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Chapter 10: Consortio

The second ritual wasn't any more pleasant than the first had been, nor were the third or fourth for that matter. The enjoyable atmosphere that he'd experienced at Lughnasadh was gone as he felt like a little rabbit whose reaction was being measured. At first, he was presented with three different objects, a diadem, a cup and a ring that all seemed to be drenched in dark magic. He could only tell because his scar always hurt when he touched them, so his jaws hurt from gritting his teeth together and trying to hold out on those days. Voldemort was a relentless bastard, Harry had decided, always pushing him to the next limit, having no qualms at all with carving a rune or two more in the teen's skin if he deemed it necessary. Barty seemed awfully relaxed about that, taking care of Harry after and talking as if he wasn't going through pain every day now. Then again, he had said he'd do it.

His birthday present hadn't come up. Perhaps Voldemort hadn't really expected Harry to wear it, he hadn't mentioned not seeing it around Harry's neck in either case. The teen had also not been very inclined to ask more about it, not exactly knowing where to start. The fang currently rested on his nightstand. Today, he was sitting in a circle again, of salt this time, waiting nervously for whatever was to come.

''We're through with the objects for now,'' Voldemort announced to Harry's great relief. The next one made his heart sink: ''We'll focus on magical blood compatibility today.''

''And what... does that mean?'' he asked cautiously.

''Since you come from a Muggle environment you probably know more about basic biology than most wizards -a knowledge gap I fully intend to fix in the future-, so I assume you've heard of blood groups?''

''Yeah, I'm O actually, O positive,'' he quickly said, hoping that might mean this whole ritual wouldn't be necessary. Like usual, he was wrong.

''I know, I had your blood on my hands often enough this week to take a sample and test it. You are a suitable donor for me biologically. What I am more curious about, is the magic carried over in your blood. Your mother sacrificed herself for you, leaving traces. Residue magic is most easily absorbed in either the brain or the blood, depending on the type of magic used. With this, it should be carried by your blood.''

''So our magic is in our blood cells?'' Harry asked hesitantly.

''Not exactly, only foreign magic that affects us can settle in either brain or blood. What we are born with is contained in a system of its own, which only opens up after a few years. Magic put upon us by outsiders however, due to it not being contained within that, already works the moment it is cast, no matter whether the person itself has access to their powers or not.''

''So... wait, you think my mother did something? That's what Dumbledore also said... he wasn't very specific though.''

''I am certain, sacrificial protection is a powerful thing, which I admittedly overlooked since no specific spell or rite was used. Did the old fool say anything more about it?''

''Something about you not realising it because you do not understand the power of love,'' Harry spoke, realising how stupid that sounded even to his own ears. ''That her love left its mark on me and would protect me forever.''

Voldemort released a small, almost surprised cackle. ''Honestly? That is... that sounds so like Dumbledore it's not even funny. Sacrificial protection has, first of all, nothing to do with whether the beneficiary was loved or not. If one of my followers takes a curse for me after being given a chance not to die, I would receive sacrificial protection too. Also, it does not last eternally. It needs to be strengthened constantly to keep working and even then, is prone to failure as time passes.'' Suddenly, Voldemort sunk into deep thought. ''Although that could explain... hmm, perhaps Dumbledore's ploy to put you with the Dursleys had slightly more merit than I thought. It is possible, purely theoretically, that you being around a direct blood relative of the one who sacrificed herself for your survival, would strengthen that bond. This is, mind you, not a proven theory in any way. You went back to those Muggles every year and still had visions of me, correct?''

Harry nodded curtly. ''That is true... it does give Dumbledore some credit,'' he added. ''To know he could have had a reason for putting me there beyond wanting to manipulate me is better than what you previously thought. How is it usually strengthened, if this theory isn't proven?''

''Multiple sacrifices,'' Voldemort shrugged. ''Some powerful wizards used exactly that to give them a shield of sorts, tricking others into sacrificing themselves constantly. With enough mind control and tricks it's doable. I always found it to be a rather low form of magic when used in that way. Fallible as well, it often only gives protection against the people who actually wanted to kill the beneficiary.'' Harry made a face, wondering what sort of people would do something like that.

''So it gives me a sort of protection against you since you were the one my mum sacrificed herself to in the first place... that makes sense, Quirrel couldn't touch me because of it right? Then again, you touched me before in the past weeks and only burned yourself when touching my scar.'' It was amazing how easily he could talk about his mother right now, when discussing a magical theory, as if it had happened to someone else.

''Complicated,'' Voldemort spoke slowly. ''As I said before, these things wane with time, it's been over two years since the incident with Quirinius. Also, the reserves of this magic are not limitless, it is likely that defending against me in Quirinius' body took away most of the leftover magic. It is not replenishable like reserves usually are, since the person who bestowed this upon you is dead. It most likely was dormant all those years since I wasn't there, then was wasted in one go and only a small bit is left behind.''

''So does that mean it is not the source of the connection?'' Harry frowned.

''No, it hampers it to be honest. This protective magic is actively fighting against the bond we share, which is exactly why your scar hurts every time we do connect. It wouldn't hurt at all, were it not trying to struggle so much.''

''That is disconcerting,'' Harry said nervously. ''I always thought it was you doing this actively.''

''If I wish to hurt you through your scar I certainly can do that, simply by focusing on this odd link we have. It is, however, not caused by it. Indeed, ironically, this protective magic hampers you from your potential, since it fights the foreign magic within you that establishes our bond.''

Harry rubbed his arms, uncomfortable with all the talking about how they were... bonded. ''I don't even precisely know what all of this connection stuff means,''' he muttered. ''How it came to be... I thought we were connected because you tried to kill me and the protective magic did something?''

''Oh no, nothing like that.'' He eyed Harry for a moment, then hesitated. ''This is one of the few things I cannot tell you yet, for it would endanger my life if you'd run off with this information. I may indulge if you will still not have shown any sign of defying me in the end, after the rituals are over.''

''Fair enough,'' Harry sighed. It wasn't as if he could blame his enemy for being cautious around him, it was a miracle that he even told this much. ''So for this whole blood thing...''

''Yes... I need to know if using your blood would cause me problems with the protection. It could either transfer the protective magic to my own blood, neutralising the effects entirely, or react violently against me. To find that out without putting myself in too much danger, we'll need to do a blood-bonding ritual.'' At Harry's horrified look, he explained further: ''It's nothing too drastic, think of it as Muggles who swear an oath to be blood-brothers. Considering our link, and the fact that we already have brother wands, it shouldn't be any more invasive than what we already have.'' Harry nodded at that, only then realising that Voldemort had said 'brother wands'. So he knew about that connection too, then? Had Pettigrew somehow come across that information in the years he'd spent as a rat, or had Voldemort reached that conclusion himself when studying Harry's wand?

Then he actually focused on the answer the Dark Lord had given. Maybe Voldemort saw connecting so lightly, Harry still shuddered at the thought of sharing even more with the man. He gulped, looking at the skeletal body. ''So what would be needed to complete this... blood-bond?''

''It's only a slightly more complicated casting than an unbreakable vow would be, and also functions with a binder.'' Not having understood half of that sentence, Harry just kept silent. ''Firstly, we'll both sit in the circle, opposite each other. We then share blood, share food, and chant the necessary spell; Adiuro mihi hunc hominem, Adiuro mihi hic sanguis, Alligatus ego inter hac consortio.''

''Err.. could you write that down?'' Harry hopefully asked, getting an annoyed look in return.

''They really should teach Latin at Hogwarts,'' Voldemort sighed. ''I always found that to be very lacking as well, it is the language most European spells come from and is essential for spell crafting.''

''So... what does it mean?'' the teen said when Voldemort had handed him a piece of parchment with the spell in elegant writing.

''In short, I bind this person and blood to me to bind myself in... fellowship.''

Harry grimaced again. ''Is that really necessary?''

A short chuckle followed. ''Once I regain my body we'll be bound much more than will be the case with this. Now, bring me into the circle.'' Reaching out, Harry picked the other up, surprised by how much heavier he was now compared to the last time Harry had held him. That was nearly two weeks ago, Barty had taken care of Voldemort most of the time, ever since the Death Eater had found out exactly who Harry was. Carefully, he placed Voldemort down, who held his blanket so he wouldn't be exposed. It was weird, sitting on the floor in front of the tiny Dark Lord. ''I don't have to go into your head again, do I?'' the teen nervously asked.

''I prefer if you stay out of there. Now, where did Barty go...''

''Here, my Lord,'' the man said, popping his head around the corner, ''I'm just preparing the cider and bread now. It will only take another moment.'' At that, Voldemort relaxed, cocking his head slightly to stare unnervingly at Harry, who looked away and pretended he didn't see it.

At long last, Barty entered, multiple items floating in front of him, including two candles, a long yellow ribbon, a plate with a piece of bread and a chalice and, of course, a knife. Quickly, without disturbing the salt circle, he placed the two candles down, a white one in front of Harry and a black one for Voldemort. The Dark Lord reached out, wrapping cold, slender fingers around Harry's forearm, who cautiously gripped the short and bony upper arm of Voldemort in turn. With quick movements, the ribbon was tied around them and the candles were lit. No-one spoke for the first part, Voldemort breathing deeply in and out. For a minute, absolutely nothing happened, until Harry felt a tingle of magic going up his arm and he had to do his best to stay seated. One second later, he doubled over as a force suddenly swept him off his feet. Gasping, he heard Voldemort saying something about the parchment. Concentrating, Harry said the spell out a single time as instructed, feeling something in his chest pulling.

He looked up as Barty pointed his wand at the ribbon from outside the circle and it began to glow, at the same time as Voldemort brought the goblet to his lips and took a sip from the cider. He floated it over to Harry after, who turned it around to avoid drinking from the same spot and emptied the rest. Harry then picked up the piece of bread and ate half, reaching the rest out to Voldemort. Afterwards, they both chanted the spell twice, the ribbon glowing brighter and tightening around their hands. Gulping, Harry looked onwards as Voldemort calmly brought down the knife on his own arm and made a quick cut, blood welling up instantly. With surprisingly steady fingers, Harry grasped a hold of the knife and did the same, all the while thinking that it couldn't hurt as much as Dudley's beatings had, or the teeth of the Basilisk piercing his skin. They chanted the spell three times now, hands loosening slightly to turn them, allowing their wounds to touch. The blood flowed, quite literally, into each other's gashes, a highly disturbing sight.

''Wrap it up Bartemius, quickly,'' Voldemort spoke in a more hurried tone than Harry had expected. He was usually incredibly calm during these things... Was the blood hurting him? Oddly enough, Harry felt no reaction at all.

Barty nodded and brought the wand up, the ribbon untangling itself and the light dimming. ''So mote it be,'' he gravely spoke, and the piece of cloth burned up in mid-air.

Before Harry had any chance to react, Voldemort summoned his own wand and pointed it at Harry's arm, which was held into place by a very painful and shockingly strong grip. ''Tergeo, Tergeo! Episkey,'' Voldemort spoke, watching as the blood was first sucked up, out of the wound, which then healed. He didn't seem to be done however, pointing it at Harry's stomach now, where a green glow appeared.

''What are you doing?'' Harry asked, panicking as Voldemort obviously had lost his cool.

''Our blood is magically compatible with each other, it seems,'' Voldemort spoke, although his face never broke out of his concentrated expression. ''And yours is biologically with mine... that does not mean, however, that I can give you my blood without consequences. I have A positive, I cannot be a donor to you and am now checking to see if our blood mixing caused any negative reactions. A transfusion would have your kidneys failing pretty soon, I wasn't entirely sure how much would get into your actual bloodstream with this, so I had to remove it as fast as possible.'' Finally, he withdrew his wand. ''Not that there was much of a risk, certainly none with instant treatment available,'' he nonchalantly added, having Harry seething.

''You should have told me!''

''Why? It wouldn't have made a difference to your participation, and would only have served to increase your nerves, making you more likely to botch this.''

''You really think incredibly lowly of my capabilities to handle things, don't you?''

Voldemort looked up, frowning. ''On the contrary, you've survived much more than most could have. Had I not thought you capable, I would have not involved you in this ritual at all and used more crude methods to find out these results.'' At Harry's still doubtful look, he merely shrugged a single shoulder. ''Believe what you want Evan, you do not need to trust me.'' A slight guilt settled in Harry's stomach at that and before Barty could safely remove the circle and cross through, the teen had already picked Voldemort up and held the man to his chest.

''It's more about you not trusting me,'' he objected. ''I'd have preferred to have been told of you needing to fix any possible damage so I wouldn't have been freaking out when you didn't let me leave.'' He did not receive a reply other than Voldemort steadying himself by grabbing onto Harry's shirt. ''How many rituals are still left?''

''Two,'' Voldemort spoke, the answer surprising Harry.

''Honestly? I thought we'd be doing this for the better part of the remaining month.''

A chuckle came from below. ''I do not need to experiment endlessly to draw conclusions. I shall use the remaining weeks to prepare for full resurrection, first adapting the ritual I had in mind before. Much depends on you, however.''

Harry carefully lowered the man on the couch in front of the fireplace again and took a step back. ''How so?''

The other studied his face for a moment, making him once more uncomfortable. ''I require your blood one last time for it. The only question you will need to answer is if you give it willingly or not.'' Harry instantly rubbed the spot the wound on his arm had been mere minutes ago. Give his blood again, and for the man's new body? He had upheld his word on the rituals in exchange for his life, did the final one count in on that? It sounded as if there was a backup plan in place for if he wouldn't give it... As used as he'd gotten to being here and partaking in these experiments, he'd heard very little of what they'd been for.

''What if I will not? Can you not use one of those vials of my blood you extracted already?''

A displeased look crossed the Dark Lord's mind. ''I'd rather not, and ask that you think carefully upon your answer. You may leave now.'' The sudden dismissal was not entirely unwelcome, so Harry made sure he got out fast. Interacting with Voldemort was so... peculiar. Harry was always left both intrigued and disturbed, having to keep on his toes to not ask the wrong questions. Being able to have his questions answered at all was already a great step forward though: the Dursleys had punished him instantly upon even asking and Dumbledore had usually not answered them seriously, if at all. On the other hand, every conversation he and Voldemort had seemed to lead to more issues with which he didn't know what to do.

First and foremost was his wondering about why he was allowed to stay here with so much freedom. Secondly, he still didn't know what would happen after summer. In Voldemort's mind he vaguely recalled something about the man thinking of letting him go, which didn't make much sense. Yesterday, after the fourth ritual, he'd asked more about mind-magic since it looked like they had been studying that to his untrained eye. Voldemort had explained much about Occlumency and Legilimency, adding that Dumbledore was a master Legilimens who used it often on his students. Would Dumbledore then not be able to read right from Harry's mind that Voldemort was back?

So many topics arose that he got curious about with every conversation they had: Grindelwald and him not being a real Dark Lord; Dumbledore's past, which Voldemort and Barty had both hinted at being shady; the strange link between Harry and Nagini; and last but not least; all of the wonderful magic that was displayed constantly and easily. It was so strange: They were in a Muggle house, yet the air seemed to breathe with magic ever since Voldemort had recovered enough. Harry had once thought that the Burrow was wonderful since magic seemed to be everywhere... now he knew that that had not been the case. While many spells were cast to take care of the household and many magical items lay and stood around, magic had not filled the house, not to this extent. It somehow became stronger each day too. Every single time Voldemort cast magic, it thickened, strengthened. Harry shuddered to think how it would feel after Voldemort had regained a body.

Harry sat down on his bed and picked up the small fang from his nightstand. One more thing he still hadn't dared raise a word about. He held it up and let himself fall back onto the blanket, thoughts still milling away. Every single time he thought of the coming weeks now, it seemed to spiral to the resurrection the Dark Lord would undergo. Why was it that Harry accepted it so easily? Should he not be fighting tooth and nail to prevent it? He felt cold and alone, wishing he could get advice from someone outside of this house. There was no-one who could help him with this though... and from the words he'd heard from both Barty and Voldemort, this ritual would take place: neither had voiced even the possibility of anything going wrong, as if the future was already set in stone. Did both of them just expect him to go along with it?

Yes, he thought miserably. He hadn't exactly shown much resistance, and apart from some vague thoughts of justice, he didn't want to resist anymore either. If he was completely, entirely honest... Voldemort had shown him more compassion and care than anyone had in a long time. Having looked into the man's head, he also knew it to be real, not some fabricated lie to keep him complacent. Deep inside, if he for one minute pushed aside his own grudges, the pain of losing his parents and everything he'd heard about Voldemort from Dumbledore, Hagrid and his frightened classmates... if he looked at Voldemort as only the person he'd come to know in the past weeks, he wanted to believe in him. To believe in the task of saving magicians.

Harry let out a short laugh. How absurd that was! Perhaps he really had been brainwashed. Standing up again to have something to do apart from listening to the circles his own head spun him in, Harry went downstairs, pleased to find that Barty was in the kitchen, checking out the quality of their food. Not having a working fridge really did suck... ''Isn't there a spell to keep it frosty in that cabinet or so?'' he inquired.

''Evan! Good to see ya up and about. Course there is, I'm just not going to use it. It costs far less energy to walk five minutes into town every couple of days than to keep a spell like that running day and night. I could just freeze it over once but then it would melt again. It only wouldn't take up any effort if bound to an object, but I'm not about to carve runes and shit in this thing, thank you very much. I have enough on my mind.''

''Oh?'' Harry had gotten the idea that Barty didn't do much of anything apart from reading books and keeping Voldemort company.

''I go out at night a lot,'' Barty shrugged. ''Getting some necessities, checking up on the location of certain people, that sort of thing.

''Barty, can you tell me something? It might be a bit personal though...''

The man leaned against the counter and devoured an apple before he said: ''Can't promise you I'll say anything. Just shoot, I'll see after if I want to answer.''

''How did you come into Voldemort's service in the first place? You were in Ravenclaw so couldn't have had many contacts yet... and you were at Hogwarts still right?''

A bright grin lit up Barty's entire face as he relived what was probably the best day of his life. ''Ah, that. Now that I'd love to elaborate on. Take a seat!'' Hoping he later wouldn't regret having asked and having to sit here for hours, Harry complied. ''You see Evan, growing up, I was always surrounded by the top of society. All the politicians my dear father, the great Bartemius Crouch, worshipped. All the men and women who did their best to protect this country.'' He sneered deeply. Harry leaned closer as Barty finally revealed more of his story. ''As a child, I saw what both of my parents couldn't see: those same people striking up deals behind their backs, treating themselves on the gold of the common folk, abusing their power. The worst part was that none of them had any power that mattered. No magical geniuses, hardly anyone with a brain that wasn't fed by greed or selfishness. I grew older and tried to show it to my father, who always grew angry at even the mention of his colleagues being involved in shifty deals. That was when I realised the truth: that my own father wasn't a bit better.

Right before Hogwarts, I found out about several deals he had made with extremist light wizards to gain their political support: subduing anyone who was even suspected of practising dark magic or having anything to do with the Dark Lord, who was already quite powerful by then. I was furious when I found out and didn't speak to him anymore for the last week of August. I even refused to let him bring me to the station, escaping on my own to go to Diagon Alley for my school supplies and then to King's cross... that day was when I first ran into Him, on pure stupid luck. I'd wanted to see Dark wizards up close, wanted to see what my father was so paranoid about, so I snuck into Knockturn alley. The Dark Lord was there, buying books from Borgin and Burkes,'' Barty laughed at the memory. ''He looked shocked that a small child would wander in there and saved me from being assaulted by a witch selling poisoned addictive candles and more of that stuff. The magic he used to chase her away sent thrills through my spine, I'd never felt anything like it...'' a longing note entered his voice. ''I knew then that I would follow this man to the end of the earth, had a long talk with him in a corner of the shop. He showed me all kinds of artefacts and explained their purposes... It was only when Mr. Borgin came out that I heard my saviour was the actual Dark Lord.''

''That must have been a shock.''

'''Course, but at the same time I was excited as hell. He made me promise to do well at school and gave me a protective charm, can you believe it? I was a bit disappointed when I ended up in Ravenclaw to be honest, I'd wanted to honour him by becoming a Slytherin.'' Barty shrugged. ''Found out later that it wasn't a problem, thankfully. In the following summers I ignored my parents for most of the time and father got obsessed with rising to the top, had this big dream of becoming Minister of Magic if he could only lock up enough people, whether they were proven to be guilty of anything or not. I usually tried to sneak out to Knockturn, hoping I would cross paths with Him once more. Nothing, of course, he didn't hang out there regularly. At school I had become rather vocal about my beliefs to any Slytherin who would hear it, knowing they'd keep quiet about it towards the teachers. It became much easier once I entered an exclusive club ran by the Head of Slytherin House, Slughorn. I'd passed my OWL's with top marks, granting me a place in. I'd been made an offer before, due to my connections in the Ministry, but declined since I wasn't planning on leeching of dear daddy's ill-gained fame.''

''So what was this club about?''

''It was to bring together those students who showed promise to make something of their life: become famous, get top careers, that sort of thing. Slughorn helped us form connections with those people we wanted, although sadly he wasn't too keen on the Dark Lord, deadly afraid of him in fact. Now that I think of it, your mum also used to be in that club,'' Barty frowned. ''She was one of Slughorn's favourites even though she hardly attended in her last years at Hogwarts as she was so busy studying for NEWT's and going out with Potter. I only got into the club in my sixth year however, so she'd already graduated by then. Anyhow, many Slytherins were there, also with connections to Death Eaters. Within a few months I had gained enough trust to be invited over for Yule to a special gathering. That was the second time I met the Dark Lord, even more glorious than the first, if not as personal. I saw for the first time how he treated his followers, the power he commanded, the ideas he put on the table. I agreed instantly with his plans for the world and was bold enough to approach him after dinner.''

''You weren't afraid to get hurt?''

''I didn't care, I wanted to get closer,'' Barty grinned. ''He seemed amused by it, and even remembered me from all those years ago. He's got a brilliant memory and always took care to know anyone around him inside out to use that to his advantage. I spent half an hour talking about all sorts of things, mainly about Hogwarts, my parents and my ideas of how the country was run right now.''

''You make it sound as if he were civil,'' Harry commented, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms. ''I thought you said it all went downhill in the first war? This was only a couple of years before the war ended right?''

''True, that, but that was of course not the front that the Dark Lord put up, and it wouldn't have failed had others not been so incompetent and greedy for glory themselves. They were falling over themselves to please him, so much that they often ignored his orders to 'go the extra mile' and then failed his plans. Then there were of course his fanatical enemies too, including my own father, who did everything in their power to ensure not a drop of dark magic would ever see the light of day. No, I do not blame the Dark Lord himself for the war going the way it did...'' As Barty sunk into thoughts of the past, Harry pondered on what he'd heard. It certainly looked like Barty at least wasn't following Voldemort for any evil reasons. That did ease his mind somewhat, he'd been afraid to find out before. Harry didn't necessarily agree to his words, but that didn't matter as much right now. It was good to know that this blind worship rooted in an ideology against corruption, not in favour of it.

''Anything else you'd like to know?'' Barty said, taking a chair himself and sitting on it the wrong way around, letting his lower arms dangle off the back of the seat.

''Lots of things, none of which I have confidence in that you'd be able to or would want to answer,'' Harry wryly said. ''Mostly to do with my stay here, my release and the results of the past days.'' Barty pulled an apologetic face that told Harry enough.

''You should ask him directly,'' the man suggested. ''He's not exactly secretive about plans that you are involved in.''

''Secretive enough,'' Harry disagreed.

The other man stretched and got up again, looking restless. ''You just need to prove yourself to him, and that is best done by talking in my opinion. Really, he may be a difficult person to be around and not exactly kind... but that doesn't make him unreasonable. While not forthcoming with information himself very much, the Dark Lord usually offers answers to whatever you wish until the point where it would be dangerous or harmful for you to know. That is, if you work with us.''

''I don't know what to do!'' Harry huffed out in frustration, finally snapping with all the questions buzzing around in his head. ''It all goes so fast! One day I am being told bad stuff about Voldemort, the next I am taking care of him, and now you tell me he's the good guy? I'm sorry, but I only have his own word for that, and yours, who practically kisses the ground he walks on!''

''For good reasons,'' Barty interrupted with a quick smirk.

''I just... argh! I need to somehow let out steam but I'm stuck here. I do not want to just sit around and talk all day when I know it's only going to bring more things to talk about, you know?''

''Want to blow shit up, kid?''

Harry blinked, wondering if he'd heard that correctly, still breathing heavily from his rant, although he was proud of himself for not starting to scream as he'd felt like. Barty hadn't done anything to deserve being his stress outlet. ''I... guess?'' he warily replied, images of Barty cackling madly and running with crates of TNT down to the village. ''As long as no-one gets killed?''

Wordlessly, Barty gestured for him to follow and then to wait in front of Voldemort's room as the man slipped in. Harry didn't hear a single word being said during the time Barty was in there, but when the other returned, it was with a victorious smile and... a wand. Wide-eyed, the teen grasped the offered handle. ''Seriously?''

''You'll have to give it back after, but yeah. Sorry that I couldn't give you your own. Albeit I nicked another wand that works better for me, your own is still traced. It's not such an easy spell to break and the Dark Lord has other things on his mind at the moment. Come on, let's go outside, we have enough disturbance wards put up over the back field by now that no-one in the vicinity should see or hear the explosions.''

''What are those?''

''A type of privacy ward... Basically a barrier that distorts reality between two spaces: anyone looking from outside in only perceives the reality they expect, in this case an empty meadow. Combined with notice-me-not charms and a repelling ward, it's not possible for any Muggles to wander in and break through the disturbance ward either. We should be safe to let out some violent magic. What's the most destructive spell you know?''

''Err, Bombarda, but I cannot actually cast it successfully yet. A friend of mine is rather good at it.''

''Perfect time to practise then.'' They went through the glass veranda and stepped out into the open field. Harry breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh air. It was different somehow from going into town... there he knew that he'd have to be careful to not attract any attention, that he'd always have someone's eyes on him. Here, there was nothing but a vast field of knee-high yellowed grass and summer flowers. Nothing except for Barty, who was busy dong his own thing, transfiguring the grass into targets and instantly firing his first spell, which left a purple X on the hay before the target collapsed in on itself. Harry didn't really know many spells with which he actually could let off steam if he was entirely honest. Hogwarts didn't exactly offer a great repertoire of duelling spells, so he stuck mostly to Incendio and Expelliarmus -even if the latter didn't do much to an object made of grass- .

After about an hour, his shirt stuck to his back from the sweat. The heat was maddening and not ideal for any type of outside physical exercise. Harry still refused to stop, loving this new experience of just letting go and hurling magic around. Another added bonus was that Barty turned out to be a surprisingly good teacher, helping Harry with his stance, movements and pronunciation to get a far more powerful effect. He still didn't get Bombarda down to a T, but at least managed to cause a few tiny explosions, which he was incredibly proud at. He paused for a moment, letting himself fall down in the grass and observing the Death Eater, who had a crazed expression on his face as he threw spell after spell that Harry had never seen, not looking tired in the slightest.

''How do you do that,'' he commented. ''I'm used to hours of Quidditch training in every weather and even I'm dead beat already.''

Barty turned around, eyes glowing with elation. ''Magic,'' he simply said. ''When you learn how to, releasing certain types of magic will give energy back rather than drain you. Also... I've had to keep my powers in for over a decade, I will use every drop of sweat I have to cast now.'' The words sounded both bitter and pained, so Harry decided not to go deeper into that, not wanting to upset Barty while the man was on a roll with casting curses. He still did have some self-preservation left. It was almost as relaxing to see the Death Eater release his stress as doing it on his own, so Harry only got up now and then when he felt he had energy to spare again to improve his spellwork. Night-time fell quicker than anticipated, stars slowly appearing overhead. Finally, when the targets became shades among the shadows of the waving field, they headed back inside the dark home, nearly automatically ending up in Voldemort's room.

It was different today, somehow. Perhaps it was because Harry had cast magic again, perhaps due to the blood ritual of this morning, or maybe just because Barty was in such high spirits. No matter the reason, Harry felt almost comfortable and giddy despite being so close to Voldemort. Nagini instantly searched him out to be petted, Barty curled up in a corner with a book and Voldemort had already been reading. He let his fingers glide over Nagini's scales as he looked into the fireplace, feeling as if a weight had fallen off his shoulders, being able to relax completely for the evening. The warmth of the flames made him sleepy. Combined with the darkness of the room around him -which was only further lit by the two candles the other occupants used to decipher their tomes -, Harry wasn't surprised to find himself nodding off, now and then jerking awake slightly again when he threatened to topple over.

He couldn't recall when he'd moved -or been moved?- but at one point, he found himself lying down on a soft blanket right in front of the couch. Rolling around, he looked up, seeing Voldemort's tiny hand stick out above him. It was still night and only a few glowing embers were left in the hearth. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Upon turning, Harry released the breath he'd sucked in when noticing it was only Barty, who turned around in his sleep.

This was his chance.

The thought came out of nowhere, and got his mind working quickly. From what he'd gathered, Voldemort controlled the choking spell on his neck actively. As both he, Barty and Nagini were all asleep, no-one was there to stop Harry if he just wanted to run away. Hell, he could take any of the three wands in this room and do what he'd originally come here for... Trembling and with thudding heart, Harry fully rose to his feet, looking down on the peacefully slumbering Dark Lord. Harry started breathing faster as possibilities shot through his head like Quaffles through hoops. Grab the wands, slit Voldemort's throat, stun the others, run away... He could leave this house behind forever, no more weird rituals to participate in...

Also no friendly faces anymore for the rest of summer, a small voice reminded him. No stories about your parents... That was a ridiculous thought, he tried to assure himself. Voldemort was the entire reason he didn't have any personal stories with them.

No answers anymore, the voice continued. No magic apart from the limited spells they dare to teach at Hogwarts. No wonderful celebrations of magic. And you'll always have to live with the doubt of whether or not you did the right thing. What was that about second chances? Do you honestly believe that Voldemort would harm your friends still?

Harry sank back down on the floor, tugging at his hair in frustration, trying not to make any noise. He peeked up at the half of Voldemort's flat, serpentine face that was visible. Then, his eyes wandered down further and rested on the book the man had been reading. 'Lord of the Rings', a Muggle fantasy bestseller. It was so comical that he almost laughed out loud. A Dark Lord reading about another Dark Lord ruining an entire world... Voldemort enjoying a book written by a Muggle about magic.

Turning around, he looked at the wand which taunted him from the mantelpiece, then grit his teeth and lay back down on his blanket. He couldn't give this up anymore, this unusual understanding between him and his former worst enemy. He'd be damned if he wouldn't at least give Voldemort a chance like he would have given it to any other person. From tomorrow onwards, he'd even wear the damned necklace.

I hope you all liked getting a bit more of Barty's background :)
Please leave a review if you like the story!
xx GeMerope