Thank you all so much for your support and kind words! It's awesome to see how much love this fic receives no matter how long it becomes.
Enjoy,
Chapter 91 – Cave of Despair
There was some absurd irony to be found in the idea of one's most hated schoolteacher having quite seriously made it his main goal in life to kill one. And yet that was exactly the predicament Voldemort found himself to be in. If there'd been one benefit to being a wraith, it was that he hadn't had to endure the presence of one Albus Dumbledore. Upon gaining even a semblance of a physical form by possessing Quirinius, the old fool had been a thorn in his side once again, and since then hadn't stopped twisting in the most unpleasant ways. It did not even appear to make a difference whether Dumbledore knew the truth or not, the man found infuriating ways to make his presence known, nonetheless.
If Voldemort had one regret in life, it would be only gathering enough resources to kill his old transfiguration professor after meeting Harry. Had it been two decades ago, or even three years, he could have uncaringly orchestrated Dumbledore's quiet demise while knowing only relief and a slightly more peaceful life would follow. Like plucking a tick from one's skin. Regrettably, circumstances had changed and as much as Voldemort would like to ignore this, the points his partner had listed off would not let themselves be forgotten again. His mood was only improved by reminding himself that Harry wished to leave Dumbledore alive due to admittedly sensible reasons, not because he personally wanted the fool to besmirch this earth with his delightful presence.
Dumbledore had occupied his thoughts far too often in the past two weeks, ever since finding out the man's short-term goals regarding Harry. Like everything in life, Voldemort wished to control the situation, shape every detail to fit his own interests. At the same time, there were many other places his supervision was needed more. The Portuguese Ministry of Magic had just lifted the ban on practising sacrificial healing magic, which was a welcome breakthrough Voldemort had not expected so early that would need careful guiding to not spiral out of control instantly, whereas Denmark was staunchly refusing every attempt of legal change that even marginally touched heavy magic. Beside politics themselves, Voldemort needed to meet again with Delacour, as her first great focus since the start of her press career lay on the treatment of squibs of all things. It could be a useful topic for his campaigns, yet only when spun in the right direction. Perhaps she had been too idealistic for this position after all… And then there were personal, religious and magical affairs to deal with that he'd much rather handle than wasting time on this.
''What is souring your mood so?''
Voldemort let out a low, discontented growl. ''I told you not to change back.''
''We're in the middle of nowhere,'' Harry replied with an eye-roll. ''I figured I couldn't get you to focus by squeaking at you. Err, can I get a robe?''
Feeling like magic would be wasted trying to cover his partner up, Voldemort did not react in any other way than appreciatively eyeing Harry's shivering form. ''You know how to get warm,'' he replied. ''With fur.''
''Sorry to break it to you, but half an inch of fur isn't exactly keeping me warm either,'' Harry snapped. ''Did I mention these bats usually live in tropical rainforests? I'm freezing my butt off one way or another. So please get me a robe instead of ogling me, else I swear I'd rather fly all the way to Australia to get warm than stay here with you.''
It had to be an empty threat, considering they were only here because of Harry's incessant arguing. His partner had not been pleased when Voldemort had mentioned that despite all their talks about delaying Dumbledore's end, he'd instructed Severus to name the incorrect potion to throw the fool off with possibly lethal consequences. On the other hand, Harry could be unreasonably stubborn at times, so rather than risk having to spend hours chasing his partner across the ocean, he did at last summon a thick robe – being none too subtle about getting a last very good look.
''Much better,'' Harry sighed, the contentment in his voice mellowing the edge of his own bitterness about the entire situation. ''So? Your mood?''
''Actively ensuring my nemesis does not die wasn't on the high end of my priority list,'' he hissed back. ''Besides that, you're clearly insane.''
''Rich, coming from you,'' Harry chuckled. ''You're the one who put it there.''
''Here,'' Voldemort corrected. ''We've arrived.''
With understandable puzzlement, his partner looked around the cliff, from the empty stretches of waving grass to the stormy ocean below. ''The Muggle woman wasn't exaggerating when mentioning a steep drop, was she?'' he asked in astonishment, at last peering right across the edge of the cliff. Clumps of dirt started to crumble underneath Harry's feet and Voldemort fought the urge to pull him back. His partner's reflexes were excellent and if he did fall, the teen had already proven capable of transfiguring himself mid-air. ''How in Merlin's name did you get two other children down there? Without even knowing what magic was?''
Voldemort decided to take the tone as awe over his powers. ''I flew,'' he proudly stated, something bubbling up in his chest when wide green eyes became entirely focused on him. He didn't need to imagine the awe now as it resounded through their mental link.
''You flew. Without knowing you were a wizard. Without training, without a broom. You looked at this cliff and decided you wanted to go down, so you flew.''
''Exactly. I wanted you to use your own wings for this, but since you are so loathe to give up warmth…'' he held out his hand. ''Would you like to experience the same vertical drop which damaged the tiny minds of the magicless?''
''Yes!''
Taken a tad aback by the enthusiasm – and lack of protest at his choice of words for the muggles - Voldemort wondered if something was wrong. A chuckle reached his ears and the other confessed: ''Sharp dives are one of my favourite moves during Quidditch. Perfect way to shake off other Seekers. Viktor told me of a move that takes this to the extreme called the Wronski feint, but I never had the chance to try it out. First Quidditch was cancelled due to the Tournament and the next year I had too much on my plate to be pressured by sports, so I quit the team. What you described sounds amazing. Might make up for the rest of the trip.''
Before Harry could come to his senses, Voldemort grabbed his partner around the waist and flung the both of them off the cliffside. Delighted laughter during the entire drop spurred him on to not settle for the workings of gravity and accelerate towards the ground using magic instead, slowing down only as much as was strictly necessary not to snap bones during their landing. Harry still clung to him as they balanced on slippery rocks, veins flooded with adrenaline that buzzed all over the place, including in Voldemort's own head. It was tempting not to clear his mind, but they had work to do. Not dawdling long, he commanded the rocks to expand, reforming the sea into solid ground to lead them to the crevice that went deep into the cliff. Basking in the admiration – which he realized would soon change – Voldemort pulled Harry forward into the narrow, black gap.
''Oh-'' The breathless sound Harry uttered as soon as they entered the antechamber made him halt. ''I thought-''
''You thought what?'' he sharply demanded to know.
''Our dream didn't do this place justice,'' the other spoke with a thoughtful frown as he wandered around the small cave, feeling a bit lost. The dread Voldemort had been so sure of to echo between them did not come. ''I thought I would have been glad to have been here before. To know what to expect in this place. Darkness and death…'' he trailed off. Voldemort cocked his head when Harry picked up a sharp stone from the floor, weighing it in his hands. ''I keep forgetting that dreams erase the most important parts. The feelings. The magic. Rather unfair when showing me something that turns out to be so drenched in yours.'' Despite the woollen robes, Harry quivered once again, then nicked his own finger with the rock he'd been playing around with and pressed the bloody thumb against the wall. It was astonishing how used he had gotten to blood magic like this, knowing what to do, where to go.
Harry inhaled deeply when the stone wall crumbled before them and eagerly rushed into the direction of the lake. Watching his partner's reaction was too fascinating to make an attempt to halt the other. For so long, he'd wished to share his world, his work. Although Harry had been forthcoming about it, shown interest and accepted all magic he'd shown in the end, there'd never been true appreciation for the darkest aspects of it. Not to a degree Voldemort needed to see. The teen's discomfort during their dream of this place had stung, considering how much effort he'd put in marking this spot as his.
But now… Beholding just how much of a difference the presence of his magic clearly made was spectacular. All hesitance was forgotten as the Gryffindor boldly explored the black shores, not at all afraid to go as far as to plunge his hands into the waters. The only stab of distress came when the surface started to ripple in various places.
''I thought they wouldn't attack me?''
''If the Inferi thought you a threat, you'd have been pulled into the depths by now, they're quite fast. No, they are merely greeting, trained to also react to my own presence.'' Indeed, a few heads rose above the surface, misty eyes staring. Harry likely couldn't see the corpses, only hear the sudden rushing of water, he realised. It wouldn't do to stumble around here blindly, so Voldemort summoned glowing orbs of light and dispersed them across the cave. With a slight jolt, Harry jerked back when seeing one Inferius drifting merely a yard away.
The main reason why he'd indulged in Harry's madness at all was because of the promise given to – among other things - explore the exact reaction these Inferi would have to his Horcrux. Whether they would have ignored Harry completely, shown any indication of wishing to protect him like they had guarded the Locket or even if they would listen to Harry's words as to Voldemort's own. He was itching to test the remaining unproven theories but held back until they would have arrived on the small island that hid the fake Locket – which according to Severus, the old man hadn't attempted to retrieve yet in the past two weeks. That might have something to do with the potion master having been instructed to delay any attempts of reaching the 'Horcrux' by pretending he could try to craft an antidote to the supposed befuddlement draught. Well, when Dumbledore would finally embark on this little quest of his, Severus' skills would never be questioned again by the old fool.
Once having taken a step back, Harry still observed the floating corpse. There was a radiating sadness Voldemort hoped Harry would not speak of. Surely, there was no need to hear the reasons behind this pity.
''Rather docile,'' the other only commented, however.
''I already mentioned there'd be no danger,'' Voldemort retorted while pulling the boat to the surface.
''That's not quite what I meant. I'm surprised about their silence. Many harmless dead things are far more active. Ghosts can be pretty chatty and any sliver of spirit will whisper nonsense all the time. When I was at the Ministry- wait, I never told you about that, did I? In all the chaos that followed, it totally slipped my mind.''
Intrigued, he gestured for the other to board the dinghy so they could resume this talk while making their way across. ''You were in the Chamber of Death?'' he asked, quickly putting the few given clues together.
Harry nodded, gaze still drifting across the lake and resting on each and every Inferius that showed itself. Voldemort let his nails graze the dark surface to call the nearest one to the side of their boat. Spongy, cold flesh pushed against his fingers, forever locked in the same state of decay as on the day necromantic magic had taken a hold of its body. Inspecting the threads of spells that bound the creatures to him, Voldemort was pleased to note that his control was as strong as the last time he'd personally visited. Perfect.
''I saw the archway you have studied. Say, just to be sure… were you already a Necromancer when you made your observations?''
The Inferius he'd examined slid down into the depths again in response to an unspoken command, so Voldemort could fully concentrate on Harry. ''I was during my second visit, having expected to notice a change. There was nothing. Only an empty, silent arch… an infuriatingly unsatisfactory mystery. You noticed more, I presume? The whispers of those close to you who'd died?''
An uncharacteristic uncertainty fell across Harry's face like a shadow. ''Whispers… in a way, yet loud enough to reach me all the way from the entrance. They were from voices unfamiliar, their origin a portal of silver from which I could feel something else too that waited for me in the beyond. Then there was the pull… those calling me to go forward, speaking of the Cosmos. In short, it looked nothing like your memories of that place. But you had not expected it to be so, had you?''
The tone was accusing, but Voldemort merely smiled as he took in this new information. A portal of silver? Voices aware enough of death that they spoke of the Cosmos itself? Ah, what wonderful discoveries the two of them would be able to make. ''I'd hoped your experience to differ from mine, indeed.''
The boat slid to a halt, yet Voldemort made no effort to disembark for now, leaning forward. ''From the moment you told me of your first encounter with the Black Cosmos, of seeing it through my eyes while my mind had effectively left the earthly plane with only a tether remaining, I knew your connection to that dimension was unique. You may not be a born Necromancer, but your raw talent is unparalleled by any others who have attempted to learn the Art. All of your subsequent attempts have only confirmed this.''
''Enough to risk it all with the Greengrass family.'' There was no remaining anger, only a strange weariness. ''Despite the fact that you yourself, a literal Lord of Magic, cannot call forth souls from the beyond on all days of the year, you expected I could.''
''Instinctively, you knew yourself to be capable of this as well. It is not as if I have failed to explain the proper workings of the Art before either, my dear,'' Voldemort sharply spoke. ''When we called your parents' souls, I specifically mentioned the need to use certain moon phases. The ritual with which you were supposed to call Dowager Greengrass' soul and have her speak through you is one I personally even only undertake on Samhain. Which was absolutely described in the books I have given you about the topic. I suspect part of your ability to defy common rules and the strength of your connection to the Cosmos to indeed be due to your early meeting with death, as well as the fact that you host a foreign soul created for the very purpose of reviving me in case of my demise.''
''A warning would have been nice.''
''You expect niceness from me?'' he asked in surprise.
A sliver of mirth drifted across their link, despite Voldemort not understanding yet what had caused it. ''You've given me flowers and dances, prepared French breakfast for me. Fixed my dragon miniature without me needing to ask and even let Ron tag along to several events for no other reason than that you know I like him. You can be nice when you want to be. Denying that is doing yourself a disservice.''
More than a bit concerned now over his own actions when stated like this, Voldemort spoke: ''If I'd known any of it would come with hoping for repetitions on your side, I'd have held back more.''
''Of course,'' Harry replied, though the delight didn't diminish. ''I'm not going to put high hopes on you to spoil me, don't worry. Just know that I appreciate all of your gestures and they didn't remain unseen. If anything, it's a good balance to our intense talks and your attempts to shove me off the edge of death magic. Get me up?'' he asked, holding out a hand to be pulled out of the boat.
Voldemort complied, if only to satisfy his own need for a physical connection to strengthen their other bonds. His partner's magic was warm and sparkling as always, dancing across his fingers as soon as they touched. If he'd ever create a Polyjuice potion with Harry's hair, he pondered, it would come as no surprise if the potion would turn into a liquid representation of the Gryffindor colours, all vibrant reds and shining gold.
To not hurt his own eyes any further, he extinguished the floating orbs he'd called into being before, the potion giving off quite enough light on its own. He stood back as Harry circled towards the stone basin, staring at it in fascination. ''Glowing emerald,'' he stated. ''So dramatic. You sure this will only give me nightmares and not permanently make me radioactive? I'm quite sure I don't want more pieces of absurd magic messing permanently with my body.''
The Dark Lord did not deem this worthy of a reaction, having already discussed all specifics before in an attempt to dissuade the teen from his absurd plan. ''Before you open your mind to your worst fears,'' he stated, ''I'll have you take part in my own experimentations as agreed upon. I doubt you'll be lucid enough afterwards.''
''Thanks for the massive concern.''
Voldemort frowned lightly, having been very careful not to show any concern. Harry had made abundantly clear he wouldn't be talked out of consuming the potion in its entirety, surely it would be counterproductive to make a fuss about it now? Requiring such was completely unreasonable. Nor did it seem typical for Harry to get cold feet. ''You consented to this price,'' he reminded. ''Suggested it even. If you wish to change your mind, I'm sure I can find a suitable substitute to feed this potion to.''
''No,'' came the quick reaction, the strange giddiness at last evaporating. ''I need to do this.''
Meeting green eyes of which the colour was intensified as they reflected the potions' shine, Voldemort could see his partner had turned serious at last. ''It is your choice,'' he offered, one last out. Hoping Harry would take it may be foolish, especially with the other's face set in determination. Indeed, he only received a cynical smirk.
''My choice…'' Harry repeated, ''Kind of pointless to go this far only to back off with my tail between my legs. Don't you dare suggest I could ever be that cowardly. As for your price… In which way do you wish me to interact with your Inferi exactly? As I said before, they didn't look like the talkative sort.''
''They can speak, I'll have you know. The first step in the process of creating an Inferi merely binds a true soul into an existing organic body. If they'd get the chance, I'm sure they would talk as much as any other soul. Yet as their will is bound to that of their creator near instantly, they listen more than they speak unless they are told to do so.'' Stepping over his initial hesitance about the entire situation – it didn't suit him - Voldemort withdrew a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. ''Rise,'' he commanded, voice laced with power. The occasional head peeking out of the lake did not compare at all to the chaos that ensued, the gleaming surface erupting as if a thousand hungry sharks were fighting for scraps. Dozens of Inferi swam to the shore, dozens more piling up over the first, eager to serve, to fulfil their purpose. Harry bumped into his side when attempting to avoid the limbs of corpses that all tried to get a prime spot on the small island of dark basalt. They only stilled when a ring of space of no more than three feet was left around Voldemort. Or rather, around the both of them, Voldemort noted, instantly scribbling this observation down. Measuring with his wand to be completely certain, he concluded that even the part of Harry that was furthest away from Voldemort himself – his right arm – was removed from the nearest Inferius by the same distance. Good. They did certainly notice his presence as having the same boundaries as Voldemort's own.
''Do you still have that stone?''
With a raised eyebrow, Harry fished the bloodied thing from his pocket. ''Should I… try to attack one of them physically?''
''An excellent idea as well, but let's start smaller. Cut yourself with it again.''
More hesitant about it now than when doing so voluntarily, the teen pressed the edge against the back of his hand and winced as a small cut appeared. The Inferi only stared with empty eyes. ''Shame,'' Voldemort noted with a twinge of disappointment. ''They realise you are similar to me, yet not that you are a Horcrux like the one they were ordered to guard.''
''The source of this 'attack' may be the problem,'' Harry suggested. ''I mean, I hurt myself. Pretty atypical for a Horcrux, certainly considering the one they already know was an immobile object. Maybe if you do it instead...?''
Voldemort waved that idea away. ''They would never be able to attack me. You may have a point about the source of violence, but if that's the case we are at a stalemate. If they do not react to you harming yourself, neither would they react to me doing so. Running any tests with third parties here isn't possible, nor would it bring much as that would activate your shields instead. Well, this was less of a way to give you extra protection and more to understand the Inferi's connection to my own being. Now, do you recall the feeling of when you are weaving spells in the Black Cosmos? The way you speak commands instead of incantations?''
Not needing more of an explanation after the times he'd performed Necromancy alone by now, Harry faced the nearest Inferius. ''Raise your left hand,'' he spoke, and although the creature was slow, slower than was the case when reacting to its creator's own commands, a bony arm rose into the air.
''It again recognises you as being like me more than being a carrier of my soul,'' Voldemort concluded with perfectly healthy interest, almost salivating at the thought of which follow-up experiments they could perform to delve deeper. He wished it was possible to hook his nails under the very essence of Harry and compare it to his own. Fascinatingly, their magic was very dissimilar, so which component were these creatures reacting to? At which point after the multitude of changes in their physical and ethereal makeup would these puppets tied to do his bidding have stopped seeing them at separate beings? And if Harry could command his Inferi, did it apply the other way around as well?
''Voldemort? What now?''
Tapping his wand impatiently against his leg, he attempted to think of the best way to test this new thought. What could Voldemort demand that would bring him closer to the truth? His eyes shifted to the lake.
''Try attacking one of them as you thought to do before,'' he muttered absentmindedly, more to have Harry busied than anything else. As his partner steeled himself to dig the small rock into one of the corpses, Voldemort slipped away - the Inferi all parting accordingly - and descended a few stone steps until the water enclosed around his ankles. A slain Inferius could not be used by another Necromancer, but the animated corpses were not the only things occupying these waters. Good that he'd taken precautions for all possible developments. If Voldemort was not mistaken, there should still be other remains as well that had not yet been touched by Necromancy. Of the Muggles he'd led here when wishing to ensure the Locket remained safe on days he'd been in too much of a hurry to make them more useful and of those reckless enough to wander in themselves…
His breath stilled as he realised whom that included. Turning his head slowly to look over his shoulder, Voldemort saw that Harry had returned to staring at the potion's glow, the attempts at harming the Inferi (as he'd thought) not having brought any results. Suppressing the mixture of emotions that welled up to not alarm the other, the Dark Lord pointed his wand at the lake.
''Ossa Reguli, Accio,''
Feeling a thrill that was difficult to place the origin of, Voldemort watched as bones that had become bleached and brittle from lying in the water so long floated into his waiting hands. Who'd have known their last shared touch would be a caress of his treacherous lover's remains?
To get more space, he ordered the Inferi to resume their original positions, carefully levitating the skeleton to an empty spot of damp stone. ''We're not done yet,'' he warned, as Harry looked antsy to finally get the ordeal over with.
''I'm quite sure I left my invisibility cloak with Ron.''
''And I'm quite sure he was eager to return it when hearing it is necessary to ensure your safety,'' the man replied, withdrawing the cloak from within his robes. As Harry took it with a blank face, Voldemort smugly continued: ''This goes only one step further than your attempt at the Greengrasses. You have a body to work with which needs only to have a soul connected to it – as well as a multitude of spells binding it to yourself to ensure your will commands its movements.''
''One more step?'' Harry asked sceptically. ''I know neither the correct diagrams for this specific ritual nor how to tie life to a bare skeleton. In the case of Mrs Greengrass, she only used her own ash as a channeler for her soul for a few minutes, actively held together by the magic I was feeding into it. With Sirius, you explained I needed to completely heal his body so it functioned properly again, as he'd have died instantly after from mortal wounds regardless of how much life essence I'd have tried pouring in. How the soul doesn't leave these shells is beyond my grasp. How can you expect me to perform magic I don't understand?''
''There is no life essence added. Inferi are not living creatures, Evan. They're still very much dead. You have animated decaying bodies before, I recall. A swarm of insects?''
''Then too, the souls left the instant I did not actively control them anymore.''
''Exactly. When their connection to your magic broke off. The souls that inhabit Inferi are tied to their creator's magical core, located in their respective souls. I suppose it is less a revival in the sense of that you return a soul into a living body and more… an imprisonment in a shape that only moves due to magic. There's a reason they're referred to as puppets. Without both being bound to the body it is forced to inhabit and to the one who overrides their will, the soul would quickly escape. We must do some work on this thing before, of course, grow some sinews and muscles to form a proper shape that can move without collapsing in on itself with each step. Your devotion to Healing should have granted you the necessary knowledge for that already.''
''Which soul is irrelevant for the creation of an Inferius, correct?'' Harry asked, warily eyeing the pile of bones. ''Or is this a specific person you'd like to talk to?''
It would have been tempting a while ago. By now however, all pent-up hatred and pain had long risen to the surface and dissipated. He knew very well that his past relationship was but a pale reflection of what he'd found now. There was no use nor need to chase ghosts of the past. Not when Harry was right here at his side. Why he hadn't procured the bones of any of the Muggles who'd met their end here, Voldemort couldn't quite say, but he was certain there were no words left between himself and Regulus.
''No,'' he thus answered. In the end, his goals were to find out the extent of Harry's necromantic abilities as well as to understand their bonds to a higher degree. It may be better like this. Having Harry unwittingly use Regulus' body served as a means for Voldemort to no longer be able to. Whether he could command it as Harry did with the Inferi the Dark Lord had created or not, it wouldn't truly belong to him, which ensured any interest would fade quickly.
XxX
Does he think me a fool? Harry wondered when taking in the sad heap of white sticks. As if he hadn't twisted and turned over Regulus' fate after finishing his read of the disillusioned Slytherin's diaries. As if he hadn't imagined this exact moment when seeing this cave in his dreams. Voldemort stood perfectly poised, almost at ease after dropping the remains of his previous lover at Harry's feet. The bones taunted him, a gruesome reminder of the penalty for all who dared defy the man Harry had sworn to love eternally.
Their circumstances were different, Harry tried to tell himself. Besides, Voldemort had been unaware of Regulus walking into a death trap of his own volition until hearing about it over a decade later.
''Are you sure?'' he pressed, desperately hoping for an admission of the truth. To be told the identity of the one Harry was being demanded to resurrect.
''I care not for which soul you call, Evan.''
A test? Or actual stubborn denial? Why was Harry always the one who knew Voldemort better than the man did himself? Of course he would care.
For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps he was paranoid for once. That this skeleton truly belonged to one of the Muggles Voldemort hadn't cared about beyond their ability to access what he wanted before needing them to disappear for having seen too much. The second after however, Harry just knew that couldn't be. Voldemort wouldn't like being called predictable, but he was at times. Whenever possible, he added significance, tried filling the world with purpose. It showed in the objects he'd chosen to house slivers of soul and wouldn't suddenly end by asking Harry to revive any random person. Not when they both knew Regulus had died here too.
Honestly, he wasn't entirely certain what to think. In his mind, he was already doing Voldemort a favour by drinking and replacing this potion with something harmless. Dumbledore had to live if they were to use the Headmaster's positions and connections to their own benefit. Naturally, his partner had not agreed to Harry's plan. Although he'd reluctantly admitted that replacing the potion was the best course of action, the Dark Lord had been adamant about finding someone disposable enough to feed it to without Harry coming even in its vicinity. Only bribing on Harry's part, suggesting Voldemort teach him about Inferi in whichever way the man chose as payment had been convincing enough.
Harry thought he'd been clever about it too, lending the cloak to Ron, who'd wished to at last spend some fresh air outside of the house, wandering the streets of Little Hangleton without the risk of being caught. Without having his usual tie to the earthly realm at hand, he'd imagined this lesson not to include the actual creation of an Inferius. Or at least only as a demonstration on Voldemort's part. No such luck, clearly.
''Where did this hesitance come from?'' Voldemort had the audacity to ask, at which Harry gave him a fierce glare.
So, he'd truly feign ignorance? Or did not deem the details important enough for Harry to know?
Fine then.
''Give me your wand.''
Despite himself, Harry felt calmer as soon as the yew wood was enclosed in his hands. I felt familiar and eager to prove itself. The first time he'd been allowed to use it had come as a welcome surprise, especially as Voldemort had shown not even a hint of hesitance. This was a level of trust few people would ever reach. So why did Harry feel as if his trust was being broken regardless?
Pushing that aside, the teen concentrated on not messing this up, mentally listing what needed to be done. Ensuring the skeleton was more than some bones first of all. Then, he'd need to call upon Despair for certain to find Regulus' soul. Due to sharing the Black blood, it would be most beneficial if Harry were to use his own as a sacrifice rather than demanding Voldemort to pay the price, no matter how much the man deserved to. Technically, Harry already had experience with most of these steps, just not in the exact same combination.
Not wishing to stall any longer, he kneeled at the pile and spread it out, carefully making sure to put each bone in the right place. Regulus had been about as tall as Harry was, he noted with another pang of discomfort. ''I'll rely on you for the diagrams,'' he stated while working. ''As we didn't bring any manuals and you have clearly repeated this ritual many times. Is it also possible for you to take over the part where it becomes actively bound to me? The books you gave me were certainly informative, but I didn't learn every single one of the spells by heart, nor practised them so far.''
When receiving an affirmation, Harry carefully started creating muscles, tendons and ligaments, oftentimes listening to Voldemort's suggestions and corrections. It reminded him of the time he'd had to give himself a crash course in mending bones after the Locket this cave had housed had felt it necessary to shatter Harry's kneecap for daring to call him 'Riddle'. Perhaps not the best memory to recall right now.
The corpse surely still did not resemble a human by any means, as he'd only taken care to connect each piece so it formed a whole. Its main driving force would be magic, after all. No need to go the extra mile of creepiness by creating some doll. All of this was already disturbing enough.
Harry still had a million questions nonetheless, he felt. He wasn't completely averse to the idea of creating a walking corpse as long as no-one had been specifically killed for it, but so far Necromancy that bound people to him hadn't made a great impression.
''When it is connected to me … does that mean it'll siphon magic off me?'' he hesitantly asked.
''Not to simply remain as they are, only when following your commands and generally in such low amounts that you'd not notice. You wouldn't feel exhausted after using a levitation spell to move an object either. As Inferi can hardly do more than simply move, there's no risk of suddenly being drained just because you have a few of them walking around somewhere. Even if you ensure it attacks anything in sight, it's still only physically moving.''
''I see… And from your descriptions, I'm assuming this is not the same type of passive urge Sirius has to follow my orders, is it?''
''Black's 'urge' as you call it, was a by-product. After having observed him interact with you over the past weeks, I theorise it to be a heightened form of a life debt, considering all the life residing in his body right now has been touched and placed there by your magic alone. Inferi, on the other hand, are created with only a single purpose: to obey you. They can't defy it and don't even understand what they are. Ah, I suppose we are done with the first part…'' Voldemort commented, head cocked as his eyes roved over the corpse. ''That should do.''
Harry handed the wand back and watched as a fine pattern of overlapping stars was cut out beneath their feet. Soon after, he'd thrown the cloak over his head and sank to his knees, which were pressed against the back of the skull that stared into nothingness. Another cut was added to his already hurt hand, blood dripping onto the now dry, white surface.
Performing Necromancy was easier when Voldemort was nearby, he found. Breathing slowly, the teen focused on the dark magic that had wrapped him up as soon as he'd set foot in the cave. It overwhelmed him still each time their skin touched too. The feeling hadn't waned in time at all. He thus used Voldemort as a focal point, closing his eyes to drift away.
''Brandeum, dona mihi initus."
Harry raised his partner's wand, the phoenix feather inside it clearly visible in his mind eye. From beyond the horizon of reality, he could hear the rushing of waves.
He was caught, floating in the merciless space of the Cosmos, the soft glow emitting from the four enormous moons treacherously gentle compared to their pull. Having visited this dimension multiple times, Harry was starting to feel the distinctions. Ruin thrummed, a rhythmic force like a heartbeat shaking him to the core when drifting too close. Fear was chilling, an icy magnet waiting to devour those too weak of mind. Glory seemed almost inconsequential, yet filled its chosen few with euphoria beyond belief when they'd shown the willingness to conquer all temptations. Harry turned to the one he needed now, the largest moon that granted control over souls. It felt almost as if Despair stared back in the same fashion that something had been watching him from beyond the Veil in the Chamber of Death. Waiting. Intimidating.
It would submit its powers to Harry, a Magus Mortem chosen by Glory, granting him free reign of this realm. Opening his arms and raising his head, Harry projected his request:
''I call upon you, Despair, to guide back a soul starving for the world it was ripped away from. For a second chance, to defy death's trance, I call to advance: Regulus Arcturus Nigrum. I proclaim ownership. My pursuit ensues. Despair, grant me amorphousness.'' Chains appeared and wrapped around his arms as he spoke, then sped away with a rattling sound. The moons started to shift as soon as his plea had been heard.
He was falling, speeding through emptiness until the moons were mere pinpricks, smaller than the silver orb that had appeared between Harry's palms. He'd swallowed the last one, but this soul should not come into contact with his mind. He held tightly onto it instead, pressing clasped hands against his chest as its glow warmed his fingers…
Without any idea how much time had truly passed, he awoke with a gasp, instantly pressing his hands against the weathered skull, the soul he'd called pitifully struggling as he did so. It felt wrong, but that realisation came too late. Feeling dazed, Harry allowed the wand to be pulled from his grasp, and before he'd even slightly recovered, Voldemort was chanting spells in a language Harry did not understand. Too tired to protest, – soul magic was surprisingly more tiring than using any of the other branches - the teen tried to draw energy from the soothing heavy magic that washed over him. The white wand almost lovingly traced his temple, and at last Harry was enveloped fully in his partner's embrace. Voldemort sat behind him, chest flush against Harry's back and bony arms caging him in.
''You did well,'' the man whispered in praise, pressing thin lips firmly against Harry's left cheek. ''To share this with you…'' Voldemort did not need to articulate his feelings further. The Gryffindor could practically drink in the overwhelming amount of joy that radiated off his partner. It was a sharp contrast to the stoicism of before and almost made Harry regret what he'd done.
''Regulus,'' he rasped out when finding his voice. The instant the name was uttered, echoing through the darkness, his partner stiffened, stilled. ''Rise.''
With surprising agility, the mimicry of a human being made of bone and sinew jerked to its feet.
''Evan…''
''You truly think I wouldn't know?'' Harry asked, turning his head slightly, their cheekbones resting lightly against each other.
''Any other soul would have done. You could have retrieved any other.''
''You could have given me any other body.''
Voldemort did not deny it, did not jump to any defences or lash out. Instead, he pensively looked at the Inferius.
''What is your aim?'' he asked.
Harry sighed, having conflicting thoughts about it. Part was pettiness, maybe. A warning to show exactly why tricking him into compliance was neither wise nor something to be repeated. Thankfully, Harry was self-aware enough to know he wasn't such a vengeful person and that his previous contemplations about what Voldemort possibly needed was a much larger part of his decision to not ask Despair for just any soul.
''Before we revealed to the Greengrass family that I used Necromancy, you presented it in this neat package of giving them merely a last chance to speak to the one who had passed away. I wasn't quite sure then where you'd gotten the insight that this is something people desire. When you told me to create an Inferius using this body, I thought you may wish for closure as well.''
''That insight came from analysing the minds of hundreds of people across my lifetime, not from any personal need,'' Voldemort explained. ''I have already received closure, Evan. Our conversations made me realise that the future matters more than the past. That is why I wished for you to use this body, so it will neither go to waste nor be tied to myself.''
All self-righteousness crumbled as Harry was left speechless with shame. ''I- I'm so sorry,'' he apologised, mortified by how wrong he'd been. So certain of himself that he'd come to know Voldemort through-and-through. How could he have, when his partner had shown such massive leaps in emotional growth and awareness throughout the short time they'd been together? This man would never lose his typical air of mystery, no matter how deep Harry would attempt to dig.
''How was your phrasing before?'' the older wizard muttered. ''I appreciate the gesture? I can feel there was no malice behind your actions. In a way, it's impressive that you successfully re-joined his body and soul in this way. Most of my own Inferi are mismatched, as I hardly learned the names of the people whose bodies I used. I had not actually thought you to even know the Latin version of- ah, but of course. I spoke your godfather's name when sealing his mind and soul.''
''You did. Although the name does not technically need to be spoken in Latin, does it? As long as I subconsciously recognise it as part of the spell. Two third of his name did not have another 'origin' for me to use anyways. I didn't take the chance with his surname, but the English version might have worked.'' It felt strange to discuss this so casually now, while Regulus was still standing mere feet away, swaying slightly back and forth. He didn't have the typical glassy eyes of an Inferius due to the fact that they hadn't given him any. Instead, part of the soul had settled in the sockets. Those glowing, silvery orbs eerily stared down at them now. ''You might not need closure anymore…'' Harry slowly said. ''But what about him?''
''Pardon?''
As soon as the idea had wormed into Harry's head, it wouldn't leave him alone. ''He felt lonely, confused and lied to on the day he decided to find your Horcrux. I can't imagine it would have been a peaceful way to leave life behind either. I know my will overrides the one of the captured soul, but what if want him to express his own wishes?''
''No,'' Voldemort shut it down. ''Regulus betrayed me.'' Letting go of Harry, he rose to his feet, towering over the corpse. ''This resurrection only happened to comprehend the way in which our links work, dear. I'll not have you get sentiments in your head about appeasing the soul of one long gone. You get attached far too easily.''
''Do as you please then,'' Harry conceded. He felt sorry for the pitiful being though. Pulled back from the peace of death, forced into a cold body without a semblance of control. If only Regulus could express what he felt…
With a creak, the skeleton moved, taking a step forward, hands shooting out to grab Voldemort's arms with inhuman speed.
''My… Lord… forgive… me...''
''Get away from me!'' Voldemort thundered, something akin to panic shooting through the link like lightning, almost internally blinding Harry for a stunning second.
Regulus let go as if burned, shuffling backwards, yet not breaking eye contact. ''My… Love… forgive… me...''
He was doing this, Harry understood. Regulus reacted even to Harry's internal wishes. This compassion he'd felt was being twisted into orders he'd never intended to give. In a desperate attempt to set this right, the Gryffindor rose on wobbly knees and stumbled towards his partner, wrenching the yew wand from frozen fingers.
Recalling one of the more powerful heavy spells he knew – one ironically taught to him by his best friends – he pointed the wand down to the floor and started making spiralling motions, sparks appearing as he muttered the words ''Calor displode'' under his breath until they turned a pure white. Hermione had recommended to stop before, but Inferi were tough creatures and only fire was known to effectively harm them at all. With a practised series of flicks and slashes, he called a bright star into life at the tip of his wand and flung it at Regulus. Harry was barely fast enough to pull up a shield spell to protect Voldemort and himself when the star made contact with the corpse and burned it up in a glittering explosion of sizzling drops of fire. When the show of light finally died down so only the glow of the potion illuminated the cave, hardly any splinters of bone remained, the last of which slid into the lake.
The comfort he'd felt upon entering had faded now, and Harry hoped for nothing more than to get this finally over with. Unable to meet Voldemort's eyes after this fiasco, he rushed to the basin, almost angrily trying to transform a piece of stone into a glass to scoop it up with, cursing as he failed.
''Transfiguration does not work in here,'' the other commented, sounding less fractured than he felt. ''To reduce the number of people who could even find a way to consume this potion in the first place. Only conjured items may touch its surface.'' Fingers that felt warmer than usual gripped his shoulders, which were wracking with shivers. He'd forgotten that the sacrifice of the Calor hex was body heat and energy… Maybe when delving into nightmares, that would no longer matter. Not responding to the explanation, Harry grabbed the small silver goblet that had appeared at the edge of the basin, only looking at it long enough to note it was a replica of one of the other Horcruxes.
''You may not be well enough.'' Voldemort stated, and Harry could just hear the frown that marred his partner's face. ''It is not too late to find someone else. Or perhaps I-''
They both halted, lost in each other's confusion at that suggestion for a moment. Regardless of everything that had happened today, Voldemort's instinct was to protect instead of punish him? It appeared to shock the Dark Lord just as much and Harry's stomach did a strange flip. ''See? You can be nice,'' he smiled weakly, turning his head. His partner did not protest when Harry took the chance to lean in for a brief kiss. ''You should close our link from your side, I can't imagine this is going to be pleasant if you don't.''
Gathering the last energy remaining in his frozen body, Harry dipped the goblet into the nightmare potion and lifted it to his lips.
The cave disappeared instantaneously. Furious tiny fists hammered on the cupboard door. ''Let me out!'' he screamed, terrified. ''There's something in here!'' Venom glistened on fangs that dove towards him, carried by a creature with blood streaming from its eyes. There was no sword this time, no healing tears. Pain exploded in his arm and Harry knew he was going to die. The image of a smiling Tom Riddle appeared next to him.
''Your borrowed time is finally up now,'' Tom whispered. ''Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must. Famous Potter…''
Tom grew older, a familiar face Harry had once kissed. ''I pitied you,'' the Locket-Horcrux said. ''Even after my mockery, you were still so desperate for attention. You thought I cared?'' jeering laughter filled Harry's ears, no matter how frantically he pressed his hands against them. ''You made it so easy for me to mould you into the perfect little vessel!"
Pale skin paled even further until all colour had seeped away apart from two burning crimson eyes. ''Did you really think,'' Voldemort coldly spoke. ''That your love was enough for two? You don't even love yourself, Harry Potter. No-one does. Go and hide in your cupboard again, pretend you don't exist. You'll do the world a favour. Everything your aunt and uncle told you was true.''
All air had been pressed out of his lungs, and he stopped struggling against the Devilsnare that wound around his throat. All of their words had been true?
A wail pierced through his misery. With a flash, the vines fell from his throat. Slowly, he looked to the side, where the red and raw thing he'd once rocked in his arms lay. Crawling towards it on hands and knees, Harry did the same now, a blissful peace encasing his mind as soon as the shred of Voldemort's soul was secure in his embrace. It didn't speak, didn't need to. Harry felt no shame as he sobbed his heart out while hugging the mutilated part of his lover's soul close. Even when it had been given a golden opportunity by the Locket, it had not abandoned him. Time and time again, it protected him from harm and loneliness. ''Thank you. Thank you,'' Harry mumbled, hiccupping. The darkness could no longer touch him. The voices no longer reached him.
''Evan?'' Blinking blearily, Harry came to, finding himself close to the main part of Lord Voldemort. They were sitting on a rough, throne-like chair right in front of the basin, Harry curled up in his partner's arms. ''Merlin, I almost became convinced the potion had gone off when you no longer emitted fear half-way through yet didn't wake…''
''Is it gone now?'' he rasped. Thirst burned his throat. ''Is it over?''
''We only need to replace the potion before returning home,'' Voldemort assured. ''Did you get caught up in impossible magic again?''
''I got caught up in your magic, and since you're so absolutely impossible, I'd say that counts,'' he chuckled weakly. Attempting to sit up in a more comfortable position failed, head spinning. ''Oh, I feel like I'm having a bad hangover. How are you? Why were you feeling my fear in the first place? I said you could shut down our link…''
''As you could have taken a different path than permitting me to teach you about Inferi, reviving my former partner in the hope it would please me and almost sacrificing your sanity by drinking one of the most dangerous potions I've ever managed to create, all in one day. Let's not compare cauldrons and kettles.''
Relieved, Harry realised there truly was no anger over his actions. It seemed his motivations made up for both the poor planning and even worse execution. ''This better have been worth it,'' Harry groaned, at last getting good enough of a grasp on the front of Voldemort's robes to pull himself up and awkwardly straddle the man. ''Literally any detail about plans revolving Dumbledore, you'll tell me. I swear, if he ends up dead now, I will throw a fit on such a massive scale that you'll wish a hundred clones of Sirius would be traipsing around the house instead.''
''I sincerely wish I couldn't tell you aren't overexaggerating in the slightest.''
Finally managing to get enough control over his face again, Harry grinned widely. ''Glad to hear it. Now please, I don't know which I crave more: water, food or warmth.''
Harry counted himself lucky to be together with the most powerful sorcerer in the world, for less than a minute later, Voldemort ensured he had all three and more in the comfort of their home.
AN: fun fact of the day: the corpses of pigs (and presumably humans, since that's the reason researchers used pigs in the first place) will be reduced to nothing but bones when left in the ocean for days to several weeks at most depending on depth, temperature, acidity and the presence of specific sea creatures. Since Inferi were described as very much still having (decaying) flesh after drifting for at LEAST 15 years in the cave lake, I went with the assumption that they remained in the same state of decay (plus maybe getting a bit bloated due to the water) as when they were resurrected. Since Regulus died in there without getting resurrected, his corpse obviously is only bones, which can be preserved in salt water for over decade - although how long it takes for these to decompose exactly seems to not be so well-researched so I took the liberty of over 15 years.
Please read and review :)
xx GeMerope