Thank you all so much for all the comments!
Enjoy!
Chapter 36 - Reunion
''You look… awful,'' Voldemort commented, clearly displeased. ''Can you not at least bother wearing something clean if you must wear Muggle clothing?''
Harry only grinned at him, no words could bring down his happiness. ''You think I have a choice? Living here?'' he asked in return, skipping down the last stairs. Damn, he'd forgotten how tall the Dark Lord was. ''I guess you already introduced yourself?'' Both Vernon and Petunia stood at the end of the hallway now, staring with rather wide eyes at the white yew wand around which Voldemort had loosely curled his fingers.
''I doubt there is a need, they will not remember anything from this exchange,'' the man spoke. ''That would be rather counterproductive to me ensuring the Order didn't notice anything up to this point. Get your things, we're leaving as fast as possible.'' Slightly disappointed, Harry moved towards the cupboard and, with a glance at his Aunt and Uncle, pulled forth a hairpin. It wasn't the first time he'd picked the lock to steal some of his school books, and usually he was quite proficient at it, but doing so under the staring eyes of his family didn't make it go any faster. As he'd feared, Vernon's shock over once again having a wizard in his house faded quickly.
''Boy, what do you think you… Stealing! Breaking in! 'Tunia, look at that, he is a criminal, Marge was absolutely right!'' It was in this moment that Harry remembered that Uncle Vernon was at times too stupid to be afraid. This was the same man who had threatened a magical Half-Giant with a gun. He only ducked just in time to avoid Vernon's fist, cursing as the pin he'd used broke off in the lock.
''Enough,'' Voldemort hissed disdainfully. ''Stop wasting my time, Muggles. We're in a hurry.''
Harry groaned softly as Vernon made himself even bigger than he was. Being so much larger, physically, would his Uncle stand a chance if he tackled Voldemort? Now that was an entertaining thought. ''Now, I do not know who you are,'' Vernon started, wagging his meaty finger in the air, taking a threatening step forwards, which had Harry scrambling away fast. Voldemort may be armed, Harry certainly had had enough bruises from this one week already to take chances. Wow, so it had come to the point where he was hiding behind his former worst enemy to seek protection from his family then? ''-I will make one thing very clear,'' Vernon continued, slightly foaming at the corners of his mouth. ''This is my house, and in my house, I have sworn to never tolerate this.. this hocus pocus and if you think that-''
Harry gasped suddenly, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and doubling over. Voldemort had clearly masked his magic again, before. Now, it started leaking through, darkness bubbling to the surface. With a swishing motion, Voldemort blasted Uncle Vernon off his feet, Petunia shrieking as her much heavier husband pressed her against the door at the other end. Harry was surprised that it held. ''I am trying to be civil here, Muggle,'' Voldemort sneered, removing his hood, eyes screaming murder. Vernon started gasping too, nearly hyperventilating at the sight of the Dark Lord.
''What.. what are you?'' he rasped, spreading his arms as if to protect his half-squashed wife.
''The worst nightmare of a great many people. And one day, your executioner. Now, as much as I wish to punish you for your crimes against a magical child, that will have to wait for another day, so do not tempt me to rip your heart from your chests right now. I am already… this close. Alohomora,'' It was funny to see how the Dursleys ducked in fear at the spell, which merely unlocked the cupboard. Harry didn't take very long to relish in their expressions though, hurrying to get his things out. Each minute that Voldemort stayed here longer was a heightened possibility of a bloodbath. Considering the man's own past with hateful Muggles, it was a miracle that he was holding back so much. Staying hidden must be quite important indeed. Voldemort merely stared the Dursleys down, who held their tongues for now. As fast as possible, Harry ran up the stairs and retrieved Hedwig and a few other things he'd been able to smuggle to his room before or received per post.
''Won't the Ministry get wind of the performed magic?'' he asked upon returning downstairs, thinking of the whole fiasco with Dobby. ''I've been punished before for magic cast by a house-elf here.''
Voldemort gave him an odd look. ''Did Barty not explain the trace to you? The trace on your house will not activate if non-traced magicians perform the magic. House-elves, being creatures, do not fall in this category.''
''Ah, I suppose he did, it was a while ago,'' Harry answered defensively. ''I've got everything.'' He hesitated, biting his lips, then took a deep breath. ''Thank you, really. I've been waiting for you.'' At Voldemort's stony expression, he hastily looked down. He shouldn't have said that, he should not have said that…
''You're welcome,'' Voldemort murmured, making him look up in shock. Had he just… ''Now for your family'' the Dark Lord spat. ''As much as I'd love to leave them in bloody pieces for Dumbledore to puzzle together again, it would be best to not leave any trails behind. Look at me, you piece of filth!'' he hissed, crouching down to look into Vernon's panicked eyes, jabbing his wand against the many layers of double chins of Harry's Uncle. ''Obliviate.'' He repeated the spell with Aunt Petunia, wiping his wand with a disgusted grimace after on a tea towel that hung over the chair in the corner. ''To imagine that you are related to those people,'' he commented. ''Well, one cannot choose their family I suppose. Your cousin is still out?''
''Yeah. How do you know about him?''
''Apart from you talking about your family before and me not having the memory of a leaky cauldron like you do? Why do you think it took me a week to get you? I've let Barty observe the habits of the people around you, of that damned Squib in Wisteria Walk and of course of Dumbledore's 'extra security'. He's had some men stationed to watch you now and then. Due to lacking members and me not being an active threat, it is still rather lax security though, there are hour-long gaps in their schedules. Now for the complicated part…'' With a bit of intricate wand movement and a few muttered words, the Dursleys, still with glazed eyes, got to their feet and marched into the living room. Then, it was as if the air rippled a couple of times around them. ''To ensure that even backtracking spells will not reveal that I was here,'' Voldemort explained after a moment of inspecting their surroundings. ''There is a bit of magic that can show the history of a room, similar to how the spell Priori Incantato reveals shadows of past spells used by a wand. I've changed both the memory of this house and of your family to portray a story of you being picked up by an acquaintance of Ms Étourneau. It is why I came personally, Barty doesn't have these spells down to perfection yet.'' It was always wondrous to Harry how Voldemort could so casually slip into his teaching-tone about any little detail.
''Ah…'' Harry eloquently said, his heart making a strange squeeze at there being such a practical reason for the man to come himself. Well, what had he expected? The Dark Lord shrank his trunk and opened the door of Hedwig's cage to let the owl out, whispering something to her that caused the snowy owl to fly off into the living room, presumably to find the next open window to escape through. Harry was distracted as Voldemort came far too close and held out an arm, which the teen stared at stupidly.
''We'll be apparating,'' the man impatiently said.
Harry's stare turned, if possible, even less comprehending. ''I can't apparate.''
''Oh for fuck's sake,'' the man cursed, and Harry wasn't sure whether to be more shocked about that the usually so stoic Dark Lord actually used the word 'fuck' or over the fact that Harry suddenly had an arm around him and was being pressed into said Dark Lord's chest. Before his brain could catch up to the crisis, his stomach shot into his throat, the world disappearing as he was squeezed through an invisible tube. The only thing that prevented him from falling over and puking when he felt ground underneath his feet again, was the Dark Lord's arm, which still held him in a tight grip.
''Why-'' Harry gasped ''-does magic-'' another gasp, ''-suck so much with travel?''
''You'll become used to it.''
''So they said about floo,'' he grumbled. ''And Portkeys aren't any better.'' Feeling like he could walk again without instantly collapsing, Harry wriggled a bit to make it clear that he'd like being let go of. Voldemort's arm fell to the side and the man instantly started walking, whereas Harry still first took in the sight. From the outside, Riddle manor still looked exactly as run down as it had before, the garden completely overgrown, which confused him slightly, for he was certain that it had improved when he'd been here with Fleur.
''This way, through here,'' the other spoke, walking around a group of old trees next to the house and placing his hand on the trunk of one. Then, just like with the barricade at King's cross, he disappeared into it. With only slight hesitation, Harry followed, stepping through the tree and coming out at the other end, only this time the surroundings were altered.
The same group of trees, where he now stood in the middle of, didn't look so weathered anymore, lush green crowns reaching up high, branches stretching towards the clouds. Stepping out of the shadows, he now also saw that the garden was indeed as he recalled from last time, with large bushes in full bloom and rows of flowers, most of which he recognised from Herbology and Potions class. It looked like Voldemort was growing his own supply of ingredients. What he hadn't seen last time, was that the house too seemed to have been renovated. Harry felt as if he'd landed in the past century, with the manor being newly-built, exuding an air of grandeur rather than the waned glory of before. He took a moment to appreciate the change, using it as an excuse to at the same time enjoy the unfurling of Voldemort's magic, which was like invisible strands of smoke in the air, curling around him. ''It looks beautiful,'' Harry commented. ''Are you not worried about Dumbledore finding this place though? He's gotten rather close to guessing your places of interest, hasn't he?''
''I am not worried about the old fool. All magic within this house is contained with dimensional shifting, the single entrance is the one we have just gone through. Apparating to and from this place is impossible, there is no access to the Floo network and only tied Portkeys or the Dark Mark can create other entryways, both of which have to be spelled by me personally. This is even more hidden as when I'd set up my quarters in Australia instead.''
''Unless someone sees any of us lingering around the trees or actually going through them.'' Harry pointed out. ''And I know there are spells to prevent Muggles from noticing that, but wouldn't the magic of those spells remain and make these trees more suspicious? Or what about spies from Dumbledore watching the premises?''
The man looked over his shoulder and threw Harry an amused look. ''As much as I appreciate you trying to think steps ahead, do you really think I had not thought of any of those options? I have placed spells on the garden that make these trees hard to notice for both Muggles and mages, using source magic that is impossible to detect for normal humans. Unless Dumbledore suddenly strikes up a deal with another Lord, which is incredibly unlikely, none will notice this entryway, nor be confused as to why they cannot see this part. Only a select people can see past these spells.''
''So you.. keyed me in?'' Harry asked.
''I did not, I was interested in whether or not you could see the entrance by yourself. Having a part of my soul makes it possible, it would seem.''
''Oh joy, the observations have already started,'' the teen commented. ''When is the next blood sacrifice?''
Clearly not deeming his reply worth a response, Voldemort went up to the path leading to the house, Harry on his heels. No sooner had they entered, did a blur storm down the stairs, a blur that felt it necessary to suffocate Harry a moment later.
''Evan!'' Barty excitedly yelled in his ear. ''You survived those terrible Muggles! We need to throw a party right about now!''
''No time for festivities Bartemius,'' the Dark Lord interrupted, already on his way upstairs. ''Prepare the veranda. Four black candles, barbed hooks, ash, smoked quartz and a mirror.'' Then, he looked back at Harry. ''You next blood sacrifice is about to start. Due to your own doing, I might add.''
''What?'' the Gryffindor asked, confused.
Barty instantly let go of him as if stung. ''You didn't.'' he said, then looked down at Harry's feet. Harry looked as well and didn't see anything interesting. He still had two feet, that had to count for something. ''You did. Evan, how often did I tell you to come to me to practise spells you found in the books our Lord sent you. Now we have to clean up your mess…''
Harry sighed, wondering what he'd done wrong this time. ''Fine. Direct me to the veranda for whatever.''
''You're taking this well, a ritual upon arrival,'' Barty commented as they both went to the pantry first, which had, in Harry's absence, been remodelled as supply room for anything but food. ''Did the Tournament teach you how to be less of a mess?''
''I'm still a mess now, I just learnt how panic in style.'' Barty snorted at that and dumped a box in Harry's arms that smelled faintly of blood and in which he heard something metal clatter. ''When he said 'barbed hooks', we are not talking about any that will go into my skin, hopefully?''
''Depends on how serious it is, it might be necessary. When did you perform shadow magic?''
Blinking, it finally dawned on Harry what this was about. He hadn't realised it much in the past week, but it was true that his shadow never returned. Now that he thought of it, hadn't Voldemort said something about there being cause to worry if it didn't come back within a couple of days? That had been… nearly two weeks ago. ''Erhm… during the last task?''
Barty groaned again, louder this time. ''And you didn't find it worth telling anyone?''
''The Dark Lord knew on the same day,'' Harry defended. ''And it's not as if I could walk up to anyone at Hogwarts and ask to remedy it, nor could I write a letter to this address, could I?''
''Isn't Black partially aware of your allegiances and interest in Dark Magic? He might have had the necessary resources to counter it.''
''It's not as if anything bad happened to me,'' the teen grumbled. ''My shadow is just gone.''
Barty shook his head. ''It's not a matter to be taken lightly. Shadows are… part of a person. If you lose your shadow, you can lose parts of yourself over time. There has been the case of a group of dark wizards interested in shadow magic who collectively lost theirs. A few managed to get them back. The others… they did not have a very pleasant fate. One by one, they faded: more and more people couldn't see or hear them anymore, or even remember them. Only those who had been part of the circle of mages and retrieved their shadows still knew all members by the end of it. Have you felt faded in any way? Been less noticeable to others?''
Uncomfortable, Harry rubbed his arms. ''I don't think so. Certainly not at Hogwarts, and with the Dursleys it is hard to tell since they prefer to ignore me in the first place. About feeling faded… maybe, I've found it hard to be interested in anything lately, thought it was the heat.'' The apathy that had overcome him was gone completely now, and it was as if Harry had broken through the surface of a dream.
''Hmmpf, you can be glad that you're here now then. If anyone can fix this, it's the Dark Lord. Come on, this should be everything we need.'' Harry wondered why he wasn't more worried. His memories of all the rituals he'd been put through were certainly his least favourite from his time here, and he could never really trust Voldemort to not make it painful. Despite that, Harry felt rather uncaring towards it at the moment, helping Barty with setting up the veranda as if it was a routine: moving pots and plants away to the edges, drawing a circle, lining up the necessary items where he was told to… Harry jumped slightly when the Dark Lord swept in, his eyes scanning the room with a scrutinising gaze. The thought that this would be the first time that he actually participated in a ritual with the man having his true form crossed Harry's mind briefly. Would it make much of a difference? Voldemort had complained about not having had access to even a sliver of his powers before…
''Passable,'' the man in question interrupted his flow of thoughts. ''Before we start, I'd like to clarify that I'm not particularly fond of confusion. As long as you're here, you will be Evan again to me.''
The teen shrugged. ''Fine. I honestly don't know what I prefer anymore, Evan grew on me but I've been Harry all year so call me however you want.''
''I just explained that I'd do exactly that, I wasn't asking for your permission,'' the other spoke, sounding -and feeling, Harry noted, - slightly annoyed. ''Now, since you got yourself into this, I'll hear no complaints about anything you have to do during this rite. Can I expect you to follow orders without hesitations or objections?''
''Yeah, it's all good.''
That didn't seem to be the most desirable reply if he could trust Voldemort's mood, but the man stayed silent nonetheless after, circling around the room, apparently not done with his inspection yet. ''Bartemius, leave us, I will call for you when necessary.'' The other bowed his head and left quickly, only lingering long enough to give Harry two thumbs up, which he answered with a weak smile.
''Since you occasionally behaved unpredictably during previous rituals, I'll give a brief overview,'' Voldemort stated, standing in front of the closed door with his hands clasped behind his back. ''All of this is intended to lure your shadow into returning to you. That it did not come back in the first place is an indication of lacking self-confidence, possibly even self-denigration. You do not think enough of your own character and will thus allow yourself to fade. Magic can only do so much when your own psyche works against it. I will take over the physical aspect of this ritual to trap your shadow, but only you will be able to convince it to accept you again as a worthy host.''
''But… Harry spoke in confusion. ''I don't think that I'm a worthy host. I mean… I'm me.'' And wasn't that plain to everyone? Anything he'd achieved, he'd done so on the burden of others. How could he, just Harry, do anything to convince anyone to stick with him? As grateful as he was for all the friends he had, Harry would never understand why they all gave him trust and loyalty. He was nothing exceptional.
Voldemort glared at him and spoke, rather aggressively: ''If my soul thought you a worthy host when you were a mere baby, then you'd better be enough for your own shadow now, Potter! If you cannot believe in yourself, you'd better believe in my decisions. My power runs through you, so act like it. I am not about to list your achievements to make you feel good about yourself. That doesn't mean that they're not there and if you haven't suddenly been brainwashed, surely you are able to recall them yourself. Concentrate on that. Search within yourself, find your strengths and seize them.''
Easier said than done. Harry took a deep breath, trying not to feel too lost. Looking up, he searched out Voldemort's eyes, the red gaze calming him somewhat. Surely, if the most powerful wizard he'd ever met could believe in him, he had done something to deserve that? ''I… okay.. I'll try,''
''Superb,'' was the highly sarcastic answer. ''And remember, no further protests or I'll leave this instant.'' Harry had to admit that Voldemort's grouchy mood wasn't improving things, piercing deep into his own emotional turmoil. ''Remove your robes, take the mirror and kneel five inches away from the centre.'' Harry did as instructed, vaguely uncomfortable both by the fact that he had to get naked again and by the sound of clanking metal behind him. ''Angle the mirror so that you can look into it while still holding it in a relaxed position, it won't do for your concentration to break from muscle cramps.'' After a few attempts, Harry positioned it so that the mirror rested against his knees and flat hands. It didn't help that the thing was round and rather large for a hand mirror. Peering into it, Harry noticed that it was hard to see his reflection in the flecked surface that spoke of old times. Had this been in the house already?
''Could you… maybe explain what everything around me is for?'' Harry asked. ''To understand better what we're doing.''
''What I am doing you mean. You only concentrate on your own thoughts... Very well, all objects you see are there to protect and stabilise,'' the other spoke. ''Ashes have the power to fixate and draw in energies, shadows especially. They are, after all, but a shadow of the object they used to be. The four black candles and smoky quartz crystals form a double stabilising square around you that will serve as a barrier, and the mirror shows that you at least still hold your reflection, which is theorised to form a balance to shadows. Objects that have a reflection also have a shadow by the laws of nature, so this should not be inconsistent magically either.''
''And the hooks?'' Harry asked.
''To immobilise it in case it wishes to escape again or attach itself to me instead. Now, after one more little thing, we'll start.'' Harry tried not to jump up and move away as he felt Voldemort come closer and kneel down behind him. There was something rather disconcerting about being at the mercy of a killer. Who could have known? Harry bit back any cynical words that might have alleviated his nerves as Voldemort's hands ghosted over his shoulders and he saw something shimmer in the corner of his eyes, moments before the object he'd seen made a cut at his shoulder. Harry tried not to react to the pain, nor the uncomfortable feeling of blood trickling down his shoulder. Of course nothing here would be done without sacrifices. ''Close your eyes and meditate on your strengths, let any piece of information drift to your mind that encompasses your strengths and successes,'' Voldemort murmured in his ear before moving away again.
It was more difficult than the Dark Lord made it seem, doubts fighting for control the instant Harry closed his eyes. The Dursleys' sneers, Snape's obvious contempt, the many times Harry had been beaten up by Dudley or had to run away for other dangers. What was he good at? His school notes weren't anything to write home about, nor was he incredibly popular or excelled at any type of magic. Harry released a frustrated groan.
''Don't try so hard,'' he vaguely heard, more in his own head than outside, although it was most decidedly Voldemort's voice. ''Relax and let it come to you. Search not for memories of accomplishments, but memories of when you felt accomplished.'' Strange though the advice may have been, it helped. It wasn't unlike calling forth happy memories to cast the Patronus charm, Harry thought. He only need to focus on when he'd felt happy… and proud. His first Quidditch game flashed through his mind, the feeling of relief and triumph after almost swallowing the snitch. Then there was the moment where Sirius had flown away on Buckbeak, saved by Harry and Hermione. It didn't matter that it hadn't been only him who'd done the work, he'd been a part of it nonetheless. It felt as if he was in a dream again and memories kept piling up faster than he could have ever expected: Dudley behind the glass in the zoo; Snape's frustration at being unable to find evidence for Harry's trips at Hogsmeade; receiving a massive amount of points after the ordeal with the stone, winning Gryffindor the House cup; Running with the caught dragon egg in his hands to safety…
He became aware of Voldemort's voice, deep notes singing an enthralling chant which felt as if it moved something in Harry's brain, and he didn't know anymore what were memories and what were feelings: Seeing Ginny's face return to colour again after she'd lain on the cold stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets; Being greeted with a party on the day his name had come out of the cup even as he'd dreaded returning, so sure that everyone would hate him for it; casting his first corporeal Patronus charm to save Sirius and himself; Punching that foul Ministry woman in the face; Freeing Dobby; Saving Norbert; the Dark Lord rising from the cauldron in the graveyard, returned to life because of Harry…
''Open your eyes.''
Blinking, slowly returning to awareness, Harry followed the voice, His voice. The teen shivered at the atmosphere around him, a suffocating blanket of magic, and forced himself to concentrate on the image that stood in the room. A dark, menacing mirage that should not be so three-dimensional as it was, looked down, hollow eyes focusing on the mirror in Harry's hands. For a moment, all of Harry's thoughts stopped in irrational fear.
That was a mistake.
The vision moved, faster than he could see, growing in size and opening a gaping mouth that was far too much alike a Dementor. Harry broke his stance and scrambled backwards, staring at the thing with wide eyes. Black hands stretched out, to grab, to devour…
''No!'' Harry yelled, angry at himself. ''No, I will not be controlled by my own shadow! You are mine, you are a part of me and I will not allow you to run free like you wish!'' He tried to grab it now, mowing fingers finding nothing but air as the shadow moved out of the way. Harry turned to follow it, then saw that there was no need to: The shadow struggled, caught by Voldemort's clawed fingers… hooked fingers? Swallowing, Harry saw red droplets slide down the man's pale skin where the hooks had been pierced through. Trying not to get sick at the sight, Harry instead focused on the shadow again, approaching it and reaching out. ''Come back to me,'' he whispered, calling forth all the images from before. ''I am worth existing,'' he choked out, pressing all the horrid memories of having to pretend he didn't exist at Privet Drive to a deep, deep corner of his mind. ''See? Even the mirror says so,'' he spoke, holding the thing up to show his reflection.
The apparition shrank to his own size, and Harry could recognise the silhouette in it as his own for a brief moment before it sank into the floor, the blackness dimming, mixing with the sunlight that shone through the roof and walls as it turned back into nothing more than a regular shade. Closing his eyes, Harry felt only relief, feeling complete again, that strange cloud lifting from his mind entirely. It must have been minutes until he was done sorting out his mind, for when he opened his eyes again, the room was clean, a robe had been draped around his shoulders and Voldemort sat on his chair, carefully removing the hooks from his fingertips. Harry came closer, having tied the robe around him to not feel so exposed anymore. He hated the fact that so many rituals required being sky-clad to not disturb energy-flows. ''I had to use more than I thought,'' the other said, then grimaced as he pulled at the pieces of metal. ''Don't feel so guilty, I hate that emotion more than any other.''
''Sorry,'' Harry hastened to say, now feeling guilty for his previous guilt.
''That… does not help,'' the man sighed.
''Can't you block my emotions now the link stabilised?'' Harry asked. ''I mean, I can't since I apparently suck at doing magic but you can control it, right?''
''Can, yes. Generally, I think it is better if I can keep an eye on your stability like this. I'll never know when you're about to plunge a knife into yourself again otherwise.'' His piercing, accusatory stare made Harry's face grow hot in embarrassment.
''That was one time!'' the teen protested.
Voldemort ignored his words and instead removed the last hooks from his fingers, inspecting the wounds. ''Take your wand, it's time for you to learn some healing spells. Before you start about the Trace again,'' he said as Harry opened his mouth already, ''As I said, we are in an entirely different dimension with a very limited entrance to it. No magic you cast here, with your wand or another, can ever reach the Ministry. I take it that you have no previous knowledge of healing?''
''Erhm, no. It's only covered in Charms from fifth-year onwards, I think, and none of the books you sent me held anything specific about that either.'' Doubtfully, he looked at the blood-smeared skin. Even if the other would now tell him the spell for healing wounds, he had never before gotten a spell correct before spending hours on trying to learn it. Surely the Dark Lord would not sit here and let Harry try to heal it for hours? Uncertain, he took his wand from the shelf he'd put it on before and held it awkwardly as he waited for instructions.
''Minor wounds can be healed using a variation of spells, the most common one in Britain being the charm 'Episkey'. It is a generalised spell used on both flesh wounds and small, broken bones in non-vital places, like toes or noses. To gain an understanding of the spell itself, it connects the caster's knowledge of how a human body should be in its healthy state to the actual cells. It then speeds up the natural healing process while trying to make the result fit the caster's idea of healthy as closely as possible. Apt healers with a deep understanding of the human body could technically also use it for major wounds because of this, even if the risks there become greater due to other organs or appendices being in the way.'' Harry nodded, fascinated by the background. At Hogwarts, most teachers just taught him what a spell did, not the how behind it.
''To summarize,'' the Dark Lord spoke: ''with flesh wounds it continues the development of natural cell regeneration and other involved processes in a much quicker and more effectual way than they would otherwise. With bones, it both replaces damaged internal cells and pushes the tissue around the bones in a certain direction. What is most important with this is to gain an understanding of the body part that you are healing, together with an understanding of how healing normally works. Most witches and wizards unfortunately leave this out, relying purely on their magic to do the work without any additional input. With a spell that relies on the knowledge of the caster, this is highly problematic and one of the causes why we have so many pseudo-healers walking around.''
''Is this a bad moment to admit that I know neither?'' Harry asked. ''I mean, I'm not sure how much there is to know about fingers, but I definitely don't know how wounds normally heal.''
''That's what I am here for,'' the man spoke, sounding rather smug about it. Harry suddenly had an image of a young Tom Riddle, acting all haughty when explaining something to his classmates that only he understood, and Harry had a hard time not laughing.
''What is so amusing about that?'' the Dark Lord asked, narrowing his eyes, reminding Harry of that perhaps his literal thoughts were not being read, hiding his emotions was still impossible.
''I just.. had a funny thought,'' he admitted, pressing his lips together to not burst out in a fit of giggles. It didn't help that now he thought of Voldemort as a teenager, Sirius' talk about the word 'cool' came to mind again. This was definitely not the right time and place to ask Voldemort about it, and yet Harry couldn't get it off his mind even as the other launched into a detailed explanation of skin layers and different cell types. It felt like hours after the man stopped talking, and Harry's head spun with terms like epidermal regeneration, cell proliferation at the stratum basale, matrix fibers and macrophages.
''Well then, now you have a theoretical foundation,'' Voldemort spoke, ''It's time for a demonstration.'' Harry, who had sat down on the stone floor and had slumped over a bit during the lengthy talk, perked up, watching as the yew wand was set at the tip of Voldemort's thumb in front of Harry's face. ''Tergeo, Episkey'' the man spoke, making a spiralling wand motion. Within a few seconds, both the dried blood was cleared away and the tissue had knitted itself together, leaving no outward signs of there ever having been a hole in the skin. ''The first spell is merely a helpful charm to clear out the wound, make it more visible. The second one did the healing. As you could see, the wound itself started mending at the deepest point in the wound and built up towards the outside, repairing all three skin layers after the actual flesh. Now, it's your turn. The wand motion is a circle, of which the wound should be the focus point in the centre. Focus on the relevant information you have now, the spell will do the rest. As an incentive to do well, I just wish to point out that my teaching method includes punishment when you get it wrong.''
Harry nodded, hardly having expected any less, first speaking the spell a couple of times as he always did in class to get the pronunciation correct, then carefully took Voldemort's hand in his. It felt strange, being large and cold, with far too long fingers and sharp nails. Harry couldn't help but observe the strange skin, which was entirely hairless and so white that he could see the web of bluish veins beneath the surface of the palm. He knew better than to imagine those spindly hands to be brittle however, for Voldemort had been able to grab his throat rather painfully even as he'd been in his rudimentary form. Realising that he was perhaps stalling for a bit too long, Harry nervously looked upwards, noted that Voldemort was very much intensely staring at his face, then cast his eyes downwards quickly to not make it awkward. Or even more so, better said. Clearing his throat, Harry pointed his wand at the tip of the small finger, figuring that it was the least harmful to mess up.
His circle came out a bit shaky due to nerves and Voldemort hissed, the hand tensing. Harry gulped, wanting to slap himself for rushing. He hadn't focused at all on the information he'd received beforehand. Overwhelming pain was the result, and Harry tried not to cry out as he wrapped his arms around himself and endured it, gasping as the spell was released. It hadn't been the Cruciatus curse he noted, not being as intense. Still, it had hurt and he seriously hoped to get it right before turning crazy. It was, however, a struggle not to get angry at getting punished for even messing up the very first time he cast a spell of an entirely new branch of magic.
''This is not Hogwarts,'' the Dark Lord warned, as if having read his exact thoughts this time -and maybe he had? Harry surely couldn't tell-. ''My teaching does not consist of showing you a spell and expecting you to learn it through practise as you have done till now. I gave you a deep enough understanding of it to cast it correctly the first time. You know what to do to make it work, so it will work if you follow my instructions. Again.''
The second casting was considerably better, after Harry took a while to recall all information before speaking the charm. It healed up the flesh this time, but the skin left much to be desired, creating a nasty scar that inexplicably ran down the entire finger. After another round of the unknown curse, Harry rubbed his painful arms while the Dark Lord repaired the damage Harry had done, taking a couple of minutes and a number of different spells to get the skin back to normal. ''Healing that is done incorrectly is complicated to repair, for your magic thought that it was doing the right thing when creating this. I ask you to mess up as few of the remaining eight fingers as possible.''
''What did I do wrong?'' Harry asked, not knowing what to do different from before.
''The order of information may be the problem, or your understanding. Was there anything I told you before that you did not understand and neglected to ask questions about?''
''Well, not exactly, your explanation was pretty thorough but… it takes a while to sink in and properly get, I think?''
A suffering sigh followed. ''Why are humans so slow at processing?'' the older man muttered to himself. ''You have fifteen minutes of meditation to wrap your head around the concepts I told you about, you clearly didn't correctly store your knowledge on how scar tissue is created and healed. I will search out Barty in the meantime, meet me upstairs.''
Relieved, Harry moved to the walls, leaning his back against the warm glass panes. It promised to be another hot day, it wasn't even noon yet and the air had already turned humid in here. Before he could even start his meditation, he was disturbed by Nagini, who opened the door with a nudge of her snout and slithered inside. ~Harrison,~ she hissed, wagging her tail a bit as she halted next to him. ~Or Harry. Master told me that you are Harry Potter, not Harrison Black. I was sad that you lied to me,~ she bluntly stated
~I… I didn't think you would have reacted well if you'd known that I was Harry Potter.~
~I would have bitten your head off,~ she fervently nodded.
~Right. I'm not sure if I am sorry for deceiving you then.~
~You should be, it would have been an honourable death.~
~Your master doesn't want me to die~, he reminded her, laughing as she was confused by her flawed logic being pointed out.
~Don't lie to me again~ she finally huffed. ~And pet me more to make up for it. I also want more rats.~ she demanded, slithering even closer, sliding over his lap and curling around his torso, her heavy head coming to a rest on his left shoulder. Having long given up on trying to get Nagini to move anywhere, Harry let her do as she pleased as he closed his eyes and relaxed again. Trying not to worry about a giant constrictor being wrapped around his ribcage was surprisingly easy. Trusting that he'd feel it when fifteen minutes had passed through Voldemort's impatience, Harry didn't bother with spells – he'd never gotten down the alarm charm that Hermione was so fond of when timing her homework- and instead got to work, trying to visualise what he'd been told before, envisioning cells to be little living creatures. As expected, a headache started to form not too long after, an indication that he should probably hurry. After a brief discussion with Nagini, he managed to convince her of why it was necessary for at least him to move, and she went away under heavy protest, curling around a large clay pot instead.
''You improved the room a lot,'' Harry commented when he walked in, taking in the richly decorated drawing room once more. ''I didn't have a chance to mention it last time, but it looks a lot better.''
''I wasn't going to live with outdated furniture forever. I'm rather doubtful if you say it is tasteful however,'' Voldemort commented, making Barty snort, who was sitting in a corner with a book. ''Your choice of clothing usually leaves much to be desired concerning style.''
''At the Dursleys' I'm not allowed to wear anything other than Dudley's old clothes, it's not my fault that it all looks horrible,'' Harry scowled. ''I'll have you know that I wanted to buy a solid golden cauldron for myself when first visiting Diagon Alley. If that isn't stylish, then I don't know what is.''
Barty laughed out loud now. ''Solid gold? Oh Merlin, you can discuss your sense of style with Lucius then. He always wears at least one piece of gold jewellery to show off.''
''Perhaps you should have bought a golden cauldron, Bartemius told me you are horrible at brewing potions, gold makes it easier,'' Voldemort commented, smirking.
''What? Why?''
''Gold is chemically and magically inert, meaning that it does not react with other materials. This is also the reason why magically creating gold is so difficult. In short, by using golden cauldrons, the metal of the cauldron itself cannot destabilise your potion such as is the case with iron, brass etcetera.''
''But Hogwarts does not allow it right? Hagrid refused to let me get a golden cauldron because it said pewter on my list.''
''They merely do not want the rich to have a clear advantage. Hardly anyone would be able to actually afford a golden cauldron. In addition, most basic potion recipes are written with the standard of a pewter cauldron in mind, so any reactions have already been cancelled out by the added ingredients. Take a common herbicide potion: the Horklump juice and Lionfish spines necessary to make it are both acidic, which would erode a pewter cauldron and cause toxicity. In any standard potion book you will find that Flobberworm mucus is listed as an ingredient, whereas it is actually not necessary and only there to cancel out the acidity as this ingredient is alkaline. In a golden cauldron, you could skip this step. Enough about cauldrons or room decorating however, I would appreciate for my fingers to stop burning.'' Voldemort held out his hand, showing the tips, which had red rings on them now. Feeling guilty -which he should really stop before he was being cursed for that- Harry crossed the room and sat down on the couch next to the Dark Lord, once more taking the left hand he had already started on.
Feeling much more confident in his understanding now, Harry pointed his wand and imagined the skin to be as flawless as he wished for it to be, keeping in mind all he had learned. ''Episkey!'' he spoke, making a circle - a bit oval still but who could draw a perfect circle in the air?- with his wand. Tensing up, Harry looked at the result, overjoyed when he saw unblemished skin. ''I did it!'' he spoke in amazement. Never before had he gotten down a spell so quickly before. ''You would have made for an amazing teacher,'' Harry honestly spoke. ''It was a shame that Dumbledore-''
The Dark Lord's hand shot out and Harry felt his throat close with invisible magic, leaving him unable to continue speaking. He spluttered a bit, trying to breathe. When Voldemort finally released him, Harry spent a while coughing and rubbing his sore throat, glaring at his Lord. He could have just told him to stop speaking, but no, where was the fun in that? Bastard. ''Bartemius did tell me that you've had a few more meetings with that meddlesome man. More memories?''
Harry nodded in affirmation, wincing as he recalled the last time his mind had been read. It was not an experience he'd like repeating. Unfortunately, Voldemort didn't seem like the type of man to keep a Pensieve to muse over his old memories or for the convenience of his guests. After a contemplative look from the Dark Lord at Barty, the blond shot up from the floor. ''I'll keep reading downstairs, no worries about me!''
The door closed and Harry became very aware of that he was alone in the room with his Lord, who looked less than pleased with the teen's latest slip-up. Great. ''Tell me what they were about first, it makes no sense for me to go through memories when I was present in them.'' Harry nodded in relief and leaned back against the backrest of the couch while Voldemort healed the rest of his own fingers. In his peripheral vision, Harry noted that the older wizard didn't even need to use a wand for it, nor an incantation, for all seven wounds that were left healed up without a word being spoken as the man flexed his fingers. Fingers that had felt amazing to hold, soft and cool to the touch… ''Well?'' the man pressed, making Harry jump. Had he just.. no fucking way that he'd just longed to hold the Dark Lord's hand of all things.
''Erhm, I'm thinking,'' he spoke, his voice a tad hoarse. Whether from the spell of before or his own thoughts, he didn't want to know. ''Some were quite a while ago, six in total. Errr… Some trials of your Death Eaters, your first meeting with Dumbledore, you applying for a job at Hogwarts and then several ones of different Transfiguration lessons you had at Hogwarts over the years,'' Harry rattled off. ''Dumbledore wanted me to notice the differences about you in those. Like, your appearance and behaviour and such, I think he meant it as a warning for me to not do the same. It looks like Hermione was right after all in that Dumbledore is using this to show me what path not to take.''
''So he believes that you are capable of accepting his redemption?'' Voldemort scoffed.
''I managed to convince him that there's nothing to redeem yet in the first place,'' Harry spoke. ''He still believes that I only used dark magic because I wasn't aware of the dangers it brings and because I was fighting for my life. Which is partially true too, I would never have reached the cup if I hadn't seen that spell on shadow magic.'' Then, he frowned. ''Weird, that actually was a spell that worked on the first try, I hadn't thought of that before.''
''Perhaps it wanted to leave, it certainly wasn't eager to return.'' Harry didn't answer, pulling his feet up and hugging his knees. Even if it was true, he wasn't particularly ready to hear it. ''It is good that Dumbledore no longer thinks that you using dark magic means you are linked to me. That will severely improve your image and in retrospect also of the magic you used. How did you convince him?''
''Barty did that for me,'' the teen admitted. ''He erased any previous suspicion by letting the teachers believe he'd been after me all along, having had some elaborate plan in mind with this Tournament which failed. Since Dumbledore knows you never truly died, he firmly believes Barty to have contact to you in some form and act on your orders. It's why he assembled the Order again. By the way, about Barty…'' he hesitated, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words in a way that wouldn't sound accusatory. ''Why can't he hear about these memories? From what he told me, he knows quite a bit about your past, right?''
Harry swallowed when a wave of pure negativity hit him. ''I do not like talking about where I come from, nor other people knowing of it,'' was the clipped reply. ''Barty is exceptional in many ways, which is why I trust him with a general overview, yet I do not wish for any more details to be revealed than he already knows about. It is uncomfortable that you know so much, without me being able to either erase you or those memories. Dumbledore would instantly gain suspicion again if you were to not recall them in detail.'' Harry wasn't certain if he should be more worried about the implication of that Voldemort would have liked to Obliviate or even kill him had the opportunity arisen, or for the man's general suspicion towards anyone who knew of his past. It couldn't be very healthy to hide a part of one's identity to such an extent.
''So, erhm, do you think as well that Dumbledore's intentions with this are to make me wary of using dark magic?''
Voldemort started tapping his wand against his upper thigh, and Harry noticed that it may well be a substitution for the finger rapping he'd always done before. Or had he tapped his fingers due to not having a wand close in his smaller form most of the time? ''I doubt that would be his only reason, surely he could warn you away from dark magic in other ways. No, he has a purpose with this… he is making you not only aware of my history, instead especially focusing on my change, a change that happened due to…'' he trailed off.
''You splitting your soul?'' Harry guessed, receiving a surprised look. ''I'm not completely incompetent,'' he grumbled in response. ''But what does showing your family have to do with… Oh, the ring! The ring that your grandfather pushed in the face of that Ministry worker, it was one of your vessels!''
''Indeed, and while I was at Hogwarts for that job interview, it was also to hide one of my vessels in a concealed chamber, and to see how I could get to the sword of Gryffindor as another possible artefact. I always thought he hadn't caught on, I must have underestimated the old goat. What I do wonder about is why-ever he showed you his first meeting with me, or those trials of my Death Eaters, neither were linked to the others. It might well be that he has several different motives all at once: warning you not to take the same path, giving you information that can possibly be used against me and showing you indirectly more information about the pieces of my soul. After you… destroyed… my diary,'' Voldemort spoke, dragging the words as if it was a painful reminder -and by the fury that flared up around him, it was- ''Dumbledore got his hands on it, didn't he?'' On Harry's affirmative nod, the Dark Lord closed his eyes and rubbed his face. ''Of course he did. Undoubtedly has he spent a good few hours trying to figure out what it was. If he is now showing memories that just so happen to link to the other vessels, I don't believe that to be a coincidence. I suspected that he knew about them last summer already after I saw your memory of the diary, and removed the vessels from their hiding spots, but it is something different to see him trying to inform you about it. Who knows what he has planned…''
''But they're safe, right?'' Harry asked, troubled. ''All of them are here.''
The man gave him a scrutinizing stare, then admitted: ''Not all. There is you, whom he can even command to his office, the diary is already destroyed and… let's just say that even with that the set is not complete, Barty nor I could retrieve all of them.''
A horrible thought dawned on Harry, which stole his breath away. ''What if…'' he coughed. ''What happens if he finds out that I-'' Voldemort didn't react with quite enough surprise to Harry's opinion, and he turned towards the man. ''You already thought about that,'' he accused. ''You KNEW!'' he sprang up, anger rising in him, which was instantly met with Voldemort's own fury.
''Of course I KNEW child,'' the man hissed, now standing as well, towering over Harry with blazing eyes. ''I knew from the first moment he started showing you memories of my past that he could discover what you are. I never claimed otherwise! And what do you expect me to do about it? Do you think that I wish for a piece of my soul to be in such a precarious position, in a human, vulnerable body nonetheless? I gave you all protection I could, even before I considered this to be a possibility, so unless you wish me to rethink my generosity of letting you run around in freedom and instead lock you up to keep you safe, you had better start to trust me.''
''How can I trust you when you won't tell me-'' Harry kicked around him as he was heaved up in the air by strands of pure magic, coming face to face with Voldemort, who looked less than pleased.
''You insolent child, do you really think that even now I am keeping relevant information from you? If there is any trait I despise above all others in humans, it is withholding knowledge from those who deserve it. When Severus Snape came to me with the lines of the prophecy and I figured out whom it referred to, I was the one to inform him about Lily Potter's oncoming death. Turning into someone like Dumbledore, unfolding my plans without informing a single person who played a part in them would be despicable. You are a central asset in both mine and his. Keeping anything from you about it would only have adverse effects later on.''
''Then why?'' Harry yelled, struggling against the ropes of electrifying power that started to dig and burn into his skin. The grip of the strings only tightened.
''Because anyone with a brain could have seen this! Do I need to hold you by the hand all the time? You know about my soul pieces, you know you are one, and now have found out that Dumbledore is gathering information about them. Is it too much to ask for you to put the pieces together in your head on your own for once?'' With a disgusted sound, the other released his hold, dropping Harry to the floor, who felt rather stupid now. ''To spell it out for you: If Dumbledore knows these are the secret to my immortality, I doubt he'll stop at much to destroy them. However, he also believes in that prophecy that we know little about, which at least foretells that you have the power to destroy me, and you have proven it more than once.'' Harry was shocked at the admittance, he'd thought the Dark Lord to be far too arrogant to recognise Harry as a real threat. He certainly hadn't acted like it before. Waiting to see if another outburst would follow and deciding that it was safe after a minute of silent, angry staring, Harry went over to the couch again and sat down once more.
''I apologise, my Lord,'' he muttered reluctantly. ''It's just that I… I suppose I'm too used to only finding out about plans that involve me later on.''
The Dark Lord didn't answer for a while, pacing back and forth in front of Harry, who tried to gauge his feelings: irritation, anger, and also concern for some reason. At long last, he stopped and spoke: ''As much as you annoy me sometimes with your unpredictability, you have one good attribute: other than most people, who prefer to be safe in their ignorance, you are curious about everything. Knowledge, no matter how painful or undesired, is vital in any decision we make. While I could always put a choking spell on your neck and keep you here by force, I much prefer having you follow me of your own free will.''
''Yes, because that spell worked wonders before,'' Harry dryly spoke. ''I only tried to kill you again.''
The withered look he received told him enough even without the sudden amused air that exuded from the Dark Lord. ''Here I thought my previous spell would have curbed your sharp tongue. You are unbelievable sometimes. Go and rest, perhaps ask Barty to teach you something useful. I have to make sure the national newspapers are running as I want them too.'' The man rose from the couch and adjusted his robes. ''Your trunk has been placed in your old bedroom, do take out the books I lent you, I'd like to have them returned to me.'' He seemed to think about something for a second. ''Considering how well you did with getting your shadow back and using healing magic, you may choose one to keep. Well then, I'll be back for dinner,'' With that, he swept out.
Despite threats and pain, Voldemort had been incredibly civil for his doing, Harry found.
Ahh, our favourite people are back together again ^^ We'll have fun this summer.
Next up: a chapter from -partially- Voldemort's POV once more.
Please read and review!
xx GeMerope.