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Chapter 12 - Lord of Sacrifice

A smooth hand slid over the marble railing of the grand Greengrass mansion. Lord Voldemort was rather fond of this place: it was not as stuffed as Malfoy manor, nor filled to the brim with gruesome objects like the Black homes. One of the downsides was of course that here, he was merely a guest, since the Greengrass family had never pledged allegiance despite agreeing to his ideas. That was alright for now, he would sway both of them as soon as their children, who were in their last years of Hogwarts now, would leave the house. At the very least, they followed his ideology and welcomed him in their home during important events such as these. Despite having started his unofficial rule over the dark community twenty years earlier, he was not in a hurry to convert every single person to take his Mark.

The sea of people bowed and parted as he descended the stairs fully, power rolling off of him, rewarding all attendants with a shred of his magic, which he knew they hungered for. Lord Voldemort approached the young woman who was the guest of honour here today, heir to the lesser Greengrass branch and new mother. The babe resting in her arms cried out upon seeing the intimidating figure bow over it. The Dark Lord spread his spidery hand over the child's face, releasing magic, which reflected in the teary blue eyes. He could feel the collectively held breath behind him.

''Blessed be her magic,'' he spoke, leaving a tiny mark upon the babe's neck. The woman gave him a relieved look and curtsied as well as she could with the child in her arms.

A scream started somewhere in the corner of the room and Lord Voldemort whipped around, instantly alert. He should have demanded to be tied into the wards! Wand in hand, he apparated towards the top of the stairs again to get a better overview of the Aurors who were now pouring in. Red clouded his vision: not now, not here. How dare they, these disgusting creatures, to disturb such a sacred feast! The assessing of magic was as important to a witch or wizard as the naming of the child. Red were also the tiles when he was done defending his people, red were the stains on his feet as he waded through the sea of corpses, none of his enemies spared. The red was mirrored by his own blazing scarlet eyes as he caught their reflection in one of the ornate mirrors.

Pain spread in his chest, with such intensity that he had to do everything in his power not to grab the front of his robes and double over. It was the price he had to pay for slaughtering those he had, the feeling of magic slipping from this world together with the fallen mages. These were also his people, he knew that. It did not change anything. They had abandoned their right to live as soon as they turned away from his vision. If only he killed enough Light wizards, enough Muggles... his task could be completed. He turned to look down upon those who trembled before him, his chosen family, each and every one of them a familiar face, familiar minds behind them that he'd taken care to explore, to mend if necessary, to soothe or anger and nudge into the right direction. His people... he'd do anything for them, to keep the magic in them flowing strong and pure.

A trembling note rang out through the room, the first of a series that started a song of mourning. For their enemies, those led astray by their idyllic beliefs. Feeling tired, Lord Voldemort chimed in and all the while wrapped up the bodies in conjured cloth.

He was distracted by sobbing, turning around to find the room devoid of people apart from one very familiar boy, a boy he wouldn't get to know for over a decade still, when their meeting would be the fateful night in which he'd experience death for the first time.

''Why do you weep?'' he asked.

''For the sorrow you refuse to show. I know you feel it, I know that this mask you wear is only that! And you still slaughtered them, not knowing regret!''

''I am the master over my inhumanity. I have chosen my path, I shall complete the task magic set.''

''Not like this!'' the boy cried out, emerald eyes filling with tears of rage now.

''No,'' he agreed, looking at his bloodied hands. ''Not like this, not anymore. Balance is not found in elimination, but in change.'' As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry ran at full speed and crashed into him, holding him-

Harry jolted awake, tears still streaking his face as he gasped. The dream had felt too real, the blood... Oh Merlin, the bodies, Voldemort impassively and effectively snapping their throats, slicing open their stomachs, covering himself in their life's essence... Turning quickly, Harry threw up next to his bed, not able to stomach it. That had not felt like a dream, had been far too realistic for one. Had he had a vision again? That also didn't feel like it.

''Evan'' The word pierced all walls of the house with tremendous power. Not just a dream, then.

Harry wished that he could spell the mess away or at least wash himself before. He had no time for that, anger hurting his scar, which wouldn't stop until he complied and showed up. Damn, Voldemort was pissed again. Hopefully showing up smelling like puke would at least bring across the message that this had definitely not been a voluntary experience. Still dizzy and trying to control the rest of his stomach contents as he viciously shoved any thoughts of blood and entrails into the very back of his mind, he took one step at a time, shuffling through the hall. He was surprised that Barty hadn't come in again... was the Death Eater still gone?

He followed the angry pulsing in his head that practically dragged him towards Voldemort's room. Nagini hissed in surprise as he entered, then recoiled at her master's command to leave. The pain became so unbearable that the teen fell to his knees before he even reached the couch, crying out. How,~ Voldemort demanded to know.

~I have... no idea!~ he replied desperately. ~Again, I was sleeping, by Merlin's saggy-''

~Come clossser.~ With every muscle in his being protesting, Harry obeyed the softly hissed demand, practically clawing his way towards the other on hands and feet until he collapsed to his knees in front of Voldemort's feet. The anger abated as Voldemort took in his sorry state. The man bent over and reached out a hand to take Harry's chin in a shockingly strong grasp with those brittle, spindly fingers. ~You have succeeded a great feat, not only having visions of my mind but invading my dreams through yours. Do you have any idea how advanced a type of magic like that is?~

He just shook his head mutedly as a reply, not trusting himself to not be sick again as he saw the crimson eyes that only minutes before had echoed the pools of blood in those white, marble halls, as white at Voldemort's skin... Harry felt the blood drain further from his face. ~You killed them, so gruesomely...~

The grip softened and Voldemort shifted his hand, knuckles now brushing against Harry's sweaty temple. ~I was not aware of how best to fulfil my task. Erringly, I thought that if the balance of magic was dipped over to the Light, it meant that it could be solved by killing magicians who already had decided to be Light entirely, ignoring the ripping at my soul each time one of them fell by my hand.~

~You still do not feel regret now, even when you know that it was wrong.~

~To regret their deaths would be to make them meaningless. I shall mourn the potential I wasted in spilling their lives and learn from it now. I still find little compassion for those who were not willing to listen. I have said before, even now I cannot guarantee that I shall not slay those who will ultimately decide to oppose my ideas and thwart my plans, possibly costing the lives of hundreds of my people. Come Evan, you cannot say that you think me wicked for that, did you not come here to do the same?~ That was a harsh and low blow. Harry wanted to scream at the man how different their goals had been: that Voldemort was a known murderer who had personally targeted Harry before. He couldn't get it past his lips, he had no idea how those other people had stood to the Dark Lord. ~I believe that it is time for our final ritual, to settle our link as best as possible until I fully revive.~

''I don't know if I can make it through another one so soon,'' he replied, breaking the soft whispered hisses exchanged between the both of them. The knuckles, which had still been stroking his skin, fell away, Voldemort's face a blank mask.

''You shall.'' Raising his wand, a slip of parchment appeared out of nowhere, on it a list of ingredients and items. Harry's stomach turned as he saw a book on rune clusters and a dagger being included. ''Gather these, I shall set up the floor here.''

''Can we... can we do it in the veranda?'' Harry pleaded. He would feel better with having fresh air and the memories of the only pleasant ritual he'd attended until now, at Lughnasadh.

''I suppose it couldn't hurt for this,'' the man replied after a hard look at Harry. ''Before that... Scourgify.'' The foul taste finally disappeared from Harry's mouth altogether.

''Thank you,'' he muttered, testing his shaky knees before leaving the door in search of the stones and plants listed. He took a bit longer than technically would have been necessary to gather all items, now and then halting to calm his own thoughts. After many reluctant steps, he still wound up in the veranda, a black pentagram without a circle having been drawn on the floor. He hoped that it was to be read from the side of the door and that it was not a reversed one. Mechanically following Voldemort's precise instructions, Harry put down each of the stones on a different point of the star, placed heaps of salt at specific points and sprinkled a handful of fresh chamomile and other herbs atop the star.

''Good. Now undress and go to the middle of the circle.'' Harry choked, turning around to see if the Dark Lord was kidding. It did not appear to be so.

''I'm not-'' Harry protested, his voice shifting a few pitches higher. ''I'm not going to get naked here!''

''You certainly will be if you do not wish to feel my wrath,'' the man darkly promised, a wicked smile splitting his face. ''It is hardly an uncommon thing Evan, you should get used to going sky-clad.'' With burning cheeks, Harry turned around and pried the shirt from his skin, pretending he was just in the Quidditch changing rooms, getting ready for a match. He'd never given much thought of undressing in front of other men, and perhaps wouldn't have been now either if he didn't know with absolutely certainty that Voldemort had had a thing for Sirius' younger brother, whom he looked like enough to have confused both Voldemort and Nagini before.

''So modest,'' Voldemort's amused voice commented on Harry's choice to turn away and crouch down as quickly as possible on top of the pentagram. All the while, he held the dried holly, mugwort and mistletoe so that they covered his nether regions just in case Voldemort could use the glass walls as mirrors. Harry did not deem the words worthy of an answer.

''Just get it over with,'' he finally spoke.

''Put a leaf of each of the plants you are holding in your mouth. Whatever you do, do not swallow them. I do hope that the spikes on the holly will reinforce that instruction. Once you have done so, start meditating.''

Carefully, Harry placed the leaves on his tongue, feeling nervous as tiny spikes sat uncomfortably in his mouth. Knowing by now how to prepare himself, Harry slowed his breathing, let his chin fall on his chest and half-closed his eyes, settling himself as comfortably on the stone floor as possible. Behind him, Voldemort started a line of spells which made the chamomile around him burn up, the smoke slowly starting to fill the room. With another spell, it started to cling to Harry's skin, feeling as if a greasy blanket coated him, not the most pleasant feeling. Harry tried to concentrate further on his breathing. More smells and smoke filled the room, turning the glass cloudy and making Harry light-headed, slightly giddy even.

~Protect,~ Voldemort hissed. ~Send back the harm put upon us from whence it came. This shield is our power to guard against harmful intent. This shield is my domain.~ An involuntary, violent shudder overcame Harry, the leaves pricked in his tongue. ~Heed my call. Let our enemies burn a thousandfold of our pain.~ The words laced with threat were backed up by magic so strong that it erased Harry ability to keep himself upright. The air cracked and whooshed, battering upon his skin, the smoke thickening. A heat started in his mouth and he cried out as he realised that the leaves were aflame, burning the insides of his mouth and filling his lungs and nose with smoke. Retching, he spit the now ashy leafs out, not able to hold them in any longer. A cold finger traced his spine and Harry realised that Voldemort was floating right behind him, a terrifying tiny, flying demon. Two long-fingered hands settled on his shoulders, coated with blood. ~ By blood shared, by soul shared, by minds intertwined beyond measure, I call upon my rightful claim.~ The possessiveness dripped from the words as droplets of red liquid slid down Harry's chest, forming symbols he did not recognise. ~Defend the place where I, Lord of sacrifice, dwell.~

A bright, warm light enveloped them both, a sense of weightlessness settling upon Harry. A piercing scream sounded behind him and Harry whipped around, seeing Voldemort convulsing on the floor, the same symbols that had formed on Harry's chest carved into the other's. Terrified and horrified at once, Harry grabbed the man, shaking him, feeling utterly powerless. ''Voldemort! Voldemort! What is happening, what do I do?'' He received no answer apart from further screams and spasming limbs. The blood spread out from under the form that looked so fragile right now, so breakable.

Voldemort sucked in a breath and opened wild eyes that only spoke of indescribable pain, screams caught in his throat. Then, the man collapsed. Shaken to the core, Harry got up, hoping deeply that the ritual was over, trying to reach the man's clothes, which had been left outside of the star just like Harry's had, a fact that currently failed to bother him. Good to know he had some priorities straight, he thought to himself. As he reached one of the points of the star, Harry hit an invisible barrier, crying out as his nose smacked against thin air with a crunch that couldn't be healthy. Desperate, he returned to the circle and grabbed the only thing he could find to press against the Dark Lord's wound: the sprig of mugswort, its leaves packed denser than the other plants. It didn't help much. ''Don't die on me now,'' he pleaded, ''Not now I finally believe in you.'' He wished a thousand things as he held Voldemort, hoping the pressure of his arms would perhaps help. He wished he was stronger, that he knew more useful magic, that he'd paid attention as Hermione had obsessed over books of complicated spells that he thought he hadn't been ready for.

He focused on the only thing he could do in the tiny chance of that it may work. He had no blackthorn and rowan sticks here, nor was he asleep. The only thoughts he tried to fill his mind with was determination to succeed and the memory of having done so before. It had worked for casting his Patronus for the first time, it had to work now.

Harry collapsed next to Voldemort on the floor as his consciousness slipped away.

He woke up not in the same room as he had expected, finding himself to be in a deep, thick forest. Frost covered the grass, branches of black trees sharply contrasting against the cold light of the moon and the glittering ground. He slithered over the half-composed leaves, a hunger eating away in his stomach. How long had it been now that he'd lived this half-life? This accursed existence... Voldemort turned around and looked upon the corpse of a small fox, the last animal he had inhibited. Such a waste of life, and yet the hunger was clawing at him again. He would give in soon, perhaps a reptile would be better suited, he'd avoided possessing them until now to not kill any of the noble creatures. Yet where else could he exist with some semblance of comfort than in the body of his ancestors?

He spread out a see-through, smoking hand. Less than a ghost, less than any wizard alive. Still more than a Muggle, he thought grimly, trying to smile at the thought. He still had at least the most basic of magicks at his command even when existing like this. Anger burned his hunger away for a moment as he recalled what he had lost. His very life, his power and standing, his time. How long would it be till one of his followers would find him? How long after until he found out how to restore his former body? A shriek of desperate rage chased away a flock of crows that had still dared to remain in his presence until then. Hands clawed out in desperation at the memory of innocent green eyes looking up to him, the last memory he had until being ripped from his body. The boy would pay. None defied Lord Voldemort!

His vision blurred for a moment and the forest changed around him, the seasons passing by in a span of seconds. Autumn leaves finally stilled as Voldemort wandered around once again in search for his next victim. Years, had it really been years already? None had come for him, none had wished to bring back his presence. Stabs of betrayal filled his very soul, almost as bad as the time when he'd figured out that Regulus had rebelled behind his back. Where was Magic now? Had she given up on him too? Had he failed her task so much that she'd decided he wasn't worthy anymore? He felt so tired, so dead inside, it was hard to find reasons to continue on like this. His entire life, he'd wished to stand apart from others, had revelled in his solitude. Now, he craved the company of another human being, anyone. Possessing animals alone just to feel touch again, to hear and see was not enough. They could not truly give him the warmth hat he sought, never the physical presence of a magical core that he so sorely missed to the point where he thought it may be better to tether the last string to his sanity too. To sink into the embrace of blissful ignorance, to cave into the hunger and madness.

Let me help you, someone called out, Voldemort... His name, the name he'd crafted for himself to rise from the ashes and control of his dead father. The name that had been taking over by his enemies as a sign of defiance, befouling it so much that he'd forbidden his followers from using it again. How pointless that had been. He reached out for the voice in desperation, a tiny pinprick of warmth settling in his chest. Voldemort... Yes, he was Lord Voldemort, and he would show the world that he'd been right all along. That he could save and be saved. With renewed vigour, he searched the next creature to possess.

Eyes blinking against bright light, he came to and rose, only realising then that he was holding something. With wonder, Lord Voldemort looked down upon his own, rudimentary body, instantly realising what Potter - no, Evan- had tried to do. Trying out Evan's muscles and figuring out how to use the teen's limbs, he rose. The ritual was still going on, he could feel the familiar tingling of the magical barrier. Only one thing to do then: he put his own, currently empty body on the floor and gathered magic in the palms of his hands, healing the wounds. This was not going to be pleasant, he decided as he cast an Ennervate on himself, consciousness instantly being flung back into his own aching body.

Harry shook his head, trying to get the feeling of being double out of his head. Had this been what Voldemort had felt when Harry had invaded his mind? It took him a moment to adapt again, sitting still while the Dark Lord was already moving, awkwardly and slowly walking back to where his blankets lay. Merlin, he'd seen into the man's memories again, this time a recollection of an experience no other human being had ever gone through as far as Harry knew. His respect for Voldemort gained in strength now he knew how it had felt to be only a wisp of one's self, completely dependent on mere animals, biting through loss and abandonment to live again.

''Did the ritual work?'' Harry spoke, with difficulty as the burning leaves had left painful blisters in his mouth. Odd, he had hardly noticed before in his panic. ''And if so, what did it accomplish this time?

''It should have worked. I granted you the same protection that all of my vessels have. Only I can harm you now, if I wish to. You are protected from all ill-intended damage, be it magical or physical, a shield of my own devise activating were you to get hit by any harmful spell.''

Harry's eyes grew wide at that. ''I cannot be hurt anymore?''

''You could still be harmed physically by yourself or on accident by yourself and others. Anyone other than you or me intending to hurt you will fail to do so however.''

''That is... some powerful magic, I suppose.''

Voldemort offered a weary smile. ''Quite.''

''Won't it be suspicious? Can Dumbledore not feel this? And what happens if this shield activates in class during practise?''

''Dumbledore will not notice a thing as long as you keep wearing that necklace. As for duelling and such, you had better come up with either a good excuse or a way to dodge any spell thrown at you. Then again, many spells practised in Hogwarts nowadays are not intended for real harm and you are supposed to be able to shield yourself in the first place. I doubt it will cause many turned heads. Now, I have grown weary. Bring me upstairs.'' While still an order, Harry got the feeling that there was a pleading note to the sentence. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking. ''The rituals have been completed now,'' Voldemort murmured. ''I shall be busy this week to finish the arithmantic equations and rune clusters necessary for my rebirth.'' Harry nodded as he dressed -not as frantic anymore about his nakedness, there was little purpose in that anymore- and then cradled the man in his arms.

''I'll try not to disturb you too much then,'' he offered, emptiness spreading inside. After seeing his own incompetence, the helplessness, he'd hoped to discuss magic with the Dark Lord, magic that he wished to learn and master. It was depressing to think that at this exact moment, the other would be too preoccupied to do so, and only a few weeks were left before Harry would have to return to Hogwarts to avoid raising suspicion. He moved through the dark house with ease, by now able to find his way easily. It had come to feel homely even. Voldemort only answered once he was being set down in his usual spot again.

''You may still come here to speak to me, child. We have little time left and I know you have many a question that still burns in your mind.'' A small pang of happiness spread in Harry's chest that he tried to squash down. He shouldn't get so excited over talking to Voldemort. Not before he was back at Hogwarts and perhaps able to confirm or deny pieces of information that the man had planted in his head by now. He needed to keep his cool, it was just as foolish to instantly trust the Dark Lord's word as it had been to believe Dumbledore's notions without doubting those at all. Still, for now, as long as he was trapped here, there was no harm in letting himself indulge in the power and wisdom that exuded from Lord Voldemort.

''Speaking of burns,'' the man continued, raising his head so that glittering scarlet eyes assessed Harry's face. ''Sit next to me and come closer, your mouth is too damaged.'' Too damaged for what? Harry instantly thought, yet did as asked. He hovered over the man uncomfortably, trying to avoid the burning gaze that was considerably too intense. He made a noise of protest when, in a far too fluid motion, a white talon struck out and held his jaw in such a grip that his lips were pried open and -oh God- two cold fingers pushed past his lips. Harry sat there dumbfounded as the fingers slid over his tongue, applying just enough pressure to make him squirm. If speaking had been difficult before with the blisters, it became impossible now that those slim, tapered nails raked a path down his tongue, assaulting his mouth in a way that he had never thought another human doing. While his brain slowed the moment down to an eternity, it all happened in a split second, and Voldemort pressed his fingers flat down on Harry's tongue, uttering: ''Waisé Therapafteí'' A cold settled in his mouth as if a bunch of ice cubes had just been shoved in. Harry choked in surprise, but it lasted only a moment. Voldemort withdrew slowly as Harry's mouth felt wonderfully whole, a strand of saliva trailing behind when the digits slipped out again, dragging over his bottom lip slightly - or had Harry just imagined them to linger longer than necessary, briefly resting on the flesh?- Feeling warm, Harry turned his head abruptly away.

''Thank you,'' he spoke with a scratchy voice, swallowing hard to gain a semblance of control back, of which he didn't even know why he had lost grasp of in the first place. Voldemort had only healed him, that was everything. Nothing else was going on, he was just hypersensitive because he knew that the man was into men, that was all. It's not as if Harry should get such an overreaction to every moment and be struck like a deer in the headlights. The door swung open and Harry looked up, never having been so grateful before to see Barty in his life.

''My Lord, it is done!'' the man spoke excitedly, practically running to the couch, faltering slightly as he arrived, taking in Harry's flushed form and the glistening fingers of the Dark Lord.

''Continue, Bartemius,'' said person demanded smoothly. Barty's gaze flickered to Harry's face for a moment and back to Voldemort's.

''Of course, My Lord. In short, I got Moody, using his own traps against him. The potion is also almost ready, so I will be able to stock up quite a bit before my departure. For now I moved him to a safe location and locked him in his infamous trunk, I did not wish for him to be able to pinpoint your position by chance.''

''Excellent. Evan and I have completed the last two rituals. I shall start my own preparations, estimating nine days to complete, and then needing to wait an additional five days until the first day of the full moon. Leave now, both of you, I am eager to start.''

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