isn't very problematic. Since you are willing to work with me for now, I don't need to worry about it and can put it on low concern.''

Harry frowned. ''It sounds like quite an important matter to me.''

''It might be, in time. As I said, I took over-hastened actions before, I do not wish for it to happen again. As you clearly did not succeed in vanquishing me, it is safe to assume that it poses no direct threat. Drop the subject.'' The last few words held a stress of threat, so Harry switched the topic.

''What are your pressing matters at the moment then? You also said you couldn't get a new body yet.''

''I wish to reach out to some particular people. Building up the following I had before is not necessary nor desired, it would attract too much attention and put me in a position where I'd have to meet expectations I cannot this time around. However, a few allies will be needed to make changes. Other than that, our experiments will continue. I'll have you go through a series of rituals in the coming week. They won't be pleasant for you, but will give me what I need to decide what to do with you. Depending on how well you perform, I'll share my findings. Now, that shall be all for today, I'm certain that we touched upon enough topics to keep you busy for a while. Tomorrow, we shall start the first ritual.'' The dismissal was so sudden that Harry took a moment too long to react, a spike of annoyance shooting through his scar.

''I get it, sorry,'' he said, rubbing his forehead.

''Try not to eat in the morning if you don't want to see your breakfast back again,'' Voldemort still warned him before Harry closed the door and walked back downstairs to join Barty.

''Evan!'' The man said excitedly. ''How was it?''

''Er... fine?'' he asked, not sure what to say to someone who obviously thought it was the highlight of the day to be in the vicinity of Voldemort. ''We talked a lot and it was... enlightening on one hand and gave me a whole bunch of questions on the other. I basically agreed to participate in some rituals without protesting. Whether that was a good idea, I'll see tomorrow if I'm still in one piece by then.'' He fell silent for a moment, worrying about the coming day. Then, he recalled something else. ''Oh, Barty? Voldemort told me that if I wanted to see his Mark, I should ask you. It sounded fascinating. You said something before too about being marked as a follower... I thought that that was symbolic back then.''

Barty's entire face lit up at the mention of the Mark, eagerly pushing back the left sleeve of his robe to reveal a slim snake moving in and around a skull. Harry kept his thoughts about the awful taste in design to himself. The symbolism of the snake for Voldemort and skull for Death Eaters were obviously not lost to him and yet, any faction in past history parading around with skulls did, as a general rule, not consist of the first people he'd go to regarding human rights. ''How does it work?'' he thus asked, as Barty looked at him with expectation.

''It is brilliant piece of magic,'' the blond enthusiastically continued. ''A charm that sits right beneath the skin.''

''Wait, it's a charm?'' Harry asked, rising his eyebrows.

''Yes, of course. It's not as if he'd put a curse or hex in our arms, really kid. It's partially based on the Protean Charm, which connects objects to each other and allows for communication and a synchronization of sorts. Naturally, we aren't objects, but the marks themselves are and are all linked to the Dark Lord personally, which is why it also wasn't given to all of his followers. Only the Inner Circle received it as a standard and a chosen few of his other followers were granted one as rewards even if they didn't have the necessary power to make it as an official Death Eater. Through this, I knew he had to still be alive and did my best to push through Azkaban. I'd surely have died without this reassurance...'' Barty gripped his arm tightly. ''The Mark indicates our Lord's physical health and can be used to reach out to other marks so he can call us to him. Moreover, when combined with other spells, we can use it as a ward anchor to create a barrier that only those with a Mark can pass through, for example. It's incredibly useful.''

''He also said something about rewarding and punishing through the Mark?'' Harry asked, curious.

''We can feel his emotions through it at times, which translates into either pain or pleasurable feelings. That can also be done when he is close and chooses to, to a far more intense degree.'' Barty caressed the Mark lovingly like a treasured possession. It probably was to him. In the back of Harry's mind, he felt a slight reaction from Voldemort and Barty sucked in a breath before grinning, apparently receiving a response. It all sounded rather creepy, like having your boss watch you on camera at all times during work. To each their own. Barty adjusted his sleeve again, which he struggled with a bit considering how tight they were.

Before, Barty had always worn regular robes in dark colours. Today, it had been replaced with a tight black, slightly padded jumper of sorts, with over that a sleeveless, thin outer robe that hung only to his knees. Only his pants were the same, rough black denim with holes in them, a rather odd Muggle look that reminded Harry of a rebellious teenager in his rock phase. ''What kind of robes are those?'' he inquired. ''Never seen anything like it.''

''Workout gear,'' Barty shrugged. ''Also often used in battle since there's less chance of cloth catching on anything. He patted his chest, giving off a dull sound. ''More sturdy too and enhanced with woven-in shielding. Standard gear for all Inner Circle, though lots of witches and wizards on either side wore something similar. Some look more like dress robes, I remember that Malfoy had his shirt all covered in a pattern and a gold gloss over the fabric,'' the man rolled his eyes. ''So unnecessary but it made him look fancy I guess.''

''With how pretty he always makes himself, I would be wondering about whether he really has a wife if Draco Malfoy wouldn't be such a carbon copy of his dad,'' Harry joked, laughing on a conspiratorial tone. ''I'd watch myself around that guy!'' His snickering died down when Barty only gave him a stony look, which he found hard to understand. Dean, Ron and Seamus always found stuff like that hilarious.

''You shouldn't say stuff like that kid,'' he frowned. ''There's nothing funny about it.''

Flushing, Harry awkwardly rubbed his neck. ''Why not? My housemates always say that men who dress up are... well,'' he shrugged. ''Not really men, you know?'' As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze, vividly remembering Voldemort, crying out for Regulus in his fevered state.

''It is not for us to judge who is manly and who isn't,'' Barty said on a clipped tone. ''Three of the most powerful men to walk this country in the past century were all gay, there's nothing wrong with that. I'll just warn you this time... if you make jokes like that again, meant or not, I'll hang you upside down out of the window for the day. And that is very light punishment compared to what the Dark Lord would do if he heard you, understood?'' Harry nodded quickly, fearful as the growling tone had entered Barty's voice again that only appeared when he got seriously mad.

''Right,'' was thus the only thing he said in answer to that. Really, what else could he reply that wouldn't make the situation worse? Harry absolutely didn't need any further clarification about the Dark Lord's love life either.

''Changing the topic,'' Barty spoke to the teen's immense relief. ''We're going into town today. All these Muggle foods and brands are confusing. I don't want anything like last time to happen.'' Harry tried his utmost best to keep a straight face. The day before yesterday, Barty had returned from grocery shopping, missing half of what had been on Harry's list and taking only the cheapest versions of the other half since he didn't know the quality difference. In the Wizarding world, quality was measured by shop, and any store selling inferior versions next to superior ones would be rioted against. The man had only managed to bring the right fruits and vegetables, with which the only problem had been that he didn't know how to use the automatic weighing scales in-store and had gotten into an argument with the cashier.

''I thought I wasn't allowed to leave the house?'' Harry reminded the man, not very much looking forward to being choked again.

''Our Lord gave permission for you to go outside when you're together with me. Looks like you'll need a chaperone to ensure you don't run off with all the ladies out there, kid.'' With a wink, Harry's imprisonment here was easily turned into a light-hearted joke that made him smile. ''Come on, it'll be fun to have something to do, won't it be? We're even allowed to eat out for a change, so you won't have to cook if you join me.''

Finally tempted, Harry took the bait. ''Alright, you've got me convinced.'' The enthusiasm worked contagious. He hadn't been incredibly thrilled to step foot in the town again, as it always carried that sort of bored dread in the air that was associated with the kind of crime mystery novels in which tiny villages become dead ones. Now he thought of it, that had happened, hadn't it? Brilliant. ''Hadn't expected this place to serve any food apart from the local dusty pub,'' he doubtfully voiced. ''I won't count on any five-star-restaurants I suppose.''

''Stars? You want to wait till nightfall?'' Barty asked, confused.

''No, I mean.. look, Muggles have this system of rating restaurants and inns and such. If they perform well, they get a star. The more stars a place has, the better the food and service are... although they raise the prices accordingly.''

''Huh, handy, wish I could give the Leaky Cauldron a black hole as rating. So we should search for stars?''

Harry shrugged. ''As I said, in a small town like this I don't think we can expect much. I'm fine with eating everywhere really, it'll just be nice to not have to prepare everything myself for once. What about Voldemort?''

''He said something about take-with?'' The questioning tone held the kind of desperation that made it clear that the Death Eater hadn't understood the order and had been too afraid or awkward to ask again.

''Take-away,'' Harry sighed, to Barty's great joy. ''We'll manage that.''

Later, after they'd checked all leftover provisions, counted their money and made a shopping list, Barty said: ''You should really stop calling the Dark Lord by name, Evan. Only his enemies call him that nowadays.'' With one challenging eyebrow raised, Harry pointed demonstratively at his neck. ''Well, that's just...'' Barty whined on an almost pleading tone, ''That's just to prevent you from doing anything stupid like leaving or hurting yourself again! He'd be in much better spirits if you'd say My Lord to him!''

''He's not my Lord,'' Harry deadpanned, slightly amused with the palpable frustration wafting off the other man.

''He ought'a be! The Lord then if you want to be so difficult.''

''For someone who put so much thought and effort to turn his name into a mysterious anagram, he sure doesn't like to be reminded of his teen nickname.'' The look of horror was worth everything, even if Barty would be so daring to relay those words to Voldemort.

More people were about Little Hangleton than usual. Perhaps it was due to it being Saturday evening, he'd only been about on a Saturday once, in the early afternoon. He hadn't generally been out enough to tell the local patterns. The smell of barbeque was carried over to them on the hot summer breeze, explaining further why a number of residents had left the comfort of their homes. Dinner already being prepared did make Harry more aware of the time however, and he wondered if the supermarket was even still open, he hadn't exactly checked their weekend closing times, never planning on going shopping in the evening. Barty grumbled in protest as the teen suggested doing their shopping trip first, going back and forth before eating out.

''The place is small enough for it to take no longer than twenty minutes,'' he reasoned. Indeed, with two main streets meeting in a T-junction and only a handful of side streets and loose larger houses scattered on the hills around, Little Hangleton wasn't exactly a maze. If the 'shopping centre' of the town hadn't been built around a small plaza in one of the crooks of the T-junction, blocking off the sight, they would've been able to spot Riddle house quite clearly from inside of town. The shop turned out to be closing within ten minutes of them arriving, so Harry ran through the few aisles they had under the critical eye of the cashier who obviously wanted to go home and wasn't pleased with a late visitor. Barty hung around at the pet foods, wondering aloud why there were no owl treats and what anyone wanted with a hamster. Red in the face from trying to break the shopping record, Harry didn't deem the words odd enough to make him worry about getting Barty to shut up.

One way back to the Riddle House and a check-up from Barty on Voldemort later, they could finally stroll through town at ease. ''Fascinating,'' Barty exclaimed, standing on his tiptoes to peer over a nearby hedge to observe a family grilling outdoors. ''A campfire on legs!'' Harry hastily pulled him back down to avoid unwanted attention. The man stood out enough as it was with his attire. It was a good thing that he was used to hostile looks from Little Whinging, so he hardly noticed the stares and whispers of the townsfolk as they walked past in search of a place to eat. The pub 'The Hanged man', -the only eatery that was in the direct centre- was not available to them, having an 18+ sign on the door. A suggestion from Barty to just use a Confundus spell was quickly declined.

His companion finally pointed out the unfriendliness of the people around, in hushed tones to Harry, who only shrugged. ''Word spreads fast in places like these, I hadn't actually expected Frank to keep his word.''

''Who?'

''The old caretaker of the house and the gardens, I met him on my first day here.'' God, that seemed ages ago... ''I told him that the master of the house returned and is ill. If anyone asks, he has serpentitis and we've both already had it so we can come near this highly contagious disease. Will only work of course unless another one of you lot shows up, not sure how many people could have gotten such a rare thing in their lives.''

Barty shook his head. ''And they buy that?''

''My friend Ron, a pureblood, also bought the story about Muggle telephones having tiny, telepathically linked gnomes in them that do the speaking. People are willing to believe lots of stuff on topics they have no clue about. Anyhow, good story or not, I can hardly change it now, so you'd better get along with it to avoid discrepancies.''

''Trying to order me around kid?'' Barty grinned cheerfully. ''It suits you a bit, is that your Gryffindor courage shining through?''

''Oh do shut up.''

''Fine. What about that place? It says take-away on the door.'' Harry followed the pointed finger to the opposite side of the street they were on, the main one leading south out of town to Hangleton. Doubtfully, Harry took in the tiny pizzeria he saw there. The windows were covered in bright, cheap advertisements of a mishmash of dishes, none of which were pizza.

''Doesn't look like we'll have much other choice,'' he shrugged. ''Why not.'' That a single restaurant would survive here at all had to speak for it.

Harry almost regretted his decision when upon walking in he was met with a blue haze of smoke and the empty stares of an old Muggle couple eating a single slice of pizza each without saying a word. Almost, for in that moment the waitress -or chef?- came out and started babbling away, leading them to their seats and instantly bringing ice-cold drinks only a few second after they ordered them. ''It's great to see some new faces here! We've all heard of your arrival, of course,'' she said, smiling brightly, a welcome change to everyone else here. ''I had hoped you'd drop by, it gets so dull here. The most exciting this that happened all week is that Margaret Hopkins went away for a reading at the primary school in Hangleton and came back with such an amount of books that she put up a small library in her garden.'' Harry smiled, glad to be able to relax, and read the menu.

''Thank you for the welcome, it's nice to see a friendly face. Could we also order a third meal to take with, by the way?'' he asked.

''Sure, no problem, I'll make sure to prepare it a bit later so it's hot when you leave if you want.''

''That'd be great. I'll have a spaghetti Bolognese please.'' There were far fancier items on the menu, from tagliatelle with salmon to Indian curries, but spaghetti had been one of Dudley's favourite dishes, meaning that Harry had had to cook it loads of times and never been able to get even a spoonful of it himself before Dudley cleaned out the pot. On Harry's suggestion, Barty took a tuna pizza, never having eaten Muggle fast food in his life.

''I thought you said it was take-away?'' Barty complained in a whisper when the woman left. ''You just said take-with now too!'' As Harry tried to explain the subtle differences in grammar, the woman came back. ''Food's being prepared. How'd you both end up in this forgotten place though, is what I was wondering. Name's Heather by the way.''

''I'm Evan, this is Barty. He doesn't speak much,'' Harry explained. That wasn't exactly true, the other man could have a waterfall of words streaming out at any time about any topic at hand, but Harry had the feeling that that wasn't the case in the presence of Muggles if the man's wary look was anything to go by. It was better to avoid Barty saying too much anyways, lest he slip up in public and start talking about Magic. ''How much did you hear already?''

Heather cocked her head, thinking. ''Not too much, old mister Densmore grilled Bryce on the lights many have seen in the abandoned mansion. He reluctantly gave out some information about the owners returning. It's given quite a stir at the pub at night. One even mentioned that the owner must have been Tom Riddle's illegitimate son.'' Heather leaned forwards expectantly, and Harry figured that whatever he'd say would make it to the next nightly gossip round.

Surprisingly, it was Barty this time who answered. ''He's not illegitimate,'' he spoke on an affronted tone. Heather blinked in surprise. ''Tom Riddle Senior married my master's mother. The bastard then just flew away from his responsibilities when things got too hot in the cauldron,'' he aggressively added, gripping his knife tightly. ''I won't have anyone question my Lord's inheritance.''

''Your... Lord?''

Knowing this would go wrong if not interrupted, Harry helpfully provided: ''Tom Riddle Junior, he received the status of Lord after buying several plots of lands that came with the title.'' Barty's angry retort was swallowed at Harry's warning glare. Heather seemed to file this information away for later use and walked over to the door to greet four new customers, two middle-aged couples on a double date, who mainly talked about the weather and their upcoming trip to the sea nearby.

''Hadn't realised we were this close to the ocean,'' he mused. ''I wonder what it looks like.''

''What do you mean, 'what it looks like?'.''

''The ocean, the beach, you know...''

''You mean to say you've never been to the beach? Living in one of the few countries with water on all sides?'' the other asked in astonishment.

''Well, technically I have. When I got my Hogwarts letters, my family refused to give them to me or open them, resulting in us receiving hundreds of letters wherever we went. When they were delivered even when moving to a small motel, my uncle went crazy and rented a shack on an island in front of the coast. However, it wasn't exactly a typical beach-trip when I compare it to stories of other people. It was storming and late evening when we arrived. I only recall lots of large waves of water that I tried to hide from on the boat, I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings. The morning after that, Hagrid came to get me, but then I was so caught up in the whole 'magic is real' thought that enjoying the ocean view wasn't the first thing on my mind. So yeah, that was my only 'sea-experience'. It's not as if the Dursleys ever took me anywhere fun. The only real trip I've ever had was to a zoo, as the woman they always dumped me off at had broken her leg that day and they had to bring me along. It didn't end well for me, but I had a lemon ice and accidentally released a boa constrictor, trapping my cousin in the terrarium instead.'' he sighed longingly at the memory. ''Great times when I could get away with... accidents.''

''Sounds like one epic day. Having the knowledge you have now, which one of your accidents was the most powerful one?'' Barty asked, eyes glittering as he leaned forwards. Harry thought about that for a while. He'd never thought about the level of power of the accidental magic he'd done as a child, never seeing it as magic back then. When asked about it however, he realised that many of what he'd done had actually been spells that he partially hadn't even learned at Hogwarts. There were of course basic charms like shrinking and growing spells, a vanishing spell for the glass in the zoo... yet also far more advanced things. ''Apparition,'' he finally decided, figuring the Muggles would blend out a word they didn't know more easily than if he'd try to describe it in a non-conspicuous way.

''Wicked, most I did was a bubblehead charm when falling in a pond once at ten years old.'' Harry didn't know the spell itself, but could imagine the effect, giving an acknowledging nod.

''Sounds advanced too.''

''Not as much as yours. That reminds me of tales our Lord told about his youth...''

''Errr, perhaps we should have a talk about that later,'' he quickly interrupted as the eyes of all other customers were suddenly on them, eager to pick up any bit of information about the infamous new master of Riddle House. Marvelling about Voldemort's magical prowess was a decidedly bad idea. It was a good thing that their food arrived at that moment, within a time range that eased his worries somewhat about the dishes just being microwaved frozen goods. As he dug into the food, Harry decided that he might have to come back here and try a few other things as well, the restaurant had certainly deserved its persistent stay.

As he complimented Heather on it, she laughed: ''Would be difficult to keep our heads above water otherwise. With only a few hundred residents we need quite a lot of regulars to keep the business afloat. I certainly hope we won two more today?''

''Depends on the money,'' Barty said. ''Certainly wouldn't mind eating here more often. That's some great... pizza. Who would have thought to put fish together with tomato on bread?''

At Heather's odd look, Harry blurted out: ''He's a foreigner.''

''But... pizza is also foreign,'' she protested, entirely confused.

''From America, backwater little place in the mountains,'' Harry continued, trying not to break a sweat.

''With a British accent?'' she continued, disbelieving. Barty only looked amused and kept silent to see what Harry would do.

''Sounds very similar doesn't it? Great for trying to fit in here.'' He tried to laugh it off as much as possible as Barty shovelled more pizza in his mouth and put a thumb up in the air. Harry wished he could just disappear. Not hard enough to actually do so, however. He wasn't ready to figure out how Voldemort's spell on his neck would work if he accidentally apparated to the other side of the country.

His luck finally turned to his favour as Heather had to leave to serve the others again and Harry was able to avoid any further awkward conversation. With only a sip remaining, Barty suddenly raised his glass. ''Sorry I can't offer you anything stronger to toast with kid. Just wanted to wish you an early happy birthday.''

''Birthday?'' he echoed.

''Yeah, shame your birthday falls on a Sunday, didn't think anything would be open then so I decided to take the liberty of going out today instead. You'll need your stomach empty tomorrow anyway.''

''Did Voldemort tell-''

''Not necessary, everyone knows your birthday kid.''

''Oh. Right.'' Being at Hogwarts, where most people had gotten used to him by now, Harry had almost forgotten that he was supposedly famous. It was weird to realise that complete strangers knew things like his birthday as if he was a celebrity. ''Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you.''

''Don't mention it, I felt like it would be wrong if we didn't celebrate. I know you're kind of stuck with us and not in an ideal situation... I at least want to make it up to you as much as I can.''

''Honestly, between here or the Dursleys this is heaven, really. I don't think I would be allowed to stay anywhere else for long. 'Protection' and that crap from Dumbledore, you know.'' Barty shook his head in disdain.

''That man...'' he growled. ''Never liked him. Somehow I was always one of his favourite students though, would you believe that? He gave me loads of points since I stood out in class. Not that he was still a teacher then, he would just find excuses to dish out points to his favoured few. He did get along splendidly with my old man too at one point, perhaps it was that. Got real chummy.'' Barty scowled at his empty plate, then laughed bitterly. ''Not so much anymore after dear father made a fool out of himself trying to hunt down every little trace he could find to regain the reputation I apparently ruined.''

''Sorry to hear that... I always wished so much to have had a chance to know my own parents that I sometimes forget about the possibility of that relationship not being ideal. I wonder if I would have disappointed them too...''

''With your life up until this point certainly not. You fought through a lot kid, I bet they'd be proud. They also wouldn't be able to fault you for reckless decisions or for following Dumbledore blindly, not when they both made those mistakes too.''

''You might have a point in that not everything about Dumbledore is so great as it looked like...'' Harry grudgingly admitted. ''That does not mean that I'll suddenly stop being his man, he's done a lot of good for this world too.''

''Exactly, everything about him is for the 'greater good'.''

While Harry didn't know what Barty meant with that exactly, he still asked: ''Doesn't Voldemort do the same? From what he told me it sounded as if he wants to be on top for the good of our kind, individual wishes be damned. I'd rather follow someone who'll treat me like a human being before throwing myself into a battle for them.''

''And have you seen any evidence of my Lord not treating me as such?''

''Well... that is.. not you specifically but...''

''Talking about war games dear?'' Heather suddenly said, having come up behind them. ''Would either of you still like to have dessert? Or a coffee perhaps?''

''No thanks, I'm good,'' Harry spoke, not feeling very hungry anymore after yet another talk about Dumbledore. They paid and left, all the while still discussing about the difference between the two powerful men. After walking all the way back, Harry still didn't see much of a dissimilarity between strategies other than that Voldemort used more control over the people under him. Barty insisted that Dumbledore used mind-tricks and other under-handed tactics like guilt tripping to get people to do his bidding. Even if that were true -which Harry couldn't deny either-, he still didn't think either way was good. What was actually concerning him more than anything, was that the difference between the man he'd trusted to take care of him and his friends, was hard to discern from the one who was claimed to be an evil tyrant.

That claim lessened its hold even more and they arrived back at Riddle House, where Voldemort ate - as dignified as possible- his lukewarm Indian take-away straight out of the aluminium tin.

So, the secret of Harry being Harry is completely out now :P And rituals are to come..
Please read and review!