Chapter eighty-three – Unsettledness
History of Magic had never touched upon the war started by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Binns had died before it had fully began and likely never noticed anything amiss from behind the safety of Hogwarts' sturdy walls. All who had lived through it personally would at most give a few curt words as to how horrible it had been and shush those who dared speak the feared Dark Lord's name. The rest… the rest had taken their memories with them to an early grave.
It left not a single soul who was willing to personally fill in an outsider, a Muggle-born trying to quench a desperate thirst to understand the world she'd been thrown into without previous knowledge. It was just as well, for it meant Hermione had been able to turn to her favourite objects in the world for answers. Thus, upon entering this new, marvellous world and finding that she'd have to learn all about it on her own, she'd scoured for every book she could lay her hands on that dealt with the most recent history of the community she was now supposed to be a part of. And while most people were too afraid to speak their minds, words on paper must have felt safer, for there existed dozens of books on the war: autobiographies of survivors, diaries, informative history books, memoirs, philosophical essays… Hermione had devoured them all, maybe at too young an age to properly understand the gruesome details at first.
Small fingers had traced pages of names of the deceased, wide eyes had read about all the lurid details, of vicious curses Death Eaters had used to torment their enemies. It had painted a bloody picture that had been engraved in her mind: of senseless cruelty and perpetual hatred against those of lesser blood. Against people like herself. Above all, it had given an abstract image of the one who'd pulled the strings. An unmistakable, almost cartoonish villain who'd grasped for power by slaughtering any who disagreed.
All of that filled her head the moment she laid eyes upon that same wizard - ghost? creature? An unreal concept given form, no different from the way she'd imagined evil spirits from horror movies nipping at her toes at night if she wouldn't cover them with a blanket. It was the reason why her body felt like stone and ice alike when watching on as a bone-white wand was pressed to her dear friend's throat, only a few steps away. Hermione had wanted to interfere, truly, live up to her Sorting and jump to Harry's defence. Instead, she could do naught but cling onto Ron's unconscious body while feeling just as paralysed. Despite all their previous experiences and Professor Dumbledore's adamant persistence that the Dark Lord had returned to life, it had never once felt real. Even now, looking straight at him, Hermione could not see a person, only a monster come to haunt her from a tale, risen from the pages in a ghoulish display.
And then… all of a sudden, wands were lowered, biting words exchanged back and forth and through a haze, Hermione realised that this monstrosity was not here to kill them. Not yet. Even in her panicked confusion - because nothing was making sense - Hermione forced herself to speak when her living nightmare crouched down right in front of her to stabilise Ron, going so far as to heal the worst wounds after. It didn't wake her friend – he'd lost so much blood that he was still on a dangerous edge, but it was an act of kindness that felt more like a slap of awakening.
Waking from her stupor took longer than Hermione would like to admit, and she very much felt a stranger in her own body as she watched the conversation unfold from the safety of this small office once Voldemort had removed himself from it again, resuming his talk with Harry. As if the doorframe was a window into a separate world, detached from her own as much as grainy film one would watch on the side, she observed the two of them interact, calming down her erratic breathing enough to become aware of two very important facts at the same time.
Fact one: They knew each other not as enemies. Once the initial aggression was over that appeared to be rooted in a misunderstanding, Voldemort wasted no time in healing Harry and exchanging snappy remarks that she'd have labelled as banter if they'd been said by anyone else. They also slipped in and out of the language that only the two of them shared with an ease and lack of surprise from either side that betrayed it wasn't the first time they met like this. Another hint was Harry's complete lack of fear. Of course, Harry was reckless, but this was different. Body language often told a more complete story than words ever could, and one did not lean forwards, into the personal space of a person, unless being comfortable around them. Lastly was the most obvious part about the Death Eater who accompanied the Dark Lord being the very same man Harry had sent a distress call for help to. Hermione didn't yet know the how or why, but everything pointed to the mind-boggling fact that Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort were a far cry from the archenemies she'd been led to believe.
Fact two: None of this came as a surprise to Draco. During all the years of being bullied by the Slytherin, Hermione had learned very well to watch Draco's moods. Even without seeing his face, the sheer lack of reaction told her enough. Pieces of a puzzle started to slide together in her head. Harry's insistence on being taken in by the Malfoys, his desperate wish for the freedom he'd be granted there. Narcissa's and Lucius' alleged ties with the same Dark Lord who was now here with clearly very little desire to harm Harry, or any of them… Whether cause or excuse, the Malfoys were closely involved with Harry's current stance on Voldemort.
None of this meant that Hermione felt comforted in any way by the presence of their rescuers. Harry had told her to 'roll with it', but as soon as she realised that her friend was about to tell these people their entire plan, she was shocked into action, shouting at him to stop. ''You can't… you're not really going to trust him with everything?'' she asked in bewilderment. Acquaintances or not, had Harry never opened a book? Did he not know what this man had done? But of course he should, Harry's own childhood was a famous chapter, one her friend did not wish to talk about because of what had been done to his parents. He'd confessed to hearing screams when Dementors got too close and been furious with Sirius before knowing the full truth, thinking him to be the traitor who'd put a noose around his parents' throat by delivering their location to Voldemort. So how? Why? What in the world had happened between then and now that Hermione had been blinded to?
Her words had no effect, Harry shocking her back into silence.
''I trusted him with Ron's life''
The words replayed in her head as Harry indeed left no detail untouched, recounting their story. She looked at Ron's closed eyes and partially healed wounds. Harry had called for help to save the one who completed their unbeatable trio and Voldemort had done exactly that. Had done so before getting the full picture. She didn't understand, unable to rhyme what she saw with what she'd read about the red-eyed shadow that left death in its wake. Desperately needing new input to sort out and add to the information she had, Hermione returned to doing what she did best: studying.
Once the two of them came to an agreement on what must be done about a Prophecy – there was a Prophecy about them? One stored here? – and they walked away it felt as if she'd been left alone in the cold, surrounded by people who wished her ill. And all the while, one more fact sank in, pressing on her chest like a heavy weight that held her under water, unable to breathe. They couldn't return to Hogwarts. All the years of hard work, of proving her worth in this world, of trying to make her parents proud by showing that she'd get good grades even if she didn't attend the schools the entire family had gone to… It had been for nought. She'd never be able to take her O.W.L.s now. Never graduate. Never walk the Hogwarts library again.
But she knew that had been a risk, one she'd been willing to take for the sake of stopping Umbridge… pushing those dark thought away, she turned her focus instead on the second man, who'd said precious little. He was leaning against an upturned desk, keeping an eye on her just as much as on the people he'd knocked out.
''You are Barty Crouch Junior,'' she spoke to catch his attention.
''Just Barty Crouch now,'' he replied casually, then flashed a smirk. ''My late father fortunately doesn't besmirch my life with his presence anymore. I'm amazed you recognise me.''
''There are photos of your trial,'' she explained. He looked far from the teenager he'd been then but was still recognisable enough. ''They were printed in 'Trial and error', an enlightening work about the fate of war criminals.''
Crouch's smirk turned into a grimace. ''There were more errors than trials,'' he growled, glowering at nothing in particular.
''Are you saying you were falsely accused?'' she asked disbelievingly.
''It's not that simple. Do you know what my official crime was?''
Hermione tensed when the man moved, leaving his position to approach her, walking through the doorway that had separated 'safe' from 'scary'. Her right hand grasped the handle of her wand more tightly. ''You tortured the Longbottoms,'' she rasped, mentally preparing to defend herself in case he'd attempt to harm any of them. Crouch didn't raise his wand, holding it loosely at his side as he sauntered closer. She gauged whether she could take him on physically if need be. He was rather skinny and not overly tall - maybe in a moment of surprise…
''I did not. None in that courtroom would have believed my word for it, of course.'' Hermione didn't either, without any sort of proof. ''Not that it mattered,'' he continued, ''For that wasn't my crime. Malfoy, maybe stop cowering there and fill her in.''
With obvious reluctance, Draco inched closer to the both of them, coming into view. He looked highly uncomfortable with the entire situation, but did answer the question: ''You were convicted of being a Death Eater, Sir'' he muttered, shooting only a few glances at Crouch. Hermione took note of the respectful tone Draco had used.
''Exactly. I belonged to a group with a certain political ideology. What I did individually didn't matter at all.''
Hermione couldn't help it, a scoff escaped her lips before she'd thought about it.
''Do you find that funny?'' the man growled, looking less than pleased.
Thoughts racing, Hermione decided that it may as well be now than never. How often did one get the chance to straight up start a discussion with a Death Eater? ''Individual crimes should not be necessarily considered when you're an open supporter of a terrorist movement known for a slew of crimes,'' she bit. ''The mark you bear was all the confession needed for knowing you are a murderer. Don't pretend there were innocents amongst those who pledged themselves to your Lord willingly! A single Unforgivable curse means a lifetime in Azkaban, you taught us that.''
Crouch cocked his head slightly and frowned, as if seeing her for the first time. Then, he… heartily laughed? ''Oh man, Evan really picked out people similar to him as friends, wow. I feel like I've had this same conversation ages ago. Granger, you're a smart kid. I mean, smart in the way that I dreaded marking your tests because it meant hours of looking up all the additional details you used to answers questions in order to check whether your facts were correct. Surely you are also intelligent enough to realise that where we are right here and now is not the best place for a political discussion with the one who is trying to get you out of this place in one piece? Speaking of errors in the justice system, there's really a lot of crimes that will land you a life-time sentence in Azkaban. Acts of highly varying weight that are given the exact same punishment.''
He appeared to hint at something she wasn't instantly able to grasp in her current state. Not having enough time right now to examine all flaws in the judicial branch of the Ministry of Magic, Hermione instead picked up on a different detail. ''Why do you call Harry that? Evan?'' For a moment, she'd had the ludicrous theory that Harry had been an impostor all along, though his honest worry for their safety made that unlikely.
Crouch blinked. ''Oh. Well, cause Evan is Evan, you know,'' he unhelpfully clarified.
''Bombarda!''
Hermione jumped at both the sudden shouting and the ear-deafening sound of shattering glass that followed. Crouch turned instantly and rushed out, but from the way he instantly relaxed when apparently seeing the cause of the noise, Hermione deducted that no new enemies had arrived. Figuring that she could not stay in this position forever, she checked Ron once more and at last released him from her hold. She ensured that he wouldn't slide off the chair, before finally braving the next hurdle: exiting her safehold. She didn't make it far past the threshold, unable to decide what to focus on: Harry and Voldemort heading her way side-by-side or the unconscious forms that had been forced into a kneeling position, lined up and bound with ropes. In the end, her eyes were drawn to a figure that stood out like a sore thumb among all the rubble. A bit to the right lay a heap of pink fabric. ''Is that- Professor Umbridge?'' she asked disbelievingly.
''She couldn't stay away, intent on witnessing your capture personally,'' Voldemort spoke neutrally. ''Highly convenient for us, it certainly saves time otherwise spent in hunting her down.''
''What will happen to her?'' Hermione warily asked. She didn't feel sorry for the vile woman and had hoped she'd get her due, but tossing her to a Dark Lord sounded a bit… excessive. She raised her eyebrows when no answer came at first, Harry and Voldemort trading a glance that she couldn't decipher, her friend closing a hand around Voldemort's wrist as if to stop the wizard from attacking. It was one more wake-up call that such a move was being allowed.
''Nothing we can decide on yet,'' the man finally replied, sounding displeased. ''Unlike the fates of these.'' He gestured to the captives. Without further ado, he stalked towards the first one. ''Ennervate.''
As she watched the Auror awake with a start, Hermione felt very much out of her depth. Everyone else simply watched on as if noting was wrong when the serpentine being threateningly loomed over the helpless Auror, wand instantly at the man's temple. Even Harry didn't seem too concerned, only a tad wary, nervously tapping two fingers against his thigh. Was this not the first time he watched the Dark Lord interrogate someone? She swallowed when reminded of the stories she'd read about dark curses that could slice open both body and mind. Magic wasn't always beautiful.
''You… you're real,'' the Auror whispered, wide eyes locked on the Voldemort's terrifying face. ''No, you cannot be real-''
''Robards,'' came a hissed greeting. ''Let us cut the pleasantries. You have so far been a diligent Auror, always strictly followed the rules, haven't you?''
''I… yes, but-'' the man stammered, baffled, drops of sweat starting to pearl down his forehead. ''It's my job!'' he desperately exclaimed.
''You seem to misunderstand,'' the Dark Lord crooned. ''I'm not here to take revenge for anyone you put behind bars. Will you always answer to the letter of the law? Answer truthfully.'' The words reverberated through the air with a force that put Hermione on edge, the hairs on the back of her neck rising unpleasantly.
Whether he wanted to or not, Robards mechanically nodded. ''It is my duty. I will never betray my position.''
''Perfect. Obliviate, SomniusInquietus.'' The Auror's face went slack for a moment, then lolled to the side almost comically. Next to her, Harry tensed up until Voldemort cast a glance over his shoulder and said: ''No need for such worries, someone whose loyalty is exclusively to the law is a perfect asset when I am the one creating the law. He is simply asleep. Now, the next one… Mrs Odell. Ennervate.''
The woman, who'd been hit by several stunners and immobilising spells in a short span of time – one of them coming from Hermione's own wand - was far more sluggish as she woke, and highly disorientated to boot. As this Auror too reacted with confused disbelief like the last one, Hermione started to wonder if they got any proper training at all on how to survive an encounter with dark mages or if they were just told to simply shoot away. Voldemort had little patience for painstakingly answering her ramblings. ''You are a Muggle-born,'' he stated. There was no contempt in the word like Hermione had expected, nor did he use the slur that was so common amongst Pure-bloods that most didn't give a second thought about throwing it around. ''I know this fact has been one of your main motivators to get the position you hold now.''
''We can't let people like you walk all over us,'' the Auror said with barely contained anger, her voice now stronger as she glared at Voldemort. ''We suffered enough the last time you started your futile rebellion… We'll win again! We-'' In that moment, it appeared that she'd noticed there were other people in the room. Her face fell. ''Harry Potter… you're still here. And you-''
''Don't you dare address him,'' Voldemort aggressively hissed, stabbing his wand in the hollow of her throat. ''I know you wouldn't stop fighting me because you agree with my ideals, but-'' The Auror interrupted him by suddenly struggling, attempting to leap forward and use her head to knock the wizard to the floor. Voldemort remained unimpressed and held up three fingers before she even touched him. No other movement or sound was made, yet Mrs Odell was once again entirely frozen, then forced back into the original position.
''I'll always fight the likes of you!'' she promised, breathing heavily as she once more glared up.
''Even if you could save your sister?'' The soft words had a hint of victory to it already. Hermione could feel the silence grow heavy as the Auror took in what he'd said.
''You are bluffing…'' Odell breathed, trembling all over now. ''She can't be saved.''
''Did you not pay attention to the news last year? All ailments can be cured…''
She vehemently shook her head. ''The Minister assured us all that the Prophet was misinformed. I asked my sister's personal Healer and was also told there's nothing that can be done!'' But her words were laced with desperation and hope both now. Hermione watched in horrified fascination as the witch was so quickly coming undone by the Dark Lord's words.
While his face wasn't visible, she could hear Voldemort's wicked smirk when he promised: ''Agree to become one of mine and she'll be healthy by the morrow.''
The Auror struggled again, now with her inner self, sorrow and hope fighting for dominance on her face. ''It was my fault,'' she finally whispered, voice broken as if she'd given up.
''I know.''
''I have to do anything- I will do anything for her.'' It sounded as if she was attempting to justify her next actions to herself more than anything. The entire exchange was unnerving to watch: the bound Auror on the brink of collapse, struggling to get her feelings in check while the Dark Lord watched, unmoved, not wasting more of his cold words than absolutely necessary.
''Your arm,'' he demanded, the ropes falling away.
The woman didn't instantly do what he wanted. ''What guarantee do I have that you will hold to your word?'' she asked instead.
''Would you rather die today than take that chance?'' Voldemort countered. ''Throw away all hope for her life for a suspicion?''
This time, Mrs Odell didn't attempt to fight anymore, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as she rolled back one sleeve with shaking fingers. Hermione wished to stop her from committing a mistake, to shout at the woman that making a deal with the devil could never be worth it. However, all that Hermione had previously taken for the absolute truth had been turned upside down as soon as Harry had called these people for help. When the Dark Lord burned his Mark into the exposed skin, Hermione was unable to stay completely still, willing her legs to move closer to her friend. As silently as possible, she whispered: ''Does he speak the truth? Will he keep that promise?''
''He has nothing to gain from lying about this,'' Harry answered in another whisper. It wasn't the clear-cut reassurance she'd hoped for, but there was nothing she could do about it now except to hope for the best and ignore the smell of burning flesh. Mrs Odell stopped screaming when the wand left her arm and soon was just as fast asleep as the Auror next to her. It wasn't a silent slumber for either, faces twisting in grimaces as if they were being plagued by nightmares. It made sense, considering the spell that had been used. Only potions could grant a dreamless sleep.
The third conversation went much quicker. It turned out that the next Auror – the same one who'd caused Ron to smash into the tank with brains and been absolutely useless after – had a family member who was a Death Eater already. It took much less to turn him around: merely a promise of gold and a position in which he'd be seen and valued. Perhaps the smell also helped. He did not, however, gain a Dark Mark before being put back to sleep. While listening, she became more aware of how much Voldemort appeared to know about these people. Was a type of mind magic being used? How had he known that Auror's sister was terminally ill? How did he know exactly how to approach them?
''My Lord, only a few minutes left,'' Crouch warned in a firm, yet respectful tone.
''I need no more than that,'' the other muttered in return, moving to stand in front of the last man. Once more, he put his wand between the Auror's eyes to wake him.
''Avada Kedavra.''
Hermione blinked, only registering the spell when the green wave of light was already gone and the person, still bound, toppled lifelessly to the floor.
''Why did you kill him?'' her friend was shouting now, clearly upset. Hermione didn't see Harry's face, unable to tear her gaze away from the open, dead eyes of the Auror who'd been so full of vigour before. Yes, he'd tried to stop them, but-
Voldemort vanished the rest of the ropes and left the sleeping people to sink down on the floor. He took a moment, a white hand pressing against his own chest for a few second as if he were catching his breath, before answering in a nonchalant tone: ''Rufus Scrimgeour was almost as fanatic as Alastor Moody in cracking down on dark magic. He had no place in our future. There was nothing I could have said or done to make him cooperate. With him being the most likely candidate for becoming Minister of Magic after Fudge, this was a good opportunity to eliminate a severe threat. Grab Weasley, I shall take care of some of our tracks before we need to leave.''
''Granger, snap out of it,'' someone muttered in her ear. She jumped, turning to face Crouch, not knowing what she was supposed to do now. Or think. Around her was a flurry movement all of a sudden – Voldemort started casting a spell in what sounded like Medieval Latin, Draco had lifted Umbridge off the floor with a levitation spell and Harry was sprinting back into the office to haul Ron on his back again like before.
''He's dead,'' she whispered. ''He's really dead.''
''First time, eh? Crouch sighed. ''Yeah Granger, he's dead. Come on, get it together.''
''They'll think we're murderers too now,'' she suddenly realised with horror.
To her surprise, the Death Eater shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder that was probably meant to be reassuring. ''A bunch of teenagers successfully casting a Killing Curse? No. If anything, they'll know you'll have had help getting out. Perhaps we can spin it in a way that you were forced to come here. We'll figure something out. Look, my Lord is currently changing memories, both of this place and of the people who aren't allowed to remember. Since Umbridge already told the Minister of your little stunt with the time-turners and the damage is way too significant to mend, we can't cover up everything, only give them a wishy-washy trail to follow that leaves the ending conflicted, giving us some space to think of a plan. Speaking of not leaving trails, I'll have to blindfold you now.''
Instinct finally kicked in and she shrugged the hand away, raising her wand against Crouch. ''You'll do no such thing!'' she exclaimed.
''Not for long, only long enough that you won't see the surroundings and outside of the building where we're going.''
In that moment, Harry approached them, sweating and panting slightly as he carried Ron. ''If it makes you feel better, Mione, I'll let him blindfold me too.''
''I somehow doubt you don't know where we're going,'' she snapped, feeling hurt by all the secrecy. He didn't reply, which was all she needed to know. ''Fine then, cover up my eyes. But you, Harry James Evan Potter, will have so much to answer for!''
XxX
Harry had messed up in so many ways that he was shocked to find his partner almost calm now. He'd expected Voldemort to be just as mad about the failed escape as Harry was himself. He would have to break off his education prematurely, would be considered an official criminal on the run now, and had compromised Voldemort's secrecy. Ron wouldn't recall a thing after falling unconscious, but Hermione was a risk. Perhaps the only reason why Voldemort's rage had abated so much was because most of it had mistakenly been directed at the belief that Harry had organised this heist to uncover the Prophecy. Now that the entire Hall of Prophecies was in shambles without either of them hearing a word of it, Voldemort had regained a semblance of control again. Another part of it might be that the man had made the most of a bad situation and offed one political enemy while gaining at least two new followers. Harry desperately wished to ask for more details right away: how much each Auror would remember, whether there was a precaution against the Dark Mark being discovered, whether the Ministry would be able to figure out that Voldemort had been here personally due to his magic hanging in the air…. And most of all what the wizard's further plans were for both Harry's friends and for Umbridge.
The only silver lining he saw was that they'd fulfilled their mission in a way. No more time-turners, no more Umbridge at Hogwarts. The Ministry's influence over the school was much likelier to dwindle now. Apart from those who'd joined him today, Hogwarts' students would be safe. He watched with a twinge of guilt as Hermione's eyes were being secured. On one hand, it was a good sign since it meant that Voldemort at least considered leaving her mind intact seriously enough to take safety measures. On the other, it felt like Hermione was just as much of a prisoner as the Aurors had been earlier. One of whom was dead now.
He shifted Ron's weight on his back, hoping they'd all leave very soon. As the adrenaline of the fight before had waned, so had his energy and strength. He became very aware of how much muscle he'd lost during all those months he hadn't participated in sports. Damn it.
''Thirty seconds,'' Barty tensely announced.
Voldemort cast a last, scrutinising gaze around the Time Room. In his hand was a piece of fabric that had been ripped from one of the Auror's robes during the previous scuffle ''Gather round, then.'' With the way he held the cloth in the air, Harry knew it had been turned into a Portkey. His hand automatically flew to his glasses as he in a flash wondered if using his own to get out of here would technically have worked… But that would only have led them all to Voldemort's side anyways, without permission or a previous heads-up and with the memories of all Aurors intact. It was a surprise to find that Portkeys worked here at all, that sounded like a major security risk. Not that they'd encountered much security in this Department until they had started breaking stuff.
Still feeling protective of Hermione even if she might not trust him right now, her grasped his friend's clammy hand and guided it to the Portkey. Draco did the same with Umbridge, looking none too happy about having to touch her at all.
In a blue, dizzying flash, their strange group landed in the small space in front of the hidden entrance to the Riddle residence. Knowing that Voldemort could create Portkeys that went through the dimensional wards, Harry wondered if there was a reason for landing here first. Honestly, since the wizard had shot a Killing Curse straight at an unconscious man without previous warning, Harry wasn't sure anymore whether he could calculate any of Voldemort's moves today. Mentally prodding, he slammed into a wall. ''Not now,'' his partner curtly said, gesturing for them all to step through the entrance before he did.
Upon arriving in the lush garden that was teeming with life and magic, Harry allowed himself to deeply breathe in the fragrant air. He heard a light giggling as something zoomed past his ear. ''Since when do we have pixies?'' he absentmindedly asked, while carefully leading Hermione down the path to the front door.
''Since yesterday. They're still acclimatising,'' Voldemort answered, tone still far too neutral to Harry's liking, as if he didn't really care. Harry sighed and shut up for now, hoping they'd get a chance to speak privately very soon. That one moment in the Hall of Prophecies had given him a glimpse of hope that was quickly fading again. Once they'd entered the house, the man instantly started giving directions: ''Evan, put Weasley on the sofa. He is only marginally stable and will fall back into danger if I don't treat him again. Healing him completely is out of the question for now though, which will have to wait until tomorrow. We can't have him slipping further away again in the meantime and risk permanent damage. Bring Granger with you, she may only access the dining room for now, understood? Barty, go upstairs with our prisoner and get everything out of her that you can. I want the full, coherent story and the names of any people who are unquestionably loyal to her. I need to discover any missing pieces. Draco… go make us all some coffee.''
With utmost care, Harry lowered Ron onto the sofa, supporting his head with a couple of pillows. It was clearly too small – expected as Harry too couldn't fully stretch out on the thing without his feet dangling off and Ron was even a head taller – so his friend's legs only fit on the sofa to the knees. As soon as he was sure Ron wouldn't fall off, he turned to a tense Hermione, not waiting for Voldemort's permission to finally take the blindfold off. She was red in the face, understandably looking as if ready to explode. ''Mione…'' he started, scratching his head.
However, his partner intervened, wordlessly summoning her and Ron's wands. ''Sit down, Granger.''
''And if I won't?'' she stubbornly bit, unsurprisingly.
''Then I'll make you,'' he threatened, baring his teeth.
Fed up with the aggression towards his friend, Harry spoke up loudly: ''Hey, if you're angry, then be angry at me, okay? I got them all into this.'' The sudden hostility was out of place, considering that he'd not picked up anger at all anymore before.
''Truly?'' Voldemort coolly asked. ''That doesn't seem your style, putting people in harm's way. It feels far more likely that you wished to go alone and everyone else insisted on joining in.''
''And would it have mattered if not?'' he retorted, unable to deny the truth. ''Umbridge already knew we were there. It would have been the same if I'd gone alone, right? Speaking of which, you didn't elaborate much on what exactly happened. You said you looked into her mind?''
The man snarled back: ''It mattered, because then I would have only needed to save you and not have a problem at my hands that only a professional Healer can likely fully solve, plus have your connection to me revealed to third parties who should really have been subjected to a full memory wipe from the moment I arrived at the Ministry. Which I just know you are going to be very persistent about not happening.''
''Yeah, cause if you Obliviate Hermione now, she will just figure it out soon again and then you'll have to repeat it and I will not be responsible for damaging another mind with that fucked up spell!''
They stared each other down, Voldemort finally shoving him aside with a growl and summoning a chair so he could sit next to Ron, concentrating on casting diagnostic spells again. ''We have to get our priorities in order,'' the wizard muttered while tracing the yew wand across Ron's forehead. ''Weasley is not out of danger yet and Umbridge will be missed. Not at first – there is still a version of her at Hogwarts for the next twenty-three hours before she'll travel back in time and I doubt Fudge can wrap his head fully around the workings of time magic. However, this entire fiasco will blow up regardless once the Aurors inform Fudge that you escaped without any further information than that an unknown third party was involved. Being in the Board of Governors, Lucius will also soon go ballistic when it becomes clear that both Draco and you are missing, so he'll have to be informed at some point also. In addition, there is still the headache over how much Umbridge attempted to change time, there is a very real possibility of paradoxes. Granger would only have become a priority if you'd agreed to let me modify her mind in such a way that she could have returned to Hogwarts none the wiser, with memory locks powerful enough that no sane person would attempt to break them.''
''But Fudge isn't sane,'' Harry reminded quietly. Unable to bear the distance - mental, magical and physical – any longer, he caved slightly by stepping closer and putting a hand on his partner's shoulder that was thankfully not shrugged off. ''The way he handled Hogwarts this year is all the proof you need that he'll implement everything he finds necessary to have the feeling he's in control. You think he'll shy away from breaking memory locks just because an expert would tell him it's dangerous? He revived the Triwizard Tournament as a publicity stunt to become more popular! With overprotective, nesting dragons!''
Voldemort emitted a soft grunt. ''So far, you are offering no solutions. Surely, you are not expecting me to let them stay indefinitely here? Or return them to their families?''
This time, Hermione shakily spoke up: ''There are other places, away from the Ministry. There's a safe house… I'm sure that if the situation is explained to Ron's parents-''
''Black's safe house, I presume?'' Voldemort cut in before Harry could comment on it. Hermione's eyes widened and she shot her friend an accusatory look. ''The one place where Albus Dumbledore can show up unannounced to interrogate you? Force you to undergo Legilimency? He has no more scruples than Fudge when it comes to desperate measures.''
''Well, at least he hasn't killed anyone in front of me!'' she exclaimed, hands balling into fists.
''No, he tends to do that when no-one can judge him for it,'' the Dark Lord sneered back. Harry somehow doubted Dumbledore had multiple murders under his belt but didn't know enough to refute it. ''Be quiet now.'' Voldemort pressed a finger to Ron's temple, who released a pained sound even as he didn't wake. With a displeased hum, the wizard spoke: ''While freezing those brains lessened the physical damage they could do, the thoughts had connected to Weasley's mind already by that time, causing the spell to also affect his own mind. It's the main reason why he still hasn't woken. This will take a mixture of various healing disciplines just to stabilise it for the night… Evan, get two books from my study: 'iatrikí méntioum' and 'Quantum Psychics'. This goes deeper than I thought.'' Then, he cast a glance at the door. ''And why is Draco taking so long?''
Harry cocked his head. ''You do realise that Draco has relied on House-elves all of his life and likely has no clue how to make coffee from scratch?''
Irritated, the man grumbled: ''Well, why didn't he say so?''
''Err, he is terrified of you, maybe that has something to do with it? Most people don't just say no to you. I'm sure he's tearing through cupboards in the hopes of finding a jar that says 'coffee' on it.''
Voldemort sighed. ''I got too used to you.''
''Clearly,'' Harry smiled, giving the man's shoulder another squeeze. Then, he glanced at Hermione, who'd wandered a bit away and finally sat down, watching them in silence with the same frown she usually had when attempting to solve a problem. ''I'll be back in a moment…'' he told her awkwardly. Leaving her alone in one room with Voldemort wasn't great, but Ron needed all the help he could get.
''I'll manage,'' she reassured with a very tense smile. The feel of unease abated slightly when seeing that Voldemort was content to ignore her presence rather than become hostile again in favour of checking over Ron once more, so he figured a few minutes wouldn't hurt. As Harry ascended the stairs, he realised that it was quiet, too quiet considering the orders Barty had received. The Death Eater must have cast some damned strong silencing wards, which reminded Harry all too well about all the gruesome spells Barty knew. Was it cowardly to not step in? Would he have so easily ignored the thought of torture happening in the same house a couple of years ago? Harry couldn't decide whether he'd become too desensitised or whether the only reason there was no guilt was because of everything Umbridge had done. Perhaps a bit of both, he absentmindedly thought, turning left towards the study. It was a right mess again, which meant Voldemort had been working on something new before being interrupted to save the day. Thankfully, it didn't look like whatever the new project was involved Healing, for those books stood in their usual place on the sturdy bookshelves that lined the walls. He found Quantum Psychics easily, then for the second book realised the title must be written in a different alphabet than the one he could read, for Harry found none with a similar sounding title.
''Not everyone can speak fifty languages, you know,'' he told the air, wondering what to do now. Going at it systematically, comparing what the words sounded like and which scripts he at least recognised in the selection of books Voldemort had here, the teen narrowed it down to either Russian or Greek, then took all eight books he found with 2-word titles in those languages. ''When did he even have time to learn all of this?'' he wondered out aloud, bemused by how much he still didn't know about his partner's life. Over the course of multiple holidays, he'd naturally heard many tales of Voldemort's travels, but it seemed excessive to have learned the language of each country one travelled to, for sometimes as little as a couple of weeks. Of course, eidetic memory would have come in handy.
With the little strength he had left, Harry picked up all nine books at once and was about to head down when noticing a flickering light through the small crack of the adjoining room. With his shoulder, he nudged open the door to the drawing room, seeing the familiar fireplace he'd spent so many evenings in front of. The fire was reflected by the scales of a deeply slumbering Nagini. Harry left her sleeping, knowing that if she were to wake, she'd be hard pressed to let him go anywhere in the next half an hour. He was glad to see how well she'd recovered in the past months, all wounds healed and her skin fully restored after the last shedding. It was a shame they'd had little time for conversation during his past visits, so perhaps he could indulge in her antics a bit longer if he were to stay here for a while. The thought cheered him up.
When he reached the ground floor again and was about to head into the dining room, a frustrated noise from the kitchen made Harry pause. Looks like he'd been absolutely right concerning Draco. Deciding that he could spare half a minute more to help out his poor brother, he peeked into the kitchen. ''Problems?'' he asked, maybe a bit too cheery, for Draco shot him a dirty look. Across the counter, several bags of tea leaves had been spread. ''What are you doing with those?''
''I can't find the coffee leaves!'' the boy sneered, glaring at the bags. ''I thought these were coffee-'' he held up a bag with ground black tea leaves, ''-but they just made the water red and it tastes like tea!'
''That's because it is,'' Harry explained, trying very hard not to snicker. ''Look in the rightmost cupboard over your head, there's a black box. Yeah, that one.'' Voldemort had expensive tastes in coffee, which was always delivered as whole beans in lacquered boxes. With a suspicious glance, Draco carefully opened it up and scooped up some coffee beans. ''What's this? Stones?''
''Coffee,'' he grinned. ''You still need to put it in a coffee mill and grind it up, then filter it. Hold on,'' he sighed when being met with a horrified look – was it the thought of labour or the idea of drinking dried seeds that caused it? ''I'll drop these off and help you.''
''What are you doing with so many books?'' the other asked.
''Voldemort asked me to bring him one, but I couldn't find the title and figured it's probably Russian or Greek, neither of which I can read. Iatrikí méntioum.'' Now it was Draco's turn to heave a sigh. He stepped close to Harry and tapped on one of the books in the middle of the pile. ''It's that one. You can't read Greek?'' he asked curiously.
''No, where would I have learned that? It's not like Hogwarts offers courses!''
''Sure, but it's an important language for magic, most kids from respectable backgrounds- oh.'' He fell silent, awkwardly. ''I forgot, sorry,'' the Slytherin muttered.
''Draco Malfoy apologises, now that's worth something,'' Harry laughed. ''But thanks, now I won't make a complete fool out of myself. I'll be back to help you out here in a bit.'' He left the remaining books on the decorative table in the hallway that probably once sported bouquets with expensive flowers like the ones in the Malfoy household, and went to hand Voldemort the requested books. ''If you want coffee anytime soon, you'll need to miss me for another couple of minutes,'' he warned when they were accepted wordlessly, the man instantly starting to leaf through. ''Why don't you take one of those energy potions you were experimenting with instead? Which I could totally use too right now,'' he yawned, hinting.
''It turns out they don't prevent the need to sleep per se,'' Voldemort clarified. ''That potion preserves the energy levels that are present when taking it. If you take it when tired, you'll just be tired longer.''
''Caffeine also simply blocks your adenosine receptor for a while, it doesn't magically give you energy,'' Hermione butted in. ''You'll be even more tired later.'' Voldemort looked up at her slowly with narrowed eyes. Why had Hermione chosen this moment and this person to show her knowledge off to, Harry desperately questioned. He loved his friend, but sometimes her timing was… less than ideal. Did she truly think that Voldemort needed it spelled out to him how caffeine worked?
''It is perfectly adequate when one only needs to be alert for a short time before gathering natural energy by sleeping,'' he frostily replied.
Feeling the antagonism return, Harry cleared his throat. ''Please try not to jump at each other's throats while I'm in the kitchen or neither of you will get drinks. Mione, would you prefer tea?'' he asked. Something calming might actually be more helpful to her right now.
''Please,'' she muttered, rubbing her arms uncomfortably, maybe having realised her comment had been out of place.
A few minutes later that were filled with both the fun in teaching Draco how coffee grinders and filters worked and anxiousness regarding the situation both of his other friends were in, he finally returned and was able to sit down himself, blowing on a steaming cup. Or at least he thought he'd get a moment to relax, for all of three seconds.
''Evan, come closer, this will be a good moment for you to gain a deeper understanding in this aspect of Healing,'' Voldemort stated. The man clearly missed Harry's disbelieving look, for when the teen didn't instantly move, irritation trickled through their link. Oh great, now Voldemort wanted to communicate again by feelings. Figuring that arguing about it would take longer than complying, he gave in and dragged his chair closer.
Ron's face was still and pale, a sheen of sweat glistening on the freckled brow. The urge to help grew, so Harry attempted to overcome his exhaustion and listened as Voldemort explained what he was doing. All the while, Harry was very aware of the stares at his back. Thankfully, he wasn't asked to perform magic himself this time, only required to watch and listen closely. As the minutes passed, he felt that he could, in fact, relax. Listening to his partner's voice was calming in a way that nothing could compare to. Trying to keep up with the explanation left no space in his mind for worries over the future – the one to come and the one he'd thrown away. There was only them and the magic that flowed from Voldemort's hands, for a change without the intent of destruction. He resisted the urge to lean his head against the man's shoulder with the greatest difficulty.
''So you see,'' Voldemort slowly spoke as he poked at Ron's temple. ''The mind cannot be healed only by mind magic, since the brain is very much a physical organ. It is the most complex one we possess, but an organ nonetheless. Any mental affliction is a physical response. This is no different. What we have to find are the right points of pressure, the right inputs, to disturb the stagnant remnants of the invasive thoughts that ensnared Weasley and latched onto his mind. That means that we first need to find out which parts of the brain have been afflicted and then use the corresponding clusters of pressure points on the body to disturb those signals to prevent further damage. It is a wide-spread method that goes back thousands of years, having separate origins in both China and Egypt, though I have studied the - relatively more modern – classical Greek version. Muggles use cups for this, we can do it simply with pure magic.''
''And how do you know which parts of the brain are affected?'' Harry asked with a frown. ''You can't see it, after all. And from what I know, Legilimency only shows a representation of the mind, you don't physically move from… from the frontal lobe to the brain stem or something, do you?''
''Deduction by understanding, which is where the difficult part comes in that will require far more in-depth research than I have the time for at the moment and why I'd prefer to have a trained Healer involved. My knowledge of this is above average, but not at the level of a professional.'' He folded open the second book, which showed diagrams of the brain, miniscule hand-written descriptions accompanying each image. ''Alas, among my ranks there is no Healer whom I can both fully trust and reach this evening.'' He paused for a moment, then switched to Parseltongue. ~My best call would be Severus, who is indisposed at Hogwarts and cannot go missing while there is still a version of Umbridge running around in the castle. With the way she altered time so gravely, it would be unwise to remove too many factors from Hogwarts that are supposed to be present. Too many disturbances might cause her to not travel back… which you'd surely agree would have devastating consequences.~
''What could happen if she wouldn't?'' Harry asked in horror.
''Many different possibilities. Let's just say that neither the best nor the worst-case scenario would be favourable for you. Here, hold these pages open, I need my hands free.''
He did as asked, but couldn't resist another question, using their private language since it didn't look like Voldemort wished to reveal Snape's loyalties with Hermione in the room just yet. It made him wonder if his partner had a specific plan on what she was allowed to know and why. He didn't appear to have reservations anymore about letting her know how well they knew each other, teaching Harry like this. ~Why would calling Snape be of any help? He's a potion master, not a Healer.~
~Professions that go hand in hand. Severus is not merely a potion brewer, he is also a creator. He both invented and improved many potions. Since it's a substance that needs to be ingested and always has a direct effect on someone's physique, a great knowledge of the human body and mind is required. Why do you think he also studied Legilimency? Training to become a professional potion maker to the extent Severus wished to be required him to study Healing as well. He wouldn't have received a license for experimentation if he wouldn't have been able to heal any ill effects by himself.~
Pondering on that for a while, Harry figured it made sense, though Snape had never shown it in the classroom, always sending students with accidents to Madame Pomfrey instead. Well, maybe that was simply school policy. None of the staff had been happy by the prospect of Lockhart attempting to heal Harry's arm either, even before it had gone wrong and way before it was discovered Lockhart had been a fraud all along. He shivered lightly at the thought of Lockhart, the living example of how devastating the Obliviate charm could be. No, he'd refuse the idea of his friends being subjecting to even the slightest risk of the same happening.
''-going by the descriptions here, the most damage has likely been done to the amygdalae, the two integrative centres for emotions. They are also centrally involved with the formation of memories. The brains in the Thought Chamber were violent and consisted mainly of enmity, fear and anxiety. The receptors for which are all located in these two small structures. There is no guarantee that they are the only parts affected. In fact, it would be very unlikely that only a single part has been attacked, but without the aid of a Healer, we cannot know more, how these emotions were transferred for example. Now, before I start, one question remains.'' Voldemort raised his head and looked deep into Harry's eyes with an unusually stern gaze. ''Depending on the method I use, he may wake. Since Weasley was unconscious before you called for help, he has no knowledge of my involvement, nothing for Dumbledore to pick up on. Out of all four of you… he is the only one who may resume a normal life with his family, even if it is unlikely that he could return to Hogwarts after he defied the Ministry of Magic. I would not oppose Weasley's return to Black's house. However, him being the only one to return may of course raise more questions. I wish to defer this decision to you.''
Harry understood both the importance of what was being asked and the implications. Voldemort, no, the Chosen Lord of sacrificial magic, wanted Harry to decide a course of action that would have major consequences one way or the other, and he asked it while in the presence of one of his own follower's children and a witch who was still very much on the fence about everything she'd witnessed today. Harry was being put in the position of a leader who was solely in charge of what would happen to one of the members of 'his' army, not simply asked what he wished for a friend. For someone like Voldemort to give up even a tiny aspect of control was a huge deal, one Harry wasn't sure whether to be grateful to accept. But he'd chosen responsibility for the ones who'd joined him, he'd been the one to create the D. A. in the first place… Harry needed to balance the speculations about what Ron would want with what Harry thought would be beneficial in the grander scheme.
''He needs to wake,'' he finally decided with a heavy heart. It maybe wasn't the happiest route - it would uproot his friend's beliefs, put him in a position on the other side from the majority of the Weasley family or even put him in danger if he'd decided Harry had gone too far and turned against them.
''Your reasoning?'' the other calmly asked.
Harry nervously carded a hand through his hair. He briefly considered Parseltongue, but did not wish Hermione to think he had some suspicious plans for Ron. ''It has always been us three against the world, in a way,'' he said, trying to put his feelings into coherent thoughts. ''And Ron's primal fear is being left out, left alone for not being good enough. Ron is aware that Hermione and I know that and he'd never believe I'd willingly play into his fears by excluding him from anything in my life. He knows we went to the Ministry together… he expects either all or none of us to return. If I send him back to his family none the wiser while Hermione and I remain missing, the Order would no doubt gain a powerful ally with an inventive, strategic mind and skilled spellwork to match who'd stop at nothing to track us down. Even if later, I'd explain it would be for his safety or happiness, he'd not trust me again, not after he's shown on multiple occasions that he was willing to accept all of my choices, no matter how questionable.''
''Shown you how?''
''I confessed the part I played in Nagini's rescue,'' Harry muttered. ''When he asked me for a secret to share. Ron didn't think less of me.''
His partner didn't grow angry at the confession, meeting Harry's gaze with a calculating one of his own. ''That is useful information… all of it,'' he responded, turning back to Ron. ''Very well then. Did Weasley bring anything that is of value to him? Something small that he'd regret losing?''
''Errr….'' Harry said, caught off guard by the out of the blue question. It shouldn't have, clearly Voldemort was going to use heavy magic to heal Ron's ailment and the spell would need an appropriate sacrifice. Still, he'd expected this to work with blood or something similarly available. Ron hadn't brought any personal items with him to the Ministry, leaving the prep to Hermione. Other than the clothes on his back – which were, while valuable to Ron in the regular sense of that they'd cost money to replace, not of any emotional significance. Ron was not the type to keep around lucky charms or favourite wizard cards or the like. All of his Canon merch was displayed proudly in his room in the Burrow as well, not carried on his person. In need for help, he looked over his shoulder to Hermione. She'd been quiet since her previous remark and Harry was reminded that when she wanted to, his friend was very good in staying silently concentrated for hours on end.
''Do you have any idea if Ron brought something like that?'' he asked. She shifted in her seat, left foot tapping on the wood as she thought about it, thankfully not so caught up in studying them that she wasn't approachable.
''The galleon,'' she suggested.
''A galleon?'' Draco scoffed. ''As if Weasley would ever own one of those.''
''I'm talking about the D. A. Galleon, you prick,'' she hissed, looking ready to break his nose again, right hand already balled into a fist. Silver eyes flickered briefly to it. It looked like Draco hadn't forgotten how hard she could hit either in those two years.
''Oh, right,'' Harry said, wanting to slap himself for not coming up with that. The group meant a lot to Ron, and even if the coin itself was a fake, it still represented riches that Ron had always wished to possess. It would definitely count as a loss to no longer have it, even if those Galleons could be replaced with some time and effort. He searched around his friend's pockets until his hand closed around something cold and round. ''Here.''
He handed the coin to Voldemort, who placed it on Ron's chest.
The man inhaled and exhaled a few times, the atmosphere growing heavier with each breath. The shadows in the room seemed to shift away from the wizard and instead covered everything else within the span of seconds, as if Voldemort had become the focal point in a dark renaissance painting. White hands shimmered as magic welled to the surface, dancing across it in strings of not-quite-light. It became remarkably difficult to keep the book open on the page Voldemort had directed him to. Sheets of thin parchment fluttered as if they had a will of their own, the pressure of magic more impactful than a strong gust of wind. Voldemort's right pointing finger was placed on the crown of Ron's head, the thumb pressed between his eyes, while the man's left hand took a limp wrist and dug a nail into the skin about two inches beneath the palm. Shimmering pearls flowed into the points, the patches of visible skin lighting up. Beneath the tips of Voldemort's fingers, Harry thought he could see something swirl, right underneath the surface. It looked unpleasant, and by the way Ron's body started to twist in reaction to the spell, it was.
It was silent, at first. Then, the sobs came that tore at Harry's gut as he'd never seen Ron in such a vulnerable position. Finally, it turned to screaming, much louder than when the tendrils had initially wrapped around him. Harry heard the sound of a chair clattering to the floor and looked up to see Hermione standing, completely rigid as if she were prepared to launch herself at them any second now. He held up a hand to stop her and shook his head. Voldemort wouldn't have started this if he didn't know what he was doing. Then, with a deafening noise, the sound of cracking metal as the Galleon split in two halves and slid off, falling onto the polished wooden floor. For a second, Ron stopped screaming. Then his eyes flew open and he instantly screamed again as he came face to face with Voldemort, who hovered mere inches from his face.
''Silencio,'' the man crabbily said, effectively shutting Ron up. He removed his fingers, instead pushing heavily on the teen's chest to get him to lie down again. ''Don't move so much, you're barely past the worst of it.'' He stiffly stood and took a few steps back, allowing Hermione to rush to Ron's side and Harry to give Ron a proper hug. Voldemort had most likely gotten away from the teen for his own sake, but Harry appreciated it nonetheless.
''You're awake again,'' Harry breathed, at last allowing relief to crash down on him. ''Merlin, at some point in the Ministry I really thought you'd been done for.'' Feeling overwhelmed, he rested his forehead briefly on his friend's chest. ''You're alive,'' he mumbled. ''You're alive…''
For obvious reasons, he received no response, but when he looked up again, he saw the bewilderment in Ron's eyes, which had never left the Dark Lord's face. When Voldemort at last deemed Ron calm enough to regain his speech, the first thing he said was: ''Merlin, Harry… I know I asked to know some more about your life but err… I'm a bit overwhelmed. Is that… I mean, you are-'' he stuttered, voice rising an octave again when addressing Voldemort directly. Unable to go through with the question, he instead asked Hermione: ''Did you know any of this?''
''I don't even know what this is yet, I've received little to no information since I have been described as a low priority,'' she sharply mentioned, throwing Harry another look.
''You surely agree that healing Ron came first,'' he protested.
''Yeah, but not informing Malfoy Senior or anything else on that list, so spill.''
''I must disagree, Ms Granger,'' Voldemort hissed, once again in that frosty tone. What was it with his anger at Hermione? ''Regardless of Lucius' importance, there is certainly one matter than precedes sating your need for knowledge. Dolores Umbridge.''
''Umbridge?'' Ron whispered, wide-eyed, once again trying to prop himself up on his elbow. ''What did I miss?''
''A lot,'' Harry groaned, unsure how to summarise all that had happened after Ron got knocked out. ''Voldemort… – Ron, no need to make that noise, he's standing right there – I owe them at least some sort of explanation before I can ask more of them. Plus, I'm sure I speak for everyone when saying that I'm dead on my feet. Ron is still injured and needs professional tending to. Adding stress around deciding the literal fate of another human being is not going to help with that.''
''I did not speak of the Umbridge we captured, but of what we shall call the original version for the sake of clarification.'' Voldemort's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, before he started to pace. Never quite a good sign. ''She was playing with magic she neither understood nor held the wits to use. There are good reasons why you have never seen me with a time-turner despite all the advantages that could bring. It should always be used to create a loop that affects neither the past nor the future. A tool that grants an opportunity to lengthen the amount of time at one's hands in order to complete tasks or attend entirely separate events. Linear strands of time may not touch each other.''
''We already know that she ignored those rules and destabilised time. And? In the end, it should still fall somewhat into place, right? Like the time Hermione and I went back in time to save Sirius and Buckbeak. There were points that overlapped. When it all was over, we discovered that many things in our original timeline had happened because we'd gone back!''
Voldemort shook his head. ''You recall it as such. Of course you do. You went back in time and prevented what truly happened. With that, time was rewritten and with it, your memories. From what you told me regarding the first time you cast a Patronus, you were in grave danger without knowing it. As much as I loathe to admit it, the only person holding that timeline together was none other than Albus Dumbledore, who knows very well how time magic works. He ensured that neither version of you knew for certain what did or would happen by the crucial point in time in which you travelled back. You knew not for certain whether the Hippogriff had truly been killed, nor of Black's fate.''
Harry disagreed. The light of his own Patronus had saved both Sirius and himself by the lakeside. No-one else had been around who could have saved them the 'first' time Voldemort now claimed must have existed. And if he'd been Kissed then and there, there'd have been no opportunity to get to the Hospital Wing anymore. It had been the same with Hermione's howl, which had saved them all from being devoured by a werewolf.
''I am not trying to convince you of the laws of magic,'' the Dark Lord said with an irritated sigh when realising Harry's stubbornness. ''What I need you to realise is the very real possibility I mentioned previously: that Umbridge in this timeline does not travel back. It would leave us with two of her running around who shouldn't exist in the same dimension. We are sheltered partially from the effects of this leaking out since she behind dimensional walls now, but the later version did speak to Fudge and give him information that he shouldn't have had access to if time had not been reversed. The main problem with her time travel – like with yours – is that she had the explicit intention to change events in her favour, to the extent of where she wouldn't have needed to reverse time.''
With great difficulty, Harry cast aside the million scenarios that whirred around in his head regarding the end of third year. ''So… we somehow need to change what happens again so she has a reason to return? That's rather difficult considering you told us nothing so far.'' Thinking quickly, he spoke: ''Such a thing can't be decided uninformed. You already promised me in the Ministry to reveal what you found in her mind, saying we'd have plenty of time. Without having a clue as to what she did or what went on, how can you expect me to bring forth any helpful solutions?''
The Dark Lord stilled abruptly; hands clasped behind his back. ''I'd expected to have enough time for details after quickly taking matters into my own hands instead of being caught up with explanations,'' he clarified. ''But very well, you won't be helpful when impatience gnaws at your every thought. Infuriatingly, you succeeded the first time.''
Confused about the addition of 'infuriatingly', Harry asked: ''What do you mean?''
''After comparing what I saw in her mind with the story you told me and putting it in the correct order, the picture finally cleared up. Your scheme of today went unnoticed until you were gone. Without interference, the destruction of the time-turners would be discovered only this evening. It would have remained unknown who was involved, the suspicion most certainly not on students on the other side of the country under Umbridge's watch. Your army would do splendidly too: Parkinson convinces the new Headmistress that the Slytherins are supportive at last and switches out her time-turner, which is not discovered until the next morning. She reads an article in the Prophet regarding the destruction of Ministry artefacts but does not suspect anything concrete. When she attempts to use her time-turner after breakfast, though, things will quickly go downhill for her. Having a copy with a Confundus charm on it – an admittingly brilliant addition – stalls her enough that almost twenty-four hours will have passed since the attack on the Department of Mysteries. Even at her insistence that malicious intent was at work instead of a coincidental prank, she'd have a hard time making a case in front of the Minister.''
''Wait, so you are saying that not only did we succeed in our mission, the D. A. also did?'' Harry asked in bewilderment. ''How did she get it back?''
A humourless smile played on Voldemort's thin lips. ''She desired to control every aspect of Hogwarts so much that she brought a non-approved, second time turner when newly appointed as High Inquisitor. However, even that would have likely been inconsequential. So much time had passed that she'd have wasted any chances of stopping you, since she did not yet know who was behind it. In fact, she suspected you least of all since you hadn't taken part in the little rebellion at Hogwarts today. There was only one flaw in your entire plan that accumulated to all of this.'' A thin finger pointed. ''Hermione Granger's incessant need for orderliness.'' At this point, Harry could hear the anger in his voice trembling, even if Voldemort still mentally shut him out ''Who on earth uses an object labelled with their name on it to create a cover-up plan?''
All colour had drained from Hermione's face right now. ''Your name?'' Harry repeated disbelievingly, facing his friend.
''I… oh no, Harry. I- I didn't think of that,'' she stammered, hand flying up to her mouth. ''I had problems in my first year with Lavender and Parvati both nicking my stuff whenever they couldn't find theirs before class and pretending it wasn't mine, so to prevent that I wrote my name on every single one of my school supplies. That- that included the potion hourglass that I used to create the duplicate time-turner.''
Voldemort gave her no more time to find excuses, relentlessly continuing his explanation: ''Within minutes after that discovery, Umbridge caught Granger and made her confess to everything…'' he frowned, thinking deeply. ''The memories in this part were jumbled, but she used either torture or Veritaserum, or both. She didn't only find out about today's plan either. Afterwards, when convincing Fudge, there were mentions about your Defence Association that undermines the Ministry's authority. In either case, the instant she had all information she needed, Umbridge withdrew a spare time-turner she'd hid before, travelled back and went straight to Fudge. The same Fudge who is frantic about Dumbledore's influence and who was less than pleased to hear about 'Dumbledore's army'. When Umbridge suggested catching you in the act of breaking into the Ministry itself, she got every Auror who was available this afternoon in the attempt to stop you. Your only luck was that Umbridge was too late. The Confundus charm, questioning Granger, finding and convincing Fudge, gathering Aurors… all that ensured her team arrived after you had succeeded in what you came to do. She was unaware of the exact timeframe, you see, and miscalculated. Still, she appeared more focused on catching you than preventing the damage, for she didn't care about the value or use of any time-turner that wasn't in her own hands.''
A cough brought Harry's attention to Ron. For a moment, he was worried, then realised his friend had only cleared his throat to get their attention. ''This seems pretty clear, right? Her motivation was to catch us during the break-in so she could expel us. She travelled back the instant it was confirmed that we were the ones to raid the Ministry. Since we managed that again even with her interference, all we have to do is make sure she finds out it was us again. With Fudge knowing it was us, where lies the problem?''
''The information that gets to Hogwarts and the timing,'' Voldemort stated. ''Either the news does not include your names, which will leave her without a clue for too long, or she already knows it was you before even attempting to go about her day. There are many factors in play that are difficult to control… although-'' he broke off, stroking his chin thoughtfully while staring into nothing. ''The Daily Prophet is the key.''
''My Lord?''
Caught up in the reiteration of events from Voldemort's (or Umbridge's) perspective, Harry hadn't heard Barty coming down the stairs. The Death Eater hovered in the doorway, nervously biting his lips.
''Are you finished?'' Voldemort asked, turning to his follower, who quickly went down on one knee and lowered his head in reverence.
''I wished to ask for your expertise, my Lord. It is as if she cannot find the answers to all of my questions. Her mind… it seems damaged in a peculiar way that I have not yet encountered before.''
The Dark Lord grunted to make his displeasure known. ''We need to take care first of the original version before. Keep her contained for now. I need to leave.'' That news didn't appear to surprise the Death Eater in the slightest. He only nodded in understanding and rose again. In moments like these, Harry got the tiniest bit jealous by how much time the both of them clearly spent together, able to communicate wordlessly even without having any sort of link.
''Do you have specific instructions I need to adhere to, my Lord?''
''Ensure that these two don't leave the room. If Weasley falls unconscious again, contact me. Other than that, I will entrust both their wellbeing and our safety to you. Be… sensible. That is all.''
After those curt words, the Dark Lord strode out into the hallway, which jerked Harry into action.
''Wait!'' he cried out, feet carrying him to Voldemort's side before thinking about it. The man didn't halt, exiting the front door, so Harry followed him further, into the garden. ''Hey, wait!'' he repeated.
His partner finally halted and turned, arching an eyebrow. ''We have a limited time frame, Evan,'' he tightly spoke. ''Other than what you may believe, I already had my day planned out before you called upon me and I need to move quickly to manage both schedules now. Direct your energy rather to thinking of the future. After today, I feel that your ideal solution regarding Umbridge that we have discussed last year is highly unrealistic. Making her pay and realise the consequences of her actions while she falls in disgrace doesn't sound conceivable. Thus, by the time I return you may pitch an alternative to killing her once, effectively your last chance of convincing me not to put her six feet under.''
Harry closed his eyes, wishing this topic would have only come up much later, when the more hectic matters were out of the way. Everything was chaotic at the moment. The question of 'do we kill her or not' wasn't easily answered under pressure. ''Voldemort, I didn't come out here to discuss Umbridge. Please, just a few seconds more.'' Hesitantly, he reached out for a cold hand. ''Are we okay?''
A rapid fluttering of eyelashes and light creasing of Voldemort's brow told him that it hadn't been an expected question. ''What gave you the idea that anything is wrong?'' the wizard asked, genuinely puzzled.
''Uhm, you're shutting me out completely? Hardly talking to me? Going off at my friends?''
''I need a clear head to make logical decisions and cannot use a flooding of emotions from your side, certainly not when what has come through until now has been anxiety. I did not discuss personal matters with you because of priorities, as I mentioned before. Regarding your friends… they made idiotic decisions and deserved to have those pointed out, that has nothing to do with you.''
''Of course it has! They're only here because it was my plan!''
''Evan…'' Voldemort chided. ''We're not discussing this now. I must ensure that Delacour prints what I wish, when I wish, in order to make sense of this insanity. Focus on the essentials right now.''
''I am,'' Harry defensively said, crossing his arms, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. ''I'm right now trying to focus on us, I find that highly important.''
The older wizard slowly took hold of Harry's arms and forced them apart again, stepping closer so the teen could wrap them around Voldemort's thin frame instead. ''I was of the opinion that I made perfectly clear where we stand in the Hall of Prophecies,'' he muttered, knuckles lightly brushing Harry's cheek. ''It figures that you'd need another reminder, emotional little creature that you are. Here.''
And then finally, the walls were down and although Harry's mind got instantly bombarded by an overwhelming amount of negative feelings - pressure, a need to take control and impatience all at once - in the heart of the tangle of stress that his partner had hid before, was a spark of affection that grew with each second they stood close.
''I need to leave,'' the Dark Lord spoke once more, words now accompanied with a rush of magic that pushed Harry away again. ''Use the next few hours wisely. Come up with plans and fill in your friends on how you came to join me if you so desperately want them to know. ''He then lifted a sleeve, showing many lines of black runes. Harry realised he'd seen them before, when they'd been at Fleur's place. He hadn't paid much attention to that detail then, too curious about the presence of so many different creatures instead. Still, it made him realise that Voldemort's didn't always show these tattoos. They'd been absent during their trip to the beach, no ink colouring any part of the translucent skin then. Could he conceal them with a spell? Would it be anything that could conceal Harry's scar too?
Voldemort put the yew wand to his wrist and, without a word being uttered, the lines began to move and change colour. Harry stepped away, fascinated by the transformation happening right in front of his eyes until David Noctua stood in front of him. The grey-streaked hair and dark eyes looked good on the handsome face that also reminded vaguely of an older version of the two Horcruxes Harry had met. The other didn't appear to notice Harry's staring, too busy transfiguring his robes to fit.
''Hey, one last question…'' Harry said doubtfully. ''Can I actually tell Ron and Hermione about… about us?''
Voldemort lightly cocked his head, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead that felt a little formal. ''Are you certain you want to?'' he replied, then turned and strode through the hidden entrance.
Releasing a frustrated sigh at the non-answer, Harry trotted back to the house.
Hope you all liked the bit of insight in Hermione's mind!
Next up... Harry's friends are finally getting some answers at last.
Please read and review :)
xx GerMerope