AN: I did not want to change anything about the scenes with Hagrid and Olympe trying to recruit Giants. Even with Harry's new beliefs and loyalties, hardly anything would have changed about the scene where Hagrid talks about his adventures apart from a few internal comments on Harry's side, so I decided to omit this scene and will point to canon for the actual conversation with Hagrid about it. Same for the Care of Magical creatures lesson.
Thanks so much again for the wonderful reviews!
Enjoy,
Chapter fifty-five - Mortuus Animari
''I can't believe it,'' Hermione said, still shaking her head in disbelief. She was pacing through the fifth year's boy's dorms while Harry and Ron watched her. It had been the safest place they could think of to speak about this apart from the Room of Requirement, which was currently in use by some DA members who'd wanted to train on their own.
Ron pointed his eyes skyward. ''You didn't actually think Hagrid would be interested in a suggestion to teach us about Knarls?''
Hermione heatedly turned around. ''I thought he'd be interested in keeping his job! Or at the very least that he would listen to our warnings. He's taking the threat of Umbridge far too lightly! She even told him that she'll be inspecting his lessons…'' she started to gnaw on her bottom lip.
''Hagrid always liked to live on the dangerous side, we all know that,'' Harry threw in. ''Take this mission he went on as a prime example. Who else would go on a trip through Europe for months to convince Giants, mainly without magic, while being tailed by people from the Ministry? He barely seemed fazed.''
Hermione plopped down on Ron's bed and heaved a deep sigh. ''That doesn't mean it was smart. And I can just tell he is still hiding something. Madame Maxine returned much earlier than Hagrid did, I only don't know why he can tell us about his top-secret Order mission, but not about what held him up and injured him.''
''Whatever it is, I hope it was worth it,'' Ron sombrely spoke. ''His mission wasn't exactly a success was it? Being outdone by Death Eaters, and then having the couple of convinced giants being killed off or scared away. I don't share his hopes that they'll remember Dumbledore's name in time. Giants hardly remember anything.''
''Ron!'' Hermione scolded.
''That's just a fact, 'Mione. Giants are like trolls: capable of speech and short-term memory, but not much else. Lots of brawn, hardly a brain.''
''I can't believe that,'' she huffed. ''If so, why would Dumbledore want them as allies? You-Know-Who I can understand, he might want some brutes for heavy infantry once he starts a war. But the Order wouldn't use beings like that to fight for us.''
Harry inwardly rolled his eyes at the blind faith in Dumbledore's goodness. ''Mione, if a war will start, both sides will use what they can get,'' he explained. ''Dumbledore just as much as Voldemort. Of course the Giants would have fought alongside the Order if it would come to a battle.''
''This really does give food for thought huh,'' Ron threw in. ''I wanted to trust in Dumbledore's theories, but deep down did not really believe that You-Know-Who had returned. It was safer to think that that Death Eater acted on his own last year. Now, with Hagrid saying that two other Death Eaters were with the Giants to recruit them in his name… Merlin, what is this heading towards?''
''Dark times,'' Hermione answered. ''And here we are, stuck at Hogwarts, being tormented by that.. that awful woman. I'd never thought I'd say this, but at the moment the Ministry worries me more than Voldemort. They're having a bad influence on our lives at this very moment. And you heard Hagrid, the Ministry is after anyone associated with the Order as if they're considered a terrorist organisation.''
''They are regarded as that,'' Harry said, frowning. ''Just like last time. The Order of the Phoenix likes to say they're theoretically on the same side as the Ministry, but that isn't true. Sirius told me that many considered Dumbledore's act of forming an underground group to be radical, including my grandparents. They thought it undermined the authority of the Ministry of Magic and spread panic even faster because the message that it sent out was 'we can't trust our government anymore'. Which was admittedly true, but they never got the chance to prove that because Voldemort didn't die by their hand and all Death Eaters within the Ministry were either arrested or covered up quickly. It isn't any different now: Fudge sees Dumbledore once again as a threat to public stability and will do anything to ensure the Order is disbanded.''
Both of his friends stared at him for a few long seconds after. ''What?'' he asked. ''It's all a matter of perspective. Just because people we like are part of the Order doesn't mean that everyone else automatically thinks they're doing good things. I mean,even we don't know what they all do apart from 'secret missions to stop Voldemort somehow'. I trust Sirius and Lupin and all of Ron's family to not go too far, but there's a lot of people in the Order that I don't even personally know.''
''But they're led by Dumbledore,'' Ron spoke up as if he was trying to explain something obvious. ''He's gotten rid of one Dark Lord already in his life. He's a good person, surely he won't allow the members of the Order to do anything illegal or unethical.''
Harry scoffed. ''Mad-eye Moody was a member as well. A good friend of your family, certainly a good friend of Dumbledore, and an acclaimed Auror. He still tortured and killed his enemies if he thought that would be easier than taking them to Azkaban. The Order allowed it because it was war. I won't cast judgement on that, but I want the both of you to really understand that even if it comes down to fighting, it's not going to be the paragons of good against the embodiment of evil. Everyone will try to stay alive, to push through their ideals and strive for what they think is right, no matter the cost. Dumbledore… Dumbledore wants me to kill someone in the end. It's all talks and training now, but he's literally setting me up to murder a man, don't you understand that?''
''I never… thought of it like that,'' Hermione said in a small voice. ''Harry, I'm so sorry.''
''Don't be, I figured out a long time ago that this was his plan. It's not as if there's much left to ruin, I unknowingly already killed someone at eleven. Maybe me attacking Quirrel was in self-defence, but that doesn't change the fact that I did it.'' Harry ran a hand through his hair. ''I often wish I was someone else, anyone else,'' he softly said. ''But I can't, and it's time to accept that, to take control myself. Maybe that is why I've come to love the DA meetings so much. There, I can make my own decisions without anyone else telling me what's best for me to do.'' Although Voldemort had let him make his own choices more than Dumbledore did, the Dark Lord also had made him go along with rituals and plans, including the entirety of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry wanted to help realise the vision Voldemort had shown him, but it was frustrating how little was in his own hands.
''Is that why you like dark magic?'' Ron asked. ''For control?''
Harry tried to shoot him a warning look, but it was too late. The question hung heavy in the air, and Hermione looked at them both in confusion. ''What do you mean? Harry stopped using dark magic after the Tournament, right?'' she asked in concern.
''Not exactly?''
''Harry! I told you last year, you don't need to stoop down to the level of the ones you are fighting against!'' she said, distressed.
Harry helplessly looked over to Ron, who was suddenly very interested in a few loose threads on his sleeves. ''I didn't forget about your words,'' he spoke, sitting down next to her. ''But I've come to learn a few things, and the reason I still use dark magic is not the one you think. You told me that you knew about my plans, that you knew I was learning dark magic to train myself to take down Voldemort. I didn't correct you then, because I wouldn't have known how to explain it. I didn't lie to you,'' he hurried to say as she winced and looked betrayed. ''I don't want to hurt people, nor go down the same path as Voldemort did. But magic is so… versatile and beautiful, and dark magic is simply just another way to use it. Sacrificial magic doesn't only mean curses or finding ways to hurt others. It can protect, heal, save lives. When my own mother sacrificed her life for me, that was some of the darkest magic possible.''
She looked as if she was hesitant to say something, so Harry waited until she got her thoughts together. ''I… didn't want to believe it,'' she muttered. ''Viktor told me much the same, but it's the one thing we've fought over as I thought he was simply biased. Everything I have read about dark magic here at Hogwarts is that it's supposedly something vile. Why would so many people write about it in that light if it isn't?''
''There are plenty who wrote books saying the opposite,'' Harry answered. ''It's just that, which books are available and distributed depends on who is in power. I've found many interesting ones in the room of Sirius' younger brother about druid magic for example. Those are not published anymore because the Ministry wants to keep to their strict system as light magic is easier to control. Admittedly, a lot of dark magic is harmful, but you can simply choose not to use those if you don't want to. A lot of it is very useful. Ron and I… we've been practising some weather magic, Sirius told me that he and dad used to do that too when they were at school.''
''Your father did?''
''Yeah, they only stopped when Sirius was kicked out of his family and swore off dark magic to spite them. What did Viktor tell you about it?''
Hermione turned contemplative. ''It started when we compared the curriculums at Hogwarts and Durmstrang. They have very different courses than we do. Some standard ones are mostly the same: Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Herbology… But instead of Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, they have a subject that combines both and is just called Duelling... using any means necessary. It's honestly very much like the D.A. apart from that they learn some seriously heavy curses as well. All of them are required to learn both Runes and Arithmancy instead as standard courses. They then only choose one elective, a specialisation so to speak. Only top students are allowed a dual specialisation. Viktor chose Warding. Apparently Karkaroff wanted him to pick a second but he was focusing on his Quidditch career. There are many more options, even things like Blood magic and Death Magic,'' she said, shivering. ''Viktor found that all very normal and was baffled that at Hogwarts, we learn barely anything about the Dark Arts. Described them as useful, beautiful… He said that people should learn to separate the actions of a few Dark wizards like Grindelwald and You-Know-Who from the magic they favoured. I think that the dark magic they used inherently was tied to their actions. It corrupted them, so many studies were done on the effects of dark magic…''
''There's the crux, while the concept of 'dark magic' certainly exists, it has as many varied branches as light magic,'' Harry countered. ''I totally agree that some branches like soul magic and death magic will probably wreak havoc on the body and mind. On the other hand, using dark magic for healing won't. I don't know which types of dark magic users those studies picked, but can imagine it to be biased easily.''
''I'd… need to look that up,'' Hermione replied. ''Excuse me, I have to think. And write a letter to Viktor.''
Ron, who had been quiet the whole time, finally looked at Harry again when their friend had left. ''Sorry that slipped out. Hey, at least she didn't blow up, or run to a teacher?''
''Yeah… I hadn't thought about that she must have had conversations about it before with Viktor. He is part of a dark family still, even if they never followed Grindelwald and don't seem to be prejudiced against those of 'lesser blood' like so many pureblood families do here.''
It was a shame that he hadn't met Viktor again personally. Seeing Fleur over the holidays had been great and he was sure he'd meet her again in the future because of her grandmother's vow to Voldemort, and Cedric was around constantly and helping with the D.A. Harry missed the fourth member of their 'Champion group'. Last year, they'd wanted to stick together, even after the Tournament was over. Viktor had said something about becoming a silent backer as he didn't want his own name being used by the press, but apart from some letters to Hermione, there hadn't been a word from the Quidditch star. Hopefully in time, there would be an opportunity to meet up again.
''Sooo… do you want to practise with the Animagus transfiguration again when the others aren't using the Room anymore?'' Ron hopefully asked. ''I can't wait to continue, even if the weather ritual before is rather painful.''
''About that,'' Harry said, realising he still hadn't spoken to Ron regarding his new insight in his friend's problems. He gave a short summary of what the Locket-Horcrux had revealed to him, then finished with: ''So you see, it doesn't have anything to do with magical affinity or anything.''
''So it's all in my head?'' Ron asked, perplexed. ''Because my magic reacts to what I believe? That's… crazy. How do I counter that? I only started to realise recently that much of what I've been told is questionable.''
Harry shrugged helplessly. ''Keep going and be aware of it? I can't really give much advice for you there, I'm sorry. That I know the cause doesn't enable to improve the situation.'' Somehow, he didn't think that advising Ron to set up a mindscape would be very helpful. Ron was a practical person, and while that was a great trait that Harry was very thankful for at times, a negative was that his friend didn't have the greatest imagination. Even for Harry it had been a stretch to learn how to create a walkable space in his own head and only because he'd been constantly threatened by the Horcrux about what might happen if he didn't succeed. ''To answer your previous question, we could crash now for an hour or two and then sneak out to the Room at night using the invisibility cloak.''
''I still have a mountain of homework so I think crashing is out,'' Ron grimaced. ''I'd wanted to wait till another D.A. meeting to ask some of the higher years for advice but it piled up a lot faster than expected. You're done already?''
''Errr I mostly pushed it away…'' Harry admitted. ''All-nighter it is?''
Ron grinned at him before they pulled out their schoolbooks and spread everything across their beds, dividing the work and unnecessarily yelling answers to each other across the distance of two whole yards for the heck of it. The worries on Harry's mind about flourishing feelings, dark magic and the fate of the world disappeared into a pile of essays.
After spending that evening and night on homework, weather magic and Animagus training, both Harry and Ron were so tired that the Monday passed pretty much in a blur. Tuesday was slightly better, and Harry pulled himself together for Hagrid's first lesson of the year. It turned out to be necessary when Umbridge was waiting with her hated inspection clipboard, asking students left and right questions. Her findings weren't good, even the Gryffindors could barely say a positive word about Hagrid's previous classes and of course she didn't ask Harry, Hermione or Ron about their opinions.
Some of Hermione's advice must have reached Hagrid, for the creatures he showed them weren't lethal in the slightest. 'Showed them' was perhaps not the correct term however, as Harry was one of the few who could see the Thestrals. It didn't increase the credibility of the lesson in Umbridge's eyes that the Gryffindor could back up his teacher's description of the reptilian winged horses. She clearly didn't believe a word that came out of Hagrid's mouth. Upon returning to the castle, he and his friends were all rather dejected, it didn't look like Hagrid was going to be let off the hook easily.
All too soon -or not soon enough, depending on whether you'd have asked Harry's head or heart – it was Wednesday, a few hours before his appointment with Voldemort. It was only the thought that the Dark Lord himself now knew what a vile toad Umbridge was that kept Harry going through his punishment without speaking up. It was thankfully the last day of detentions, and about time too. His hand had looked worse each day, only having had the brief reprise of not being damaged on Sunday as detentions weren't allowed on Sundays - a rule Harry was sure would quickly change with Umbridge now in charge of the school rules regarding punishment.
Madame Pomfrey had healed it as much as possible each time, but it wasn't much. Her conferring with colleagues in St Mungo's hadn't brought about any solutions. They were of the same opinion as she was: that it would have been possible to heal it a month ago when the curse wasn't in that deep yet. Voldemort was Harry's last hope now.
He'd tried to search the man out last night after going to bed. Whether it was wishful thinking or actual magic, Harry had somehow felt connected, even though there hadn't been another shared dream or flashes of what Voldemort was seeing. Had the other noticed that Harry had been trying to reach out? The Dark Lord had far more influence over their bond than he did, which had started to irk Harry. It was something that affected his own mind, surely he should be able to exert as much control over it as the person on the other end!
Right now, he tried to relax a bit as he'd need to sacrifice some sleep to sneak out during the night. Finding that he was far too anxious to sleep, he'd turned to reading the diaries, which he could finally do without disturbance now he didn't need to hide it from the Locket-Horcrux. Harry held up the final one with a weird twinging in his gut. Regulus had written '1979' on the very first page, and when he quickly leafed through, it was glaringly obvious that only just about half of the diary had been filled. The year of his death… The last diary had ended with a Yule celebration where Voldemort had invited Regulus again as his plus-one and the boy had been wanting to tell his parents about the relationship. How could so much have gone wrong in half a year?
Resolutely, Harry flipped it to the first page and started to read.
January 2, 1979.
What a horrible start of the year. I can't believe I jinxed it by trying to tell mother and father yesterday. I'd deluded myself into thinking they would be happy for me as they follow the Dark Lord as well. Instead, it was one of the very few occasions where father was angrier than mother was. He blew up on me about having to honour my engagement contract to Plumier and carry on the Black family lineage now I am the family heir. Merlin, I've never even met the witch! I understand that at one point I will have to marry and carry on the line, but surely they should see that the most powerful wizard in the world is a much better match than the daughter of some family whose greatest feat it was to set up the French equivalent of Flourish and Blotts? It's not as if biological issues stand in the way when magic can give us anything we need.
January 3, 1979
Thankfully, Bellatrix still had some sense and loyalty left to help me and let me stay at her place these last days until the end of the Yule holidays. I didn't escape a scolding from her about family lines either, but at least she somehow agrees with me in the end? I'm not going to complain, even if her 'solution' would be to marry Plumier and have a relationship on the side with the Dark Lord. I don't envy her husband.
January 14, 1979
It is still frustratingly hard to speak to my Lord about the situation. First of all I do not want to be too assuming – I can hardly expect Him to suddenly vow endless loyalty to me – and secondly, for some reason He seems to not understand my problem. 'Cutting out my family' is not an option and certainly not a solution I would have expected from someone who campaigns for Pure-blood rights and traditions.
''Shouldn't have picked a Half-blood who murdered his own family,'' Harry muttered, then realised that of course Regulus was unaware of any of this.
Well, I suppose it is my own fault too. Whenever I see my Lord, I just get weak and speak about whichever topic is on His mind at the time instead of addressing my issues more thoroughly. But it is getting tougher to even enjoy my nights with Him when my family's disapproval is a constant on my mind.
January 25, 1979
If Sirius would still have been there, I'm sure I would have been cut out of the family by now. For whatever insane reason, my mother spoke to the Plumier family and broke off the engagement contract with 'deep regrets'. I'd hoped that to be a sign of that they finally agreed with my choice, but I simply got a Howler about how I shouldn't show my face for a while. I'm the laugh of Slytherin right now and furious about it. If only I could declare my bond with the Dark Lord, they wouldn't be laughing for much longer! I wish my parents would be Death Eaters so they'd be forced to obey – Harry squinted his eyes since the next few words were scratched through until almost illegible. By years of practise trying to decipher his own old notes, he deciphered 'My Lord' under the squiggles. Regulus then continued with: Voldemort… Merlin, writing his name sounds strange even on paper. Even now I know I have permission to use it and he cancelled the taboo spell on me specifically, I get embarrassed even trying to address Him so casually. I know we've been in a relationship of sorts for a few months now, but still…
''Of sorts,'' Harry snorted quietly, recalling all the elaborate entries he'd mostly awkwardly skipped through at the end of 1978. He was somehow glad that Regulus' poetic erotic descriptions were not so much a recurring theme anymore. Between 'dying in a blissful arctic storm', 'infected by poisonous miasma' and 'being consumed by the centre of a raging Fiendyre', Harry couldn't pick which one was a worse metaphor for sex. Especially as it had fuelled Harry's fantasies in ways that were decidedly uncalled for.
February, March and April seemed to be kinder on the Black heir. Voldemort won a few strategic battles and as a Death Eater, a fact that was known to the people in Slytherin who mattered, Regulus gained some respect back. With no further word from the Black family, the teen turned to his appointed task within Hogwarts again with renewed vigour: scouting for possible allies and certain enemies. Between that came notes about the upcoming NEWTs, the occasional entry about his continued lessons with Voldemort on weekends and shared talks they'd had, mostly about magic and politics. Apart from the glaring fact that Regulus was on such a bad foot with his family that he remained at Hogwarts over Easter, he really was doing rather well.
May 6, 1979
I wish I could stay forever. That I didn't have to go back to Hogwarts, nor to my family. Just stay right here in bed with Him for the rest of my life. Has anyone else ever seen this sight? The revered Dark Lord slumbering peacefully, the occasional sound falling from His lips as He dreams? What wonders He must be experiencing now I can only imagine, perhaps magic of the greatest kind that can only be envisioned by His mind. Everything is so much simpler when I am here, no worries on my mind apart from how not to look like a bumbling fool next to Him. Ah, if only life would have granted me a more responsible brother, this could have been my fate. Instead, I must take up my father's cloak as head of the Black family one day. Voldemort and I have not discussed that much either… He has grand views for this world, for the future of our kind. Where will we be in all of that? Why have we not spoken of our future? Maybe I am too impatient with this, but I will be out of school soon, turning 18 next month and expected to present a spouse to my parents myself now that the engagement contract was voided. Do I dare be the one to bring up marriage and children? We haven't even been together for a year and our relationship has largely been kept a secret so his enemies won't target me. On top of that, we're in the middle of a war. If He does not like me pushing those topics, He could well kill me with a flick of His finger…
Harry could definitely see where Regulus was coming from, though somehow doubted that marriage or kids were high on Voldemort's priority list, in times of war or peace. How would children even work? Did he want to know? Harry decided that he did not want to know and kept on reading.
May 13, 1979
The revelations of tonight are of such a nature that I can barely grasp them. Voldemort admitted to me some of his deepest secrets. He has reached that which so many have strived after, true immortality. No wonder then that his personal goals are stretched over a much longer time span than mine. He has all of eternity. And soon, so shall I if I am correctly interpreting His words. Whispers of soul magic and rituals are still on my mind… this changes everything.
Voldemort revealing that he was immortal wasn't such a surprise to Harry. That he'd apparently offered to share it was. Just how attached had the Dark Lord been to his former lover? Was it simply a matter of possession, to keep Regulus by his side for eternity? Or was there more? And if the latter, was there more hope for Harry than he'd dared to expect?
The door was thrown open rather forcefully and Harry closed the diary and hid it under his pillow in a reaction of panic. ''Harry! There you are!''
''Hermione? What are… you can't just keep storming into the boy's dorms! What if the others would have been here?''
''Everyone else is down in the common room,'' she said. ''Ron told me you were up here reading. Harry, we need to talk.''
Once he'd gotten over the shock, Harry grew worried. His friend looked frazzled and flushed. The last time he'd seen her like this had been the Yule Ball after Ron's insensitive comments. ''Erhm, have a seat,'' he awkwardly said, gesturing to his bed and wiping a few crumbs off the blankets from the cauldron cakes he'd had before.
''Viktor wrote back,'' she breathlessly spoke as she sat down on the blankets without a care. She handed him a stack of parchment that Harry had first thought to be one of Hermione's over-zealous essays that Ron and him expected most teachers to dread reading so much they automatically gave her an O. On a second glance, he noticed that it was not her handwriting.
''You must be soul-mates,'' he whistled as he leafed through the stack, counting twelve pages of thick parchment. Both sides of the parchment were covered in text ''Poor owl that had to bring you this.''
''Harry! This was his reply about… you know what. From our discussion on Sunday. The last page is just a book recommendation list, you don't have to look at that one.''
''Erhm.. that's great,'' he spoke, wondering what she thought he had to do with this. ''Surely you don't expect me to read your personal mail right now.''
''It's not… well not very personal this time,'' she replied, blushing slightly. ''I asked him to explain a few things from his point of view. I thought about what you said, about perspectives and our previous conversations. I admit that I'm not always the best at listening to someone else's point of view. I wanted to give Viktor another chance to explain to me why he isn't averse to dark magic and why it is to easily accepted by his family and in his country.''
Harry started reading, which was helped by that Viktor's handwriting was incredibly neat. It explained the basics and origins of dark magic which Harry already knew about, and gave many examples of spells that weren't nefarious. Viktor's English had improved with leaps and bounds, with barely any spelling mistakes and a very extensive vocabulary. Harry didn't know if it was due to Hermione staying with him over summer or if Viktor's accent just made it seem as if he knew less English than he actually did. He'd even included a piece about Lords of Magic, which Harry was mostly interested about.
During History of Magic, the topic of magical balance was covered extensively at Durmstrang. Legend has it that Lords of Light and Dark magic keep our world from collapsing if one type of magic outweighs the other. They are given magic and power like no other to gain the needed support to restore balance. It was one reason why Grindelwald gained so many followers in such a short time. People wish to believe this tale. I personally do not know what to think of it – Grindelwald was undoubtedly evil and killed many good people for his quest in power. Many of his actions disturbed balance rather than maintained it, including the casual way he used magical creatures and mages with unique abilities. I am very glad that my own family was sceptical of his motives and chose to not participate in his rebellion, for no wizard or witch should base their power on the oppression of others. We are all equal, whether some snobs like that thought or not, I'll fight to defend my belief. I can not deny the underlying truth in what I have been taught though. Both light and dark magic is necessary for our society to survive and pitting whole families against each other for the type of magic they use is detrimental. Both should be taught to use safely and responsibly so we do not get other wizards like Grindelwald or Voldemort trying to use the shunning of dark magic against governments again.
''You do realise that all of this is basically what I was trying to say on Sunday,'' Harry teased.
Hermione huffed and smiled. ''Well, I suppose, but you did not write a highly-detailed and sourced twelve-page letter about it, did you? And some of this information is completely new to me.''
''Well, I'm glad that you at least gave it another try. Even if he or his family didn't follow any dark Lords, his family is dark and I'd hate to see that driving you apart for no reason,'' Harry honestly said. Hermione smiled and hugged him tightly.
''Thank you, Harry. Sorry if I came across a bit…''
''Judgy?'' he grinned. She huffed again and pushed him over.
''Harry James Potter, that is not even a proper word. You're looking for judgemental.''
''Oh yes, that. Makes it so much better,'' he snickered.
They laughed together for a while until Hermione quieted down again. ''Where did you learn all of this? I spoke a bit to Ron and while he was rather evasive about the topic, I got the impressed that anything about dark magic he knows that isn't family prejudices came from you.''
''Erhm... yeah… I got to know this guy a while ago,'' he awkwardly said.
Hermione raised her eyebrows instantly. ''This would not be the same guy whom you said would benefit from having a psychiatrist, would it?''
He opened and closed his mouth a few times. ''Maybe?''
''Harry!'' she exclaimed, exasperated.
''I was rather emotional when I said that,'' he admitted. ''Yes, he can be a bit out of touch with other people sometimes, but I was focusing too much on the negatives.'' Harry heaved a heavy sigh. ''Not that that changes much.''
Gently, Hermione took his hand in hers. ''Do you want to talk about it?''
Harry considered that for a while. It wouldn't be too difficult to keep it general enough, he supposed. It wasn't as if Hermione would actually guess that his affections went out to Lord Voldemort of all people. ''I think I would like to tell you a bit about him, yes. Maybe you can make more sense of it than I can.'' And now that the Locket wasn't there anymore, flaring up hot on his skin each time he got slightly too close to the truth for its liking, it was only up to Harry how much he wanted his friend to know. Hermione snatched Ron's pillow off the other's bed and used it to settle comfortably next to Harry, who leaned back into his own.
''I got to know him… roughly about a year and a half ago. He has so much knowledge Hermione, it's incredible. Of ancient rites from Celtic times, of magical history… there's hardly a topic where I can't listen for hours to his stories,'' he smiled. ''And his magic is… indescribable. It's tangible.'' Then, Harry's smile slipped from his face. ''But he's also quite dangerous, used to getting his way and explosively angry when it doesn't. I know that he does try to keep himself under control, but he was born with this condition… I don't know too many details about it, but it seems to be a magical affliction that affected his emotions. As a child he couldn't feel more than the most basic emotions and had an incredibly difficult time connecting to people, especially as he grew up in a hostile environment with Muggles. That certainly didn't improve his view on Muggles, one topic that we often clash on. From Hogwarts onwards, he spent a lot of time trying to study other people and read tons of books to slowly heal himself. It allowed him to have more complex feelings over time. And though that is of course a good thing, he never succeeded completely. Things like true empathy are foreign to him even if he seems to believe himself that he understands it. And love most definitely is far from his grasp. When I finally noticed that I held romantic thoughts towards him, I completely freaked out, for I thought that he could never reciprocate my feelings. Last time I met him, that was unfortunately confirmed.''
''You were rejected?'' Hermione asked.
''Not exactly, no. He wants me, but not in a way I could ever accept. The best way I can describe it is that I feel like some prized object to possess. Instead of focusing on any sort of care for me, he is instead jealous of everyone else whom I could grow close to, wants to keep me under his thumb, to do as he says... It's not healthy, Hermione.''
''But Harry, love isn't all fuzzy feelings and happiness,'' she frowned. ''You seem to have this idea that loving and caring would mean that there's only positivity around. That's not realistic. Love is such a complex emotion that encompasses more than the mind-blowing feeling of having a crush. It's also jealousy, fighting, feeling hurt over things the one you love says or does. What is most important is wanting to be around each other. It sounds to me as if he does want that.''
Harry gave her a doubtful look. ''Without any of the positivity?''
''Not everyone falls in love the same,'' she sagely continued. ''Viktor completely annoyed me at the start. I couldn't see what was so great about him, and his flock of fangirls often disturbed my quiet reading time. It was only after we got talking that there was a spark. And if he would not have come after me after the Yule Ball, I highly doubt that spark would have remained. I never had this feeling of love at first sight or butterflies in my stomach. Instead, I fell in love with him slowly, and through our different views on life it's been hard work to maintain our relationship. I treasure his letters and my visits to him, but it isn't filled with declarations of love. Reading together in the same room, having deep discussion, sharing meals, that is what how we express our feelings. It sounds to me as if you have something similar with this person.''
Harry remained quiet, pondering over her words. By actions alone, it certainly looked like what he and Voldemort shared was very similar. Their talks, the shared magic, heck even the dreams were all times they spent together that Harry felt were precious. From Voldemort's anger over their contact being cut off, it looked like the man thought the same. It was the emotions that flowed through their mental link that made all of it more difficult than necessary, because actions didn't say much when it was drowned in volatile, murderous undertones that knocked the wind out of his lungs.
''So you're saying that…'' he hesitated.
''Follow your heart. Yes I know, ironic coming from me, but I mean it. Even if it doesn't work out, you'll have at least tried.''
Harry gave her a weak smile. ''I'm not sure if you'd say that if you were to ever meet him. I somehow don't think you two would get along.'' Hermione, with her sense of righteous justice as opposed to Voldemort, who would gladly throw entire civilisations off a cliff if it meant mages would be safe…
''As long as you go along, I won't say a thing.''
'Going along' was maybe also not the best description for Harry's and Voldemort's previous interactions. Following her advice was going to be problematic to say the least. Still, it did somehow ease his fatalistic thinking and returned some of the hope he had lost during his last meeting with the Dark Lord.
''Thank you,'' he spoke. ''I will... think upon what you said.'' Oh Merlin, and with this on his mind Harry now had to go visit Voldemort?
''Hey, Hermione?'' he asked, a thought striking him. ''He kind of… got me birthday presents twice now,'' he said. Her raised eyebrows made his cheeks grow hot. ''Last year I didn't get him any as I did not know when his birthday was… I do now and also had a thought for a gift, but I'd need to order something from a Muggle bookshop for it. It's at the end of December and I wanted to ask if you are going home for Christmas and if so, if we could meet up to go shopping together in Muggle London.''
''I'd be delighted!'' she said, smiling widely. ''I know so many good bookshops. Do you have a particular book in mind?''
''Not yet, only that I want it to be some Muggle fantasy literature. He liked the Lord of the Rings trilogy a lot so… something in that fashion.''
''Ohhh, then have I got the perfect book!'' she grinned. ''I'll write it on my Christmas shopping list instantly! This is going to be great, I can show you all of my favourite shops!''
''Thanks, you're the best.''
The door opened and Dean and Ron stopped mid-conversation as they entered, kind of staring at Harry and Hermione. He did admit that it might look weird out of context how they were both lying on his bed while chatting. ''I was just about to leave,'' Hermione sheepishly said, gathering all of Viktor's letter again. ''I hope my advice was useful to you, Harry, and thank you for your insight too.''
She slipped past the others, and Ron looked kind of disgruntled. He wanted to reassure his best friend of that everything was fine, but due to Dean's presence he could hardly say that the conversation had been about views on dark magic and Harry's dilemma over romance. He thus muttered something about homework and gave Ron his pillow back before going to take a shower. As water streamed down his skin, the only thought on his mind was the seconds ticking by until he'd be arriving at Riddle house. Why hadn't they made out a specific time…? It would be much better for his nerves if he'd at least know when he was expected to be there instead of 'at night'.
Restlessly, he waited, unable to concentrate on anything for the entire time he waited for the other guys to fall asleep. Only when he was absolutely sure that they'd fallen in deep slumber, did he dare sneak out, having the sense to already put the invisibility cloak on the instant he procured it from the trunk.
Waiting was perhaps Voldemort's least favourite thing in the world.
Not that he couldn't be patient, he only did not enjoy it like many other people seemed to, slumping on a couch doing nothing. Time spent unproductively was wasteful, and yet here he stood, waiting. On Harry Potter of all people.
Oddly, he had not been able to properly judge the timeframe. All books he wished to consult had been read and marked, the ingredients that might be necessary were prepared and Voldemort had finished any work he'd planned today. Barty wasn't present, nor were any of his other followers he could have discussed ideas with. All that was left was to wait and go over possible solutions in his mind. Healing was admittedly not a branch of magic that he had fully explored even if he was more well-versed in it than most mages. With so little information from Harry's side, it would pose a challenge, especially as the teen had already been told by trained Healers that nothing could be done anymore. None of them held the wealth of knowledge in curses that he did however, so there might just be a chance still. If not… well, there were other possibilities. Backup solutions.
The last shared dream had left him uncomfortably shaken with rage as he'd woken up. It was strange that he felt such anger as he was not personally involved, so he chalked it up to Dolores Umbridge injuring his Horcrux, his property. That explanation, while rational, did leave an unsatisfied taste in his mouth that he hoped would soon leave.
Nagini kept his company as he sat in the magically heated orangery, the crust of frost that had settled on the glass during the day now melted. He looked over the snowy field in his backyard, where moonlight was reflected on a million crystals that clung heavy to the grass. It gave an eerie, otherworldly view that he very much enjoyed. Wrapped in warming charms so the chill could not touch his already freezing blood, he untangled Nagini from his legs and stepped outside, the snow sinking underneath his weight. As his warming charms were spelled to affect him directly, the crunchy frost did not melt as it would have for a regular human, and as he stretched out a pale hand, he could study the snowflakes that fell on it for almost a minute before it finally turned into a droplet of water.
A bright blue flash behind him lit up the meadow like a freshly-formed glacier. ''Evan,'' he greeted, turning around as the head of the teen appeared from underneath an invisibility cloak.
''I'd hoped to arrive in a slightly warmer place.''
''Complaining already?'' he lightly asked, supressing a grin as Harry ducked his head.
''Err, sorry. Good evening, is there a reason why you are outside?'' It was a far cry from expected politeness, but Voldemort let it slide.
''I thought it would make you uncomfortable,'' he lied, then turned on his heel to march back inside as Harry grumbled something about him succeeding.
He guided the Gryffindor to the dining room, where the table was all set up for a medical examination: potions to one side, knives and tools to the other, which Harry eyed with clear discomfort. ''Sit here and show me your arm, I need to have a look at it first.''
Surprisingly without a word of protest, which was very telling about the severity of the situation, Harry removed his cloak and outer robe, pushing up the narrow sleeve of the inner robe. It was a rather interesting sight. The boy usually had worn Muggle clothing when visiting, and in their dreams oftentimes wore something more similar to dress robes. There hadn't been many occasions where Voldemort had seen Harry in his school uniform, and last time a thick winter cloak had hidden most of it. The style had changed a great deal over the years, with house colours being far less prominent, only visible on the sewn-on badge and striped tie instead of covering the whole outer robe.
It was then that Voldemort's attention shifted to the exposed hand, and he gingerly took it in his to study it up close. Harry's beautiful skin was marred by familiar knotted scars that came from improper healing and bruises of various colours, with in the middle a slash of vivid red where the skin was most irritable. Attempts at recent healing were clearly visible. Spells to reduce swelling and anaesthetic charms were tangible on the surface, and the way the wound itself had healed pointed to a solution of Murtlap tentacle. Not a pretty sight, and far more aggressive than he had hoped. Multiple ways of having Umbridge die horrendous deaths welled up, only to be shoved aside for practical reasons. It wouldn't do to get distracted.
Sighing, he took a knife and tested the edge against his thumb, where a drop of blood welled up instantly. Harry gave him a nervous glance and looked about to speak up when Voldemort had already pointed his wand at the hand and muttered ''Pafsílȳpos,'', entirely numbing Harry's hand with the strongest spell for pain relief that he knew. The only one that would still leave the boy conscious, that was. Although how long that would remain so entirely depended on how strong Harry's stomach was.
He made a careful incision along the red line with the enchanted knife. Its blade blackened almost instantly, indicating just how strong the curse was that resided in the flesh. He turned the arm over and, after casting a few more spells to halt the flow of blood for now, slid open the arm almost to Harry's elbow, where the blade finally turned back to silver. Even when stabbing it right through the flesh, the entire blade remained black, showing that the curse went far further than merely the outer layer. He started pulling out tendons and exposed the bone, where he had the same results: entirely tainted. Shame, he could have worked around it if at least the bone would have remained unaffected.
''On the bright side, it looks like the Hogwarts school nurse knows what she is talking about,'' he finally commented, wiping his bloodied hands on a piece of cloth - constantly spelling them clean would only be a waste of magic while he still wasn't finished. ''From a healing point of view, you arm is done for. Even the bone is affected, the cells are warping as we speak.''
''There's nothing you can do?'' Harry asked, sounding rather calm.
''Not to heal your arm, no. We will have to look into other options. I have studied bloodquills since you told me about this and can remove the curse itself, which will negate the necessity to keep up the charms that now stop it from spreading. Unfortunately, blood curses have a tendency to speed up when being attacked. All affected cells will surely die off completely. Your arm will need to be replaced after.'' He waited for a tactful three seconds to let the news sink in before continuing: ''The previous estimate of it still functioning for years is incorrect. With the nature of this curse, you will start showing symptoms of declining functionality within a few months, starting with pain and bleeding and leading to numbness and the inability to control your limb. Since this is your wand arm, you would have to start training to cast with your left instead, as the flow of magic will be hindered by this curse if we leave it as is.''
''But I can't just… replace it,'' the teen spoke, far more distressed now. ''If the Healers in St Mungo's said they couldn't do anything, it would be highly suspicious if I suddenly showed up with a wooden arm, right?''
Voldemort chuckled darkly. ''Wooden? Perhaps that is good enough a replacement for light mages like Alastor Moody, but I can assure you that your new arm would not differ so much from your current one. I am not a master in blood magic for nothing, Evan.''
The other eyed him with a distrust that stung. ''That somehow sounds like you're going to rip off a limb from some poor random Muggle and attach it to me.''
''I'd never use a Muggle for something like that,'' he answered, offended at the mere thought. ''This is your wand arm. No, human limbs in general do not work well with magical transplantation, it is nearly always rejected. We'll need something stronger. A centaur limb will do.'' Harry jerked his arm from the table and stared at him wide-eyed for reasons he did not quite understand. ''If you do not wish to be connected to creature blood, I can most likely try to work something out to at least try with a witch or wizard…'' he started, slightly thrown off. It would be far trickier and he hadn't thought that the boy would mind receiving blood and flesh of a being or beast. He never had had a problem with creatures before…
''I'd rather have my arm die off than mutilate someone else for it!'' Harry strongly spoke, standing up. The knife clattered to the floor and several tendons, which still hadn't been reconnected, dangled in the air. A thick sludge of blood started flowing out of the wound not quite unlike a stream of underwater lava.
''Sit down, you seem to misunderstand, I would not be taking it from a live body,'' he reassured quickly, finally having grasped what the problem was - although that did not mean that he personally agreed. If it would have been more effective, he'd gladly have sacrificed some random centaur. To disguise himself permanently as Noctua, he'd also had to skin the man alive after all, tying the skin to his own body through the tattoos he now bore on his right arm. He continued his explanation as he took Harry's arm again and guided it back to the table to reattach everything he'd severed before. ''If I have a bone of a creature that died recently, I can attach it to you and regrow the flesh around it, provided that they did not die from a wound in the needed limb. This should not provide much of a problem, arm wounds are unlikely to be lethal, so any skeleton will do that is about your size. Through our rescue operations, I have enough connections now among centaurs and other possible suitable creatures to easily find the necessary ingredients. I could start working on it this very night still.''
''And this is really the only way? There is no possibility to reverse the curse and keep my own arm?''
''You are about a month too late for that. As stated before, your only other option is using it until it becomes paralysed, then going to the hospital where you will most likely be given a wooden prosthetic. No healer at St. Mungo's who wants to keep his job would dabble in crafting one from blood and bone as long as dark magic is illegal still.''
Harry sighed deeply and flexed his fingers, staring with disgust at the open wounds. ''I absolutely hate Umbridge so much right now.'' Voldemort could feel it, the hatred simmering beneath Harry's skin, and relished in it. ''I'll destroy her for this,'' the Gryffindor breathed. ''For doing this to me, and potentially to others too.''
''Most of this was caused by the fact that it was not healed properly. Had it only been the blood quill itself, the curse would not have festered,'' Voldemort reminded him. ''That does decrease the possibility of other students having these issues as well, although it is not entirely implausible.''
''I really do hope it's just me then. I think she's a lot harsher on me because I publicly punched her in the face. Knowing what I do now about her though, I wish I could have punched her twice.''
''So what will it be? Will you take my offer?'' It wasn't everyday that the opportunity presented itself to perform Necromancy on a live human being, especially on one whom he wanted to accept the Art itself. Harry would be a natural Necromancer; the boy simply did not want to see it nor accept it. Well, the Dark Lord would merely have to give a few pushes in the right direction… let his Horcrux come into contact with the Black Cosmos and orchestrate situations where Harry would be forced to use it… He could simply not pass up the opportunity to hone these talents. Naturally, hecould also have replaced the arm with source magic as he'd done with Barty's fingers after the resurrection ritual - although it would raise questions if Harry appeared at Hogwarts with a mysterious silver arm.
''I don't seem to have much of a choice,'' was the grim answer. ''If it can be avoided, I'd rather not lose the ability to move and cast magic with one of my arms. As long as none will come to harm for this…''
''You have my word,'' the Dark Lord spoke, slightly annoyed at the teen's tendency to prioritise others above them. Did he not understand that it was his duty as a vessel of Voldemort's soul to ensure the best protection? ''Will you risk another trip from Hogwarts or settle this tonight?''
''Rather sooner than later,'' Harry muttered to the man's satisfaction. ''Before I can get second thoughts about it. I have History of Magic first thing in the morning anyways, then I can make up for lost sleep.''
''Binns still teaches, does he?''
''Yeah… I doubt I'll pass my O.W.L. in that.''
''It is still possible with enough self-study,'' he chided. ''I myself still managed to get an O in the subject. While I admit that the lessons itself are useless, the exams are not too hard to pass if you memorise your textbooks.'' He received a glassy look in return.
''I don't plan on following a career path with history of magic.''
''Short-sighted,'' he snapped back. ''Knowledge about the history of our kind, especially in relation to other races that we will have to live together with, will be invaluable. Much of the last centuries was shaped by wars with the Goblins, and while this does not seem relevant to wizards and witches nowadays, the Goblins have not forgotten. If you show them disinterest about their history and culture, they will treat you like dirt. This is a primal reason why they dislike mages so much, something which could easily be avoided by a bit of study. I will expect you to at the very leastpass your History exam with a good enough grade to continue for your N.E.W.T., else do not bother coming back here.'' He knew the words had hit their mark as he felt sudden panic radiating from the other. ''Now hold still, I will need to patch this up well enough for you to not slowly bleed out while I am gone in search for a bone.''
''Can I come with?'' Harry asked instantly. ''I mean, it will be my arm.''
He considered this for a moment. ''If you vow to do exactly as I say and follow my every order, then yes.''
''I will! My Lord!'' the teen hurried to speak, almost tripping over his own tongue. It looked like threatening to cut contact had made Harry rather eager to get back in his good graces, eager enough to even use his title. He looked in wide emerald eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, pleased when finding none. It was only then that he noticed Harry's pupils had increased so much that only a small ring of green was left. He once again had not realised how dark it was in here, not having bothered to make any light. As the boy had not complained before, he deduced that it had been a help rather than a hindrance, the darkness concealing much of the gore on the dining table.
He patched up the arm and sealed the wound with a brush of his fingers that had the delightful effect of being able to feel Harry squirming lightly underneath his touch. This night was going to be interesting…
XxX
Going deeper and deeper into the foreign forest they had apparated into, Harry wondered if it might have been better to have stayed home after all. Voldemort weaved with silent grace through dark silhouettes of trees that Harry had to be careful not to run into. While in the presence of an adult wizard, he did not have a spare wand to use now to negate the Trace, so he could not cast magic that could ease his way. Instead, he tried to stick as close to Voldemort as possible, which turned out to be pretty difficult. The canopy of pine needles was so dense that no light shone through at all. When looking up, he could make out white flecks of snow somewhere high above, but none of it reached the ground. Instead, there was only bare earth and thousands of dense, dark tree trunks. If Voldemort hadn't said this was a magical forest, he might not have believed it: it didn't hold a candle to the lush forest of Merlin in France where each path had shown new wonders. Only on occasion did he glimpse something that didn't fit: faint glowing figures in the corners of his eyes, a shadow that was as large as a house suddenly coming loose and moving, fog that rose from the ground to form into obscure symbols before dissipating…
''We are almost there,'' the Dark Lord spoke, reaching out the hand that didn't hold his wand in a tight grip.
''Am I… supposed to give you something?'' he asked tentatively, staring at the expectant open hand.
''Your hand, Evan,'' the other replied with amusement. ''You are much better protected when we cannot be so easily separated.''
Feeling heat rise on his skin despite the cold, Harry did as told, willing his heart to calm down. It was only holding hands to not get lost in some nefarious ancient magic. Holding hands... with Voldemort… on a walk in a magical forest. Oh Merlin, he had it bad. Harry silently prayed that his nervousness would not materialise in clammy hands, the last thing he needed was give an uncomfortable sweaty handshake that would disgust Voldemort so much that the man never wanted to touch him again.
He did his best to enjoy it as he still struggled to keep up, practically being dragged along. When the Dark Lord stopped abruptly at the edge of what looked to be the start of a clearing below where at least some light filtered through the trees, Harry skidded to a halt to not bump into the other, then cursed himself for the missed opportunity.
Since when had he gotten so desperate? He entirely blamed Hermione for her speech from today. This trip should be about fixing his cursed arm that was about to fall off, there should be no thoughts on his mind on ways to get closer to his subject of infatuation. Still, it was hard not to when the man looked every bit the powerful Lord he was, glowing red eyes peering into the forest to scan for danger.
It crept in slowly from all sides, a whispering that Harry only noticed when it was far too close already. Something cold was pressed against the back of his neck and a voice boomed: ''Vem går där?''
Not daring to turn around, Harry looked at Voldemort, who had turned with a slow yet deliberate movement and pointed his wand at whoever stood behind them. ''I am Lord Voldemort and request an audience with your herd,'' he spoke calmly.
The sound of something heavy stomping on the ground and the sharp object being removed, combined with Voldemort's words, told Harry enough about who they'd been 'greeted' by. He turned around… and couldn't stop staring. In front of them stood a large centaur with gleaming dark hair and a dark brown body that turned black towards the middle of the back. It took a moment before Harry realised that this was the first female centaur he'd ever seen. Just like the male counterparts he'd met, she did not wear anything resembling clothing, only a strap holding a quiver of arrows secured around her torso. Much like the merfolk he'd seen though, this centaur looked nothing like Harry had imagined going by Muggle folklore. The most obvious difference being that the chest of her 'human' body did not look very female at all, lacking some very obvious anatomical parts. It was only because of her face and voice that he could tell the difference. He still tried to avoid looking pointedly at her chest, keeping all wondering to himself, although it was rather difficult with it being at eye-height due to her sheer size.
''My herd is hunting,'' she spoke, surprisingly with very little accent at all. ''It is only I who can uphold the law of hospitality tonight. I speak for the herd.'' Her tone was so cold that Harry found it difficult to find any hospitality, especially as she slowly turned her still-strung bow in such a way that a glimmer of light reflected off the tip of the arrow. As if a wordless exchange had taken place that Harry hadn't heard, the centaur suddenly jumped down the small slope to the clearing below and Voldemort dragged Harry with to follow her. Soon, they were once again weaving through trees. Harry somehow got the feeling that there must be something wrong with him, as he still had a hard time avoiding running into trees while a beast the size of a large horse strode through them with ease.
More and more branches started whipping in his face, the sea of naked tree trunks becoming filled with more and more plants, most of them thorny and prickly. In front of them, the centaur disappeared, and Harry almost pressed himself against Voldemort's back to avoid being scraped by the holly bushes he was being dragged through.
Light was all around, and Harry blinked a few times once he left the shield of Voldemort's inky robes. Within a ring of tall bushes lay a living space, clearly recently used. Spheres of pure light danced around, the embers of a fire glowed and multi-coloured smoke that smelled of herbs drifted from them. In the back, animal hides were draped over colossal dead branches to form a tent large enough to hold several centaurs. It was empty now. He sniffed up some of the smoke that was all around and instantly became dizzy.
''We have heard of your tales even here, Lord Voldemort,'' the centaur spoke. She went over to the tent and pulled forth a large bag, from which she took several leaves which were thrown in the fire. ''Two of our own whom had been lost for years returned two moons ago. They could not tell us what price it would cost. Have you come for payment?''
''I have come in need of aid,'' the man answered, which Harry knew very well to be resounding 'yes'. Voldemort put his hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed him forwards. ''This young one has been cursed. I need several fitting bones to craft him a new arm.''
The centaur scraped her hood over the ground. ''Asking for our dead is no small thing.''
''Your dead would become a part of life again as is your creed.''
''In a wizard. A human.''
''Not any wizard, one tied directly to me,'' Voldemort answered, brushing Harry's bangs aside to reveal the scar. The teen shifted uncomfortably, wanting to be a part of the conversation without only being talked about instead of to. However, he'd promised to follow the man's every order and as soon as they had entered the forest, the Dark Lord had ordered him to only speak when spoken to. The centaur came closer again, a frown on her face, tail swishing back and forth.
''The skies have spoken often of this young one… each time that mars is bright. The red moon is drawing closer.'' She leaned down and stared Harry directly in the eyes. He stared back, fascinated to see that her pupils weren't round, instead flat and horizontal. He wondered if that was an equine thing… he'd never seen a real horse up close. ''Both death and life surround you. Remember, you do not need to choose, unlike so many others,'' she whispered before withdrawing abruptly. ''Such a heavy burden for a mere foal. We shall lighten it somewhat.'' She sank down in front of the fire, waving the smoke into her face. It went on for several minutes, during which Harry's eyes slowly got used to the brightness of the creatures flying around. At least he thought them to be animals of sorts. Having nothing better to do for now, he observed one as it flew in slow zigzags through the air and landed on a large tree stump. Leaning in closer, Harry saw that it was filled with bright water, pine needles and several leaves of trees that definitely did not grow anywhere in this forest.
''This looks quite magical, like wish-granting water from a fairy-tale,'' he commented.
''Don't touch it. And whatever you do, don't drink it,'' the other quietly warned.
Harry raised his head. ''Why, is it cursed?''
''Yes, you'll be cursed with amoebic dysentery if you drink contaminated forest water from a tree stump puddle,'' Voldemort hissed. ''Now be silent!''
Not knowing what amoebic dysentery was and somehow feeling like he was being made fun of, Harry only pulled a face and did as told until the centaur finally moved again. ''The ancestors have spoken,'' she said when getting up, her fur gleaming in the light as she moved. Come.''
And off they went again, leaving the comfortable space for the creepy forest, though they did not walk far this time. She pointed with an arrow to a heap of moss out of which several twigs stuck. On closer inspection, Harry saw they weren't twigs at all, instead a bleached, overgrown skeleton. ''Almost reclaimed by the earth, this one left us in summer at a mere seven years old. Will this suffice to pay our debt, Lord Voldemort?''
''We shall see. Harry, come here.'' Harry was slightly thrown off by the fact that Voldemort used his given name for once instead of 'Evan', and wondered if there was any significance in that.
They both knelt at the heap of moss, which Harry tried to carefully remove to not disturb the bones too much. Empty sockets of the skull gazed at him, and Harry bowed his head in respect as it felt like the right thing to do while Voldemort had already dug up the part he wanted. ''Your arm,'' the man said, comparing the length of bone with Harry's lower arm, humming. ''A good fit. Slightly longer than yours, but then again, we're not working with human anatomy here. Perhaps we can shrink it a tad.''
Harry did not respond, turning instead to the centaur. ''Thank you for allowing this.'' She did not answer, looking up to the trees instead. In a rather sorrowful voice she spoke: ''Winter hides the moon.''
''Err, right,'' he said, looking up too. Somehow, he couldn't imagine the moon to be visible at any time of year under the huge evergreen trees.
''It is only within ourselves, that we can find it,'' she sighed. Harry blinked, and only still caught sight of a dark tail as she cantered away.
''That was strange. She seemed so down-to-earth before.''
''Centaurs can be very practical when the need arises. As soon as that need it gone… this happens. They only talk in astronomical riddles again.''
''Yeah… although that talk about mars being bright, that was also what the centaurs at Hogwarts told me several years ago,'' he worriedly mentioned ''Do you think I should pay it any mind?''
''Divination brought the both of us quite a bit of grief before,'' Voldemort bitterly spoke. ''I don't recommend listening to it.''
Harry pondered on that for a moment. It was true, if there hadn't been a Prophecy made, Voldemort would not have come after him as a child. He might have still had his parents, and the Dark Lord might not have died. But he also wouldn't have become a Horcrux, nor felt the need to search Voldemort out… ''It didn't only bring grief,'' Harry thus muttered. ''I would probably never have met you like I did now, growing up among the Order of the Phoenix instead.''
He almost regretted his words as Voldemort halted and frowned at him, ruby eyes searching his face for something. He tried to reach out and feel what emotions were going through the other now, finding only confusion. ''Surely, that would have been a better life?''
''I can't say,'' Harry truthfully spoke. ''I would never have known that you were right. Fighting and dying for a wrong cause does not seem better.''
A proud smile graced Voldemort's serpentine features, and the man unexpectedly drew him close. ''Remember that when I am taking your arm apart a few minutes from now,'' he chuckled darkly into Harry's ear before whisking them away to England again. Whatever Harry had expected the Dark Lord to say, it had absolutely not been that.
''Somehow I get the feeling that magical transportation is getting worse,'' he thus commented as they landed in the dining room of Riddle manor again, trying to ignore the way his ears tingled. ''It's almost painful… the Portkey wasn't any better.''
Voldemort went towards the table and carefully placed the centaur bones on its surface, which was still covered by equipment and potions Harry hoped they wouldn't need. ''That has little to do with the means of transportation and everything with my wards. We are defying forces of nature and magic by burning through dimensional walls like this. Naturally, I can since I was the one to put them up, but it is never going to be pleasant. I do not care much for comfort.''
''Wouldn't have guessed,'' Harry muttered underneath his breath.
''Sit down in the same position as before,'' Voldemort spoke, already brandishing the knife again.
While it hadn't exactly hurt before, Harry still wouldn't really like to see his own flesh again so soon. ''Is your answer to everything cutting people open?'' he sarcastically asked.
''No, I do not lack creativity,'' the other replied neutrally in such a way that Harry couldn't tell whether it was supposed to be a cynical response or not. Maybe he should just stop trying so hard. Instead of making things even more awkward, Harry sat down on the chair and heaved a breath as he placed his arm on the table, stomach twisting and churning. He was really going to lose a limb right now… and have it replaced. By a centaur skeleton. He hardly knew what to think about that, trying to concentrate on gratitude that Voldemort was even doing this for him.
''Are there many centaur herds across the world?'' he thus asked to break the pressing silence and distract himself from the procedure that was about to follow. The Dark Lord sank down on a chair next to him and numbed his arm already again, made an incision and then unstoppered a cork from a vial with swirling silver liquid which he carefully started to pour into the wound.
''A few, mostly in Europe and Asia,'' the man absentmindedly spoke as he continued working on the arm. ''They are restricted to magical forests for obvious reasons, Muggles can still see them and we wouldn't want that to happen. The only herd in Britain is located in the Forbidden Forest. Well, you've met them,'' he spoke wryly. ''Gave me quite a bit of trouble when I needed unicorn blood to survive. I prefer the Scandinavian herds. They're a bit less… obnoxious than the British one. Though nothing can compare to how annoying the Greek centaurs are. Just because they made contact first and worked together with Greek philosophers during classic times, they feel like they have some sort of ascended status among centaurs.''
''Yeah, imagine how obnoxious it must be to speak to someone who thinks they're above the rest of their kind.''
''Quite,'' Voldemort spoke in all seriousness. Harry almost dared to roll his eyes. Almost. ''Hold still, I need to negate the curse now.''
Voldemort placed a few large salt crystals around Harry's hand on the table and lit a long and thin red candle. Some of the wax dripped down into the wound, which Harry was at first worried about before realising that the numb arm would be discarded afterwards. What would happen to his limb exactly? ''Ignis, purgato,'' Voldemort spoke before putting the candle away. Next, the Dark Lord picked up one of the salt rocks and held it over the hand. An empty glass filled up with water, then rose in the air and poured itself over the salt until it had all dissolved and dripped over Harry's skin. ''Aqua, purgato.Maledicite sanguinis usque in aeternum super vos discedite!''
Harry clenched his teeth together when, despite the strong numbing charm that had been cast upon him, flares of pain still shot through as if fire was eating him alive. The wound on his hand burned worse than ever before, and from it, a blackness spread. In front of his eyes, his hand and arm… shrivelled up, only halting at his elbow. Harry could do nothing but watch in horror as it withered away, the curse spreading rapidly, eating up all of his blood. He felt as if a numbing spell had been fired at his brain instead, it all felt so surreal. The swirling dark magic that leaked out from it was very unlike he'd come to get used to: stinging and hostile.
With a sharp movement, Voldemort cut the thing off that hardly resembled anything human anymore. In its stead, he prodded the bones that had lain peacefully on the forest floor just a while ago, into the new wound. It still smelled of moss… Harry tried not to move, letting the Dark Lord do as he pleased. The end of the bones, where it connected to his elbow now, was wrapped up in strips of what looked like leather of which he did not dare ask the origin. Voldemort cut Harry's other hand, blood from his left hand being rubbed over the bone that was uselessly sticking out of him. It gleamed, slick with dark wetness of which the metal stench was starting to overpower the remaining hints of forest.
The Dark Lord rose from his chair and looked down on the half-finished abomination of bone, blood and hide. His magic slashed through the room, destroying the floor below where geometric shapes appeared that were all too familiar. Before Harry knew it, he got a déjà vu from last summer where his parent's corpses had been revived. For some reason, he hadn't caught on when Voldemort had spoken of blood magic. Of course he'd meant Necromancy.
Like last time, his mind was pulled along again in that moment where Voldemort crossed over. He was more aware of the transition this time; as soon as the sound of rushing waves filled his ears, he blinked and opened his eyes to a vast universe in which he floated weightlessly under the glow of four moons. The sight filled him with an unsettling amount of familiarity, and Harry wished with all of his might to be gone from this place again. It was not the yellow moon that Voldemort sought out this time, staring up instead at the red blazing eye of fire to which the sun paled in comparison. ''I call upon you, Ruin, to restore the devastation left behind by the war against time. Mortuus Animari.''
Under the sound of rattling chains, Harry woke up again. This time, he did not need to wait very long for Voldemort to return, whose robes once more burned at the edges as if he'd just escaped from a fire. His eyes and hands shone purple as he grabbed the bone. The glowing magic took a hold of Harry, overwhelming and powerful. He felt glued to his seat as he was drenched in Voldemort's magic, basking in it. Without a further word, things started to grow. No description would have been perfect, but it looked like mould growing all over rapidly and solidifying, until there came an unexpected turning point where it suddenly looked like an arm. The whole process couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds, and as the electrifying rush of magic died down, Harry realised with a shock that he could feel it, move it.
''It... it worked,'' he said, his tongue feeling like sandpaper.
''You always sound so surprised about that. I know that it is generally not a state you are familiar with, but I do know what I am doing.''
With fascination, Harry carefully moved the new attachment, which did not feel as foreign as he would have imagined. The leather strips which still were wound tightly around his elbow hindered the movement a bit until Voldemort snapped his fingers and they fell to the ground. ''It even has my skin colour,'' he wondered out aloud, somehow not having thought before about the possibility of getting a white arm.
''The bone provided the basic structure, but the flesh and skin itself are mainly grown using your own genes. There will of course be some differences…'' Voldemort spoke, reaching out to run his fingers across the side of Harry's new arm, which had a few patches that were quite a bit hairier than his previous one had been. The movement instantly raised goose bumps and Harry hated to admit how much he liked it. ''You might need a shave to erase suspicion. It is also approximately half an inch longer than your other arm. I did cut off some of the bone, but it was difficult to judge the exact length of the final product before placing it. It still is close enough to not be too noticeable.''
''It's perfect,'' Harry reassured the other. ''Thank you. This is… amazing.'' And he meant it: the way the muscles shifted and his fingers flexed, he couldn't have asked for a better replacement. Voldemort had undone the rot Umbridge had left and Harry was incredibly grateful for it. ''How could I ever repay you for this?'' he asked.
''For now, this will be enough,'' the man answered, picking up the shrivelled arm that had been his mere minutes ago and staring at it as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.
''Erhm.. well I didn't really want it back anyways so… fine?'' he asked hesitantly, not really wanting to know what someone could use a cut-off dead limb for. An image of Borgin and Burkes swam in his mind, with he hand of the hanged or whatever that thing had been called on display.
''Excellent. I suggest you go wash up upstairs. You are staying the night, yes?''
Portkeying back after all of this and trying to get back into Hogwarts was not a very appealing thought, not when a warm shower and bed were waiting right upstairs. However, morning would probably dawn within a few hours, not giving much time for a proper sleep anyways. ''I don't think I can. What time is it?''
''Two o clock.''
That was a lot earlier than Harry had expected, it felt to him as if the trip into the forest alone had taken hours. ''Oh, well in that case… if you don't mind, I'll sleep now and leave shortly before six.''
He picked up his outer robe again and went to the bathroom, finding it pleasantly clean with a steaming bath already drawn. With a pleased sigh, he slipped into the water, still staring at his arm in wonder. The tufts of fur on it were strange, and he'd need to use a razor as soon as he got back to Gryffindor tower if he did not want to get odd questions when changing in front of the other guys. Other than that, it looked very human, with perhaps slightly longer and sturdier nails than his left hand. It was a relief to see the unmarred skin on the back of his hand. Now he'd only need to make sure to not get detention with Umbridge again, he doubted Voldemort would be very happy about needing to fix up his arm a second time.
Overwhelmed by fatigue, he leaned his head back on the edge of the tub and let himself be enveloped by warm water and the smell of soap. Dark magic was always so exhausting… in a good way, but still. Even though he hadn't really cast any spells himself, he'd still experienced it second-hand from the Dark Lord and merely thinking about it made his body feel heavy. Incredibly heavy…
He awoke with a shock and flailing arms as something heavy was pushing his ribcage together. He tried to speak, but could only cough and spit out unholy amounts of water as two arms constricted tightly around him. An angry hiss sounded from behind and he heard: ''Stop struggling and breathe, damn it!''
After another few coughs that felt as if his lungs were being expelled from his body, Harry finally was able to draw in a few gulps of air. He turned to look at Voldemort and incredulously said: ''Couldn't you just have used Anapneo?''
By the fire that shot from red eyes that resembled the deepest pits of hell, Harry deduced that pointing out Voldemort could have used magic instead of a physical move, could not be put on his list of top ten brightest moments. ''You were drowning yourself,'' the man spit out furiously. ''I demand that you tell me why!''
''Drowning my-? I fell asleep!''
''You fell asleep. In the bath? All of my attempts to both kill you and to prevent you from dying, and you are planning on going by accidental drowning in two feet of water? That's it, I am not letting you out of my sight until you return to school in the morning.'' Before Harry could register anything else, he was being dragged out of the bathroom. Only when they entered a pitch-black room and he was pushed on a bed - that wasn't his – did he notice that he was, in fact, still entirely wet and very naked.
''Can you at least give me a towel?'' he asked in humiliation. Oh Merlin, Voldemort had hauled his naked ass out of the bathtub. It wasn't as if he hadn't had to strip before during rituals, but there he at the very least had been able to cover his private parts. A towel was forcefully pushed in his face and Harry tried his best to dry himself off and wrapped it around his hips after while he tried not to think about the fact that Voldemort could excellently see in the dark. ''I really did not mean to make you worry…''
''I did not. worry.'' But the onslaught of panic he'd felt all of this time wasn't only his own, Harry found with a small hint of satisfaction. Voldemort was… scared of Harry dying. Maybe Hermione really had been right, he thought as he settled down on the bed and tried to make out Voldemort's form next to him in the darkness. Maybe love did come in many forms. The thought of that made his heart do a few strange flips, and he carefully reached out to place his hand on the other man's arm, sending over his feelings of joy and gratitude to placate the Dark Lord. Surely, Voldemort would deny it tomorrow, but Harry relished in the emotions he received back through the link and the feel of a cold hand being briefly pressed against his cheek.
This chapter was so much fun to write hehe. And yes, foreshadowing for more necromancy int he future ;P I very much like exploring this type of magic..
I hope all the banter between Voldemort and Harry isn't too out of character. They are kind of getting more comfortable around each other, so harry can get away with a lot more now without being choked to death.
Please read and review!
xx GeMerope