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.

87. C86 - Snake and Seraph talk

Thank you all so much for your patience! I am finally back and excited to share the newest chapter with you.

A shout-out to everyone who was so kind as to offer donating for my lost hard-drive. I did not take anyone up on the offer to not cause problems with fandom guidelines by accepting money - even indirectly - for a fanfic, but it's massively appreciated nonetheless to know how much you guys care.
Fear not though, I have re-read the majority of this story once more and recreated my old files manually through that, which means I can continue writing like before :)

This chapter has been heavily fueled by some new music I found. If you're interested, the majority of this was written while listening to 'The Horror and the Wild' from the band 'The Amazing Devil' (one of the two lead singers is Joey Batey who plays Jaskier in the Witcher!), 'The gods we can touch' from 'AURORA' and the Album 'Grim' from 'Dark Sarah'.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 86 – Snake and Seraph talk

Never in the two years since Harry had first set foot in Riddle House had the place been so… boisterous. It had been full before with guests, but never ones so loud. The walls had especially not been filled with so many people who clearly didn't get along. As soon as they stepped through the front door, clanking came from the kitchen, urgent footsteps sounded upstairs and most loudly of all, voices were raised in the dining room:

''I've attempted for five years to make you dunderheads understand that going on a wild adventure with Potter equals a dive into mortal peril, I'll hear no protest about how little you wish to accept my treatment now, Mr Weasley!''

It had been mere hours since Harry had wished he'd have been reprieved of seeing Snape for a while. Life just never wanted to give him a break from the sour Professor… The intention to offer his friend some moral support by waltzing in wavered when distracted by a creaking on the stairs.

''My Lord,'' Narcissa greeted, curtsying as gracefully as possible on the middle of an old staircase. The turbulent news received half a day ago did not appear to have caused the woman to lose her cool, brilliant white robes having not a single crease and every hair placed carefully in a silver clasp. ''Harry,'' she then continued, stoic expression cracking into a smile as she rushed down the last few steps to envelop him in an unexpected hug. ''You're unharmed, thank Merlin.''

''Aren't you mad…?'' the teen asked in bewilderment, unable to comprehend the warm welcome. ''Because of me…'' the words got stuck in his throat. Regardless of what had happened to Harry personally – he couldn't imagine the Malfoys caring too much about that yet with all the protection he already had – he'd allowed Draco to join and at the very least compromised the Malfoy heir's future, if it wasn't entirely ruined. He cast a wary glance at Voldemort over Narcissa's shoulder, but the man didn't pay attention to either of them, sharp gaze focused on the door that led to the dining room as if he could stare straight through it.

There wasn't more than a couple of seconds that Harry could speculate about his partner's thoughts, as his guardian distanced herself again, only slim hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. ''Yes, young man,'' she sternly spoke. ''I am certainly not happy with your decision to act on your own. But that has nothing to do with how relieved I am to find you are no worse for wear. Nor does it change the fact that any reprimands are nowhere near as important as deciding on our next course of action. My Lord… may we excuse ourselves for a moment?''

Voldemort gave them both a slightly disturbed look, locking eyes with Harry for a long second. He felt irritated, though it wasn't directed at them. ''A moment,'' he agreed curtly. ''I shall instruct Severus in the meantime and inform Black of… new developments.'' It wasn't hard to guess which developments he meant, with the promise given to Lupin a short while earlier. A tad unwilling, Harry let himself be guided upstairs, a lick of magic the only caress he received before being separated.

''I was just finished packing Draco's belongings that Severus brought,'' she explained as they entered the drawing room, where several satchels stood. Harry wondered how so many items missing from the Slytherin dorms would not raise more suspicion – though likely it was no more questionable than that exactly Harry's most important possessions such as the Cloak and the Marauder's map weren't at Hogwarts anymore. It was only a heartache that his broom had been too large to sneakily carry towards the hidden tunnels. ''I wished to gather yours too, but although Granger informed me that you brought some items, I could not find them. We need to get everything together for easy transport home.'' She looked at him expectantly.

''I… I am home,'' Harry spoke, attempting not to wince at how rude the exclamation sounded.

For the first time, Narcissa faltered. ''Nonsense,'' she huffed when recovered, mere half a second later. ''My husband and I are your guardians, we pledged to provide you with all you may need and don't intend to break that promise. That the Ministry does not expect us to uphold that now you are a fugitive bears no significance. Besides, though I am certain that you wish to make yourself useful here, you must not forget that the Dark Lord is an extremely busy man and cannot tutor you the way he may have done in the past. Now, where is your luggage? Neither Draco nor Sir Crouch were able to point me in the right direction.''

Her exasperated tone left no room for discussion, but Voldemort had been rather adamant about that Harry was not to return to Malfoy Manor. Besides, with the backlash they'd gotten over showing they were already in a relationship during the ball instead of merely in the 'courting' stage, Harry was hesitant to outright admit he'd basically moved into his partner's bedroom and thus stored his stuff there last night. ''It doesn't matter, for I can't leave,'' he stubbornly protested. ''Voldemort made very clear that I am to stay,'' he added as she made an indignant sound.

Suddenly, Narcissa's thin eyebrows knitted together in worry. ''Harry, I know we only briefly talked about your envisioned future after the… the attempt to…'' she cleared her throat. ''After the Dark Lord declined the offer for an engagement,'' she diplomatically stated. ''However, neither Lucius nor I can ignore how improper it is for you to live with someone who is seemingly courting you. Not until you allow the necessary social steps to formalise any relationship you may or may not already have.'' Incredulously, the teen watched as the pristine front his guardian put up was washed away with a hint of desperation in her voice and a careless wiping of clammy fingertips on the white robe she was wearing. Narcissa was more than nervous.

One word stood out that made him realise why.

He groaned quietly. More to himself than to Narcissa, he muttered: ''I told Draco about my relationship with Voldemort before the Ball. Of course he told you again. Can't believe I missed that.'' Carefully, he peeked at her expression, which was quickly schooled again.

''Yes... Draco, of course,'' she repeated monotonously. ''I admit that I cannot understand either your or the Dark Lord's reasoning. Nonetheless, we decided to respect that you may not be able to bring yourself to follow a decorum you were never raised to follow. That an official engagement cannot be expected until you are more comfortable with the idea. But Harry,'' she grasped his fingers now and looked at him in worry. ''That also means that we cannot in good conscience let you live in the same house!''

''I'm literally a criminal now,'' he frowned at her. ''I won't be able to show my face in public again, so what does it matter? No-one will know whether I hide here or live with you!'' Sure, their relationship status had apparently been very frowned upon to the point of such rampant gossip that Voldemort had deemed it necessary for the majority of events to be forgotten, but surely there was no harm anymore if no-one would see how much he actually interacted with his partner. Or where he slept. And if Narcissa and Lucius truly accepted that they wished to have a relationship while ignoring the etiquette that was actually expected to not step on any Pure-blood toes, they shouldn't have a problem with this either. In Harry's own humble opinion, living together was a pretty normal step to solidify any relationship.

''I will know!'' she stressed. ''And I worry about having you be under the influence of a man like the Dark Lord without the protection of a contract on your terms!'' she insisted.

He blinked. ''What do you mean with 'protection'?'' he asked, baffled.

''The engagement contract we attempted to arrange,'' she repeated as if it was obvious what was meant with it. At his noncomprehending look, she clarified – with a look as if he were mad: ''It serves to set you up for a stable future and forms the first outline for the marriage contract that will follow, detailing such matters like financial security and boundaries during the engagement period, boundaries which magically bind both partners in this pre-union until the contract is either retracted or is taken out of effect by the replacement. Lucius and I naturally ensured that you, as a minor and the less influential party, would have been the side with most protection and benefits.''

''I thought it was just something that… that would pressure me into an early marriage,'' he confessed, face heating up. ''I've only ever known Muggle engagements,'' he tried to defend, ''which is nothing more than a promise to get married, usually in the near future.'' Of course, he knew from Draco now that engagements could last years in these circles, but his brother had specified 'only' having a vocal promise for now. Harry had thus expected putting it onto paper being a far more significant and binding deal. Then again, Draco and Astoria didn't differ much in regards to influence, magical power or wealth. Both were minors as well, making it less necessary for either to have this protection that Narcissa spoke of.

His guardian massaged her temples. ''It is good to understand your misconceived notions about it, that does explain your hesitance. Be that as it may, the Dark Lord himself knows very well what these contracts entail, having officiated both engagements and marriages in his role as a Lord. He was still unwilling to sign, leaving you stranded in a relationship without holding any power. In this house, we cannot protect you from harm, or even from merely the high expectations he may put on your shoulders.''

He could see her perspective, knowing very well that being around Voldemort wasn't exactly risk-free. They'd come close to duelling twice after they'd gotten together, and the man had dragged him to see sea monsters and a werewolf pack without much of a heads-up. Did Harry want a relationship with magical boundaries though? Call it masochistic, but he'd much rather deal with all of Voldemort's moods and the crazy situations he got dragged into than sitting in a make-believe bubble of forced niceties.

Not that it mattered. Reluctantly, as he did not wish to be too impolite, he attempted to carefully break the undeniable truth. ''I get your point, but even if I were to change my mind, you know I won't be able to convince him. There's also still the fact that at least Lucius is physically bound to serve him. If Voldemort orders you both to let me stay…'' he trailed off, knowing he didn't need to say more as her jaw clenched.

''I had hoped he would have been more considerate regarding your reputation,'' she merely voiced disapprovingly. Narcissa stared off into space for a moment, then slowly added: ''How about this: Lucius and I will allow you to have your regular residence here, but you come to us at least two evenings a week so we can check up on you. We'll also give you an emergency Portkey in case… in case you ever feel unsafe here and need to get away.'' She gave one of those tender smiles that she'd never be seen dead with in public. ''I promise we won't ask uncomfortable questions, only offer a safe haven when you need it.''

''I appreciate that,'' Harry answered, a lump in his throat. ''Truly. You- you didn't need to. Especially after…'' he looked away. ''I'm sorry about getting Draco in trouble,'' he mumbled, finally voicing his main point of guilt.

''Draco is older than you are,'' she spoke resolutely. ''The Heir to the Malfoy line and raised to be in charge of his family in the future. The plan may have been yours, yet my son knows very well that I would have faulted him more if he'd have stayed behind instead of taking responsibility by attempting to protect you. I cannot say that I am happy with either of your actions, though whether the costs weight up to the results is a matter I'll judge later, when the effects are palpable. Draco attempted to give me a brief explanation about time magic and Hogwarts destabilising…''

Harry nodded solemnly. ''Umbridge did us all a disservice in more than one way. Where is Draco anyways? Downstairs?''

''Lucius picked him up earlier. I was merely still taking care of the luggage and waiting for you… Which is now somewhat obsolete.'' She fell silent, yet made no move to leave. It looked like Narcissa wasn't extremely looking forward to suggesting her plan to Voldemort anytime soon. It would turn out that she'd regret stalling, as the woman released an uncharacteristic shriek all of a sudden. Alarmed, Harry jumped up, only to almost burst out into laughter when seeing Nagini had poked her head out from under the sofa they'd both been sitting on, right next to Narcissa's legs. The way she looked up was very akin a curious puppy. He'd already wondered where the serpent had gone off to, as this was her favourite room and she had been nowhere in sight.

~How in Merlin's name did you curl your entire body under there?~ he asked in fascination, crouching down and reaching out for her.

~Harrison!~ she happily hissed, putting her heavy head into his outstretched hands as more and more of her giant body slithered out from underneath. Harry sat down at his previous spot again, scratching the smooth scales at the sides of her face. Narcissa sat entirely still when Nagini decided that merely her head being stroked wasn't nowhere near enough contact and heaved herself up so she was splayed across his lap, curled around his neck, piled into his arms. Her tongue flicked affectionately against Harry's cheek. ~I missed you~

~Missed you too~ he grimaced, attempting to shift her weight a bit so his legs wouldn't be crushed by a hundred-and fifty pounds of snake. ~Nagini, this is Narcissa, my… err… adopted mother?~ he spoke, unsure of how to name it.

Her head swivelled to look at the woman, who twitched a bit as the snake yawned, jaws widening and fangs protruding mere inches away from Narcissa's face until Harry gently pushed against the side of Nagini's head to have it change direction an inch to the right instead. ''Sorry, she's just sleepy I think,'' he apologised. ''Err… are you afraid of snakes?''

''Not in general,'' Narcissa spoke, still side-eying Nagini. ''That being said, I have seen her being fed, once.''

Harry frowned, unsure why that made such a difference. Nagini was usually a very clean eater, swallowing rabbits whole and then going to sleep it off somewhere. ''Er, so you like the fluffy animals more…?'' he enquired, not knowing what else to say.

Her lips twisted into a smile that was slightly pitiful. ''Has the Dark Lord truly only fed her animals when you were around?'' she asked in a way that made an abrupt shiver run down Harry's spine. His eyes flicked to Nagini's big round eyes and the way she was curiously tasting the air.

~Nagini… have you ever eaten a person before?~ he asked, dreading the answer.

~I don't know,~ she replied lazily, but before he could relax, she mentioned: ~I don't see many other snakes. I don't think I've eaten one before.~

~I meant humans.~

She blinked, the milky scale that covered her eye looking ever so strange. ~Oh. Humans. Yes. They're not very tasty, but they are remarkably fast. Make for interesting hunts.~

The confirmation settled unpleasantly in his stomach. ''Who...?'' he muttered to Narcissa without meeting her eye. Not that he wanted to know – in fact, he'd like to bury this gruesome new detail about his partner under a layer of memory charms – but because he had to in order to bring about change. What he didn't know about, he couldn't talk Voldemort out of doing in the future.

''Igor Karkaroff,'' she replied in a hushed whisper. ''He was made an example of in front of the few Death Eaters who were aware of our Lord's return by that point.''

Grimacing, Harry filed that away in the cabinet of uncomfortable topics that needed to be addressed on days Voldemort was in a good enough mood to have a decent conversation without getting aggressively defensive. Not that Harry was afraid of his partner's tendencies anymore, but he knew that prodding on a bad day would blow any chances of a productive outcome, which would defeat the point of bringing it up in the first place. He hugged Nagini a bit tighter, not wishing to put the blame on her. She was an animal, he reminded himself, of a species that was used to eating larger prey. There was no reason why a serpent would have any sort of moral dilemma over eating humans. The blame for such an inhuman death – and besides the fact of the murder itself, it was certainly inhuman if they'd been conscious enough to 'move fast' – lay solely upon the one who'd chosen the method of execution.

''You aren't planning of bringing this up with him, are you?'' Narcissa sharply asked, correctly guessing his line of thought.

''If not I, then who?'' he darkly returned the question.

''No-one, as should be the case,'' she answered. Surprised, Harry arched an eyebrow. ''Karkaroff, like anyone else who either bears our Lord's mark or who otherwise pledged their support, recognised his authority beyond that of the official law. As close as you are to him, Harry, in the short time we have known each other I have noticed that you haven't quite grasped how significant his role is to our people. To families of those who consider themselves dark mages first and foremost. The Minister of Magic is chosen by the masses, the Dark Lord on the other hand, was chosen by Magic herself,'' Narcissa explained.

''I thought you didn't really believe in Magic?'' Harry asked, confused. ''You weren't thrilled about the idea of the feasts turning into something more religious than social. From what I gathered, hardly anyone thinks the existence of magic as a sentient being is any more than a fairy-tale. Sirius flat-out told me so.'' So far, the sole person besides Voldemort who'd referred to Magic as a god-like being had been Barty, whose opinion was pretty much formed by everything his Lord said. The only other Pure-blood who'd made mention of it had been Viktor, who'd described Lords of Magic as old legends to Hermione.

Harry couldn't read her expression as Narcissa debated on how to answer, while at the same time seeming to overcome her initial shock and reaching out to trail a finger over the scales on Nagini's back with some fascination in her eyes. A hint of a victorious smile graced her pale face as the snake allowed it. ''I was immature,'' she admitted. ''I showed you a moment of weakness, that shouldn't have happened. You see… when growing up, I attended celebrations led by the Dark Lord. And those were wonderful in their own right, yet always focused on magic, always a tad stiff with religion being both reason and means. Shortly after marrying Lucius and having Draco, on the cusp of starting independent life with my own family, the Dark Lord vanished. With his disappearance, the old rites were covered up to not arise suspicion, to not be discovered as a supporter and land in prison. We did not stop the celebrations, but the worship of Magic had to forcefully be kept very private. Instead, we made these feasts our own, turned them into gatherings of family and friends whom we could speak openly to these few days of the year. For me, it felt like I stepped out of the shadow of my parent's generation and finally led my life in full control.''

While listening to her words, Harry could picture it: a newfound family trying to find their own way. He didn't blame the Malfoys - like Barty clearly did - for not proudly admitting their support for the Dark Lord as some Death Eaters had. Narcissa and Lucius had had a young child to take care of, getting thrown in Azkaban would have been a nightmare. Not just for themselves, but for their son as well.

''We never let go of the ways of Magic entirely of course, but the Dark Lord now expects us to entirely revert to how things were in what feels as days of old. To step back into that shadow. It made me feel out of my depth. Yet it has nothing to do with the strength of my belief, please don't misunderstand that. My cousin always had a violently different opinion than the rest of the family about it, ridiculing the idea that higher forces could exist with all that is wrong in the world. He never was able to grasp that something powerful enough to grant us magic might still not be able or willing to solve human strife. Of course, we likely can never have irrefutable proof, but the sheer fact that we chosen few can use this extraordinary power is enough evidence to me. That is also enough reason to pledge my loyalty to the Dark Lord. Do you believe, Harry?'' she asked, brow furrowing.

''More than most, I have the feeling,'' he readily answered, pondering on what to say. He wished to confide in someone about what he had seen, what he felt. He curled his arms around Nagini and pressed the snake's head to his chest. It felt right, as if the pieces of Voldemort's soul were glad to be so close. ''I did see proof of Magic's existence,'' he whispered, making Narcissa's eyes widen. ''Through my connection with Voldemort, I saw one of his memories,'' he confessed. ''Of when Magic appointed him as her Lord and gave him his Task. It was one of those decisive moments that led me to join him. I cannot say that I know for a fact what Magic is,'' he pensively clarified. ''It – or she, as Voldemort refers to her - doesn't seem to be an omnipotent entity, so I don't know whether I'd call her a god, but that Magic exists is a fact. She also appears to have a will and controls some aspects such as the amount of source magic that is granted to her Lords.'' He debated whether to speak of the missed Yule rite, then figured that it would likely undermine Narcissa's idea of Voldemort's power too much to do so without his partner's permission.

When studying the woman's face, Harry felt as if he was seen as the second coming of Merlin. ''Thank you,''she spoke with such intense sincerity that he was taken aback. ''That is… I cannot convey how much this means to me. To have my faith be affirmed-'' It was as if she glowed with new vigour, even if she did not show any particularly strong expression. Narcissa did not need a wide grin or tears to show her profound joy.

''Err, you're welcome,'' he awkwardly replied.

''But this only underlines my previous opinion,'' she continued, cocking her head ever so slightly. ''Magic chose him. As harsh as his methods and punishments may be, he has a divine right to rule his subjects.''

''I disagree,'' Harry firmly spoke, shaking his head lightly. ''One thing Sirius was right about is that no matter what, there's a baseline of decency and respect that can be expected in life. Voldemort was given a task to balance out magic yes, but that has nothing to do with the fact that he chose to rule with fear. Or that he chose to rule at all. He was given a powerful, different type of magic, not a nice list with privileges or the promise that other people are bound to serve him due to it. If so, there'd be divine punishment for traitors without him having to lift a finger,'' he reasoned. ''Since that's not the case, everyone can choose how they see him, and how much they give him. I'm not saying that my way is better than yours, but I will no longer accept the excuse of 'I am Magic's chosen' to gloss over any of Voldemort's deeds that I don't like. No-one can forbid me from voicing my critique to him.''

She nodded thoughtfully. ''I have not forgotten that my husband and I owe you for that attitude of yours.'' At his inquiring look, she elaborated: ''You interrupted the time he cast the Cruciatus curse on me, which he did not resume afterwards. If you had been anyone else, I suppose I would have told you to keep your thoughts to yourself and not provoke him, but I admit to not being in a position to ask that of you. You clearly have used that sharp tongue of yours to lash him with critique more often and it only led to you gaining the Dark Lord's trust.'' She released a breathless chuckle. ''The why or how eludes me, so as long as this arrangement works for you… I only ask that you don't attempt to actively encourage others to do the same. I understand your viewpoint, Harry,'' she quickly said as he opened his mouth to protest. ''But both my generation and my parent's generation have established the way our dealings with the Dark Lord work.''

''It doesn't work very well,'' Harry blatantly stated, crossing his arms. ''No, hear me out. On one hand, his word is considered law and any punishment taken in stride, yeah? On the other hand, no-one seems to be above blatantly gossiping as long as he's out of earshot and anyone who grows to resent his current moods or plans or whatever is so afraid to bring it up that they simply don't until it's gone so far that they turn traitor and run or even go to the Ministry. Without trying to first talk to him about it 'cause he refuses to be approachable about disapproval. I fail to see how a system like that is any more functional than our government right now. It's really frustrating to be honest, because I have shared so many moments with Voldemort where he showed how different it can be, and there's just so much potential for a future in which he could be truly respected.''

Narcissa didn't look very convinced. ''If you call the way you argue with him respect…'' she muttered.

''But that's exactly it!'' he exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his free hand, trying to make her understand. ''I do respect him, very much so. All he is trying to achieve, how he sets aside his personal goals for something greater, the way he can impart his vast knowledge with so much patience at times is all astounding and worthy of respect. It's the reason why I believe in being able to get him out of some bad habits by having sincere discussions based on mutual trust.''

''You are far more mature than I gave you credit for,'' Narcissa admitted out of the blue.

Thrown off, he asked: ''How so?''

She heaved a sigh. ''Most of the information I had about you was from either Draco or the Prophet. When attempting to claim guardianship, I thought you were someone to be guided and protected. I had not imagined a boy your age would have the ability to be on the same level with the most powerful man of our age. Much less to influence him. When you informed my husband and I of your interest in the Dark Lord, I had imagined it to be an attraction to his position, with the power being skewed heavily to his side. Now, I see there is far more to what meets the eye. I shan't worry so much about your presence here anymore.''

''I assume that still doesn't mean your previous rules are off the table, are they?'' he asked carefully.

Narcissa merely shot him a quick grin. ''You aren't getting out from under my wing that fast, Harry James Malfoy.''

He only responded by smiling and leaning back, relaxed as he concentrated more on Nagini, who had been persistently hissing his name to catch his attention during the talk with Narcissa and gotten more and more insistent. ~You're spoiled,~ he finally told her with a roll of his eyes.

~Not enough,~ came the predictable reply. ~Will you carry me?~ She didn't need to clarify where she wished to be carried to. Groaning, Harry wound more of her body around his shoulders to further divide the weight so he could actually stand up with her still wrapped around him. ''It's time to go downstairs now, I think. I want to check if Snape was able to heal Ron before murdering him out of frustration.''

''You aren't very fond of Severus, are you?'' she thoughtfully observed.

''He made clear on my first day at Hogwarts that he isn't very fond of me,'' Harry corrected. ''I am only returning the favour. I think that since August, it did simmer down from 'intense hatred' to 'grudging acceptance' so there's that at least. Are you coming as well, or would you prefer for me to discuss the living arrangement with Voldemort?'' he offered.

''It wouldn't be proper-'' she started, which he waved away with difficulty.

''He hasn't been in the best of moods today. Honestly, it's probably best for all of us if I tell him that I wish to spend some evenings at Malfoy manor. Or if you insist, that you approach the subject another day. I could send an owl when he's more agreeable.'' Narcissa hesitated for a moment more and Harry knew that she was still considering getting it over with right now.

But between the irritation and stress of yesterday and the moment Voldemort had come apart today, Harry feared that anything more would just start a downward spiral. ''For his sake as well,'' he thus softly asked.

''An owl then,'' she conceded at last when catching his mood. ''Though I will show up at your doorstep if there's no word from you in the coming three days,'' was added sternly. With that agreement, she made her way over to Draco's luggage and levitated it downstairs. Harry was still struggling with carrying the 12-foot-snake as Narcissa quickly slipped into the living room, presumably to not seem impolite by leaving without a word. By the time Harry set foot in the hallway, she was already back, face tense. ''Your judgement may have been sound,'' she muttered. ''He looks… less than pleased.''

Considering the unwanted company occupying Riddle House because of Harry, that had been expected. Hopefully, Voldemort hadn't been pushed over the edge already. The teen made no move to hug Narcissa, knowing that one careful touch of Nagini's scales didn't mean the woman would suddenly be comfortable in an embrace while the serpent was all over Harry. They thus only said quiet goodbyes and he once more vowed to write before she was off.

Comforted by Nagini's pressing weight, Harry did not immediately leave his spot, first attempting to pick up on his partner's emotions from beyond the closed door. There were still voices – Sirius, Ron and Barty as far as he could hear – bickering, which may be the main cause for the tension that seeped through their link when concentrating. Before Narcissa had whisked him away, Harry's main focus had been on making sure that his friends were alright, but the more he tuned into Voldemort's feelings, the more his aim shifted. He recalled in stark detail the outburst shortly before they'd seen Umbridge's trial. All of the man's usual confidence had waned, made way for a desperate sort of anger which he'd only been able to channel into violence. He sensed the same now, simmering right below the surface, like nails pressing against his throat without breaking skin. Irritating and about to turn painful with just a hint more pressure.

~Nagini, would it be alright if you went the rest of the way by yourself?~ he politely asked, which brought about only a few piteous sounds before she disappointedly slid to the floor. Bracing himself, Harry opened the door.

The voices died down the instant he appeared, most occupants of the room focusing their attention on him. From the way that Ron was sitting at the table like the rest of them whereas Snape was absent, the worries about his friends' health dissipated, leaving only relief and allowing him instead to gaze at Voldemort. The Dark Lord was sitting near the veranda, pretending to read a book. Harry knew very well that his partner wasn't actually concentrated on the material in his hands as the man would have chosen to move to his quiet study if he'd truly wished to read instead of merely using a thin excuse to keep an eye on the 'guests'.

He ignored Hermione's attempt of normalcy by politely greeting him, the more enthusiastic 'Hey mate' from Ron and the 'Hi kiddo,' that simultaneously left Barty's and Sirius' mouths. As soon as his eyes had fallen on his partner's tense expression, all of Harry's instincts kicked in and he practically rushed across the room. Only when standing right in front of Voldemort and breathlessly staring at the older wizard, who had yet to acknowledge his presence, Harry stilled. Nagini, who had silently trailed behind him halted as well, seeming indecisive until disappearing under this sofa instead of draping herself across it, tail curling around a pale ankle.

''Can I-'' he started, wanting to gesture vaguely to the still empty spot, cut off when Voldemort at last lifted his head and ruby eyes bored into his. In the air around them was more than only the feelings he picked up from their link, he vaguely noticed, a manifestation of the Dark Lord's magic in a way he hadn't quite felt before. It was similar to earlier today, aching and aggression and anxiety becoming even more palpable, rubbing all the wrong ways. An uncomfortable static that told him he shouldn't have left Voldemort alone for as long as he had, not today.

Without a word, Harry answered in the only way he knew that would help: calling forth all positivity he could muster by recalling quiet hours spent together and all the excitement they'd shared on outings while letting his fingertips graze cold cheekbones. Voldemort's eyes fluttered restlessly when drinking in the emotions that were layered on top of his own. Knees sank down on black leather on either side of thin legs, and Harry didn't give a damn anymore about whoever may be watching when the serpentine face subconsciously tilted upwards ever so slightly, unable to stop himself from diving down and claiming Voldemort's lips. He poured everything into the kiss while winding strong arms more tightly around the man's neck, attempting to convey all the gratitude and love he felt. All the problems between them were insignificant in the long run, mere molehills that could be overcome.

They could overcome everything together, Harry felt it in his soaring heart and singing bones when the embrace was returned, hands clawing at his back to pull his body closer. His displeasure over the earlier discovery melted away in a sea of stars.

''I'm yours,'' he reassured with a murmur when their lips finally broke apart again, foreheads resting together. Pleased, he noticed that Voldemort was ever so slightly out of breath.

''What brought this about?'' The tone was careful, though lacking all of the hostility that had been tangible before. A good step, Harry decided with no small amount of satisfaction.

He moved so his head rested in the crook of Voldemort's pale neck. ''Everything,'' he simply answered, shrugging helplessly. It was the most accurate word to describe what had led up to this moment of lost control. ''I'd chalk it up to the past days, but that wouldn't be right,'' he attempted to explain. ''I've felt like I've been stuck in a whirlwind since the day I had to break up here and go to the Order's headquarters. In the past months, I've been akin a pebble being skipped from one crazy adventure to the next. In a way, I have a sense of finality now, and for the first time no set date where I need to leave for an extended period of time again.'' He wondered briefly if they should take this somewhere else, or slip into Parseltongue considering they very much weren't alone. During their kiss, he'd registered the sound of shattering glass and Ron cursing under his breath. Maybe talking in English about his feelings would only make it worse…

He sucked in a breath as the hands on his back moved to his hips, until he realised that Voldemort simply used it to nudge him in a way that made Harry unwillingly release the tight embrace in order to sit up and come face to face again, crimson irises studying him. They both were stubbornly set on ignoring the others, it appeared. That was just fine by him for now.

''A skipping pebble,'' Voldemort repeated, lips twisting into an ironic smile. ''Taking up poetry, my dear?''

''Oh shut it,'' he pouted, the previous taut mood breaking as his partner chuckled in response.

''I have a few works in my collection if you wish to have a look,'' he readily offered.

Harry pulled a face, not looking forward to attempting to figure out the meaning behind lyrical riddles in dusty books. ''Maybe,'' he avoidantly said. ''Don't know much about it.'' They always had endless topics to talk about together, but Harry had realised they truly had very different hobbies. The one time he'd searched for poems was when attempting to create one for Lughnasadh and there he'd only looked into very specific poems about magical celebrations. They'd been prayers more than anything else.

Voldemort sighed and summoned a book from the shelf across the room, nudging Harry again so he slid off the bony legs he'd been sitting on and claimed the empty spot next to Voldemort instead, leather creaking as he sank into it. ''Some of your favourites?'' he questioned as the other silently leafed through. Unable to keep his hands to himself entirely, Harry sneakily wound an arm around his partner's waist and put his chin on a bony shoulder to peer into the book. It didn't look like what he'd expected, pages filled with running text instead of short lines.

''To understand poetry, one first has to understand the poets,'' Voldemort muttered. ''Some more enlightened minds held interesting views.'' Drawing his wand, the man conjured a sheet of rippling metal out of thin air. Harry saw his own frowning face reflected, noting that his hair was far more tousled than usual.

''What's this for?''

He didn't receive an answer immediately, Voldemort smoothing out the page he'd stilled at.

''The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart, for he had to bend over, stoop down, to commit the ignominy of beholding himself in rivers and ponds.'' He quoted seriously. ''A view held by a Muggle poet, philosopher and self-acclaimed occultist. I've thought often about this sentence, which starkly shows the contrast between our kind and Muggles. Mages could see their reflections with their heads held high for thousands of years before the creation of mirrors or even polished metals. So many spells long preceded Muggle inventions that enabled them an imitation of our results. They were always a step behind, having to pour out manual labour to achieve what we could do with a few words and gestures.''

Harry hadn't expected his comment to give rise to a sudden discussion about Muggle advancement and it was almost comical to realise how familiar it felt. Talks with Voldemort were just always like this. Jumping from one topic to the next. It appeared to improve the man's mood in a way, so he decided to indulge for now. ''I wouldn't say they're behind now,'' he interjected. ''The first time I stepped into the wizarding world, it felt like going back a few centuries. Quills and parchment, lanterns and torches…''

''Yes…'' Voldemort hissed in agreement. ''Which is why I spoke in past tense. Our constant progress slowed, the gap grew smaller and at last, we seemed to stagnate while technology is speeding forwards… A troubling thought. On which day were we left behind? When Muggles created the first weapons of long-distance mass destruction? When they launched the first human into space? Both are feats we have never achieved, whether by a lack of interest or a lack of time…''

Harry considered that for a moment. ''There are still fields in which magic is more convenient. For Muggles, time machines and instant teleportation are still in the realm of fantasy. Mages got only stuck in some areas, especially considering things Muggles use electricity for as it can cause violent reactions to our powers, but it isn't true that they are ahead with everything.'' He stared at the rippling sheet of metal again. ''Also… by whose account did mages create mirrors millennia before Muggles? The effects of spells are caused by will and imagination. It is difficult to imagine something one has never seen before. If processed metal didn't exist yet, I find it hard to believe mages would simply think of a spell like this. And if I remember correctly, the Statute of Secrecy hasn't always been in effect. Even if our kind invented it first, Muggles would soon have followed. Who knows, mages could be to blame for Muggles following closely behind in our footsteps.''

''You have a unique way of viewing cause and effect,'' Voldemort acknowledged. He didn't sound as reluctant as Harry had feared, thoughtful instead. The teen could feel unfading worry nonetheless.

''One reason why you should keep me around,'' he grinned. ''Hey, besides having no way to be sure about any of these speculations, I don't know why you are worried about them being in the lead or something. You aren't planning to go to war with them. When cut off, what does it matter whether our societies develop at differing speeds? It's not a competition.''

''As long as Muggles are alive, it matters, both while trying to achieve our goal and after having reached it,'' the other stated sternly. He summoned a different book and Harry submitted to the fate of listening to rants about Muggles for the rest of the evening.

He wondered what the others thought of this conversation, finally risking a short glance at the very quiet onlookers. Without exception, they were listening with rapt attention, even Ron, who usually wasn't so much for patience. Figuring he couldn't damage his own reputation more than he already had, Harry moved to crack his back and then curled up as best he could on the empty stretch of the sofa while unapologetically depositing his head in Voldemort's lap. The older wizard continued as if not having noticed at all, although the fingers of his right hand did instantly start scratching Harry's scalp.

''They have taken the ball of earth and made it a little thing. They have changed and shaped and welded. The earth was a call that mocked, it is belted with wires and meshed with steel. They have counted the miles to the Sun and Canopus. We shall search the stars again. There are no bars across the way, there is no end to the plan and the clue, the hunt and the thirst. Under the sea and out to the stars we go,'' he read out softly, a saddened muttering. Harry wasn't certain whether Voldemort's tenor echoed his mood or the other way around. ''There is no limit to their drive to discover and lay claim. Even nearby celestial bodies aren't out of their grasp. It is a sheer miracle that our half-hidden world has not been stumbled into by the more persistent of their lot. As long as we remain as we are, there is danger. The longer we take to disappear, the greater the rift becomes - in their favour. A single century was all it took for them to not only take to the skies, but go faster and higher than we ever did. To not only communicate over long distance, but perfect it in a way to leave and record messages within seconds across the world. Who is to tell where this will stop? How long before they discover the spaces in between as we did and destroy our chance to live our own lives?''

Harry considered what best to say to this. One aspect piqued his interest, something he'd wondered about more often. ''On one hand, you find them to be inferior, on the other you admit they may have the upper hand. You study their books and keep up with their laws as a comparison to ours, you enjoy the works of individual Muggles and in a way admire their drive. Yet magic or the lack thereof is ultimately still the only factor you take into account when deciding their worth.''

It was an age-old back-and-forth argument between them that had been addressed in the very first few weeks they'd spent in this house, a topic that never truly rested, only lulled into a false slumber while they focused on other aspects. Harry had been willing to let it go before as Voldemort had avowed not to start a new slaughter, but the discussion with Greyback had put it on the forefront of his mind. If his partner wished to discuss the words of very real Muggles to make his points, Harry might as well turn that around to poke into the heart of the problem. He turned slightly to peer at the man's displeased expression. Figures.

''I have said before that I can recognise works of art of individuals, and also that Muggles as a whole are a danger. Neither of those points contradict that they are lacking. They shall never receive the same blessings as we did, there has to be something fundamentally wrong with each person whom Magic deemed unworthy of her gift.''

''Person?'' he inquired calmly, not letting himself be riled up. ''You never referred to them as people before, as far as I can recall.''

Voldemort grew rigid.

''This is your fault,'' was the only response; a soft, dangerous thing. Harry didn't answer, wondering what all of this meant, and most of all trying to figure out why he felt like something else was missing. It took a while until he found the reason.

''You don't feel the urge to kill them anymore,'' he spoke in confusion. It was true: there was no hunger, no sharp stinging pain of the desire to inflict death. Their entire discussion had been void of any active need to kill despite Muggles and the threat they posed being the main topic. That would have been unthinkable even mere months ago. ''Is that my fault too?''

Voldemort released a deep sigh and closed his eyes, marginally relaxing again. ~Names from awful childhood heard, throbs of a wild religion stirred – Virtue, to love. To hate them, vice. Till dangerous Beauty came, at last, till Beauty came to snap all ties. Lotus wine obliterates memory's stone-incarved traits. It was ever the self-same tale. The first experience will not fail. Only two in the garden walked and with snake and seraph talked.~

''I'm not sure I grasp the meaning of that one,'' he admitted, frowning. Nor did he know why his partner had opted to at last switch to Parseltongue when merely quoting another poem.

''Do you recall my request from earlier?'' Voldemort asked. ''Regarding emotions?''

''Of course. Now?''

When receiving a solemn nod, Harry willed his protesting body to move, muscles still aching from all the menial labour Snape had made him do in his final hours at Hogwarts. Voldemort stood as well and with a few strides made his way through the room, only halting at the threshold to the hallway. Harry, who had been about to follow, hesitated. He really couldn't keep pretending they'd been alone all along for Voldemort's comfort. Hoping he'd gotten across by now where his priorities lay, enough to squash further insecurities for today, he was about to tell his partner that he'd follow soon when the man already spoke: ''Don't make me wait too long,'' before disappearing into the darkness. Relieved, the teen slowly approached the others and cleared his throat.

''Err… I didn't really mean to interrupt your conversation, sorry'' he apologised with a grimace. ''Or… or ignore you. I just-''

''Merlin's balls, Harry!'' Ron exclaimed crudely; blue eyes wide. ''That… what? What was that?'' Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, Harry started an attempt to explain that his 'boyfriend' had been Voldemort all along, when Ron just shook his head wildly. ''Yeah, I got that part after the first couple of seconds of shock had passed and you were still locking lips. No, I mean, what was that conversation? You jumped from existential crisis into reading poems and then in the span of, like, seconds went 'will Muggles figure us out'? 'Are they people'? 'You don't want to kill people'? 'Hiss hiss'? And then you walk off together? I know Hermione called me slow before, but I'm not going crazy when I say these jumps were weird, right?'' he asked, frantically looking at the others around the table for confirmation. ''Am I crazy?''

''For once, I have to admit that I couldn't follow either,'' Hermione agreed, sounding physically pained at that confession.

''They're always like this,'' Barty helpfully chimed in. ''You learn how to deal with it eventually.'' Next to him, Sirius nodded along sagely, as if either of them were splendid, shining examples of reacting to Harry's and Voldemort's interactions with stoic acceptance.

Although Harry wanted to protest at first since his talk with Voldemort had made perfect sense, the combined confusion of those who'd witnessed said talk made him backtrack and think about it. Right, quite a few responses had not actually been to what his partner had said. It had been far more natural to respond to the feelings and background info he had that accompanied the words. ''I told you we are connected,'' he explained tiredly. ''I feel his emotions all the time, that definitely influences the flow of our conversations. And it's not the first time I attempt to talk sense into him regarding Muggles, so I know which issues are a dead-end to address. Trust me, pointing out that he slipped up and called them 'people' is going to have him lying awake at night pondering on the worth of those without magic. Far more than if I would have instead tried making endless arguments about why Muggles aren't lesser just because they weren't granted magic.'' He wondered whether he should try to address it sooner rather than later again, then decided to wait and see whether Voldemort would mention it by himself. Occasionally, the man needed odd stretches of time to work through his own struggles that Harry found hard to pin down. ''Now, I'm still not through trying to hammer my points home for today, so I should really go after him soon, but I wanted to ask if you guys are alright? Snape was here before?''

Ron grimaced. ''Yeah… Can't say I am too surprised that he turns out to truly be a Death Eater spy. And then he comes after me about danger and responsibility. Git. At least he was forced to heal me and I don't have to ever deal with having him as a teacher so win-win for me. I feel completely fine now. Really,'' he stressed when Harry couldn't instantly get rid of his worried expression. ''You-Know-Who himself confirmed that I have no lingering damage.'' He pulled a face at the memory. ''I still can't believe half of what happened since we went to the Ministry. And that was only yesterday. My life was saved by You-Know-Who himself…'' he said, disturbed. Then, Ron's eyes shot to Barty. ''Does that mean I owe a life debt now? To him? Or to you?''

''Good question,'' the Death Eater replied, fingers rubbing the patchy stubble on his cheek as he thought about it. ''If anything, you might owe a life debt to Evan as he was the one to call for help, disregarding any other consequences. We were a means to an end in a way. It wouldn't have mattered whether we'd have come and saved you or if it would have been the Order. The root of your life being saved was Evan throwing your mission to the wind to get you to someone who could Heal as fast as possible. Magic is funny like that.''

''I didn't know about the mirror though,'' Harry spoke up. ''It was Hermione who told me to call for backup. Although I did consider before to use invisibility cloak to sneak out and get Ron to the hospital by myself.''

Barty threw his hands up. ''In a situation that murky, I doubt there's any life debts being tossed around.

''That's a relief, I really can't deal with being bound to even more people. No offense to you, Ron. So, did any of you receive more information about what is going to happen next while I was upstairs before?'' he asked. ''Voldemort didn't tell me anything yet, but if you don't have a clue either I could ask today.''

''He gave me a letter,'' Hermione said, hesitantly holding up a sealed, very thick envelope. ''I wanted your opinion on how likely it is to be cursed before attempting to open it.''

Barty let out a short laugh, but Harry found that her concerns were quite valid. Voldemort had been livid with Hermione ever since he'd deemed that the time-travel mission had failed due to her oversight, plus she'd apparently given some choice words about their relationship after figuring it out. He wordlessly held out a hand, attempting to check whether he could feel his partner's magic on it. There was nothing tangible, but that didn't have to say much, so he cracked the seal himself instead of handing it back to his friend. After a tense moment, he was relieved to find nothing happened, not even as he pulled out a thick stack of parchment. ''Seems safe,'' he said, then gave the letter an odd look as he unfolded it. He knew this handwriting. ''I… I think it's from Viktor?'' he asked, honestly baffled since he knew for a fact that Viktor had nothing to do with Voldemort.

Instantly, the parchment was ripped from his hands and Hermione frantically started reading, breath held in the same way as when she was studying a particularly gripping essay. ''He says that his parents got word from a couple acquaintances that I was in trouble with the law,'' she mumbled. ''They're offering me a place to stay. Viktor says he's sure the British Ministry can't touch me abroad, especially since I haven't been convicted of anything. Harry- do you think he organised this?''

''Has to be the only explanation,'' he answered. ''It's true that Fudge told the press we broke into the Ministry, but that was this morning. There's no way Viktor's parents would have been able to hear the news, have him write you a letter and for that letter to fall into Voldemort's hands in the span of hours without him actively pursuing that result. He might have arranged this when being gone so long yesterday evening instead,'' he speculated, then threw a look at Barty. ''Do you know anything about this?''

The Death Eater shook his head in denial. ''I was involved only marginally. Can only show my face in certain circles, not anywhere that would have been helpful with your situation. You know I was home most of the time to keep an eye on you lot. So, Granger, it seems you are no longer a prisoner in distress,'' he grinned. ''Feeling better now?''

She scowled, refusing to look at Barty. ''I'll have to read this a few more times,'' she decided. ''Verify that it's truly Viktor's wording and not an attempt to lead me who-knows-where.''

''Fair,'' Harry was quick to answer. ''Going in hiding abroad would be a pretty good solution though, and Voldemort did tell me that he wasn't keen on harbouring refugees for long just to please me. This does fit. I only don't know how the Krum family plans on hiding you. Even the incompetent people at our Ministry might figure out that one of your likely spots to run to would be your boyfriends' place. They'll surely check there. Also, as the Order will be searching for us too, Tonks and Kingsley will likely use their position as Aurors to get a thorough investigation running fast.''

''Right, the only reason they didn't catch me is because they're actively trying not to catch me,'' Sirius said. ''Before being part of the Order and changing tactics in my favour, those two got very close a couple of times. The sole reason why I managed to shake them off then was because of my status as an Animagus being unknown.''

''Unfortunately, I didn't have the opportunity to become an Animagus in the past year,'' Hermione neutrally commented, raising an unsubtle eyebrow at Harry. He refrained from pointing out that she also wouldn't have if they'd confided in her, due to her busy schedule and initially hostile outlook on dark spells.

A drift of magic that originated from upstairs distracted him from replying at all. ''I need to go soon,'' he muttered, eyes drifting off to the ceiling. ''Before that: Sirius, I quickly wanted to ask if Voldemort had the chance to speak to you about Professor Lupin. I was surprised to find you're still here so…''

His godfather shrugged. ''He gave a very brief, unhelpful summary about Moony catching onto you, but while I'm sure Remus could give me more details, I decided that breaking up instantly wouldn't be helpful. Moony is in a pack now, an outsider barging in during the night would only get me a hostile bunch of werewolves on my neck. They're usually crankier at night than during the day. At least Moony is. Besides, didn't want to leave you alone without saying a word, especially since I thought you might need me around. I'll head out in the coming days.''

None of the others seemed very surprised, so he assumed his partner hadn't made a huge secret of Lupin's promise to wait and see. Or they simply didn't know enough about it to form any conclusions. The entire trip to the werewolf territory had been a surprise for Harry too, he hadn't even discussed Umbridge's final punishment with any of them before Voldemort had already gone ahead and brought her there. But now was not the time for more lengthy explanations, nor did they thankfully demand any. Accepting Sirius' answer, he briefly hugged the man. ''Thanks, I'm glad you're here,'' he whispered earnestly, earning him a brilliant smile.

''Hey, what about me?'' Barty hinted.

''Yes yes, you as well,'' he grinned, putting an arm around Barty's neck and pretended to strangle him for a moment, at which the Death Eater made some very convincing 'dramatically dying' noises. ''Thanks for saving all of our arses in the Ministry. I was truly impressed by how quickly you managed to overwhelm the Aurors that were attacking us. I mean, I know it was a surprise attack, but that was some impressive duelling nonetheless. Nothing compared to our practise spars.''

''I didn't teach you all my secrets,'' the blond happily said. As Harry finally left, he heard: ''So… salad, anyone?''

---

''Settled,'' Harry mused. Green eyes peeked up from behind bangs of hair that always managed to fall across his forehead no matter how often Voldemort attempted to subtly push it away, to show off the mark of their connection. The sign that this stubborn Gryffindor would always live up to his hated nickname and defy even death itself. ''Is that the last one?'' The question was laden with an exhausted kind of accomplishment. A mood so complex that he wouldn't have been able to name it before. Before Harry had wormed his way into Voldemort's life and touched more than he'd thought possible.

Being settled in any shape or form never had found a place among all the goals Lord Voldemort had set in life, yet in this moment he was indeed content to simply be. It was past midnight again, both having lost track of time when swept away by the storm that raged in his own mind, the storm that had even persistently followed when dream-walking. It had waned now, after plucking out each separate emotion, figuratively putting them in glass jars to inspect. A wondrous calm descended on them both and for the first time since marching into the Ministry to save his partner from disaster (he refused to think of the real reason behind rushing into the Department of Mysteries, or the way he'd accused Harry of profound betrayal) his head was clear. He'd done everything in his significant might to change events in their favour, dealt with every stray Harry had brought into this home as necessary – Weasley healed, Granger soon out of his hair, Black out of the Order's reach – and achieved a very favourable agreement with one of his major allies.

Time, they at last had time now, which almost seemed like a miracle in itself with how all encounters with his partner had been shaped by deadlines of some kind. Brief, shared dreams where dawn was always lurking around the corner, holidays of which the inflexible end would see Harry whisked away, critical situations between portkeying back and forth to keep up a disguise… Some of those limits had been by his own doings, of course, as he couldn't keep shirking his duties in favour of relaxation. He had a reputation to uphold and refused to become one of those lazy slobs who let their underlings do all the work. From personal experience, that always led to shoddy results, and he was nothing if not a perfectionist.

He'd make sure to use this gift well, to at last get Harry fully involved. Voldemort would not be able to uphold his claim of regarding his partner as equal if he'd refuse to use the fire Harry was sure to offer. And although he was in general not fond of wasting the youngest generation on war, there were few with so much hands-on experience in battle as Harry. Surely, it would be hypocritical if he would attempt to shield the teen from fighting now, as it had been Voldemort himself who'd dragged Harry into bloodshed from the tender age of one when regarding him as a threat. He could also not deny he liked the image of their combined power being turned on their enemies.

Voldemort exhaled slowly, letting go of those fleeting thoughts that left a phantom taste of copper on his tongue. ''That was the last,'' he finally affirmed. Just like after the previous attempt, dissatisfaction lingered at the knowledge that despite all of these growing, wild emotions, there were still gaps. Most notably the all-encompassing, blinding craving that Harry had demonstrated twice now. The mere memory left him wanting. He held himself in check from voicing it, there was nothing to be garnered from becoming dependant. Soon, that problem might be solved anyways. A few months had been Severus' best estimate when retrieving the shrivelled trophy that was to be used. It had better be done in time lest his follower would come to know the full extent of his wrath.

Burying all thoughts about that for now, he instead drew Harry close and gave his partner the reward he could feel had been yearned for. ''It's always fascinating how you can melt,'' he smugly pointed out once done thoroughly exploring the interesting textural difference between the smooth skin of Harry's throat and the chafing stubble closer to his jawline. The glare that comment earned didn't look remotely threatening when cast from half-lidded eyes that were still dazed from the touch of his lips. Voldemort forced himself to keep his breathing regular, which took more effort than it should have, really.

''One day, I'll get you to do the same,'' the teen drowsily grumbled, letting his head fall against Voldemort's shoulder with a thud. ''Just you wait and see.''

''In your dreams.''

''Is that a promise?'' came the chuckled response. ''How about we head to bed and find out?''

He refused to answer the ridiculous question, though the still-present feel of overall contentment was strong enough that he let go of the fleeting urge to give a sardonic reply. They both should sleep indeed, let the impressions of today fade again. As strong as Harry's facade was, their link went both ways and the Dark Lord knew very well how the events of today had taken a toll – from spending the last day as a student at Hogwarts to finalising his revenge on Umbridge.

Predictably, his partner greeted slumber faster, allowing Voldemort some time to reflect without constant input – Harry's feelings were no less dull while sleeping, but it helped to know they were not actively directed at him in particular, a rising and falling tide that only followed the flow of whatever dreams the teen was caught in. The Dark Lord thus stared into the comforting darkness while holding the warm being that was pressed against his side in its entirety, as if their bodies had to correct the physical limitations their intertwined minds had rejected long ago. He came to the same conclusion over and over again when accepting the new-found feelings that coloured the world. Living - was this truly what living was? He contemplated the words he'd felt compelled to say when sitting on an imaginary mountain top. He knew not why the conceptual distinction between living and surviving had suddenly captivated him so strongly. Perhaps a shred he'd subconsciously picked up from the thousands of indistinct voices they'd heard when causing fate to come crashing down on the unforgiving tiles of the Hall of Prophecies.

He shook it off. Even if so, there'd been only one among those that pertained to the two of them. Anything he might have heard meant nothing, only their decisions would, their actions. If it was up to him, they'd shape the world into something grand.

One day, he envisioned, one day they could proudly walk down any street with wands drawn and bask in power. However long it may take, one day their lives would be as disconnected from the world that held Muggles as the Black Cosmos was disconnected from the plane they resided in now. Accessible to only a few with heavy protection, drawing in a select few entities. A serene smile graced his lips as he thought of Muggles that way: dead things, needing to be granted life to take part in reality instead of the bleak realm they inhabited.

Harry would disagree if he were to voice this vision, he knew. It was tempting to mention nonetheless, if only to see which fierce arguments could be made against it that he couldn't envision now. It was astonishing how much difference his partner's words had made over time, even if Harry was unaware of this himself. Numerous parts of the legislation Voldemort had created almost a year prior as the groundwork for their future were filled with alterations now. Not always in the direction Harry wanted surely, but the stark opinions he callously threw around one way or another always gave food for thought. Many of the laws based on his own opinions had been reconsidered, added to, fortified. Occasionally, mitigated or erased altogether.

The teen had likened himself to a skipping pebble, helpless to change direction or halt. The mere idea was preposterous, as if anyone would be able to throw Harry Potter around without consequence. His partner may not see it, but he was far more like a tidal wave: able to round sharp edges of glass with similar ease as it could flood cities. They were very alike in that regard. Voldemort too could choose whether to use his gifts for either restoration or destruction. They simply had different preferences on that spectrum.

Another thought was spared on the question that had cut deep into his typically unwavering resolution to see Muggles as the ultimate enemy. One more pillar that the bane of his existence had slowly shaved away at while Voldemort had been distracted by a hint of untapped power he wished to draw out. He'd once been amused by how utterly enraptured Harry could be by a touch of raw magic. Yet now the snare of obsession had become understandable, when he, Dark Lord Voldemort himself, wished no more than to coax the fullest potential out of the one predicted to ruin him.

That supposed destiny they'd both chosen to turn away from sounded more ludicrous by the day. How could one fear destruction when never having felt more complete? Even this - the hatred he'd felt for Muggles ever since consciously perceiving them, the gaping hunger for their death the moment he was reminded of their existence, which had been a faithful companion throughout the years… He'd expected to control it, yet never had he believed it would ever cease to be. After analysing this development from all angles, he was astonished to conclude it pleased him. In the end, it meant he was freer to choose with rational thought instead of mindless desires. Not feeling urged to slaughter each Muggle who crossed his path did not equate to being averse to killing them when he deemed it necessary, Voldemort rationalised. It didn't inhibit his abilities in the slightest.

People… the word had slipped out far too easily. He hadn't considered Muggles as such ever since finding enough evidence of their biological differences. No, earlier than that, he corrected. Muggles had rejected him as one of them years before he'd known about magic, made him believe he was not of the same kind. The day Voldemort had found out that he belonged to people out there, an entire society unaffected by what he'd come to see as common affairs like starvation and poverty, the step between accepting their judgement of him being branded as different to seeing them as lesser had been only natural. Finding the evidence to match had only affirmed that decision and planted another seed of hatred that had grown into the urge to cleanse his world of their pitiful existence. Yet now… now he had been confronted by a polar view by someone he'd come to respect, someone who had experienced the same as he had without giving in to hatred. Harry had been strong enough not to believe his family's words and fought tooth and nail to belong without differing himself. Should he, Lord Voldemort, have done the same? When broken down, his ideals stemmed from the wishes of Muggles themselves. Oh, he'd weaponised their view of him, but in the end, he had accepted it.

Growling softly, Lord Voldemort twisted and turned, unable to escape himself until he fell in fitful dreams of stern faces and rejection.

He rose earlier than Harry too, their dreams this night not having been intertwined, which he chalked up to them both having had very different matters on their minds that needed to be dealt with. Speaking of dealing with matters, he ensured in the early hours of morning that his greatest source of ire finally left the house. Granger put up less protest than he'd expected, belongings already packed and silently waiting by the front door with accusing eyes at the exact time he'd specified.

Only when he snapped his fingers to open the front door, did she suddenly dig her heels in the floor. ''I did not have the opportunity to speak with Harry.''

Dispassionately, he retorted: ''There was plenty of time between him returning from Hogwarts and us visiting the werewolves. Hours which you decided to use otherwise. That is not my concern.''

''I wished to give him time in the hope that he'd come talk to me eventually. Does he even know I am leaving now?''

He raised his chin and looked down at Granger in disdain. ''His time can be much better spent without someone who wishes to use him.'' He took pleasure in the shock that washed over her face. ''I know of your little plans,'' he hissed. ''Do not forget that I have seen into your mind. The sham of a camaraderie out of convenience in hopes of influencing the outcome of my revolution to your own benefit? It is an insult I will never tolerate.''

''You do not get to preach about using Harry,'' she heatedly started, which he swiftly cut off by silencing her.

''You have a great deal of intelligence, Granger,'' he plainly stated. ''A poor combination with the lack of an ounce of wisdom.'' He took a step closer and saw the fear in her eyes as he loomed over her. ''You will have the chance to give your opinion on certain aspects of my ideas that concern those you appear to care for so much: Muggle-borns, House-elves… I shall listen to your words,'' he slowly explained, which only seemed to confuse her. ''Even now, Harry thinks highly of you and favours the idea of receiving advice from those who are most affected. It cannot do any damage to at the very least give you the opportunity you crave. However,'' he sharply added to avoid her becoming overly confident. ''In return, you shall leave my partner out of this for as long as you cannot find sincerity. He deserves better. He will receive better.''

She simply stood there now, lips parted in stupor. Not that she could respond with the silencing spell intact.

''It will do you some good to walk the same path of secrecy he had to, for a while,'' the Dark Lord explained to her. ''I wonder how long you will last before you start to despise yourself for the lies you'll have to spin to keep those you love out of harm's way. The Krums are no followers of mine, they simply unknowingly have ties to those who do work for me and they have no idea it is I who purposefully steers their actions. Any word, any hint of the truth would lead to unforeseen consequences. You understand?''

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, resigned. He scoffed and withdrew the amulet he'd prepared, one similar to the one he'd gifted Harry, so her mind would be protected from anything but direct Legilimency intrusions. It felt wrong to hand an item so similar to someone he despised, yet it was the most practical solution he could give. Voldemort gave a quick summary of what it did so he wouldn't have to force it around her neck, and finally lifted the silencing spell. The last thing he gave her was a piece of black cloth. ''I have already seen both the house and the outside,'' she commented, even while tying it around her own eyes. ''What is the use?''

He didn't deem it worth a reply. The use of blindfolding her had never been to avoid their location being revealed. If she'd ever fall in Dumbledore's hands, then everything from the sounds to the house layout or even the smell would have confirmed the old man's strong suspicion of that the Dark Lord had indeed taken up residence in Little Hangleton. What he wished to conceal was both how the house was hidden and the way to get in.

''What happened to Professor Umbridge? You mentioned visiting were-wolves… Did you bring her there too? Or is she dead?'' Granger asked instead as they neared the group of trees near the gate which the entry point was located in that would take them to the other side.

He debated whether or not indulging in her incessant questioning was worth it. There was no logical reason for why telling Granger this information would be beneficial. However, half-truths and speculations might make her more doubtful of the righteousness of his actions and if he were to indeed take her words into consideration at one point in the future, he needed a semblance of trust. Also, with Greyback's additional verdict, Umbridge's fate would soon become rather large news. Even if the Ministry would attempt to sweep it under the rug, Delacour wouldn't allow it. ''We took your advice,'' he twisted the truth. ''You voted for letting those Umbridge affected decide her fate. The largest pack of werewolves in Britain held a trial and found her guilty. The sentence was forcing her to contract lycanthropy and register herself so she will live under the laws she helped create.''

''That… is surprising.'' He couldn't read the tone of voice well enough to know what was going through her head. It didn't truly matter, Voldemort decided. Whatever her current views were, they'd surely be shaped in different ways in the coming weeks or months that she'd reside with a family of dark mages. For however much the Krums hated the concept of Dark Lords due to Grindelwald's imbecility and dishonesty, they had never shunned dark magic.

One apparition later, they arrived in a safe house in Serbia near the Bulgarian border, where one of his followers awaited them, kneeling the instant he caught sight of his Lord. As a measurement against treachery and to avoid leaving a trail, she'd change hands several times before arriving at her destination. Only the first person in the chain knew exactly whom the order originated from. The next was a member of the Hand of Magic who was unaware of the ties to the Death Eaters other than 'allies', the one after that a supporter of said organisation who did not believe in the slightest that Lord Voldemort had returned. Finally, the last companion along her way would be a rather neutral family friend of the Krums, a witch with more concern for the tricky situation the 'poor girl' had landed in than love for the authorities out to catch Granger. It was remarkable how many people knew each other and how close a network could become when seeing the correct lines and nodes.

Returning to a Granger-free house felt delightful, even if both Black and Weasley still besmirched it. Both of them were somehow more tolerable, surprisingly. Weasley had taken far better to the news of Harry's true allegiance than hoped for and Black preferred to spend time in the garden no matter the weather. Even Harry's stern glare upon learning of the girl's departure could not bring himself to regret throwing her out before she could do anymore damage. He'd carefully withheld the information he'd found in her mind regarding Granger's true thoughts on her future friendship with Harry, first of all as his partner was right now in a mind-set where he'd deflect her reaction with understanding and secondly since it was always good to have something in hand to use against her in case Granger would give trouble later on.

To have something more useful to do than dropping off teenagers across his borders, Voldemort remained home only long enough to take breakfast before fully starting the day, one filled with gathering information most of all. Harry's actions had far-reaching consequences, destabilising both Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. It appeared that the Aurors who had followed Umbridge's command demanded that Severus Snape would be officially promoted to Headmaster as he had been appointed Deputy, whereas the rest of the teaching body stood firmly behind McGonagall. Not wishing to lose face, Fudge involved himself in everything surrounding the debacle by creating a new Decree to have Severus become interim Headmaster, sending out search parties for Umbridge, reinforcing the Ministry's security and loudly denying anything was wrong to the press. Yet some of his followers in high positions told a different story, of the Department of Mysteries still being in shambles and the Wizengamot getting ready to put all the blame of the lax precautions on Fudge himself. Losing nearly all time-turners and all Prophecies was a disaster, even if the latter had not been made public yet.

Delacour had decided against publishing that news so far, not wishing to sow chaos in too many directions. He approved. Time-turners were created by the Ministry and only handed to a few. Yet Prophecies concerned a great many deal of people from all walks of life. Besides, Divination always had had an untouchable air of mystery even in the wizarding world. Taking that away could cause more malignity than they were prepared for. As important as it was to cause Fudge's downfall, it had to be done calculatingly, especially with his more powerful enemy running amok in the countryside instead. He'd heard only whispers about Dumbledore, none more reliable than Black's claims of that the old fool was attempting to uncover a cave. It was disconcerting that the man hadn't returned the instant it became clear that Harry was no longer in his grasp. Or that the position Umbridge had usurped was no longer empty. Voldemort knew very well that a handful of Aurors couldn't stop Dumbledore from returning to his seat of power once again and using Fudge's current unstable position to remain there for the time being. That such did not happen was cause for concern.

Without concrete leads, Voldemort spent his time bolstering the strength of the Hand of Magic instead. Until Dumbledore actually succeeded in his quest to find the desolate cave that had long been emptied of treasure, the old man was at least not crossing any of his current plans. In addition, his main cause of concern had been that Dumbledore would turn hostile towards Harry if his search remained fruitless, which now was a moot worry. He thus kept his pursuit of rumours about the former Headmaster to a minimum while concentrating his efforts on more acute matters, furthering his schemes by day and returning home by night to not waste the time that had been given.

The tension that had gripped his guests ebbed away over the next few days as nothing but quotidian events marked the hours. Apart from the occasional short trips where Black met up with Lupin to ensure the wolf's silence, they had nowhere else to go for the moment. As Voldemort could not personally be bothered, he left the task of observing them to Barty and his partner, both whom were more than happy to comply. It was marginally frustrating at times where Harry wished to spend more time with their guests than with him, but this was a seldom occurrence as they fell into the arrangement that Harry conversed with the others when Voldemort was away and was devoted to him alone upon his return. And there was always a great deal to do that required his presence elsewhere. Delacour so far seemed to have been a good choice as a successor, yet she still lacked connections and experience that he now provided from the shadows. In typical fashion, the articles considering Muggle-raised children had buzzed for a few months before the peak of attention had been reached. She needed a new hit to continue the work he'd started as effectively as before.

''How do you actually measure your success?'' Harry asked one evening. He'd just returned from the Malfoys – disgruntling though the discovery had been that they wished to keep acting like guardians and even have Harry spend dinners with them, it was a good opportunity to have his partner learn more about the social constructs of Pure-blood families, so he hadn't protested – much. As long as the other lived here and spent each night in his bed, the agreement was suitable enough.

''My success?'' he echoed, fingers hovering over the book he'd been about to pick up. ''In which regard?'' He'd already succeeded in a great many goals in life. Immortality being only the first on a long, long list.

''Well, you'll know when you'll have reached your Ultimate Task and all, but you still have many broad plans on how to achieve smaller things within that, right? You told me that the point of your articles was to stir up the public, to make them realise how shit the Ministry is in handling basically every important emergency and to use that as a way to push through change. Yet how would you measure the general opinion of the public? There's been some people speaking up in outrage sure, but there haven't exactly been demonstrations on the streets. Nothing on a scale that makes me think 'wow, people have really lost faith in the government'. I know you created numerous files on readers of the Daily Prophet, but people's opinions shift all the time. You can't systematically perform Legilimency on every mage in the country every once in the while to get an update.'' A small pause. ''Can you?''

He revelled in the tone which showed Harry's faith in his abilities. Leaning back, he took a moment to enjoy the sight at the same time. Harry sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace, down on the floor to keep Nagini company. The heat caused his robes to stick to his back and for tiny droplets of sweat to form near the lightning-bolt scar. ''I could if my plan was to take the next step ten years from now,'' he answered with a hint of sarcasm. ''Although I do not mind being careful, that goes a tad far. You forget another aspect I have told you about: that morality and the perception of normalcy goes hand in hand with legality.''

''That what is legal influences what we consider acceptable?'' Harry frowned. ''How does that help in checking whether you've achieved in shifting the majority's opinion? By how many support a new law?'' he guessed.

''Not entirely incorrect. But who makes the law?''

''The Wizengamot,'' came the instant answer. He waited for a few seconds and was not disappointed when the other caught on without needing more prompting. ''You're keeping tabs on everyone in the Wizengamot to see how their opinion has changed?''

''Not only our Wizengamot, of course. The legislative organs of different countries within my area of jurisdiction as well. As much as I disagree with most of the systems currently in place – many magical Ministries operate similarly to the British one – it greatly reduces the amount of people I need to keep an eye on. Especially when a fraction of them is already firmly on my side. It's a fascinating back-and-forth play, really. I influence both the masses through the press and the members of the Wizengamot directly by... various means. Said members care about public opinion and attempt to reflect it, whereas the public looks to them and the laws that are passed to adapt their own opinions accordingly.

There has been a notable change in many countries, a snowball effect that started with my unveiling hidden wrongs. Discontentment with the uncovered corruption led to a shift in balance. Some politicians who are staunchly against dark creatures or who are pro-Muggle have either resigned or taken a back seat and made way for those who fit better into my line of thinking. Neutral parties who vote more to please the majority than anything else have shown increasing support for anything the Hand of Magic is doing, even if they denounce the organisation itself. I do not need screaming hordes on the street, love. In fact, open demonstrations would more likely have a negative impact and cause infighting amongst common mages that I cannot use the chaos of. What I need is change at the source of it all.''

''I… yeah that- that makes sense,'' Harry spoke, suddenly looking flustered. ''I- sorry, what did you call me?''

For a second, Voldemort had to backtrack to find what his partner meant, then froze. He'd greatly enjoyed seeing the reaction to casual endearments he'd thrown into their conversations, but this slip of tongue had been unintentional. And if he was frank with himself, terrifying. ''I must apologise,'' he ground out. ''I did not mean-'' He stared into green eyes that had been blown wide with a desperate sort of hope that now drifted around him in choking waves. As they became aware of each other's clashing emotions, Harry's reaction died down somewhat. ''Shouldn't have mentioned it,'' he muttered, red in the face. ''Sorry, go on.''

As if that was a feasible option now. ''Evan-'' he started, painfully aware of each sting of rejection, needle-sharp in his brain. ''It was not my intention to lead you on.''

The answer came in a breathless laugh that dripped with hurt. ''We're in a relationship, I doubt anything can be called 'leading on' by this point. I knew very well what I was getting into. I just… both in the way you write and during most of our conversations – when you are not erratically screaming – it feels like you plan out every single word you say. I'd thought I saw an intention when-'' he broke off and took a deep breath. ''Wow, I'm really ruining the mood here aren't I?'' the teen joked.

~What's wrong? Talk normally~ Nagini interrupted. ~Both of you feel wrong suddenly.~

~Just a small argument,~ Harry attempted to soothe her worries.

~You shouldn't argue, you're one,~

Harry snorted softly and Voldemort knew exactly what his partner was thinking right now. They sure argued far too often for that to be true. ~We'll try,~ Harry promised.

Though not having reached her intention as Voldemort indeed did still feel wrong, her words had at least broken some of the tension. Demonstratively, the serpent slid away from the teen to make him get up. ''You may,'' Voldemort answered the unspoken question when Harry hesitantly approached and stared at the spot next to him. Despite being broader than he was and by now maybe only about 8 inches shorter, Harry felt fragile as they carefully embraced.

''Which of them-'' Harry started, then cleared his throat, searching for a better way to phrase his question. ''Both times we sorted through your emotions, I was unaware of which memory brought forth each feeling. What I want to ask is… are there any that you associate with me?''

He understood the question yet could not quite grasp the intention behind it. There had been no love to feel, Harry knew this. Why prod further into this gaping hole he apparently could not fill? Harry was the expert in this regard though, and he couldn't deny the pleading look he received. ''I associated most of them with you,'' he spoke. ''As you were the one there to name the feelings, and they originate from you in a way, I found it easiest to concentrate on memories that involved you.''

His partner blinked. ''I hadn't expected that,'' he replied with uncertainty. ''Not sure what to do with that information. Among it all was also fear and, like, blinding anger.'' The way it was said, the Dark Lord felt as if he were required to deny it. That clashed with his own need for honesty between them.

''That anger came from the moment where you asked me to heal Sirius Black,'' he explained. ''The fear – there are many moments related to it, not least of all the idea of you betraying me. I also did not use memories of you for all of these, you can no longer make me feel hatred or indifference it seems, but most… yes. Was that not the answer you sought?''

''It's a frustrating answer,'' Harry groaned. ''Maybe I should have expected it. When doing our thing, I only asked you to call forth emotions, of course a single memory would be enough to do so.''

In an attempt to mend the situation, Voldemort offered: ''Obviously, you know of our shared memories. Are there any times we spent together in particular that you would like me to recall, to see which feelings I held then?''

''That's… a great idea.'' The enthusiasm that commonly accompanied those words lacked; his only reward was a hesitant sort of astonishment. ''Erhm, how about… one of our nightly tutoring sessions?''

''That is what you want to start with?''

''It's neutral ground where you're usually in a good mood,'' came the defensive answer. ''Figured it might be a good starting point.''

With a hint of wonder at the mysterious ways in which Harry's brain worked, he obliged. Teaching by itself was always pleasant, accompanied by a sense of accomplishment, but the question specifically concerned the emotions that his student brought forth. As he called the memory to the forefront of his mind and let past moods fill the room, he attempted to figure out what they composed of, not having given that much thought before. A mixture of pride and frustration depending on how well Harry did on the subject at hand, a general feel of contentment on being able to share a moment… It was a strange experience, understanding what he'd felt in retrospect, different from what he'd done before: specifically searching for memories that made him recall one emotion above all others. Most had been of extreme situations, not a quiet evening of study.

They moved on, Harry's interest clearly piqued and his demands becoming ever bolder: the Yule evening where they'd agreed to let go of their previous construct to instead become amicable, the first time he'd moved to kiss his partner's forehead, their shared breakfast on Valentine's day… ''What about the Ball?'' Harry asked. ''I was so super nervous about it myself. Come on, show me you had at least a teensy tiny hint of nerves as well!'' Voldemort was smug to show that no, he hadn't been nervous in the slightest, though his smugness waned when starkly recalling the moment he'd truly looked at his partner and found him to be stunning.

''Whoa...'' Harry muttered, the cheek that was pressed against Voldemort's chest to better hear his heartbeat growing hot. ''What part was that? The dance?''

''No,'' he admitted. ''Those dress robes flattered you.''

Harry burst out in a fit of very atypical giggles. Once again, something about the air suggested that the other was tipsy.

''We ought to stop this,'' he judged.

''One more! Please?''

Voldemort grunted and looked down. ''How badly do you want the next one? What will I get in return?''

The other hummed in thought. ''You know how as one of my first gifts, you offered to teach me any magic I wished to see? Is there any spell that you still don't know and would like to learn? Naturally, I doubt I could teach you, but during my time with the D. A. I've gotten pretty good at researching spells and training with others.''

The offer was unusual and if it would have come from anyone else, insulting. The insinuation that he, a Lord of Magic nearing his seventies who'd travelled the world to delve into each field of magic still had not mastered all. Worse, that there was something he couldn't do that was on the level that a teenager would be able to keep up! However, this was Harry. The question had surely not meant to be offending. He was already searching for a way to politely decline when a memory struck him: hours of wasted study that had driven him to exploding anger when still a student at Hogwarts.

''There's a branch of dark magic that requires emotions, true emotions, as sacrifices. I can cast many of them that use negative ones: continuous curses like the Cruciatus are part of that field. Some however, demand emotions I did not possess. Even learning some through study did not appear to be enough for those spells to work.'' It was a shameful topic to talk about, even with someone who showed not a hint of judgement, who did not believe this to be a weakness.

''Like the Patronus charm?'' Harry asked. Never before had Voldemort seen such a fitting demonstration of the saying 'hitting the nail on the head'. He silently added 'and driving it deep into open wounds'.

''Particularly the Patronus charm,'' he admitted through gritted teeth.

''You have many more true emotions now,'' the teen pointed out. ''Plus, I have both experience with casting and teaching it.''

Voldemort wished to reject the idea immediately. Being a student to the one he'd taught felt wrong. On top of that, Harry may think these feelings were all real, but the truth was that neither of them knew that for certain.

Although he could use exactly this to find out.

''If I agree, it will be after rehousing both the mutt and Weasley,'' he demanded. The thought of two curious Gryffindors getting wind of him attempting to learn magic that most mages with the dedication to do so could manage even before they were of age – as Harry had proven by teaching his Defence Association – was unbearable.

''Sure. I mean, this is your reward, I'm not going to force you.''

Right, this had been bait for Harry to get something he wanted. A last memory to analyse. Slightly curious, he asked: ''So, which one is worth giving me this reward in your eyes?''

The crackling fire was all noise that filled the room for a while, as Harry mustered up the courage to ask: ''The beach?''

He hissed under his breath. That sly little… ''You were so focused on me that day that I know you very well analysed anything I felt already,'' he spoke with a hint of annoyance.

To his surprise, Harry quickly shook his head. ''Only in parts. I was pretty overwhelmed myself. First by the sight, then by that sea dragon-''

''Sea serpent,'' he corrected. ''Not at all related to any aquatic dragon species.''

''Serpent then. And err, afterwards I was at first busy asking questions, then de-escalating our argument and finally couldn't even keep up with my own emotions, let alone yours.''

Voldemort stared at him point-blank. ''You're quite bad at something you're supposed to be the expert in.''

''You are the one who decided I should be! I never claimed anything along those lines!'' came the indignant answer. ''So?'' the teen stubbornly asked.

As if he could refuse. From the moment it had been mentioned, treacherous thoughts had danced on the surface, kept only at bay by his self-control. So Harry wanted to play like this? Fine then. He suddenly shifted his grip and hauled the other upwards so Harry sat on his lap instead of lying half across his chest. ''Hey, what are you-'' he heard, but he had no time for verbal explanations, instead winding both arms around the lean torso to ensure Harry could not break away. He allowed the memory of the exact moment he knew his partner wanted to feel to resurface in full force. They'd been in a similar position, teasing fingers trailing his ribcage and a breath that grew ever shorter with desire near his ear. His restraint had faltered, unable to resist pressing heated kisses to Harry's quickening pulse.

''You just have to keep pushing borders, don't you?'' he whispered as he threw the all-consuming lust like a weapon. A fire in his stomach, sparks in his hands – both then and now as the sheer memory coaxed a loud moan from his partner's throat. Bony fingers slid lower, down the small of Harry's arched back to hover just above the curve of his arse. ''I want you,'' he continued in a dangerous tone, eyes flicking to dilated pupils and darkened cheeks. ''And I cannot have you yet.'' He'd pushed away that day, disturbed by his own strong reaction. It was different now he knew what had been coming, what Harry had specifically asked for. Voldemort let the daring Gryffindor feel the desire he was toying with, shifting his hips to make his point abundantly clear. It was difficult to focus more on the statement he wished to make with all the little ways Harry reacted– desperate fingers tugged at his robes, guttural sounds fell from those lips that he knew to taste far too sinful and the teen's nether regions pushed hard against his own.

''Your apology that day means nothing if you keep bringing it up, my dear,'' he growled out, with all might restraining himself from doing something even more unacceptable. ''And asking me to relive it certainly falls in that category.''

A few slurred words were his reply.

''I didn't catch that,'' he coolly responded.

''You're too fucking hot!'' Harry loudly confessed, though the last word evolved into another long moan. ''It's not fair!'' he complained. ''I can't get you out of my thoughts, your feelings and magic overwhelms me, each time I see you my throat runs dry. How am I supposed to keep this up when we sleep together each night? And knowing you do feel the same- I don't get why a few months make such a difference to you!''

''I explained my reasoning. I will not be responsible for your regret,'' Voldemort harshly rebuked. In the unlikely case the teen would change his mind, he refused to be held accountable. The crossing of this boundary would be done only when he knew that in all senses of the word, Harry could make an independent decision about consent.

''Then why this now? I asked for your feelings at the beach, not for a re-enactment of those few seconds!''

He could not hold in a scathing scoff at that blatant lie. ''Those few seconds are why you asked. I felt it would be best if you would get an unforgettable reminder of how you still won't fully get what you want now, no matter the feelings I harbour for you.'' Harry glared at him, unable to counter that argument. Voldemort closed his eyes to savour the last bit of intimate contact, then pushed Harry off his lap.

His partner released a frustrated sound. ''I thought you always got what you wanted.''

''I will, in time,'' he smirked. Unable to resist, he lowered his head so his lips were a hair's breadth away from the shell of Harry's ear. ''And now you are fully aware of my desire,'' he murmured, ''You know the night will be worth the wait.''

He relished in the miserable whine his words caused.

---

AN: Sooo, I hope you guys liked this very Voldemort-and-Harry-centered chapter. I'm very glad to have finally found a good point to write their poetry conversation, I have wanted to write that for a very long time (first hint was during Harry's class with Firenze back in chapter 79😉) Searching for poetry about scientific development and such was a lot more difficult than I had imagined though, most fitting poems I came across (like Relativity by Sarah Howe) were written way after 1996. In this chapter, I use a quote of Fernando Pessoa, a redacted version of the poem Leather leggings by Carl Sandburg and part of the multi-chapter poem The daemonic and the celestial love by Ralph Waldo Emerson. The last line in the original poem leans more towards the two people mentioned in text being Adam and Eve who talk with a snake and an angel in the garden of Eden, but I like the interpretation more that the two people mentioned are the snake and angel talking to each other.

Next chapter will concentrate a bit more on the other people in Harry's life, we at last get a view on Dumbledore's thoughts on everything that has transpired and Harry finally gets to use his Animagus form again 😉

Thanks again to all of you for being both so patient and generous. You are really the best audience I could have wished for!
Please leave a review to tell me your thoughts on the chapter ^^