Hello my lovelies. Thank you all so much for all the reviews again! Since I don't have time to post tomorrow, chapter is a day earlier than usual ^^
A thank you to my bètas for picking up on some plotholes in this chapter that I still managed to fix in time now ^^

Enjoy

Chapter nine: Rituals

Odd pains flashed through his head, a sharp stinging in his forehead. It hadn't been the first time, but he'd hoped that the potions would have cured these odd effects of the body he'd created after a while. It had been a painstaking process even with Wormtail's help, taking weeks to complete and, at the start, robbing him of nearly all of his leftover magical power, having to rely on Wormtail to move him around and feed the potion to him every couple of hours. That time had lessened over the weeks and his magic had returned, but there was still so little of it. Of course, he'd never let his outward frustration show to the others in the house, he had more pride than that...

With tremendous effort, he summoned a book, feeling sweat drip down his back at even a mere charm like this. He refused, however, to give up on nonverbal casting and wandless magic only because it would be easier. No, he needed to train it, of that he was certain. He'd already improved tremendously from where he'd started, able to finally take care of himself now with his most basic needs. While not easy, he managed... surely he'd lose the ounce of respect that he'd been shown by Potter before if the boy found out just how weak he still was. A shudder ran through him and he felt suddenly very, very weary, but did not give his body time to relax. He could sleep later, when the others were in the room again and Barty could keep watch, for now he needed to think.

Potter... was truly a mystery. The boy's feelings of righteousness, selflessness and justice stood in sharp contrast with the surprisingly deep thoughts he'd come forth with when discussing the punishment of his Death Eaters and the civility that he occasionally let glance through even when talking to him. Added to that his newfound knowledge of Potter's childhood and the extraordinary connection they both shared, and he had an enigma on his hands that he wasn't entirely sure of what to do with. Keeping Potter here was a good solution for now, now none would be suspicious of the boy not showing himself as long as Barty kept up his work of keeping Potter's friends at bay... that couldn't last forever. Latest at the end of August he'd need to make up his mind. Hopefully, the rituals would show the desired results and he could just send the boy back to school. With or without memories intact depending on how cooperative he'd been.

Sighing in frustration, he wondered if he'd grown emotionally weak too, to even consider letting the boy get on with his life after. Well, not entirely, he'd still need to be kept under watch, perhaps even protected if his theories were confirmed... but mostly having freedom of choice to pursue a peaceful life if Potter so wished. He certainly deserved it after those Muggles and Dumbledore's scheming. An angry hiss slipped past his lips at the thought of the old fool, who always knew so much better what was good for people, who knew just how to pull the right string to... well, string them up, if you would.

The whole arrangement with Potter and those Muggles was incredibly suspicious when Dumbledore had to have known about Black not being the Secret Keeper. As he'd told Potter before, he couldn't imagine who else had cast the charm in the first place. It was a piece of magic that needed extensive knowledge of Warding, it was hard to imagine the Potters themselves being apt in such a complicated branch of magic. He'd been utterly shocked when it was Wormtail who'd found him in Albania, thinking the man would have been the first one to be locked up. Even with the whole admittedly clever trick of faking his own death, he could barely believe that Black, former Auror and member of the Order, would be shipped off to Azkaban without a trial in Pettigrew's stead. Not that that was the only fishy thing, the whole ordeal with the stone had, in retrospect, also been put in place by Dumbledore, oddly enough more as a test for Potter than as a trap for himself. All very strange.

He made a frustrated noise, only getting more worked up by focusing on bloody Albus Dumbledore. If he wanted to think straight, he had to put that one low on his list of priorities. Getting to the Ministry would be more useful than infiltrating the school. Getting Barty into Hogwarts would have to be enough for now. He was still on the fence about Snape, and with Karkaroff being there too this year... It was a true shame that he would miss the entire event, he'd read about a few of the Tournaments and they'd all been grand displays of magic. Dangerous, deadly... showing the future generations promise in demonstrating what levels their magic could actually reach when they put in an effort. It had been an awful shame none had taken place during his own time at Hogwarts.

Alas, he couldn't afford such pleasantries if he didn't wish to expose himself... and while it was tempting to do so and get the respect he wished for, he'd have to soak up Barty's worship only for now. What he'd told Potter had been the truth: it couldn't go like last time or else they would all be jeopardised. He just hoped that the Muggles would not become dangerous enough within the next two to three decennia that they exposed magic, else he would have to revert back to his old strategies after all. He could only fully protect the Wizarding world once the Ministry had been sorted out, Hogwarts had better standards and international ties were strengthened to a point where mages were a united front. There was so much work to do... setting up shields on a national level and maintaining them for the rest of eternity was not a light task, he dreaded having to pour so much magic in defence when he really just wished to squish all the unworthy little runts...

Too many, there were just too many of them for that to ever work, he reminded himself, burying his weary face in his hands as another sharp sting of pain travelled through his head.

Balling them into fists and gritting his teeth, he summoned all magic that he could possibly muster around him, staring at the thick black aura. He was the Dark Lord, by Merlin. Chosen for this specific task in his early teens already, when the vision of Magic had granted him knowledge beyond measure. The memory of it ached his heart, the moment her presence had intruded all five dimensions simultaneously and given him a purpose, confirming what he'd known all those years and what Dumbledore had not wished to believe: that he was meant for higher things. He clung to that validation, to the absolutely certainty that what he was doing was what She wished for, that everything he did was to ensure Her kind would survive. He took in a shuddering breath and calmed his magic again, which settled around him like a blanket. It vaguely reminded him of the times Potter had taken care of him, held him even... it had felt good to be the one to be protected for once. Swallowing thickly, he finally cracked open the book he'd summoned a few minutes ago, yet couldn't concentrate on the words, odd feelings and pains infiltrating his mind. Then, he froze as an emotion of pure dread washed over him, one that was not his own. His jaw clenched and his eyes widened as he recognised the subtle feeling of another presence in his mind.

Harry woke with a scream that tore through the house, his pillow soaked in blood and reeking strongly of it. An equally strong roar followed as Voldemort forcefully threw Harry out of his mind completely and for a few, terrifying seconds during wakefulness, Harry saw double: his new bedroom and Voldemort's room overlapped in his vision until finally the latter faded and he just sat there clenching the clammy bed sheets.

''What the hell was that?'' he exclaimed to himself, panicking. He didn't care for the loud bangs of Barty running through the house to check on Voldemort, Harry dragged himself to the mirror to make sure he was really himself again. Completely shaken, his mind raced over what had just transpired. He'd been asleep and, more importantly, in Voldemort's head.

It hadn't been the first time, he realised with a start, as if a bucket of water was emptied over his head. The dream he'd had and couldn't recall on the very night that Hedwig had brought him Wormtail had been much the same, hadn't it been? His scar had hurt after too, albeit not as badly. He'd seen Nagini, heard Voldemort's whispering... although he couldn't recall being in Voldemort's head that time. Then again, it hadn't left as much of an impression as this one.

This one sent his mind reeling. All of Voldemort's thoughts, his insecurities, his fucking memories, had flooded into Harry's mind. He gasped as he recalled the pure magic the man had summoned. His actual magic had been corporeal, it was insane! And then the flashes of Magic, a being that... Harry broke off his own thoughts, not able to fully comprehend exactly what it was that Voldemort had seen, only his thoughts after.

The door slammed open again, with Barty looking furious, holding Voldemort in his arms, wrapped in his soft, black blanket. Anger melted away when his eyes fell upon Harry's shaken form, upon the half-dried blood smeared across the face and upon the haunted eyes that Harry had observed himself mere moments ago in the mirror. ''Merlin, Evan, you...''

''Put me down on the bed, Bartemius,'' Voldemort spoke, looking far too calm with the whole situation. Knowing now how good the man was exactly in hiding his every emotion, be it fatigue or stress, Harry became very wary of the neutral tone. He didn't exactly want the creature touching his bed, but he was in no position to protest either. That also brought back nauseating thoughts on the man's contemplations on how nice it had felt in Harry's arms... ''Evan, come here.'' With dragging steps, Harry complied, giving Barty a fearful look that was only met with a worried frown. Awkwardly, he stood in front of Voldemort, looking down upon the tiny, terrifying being. He recalled the magic this man had performed, without a wand, without uttering a single spell, combined with the frustrated thoughts of Voldemort about this only being a sliver of his true powers. ''Kneel.''

Any other day, Harry would have refused such a command, would have put up a fight against being controlled. Now, he merely sank to the floor, grateful for not having to force his legs to hold himself up anymore. The teen flinched when Voldemort reached out, certain that the white in his eyes was showing and his breathing was far too fast. The other slowed down, inching closer until his fingers found Harry's face and brushed aside the sweaty locks of hair that concealed his scar. Harry wondered if they would both burn each other again, but nothing of the sort happened. The man didn't even touch his skin. ''Tergeo,'' Voldemort muttered. Harry froze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat, until he felt the sticky blood disappearing from his face. ''Lenio.'' An opal light engulfed him and Harry felt the pain in his scar numbing down to a more tolerable level.

''Now, we can talk. Look at me.''

As soon as Harry looked into Voldemort's piercing red eyes, he could see the contained fury simmering beneath. ''It wasn't on purpose, I swear it,'' he pleaded. ''I know how awful it is to have one's privacy intruded, I didn't want... I mean, I don't even know what happened, I was asleep!'' Voldemort cut off his rant with a single raised finger, which Harry eyed suspiciously.

''What exactly do you remember from this encounter? How much information did you gather?'

''I.. erhm...'' Harry tried his best to recall. ''It's not exactly coherent,'' he explained, nervously fiddling with his robes. ''Like with most dreams, I don't know the exact moment when I was suddenly you. I remember you thinking about lots of things, from Wormtail, to getting a body, to... well, what to do with me. Then some thoughts about Dumbledore and... Sirius?'' he fell silent for a moment, the exact thoughts coming back to him in full now, horrifying him even further. ''You thought...'' he gasped. ''That Dumbledore willingly put Sirius in Azkaban to stick me with the Dursleys?''

''It's one probable explanation,'' Voldemort curtly replied. ''He had the power to protect Black and didn't. As a result, you came into a Muggle home and the first people you met were those he put into your path. Am I correct in the assumption in that one of the Hogwarts teachers was the first to introduce you to our world?''

''Half?'' Harry said, confused. ''It was Hagrid actually. He wasn't a teacher yet back then.''

''Hagrid,'' Voldemort groaned. ''Of course, who else would have more devotion to Dumbledore than Hagrid. Continue.''

''You thought of... Magic,'' Harry spoke, unsure. ''I didn't really... understand a lot of it. You are afraid that Muggles could be our demise and got a sort of task by Magic?''

''Of course,'' Barty interrupted. ''How else did he become the Dark Lord?''

Harry struggled with himself. ''From what I was told, it was just a title that he.. you, I mean,'' he hastily corrected himself, looking at Voldemort again, ''bestowed upon yourself.''

The man huffed, actually huffed at that. ''Dumbledore would say that. He is just sour that he was never granted the position of Light Lord, and acts like it without any sort of validation. Who knows, perhaps it isn't even that and he honestly has no clue about Lords and thinks that I granted myself this title out of arrogance, just like Grindelwald did. That's the problem with Lords... only they themselves know whether they were actually chosen. Many people believe that a witch or wizard can attain Lord status by being powerful enough and having certain political beliefs.''

''You're saying that Grindelwald wasn't a Dark Lord?''

''Not a chosen one, not one that Magic picked. The difference is easy to tell when you know what to look for. Simultaneously with being granted the title of Lord, I was given both a task and a gift. The gift being pure magic, directly from its source.'' Voldemort smiled. When he next spoke, it was with utter reverence. ''Her magic is indescribable, and I am one of few who experienced it. Such greatness... to wear it is a responsibility of its own.''

Harry found it all hard to wrap his head around, even with the thoughts and feelings he'd experienced prior, in Voldemort's own head. ''So how would people know?'' he asked. ''About fake Lords and true Lords and whatnot? And if you are the Dark Lord, who is even the Light lord if it's not Dumbledore?''

''What you first need to understand is that this is a matter of long-spread balance,'' the man said, not replying directly to the question. ''That I am the Dark Lord does not mean that I need a direct counterpart, that isn't how it works. At certain times in history, at certain places in the world, Magic becomes unbalanced, either due to mages of one type getting more children, or wars breaking out. At crucial moments like these, Lords are chosen, either Dark or Light, to pull it back into the other direction. Or, in my case, to also counter threats from outside of our own community. Muggles,'' he explained, showing a hint of annoyance at Harry's incomprehensible look. ''So as you see, it would be counterproductive to have both a Dark and a Light Lord at the same time, in the same place. Until the balance settles and then falls dramatically to one direction or the other again, there shall be no other Lord.''

''But you are immortal,'' Harry protested. ''You said so yourself! If you will always remain the Dark Lord...''

''That I live does not necessarily mean that I shall keep the title,'' Voldemort spoke, regret tingeing his voice. ''Plenty of Lords completed their tasks and lived out the rest of their lives as ordinary humans. Well, as ordinary as a powerful witch or wizard can be. Perhaps I shall remain a Lord in name only, just like Grindelwald used to be... but I shall lose the magical authority that comes with the real title once I finish pulling this country back into balance. Granted, from what I have seen, I have a long way to go. Grindelwald's war was what caused this all in the first place: he rallied both dark and neutral parties against anyone with lower blood and when he failed, only Light magic was deemed legal to practise anymore. That also weakened our defences against Muggles, since most magic used to hide ourselves and separate ourselves from Muggles has roots in Blood magic.''

''So you are the only Lord, and will be until you... fix this?'' Harry summarised, uncertain of what to make of it.

''In this part of the world, yes, not everywhere. I know for a fact that there is currently a Light Lord in Colombia, as many Dark wizards banded together there to overthrow the previously neutral government. In doing so, they corrupted parts of the land and the minds of the people, magicians and Muggle alike. That, however, is not my battle, and neither she nor I intend to clash with each other during our lifetimes despite that perhaps being expected by people who only hear 'Dark and Light Lords'.''

''That... that is a lot to take in.''

''Did you see anything else in my mind still?''

Harry frowned, thinking hard on it. The thought about Voldemort's comment about wishing to be protected for once fluttered through his mind and was squashed. Surely that wasn't important enough to mention. ''No, that was everything.''

Voldemort's look hardened and he hissed, his hand shooting out and a nail digging into Harry's forehead, this time making his skull split open in pain. ''I allowed you to get away with this, I offered up answers readily, and now you lie to me boy? You ungrateful little-'' It was almost as if Voldemort didn't also hurt from this contact.

''It's not important!'' Harry yelled in sudden deference. The fear that he should have felt melted away now. If he'd be tortured for this, he'd readily accept the pain once more even knowing how bad it was. ''It's only a little piece... please.''

''Tell me,'' Voldemort hissed, leaning forwards. Harry's eyes flicked to Barty instead.

''Only... only if we're alone,'' he muttered, feeling himself getting red. Merlin, why must Voldemort force something so embarrassing out of him? At Barty's hurt look, Harry instantly continued, trying to bite through the pain: ''It's not that I don't trust you Barty, it's only rather... personal.''

Voldemort didn't remove his finger despite it shaking and a hiss leaving the man's throat in obvious discomfort. He gave Harry a hard look. ''Wait outside, Bartemius. If I deem it necessary, I shall inform you later.'' Reluctantly, the Death Eater went towards the door again.

''My Lord, if anything happens...''

''I can take care of myself.'' Another hurt flash went through Barty's eyes and Harry wanted to sink through the floor. He really hadn't meant to wound his new.. what, friend? Especially not after yesterday, where Barty had been so kind as to take him out for bloody dinner for his birthday. Harry released a long breath as the door shut close rather harshly and the finger was at long last removed, dulling the pain instantly. Voldemort lifted his other hand and cast another spell. ''Silencing barrier,'' he explained. ''Well?''

''Don't you already know what I'm going to say?'' he muttered angrily. ''Why force me to speak it out loud?''

''I, in fact, have no idea what you are hiding. I could easily look into your head to find it, naturally, but as you said before, invading privacy is an 'awful thing to do'.''

''Then how...''

''I can tell when people lie to me. I do not know the specifics.''

''Then.. Merlin this is embarrassing, you're going to regret asking later,'' Harry said, getting even warmer. Voldemort merely raised a challenging, hairless eyebrow and threateningly lifted his finger again. ''Okay! Fine, I know you thought about how great it was for me to cuddle you, okay?'' he spat out. ''And it's really weird.'' He refused to meet the man's eyes. ''That you wanted to feel safe and protected and I provided that and...'' he was at a loss for words.

''Why was that so hard to say?'' Voldemort said softly. Confused, Harry looked up, wishing he hadn't when he couldn't read the other at all.

''I'm sorry?''

''Was my wish too human for you to demonise me further?''

''I...'' Harry struggled. ''I just thought... you also thought that you didn't want to be seen as weak. Didn't you think emotions make one weak? Should I just have taken the chance that you'd blow up on me exposing a weakness to one of your followers?''

Voldemort chuckled at that. ''Barty already knows many of my weaknesses and does not think me lesser for them. ''Yes, emotions can be liabilities when not under control. Emotions themselves however, are necessary to make proper decisions. If one cannot empathise at all, how could one rule a country of people who all have different needs, desires, emotions? If I could not empathise, why would I have tried to grant Severus' request of keeping your mother alive? Why would I have left you alone when we were in the castle together for an entire year until you actively came after me with clues you pieced together from Dumbledore and his men? I was trying to be... considerate.''

''But... but you didn't leave me alone! The forest-''

''You mean that very dangerous trip to the Forbidden Forest in which usually students aren't even allowed to go? That trip where you had specific orders to search for wounded unicorns, the one thing that I happened to hunt back then to survive, entirely known by the centaurs and thus, Dumbledore? That trip where you came face to face to me and I didn't cast a single spell on you? I wished to scare you away, foolish child, not kill you. Oh, I was undeniably furious with the fact that you were the reason why I was in that state in the first place... but that wouldn't be entirely fair to you either and thus I restrained myself from taking it out on you. I didn't know, after all, if the prophecy still stood and how it could affect us, I still do not know. It could have been brought about by your parents, or orchestrated by Dumbledore instead. I was no longer after you until you barged into that room and snatched the stone away right in front of me and caused me to lose both a follower and an earlier attempt of regaining a body. You may recall that directly after, I fled and didn't bother you at all anymore until you, again, barged in here.''

''In my second year, the Chamber... that was you too!'' Harry defied him, entirely confused about how logical it all sounded. He'd been so certain of that Voldemort had been a constant threat...

''That was a powerful artefact created by me and given to someone for safekeeping. That he broke his word and brought it into the school does not mean that I had my hand in this personally.''

''So Lucius really is your man huh? That doesn't speak for you very much either, sadistic bastard that he is.''

Voldemort growled. ''This is getting nowhere, no matter was I say or do, you cling to the beliefs that you received by others. I shall leave now, come downstairs in half an hour, we shall begin the first ritual. I will not waste more of my breath today to try and convince you. Bartemius!''

After both men had left, Harry collapsed upon his bed and covered his face much like Voldemort had done in his dreams. This was all so surreal. Talks of prophecies and Lords, Magic herself giving Voldemort tasks... in all of his time at Hogwarts he hadn't even once heard a mention of this. Nothing in History of Magic, nothing in Defence Against the Dark Arts, not even in damned Divination. How could he find another source to confirm the man's words?

Harry rolled to his side and looked at the closed door. Did he even need to though, he hesitantly wondered. After all, he'd seen it all in Voldemort's own head, it wasn't as if the man had tried to feed him ideas willingly this time. Harry had invaded his mind and seen for himself, Voldemort's thoughts on all of those topics. Accepting it however, would mean that Albus Dumbledore had betrayed Harry on more than one occasion, set him up and left him to fend for himself knowingly as part of some grand scheme to trust the Headmaster. And if that really was the truth, how many others could he not truly trust? Who else was in on this?

Not Sirius.

The thought struck him like lightening. If Voldemort's theory was correct, then Dumbledore had used Sirius as much as he'd used Harry. He'd all but handed the man over to the Dementors. Was that why the Headmaster had given Harry and Hermione a hint as to how to save the man the second time around? To not only cover up that he'd been responsible for Sirius, but also to make both Harry and his godfather believe in Dumbledore's good intentions? It was possible, he reluctantly admitted. Following that, the only logical conclusion was that Sirius was definitely not trying to manipulate Harry. It felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders at that thought. No matter what, he had at least one adult that he could trust. Although Barty was also turning out to be pretty dependable. His only flaw was putting Voldemort's needs before anyone else's. Harry desperately wished that he could just send a letter out to Sirius, but wasn't even allowed to see Hedwig anymore, whom Barty apparently kept in the attic and fed a couple of times a day.

With only half an hour to think and get ready, Harry quickly tried to sort out his other thoughts. He couldn't say much about the whole thing of Lords and Magic, though it sounded plausible enough and Voldemort seriously believed it himself to the depth of his core, of that Harry was certain. Whether something was really to it or if the Dark Lord was following some drug-induced dream from his teenage potion experiments remained to be seen. Then there had been the thoughts about Harry specifically, which were.. odd, and hadn't even been discussed right now. From what Harry had gathered, the man planned to just let him... go? That was unexpected and yet, fit both with what he'd heard right before about Voldemort not really actively being after him in the first place and with Barty's statement of that Voldemort let Harry stay here, more to give him a break than anything else. The question remained: Why? Surely, it wasn't out of the pure goodness of his heart? Was it guilt then? Also rather hard to believe...

He'd have to ask about that another time, Harry decided. He wasn't going to come up with any logical reasons on his own. His thoughts briefly stopped on Voldemort's whole take on emotions. It looked like once again, Dumbledore had not been truthful in what he'd told Harry. Incapable of feeling, my arse, Harry bitterly thought. He'd first-hand experienced the Dark Lord's emotions now, a whole slew of them.

Dumbledore brought him to another point: what was he going to do if he was let go at the end of August? He still had an entire month to think about it of course, but that didn't keep him from wondering and worrying now. Should he confront the Headmaster about what he knew? Should he keep Voldemort's return a secret from the other? Just the fact that that was a possible reaction made him unsure. Not revealing to anyone that the Dark Lord had returned felt wrong, especially since so many he knew had been hurt by the man, had had their families torn apart during the war. Even so, he was pretty certain that that wouldn't happen this time around anymore... The views he'd told the other man about his belief in second chances was also still valid, even when it was about someone like Voldemort. Also, he added in afterthought to himself. If he'd reveal Voldemort's return, Dumbledore would be the last person he'd trust with that, he'd rather go straight to the Auror department like he'd done with Pettigrew.

His brooding wasn't quite finished yet when he finally showed up downstairs, but he didn't have a choice. Despite given a time limit of thirty minutes, he didn't actually have a way to keep track of time with his wand still being confiscated by Voldemort and no clock in the house working apart from the wind-up one in Voldemort's room. Thus, he went down rather quickly, just to be certain he wouldn't be late. It was instantly clear where he should go, sprigs and branches that Harry could not identify placed in the hallway, leading down to a room in the back of the house that he hadn't been to yet, always having assumed that there were only storage rooms and such. Upon arrival, he was proven wrong, finding a glass hexagonal veranda attached to the back wing, the tiles warm beneath his feet from the sunlight that shone through the ceiling. Once, this had been a place of beauty, he concluded upon seeing dozens of flowerpots standing and hanging everywhere. It had functioned like an orangery of sorts if he wasn't mistaken, a luxury that wasn't uncommon for the upper class to have out of pure status desires. He'd never seen one before, yet could in his mind picture how it must have looked.

In the middle of the tiles was a large circle, formed by more sprigs, of which he recognised a few this time, such as holly. Hesitantly, he looked at the glass walls and doors that surrounded him on three sides. Wouldn't any Muggles be able to pass by here? Or did the fields in the back really all belong to the Riddle property? He tried to see the neighbouring mansion, but it was conveniently blocked by another edge of wall to the far left side of the manor. Practising magic so openly still didn't sit well with him.

''Nice sight huh?'' Barty answered, coming in, carrying Voldemort and putting the man down on a chair that was hewn out of a solid piece of tree trunk, sanded down and lacquered on the inside to form a comfortable seat.

''A bit... exposed,'' Harry hesitantly said.

''It is the only place where we will be getting enough direct sunlight for this ritual,'' Voldemort explained. ''Many spells are affected by seasons and the time of the day. Sun- and moonlight can be vital not only with picking potion ingredients, but also with things like these.''

''And what are things like these exactly?'' Harry asked nervously.

''Soul magic. More specifically, soul connection magic. I would have used moonlight if I'd been on my own but... considering the pain in your scar, we may be incompatible.''

''For what?'' Harry asked again, his voice shifting to a much higher pitch, not liking the sound of having to be compatible to Voldemort with anything.

''Where has your Gryffindor bravery gone, boy?'' the amusement was audible.

''Evan, you can do this,'' Barty encouraged him. Harry just gave him a doubtful look. It would be far more encouraging to have been told beforehand what he was exactly going to be subjected by.

~Nagini!'~ Upon being called out by her master, the snake, who had apparently been present already, slithered out from behind a heap of logs she'd been hiding at.

''Sit down in the circle for now, Evan, and just talk to her. I wish to merely observe you for a while first. It doesn't matter what you speak about.''

That was easy for him to say, Harry decided as he drew a blank on topics he could easily talk about with a snake. The only things he wanted to ask her were personal things about Voldemort but he didn't think that would go over well. Thankfully, she seemed to solve that problem for him: ~Harrison, it's been a while.~ The tone was accusing already. Great.

~I know, I'm very sorry.~ He actually was, a bit, she'd been nice to him. ~We can speak for a bit now though... Is there anything you'd like to talk about?~

She hissed softly, not an actual word, only a sign of thinking. ~When did you first speak?~

''Oh, erhm...'' he said, a bit surprised by the question, slipping back into English as Parseltongue didn't have much leeway for filler words. ~When I was ten, right before turning eleven. I was in a zoo and there was this very large snake that looked incredibly bored. I said something about my stupid cousin who'd been annoying the snake by tapping at the glass... and then we kind of struck up a conversation until my cousin interrupted it.~

~So you couldn't always speak?~

~I don't know,~ Harry hissed. ~It's not as if there are many wild snakes in England, not in the place I lived in anyways. I'd never seen a snake before, it's possible that I could always do it.~

~I still wanted to thank you for taking care of Marvolo~, she spoke, then was halted by a long warning hiss from Voldemort. Nagini ignored it. ~You did him a great service, and I will always be indebted to you.~ Harry blinked. The sincere thanks came out of the blue and he didn't know what to do with it. It wasn't as if he had actually done it to help the man.

~Thank you~ he still replied, cringing inwardly. ~I'm sure you did much more for him though.~

~That's enough, Nagini. Assume your position. And... Harrison, look into her eyes without blinking.~ Harry did as he was told, smiling slightly at the name despite his nerves. It was somehow touching that Voldemort still wished to let Nagini believe the tale that Harry had spun at the start, to not hurt her or think that Harry had betrayed anyone. His eyes instantly started to water as he did his best to not blink, the sunlight that shone in his eyes not making it much easier.

~Now, do exactly as I say... start moving your head from left to right. Yes, like that. Place your hands upon the floor, palms down and feel the warmth. Pull it out, draw it towards you using your magic.~ he halted for a moment as Harry tried his best to do so, not entirely sure what he was doing and how he could 'pull magic out'. ~Concentrate only on the warmth, imagine it travelling up your hands, through your arms and into your chest.~ those were more helpful instructions to follow, so he did as told and gasped when it worked, a heat moving underneath his skin. ~Stretch out your hands and, much in the same fashion as before, release the warmth onto Nagini's head while saying in Parseltongue, 'Bond'.~ Harry tried to do so, letting the heat seep into the scales on top of the snake's head, who closed her eyes as she basked in the warmth.

~Bond~ he spoke, loud and clear. Nothing happened. He didn't feel anything either and looked over to Voldemort, unsure of himself.

''Good,'' the man spoke. ''That clears up one of my questions, although I had figured from the way you have to focus on Nagini to even speak Parsel.''

''Figured what?''

''The deal was for me to perhaps share my findings with you after you successfully complete these rituals. Not in the middle of it when I don't know yet if you'll see it through to the end. As for the next part... ~Nagini, remove yourself from the circle. Harrison, stay.~ Harry got the feeling that the man got an intense pleasure out of commanding him around. ''Evan, take a piece of blackthorn and one of rowan.''

Looking at all the different branches around him, he hesitated, able to identify the rowan due to its distinctive leaves and having used it in potions before, but having no clue about blackthorn. There were a couple of thorny things lying around...

''That's Hawthorn,'' Voldemort sighed. ''Bartemius, help him.''

With a muttered 'M'Lord', Barty went up to Harry and nudge a particular branch his way, which Harry picked up with flushed cheeks. ''Sorry,'' he muttered, mortified about not even being able to identify simple things like plants. He sat with the two branches in each hand, feeling a bit stupid as he waited for the next instructions.

''Hold out the branches in front of you, yes, like that. Wands can transfer and focus our magic through its core, but the properties of the wood itself are what determines how strong spells of a certain type will be, and how loyal the wand is to its master. It is why wand makers can use a small selection of cores but need to have wands of all wood types in stock if they wish to ensure everyone finds a perfect match. The wood alone, without core, can still hold and transfer pure magic even if it cannot focus spells. You shall now do nearly the same as before, only transferring magic from your core into Nagini instead of warmth. ~Dear, bite down on the sticks, will you?~ The branches shook from the force as she struck down on them, fangs piercing the wood.

''Blackthorn is for discipline and control, Rowan for connection. Try, through this, to form a connection to Nagini's magic. Push your own magic through the branches and try to pull hers towards you.'' The snake looked at Harry with expectancy, so he gripped the branches as tightly as possible and concentrated. Voldemort's words about feeling the flow of warmth helped him to push his magic to the surface. Part of it was also remembering how Voldemort had done it while Harry had looked through the man's eyes. Harry had never in his life called upon only magic, he'd always wished for the result instead. It was quite the eye-opener.

He felt... something, this time. His head became light and his vision blurred a bit. Far away, he could hear Voldemort hissing in Parseltongue again, only now he didn't understand it very well. Odd. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he became aware of pain that spread out from his back to his limbs, as if he was being carved into. It continued for a long time, longer than he could recall this day being. Floating into nothingness, he smiled, stretching out a hand. The pain didn't bother him very much, hardly anything bothered him still...

With sudden clarity, he saw himself, slumped over and still clinging to the sticks in his hands. No, in between his teeth? Harry uncoiled himself and let go of the wood, horrified when his body fell to the ground, blood seeping from his back. He was in a state of panic now, swinging his head from left to right. It was warm here, comfortably so, but he still didn't want to stay. Looking up, he recognised his master. No, Voldemort, who watched with curiosity. He wished to go to the man, let himself be pet again, make sure that Marvolo was alright.

~Calm down~ All panic left and he obeyed, having no other choice at the compelling words. He put his head on the stone tiles, waiting, watching. ~Good. Separate yourself from Nagini, Harrison.~

Harrison? Was that his name?

~You are your own person, your body lies there. Return to it. Take hold of the branches again and travel over.~

Feeling nothing but mere curiosity now, Harrison did as he was told, gently taking the sticks and biting down again where punctures left by his teeth already dented the wood. It didn't take very long until he found himself scrambling up again in his own body - a confusing body, with far too many limbs. It took him a moment to recall that it was normal to have two legs and two arms. ''What...'' he said shakily as Nagini slithered away, unperturbed by the whole experience. ''What the hell was that?''

''Later. Carefully put the tips of those branches to the ground and let any access magic flow out.'' Following the orders, Harry more clung onto the wood in hope of not falling over again than anything else. His back was burning and his head spun. It was a good thing he listened to the advice of not eating, the out-of-body experience in Nagini had been a dozen times worse than looking through Voldemort's eyes had been. When finally drained, Barty broke the circle and hauled Harry to his feet.

''Go easy kid,'' he spoke. ''Don't fall unconscious here yeah?''

''Too.. hot,'' Harry mumbled, half out of it. After experiencing the room through Nagini's cold-blooded body, which was perfectly adapted to the room temperature, the heat was just stifling to his already warm blood.

''We'll get you out of here, just work a bit with me, 'kay?'' Half-leaning on the other man, Harry stumbled inside, sighing in relief as cool air hit his face. With a few flicks of Barty's wand, the old leather couch, which they'd shoved aside to make room, zoomed towards them and was cleaned. It wasn't entirely comfortable, but probably better right now than being put on the heap of blankets and pillows they'd arranged on the ground. A few moments later, Voldemort came into his blurred line of vision, sitting on a chair next to him.

''How'd I end up half-naked?'' Harry blurted out, only having realised it when his back his the leather.

''I didn't think it would calm your nerves to know I'd be carving in your back, so I removed it after you were in a trance and couldn't feel it anymore,'' Voldemort explained, showing a small, bloody dagger.

''Still... hurt,'' he grumbled back. ''Wha'appened?''

''Hmm, you did perform to the best of your abilities...'' the man spoke with a tone that suggested Harry's best was very disappointing. ''I suppose I can tell you a part. I wished to first and foremost find out where you being a Parselmouth comes from. While I had the idea that you could have received it from me, I could not rule out you being a natural speaker, with the Potter family mingling here and there. Today disproved that theory, you are not a naturally-born Parselmouth and, as a result, cannot use magic specifically designed in Parseltongue either. The second part of the ritual...'' he hesitated, then continued with a stronger voice. ''I'm putting a lot of faith in you here, but this does regard both of us. I wished to see if you could have the same connection to Nagini as you have with me, for Nagini and I are linked in the same way that I suspect the two of us are. Since you succeeded in taking over her body, I have the first step towards conformation. Tomorrow I still wish to try something else, since I cannot be one hundred percent certain yet from this alone.''

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his head clear enough to take everything in. He could see through Nagini's eyes like through Voldemort's? Did that mean he and Nagini also had the same connection? He didn't grasp why. His head was pounding again too, not helping him very much either. Letting his head fall back on the couch, he was lulled to blissful oblivion, unaware of Barty taking care to turn him over so Voldemort could heal his back. He woke to the smell of food and sat up, still feeling dizzy. He suspected that not having eating since yesterday evening also played a role in that.

He had no idea what time it was other than time for food, as his rumbling stomach kept telling him. Making his way to the kitchen, Harry was surprised to find it completely empty. Turning around, he tried to locate the smell and found himself being drawn back to the warm veranda. The circle was gone now, a cauldron standing in the middle, bubbling away, Voldemort sitting closely next to it with his wand pointed at the broth.

''Evan, good to see you have recovered. Go outside and gather an armful of barley. I located a full field about ten minutes from here, just keep walking straight. I expect you to return in thirty so hurry if you don't wish to have any... unpleasant consequences. There is a sickle to the side for cutting the stems.''

''What are you making?'' Harry asked, trying to peer into the cauldron.

''You shall see in thirty minutes if you come back with the grain,''

Sulking slightly at the answer and at the fact that it didn't look like his hunger was going to get stilled soon, Harry took the small hand-sickle and opened the door leading outside, stepping into the back field, which was filled with knee-high grass. He waded through it in a hurry, not feeling like being dragged back to the house by the invisible magic around his throat. What was going on that Voldemort needed grain of all things? It was certainly not a common potion ingredient...

He enjoyed the walk, glad to have some time to himself now, although he tried not to dwell on the sense of freedom too much. Harry was very well aware of that he was walking on a leash at the moment. Still, the sounds of crickets starting to chirp, the warm wind on his skin and the vast sky above him that was slowly starting to turn a darker blue on the horizon felt so good. He soon found the field and ducked right into it, hoping he would not be spotted stealing barley by any angry farmers. It did not look like anyone was up and about however. As Voldemort had asked for an armful, he took as much as he could carry, not wanting to be yelled at for not doing his job properly. The trek back was slightly harder as he struggled to hold the bundle together, especially as he still had to be careful where he stepped. The worn-down earthen tracks, which looked like they had been created by the large tires of a tractor of sorts, were not very steady. Finally, he made it back, the floor around Voldemort now littered with round, green candles that reminded Harry of apples a bit due to their shape and size.

''Are we doing another ritual already?'' he asked nervously.

''Yes and no... it is a ritual, technically, but not one that concerns you very much. You are welcome to participate of course. It is Lughnasadh after all.''

''And that is...?'' Harry said on a trailing off, questioning note.

''The harvest celebration, also known as Lammas by some Muggles. Merlin, I had expected you to have celebrated it last year during summer. Were you stuck with your family then too?''

''Actually, no, I was with the Weasleys,'' Harry shrugged. ''They didn't celebrate anything for harvest. I mean, they're not farmers...''

Voldemort sighed. ''Lughnasadh marks the end of summer and used to be an important tradition and celebration for magicians, much like Samhain and Yule... which unfortunately have been replaced by their Muggle equivalents of Halloween and Christmas at Hogwarts,'' Voldemort grimaced. ''I'm not sorry for letting Quirinius interrupt your first Hogwarts celebration since they made a farce of what the feast is supposed to be.''

''Every generation does things a bit differently,'' Harry protested.

''Understandable, but when Magic herself feels shunned by her children, those changes went too far and are fundamentally wrong. Put the grain down here, on the cleaned stones, and go inside for a bit, this might get messy and I'd rather not have you covered in flour.''

''Flour?'' Harry asked incredulously.

''Yes child, flour,'' Voldemort snapped. ''Inside with you, I'm trying to bake.''

The strangest image of Mrs. Weasley running around her kitchen with Voldemort's head shot through his mind and Harry ducked inside quickly to not burst out into sniggers in front of the Dark Lord. He wandered around the house for a while, ending up in the kitchen where he stilled the worst of his hunger with a hunk of cheese and an apple, not trusting Voldemort's magical baking skills very much. Although Harry sure was curious how one baked bread in a cauldron, especially without adding any flour for so long.

''Hey kid, ready for the feast?'' Barty said, jumping into the kitchen, looking incredibly excited and scaring the living hell out of Harry.

''Damn it, you nearly gave me a heart attack!''

''Sorry,'' the man said very unapologetically. ''It is the first time in years that I will celebrate together with our Lord,'' he smiled. ''It brings back so many memories...''

''He used to do this sort of thing more often?''

''Of course! Any magician who thought of magic being worth a damn would sit together and honour Magic for her gifts on all of the Greater Sabbats at least, and often having smaller home celebrations for the Lesser ones. Although Yule and Ostara were also always celebrated with grand feasts despite being Lesser actually, mainly due to Muggle influence.''

''Some of my best friends come from Pureblood families and still didn't celebrate it,'' Harry said in defence to the Weasleys.''

''Yeah, neither did my family. I'm incredibly glad I got to know better wizards and witches,'' Barty just commented. ''Come on, you can come help me carry the whisky and the spell bottles.''

''Whisky? I certainly hope you don't plan on getting drunk.''

''Of course we'll get drunk! I haven't had the opportunity to get smashed in a decade, do grant me some fun!''

''There's no 'we' about it, I'm thirteen!''

''Fourteen today,'' Barty chirped. ''Congrats on that. Sorry that rituals got in the way.''

''That's... that's alright, you already got me dinner yesterday for it,'' Harry muttered. ''That is a lot more than I had expected this year in the first place. It might give trouble though, my friends often send me gifts. They might become wary if I am not there to receive them or don't write back.''

''That's all been taken care of. You wrote your family a letter that you'd be gone for a while did you not? Your friends have been informed.''

''What? Wait, how do you even know that!''

''Come on Evan, you don't really think that the Dark Lord would risk you being found missing and having search parties sent out, do you? From what I heard, Dumbledore wasn't very happy with your sudden escapade, but cannot do anything about it and will not waste resources trying to find you, since you've apparently left of your own free will.''

''You...'' Harry said, getting worked up. ''You wrote my friends letters? Without even asking me?''

''Look, I don't get why you're so surprised. You know that we want you to stay here for a while still, would you rather they be worried sick and then hound you for answers when you return?''

''Well, no but-''

''See? Everything fine and dandy then. Come now, it will really go faster if you carry some stuff too and tell Nagini to join us. I'd rather not get misunderstood when trying to shove her off the stairs.''

Letting the topic rest -for now- Harry helped the man with further preparations until Voldemort told the both of them to join him. More than an hour had passed since Harry had delivered the grain, from which only the stalks were left now. In the cauldron sat a large bread that smelled strongly of cinnamon and apples and which could have fed an entire family judging by the size. Harry tried not to think of all the other foul potion ingredients that had surely touched the inside of that cauldron such as pickled slugs, armadillo bile and bat spleens. He didn't succeed very well once he started trying his best to not think of it, the list of possible ingredients unhelpfully becoming longer in his head. As he sat down, he tried to focus on Voldemort rather than his own mind, which now continued with toad brain, mercury, gnat heads and horklump juice.

Voldemort waved his wand, the grass from the field outside growing considerably and making its way in, covering the tiles with a soft layer of grass, on which Barty sat down instantly, looking at his Lord with clear adoration. A few flicks later and the candles were lit, the firewhisky had been poured into three glasses and the cauldron melted away, leaving only the bread, which now rested on a conjured wooden platter. The smell of cinnamon increased as a quick Diffindo cut three slices out of it which floated over to everyone. Harry snatched his piece out of the air, finding it had more of a cake consistency than anything else. As his stomach rumbled yet again, the annoying voice in his head -which for some reason sounded a bit like Colin Creevey- reminded him of frog spawn and rat tails.

A ripple went through the air that shocked Harry out of his thoughts and he looked at Voldemort, who had his eyes closed now, seeming to concentrate on breathing in and out deeply. Another wave went through the room and Harry realised that he was feeling the man's pure magic. His thoughts stilled at last and he enjoyed wave after wave, pleasant tingles running down his back with each one. Barty leaned back with closed eyes too, enjoying it far more openly. The sky outside had turned orange by now, the sun slowly setting and clouds forming in the sky that promised rainfall in the coming days. The candles around them flickered as a low hum started. For a few moments, Harry thought it came from Voldemort's magic vibrating through his body. Then, he noticed that while Voldemort was the source, it came from his mouth instead, which opened now and released a chant of low notes - far lower than Harry had thought possible considering the typically high, cold voice - before the man started a slow, deep song.

Fields of gold,
waves of grain,
the summer comes to a close.

Oh God of the earth,
teach me the secrets of sacrifice,
as you deliver yourself to the knife.

Oh Goddess of the dark moon,
teach me the secrets of rebirth
as the sun loses its strength
and the night grows cold

Fields of brass
waves of stalks,
The autumn finds its start

As Voldemort grew silent and bowed his head, Barty sat up straighter and raised his hands, reciting rather than singing:

''I call upon the mages of the past,
those who would stand up and fight,
those who would do what is needed,
those who would die so that others may live.
Great Mother of Magic,
My gratitude for the gift you gave me
to protect those I hold dear on these waning days.
We honour you in this time of harvest,
and set our tables with your bounty full.''

He fell silent too and Harry felt quite self-conscious, not knowing if he was expected to do anything. In the end, he cleared his throat and simply spoke: ''Thank you for magic,'' glancing over at Voldemort, who nodded in approval.

The man then took a bundle of grain he'd apparently put aside before and levitated it in the air, where it went soaring through the open door and fell down on the field.

''We offer your own fruits, so that the next generation can grow,'' he spoke before taking one of the small bottles which held glittering contents. This as well, landed in the field.
''We offer your gift, so that you may spread it further,''
Lastly, he raised the bread and whisky.
''We offer our results of the skills and grain you granted us, so that we may live and enjoy life.''

Taking that as a cue, Harry tore into the bread, the flavour of fresh apples and bread filling his mouth, tasting wonderfully. Far more carefully, he took a sip of whisky, instantly regretting it as he swallowed it down too fast and his throat was left burning. The other men only laughed as Harry tried to cough it back up, so he sent the both of them a glare. ''It gets better after the first taste,'' Barty winked. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to get out of it, Harry downed the rest, his head instantly becoming fuzzy. Surely, alcohol wasn't supposed to work this fast? His worries all fell away and he later vaguely recalled joining Barty in a silly dance and stuffing himself with the delicious bread as Voldemort watched them, unable to participate much due to his body.

When Harry finally came to, deep in the night, it was in his bedroom. A small wrapped package stood on the otherwise empty nightstand next to the bed, with his name on it. Carefully, he took it and turned it over in his hands, wondering what it could be. What he had not expected was to find a brown leather strap with a snake fang attached to it that had several runes carved into the surface, traced with red ink. It was obviously meant to be worn around the neck, yet he didn't put it on, wondering if it was a trap. He couldn't suddenly become too trusting. As Harry let the leather slide through his hands, he realised what this meant:

He'd gotten a birthday present from the bloody Dark Lord.

Awww arent they all adorable. Hope you all liked this.

Since I got some questions about Harry's character: yes, he won't blindly follow anyone without good reasons to justify it to himself. Then again, this look into Voldemort's head definitely did a lot, so... :3

While some people also asked about the update regularity: This story is not finished yet, I just wrote a large part of it already so i could continue writing while also having regular updates. I still have enough material to have weekly updates for a couple of months and hope to by then have written a few more. Sometimes updates may be delayed though, since my bèta still checks it chapter by chapter each week and doesn't always have time. Please bear with us!

Please Read and Review!