In Willing Sacrifice

by GeMerope

When Harry Potter has the opportunity to erase Voldemort before the Dark Lord can resurrect, he finds out that walking a fine line between his own morality and the good of this world is more complicated than Harry could have ever imagined. Slow Burn, eventual HPLV.

85. C84 - Between the Truth and the Lies

thank you so much again for all the lovely support! I was very glad to hear so many of you liked Hermione's POV, so this chapter will have another :)

Enjoy!

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Chapter 84 – Between the truth and the lies

The house felt colder without Voldemort. A juxtapose for sure considering the Dark Lord's general iciness – both physical and personality-wise. Harry rubbed his arms uncomfortably at the lack of presence. Even the lingering magic that had soaked into the house couldn't ease it after the sudden departure. He tentatively walked through the dark hallway, not quite ready to be bombarded with questions. The danger was over for now, so Hermione surely wouldn't hold back. The years of lies blocked his throat, entirely his own fault, of course. He was so incredibly drained from the rollercoaster that the day had been so far, simply wished to curl up and rest to forget, but his friends were waiting and they deserved answers. Inhaling deeply, Harry opened the door to the dining room that had slammed closed behind him previously.

''-and then the bastard burned me!'' Ron exclaimed loudly. Barty stood next to the sofa with crossed arms and made an indignant sound.

''He didn't!''

''Sure did! So now I had these flaming ropes that were wrapping around me. In that moment all I could think of was getting away, so I took a step backwards and BANG! Crashed into this weird glass container. That turned out to be even worse!''

''Ron,'' Hermione softly said. ''I'm really not sure if you should-''

The redhead looked over to her, a smile plastered on his face that was just a little strained. ''Come on, 'Mione. We all thought Sirius was evil for an entire year, he even stood over my bed with a bloody dagger, didn't he? Do you really think Harry would be hanging out with someone who honestly tried to kill him?''

''He also hangs out with someone who killed his parents!'' she hissed, then looked up, embarrassment colouring her face when realising Harry was standing in the door opening. ''I- I only meant-'' she stammered, unable to find words to finish that sentence. Harry could understand the confusion and fear from her perspective – it had taken himself months and a conversation with the departed souls of his mum and dad to learn how to let go. Even then, he'd had lapses, nightmares in which he couldn't quite find the forgiveness he so desperately wished to give. He attempted to brush the comment off.

''Harry?'' his friend asked, uncertain gaze searching his. The teen didn't know exactly what expression he was wearing, only that it was some sort of pained grimace. Hermione's eyes hardened a bit, not unkindly, simply with resolve. ''I can't imagine what happened that accrued to us ending up here,'' she said. ''But I want to understand. Just how long - the Christmas party!'' she exclaimed, eyes widening. ''You told me... Merlin, how did I miss that!''

''What Christmas party? What are you talking about?'' Ron butted in. He attempted once more to get up and was pushed down again with a flick of Barty's wand.

From the fragmented sentences, Harry also didn't immediately get what his friend meant, until she clarified: ''The day after the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, there was an after-party with the Champions. Viktor invited me and we touched the subject of Muggleborns. Or rather, we were all on the verge of being tipsy-''

''-absolutely hammered, you mean,'' Harry darkly muttered. ''Didn't want to touch alcohol anymore for a long time after that year, Merlin.''

She waved his comment away. ''-alright, more than a bit tipsy. It doesn't matter. My point is that I was arguing with Malfoy about how dangerous it is to be a Muggle-born and then you all of a sudden yelled at me that the Dark Lord himself is perfectly fine with people like me.'' Her frosty tone left little room for protest. ''You said we'd talk about it after, then never did. Am I right? Did you truly already follow Voldemort-''

In a flash, she was faced with the wrong end of a wand. ''You do not have permission to speak the Dark Lord's name,'' Barty growled lowly, the previous easy-going air promptly evaporated. It made Harry jump into alert-mode instantaneously, knowing full well how Barty could be sometimes. Just in case, he slowly drew his own wand, prepared to jump in. Ron as well, who'd been laughing with Barty a second ago, now stared at the man in a familiar way that Harry recognised as 'ready to tear into anyone who'd hurt the people he cared for'.

''Harry called him that,'' Hermione noted sharply.

''Yes, the person who can also scream in the Dark Lord's face without repercussion. Your point?'' Harry deeply wished that the Death Eater would have formulated that differently, for it only made the other two more curious about the why and how.

He put his hand on Barty's and forced the man to lower it. ''Could I have a moment alone with my friends?'' he pleaded. ''I don't think it's very helpful if you're starting to threaten them. Pretty much the opposite. We're all easily irritated after the long day we've had and adding stress to that isn't beneficial.''

''I was tasked with ensuring they don't leave this room. Unless I can apply harmful magic to them as a safe-guard in case they attempt to run off, I will keep this position. Orders are orders.'' Then, his expression turned thoughtful. ''Although… I was also told to make sensible decisions about their wellbeing. Evan, as the Dark Lord's right hand, I will delegate this task – damn, I can't do that, you're not a Death Eater,'' he cursed. ''Hmm… I propose a temporary allyship in which you shall take over my task to watch Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger in the same capacity as I would have, while I take care of something that will benefit us all and thus has a higher priority in my humble opinion.'' He sounded incredibly pleased with himself after that statement.

''Sir, you could delegate the task to me?'' Draco asked before Harry could answer, sounding hopeful at this opportunity. ''My father is a loyal follower to-''

Barty simply started laughing, a full-on 'head thrown back' type of laugh. ''Yeah…. No.'' The amount of ridicule felt quite unfair, but Barty did still hold a major grudge against all Malfoys for attempting to weasel their way out of taking responsibility after the war. Maybe that wouldn't have automatically included Draco, but the Slytherin had used his parents' connections and money to bully others for years. ''If you want to help, go to the drawing room upstairs and see if the fire is still going, I don't want my Master's precious pet to wake yet.''

Merely the thought of Nagini clearly made Draco wish he'd stayed silent and unnoticed. With uncharacteristic bravery though, he followed the orders straightaway, marching a bit stiffly out of the dining room. Was Draco so determined to prove himself worthy in the eyes of 'Sir Crouch'? While Harry felt a twinge of pity and would have loved to offer a helping hand in calming Nagini, he couldn't keep postponing the inevitable.

As soon as the 'alliance' was agreed to, Barty made himself scarce without explaining whether he was actually off to do something important or if it had been merely an excuse to avoid babysitting. Hopefully, he was getting them all dinner. Besides sleep and Voldemort, that would be the only thing Harry desperately needed now. Lunch felt eons ago.

No sooner were only the three of them left, did Ron sit up and stretch his back. ''Hey,'' Harry warned, concerned. ''They weren't both telling you to keep lying down for the fun of it. From what I gathered, Voldemort thinks you could collapse without warning again and slide off into the deep end. Whatever those Unspeakables were hatching in that tank wasn't friendly.''

Ron scowled. ''I'd ask if I should really take the medical advice of my living nightmare to heart, but for some daft reason, you seem to be on a first-name-basis with it, so that question might be rude.''

''Just a tad,'' Harry faintly smiled. ''I wouldn't take his advice on much if I were you, but when it comes to anything magical – including your current state – I can recommend following Voldemort's suggestions. There'd be no reason for him to lie about you staying put.''

''Harry,'' Hermione spoke in a no-nonsense tone. ''I don't know how to properly formulate all the questions I need answered, but most importantly… are we safe here? All of us?''

The real question behind her words was sobering and made Harry think back on that fateful evening she'd mentioned prior. Their heated discussions about the dark side's opinion on Muggle-borns… a controversial topic that remained one of the few points he and Voldemort did not see eye to eye on beyond the basic idea of that they were as much a part of the magical community as any other mage. But Harry did not need to unpack all of the Dark Lord's less-than-savoury opinions right away. Thankfully, he could truthfully answer this with a resounding:

''Yes. I wouldn't have allowed them to bring you here otherwise.''

''You wouldn't have allowed…?'' Ron feebly asked, raising his eyebrows. ''Errr, can you maybe fill me in first on how freaking You-Know-Who ended up saving us in the first place? Instantly followed by why you are in a position to order him around?''

''It's not like that,'' Harry hastened to correct. ''I don't- I don't order him to do anything. He just- benefits from helping me, in a way,'' he diplomatically stated, face growing warm at the thought of the snogging session in the Hall of Prophecies. He hadn't even had the time to appreciate how passionate his partner had been. ''Before we get to that,'' he spoke a bit louder, trying to expel the distracting memories of cold lips that had insistently nipped at his neck, ''-we were stuck in the Department of Mysteries and surrounded by Aurors. You were out of it so we couldn't really move quickly and were hiding with no way out that wouldn't lead us straight into the Ministry's hands. While I had anticipated the possibility of getting caught, it wasn't my preferred outcome. 'Mione had the admittedly brilliant idea of calling for backup, but she'd brought the wrong two-way mirror. Instead of Sirius, I reached Barty and things just happened from that point on.''

''You have a two-way mirror to communicate with Crouch?'' Ron asked disbelievingly. ''What, all year?''

''Since he's officially dead and the staff of Hogwarts knows he's a Death Eater on the run, we couldn't exactly meet up over a Butterbeer in Hogsmeade, nor could he send letters with Umbridge snagging my post.''

''Well, sure, but I'm more surprised over why you… Wait, it's him, isn't it?'' Ron asked, wide-eyed. ''Is- Is Crouch your boyfriend?''

Harry blinked, taking a few moments to process the question. ''No!'' he exclaimed, horrified at the thought of being romantically involved with the man he considered an older brother. ''He's… he's like family to me,'' he blurted out instead, which didn't appear to make the situation much better when meeting two odd stares.

''Okay…'' Ron slowly stated, fluffing up one of the pillows and putting it behind his head to get more comfortable. ''You're going to have to start from the beginning mate. I can understand being blinded with love or something like that, but you don't become family overnight.''

''Also,'' Hermione cut in, ''What do you mean with 'boyfriend'? Did I miss any developments?''

Ron's face reddened when realising she hadn't yet been informed about Harry's new relationship status. ''Woops, was that a secret?'' he mumbled, shooting Harry a concerned look.

The teen only groaned and pulled a chair near so he could finally sit down again. What even was this cluster of questions going to be? Should he start at the beginning as Ron suggested? But a chronological order could worry them more when hearing the parts about how Harry had been used for experiments or how he'd later became Voldemort's follower. On the other hand, he could gloss over it first and add details later…

One question at a time, he decided. ''It wasn't a secret,'' Harry answered. ''The past two weeks were so incredibly busy that Hermione and I didn't have a single moment to speak alone. You know how it was,'' he told the girl. ''But yes, the err... guy I like and I got together a while back.'' Voldemort's words from before, in the garden, rang in his head. Was he prepared to tell them? No… not until they had understood why he was here. The reason he followed the Dark Lord hadn't started with a crush, after all.

''You said he wasn't a Death Eater,'' Hermione mused. ''Was that the truth? He must have known about all of this, from the way you described him.''

Not entirely sure why she was suddenly so hung up about his partner's identity, he said: ''That was the truth. Look, that doesn't matter now, okay?''

''Okay,'' Hermione readily agreed. A bit too easily. ''Then let's get to the heart of it all and dive into what does matter. Harry Potter, if you wish to retain my trust and have a glimmer of hope about calling yourself my friend from this point onwards, tell me when this started and every major lie you've told us since.'' Her matter-of-fact, stony attitude didn't make it easier to grapple for a starting point. It also led to an internal debate about what was considered 'major'. He understood that she didn't expect him to recall every single white lie he'd ever told them over the past years, but even then, he probably had different viewpoints on it than Hermione did.

''For fuck's sake, Harry!'' she suddenly snapped when he didn't speak up. ''We've waited long enough! We- we went on this quest with you to protect our friends, to protect Hogwarts, only to get rescued by someone who has literally killed hundreds of people, because he happens to be all buddy-buddy with you? Was any of it even real? When I thought that sending you through the black fire to stop the philosopher stone from being misused might be your death. When I was willing to give up my life so you could stop the monster in the Chambers of Secret... Were you and him working together all that time? I need to know if you are the person I ever thought you were! Don't you understand that? Are you our friend?'' The outburst left the corners of her eyes dangerously glossy and her face had taken on a puffy tinge. Harry wished to step closer, hug her in comfort, but didn't dare. Instead, he gave her what she asked for in the hopes that it would mend the cracks he'd caused by damaging their trust.

Ron didn't say a word anymore, not even looking at either of them. Had Ron's previous cheerfulness been a front to fool himself?

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and forced himself to look at Hermione. ''I thought of Voldemort as just as much of an enemy as you did for years. None of what happened in the first three years we shared at Hogwarts was in any way a dishonest on my part. I don't know if I ever lied to you about anything important in that time. Nothing that hasn't been cleared up by now, I suppose, or that would be connected to this. The first time that I knowingly tried to cover up the truth was when I told you I spent the summer with Dixie two years ago. I didn't, I never even met her by that point.'' He halted briefly to see their reaction, but Hermione was only listening intently and urging him to go on, while Ron wore a blank expression and still looked anywhere but in Harry's direction.

''To give a very brief summary of those incredibly weird weeks… I found Pettigrew. Or rather, Hedwig caught Pettigrew and I went straight to the Ministry to get him arrested. Before the Aurors questioned him, we were given a moment to speak alone. Looking back on it, it seems pretty dangerous to leave a thirteen-year-old together in a room with a criminal. On the other hand, Fudge personally praised me after I blew up my aunt, for all the live-threatening things I did in my first two years at Hogwarts, so who knows what was going through their minds. I wasn't aware of what happened to Pettigrew after, as I made him give me Voldemort's address and went straight there in hope of stopping his madness once and for all by killing him.''

''What… alone? You- you had Voldemort's address and you went there alone? You couldn't even cast magic!''

''With Fudge's reaction to the incident with Aunt Marge, I really didn't think I'd be arrested for casting underage magic if it would get rid of a Dark Lord who was trying to rise to power,'' he reasoned. ''And yeah, I went alone. I had been pretty disappointed so far by attempts to get adults to solve my problems. Remember McGonagall's response to us telling her the Stone was in danger? Or when they wanted to shut down Hogwarts instead of trying to rescue Ginny? Even when Sirius was about to get falsely arrested again, the only one who marginally helped was Dumbledore, by telling us to fix it, basically. You think he couldn't have used that time-turner himself? I feared that involving anyone else wouldn't get the job done, so to speak. In hindsight, I'm still glad that I went alone, for Voldemort was nothing like I imagined. All those years, no-one had ever told me what he actually wanted, what he was trying to achieve. From the stories I'd heard and the one brief time we met and exchanged no more than a few sentences, I only thought he was striving for immortality and power. As he corrected me one day, he already has both.''

''Immortality?'' Hermione questioned doubtfully.

''He did die on the night that he attempted to kill me. As you just saw, Voldemort is very much alive now, a fact he just loves to point out to anyone who ever doubted his capabilities. Which I helped achieve,'' he admitted. ''After talking so much with him and soon after Barty too, after I started believing that his vision is worth fighting for, I decided to aid in his resurrection.''

''You sacrificed a part of yourself,'' Hermione whispered, looking ill. ''You made a sacrifice so that he could live. Harry, that is such incredibly dark magic-''

''It's not as if it all hinged on me,'' he protested. ''Voldemort didn't exactly bank on my participation and would have found another way. Like this, however, he was a lot more stable than he otherwise might have been.'' He conveniently left out that Voldemort had implied that the original plan had involved forcefully obtaining Harry's blood. ''The day after, I was shipped off to Ron's place with a notebook in hand that had a neatly written cover story involving Dixie. I understand why they felt the need to order me to keep up such an elaborate lie, but that scheme is honestly one that I was uncomfortable about then and still am now, especially after actually meeting her.'' He pulled a face. ''Dixie didn't deserve any of that manipulation either, but by then I had no say yet in either Barty's or Voldemort's actions. For most of that year, I didn't quite know what was going on.''

He attempted to sort out truth from lies about their fourth year at Hogwarts, assuring the both of them that he hadn't known about having to participate in the Tournament until his name flew from the cup, nor that Barty was Moody until Harry was already a Champion. Quite surprisingly, Harry noticed that apart from attempting to cover his new connection to Voldemort and hide Barty's presence at the school, he hadn't been too untruthful. None of his fear about the tasks had been an act. It wasn't as if the Triwizard Tournament had been a complete sham either, since Barty didn't set him up to win. He did finally admit to Ron that the Parseltongue hissing in his sleep had been from shared dreams with Voldemort instead of nightmares – Hermione clearly had to bite her tongue to not delve into detailed inquiries about the workings of that -, as well as how he'd purposefully sought for methods using heavy magic to complete the tasks.

Describing the end of the year was more challenging, because the labyrinth had ended in being transported to the Dark Lord. At that point, Voldemort had revealed his infiltration of the press, which had led to the creation of the Hand of Magic, both plans Harry could not be certain of whether or not he was allowed to speak of. But hiding this knowledge would absolutely count as a key omission at best. Harry once again wished that he knew what Voldemort planned to do with Ron and Hermione. That one of them had been blindfolded so Hermione wouldn't be able to see the surroundings spoke volumes that Voldemort had taken precautions in case she'd leave this place. If she did, it could also be reasoned that the man expected her to come into contact with hostile people whom sensitive information could be revealed to, freely or forced. However, how could he ever make a convincing argument in favour of Voldemort's plans when Harry would leave out the progress the Dark Lord had made?

Taking a leap of faith, Harry initiated them in the schemes that even the majority of Voldemort's own followers didn't know about. Of the meeting with various beings and beasts and how the man had used his disguise as Noctua to shed light on atrocities that happened in the Wizarding world while building up his overseas organisation, which jumped to action to right those wrongs.

''You make it all sound very noble,'' Hermione spoke after he was finally done. ''I've stated my opinion about the Hand of Magic before, Harry. They're extremists who take matters into their own hands. People were killed over alleged crimes, mere accusations. Some Muggle-borns were perhaps saved from abusive families, but what happened to them? They were dropped off at the respective Ministries of Magic for shock value, without assurance that anyone could take them in. The hospitals were left scrambling with dwindling funds, but did Voldemort fix it? All the Hand of Magic leaves in its wake is death and chaos for others to clean up. You can't expect to expose how ill-suited the current establishment is and then leave those same people to find a solution after it has come to light. The way I see it, Voldemort is choreographing a scenario in which he first makes the people desperate, then only gives them the solution when they pledge their loyalty in return. Isn't that exactly what happened in the Ministry before, with Auror Odell? Why should I believe he has the best in mind when it's all with strings attached?''

''What do you expect?'' Harry countered, getting defensive. ''The Ministry doesn't even know he returned, nor would they wish to acknowledge it. If these problems seemed to 'solve themselves' in case Voldemort would help anyone behind the scenes, the government is just going to pat itself on the back for a job well done, which resolves nothing!'' He recalled having used the same argumentation with Voldemort that Hermione brought up now... he hadn't wished to see the larger picture then either. But there was one, as shown by the amount of support the Dark Lord had gained over time.

''It would fix the lives of a great many individuals whose literal lives are at stake!'' she retorted, voice raising a tad in volume. ''Helping others should be done whenever possible, not when it's favourable in a game of chess with living and breathing players!''

''It would only help a few temporarily! Which is also being done now, I might add. He ensured that all the rescued slaves were treated and healthy before being sent to their communities, when the deal was only to free them. He purposefully put those children in a safe environment surrounded by mages, because Voldemort knows he has neither the capability nor the legal means to have them be taken in with his followers yet. But you don't appear to understand that these are steps to reach larger aims as well, goals that can only be achieved with support and credibility. Obviously, it would be an unwise move to ask for nothing in return and silently improve a few matters left and right if those same actions could also be used to gain support in the long run. You seem to think every politician should only act altruistically, that's not how it works!''

She argued back: ''Dumbledore improved the world while actively denying titles and rewards. He published his research on dragons without claiming patents. He took on the task of defeating Grindelwald, then declined a position as Minister of Magic. It can be done. He's respected and well-loved by a great deal of people for his actions alone, not by a sense of being owed gratitude.''

''Are you forgetting that he is the leader of four different organisations?'' Harry asked in disbelief. ''He didn't want to be Minister of Magic, no. Instead, he became the Headmaster of Hogwarts, which can be used to shape the ideals of every new generation, then Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, a position in which he has much sway in the political decisions of the people he grew up teaching, and then he became the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederacy to influence foreign politics too! Not to mention being the founder and leader of the Order of the Phoenix, which has also been considered 'extremist' by many, created for those who wished to fight outside the borders of the law he publicly upholds. Dumbledore ensured he has eyes and ears everywhere through various means. Even though recently stripped off his title as Chief Warlock, he still has many connections there too. So don't tell me that he of all people is a shining example of selflessness.''

''You keep talking about You-Know-Who's higher goals,'' Ron suddenly spoke up, making both Harry and Hermione jump slightly. ''You haven't explained what that means. I want to know what you think my uncles were killed for, what could possibly justify my sister and dad being put in mortal danger. Harry, what did your own parents die for?''

Their eyes finally met and Harry knew from the core of his being that everything hinged on his next words.

Having spoken to his parents, it didn't take long to answer. It wasn't a speculation.

''They died for a good cause. To fight oppression, to fight for the safety of their friends and family. And yet ultimately, they believed in a lie. Their deaths were a tragic accumulation of Voldemort's failures, not a result of what he strives for: to reverse the imbalance of magic and provide a safe shelter for our people.''

Hermione clearly didn't buy it, sharply pointing out: ''Our people, Harry? And who would that be?''

''Mages,'' he stated clearly, refusing to beat around the bush. Before she could throw in a rebuttal, he continued: ''I know we're all human, Hermione. Muggles have just as much worth as mages do. But we are different and can't ignore that. Different needs, responsibilities, freedoms… To pretend otherwise is madness.''

''I am no different than my parents!''

''Yes, you are,'' he sighed, tiredly rubbing his forehead. ''You don't succumb to the same diseases as they do, you aren't tied to the same borders as they are. You can shape the world around you in manners they never could. Mione, you never disagreed with the need for the Statute of Secrecy. Try to logically explain why such a law would be in effect if we were simply a random group of people who are no different from the ones who don't need to apply that law.'' He gave her a long, painfully silent minute. ''There's a reason why there are so many spells that specifically work on Muggles such as Anti-Muggle repelling wards. Even from our basic physical makeup, we are a subspecies.''

She blinked. ''Wait… you are saying that we are a sub-human class? Is that what he believes too?''

Harry chuckled at the terrifying thought of trying to sell that idea to Voldemort. ''Only my personal view, I'm afraid. But it makes more sense than the other way around, doesn't it? We're an extreme minority, and while it's still unknown where it exactly comes from, the ability to use magic behaves in very distinct patterns over generations. Each year, a few witches and wizards are born from millions of Muggles, whereas mages as a rule with get magical children.'' He thought about Magic, the strange image he'd once seen in Voldemort's memories, an entity the Dark Lord spoke of in reverence and had been Chosen by. So far, no others he'd spoken to had seemed to believe in it as fact, not even the Malfoys, staunchly traditionalist and Pure-blood as they were. How present was this being, did it actively gift children its power at birth, or did it not have any influence over that? Should he really opt for turning this into a religious debate when barely grasping the concept itself? Slightly unwilling, he opted not to mention it. Perhaps if, in the end, they'd stick by him despite it all, Voldemort would be able to explain, to show…

Hermione appeared to have her own ideas, muttering frantically: ''A rare genetic mutation that gets passed on when those with recessive genes have children together. No, that would not explain the high rates of Half-blood mages. If it's recessive, then a Muggle and a witch or wizard should not have magical offspring as often as they do.''

''I don't know an awful lot about genetic studies,'' Harry admitted. ''But regardless, magic makes us different from Muggles, that's a fact. It makes us vulnerable to the consequences of exposure. Until now, there have only been half-hearted compromises and many instances where magic was unveiled that needed to be covered up. The Obliviate squad runs around each day to fix the 'problem' of Muggles who witnessed clearly magical events. It doesn't have to be that way.''

Just as he wanted to give a more in-depth depiction of how their world could look, ideally, the muffled sound of the front door opening distracted all three of them. Disappointingly, Harry instantly noticed that it couldn't be Voldemort, but that disappointment faded quickly.

''Kiddo!'' Sirius shouted the second he entered, launching himself at Harry for a gigantic hug. ''You did it! You stuck it to them, I knew you could do it, hah! I wish I could have seen Fudge's face!''

''Sirius?'' Hermione asked, befuddled. Harry realised that their conversation had diverted quite a bit from the original topic, and he'd never gotten to the part of Sirius' involvement. ''You- you follow Voldemort too?''

''What in Merlin's name did you talk about if they don't know that?'' Barty complained, barging in after Sirius. ''I was gone for over an hour! Hey, is the Malfoy brat still with Nagini?''

Admittedly, Harry had completely forgotten about Draco. ''I… don't know?'' he said. ''I was only supposed to watch Ron and Hermione, right?''

The Death Eater threw his hands up and turned around to head upstairs. Harry wiggled a bit, still caught in Sirius' tight embrace. It didn't look like his godfather planned on letting go anytime soon. What had Barty been thinking, bringing him here? Seeing Sirius was wonderful, but this was possibly the one adult that Hermione held no respect for as she knew how troubled and oftentimes unreliable the man could be. Knowing a plan was endorsed by Sirius was usually enough to make her throw it in the bin – not completely unreasonably.

''So, Harry dragged you into the gang as well?'' Sirius asked the others. ''A helpful tip: don't piss off Voldemort cause then you have to sleep outside. It's also really, really easy to piss him off cause he's a jerk about constructive criticism, has a massive ego and holds grudges about things you might not even be aware of yourself.''

''Hey! You're not making a good case here,'' Harry objected.

''Yeah yeah, we all know you think he's the best thing that ever happened to mankind,'' the other spoke while rolling his eyes. ''Agree to disagree. The only positive quality he has is that he's good at baking, period.'' At last, he let Harry go. ''Crouch gave me a batch of cookies a couple of weeks ago. Only told me when I'd already eaten three that Voldemort had made them. Nearly choked to death.'' he chuckled. ''I know I have a good survival rate, but I'd rather not take my chances, so I'm glad Crouch knew the Anapneo charm.''

''I wish Voldemort did too,'' Harry replied, rubbing a sore spot on his shoulder where Sirius had patted a bit too roughly in his enthusiasm. At Sirius' inquiring look, he explained: ''I once accidentally fell asleep in the bath and apparently nearly drowned. Voldemort hauled me out and physically pressed the water out of my lungs. He didn't respond very positively when I reminded him there's a spell for that.''

When Sirius was done laughing at Voldemort's expense – Harry didn't feel the need to inform anyone in this room that it had led to spending the night almost naked in Voldemort's bed, a fact that surely would have killed his godfather's mirth – the man turned to Ron and Hermione again. ''Anyways, glad to have you on board too. Now I'm not alone with all these worshipping fanatics. Don't get me wrong, I can somehow accept Voldemort's ideas now that he won't start another murder spree and wants to just leave Muggles alone, but he's not my favourite person in the world.''

''We were just on the topic of Muggles,'' Hermione said, having found her voice again. ''And you're wrong, Sirius. I'm not quite convinced yet that I could ever be even slightly on board with these ideas. When the actions of his Hand of Magic are anything to go by….''

''Understandable, but unfortunately it's either supporting Harry and in extension Voldemort, or supporting my sweet godson dying prematurely. I mean… is there really a choice?''

''I didn't get to that part either,'' Harry groaned when Ron and Hermione traded a shocked look.

Sirius stared at him for a second, then put his hands on Harry's shoulders and inhaled deeply. ''Harry. Kiddo. My amazing godson. You had an hour to explain the situation to your best friends whom I know care very deeply about your wellbeing, and you didn't start by telling them that Dumbledore plans to kill you?'' he incredulously asked.

An embarrassed type of anger came over him. Heatedly, he spoke up: ''No, because first of all, that sounds absolutely ridiculous without all the context that I didn't have time to properly explain yet and secondly, it's not the reason why I have faith in him at all, nor should it be! This isn't a case of 'well one side wants me dead, so I guess I'll burn all my bridges and pick the one that doesn't no matter their views'. Would you think me that shallow?''

''No, but it's an important detail that the people who are only here because of you, should be told immediately! This was the one argument that was enough of a slap in my face to finally wake up and convince me.'' Harry doubted that. His godfather had stuck to his own beliefs right until his death. The change of heart might have had something to do with that revelation, but could they really tell when it had been disclosed on the same day that Sirius had become subjected to Harry's control? After he didn't respond to the expectant look, the other asked: ''Alright so… so what did you talk about?''

A slightly painful conversation followed in which Hermione ended up summarising the previous discussion, which had far more been about the dark side's agenda than everything Harry had hid from his friends in the end. Soon after, Barty joined their little group again - without Draco but not looking miffed enough that Harry had to worry about the Slytherin having been eaten - though didn't participate. While his friend talked, Harry mentally listed all that hadn't been mentioned yet. They hadn't touched upon Necromancy, or that he knew now who had murdered the Dursleys, or that the times he'd snuck out of Hogwarts he'd gone to visit Voldemort instead… Or…

''So why would Professor Dumbledore try to kill Harry? It doesn't sound like it's because he knows about Harry's association with Voldemort.'' Hermione questioned, hands planted on her hips. She was clearly just as frustrated as when they'd started, no closer to having all the answers.

Right, there was also that little detail about being Voldemort's Horcrux. At once, Harry knew that out of loyalty to his partner, this was information he could not reveal, regardless of how badly Ron and Hermione would think of him for still hiding the entire truth. This was his partner's life he was talking about.

''There's the whole immortali-'' Sirius started, then choked and rubbed his throat. ''I mean, the soul is-'' More choking ensued, which appeared to annoy Sirius more than it discouraged him. ''The only way for Voldemort to die is if my precious godson goes first,'' he finally proclaimed at the same time that Harry figured out the contract Sirius signed must stop him from going into details. He was surprised by how much his godfather could reveal. Barty frowned, yet remained silent. Sirius made a few weird grimaces, then said: ''Iffy bits of magic connect them in layers that I haven't wrapped my mind around, but it basically comes down to Voldemort remaining alive as long as Harry is too. Dumbledore is trying his hardest to get rid of the Dark Lord and thus needs my wonderful godson to die first.''

Allowed by the contract or not, Harry decided to take the lead of the conversation to be on the safe side when Hermione said: ''But, but if he doesn't know-''

''I had hoped the same for the longest time,'' Harry admitted, mildly annoyed about Sirius' oversharing. At least the word Horcrux hadn't been dropped. Possibly only because he literally couldn't say it to those who didn't yet know about it. ''At the start, I assumed Dumbledore 'only' wished me to become a murderer and kill Voldemort. As it turns out, that isn't quite the case. I told you about how my lessons with him consisted of showing me memories of Voldemort's past? The Headmaster is attempting to find ways to get rid of the Voldemort by any means possible. Don't get me wrong, I don't consider Dumbledore my personal enemy. It's not as if he is an evil scheming maniac who wants to murder me. He has good ideas about Hogwarts and the Ministry, wants to improve the world in the way he thinks is best… But at the end of the day his insistence that Voldemort is irredeemably evil and needs to be vanquished won't lead to the bright future he hopes.

As for whether Dumbledore is aware of whether I need to die to achieve his goal of murdering Voldemort… You remember when we overheard Tonks' and Kingsley's conversation in St. Mungo's? Dumbledore told the Order that I might be possessed after I informed him about the vision I had.'' Harry had all but confirmed any suspicions Dumbledore might have had at that point when admitting his connection to Nagini. ''Voldemort and I indeed have… multiple connections. Bound in fate, magic, mind and blood,'' he spoke, attempting to keep it vague enough. ''I told you about the shared dreams before… that is part of it. I had to admit some of it to the Headmaster when informing him about the attack on Ron's dad. A while after that, he openly said to my face that whatever keeps Voldemort alive needs to die.''

''That is still no conclusive evidence…'' the girl tried once more, looking less certain.

''What more evidence do you expect me to get?'' Harry incredulously asked her. ''Should I walk up to him and ask to see if he tries to kill me on the spot?''

Barty finally interrupted their squabbling, declaring: ''Even if Dumbledore wouldn't know, it doesn't change that he won't give up on attempting to kill my Lord. As Evan's death is a condition to fulfil that, it would always lead to the same result as soon as the old coot would figure it out. Which he already has, according to my Lord,'' the Death Eater added in afterthought. ''He has too much information not to know by now, making this entire speculation of 'what if's pointless. He likely at the very least suspected it far before the incident with Nagini, so don't blame yourself.''

''In my opinion,'' Harry proclaimed, ''We're focusing far too much on this aspect. I told you that my own life has nothing to do with my decision to support Voldemort. He is the best option we have.''

''Right,'' Hermione scoffed. ''Not two hours ago, he eliminated the option we could have had after Minister Fudge. If anything could have convinced me, it's murdering off political rivals to show cunning and strength,'' she sarcastically drawled.

''You might have had a point if my Lord could have openly ran for office,'' Barty told her, sounding far more amused than he ought to. ''Losing a war ensures He won't be able to and not wishing to start another means He can't forcefully take control either. That leaves tactics like these – eliminating threats when possible while remaining in the background.''

''I wasn't doubting the effectivity,'' the girl huffed, ''My problem lies with the morality. Perhaps centuries ago, people became kings by killing their competitors, but we're supposed to have moved on from that point in a civilised society. The argument that he cannot legally be elected because he senselessly committed mass murder before and lost a war is not the convincing argument you seem to think it is.''

''Listen here, if you think that your opinion-''

BANG

Five pairs of eyes were simultaneously drawn to the ceiling. The Death Eater pulled a face and muttered: ''Damn, did she get loose?''

''Who?'' Sirius asked, but as Barty was already making his way to Umbridge, it fell to Harry to explain they held the woman captured here. A version of her, at least. Thankfully, his godfather had been partially filled in about what had transpired that led to their narrow escape. ''If Voldemort is so hyped about offing enemies, why is she still alive?'' Sirius inquired, bemused. ''Doesn't seem very in character. Or does he like how evil she is and sees a potential ally?''

''Fat chance,'' Harry scoffed, ''He wasn't so concerned about her at first, but then she made the mistake of making me use a bloodquill. Voldemort very much wanted to eliminate her once he knew about that. However, I don't. He gave me a last chance to give a convincing alternative.'' He'd better start thinking about that too, the time limit had been until Voldemort's return and when that would be was anyone's guess. Umbridge or not, throwing away someone's life because Harry had different things on his mind wasn't acceptable.

The other raised his eyebrows. ''Despite everything, I find it difficult to believe he'd opt not to kill someone just because you don't want him to.''

Harry shrugged. ''It's not so much that I asked him to pretty please leave her alone. I personally don't think death is either the best solution or the worst punishment. I wouldn't weep if she dies, just prefer to make her pay in a more significant way. Voldemort was… intrigued by my wish for vengeance.'' He became aware of that Ron and Hermione, who had been whispering among themselves since Umbridge had started causing a ruckus, had fallen silent and were looking at him with concerned expressions. To clarify in case they thought the worst of him, he said: ''She has done so much damage to our world and spread so much hatred that I want her to take responsibility for those actions. I want her to watch as her harsh laws against beings like were-wolves are undone, to make her realise that all she wished to bring about is unwanted. To take the power she took for granted and see the footprint she so desperately wished to leave is washed away. I wish for Umbridge to know she is hated so much that nothing she ever did will matter for our future. Isn't that better than her simply dying without having had any insight?''

Sirius whistled softly. ''Vicious. It sounds good in theory but comes with a lot of complications. Would you keep her imprisoned? Put her under a spell? Discredit her somehow so she wouldn't be able to show her face anymore?''

''I wasn't sure about the details yet,'' Harry sighed. ''Hadn't expected a situation like this, obviously. Not sure if the Imperius is an option…''

''Trading one Unforgiveable for another?'' Ron asked doubtfully, sitting up again and looking relieved when no-one physically forced him down this time. ''Is that really a solution? Dad told me more about the Imperius than we even heard from Moody – well, Crouch. I don't think it would give Umbridge the opportunity for self-reflection you are hoping for when her mind doesn't belong to her anymore. You remember how it felt when we practised, right? Your head becomes all cloudy and you're not aware of what goes on around you. That's how it felt to me at least. Only recalled what I'd done after the curse was lifted…''

''You have a point,'' Harry admitted, a tad startled by how calculated Ron sounded about the use of the Imperius curse, focusing more on the practical side of it instead of the ethical one.

''Harry-'' Hermione spoke up, sounding annoyed again. ''Perhaps this is not the best time to speculate how many Unforgivable curses you can use on your enemies?''

''The hag is tied up again!'' Barty announced as he barged in, looking like a whirlwind had made out with his hair. ''All of you good still? Perfect. Who is hungry?''

''Hungry for answers? Me,'' Hermione snarked. Behind her, Ron simply raised his arm hopefully.

Not reading the mood well, the Death Eater merely continued: ''I've gotten better at cooking, believe it or not. Bought this book about salads from a Muggle flea market. Turns out that as long as something can't be over- or undercooked, cooking is super easy!''

''I can imagine Voldemort was thrilled,'' Harry spoke unironically. What had the both of them lived off before when Harry wasn't around anyways? Surely not batches of cookies considering how thin the Dark Lord was. He remained a bit sceptical, since most salads that didn't consist purely of leaves also called for cooked ingredients. Giving Barty the benefit of the doubt – mostly in order to get him out of the room quickly as his presence appeared to plummet Hermione's mood each time – he asked for a meal for seven – hoping that Draco was still in one piece upstairs and that Voldemort would return at some point this evening.

The interruption had given him a few necessary seconds of consideration regarding his next words. ''You're wrong, Hermione. Contemplating what to do with Umbridge is of utmost importance, for if I can prevent a senseless death, I will. I have opened up to you about everything of significance over the span of a whole year, I beg you for a break in which I can attempt to focus. Of course, if you have any ideas, feel free to put them forward.''

Though not appearing very happy about it, the girl swallowed her anger and started pacing. ''At Hogwarts, I thought often about what a suitable retribution would be for all she's done. She may have been horrid to us, but in the end, those who suffered most under her actions were the many humanoid beings and beasts Umbridge despised. You mentioned the anti-werewolf laws before, and she tried multiple times to make it legal to herd Merfolk like cattle. Her reach extended to many different species, never for the better. Thus, I would personally find it fitting if a panel of various beings were to judge her. At Hogwarts, we would have been limited, but perhaps the Centaurs would have been thankful by the chance to deliver justice. If Voldemort has so many alliances as you claim, this shouldn't be difficult.''

''That is surely a proposal to consider,'' Harry mused. ''The only problem I see is that last time I spoke with a gathering of beings about oppressors, they all clearly wanted vengeance by blood. I would risk that they too would simply execute her. That chance is even quite high and it would simultaneously anger Voldemort as I'd have denied him the opportunity, yet wouldn't stop another from doing the deed. Once again,'' he added uncomfortably.

Ron coughed in surprise. ''Is that a regular thing that happens to you or what?'' he asked disbelievingly.

''Not by choice,'' he grumbled, then checked the door to ensure Barty wouldn't come in again. This was something he didn't wish to reveal to the Death Eater, who would feel honour-bound to inform his Lord. ''Voldemort deeply wished to massacre the Dursleys as a way to gain my favour. I refused, for as much as I sometimes wished they were death, the urge to simply never see them again and ignore they ever existed was stronger. I didn't need more murders on my conscience. Unfortunately, the choice was taken from me, for as you know, they aren't among the living anymore. Unbeknownst to me, one of the beings we spoke to before attacking the slave rings to pledge ourselves to their cause, was under the impression that he had a blood-oath to fulfil to me. In conclusion: I refused Voldemort's offer to get rid of my family and then someone else did it instead. If he finds out who committed the murder, I'm certain that there'll be another bloodbath, so I have opted not to let Voldemort know I am aware of the killer's identity. That doesn't mean I wish the same to happen again.''

''Why don't you talk to Umbridge?'' Sirius suggested.

Harry raised an eyebrow. ''What would that bring? I know perfectly well what kind of person she is, I don't need another impression of that, thank you very much.''

''Are you sure? Debating about the fate of someone is different when you look them in the eye.''

''Didn't look like you changed your mind when facing Scabbers,'' Ron mentioned.

Sirius laughed at that, showing a few teeth too many. ''We can surely all agree that he was a rat bastard. Seeing him scurry around only strengthened my resolve. But I concede your point. No talking then.'' His gaze turned thoughtful. ''There is still the possibility of control…''

''I thought we agreed that the Imperius wouldn't be useful? I don't know any spells to control a person with them remaining fully aware.''

''Are you sure about that?'' Sirius asked, cocking his head slightly. When Harry didn't react, the man cleared his throat and pointed at himself.

It took a few second before the Knut dropped and Harry stared at his godfather in horror. ''You're not suggesting – no, absolutely not!''

''Why not?'' the other challenged. ''That way, you won't only get to make her watch as what she worked for crumbles, you could order her to do so by herself. As her priority will drastically shift, she might even turn out to be a more pleasant human being. As a small bonus, Voldemort actually gets to kill her for a bit. Isn't it a perfect solution? Look, I'm speaking from personal experience here and I vouch in favour.''

As Harry kept checking whether Sirius had grown a second head that was the one suggesting spells Sirius Black, Gryffindor rebel, would never dare think of, Ron and Hermione both asked simultaneously: ''What solution?''

''Forget it, I'm not- I won't- I don't even know if that would work in the first place!'' Harry frantically spoke, shaking his head. He ignored his friends for now, insistent on getting this idea out of Sirius' head to put a stop to it. Would it even be possible to copy that particular ritual? Voldemort had made it sound as if it weren't a common occurrence. Also, his partner had stated that it depended on who performed it, claiming it might not have worked if Voldemort himself had attempted to bring Sirius back due to a lack of will. Harry wasn't completely willing either to do this, especially knowing how it would tie Umbridge to him.

Although… could he use it to help his godfather break free and become autonomous again? Harry was averse to performing drastic experiments due to not wishing to hurt the man – not to mention the added factor that in Sirius' current state of mind, he didn't want to be free. With the hated toad, Harry would have less qualms. She could provide an out to the dilemma he'd had. The Gryffindor chewed on his lip, a twinge of discomfort coming up at the thought. Was Harry any better than Voldemort if he would be prepared to treat an enemy like that?

He decided to stall that soul-searching, as both of his friends looked a bit lost once again. Before they became impatient enough to ask what they were on about, Harry decided to delve into the next chapter of confessions. They hadn't turned their back on him when dabbling into the Dark Arts together, so perhaps they might even understand…

''You know how Viktor told you about different branches of magic studied in Durmstrang that aren't touched upon at Hogwarts?''

Although the question came out of the blue, Hermione picked up his hints quickly, calming saying: ''Duelling, blood magic, death magic… I recall. Last time we talked about that, you insisted I write him a letter to educate myself further about dark magic. To counter my previous belief that it is only ever harmful, vile magic. That was very… eye-opening.''

''I didn't insist on anything,'' Harry smirked. ''You didn't want to believe me and thus wrote Viktor instead.''

She blushed. ''Or that,'' Hermione admitted.

''Head in the clouds, huh?'' he fondly asked. Hadn't he been the exact same, even very recently? Everything that hadn't involve talking to Voldemort these past months appeared blurry in comparison.

''Shut up,'' she muttered. ''So, what does Durmstrang have to do with this?''

''I merely wanted to remind you that death magic is a subject studied openly, not only by the scum of the earth in secret tombs. Since last summer, I have started reading up on and later even thoroughly studied Necromancy.'' Neither of his friends looked incredibly surprised. Had they suspected or were they just too tired by this point to react with shock? ''I originally didn't plan to, but Voldemort asked me, if I could see one piece of magic on this earth, what that would be. Back when I still considered him my enemy, he once told me that he could bring my parents back if I did as he said. Both in an attempt to call him out on that bluff and in the hope that perhaps he hadn't been lying, I asked to see a way to revive the dead. That same night, I saw my parents again.'' Next to him, Sirius made an unvoluntary choking noise. Clearly, the witnessed memory of that event still haunted his godfather. ''After, I came in contact with death magic once more and then was confronted with a situation in which I had to either choose to perform Necromancy myself or let someone dear to me die for good.''

''That- that can't be,'' Hermione protested. ''The dead can't come back to life, Harry,'' she spoke with an almost pitying tone. ''Nothing I've ever read even suggests it may be possible. Magi mortem have been trying for millennia to achieve such a thing, it can't be done. Not beyond animating dead bodies and conversing with spirits. None of that truly brings loved ones back.''

''I'd beg to differ, am very alive now, aren't I?'' Sirius said in a chipper tone, pinching himself. ''Yup, definitely hurts and the flesh isn't falling off.''

''No,'' Ron whispered, staring wide-eyed at Sirius. ''You don't mean that you-''

''Afraid so,'' the man chuckled. It sounded too forced. ''I'd prefer not to go into all the gritty details, but I ended up doing something stupid and nearly got ripped to shreds. If it hadn't been for Harry – or Voldemort, as much as it pains me to admit that – I wouldn't only have had one foot in the grave. Although from what I was told, I wasn't fully dead, was I?''

Harry shrugged. ''That all depends on technicalities. Your body couldn't sustain life anymore and would never have been able to without magical interference. Since Voldemort put your mind and soul in stasis at the last minute, about half of what made up 'you' was dead and the other half alive. We healed your body again and then I brought new life into it. From how I understand it, anything is considered a resurrection as long as one part had to be brought back from the other side. I had to commit to becoming a Necromancer, so it had better count.''

''And you want to do the same… to Umbridge?'' Ron asked, though he didn't address Harry. ''After going through that yourself? What- what was it like? What is it like now? Did it change you?'' He appeared terrified at the prospect of those questions actually being answered.

Before Sirius could reply, Hermione's forehead creased and she stared at Harry. ''You saw your parents.'' The words sounded as if she tested them on her tongue, doubtful about the truth behind them.

''I did. Talked to them even.''

''What you said before…''

''Was their own opinion.''

The breath rushed out of her lungs. ''That is so…. inconceivable.'' She shook her head in disbelief. ''How could you be sure that it wasn't a trick? They've been dead for more than a decennium.''

He sighed. ''I just knew, 'Mione. They were my parents, after all.''

''I need a moment,'' she mumbled, putting distance between herself and the rest of them. Even the sofa on which Ron lay apparently didn't feel safe anymore. He kept a sharp eye on her movement to ensure she wouldn't attempt to leave, but she merely wandered to the bookshelves that lined one of the walls, finding solace in her favourite activity of letting a finger trail down faded leather spines. Since all books that could possibly be dangerous were in Voldemort's study, Harry didn't interfere. Everyone needed a different method to ground themselves.

''So errr,'' Sirius spoke, scratching the back of his head. ''Dying was worse than being dead, if that answers anything,'' He coughed awkwardly. Ron looked torn between being fascinated and ill. The latter may be due to the fact that he was still ill. ''The pain wasn't pretty and I don't recall much after I lived up to my name by blacking out. Only it was more greying out. Like floating in a cold, empty grey space until I was forcibly woken up and feeling out of it. Voldemort's visage being up in my face didn't help.''

''I know the feeling now,'' Ron sympathised.

''Sorry to hear that, wouldn't wish it on anyone,'' Sirius joked, earning him a glare from Harry. ''It did change me in ways I hadn't expected, ways that I at first didn't even realise. The more time passed, the more I felt my priorities shift. That's where the handy bit about using it on Umbridge comes in. Necromancy was not so much developed to resurrect loved ones, it's a power fantasy some people developed who wanted knowledge from the beyond and control over it. Ever since I returned, I am bound to Harry. Can't resist direct orders for example. Even when just – forgive the poor expression – living my life, I lean more towards doing what would be in favour to him. Now, imagine an Umbridge whose top priority suddenly becomes making Harry happy.''

''You're really trying to sell this idea very badly, don't you?'' Harry muttered unhappily while Ron's jaw dropped at Sirius' words. ''I didn't know you'd get bound to me and I try my utmost to avoid exploiting that link. Knowingly killing Umbridge for the purpose to revive and steer her every step is… it feels icky.''

''The alternative is knowingly killing her for the purpose of her dying, which you don't seem to be fond of either. You can't have cake and eat it too, Harry.''

''I hate that expression,'' he threw in. ''You can first have cake and then eat it. The point of having a cake is to eat it.''

Sirius rolled his eyes. ''Fine, you can't watch a Quidditch game from the side lines while playing too. Is that a better analogy to you? My point is that you appeared to be stuck in a prickly situation, I found a better solution and you don't want it. Do you still hate Necromancy so much? I admit that being forced into it wasn't great, but…''

''No,'' Harry sighed, ''That isn't it. I've accepted the Art as just another piece of useful magic that I can perform. It gave me a lot and trying to distance myself from it when I apparently have a knack for it doesn't make sense either. It's just… maybe this is stupid, but I thought I could morally differentiate myself from Voldemort in the usage of Necromancy. He kills people to create puppets, while I wanted the only people I ever revived to be those who couldn't be saved otherwise. Using the art of bringing things back from the dead purely to give life, without bringing about their death in the first place. So far, everything I have brought back or have requested the revival of, had not died by my own hand. I feel like this is a step in the wrong direction. I'm afraid of the person I'd find at the other side of that path.''

Unexpectedly, Ron started snickering. At Harry's look, he explained between bouts of laughter: ''Mate, you must be the softest dark wizard of all time.''

''I hope that's a compliment,'' Harry said awkwardly.

''… Yeah, I guess it is,'' Ron answered, scratching his head. ''As long as you think like this, I doubt you need to worry about becoming someone you can't live with. Hey, I neither agree nor disagree to Sirius' suggestion for now because it sounds weirdly brilliantly unhinged, but if You-Know-Who would kill Umbridge one way or the other, you wouldn't exactly break your codex if you plan beforehand to undo his work by reviving her, would you?''

''I would if I might have found some other plan that would convince him to leave her alive while getting the same benefits. Do you have any ideas?''

Reluctantly, Ron shook his head. ''No offence, but there isn't much room for new ideas when I'm trying to wrap my head around… all this. To think you'd be working with You-Know-Who himself… I'm struggling with it if I'm completely honest. Mostly since none of it is like I imagined it would be if I'd find out one of my closest friends or one of my siblings had started to support him. I expected more shouting and curses and less… errr, being healed by the Dark Lord personally. Yeah, that about sums it up, I suppose,'' he mumbled, disturbed. ''How long do you think it takes before he returns?''

Harry shrugged. ''No clue, he said something about now needing to uphold two schedules since he already had plans for today, so I imagine it's going to be a while. Not sure if he returns for the evening still.'' Once again, he silently hoped so, it would be very odd to go to bed alone while here.

''Good,'' Ron sighed, relaxing minimally. ''So- what will happen now? To me and Mione?''

''I don't know,'' he answered, unsatisfied with that himself. ''There's no safe house I can think of other than this one, but he also doesn't seem thrilled about the prospect of you guys staying here. Whether he is already searching for a solution right now or if it will take some days or weeks, no clue. Didn't have time to discuss it yet. Getting you back to consciousness came first and he left in such a hurry that there was no time for many questions. Erhm… I didn't really finish telling everything yet-'' Harry admitted reluctantly. ''I don't want you to think I'm keeping secrets even after this, so I suppose I should continue with my story until dinner…'' He looked over to Hermione once again, who still had her back to them and was staring at the rows of books. Figuring that she was listening regardless, he took a deep breath and continued…

XxX

As a rule, books revealed much about their owner. Even small collections often showed a theme, a leaning to certain authors, genres, opinions… People read all sorts of books of course, but the ones they kept aligned with their own views and interests. Hermione was still frantically searching for the key that would reveal something familiar about the Dark Lord as she stared at the shelves, a man so feared that hardly anyone dared whisper his name.

The books were clearly cared for: clean, freshly oiled leather covers, magically restored or preserved. It meant they hadn't simply come with the house, a theory strengthened by the evidence of new books and one-and-a-half dust-free empty shelf waiting to be filled in the future. The odd thing was that most were from Muggle authors and they ranged from poetry collections to horror novels. It threw even more unfitting pieces into the puzzle that had broken apart the moment Voldemort had shown up to save them.

The clear-cut sides were all blurring together in a way that made her anxious to sort some order into her life again, just like the lines of books here were ordered by theme and alphabet. She was angry. About the lies, the uncertainty, but most of all about her doubt. Listening to Harry's confessions had not solved anything. Above all, she still couldn't answer the question whether she could still consider him a friend. That he'd lied about so much weighed heavy no matter the reasoning, but that might not have mattered if he could have made convincing arguments.

He had not.

Behind her, the three guys were discussing one of the most unnatural pieces of dark magic and she couldn't understand why Ron was engaging in it. Why were they not, instead, focusing on how Harry seemed perfectly willing to gloss over the fact that Voldemort had started a war in which hundreds of people had lost either their own lives or that of someone dear to them? Why were they not talking about the man's ideas for the Muggle-Born Registry she'd read about, which would have been installed last time if Voldemort hadn't been killed before he could put the planned systematic discrimination into action? Why wasn't Harry mad about having been purposefully put in the deadly Tournament he had been so terrified of? Or at the very least about how Ron and she were absolutely imprisoned here, with the threat of being harmed if they even attempted to leave?

Of course, she could understand some of Harry's reasonings. The selfish ones above all. Who would not choose the side that they felt safest at? Though there lay the crux: Harry kept insisting that he didn't wish to focus on exactly that argument, for he truly seemed to think that Voldemort was more fit to lead the Wizarding World than anyone else. How he'd reached that conclusion escaped her grasp so far. No matter how one looked at it, the man who called himself a Dark Lord had a following of the most bigoted people she'd ever known, was a criminal in more ways than she probably even knew about and had founded two terrorist organisations to aid in his conquests. Whatever small ways he might be able to improve their country in shouldn't weight heavier than his misdeeds. Was it not he who'd set loose a Basilisk at the age of sixteen to hunt down 'the unworthy'? People could only change so much. Hermione doubted the wizard had ever even paid for all the harm he'd done.

And yet what she saw before her didn't look like the mind of a madman. The meticulously organised miniature library, a mixed assortment of classic literature and children's stories, painted a very different picture of the kind of man who would read this. Had she known nothing about the owner previously, Hermione would have imagined an old, harmless professor whose only quirk was his fixation on reading fantasy stories.

With half an ear, she listened as Harry continued his tale, rattling off more facts. Another summer in which he'd been at Voldemort's side, the start of the Hand of Magic's work, the scheme of the Malfoy's adoption… Hermione registered it dispassionately, filing it all away in a mental cabinet to sort through later. With insurmountable relief, she realised that Viktor had had no part in any of it so far. Now that was something she'd have been unable to handle. She missed her boyfriend's down-to-earth demeanour, Viktor's calm voice with its comforting cadence. The short meeting at Valentine's Day in Hogsmeade hadn't been nearly enough.

She swallowed down the ache that tightened her throat, the physical pain of missing her love so deeply, to instead continue her attempt at picking at Voldemort's brain to find a connection between the reading material that he had deemed worthy of assembling in his dining room – an odd place for books, although Harry had gone upstairs before to retrieve academic ones on Healing, so she gathered there was a study with the magical counterparts. It also hadn't been uncommon in the past century for families to display their books exactly in rooms where they might retrieve guests in an attempt to show off, so the shelves could have simply been here before. The house did look old. And Muggle.

Thoughtfully, she once more took a shot at extracting information from the collection. What did the utopian fantasy novel 'Islandia' have in common with a horror story about dark mages like The Dark Eidolon? The only, broad factor she could find was that all of them, including Shakespeare's Macbeth – which appeared to have been put in a 'history' classification – had elements of magic. As they had all been written by Muggles, Hermione knew that most were highly inaccurate. Did Voldemort simply enjoy reading how little Muggles knew of their world? Or did he only find Muggle literature interesting when there was at the very least an aspect of magic to them? Either would lead to a completely different perspective…

Harry was still talking in the background – more about Necromancy, a concept that intrigued her scholarly side yet frightened everything human about her. He described calling in a favour from centaurs to obtain a bone from a corpse that had been about to become one with the forest, torn away to serve a new purpose. She was unwilling to believe all Harry said about the topic. The dead didn't just come back to life. If it was that easy, it would be more well-known. Viktor had answered some of her questions about the death magic covered at Durmstrang very briefly (he hadn't taken the subject himself) and there hadn't been a single book on the topic in his house either. If even students from Durmstrang, where it wasn't so frowned upon to talk about, didn't hold more knowledge than the basics of that it was possible to animate corpses and channel dead spirits, surely true necromancy couldn't be real. What Harry had seen, she reasoned, could very well have been a trick of the mind. As for Sirius: how would someone in shock from blood-loss be able to tell the difference between falling unconscious and dying? Far likelier was what Harry didn't seem ready to accept: that Voldemort was lying, not everyone else.

Her finger brushed over a blue spine with gold lettering and a red symbol not unlike a flower. She registered the title and author, already attempting to find more links, when she halted. The book was familiar.

In sheer disbelief, Hermione broke one of her own rules and pulled it from the shelf without permission from its owner. Her hands trembled. Memories of a snowy afternoon in London, showing Harry her favourite bookshops while Padfoot had waited outside. Speculation about the person whom her friend had wished to gift this to. A birthday gift for the person he'd fallen in love with, someone who was enamoured with Muggle fantasy novels. Her eyes shot to two shelves back, where the Lord of the Rings Trilogy stood. How had she missed that detail? Her throat tightened once again, but Hermione was hard pressed to identify the exact feeling that encompassed her now.

Not for the first time today, Hermione felt overwhelmed, as if she'd ran face first into a wall with thousands of facts that needed to be sorted in the span of minutes to receive an Outstanding.

She shoved the book back in its spot, harsher than ever before. She needed to adapt her previous conclusions.

Corrected fact one: They knew each other not as enemies. They knew each other as lovers. Harry had realised he'd had a crush on someone last year around Halloween, and if she could somewhat trust his very vague statements, a relationship had formed somewhere before or during the Easter holidays. The book he'd bought for said person was without a shadow of doubt the one taunting her now.

Oh Merlin, all those talks she'd had with Harry about his crush… The advice she'd given to follow his heart. And that wasn't all… Her friend (Was he? Maybe?) had ranted multiple times about the one he'd developed feelings for. Tearful admissions and quiet discussions both in which she'd attempted to be understanding and helpful. Harry had confessed his insecurities, she'd teased him about having a Valentine's date, he'd told her about shared cake and gifts on New Year's Eve, even about his crush's insecurity about the age gap. That he'd freaked out about kissing Harry's forehead.

No… no, surely that could not possibly describe Voldemort. Did Harry's boyfriend perhaps know the Dark Lord and lent him the book? But why hand over something so specific as a story that perfectly fit the rest of this collection, especially if it had been received as a gift? No, that theory grasped at straws that were already being blown away by the wind.

Simultaneously, another consideration decided to give her a left hook out of nowhere:

Agreeing to someone's ideals was one thing. When Crouch had mentioned that Harry wasn't a Death Eater, a small spark of hope had ignited in her that perhaps it wasn't too late, a spark which had grown when hearing how thin Harry's theories were about Dumbledore. There was no evidence, and Voldemort's methods were more than questionable. Maybe if she and Ron would have had some serious conversations with Harry to talk sense into him from their perspectives, they might have been able to make him doubt Voldemort's version of events. In a regular situation, that could have been an option. In a regular scenario where Harry hadn't struggled through months of accepting his feelings for someone he'd described as a dark mage with an antisocial personality disorder. Someone out of touch with feelings, maybe even with reality. Someone dark and cruel.

Love could be wonderful. In this case, Hermione dreaded the consequences for the entirety of their country. The Headmaster appeared to believe that one way or the other, Harry would play an crucial role in defeating the Dark Lord to maintain the hard-won peace they had now. The system was far from perfect, but it was peaceful nonetheless. From the context of the previous discussion, Hermione understood that Voldemort wasn't intending to start a war, yet she had no illusions about that he wouldn't fully immerse them all in blood if it was more convenient, like the murder of Scrimgeour had been. Professor Dumbledore already knew that Voldemort had returned and had readied the Order of the Phoenix for possible battle. One glimpse of the Dark Lord in public and they'd be facing dark times. Times in which the masses would search for the hero who'd defeated this man once before. She could see it now: the backlash that would spread once it became known that Harry had fallen in love with the one he was supposed to take a stance against. There'd been so much bad press when it had even been revealed that Harry was a Parselmouth, that a full-blown smear campaign would be a very likely outcome. If it remained at that.

At least, she bitterly thought as her discovery truly sank in, some puzzle pieces now fit together perfectly. Their shared looks before, Voldemort so easily accepting Harry's hand on his shoulder, them being given the benefit of doubt in the Ministry of Magic… Struggling to find positives, Hermione tried to focus on the small details she'd picked up on while studying their interactions. Harry was so comfortable around the man, at ease with that typical aloofness even when others were not. The way he'd spoken of his love interest before and how Voldemort had reacted showed a mutual trust that hinted at their relationship being… happy? If -and that was a big if- there was no coercion going on, either in the form of love potions or manipulation.

Did Sirius know, she pondered. He absolutely knew more than he'd let on all this time if he had a lifeline to Barty Crouch Junior as well. Those two as well got along much better than she'd expected from people who'd been on different sides of the war until shortly. But how much had Harry confided in his godfather? Refreshingly, Sirius did not appear to agree to Voldemort's ideas any more than she did, only here out of a desire to protect Harry – though once again, there was an ill-fitting puzzle piece: the amicability with a Death Eater who had been condemned for torture.

Having gathered enough of her wits to turn around and face them again, she joined the others and sat down, ignoring her rumbling stomach. Due to her entire internal debate, she had zoned out of the discussion a bit, only vaguely recalling that they'd talked about Voldemort's pet snake and how Harry had apparently rescued her from Grimmauld place where she'd been used for experiments, or something along those lines. Ron was not as upset at the news as she'd have believed, as if this tale wasn't news at all. Harry wrapped up the story not long after, just in time for the return of both Crouch and Malfoy. The pale Slytherin laid the table as if he'd grown up doing such chores, a strange contrast with his regular behaviour. Hermione wondered what he'd done to deserve being treated like a servant by Crouch.

Dinner was scant compared to the lavish meals at Hogwarts, but she was glad to have something in her stomach, even if tomato salad with bread on the side wasn't exactly filling. Next to her, Ron – who'd been allowed at the table only under the promise that he'd sit very still – poked the salad around on his plate with a sad look. Now they were all gathered at the table, Hermione at last addressed the one detail that hadn't been mentioned by Harry so far, a factor which had appeared very important earlier today.

''In the Ministry, there was talk about a Prophecy. What does that mean?''

The reactions varied. Draco's head perked up in a way that told her he was just as curious as she was. Ron understandably looked confused, whereas the remaining three exchanged glances. ''Oh, that…'' Harry finally replied unhappily after receiving a sharp nod from Crouch. ''That's how it all began, actually. You see, before I was born, Professor Dumbledore was searching for a new Divination professor…''

The next few minutes were filled with the most dubious story so far, at the end of which Hermione could only ask in bewilderment: ''Professor Trelawney prophesised that you would vanquish a Dark Lord? That crook made an accurate prediction right on the cusp of a rejection of a job interview? That…. Who told you this?'' The look in his eyes already answered the question before he could open his mouth. ''Don't tell me that your only source is Vol – You-Know-Who again,'' she groaned with a quick glance at Crouch.

Harry seemed to consider that for a moment, then shrugged unapologetically. ''Seems that way. Though the concept of Prophecies is very real, we've all seen thousands of them today- those dusty orbs in the large room we ran through. Voldemort and I destroyed them.''

''Why?'' she asked him incredulously. ''There was such an great number of them, erasing such a record is… is… outrageous!''

''They don't bring any good,'' he answered with a frown. ''Divination is one of the least understood and fickle branches of magic. Even Voldemort cannot fully comprehend the subject and he is a Lord.'' He pronounced the word with a hint of awe like it was supposed to mean something. She was about to ask, when recalling that Viktor had written aboutold legends of Lords of Light and Dark magic that kept the world from collapsing. From the way her boyfriend had described it, there was no more credibility to the actual existence of such beings than common fairy-tales, so she took it with a grain of salt and bit her tongue. Harry continued: ''Just like with time-turners, it is safer if the Ministry doesn't have access to such powerful artefacts. They were only copies anyways. Our 'original' prophecy is in Trelawney's and Dumbledore's memories. Or they should be, but Trelawney is such a bad Divinator that I think she can't remember her own Prophecies. She was entirely confused last time when she made a Prophecy about Pettigrew in front of me, didn't know anything had happened two seconds after the fact.''

''So now that you destroyed it,'' Crouch spoke up, precariously leaning back in his chair. ''Neither you nor our Lord can easily know what it said. Your earlier debate gave me the impression that neither of you wish to know. I do not doubt his wisdom, of course, but I have to admit that I find that unusual. Aren't prophecies meant to be heard?''

''Not in this case,'' Harry declared. ''He heard a few lines of it before and gave me a summary. The premise didn't sound like it would end well and we… well, mostly he, don't want to take risks.''

''What risks?'' Hermione persistently followed up.

Harry looked away and heaved another sigh. ''He has the ludicrous notion that if it says I will definitely vanquish him in the end, he won't be able to see reason anymore and get rid of me after all.''

The no-nonsense tone of the words didn't diminish the creeping feel of horror Hermione felt. Combined with her discovery… Would Voldemort kill the one he'd chosen as a partner to preserve his own life? Unfortunately, the likely answer was yes.

''He wouldn't, of course,'' Harry scoffed loudly before she could voice her opinion. Of course. ''But as I told him before, if it gives him a semblance of peace, it's better this way. Now the only chance of hearing what it said is if Dumbledore decides to finally reveal it to me. With how tight-lipped he's been, that isn't incredibly likely. Certainly not now. The Ministry is one thing, but Dumbledore will have his own theories on how we've escaped and where we are staying. Voldemort just had to kill someone, didn't he?'' Harry angrily said, stabbing a tomato forcefully.

''It was a good opportunity,'' Crouch tried to defend his Lord once again while waving a fork around in the air. Hermione scrunched up her nose. This Death Eater had no business looking so ridiculous and relaxed while apologising away a literal execution.

''I don't want to hear it,'' Harry crabbily replied. Alright, so maybe he hadn't completely lost his marbles then, though she hoped that he didn't think ignoring a problem would make it disappear.

''So, what does the part he knows say?'' Ron asked. Hermione mentally added 'supposedly' to the sentence.

''That I have the power to vanquish him. Not that I absolutely will. Apart from that, it just mentioned circumstances around my birth and about my parents that led him to know it referred to me. That's what we have so far. It is the reason why my parents went into hiding and he tracked me down.'' It was all said in that same nonchalant, distant voice, as if concerning someone else, she noted. That amount of detachment couldn't be healthy. Was he really affected by a spell as she'd suspected? Did Voldemort make him immune to unpleasant memories to keep Harry at his side? She kept it to herself for now, not wishing to confront Harry with this now. If they'd find a moment alone maybe…

''I wonder what the rest says,'' Ron said. ''Hey, not to cut this talk short, but I kind of need to go to the loo. Am I allowed to get up and put a foot in front of the other?'' he sceptically asked.

As it turned out, he wasn't allowed to do that. Just like he'd been literally levitated onto the chair before, Crouch now carefully levitated a cursing Ron out of the room. Hermione really wished to know whether the Death Eater was going overboard or if it was truly necessary. Harry didn't appear either fazed or amused by it, brow still furrowed and green eyes full of concern. ''I hope Voldemort can get a proper healer soon,'' he muttered.

How worried he was about Ron softened her sarcastic thoughts about the entire situation, thoughts she needed to keep herself sane as everyone else seemed to simply go along with the flow. Harry shoved his empty plate away and rested his head on his arms, closing his eyes. ''Merlin, am I glad we didn't land in Azkaban,'' he mumbled. The words made her feel a tad guilty for being so cynical about everything, for he was right: it could have ended much worse for them. At least they had a roof over their heads now, food and relative safety. Also, no matter how ugly the truth was, facing it was better than continuing to live out of the loop. Was she happy with Harry's choices? Absolutely not. Would she have preferred to have her memory wiped and live a lie? Even worse.

Baffling though it was to hear of the second life he'd lead underneath their noses, the times he'd laughed and cried with them had not been a mask. He cared for them, was scared to lose their friendship… She was still on the fence of whether he deserved it, but a voice in the back of her mind whispered of all that could be achieved when sticking by Harry.

The world was shaped by only a few powerful people. Thanks to Harry, Hermione was now in a position to speak to the Dark Lord who was committed to giving it a whole new form. All that had been revealed today had shifted the view she had of the world and subsequently impacted her own ideas on how to change it for the better. In this house, she was the only voice who'd stand up without reserve for the rights of Muggles and she realised at once how privileged her current position was. With new resolve, Hermione decided right then and there to give her friend another chance. Not for herself, not even for Harry. For all the nameless people's whose future might be a little bit brighter if someone was there to prevent further murders.

Who knew… in time, this friendship of convenience might form into the same tight bond they'd shared before. It all depended on who Evan Potter truly turned out to be.

---

It was two in the morning when Voldemort arrived home again, at last having taken care of every necessity. Delacour agreed to his demands, his followers in the Ministry would take care of any possible loose ends and keep an eye on the Auror Department the following month, the promise to Odell had been fulfilled, the Malfoys had been informed and he'd made arrangements for the Granger girl. Naturally, his previously scheduled appointments had been attended punctually as well: first a two-hour-long philosophical debate in Greece about the nature of Squibs and their place in the magical community (which had earned him both new insights and reputation amongst those who knew who truly was speaking) and secondly a productive meeting with a small group of his followers who were working on extending the reach of the Hand of Magic.

As soon as he stepped foot in the hallway, the Dark Lord stilled and listened to every creak of wood, every whisper of the wind to determine the number and position of those in the house. The dry rasp of scales against leather nearby told him Nagini was on the sofa in the dining room. Unfamiliar snoring and breathing above meant that Weasley and Granger were in Harry's old bedroom. Barty was in his own room – it had taken more than a year for his follower to feel comfortable sleeping in a bed instead of a heap of blankets on the floor, but he'd finally claimed the last unused bedroom in the house. The source of scratching of nails on wood was evidence that Umbridge was still tied up in the small storage upstairs. Voldemort wrinkled his nose when it also smelled of dog, in front of the fireplace no less. Black had better not ruin Nagini's favourite spot. Although it wasn't the reason why she'd moved downstairs, for the allure of simmering magic led him to find Harry there as well.

All in due time. Ignoring the itch to check on his partner, Voldemort's silent feet carried him to the guest room first where Harry's friends shared a bed – a pillow propped between their forms and both threatening to fall out because of it. Teenagers… he could only imagine the conversation that had resulted in this sleeping arrangement. Well, he didn't need to imagine it much longer.

First, he inspected Weasley and ensured the boy's sleep deepened considerably. The treatment had worked perfectly, there was no sign of nightmares plaguing Weasley. The hostile magic had not been entirely removed, however, and would surface again in time or if the boy would be put under duress. With what he had in mind, it was better if Weasley would not wake.

He approached Granger next, sneering down on her form with distaste coiling in his stomach. He knew of her potential, as even at the age of eleven she had been intelligent and he knew the role she'd played in many of Harry's adventures. However, it was clear why the bushy-haired teen had been sorted into Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw. Intelligence didn't mean wisdom, and wise she certainly wasn't. An entire plan foiled as she'd forgotten that all her possession had been labelled with her name. What blinding stupidity.

He had not come here to ponder over his dislike of her though. With a wave of his wand, he erected a silencing barrier over the entire room. Barty would surely offer up all he could of the evenings' events, but Voldemort was interested in more than mere facts. He needed to be assured of their intentions, of the likelihood of Harry being endangered by the very people he would not fight back wholeheartedly.

''Ennervate.''

The spell jerked her awake violently and she indeed did fall out of bed in a tangle of sheets. Good that even the thudding on the floor would not get past his shield, he did not wish for Harry to wake over this insignificant encounter.

''I- what-'' she stammered, wildly turning her head around with wide open eyes. She couldn't see well in the dark, he determined. That made it all much easier. He was tired and not in a patient mood. Unceremoniously, Voldemort crouched down in front of her and jerked up her chin.

''Legilimens.''

To his own credit, Voldemort respected Harry's wish of not damaging his friends' minds and was as careful as possible during his inspection. He didn't delve deep, dragging only the memories of last evening's conversation on the forefront of her mind. She was a very methodical person, which eased the process as much as the fact that she'd been mulling over her impressions from the moment he'd swooped into the Ministry of Magic.

''You're very perceptive,'' he stated when done, staring down at her crumpled form. Her screams had turned into quiet sobs, which were just as irritating. ''Go back to bed,'' he advised, as his praise of her observance didn't appear to move her. He was minimally impressed nonetheless, both by the techniques the teen had used to gather every scrap of information she could get and by her resolve to make the best of this situation. For a moment, he re-evaluated his plans for her. She was correct in the assumption that he received no advice from other Muggle-borns. Besides, he recalled Harry once mentioning that Granger might be able to offer alternatives to his solution for others like her. That was a consideration to take into account for tomorrow. He stiffly rose from the floor and waited until she wasn't shaking anymore in hopes of that she'd still have something intelligent to say.

''You don't deserve him,'' she whispered spitefully in the dark.

''And yet, he'll always be mine,'' he retorted near instantly, teeth bared and a threatening hiss rising in the back of his throat, which he suppressed at the last moment. Who was she to judge? If Granger thought he couldn't harm her, she was dead wrong. All it would take would be to bring her out of Harry's reach. He strode out without waiting for an answer, stewing in his anger. The amount of disrespect.

He halted at the top of the stairs, staring mindlessly into the darkness below as the images he'd gathered from her mind slid into place. Harry hadn't revealed anything to his friends that was harmful with the plans he had. Yet there was one piece that did not fit with the rest. A secret kept from him of all people. His partner knew who had stolen Voldemort's prey and decided to remain silent. Pressing thin lips together, he mulled over how to react. Or rather, attempted to identify the feeling that welled up in his chest. He should have been angry, had expected anger. Instead, something else entirely made itself known. The emotion made his lungs swell up and his ribcage expand minimally as if something living pushed against the insides. Pressing a hand to his chest, Voldemort filtered through his own memories of the evening in which he'd asked Harry to… aid him in categorising various emotions. He found the answer quickly, an answer that left him even more confounded. He was…. Proud? Was this a situation in which pride was fitting?

He recognised it more clearly now he had a name to it, having actively channelled pride at his own accomplishments, or those brought forth by him in others. Yet Harry's actions worked actively against him, hence why Voldemort hadn't understood it. Perhaps he should ask Nagini… yes, she might be able to explain.

His frantic mind calmed somewhat upon entering the dining room. He drifted over to the sofa near the left wall and gazed down upon the entwined forms of his two breathing Horcruxes. The moonlight touched softly upon them through the glass door of the veranda, shimmering on scales and messy black hair. One of Harry's arms was slung around the serpent, dried blood and dust still caked to the skin. Nagini lifted her head as he stilled. ~I kept watch. So many strangers.~

~You did well, my dear,~ he replied, lightly resting the tips of his fingers on her head to show his appreciation. ~I shall watch him now~

Dutifully, she slithered out of Harry's grip and onto the floor. The teen muttered something in his sleep and flailed his arms until Voldemort gently grasped thin wrists and sat down on the edge of the sofa. Instinctively, Harry moved to make more room even as he continued his slumber. Only when Voldemort attempted to pick him up with the intention of bringing his partner upstairs, did green eyes flutter open.

''Lemme sleep,'' came a grouchy growl.

''You'll twist your back.''

''So?'' Harry challenged, then blinked again. ''You're home! What time's it? Did you eat? Barty made stuff. If you're hungry,'' he rattled. At least those were the impressions Voldemort's understood from the string of incoherently mumbled words Harry actually spouted. Hands grabbed his robes and pulled them closer together. The same scent that had emitted from the flutterby bushes weeks ago now wafted into his nostrils as he buried his nose in the crook of Harry's neck. Voldemort enjoyed the moment, actively ignoring the implications.

''You thought about a way to deal with Dolores Umbridge,'' he stated, already having picked apart Granger's memories of that discussion. To think that Black of all people would push Harry further towards Necromancy… He truly wasn't the same man as he'd been before dying, a fascinating concept. He was already anticipating the possibility to experiment on Umbridge if she underwent the same preservation process. If it would work, that was. That depended on many factors, above all the will of the practising Necromancer. How seriously did Harry really wish her to live? Would he falter when presented with her corpse? Would he rejoice in her death for too long?

His partner appeared to have thought him to have worded it as a question, for he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and replied: ''Yeah, I did. I asked my friends for their opinions too. Mione thought about leaving it to a jury of beings and beasts since she hates 'half-humans' so much. I don't quite know whether I like that since it takes the actual choice from our hands. Sirius wants me to command her around by reviving Umbridge with Necromancy. That as well, I am hesitant about since, well... she'll be bound to me. Before falling asleep, I thought of a third option.''

Voldemort jerked back, displeased to hear this. He'd only been able to quell the urge to rip out Granger's bowels by looking very much forward to doing the same to Umbridge instead.

''Did you now.''

''I want her to become what she hates,'' Harry spoke with a serene smile that looked devastating enough to make a man dig a grave and fling himself into it. Voldemort wetted his lips and held his breath, as it felt even a hint of sound would shatter the moment. Harry continued speaking, eyes wide awake and lively and perfect now. ''She will be subjected to her own awful laws and has to turn to us to lead a better life. Imagine how her status will evaporate overnight if she contracts lycanthropy.''

Lord Voldemort stared down at his partner, his soul. He cupped a cheek that was getting rough with stubble – an interesting sensation – and looked into green eyes that were glimmering darkly. All irritation had dissipated, making way for intrigue. Slowly, calculatingly, he lowered his head. ''My dear,'' he whispered against warm lips before they could touch. He felt Harry's breath quicken as it mingled with his own. ''You are… perfection.''

---

AN: okay, I have to admit that barely anything about this chapter went exactly like planned. The first half was also… irritating to write, somehow? I don't know, it had a LOT of edits. I hope that wasn't too noticeable. So yeah, his friends kind of know most of what went on, Barty decided throwing an adult they already knew into the mix was a brilliant idea, Draco is still trying to find his place and our two idiots only have eyes for each other while they set the world on fire. The next chapter will definitely have a lot more Harry/Voldemort interaction than this one did. Also, Umbridge getting her due has taken long enough :P Which of the solutions offered in this chapter is your fave? Let me know in the comments!

If you haven't gotten enough of my writing yet, the reason why this chapter is a day early is because tomorrow I am uploading a Halloween story! Basically, just an excuse to write monsterfucker Harry tbh. If you like to see Pirate Captain Harry getting distracted from his quest to hunt down the undead Death Eater crew that killed his godfather by the very same monster from the deep (aka Siren!Voldemort) those undead Death Eaters worship, stay tuned.
It will have accompanying art I drew/edited and an original siren song on my tumblr (userame Hikarimeroperiddle) in case any of you are interested in hearing me sing. Sadly FFN is a bitch about posting links in stories so I'm not going to try. The title is 'Call from the Deep' and will be uploaded in roughly 20 hours I guess. Warnings for it are 'explicit sex and some gore'.

Please read and review!
xx GeMerope