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.

104. C103 - Isle of Hope and Fears

Chapter 103 - Isle of Hope and Fears

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Warmth. Comfort.

Voldemort woke to a rare sight, an already wide-awake Harry staring at him with obvious adoration, eyes shining with more marvellous carefreeness than he'd seen in a long while. Blinking lazily, not moving a muscle otherwise, Voldemort let himself be wrapped in that soft gaze, more effective a blanket than the tangle of sheets that had failed its attempt to cover them throughout their slumber – Even asleep, Harry always made a terrible ruckus, twisting and turning in a way that made separate covers a necessity at home.

''Good morning,'' he finally said, voice sleep-rough.

''It is, isn't it?'' A trill of drowsy satisfaction accompanied the words, just the right amount to stir excitement once again without chasing away the pleasant lull. At the tiniest offered invitation – no more than a lift of Voldemort's arm, really - Harry once more closed the gap between them, entangled their limbs in the tightest embrace with an ease that felt far too natural considering Voldemort had kept his love from crossing that distance for months on end. ''Feels good, not having to hold back anymore…'' the teen sighed, hands trailing boldly downwards, slipping in between the crease of his thigh. ''I wish I'd never have to stop touching you now that I finally may.''

Voldemort silently returned that sentiment, just as delighted about the absence of that bothersome itch of restraint when revelling in the exchange of pleasure last night. All the pent-up feelings had come crashing down at once, ecstasy reaching a state of delirium now he at last did not have to keep a frustrated Harry at an arm's length any longer.

He touched one of the reminders of that enraptured chase in the form of a bruise on his own chest where teeth had dug in. He'd not bothered to heal it yet, wickedly pleased somehow by the remaining evidence. The Dark Lord had never allowed another to leave such marks, preferring for those he took to bed to utterly submit. Yet something about Harry's wildness added to the attraction, and although Voldemort had mostly stuck to familiar roles, he didn't at all mind the idea of taking all that Harry would give.

A similar thought had struck the very night he'd goaded his love into murdering Pettigrew, had it not? That he'd like to be owned in return…

Soft kisses travelling up his chest and neck made him break away from those musings to instead devote attention to his partner, ensuring to take his time being gentle now the most urgent yearning had been satisfied. With a feathery touch, he ran his fingers down feverishly hot skin. He'd never be able to get enough of the sheer heat Harry radiated, he wistfully thought while slowly turning them over to press his face into the hollow of his partner's throat, inhaling deeply as he clung on. The moment was almost perfect, if not for the slight jerking movement Harry made whenever he shifted a bit too suddenly.

''Will you push aside your stubborn pride at last?'' he asked with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, finding his way to the corner of Harry's mouth. His lips rested there, at the tautly pressed line: tenseness a jerk-knee reaction to his comment, a mirror image of the mental defensive walls that had been slammed up in the same second. ''This is not something I can heal without your cooperation-'' he sighed.

''Didn't you teach me all you know about physical healing?'' Harry asked, tight and accusing. ''Let me have this one thing I do not need your help with anymore.''

He'd perhaps gone a bit overboard with praising Harry's efforts. ''Do you? Not need my help?'' he airily teased, trying very hard to keep the tone light enough not to chase the other out of bed altogether. He would not put it past Harry to stomp off to a nearby library just to prove the point of being independent. ''I might have skipped the lesson of which the demonstration would require pushing my fingers into your arse, to avoid temptation,'' Voldemort lazily smirked, not needing to look up to know with surgical precision to which degree Harry's face heated up. He could feel it both through their connection and from the sudden blaze of the cheek his own rested against.

When no answer came, he grunted and pushed himself up after all, caging Harry in between his outstretched arms. Those previously warm eyes were actively avoiding his own now. ''I've studied magic a grand total of fifty-three years and seven months more than you have, darling. Although I indeed never delved deep enough into the material to be considered a professional, I did have plenty of time to read more about the topic than you could cram into a few hectic months. I possess a volume of knowledge you literally could not achieve even if you would have devoted your attention to healing alone. There is no shame in asking me when you not yet know an exact spell, even if you feel you should.

''- and seven months…'' Harry only grumbled in response. ''You're so extra.'' The teen no longer averted him, gaze snapping back in the only place it should be: locked with his own, stubborn glints fighting battles until Harry suddenly, sharply, grinned with too much teeth. ''That does make me realise something. Between all your insistence of my turning sixteen before you'd allow me to do as I please, you conveniently forgot to mention I had to wait till you were sixty-nine.''

If Voldemort reciprocated the childish amusement that bubbled over as Harry threw his head back and laughed out loud, it was solely because of the sight. ''Perhaps I was too hasty, you sound like six more than sixteen right now,'' he snarked in return, muffling the addictive laugh before it could disgracefully affect him more.

''Fine, I'll give in,'' Harry at last relented, a supressed gasp the only outward sign of remaining soreness as he turned around on his stomach. ''Just be quick about it,'' he muttered, pressing his head fully into the pillow. ''And make sure I can do it myself, next time.''

After all the horrible ways the teen had been hurt in his lifetime, it was curious to note that Harry was affected much at all, especially since most of the stinging had already waned naturally overnight. Well, it had been Harry's first time and neither of them had been very keen on holding back.

Fingers slipped in easily, twitching muscles having been worked open by something much larger no less than six times last night. Voldemort attempted to ignore the arousal that welled up in them both the instant he touched every sensitive spot once again. Remaining fluids starting to leak out at the movement didn't help. ''Do you remember when I healed your burnt tongue?'' he murmured, shifting focus away from their intimacy to adhere to Harry's request. ''This charm to heal bruising and sore muscles works similar, more effective with skin-on-skin contact than if a wand is used. You will thus need to start practising wandless magic more thoroughly to perfect it. Let your fingers rest lightly against the tender spot in question, say the incantation, then use the flow of the spell to heal a wider area. Mólopes waisé Therapafteí.''

Shoulders sagged as magic did its work, washing through the other like a soothing wave. The spell was repeated by his love in a quiet muttering as Harry practiced the foreign words. His Greek, both modern and ancient – a must as most healing spells nowadays contained a mixture of both due to constant enhancements – had improved quite a bit, but Harry still had a heavy accent that didn't do proper casting any favours. Voldemort corrected his partner's pronunciation until the repeated incantation didn't sound wholly butchered anymore.

Retracting when deeming his work perfect, Voldemort studied abnormally short nails, concentrating on growing them back to the same length and pointed edge they'd had before being cut off yesterday.

''Thanks for being level-headed enough still for that,'' Harry awkwardly smiled as he turned around and sat up as well, nodding at the hand. ''I was far too gone too fast to ask you to. Now, should I return the favour and practise with those bruises?'' he curiously offered, reaching out to touch the marks on Voldemort's bare chest.

''No-'' he hurriedly spoke, the uncharacteristic almost-tripping over his tongue resulting in a raised eyebrow. Folding his own hand over Harry's to keep the warmth close to his skin – and what a sensation, having that fire directed at his frozen heart – Voldemort attempted to sort his own thoughts, which for once were doing their very best to stay in the moment instead of planning days ahead. They were swiftly thrown back into disarray as his love showed the impatience of youth, leaning forwards invitingly. Feverish open-mouthed kisses turned deep and slow within minutes as he seized control, refusing to let their dizzying connection take the overhand. For all the scratching and biting that had resulted from their delirious ecstasy under the cover of night, he could not have been in a gentler mood this morning, wishing to properly revel in each soft touch and stroke of tongue.

''I didn't break yesterday, and I won't now,'' Harry muttered with a playful smile when needy, wandering hands got caught once more in an iron grip.

The shot in the dark missed by a mile. ''Nothing ever could, that is not my concern. We still have hours before even needing to think about returning home, dear. Without any need to hurry, I see no reason not to enjoy ourselves like this, instead of rushing as if the world will end the next minute.'' With an ease that came from regularly carrying an eighty-pound serpent around, Voldemort pushed Harry back into the mattress and kept him there with a single hand, exploring freely with the other. Newly regrown, sharp nails made the other squirm as they briefly pressed into his throat, lightly trailed down a sensitive ribcage and came to rest on a bucking hip.

''A staunch refusal to rush sounds like an excuse to torture me,'' Harry commented, unasked question hidden beneath trembling wariness.

''Perhaps. Would you mind all that much?''

With a glare being the only answer, Voldemort decided two could play the game of nonverbal communication, retracing his path of fleeting taps and brushes from the trail of hair below Harry's navel, back to the curve of parted lips. He craved to see his partner come undone, see the yearning twist Harry's face into utter desperation. All too quickly, the teen was wound up tight once again, struggling to keep his gasping contained, straining with the need to be granted a modicum of relief.

Voldemort had more important matters to take care of than to sate his love's desperation, ignoring the throbbing heat against his skin and the way Harry unsubtly spread his legs once again. Instead, he cupped that perfect, flushed face in both hands and lowered himself to kiss it tenderly. Was it only a couple of months ago that he'd hesitated over doing the same? That evening of the Ostara ball, Harry just having recovered from his stupor and clinging in his grief… Merlin, it seemed ages ago. He'd not known then…

~I love you.~

He'd twisted those words before, alien as they were, rather wrapping them safely in an endearment or alluding to it in explanations of his discovery, never being this direct. It was a simple truth now, easy to admit to in the morning breeze and bright light as if it had not been forged on a path of death, fate and pain. He was in love and ready to show such in all existing languages; gifts, time, assistance and praise being joined by intimacy that went beyond their inevitable bonds.

The way Harry swallowed, all of a sudden unable to speak, was its own reward. So were the fingers that raised to the Dark Lord's temple and conveyed a vision of all-consuming, blinding light that shook his entire body with its force. Enough for two, yet selfishly occupied by one now that Voldemort had learned how to return the given love.

''And I adore you,'' Harry thickly spoke when finding his voice again a little while later, when they were once again lying in the tightest embrace, neither getting enough of the closeness. ''But if you leave me hanging any longer, I'll kick you out of the room so your gorgeous body cannot tempt me any longer.''

''One would think six times to be plenty.''

''Isn't seven the most powerful number?'' Harry shot right back. ''Thanks to you excellent healing skills, I've fully recovered.''

''The room might not,'' he remarked, referring to the way one of the walls had harshly cracked under the pressure of their fifth coupling, when Harry had insisted on being taken the same way as in the catacombs, under slightly more comfortable circumstances without the 'freezing cold'. With their minds an intertwined mess, Voldemort felt much of the same as his partner did and knew most of that comfort to have been wishful thinking, as his own cold body had been pressed flush against Harry's back.

''I paid enough not to care about repairs. Stop teasing, I know you don't want to leave without having sex with me at least once more. You're playing cruel games.''

He refrained from extending the amusing argument by insisting he was a cruel man when impatience nipped at the edge of his own thoughts as if it might take a vicious bite. ''Would you do the honours, this time?'' Voldemort seductively whispered into the shell of Harry's ear, which grew a tinge darker at the question.

The teen's forceful urging wavered, a sharp inhale conveying surprise. ''I don't want to misunderstand and get the wrong end of your actual wand in my face-'' Harry hesitated. ''What do you-''

''You know what I mean,'' the Dark Lord encouraged, bringing their joined hands lower than he'd permitted his love to touch before. ''Feel me,'' he commanded, alluding to mental and physical sensations both.

XxX

Painfully aware of his own inexperience, Harry did just that, letting himself be guided by more capable hands and reacting to every subtle ripple of Voldemort's emotions crossing his own. Becoming bolder now he not only had explicit permission, but it was practically being demanded of him to claim his partner in return, he mapped every inch of translucent skin stretched taut over bone.

It was a distorted wonder that the body now beneath him seemed this fragile when Harry well knew that Voldemort could – and would – crush anyone who dared look at him funny. He'd experienced the strength in those deceptively brittle-looking limbs when being pinned in place against every flat surface of this suite apart from the ceiling in the span of mere hours.

Pettily returning the man's torture wasn't his intention though, far too wound up to submit himself to waiting even longer. Even in his previous discomfort over having been taken multiple times – both as rough as the first time and agonizingly slow to the point of Harry having to beg the other to finally give in just so the flood of release would be a merciful balm to his ever tenderer skin – he'd awoken after only a few hours of sleep with a burning lust constricting his throat that wouldn't be quelled by anything but another white sea of stars visible only when rushing past the edge. The lips and hands on his body after had done the rest, leaving him aching once again.

''Like that, here. Yess…~ Voldemort hissed, eyes half-lidded when Harry's attempts to find the same spot that had made him experience pleasure like never before last night bore fruit. Long, smooth legs moved to give better access. Experimentally, Harry curled his fingers again, jerking, and nearly buckled from the resonance through their connection.

It should feel strange, experiencing phantom touch this way. Their link had been strong before, but not in the sense of effortlessly feeling all the other did. Opening himself up both literally and figuratively had strengthened it, multiplying each spark into an inferno. They'd need to contain it soon, as being one like this was bound to be impractical in daily life, but Harry felt utterly content enjoying it for a little while longer without going into the complications of Occlumency.

''How do you want-'' he panted when his partner indicated being ready – predictably by making a noise that most resembled a feral snarl. Slippery fingers, now removed from the coldness, dug and tangled into the sheets as Harry attempted to keep himself together for the moment. ''Will you turn around?''

Voldemort seemed to have favoured taking Harry from behind, four out of six times ending up either with his chest pressed against a wall or kneeling on all fours. Harry did not yet know what he himself preferred, the experiences blurring together so – although his highest peak had been reached when impaling himself onto Voldemort's lap, strong hands on either side of Harry's hips firmly pushing down to intensify the grinding. Briefly, he glanced at the abused armchair in the corner that had served them so well mere hours ago.

''No,'' Voldemort denied. The slits of wine-red still visible beneath hooded eyelids were positively smouldering. Slowly, the man spread his legs, pulling one knee to his chest to reveal the twitching result of Harry's ministrations. The sight itself almost pushed the teen over the edge prematurely.

''I wish to see your face when you come undone, my dear,'' the man whispered. ''I want to witness every second of your falling apart by my doing.''

Harry could not tell whether the words dripped with poison or honey. There likely was no difference when it came to this sinful, exquisite creature that clad himself in deadly charm and teeth both.

Unable to stop the chattering of his own useless teeth, Harry could take it no longer, grasping Voldemort's thin waist to stabilise himself when he pressed inside. The cold was not enough to deter him, slick tightness preventing any wilting. Harry's heart shot in his throat when the evidence of his lover's arousal, trapped between them, throbbed and twitched as he buried himself inside.

Voldemort, rather unnecessarily, didn't stop shaking him up ever further with his silver tongue either.

''Look at you,'' he purred. ''So keen to pour yourself into me when the back of your own thighs is still smeared with the evidence of my laying claim to you.'' A skeletal hand grabbed Harry's curves to yank him closer while the other wound itself into damp locks at the base of his neck. ''You're doing so well,'' he commended. A soft moan that said more than a thousand words followed.

Too much, was Harry's only, faraway thought as his vision clouded over. He drove in deeper, pretty sure his jaw hung slack from a silent scream as he became overwhelmed by the sheer all-pervasive everything that was Voldemort. His voice, his penetrating gaze, his thrice-damned magic that crept up Harry's skin to burn wherever it touched, the intensity of the muscles that spasmed and clamped down with each thrust, the mirrored sensations thrown back by Voldemort's mind…

There was no illusion which of them was in control, the Dark Lord uttering silky praise while all Harry could do was get mindlessly lost in the rut. The thread he'd been barely hanging onto snapped. A strangled cry was all he could muster as all energy that had been recovered during sleep was drained within seconds, following the bursting flow.

Icy arms caught him the instant Harry's heavy body collapsed on Voldemort's chest. ~Sssorry,~ the teen slurred, a hint of embarrassment creeping in when realising he'd been a bit selfish, pulsating hardness still prominent against his stomach. He was stopped, though, when attempting to move down to take it in his mouth.

''In a minute, if you will,'' his partner groaned, holding on tightly. ''I'd not imagined it to feel this good. What bled across our link did not compare in the slightest.'' The confession held an edge of wonder, and Harry started to suspect that the willpower his partner had employed to edge him on was waning.

Harry blinked sluggishly when the actual meaning caught up to him. ''What, have you never-'' The question sounded foolish enough mid-way not to finish it, even without the incredulous chuckle ringing in his ears. Even if Harry had unequivocally recognised that Voldemort had been the one to lead regardless of their position, someone unfamiliar might make the lethal mistake of confusing it for submission. By his knowledge, Voldemort had not slept with anyone else apart from Regulus Black more than once, and the overzealous Slytherin had been far too used to hierarchies to have even considered thinking outside the box. There would also definitely have been unsubtle diary entries about it if so…

One minute turned to three, then ten, silence descending over the room. A pleasant one: the tight knot in Harry's abdomen now loosened and Voldemort's needs apparently having been met as well since the offer to take care of him otherwise wasn't addressed again, they simply basked in metaphorical warmth.

''I finally believe you, by the way,'' Harry yawned, placing his head a bit higher to rest in the crook of his partner's neck again. Experimentally, his fingers wandered over to one of the slightly raised buds on his love's chest, the same shade of dusty white as the rest of his skin. Nudging it, the teen was pleased to find it caused a reaction. All too soon, his impudent hand was caught again and decisively moved an inch to the right. Another time, Harry avowed. When they were both in a state of ripping each other's clothes off again.

''Believe what?''

''Seven being the most powerful number.''

The quiet snort that followed his statement must have been imagination. ''You should have believed me the moment it became clear you are my seventh Horcrux.''

With a twitching smile, Harry teased: ''I don't have the same capabilities of revolving my beliefs around my own self-worth as you do.''

''The Malfoys are teaching you well. That insult was subtle enough to pass for polite at the dinner table.''

''More polite for sure than bringing up how that seventh Horcrux was you putting a piece of yourself in me and me returning that favour today.'' The mild stinging hex to his arse was a deserved response, but Harry couldn't bring himself to regret what he'd blurted out.

''This is exactly why I reconsidered reinforcing your shields as part of your birthday gifts,'' Voldemort groaned, pushing Harry away. The loss of contact did make regret settle in. Harry berated himself about priorities. ''I had graciously thought of changing them in such a way that even I could no longer intentionally hurt you… Alas, too many occasions in which you run your impertinent mouth too far.''

''Gifts?'' Harry perked up, entirely focusing on the wrong part of his partner's statement if the second stinging hex was any indication. Summoning his spare wand, Harry threateningly waved it around. ''Do that again today and I'll disarm you.''

''Oh, a challenge?'' Voldemort smirked. ''You'd never hit me, Evan.''

Harry considered that. Of course, he knew that Voldemort had both exceptional reflexes and was a master duellist. Did that mean the man couldn't be tricked, thought? He may think their link would be an advantage, but that could just as well be used to barrage the other with emotions to throw him off. Besides, Harry was by no means bad at duelling, having beaten Barty more than once, and winning against Carrow during his practical Defence O. W. L. ''We should duel, sometime,'' he suggested. ''After all your tutoring, I'm surprised we've never done so. The closest we ever got was when you ordered me to defend myself during the first necromantic ritual you showed me, and that was simply a ploy to trigger a reaction between our brother wands.''

His partner lightly scoffed. ''Our wands are the exact reason why further duels are pointless: they will not wish to fight each other and using different ones would hinder us from showing our potential. Measuring our skills in full is thus impossible. Seeing you train on your own is far more satisfying to me than duelling you myself.''

''It would have educational value, though,'' he reasoned. ''You are the only one who can go all-out: Barty's lessons are limited as he cannot risk a direct hit on me with anything but movement-inducing hexes lest my shields throw damage back at him. I don't mind using my spare wand, if must be. It might be a bit explosive at times, but overall I've gotten pretty used to that one. Please, consider it. I would love to see how our styles compare. I've heard from many different sources – both from allies and enemies - that you are a force to behold on the battlefield, which I've yet to see for myself.''

''You do not wish me to go 'all-out' on you,'' Voldemort dryly advised, rising from the bed to full height and immobilising Harry's body with a single gaze. Sharp nails glinted as the man flexed his fingers. Despite the bright light that shone through inviting windows, he looked more sinister than when he'd been but a shadow with glowing eyes in blind night. ''My curses would rip you to shreds, poison your lungs, kill you in a thousand excruciating ways without hope to escape. I am a Dark Lord, darling,'' he stressed. Unadulterated, thrumming magic gathered like smog on the palm of that claw, and when it was lowered to Harry's exposed thigh, the static was almost unbearable. His voice dropped to a stern whisper. ''You should be glad to have joined me when you did, so you never needed fight me after I reclaimed my own body.''

Harry hissed lowly, attempting very hard not to jerk his leg, holding still until the hand would be removed. Fear was a passing thing, crushed easily by want. Something must truly be wrong with him, for Voldemort was more attractive than ever.

''How could you ever rip me apart?'' he dared question, meeting a dark look that hungered differently than it had earlier. ''We're so inseparable that I am lost in you.''

There was no physical answer, energy jumping up his leg, becoming a second layer on his skin until Harry's own magic reacted to it, a silent battle of wills as of either was trying to prove a point.

''And if I tear into others?'' the Dark Lord quietly challenged. ''You know of my deeds, Evan. Have promised me that, as long as I take other possibilities into account, I need not change my ways when considering it necessary. Yet you've not seen them.''

This had all been put into words before. Harry had assured to remain faithful for eternity, regardless of past crimes or future atrocities Voldemort would commit. So what possessed the man to ask this question today? About to open his mouth to fire a scalding reply about trust, the teen stalled when a flicker of hesitation jumped out – not his own. He held his tongue, allowing his partner to put bottled-up doubts into the open.

''You were not there when I flayed Dumbledore alive, snapped every one of his brittle bones until my rage had calmed enough to stitch him back together. Neither were you present as I laid waste to the Muggles who'd acted out against their own children. What you have witnessed, so far, were all quiet affairs. Killing curses and a quick slash to the throat, no more than that. So, were I to bare my nature in your presence… would you run?''

Harry fought his instincts to deny it on impulse alone, respecting his partner enough to give the weighted question some honest thought. How had he been so blind? So caught up being overwhelmed by heavy rituals, doled-out punishment and literal murder, Harry had failed to realise how carefully Voldemort had obscured the rest. Those bits he considered too unsavoury to digest through anything other than verbal accounts. It had not been hidden completely – Voldemort had readily admitted to describing his deeds whenever asked, but the question did unpleasantly remind Harry of being most shaken by those things he'd found out on his own: witnessing a human sacrifice in the fireplace through the other's eyes while Harry was at Hogwarts, Nagini speaking of being fed living people…

This wasn't about staying or leaving, Harry recognised. They'd long established that the latter was not an option to even deem worthy of consideration anymore. No, it had been a question about whether Voldemort would keep limiting himself in Harry's presence for the sake of civil pretence. He could, was incredibly familiar with playing parts until they became just another mask to pick and wear for the day. The pressing question was whether he should, and right now, the Dark Lord offered Harry to make that choice for them both.

Would witnessing the full extent of his partner's brutality change anything? Could Harry join one of the mentioned raids on Muggle homes, knowing the Dark Lord would not hold back punishing the offenders before slaughtering them? It seemed cowardly to accept this in theory only, unable to stomach the sight if Harry were to be confronted with it.

More than one evening had been spent tossing and turning in the Gryffindor dorms, wondering whether it would be best to squash his own feelings for a man like this, before daring to entertain the notion that those feelings might one day be reciprocated.

Thoughts turned to blood-smeared walls then, and Ginny's white body lying on the floor of the Chamber as life was being sucked out of her. What the Diary-Horcrux had done did not weigh on Voldemort's shoulders, but it had been, for lack of a better term, a re-enactment of events in the man's past. That wasn't all either, the glimpses into Voldemort's mind having been accompanied by vivid memories.

''I have seen more than you think and accepted all of you, nonetheless. All of this hesitance is unfounded,'' Harry assured. ''You can stop hiding for my sake, love.''

The layer of pressing magic on his skin broke like a sheet of glass as he forcefully sat up, invisible – yet very tangible – shards hovering for a moment until transforming into something soft instead.

He let himself be pulled into Voldemort's arms once more as the man sat back down at his side, perched at the edge of the bed so Harry could rest his head on a protruding collarbone for a moment. ''You are a masochist at heart, aren't you?'' the man whispered into his ear, tension fading entirely. ''No wonder you throw yourself in danger at every available turn. I… thank you, for your honesty.''

When Voldemort stepped away, shreds of cloth appeared in thin air, draping themselves across the slender body to form wispy robes. Regrettably. ''Come, let us unwind for a bit,'' his partner spoke, a hint of relief the only remaining evidence of their heavy talk. Inspecting the rest of the suite now they were a hint less occupied with circling around each other, Voldemort opened a few cabinets and cupboards, humming when withdrawing a few bottles of what appeared to be wine. ''Morning drink to relax?'' he asked, taking a bottle in hand. ''You are not so opposed to it anymore after Ostara, are you? And if you are concerned about drinking laws again, you are now old enough to buy this yourself at licensed premises, including hotels like these.''

''I hardly need wine with you here,'' Harry pointed out, referring to the dizziness he'd feel without fail after one too many kisses that were somehow never enough. ''Don't let me stop you, though. And while you unwind, you can finally tell me more about those gifts you mentioned,'' he hinted. ''I'd not expected anything else after last night.''

''You are the one who organised this trip, I can hardly take credit for it as a present.''

''I didn't mean that, I meant…'' he trailed off awkwardly, not quite knowing how to politely put into words that he'd considered Voldemort finally giving into Harry's demands to be the only gift he'd been looking forward to.

''I enjoyed our intimacy as much as you did,'' the man nonchalantly replied as he poured himself a glass and took a seat in the very same armchair they'd committed said acts of intimacy in. ''Claiming it to be in your favour would be dishonest. No, I prepared a few other presents I thought you might enjoy. Before we were together, I gifted you small, useful trinkets. That will hardly do now, though I must admit that it was a challenge to find something suitable for one who cares little for material possessions. Rather than a singular grand gesture, I have arranged some things that may hold… sentimental value to you. If I overstepped, do not hesitate to tell me so.'' Procuring his wand, Voldemort waved at the nightstand. ''Revelio.'' The air above it shimmered and revealed a tiny, neatly wrapped parcel. ''Your first, the only one you will receive here.''

Curiosity growing – Harry's mind was still reeling about getting other presents after Voldemort had finally granted one of his most pressing wishes all night and morning - he silently took the parcel. As he pried the packaging open slowly, always careful not to imitate his cousin's rude way of ripping into the wrapping paper, he was left confused. A rather old, brass key covered in stains that had to do with age more than dirt lay nestled in a small box on top of a pillow of dark velvet. ''A key?'' he questioned. ''What does it open?''

''You reported a while ago that one of yours had gone missing. I spared no expense to scour the country for it and even returned to Nurmengard to confront Dumbledore, certain he must have taken this particular key. Alas, the fool knew nothing. Rather anticlimactically, it was found in a broken flowerpot merely a week ago. The shields on that thing took a great many hours to break. If I ever doubted your parents' prowess, I no longer do.''

Taking in that information, Harry stared at the key, understanding of what it must open dawning slowly. With his overflowing trust vault and always too much on his plate, the teen had not spent much time looking into gaining access to the main Potter vault the Goblins of Gringotts had informed him about, only taking their advice to freeze it for the time being. Regardless of who found the key, only Harry could apply to unblock the vault itself. ''Thank you. That is… thoughtful, I think. So, it was at their house? After all those years?''

Voldemort hummed, a flash of displeasure crossing their link that was not directed at Harry personally. ''The place has been… preserved. A monument to my defeat, locked in the same state of destruction it was left in after my curse backfired. They removed only the bodies, I even found a few tatters of my old robes among the rubble.''

''You do not get to be angry about that,'' Harry decisively spoke, weighing the brass in his hands. The teen only looked up to calmly meet narrowed red slits when the disgruntlement did shift its focus to rest on Harry himself. ''It is not fair in the slightest to begrudge others for wishing to remember the sacrifices people – my parents – had to make for your actions. After having admitted to the mistakes you made in a desperate hurry and fits of irrationality, you can't get mad at anyone for celebrating your demise that day and mourning the cost. I'm glad you returned, of course, but…''

''The reaction of the masses was understandable,'' Voldemort scowled, then scoffed. ''They have remembered my death fondly for long enough. You must understand that I cannot keep this monument once I rule.''

''Why not? It would be a humbling gesture.''

Giving his partner a moment to think on that, Harry finally left the cozy bed, scrunching his nose when finding yesterday's robes crumpled, dirty and ripped in places. He should have brought spares. Showering once more before putting these on would be absolutely useless.

Right as he was about to try starting to mend them to the best of his ability, dry and clean fabric wrapped itself around his torso, arms, and legs. Within seconds, he was dressed in a simple, black robe with red trims. ''Gryffindor colours?'' he questioned.

''Potter colours. Dress robes will be required for the main function, but you should represent your family during the preparations beforehand, as not only those from close circles will already be present before the official start today. With the Malfoys specifically letting you keep your own surname, it would be out of place not to. Moreover, reminding everyone that I have a Potter at my side could be humbling.''

''You're always so roundabout when it comes to admitting I'm right,'' he said with a flashing grin. ''I'll need to take these robes off again for a bit though, scouring charms can only get rid of so much evidence. I'm surprised you got dressed instantly.''

''My scouring charms are perfection,'' Voldemort assured, taking another sip of wine. ''You know I prefer bathing in the evening, if at all possible.''

''Won't there be quite a few beings with keen scent in attendance?''

''Only werewolves, today, who are all very aware of our relationship. I daresay that your smell clinging to mine is an improvement.''

''That has got to be one of the weirder compliments you've given me,'' Harry remarked with a laugh, pulling the robes over his head again.

He lingered for a moment, debating whether to approach his partner once more, when Voldemort made the decision for him. ''An eighth time is not in the cards for you today,'' he chuckled. ''Go get ready.''

Grumbling quietly, he headed into the bathroom for a shower that would hopefully serve to clean him better than the one he'd taken last night. Being joined by Voldemort hadn't made it super efficient.

Once Harry was cleaned and dressed, Voldemort pulled the teen into his lap and stroked black bangs out of the way to study the hidden curse scar. ''You have noticed the strengthening of our mental link, I presume?'' he murmured, tracing the lightning bolt. It sent shivers through Harry's body that were honestly uncomfortable.

''Yeah,'' he admitted, jerking away from the touch with a frown. ''Not only are your emotions heightened, I also feel a physical echo whenever I touch you. It lessened again now, but is definitely stronger than before today. It is not… ideal.''

''Likewise. These foreign mental feelings can be ignored, even enhanced as they are, but this type of phantom touch is too distracting.'' As he said it, a sharp nail demonstratively dug into the palm of Harry's left hand. As a result, they both winced until the pinprick from which blood welled up was swiftly healed again. ''Yet among the expected crowds, I prefer to keep an eye on you in such a capacity that shutting you out completely is not desirable either. We still have a few hours to work on finetuning mutual Occlumency barriers. That will serve us well in the future also, I imagine.''

Agreeing with his partner, Harry leaned in and closed his eyes, finding it easy to meditate when wrapped up in Voldemort's arms. There was no intruding Legilimency necessary, both so finetuned to the magic that bound their minds that it was a matter of warping their own barriers through trial-and-error with direct, comparable results. The next hour was spent in a strange state of experimenting with their link while pleasantly cuddling at the same time – which Voldemort would never refer to anything other than 'embracing' to Harry's endless mirth.

After having found a good middle-ground and spending what was left of the morning locked in animated discussions about whichever topic struck their fancy, it was at last time to return to England. Side-apparition remained disagreeable with his stomach as always. Before Harry could even gather his bearings, he was presented with the second gift. Or better said, the second gift swooped down with agitated hooting and started preening unruly hair.

''Hedwig! Yes- yes I know girl, missed you too,'' he widely smiled, uncaring about the wings she wildly slapped into his face or the talons that painfully dug into his shoulder, too occupied trying to pet her beautiful feathers. ''You got Hedwig out!'' he exclaimed in delight.

''You make it sound as if Severus was holding her hostage.''

''Might as well have. I wrote him, you know, asking to send her over. His reply was 'your snowy owl is far too noticeable to send away from Hogwarts, we cannot risk tracking.' Ridiculous, since it's the summer holidays and I doubt the Aurors search the Owlery and Hogwarts grounds for Hedwig during each routine inspection, but even asking Lucius to change the git's mind didn't work this time around. How did you convince him?''

Voldemort arched a thin eyebrow. ''Convince? I told him to send her to me. My word was enough.''

''That bloody bastard,'' Harry muttered, then was far too distracted again with petting his friend. ''You'll get so many treats to make up for lost time,'' he promised. ''I hope you'll get along with Fawkes and don't mind sharing a room. Hey, Voldemort, would you like to pet her too? I know that she stayed at the house before, but you didn't interact with her much and we weren't together then so...''

''It's a bird.''

''And Nagini is a snake. Your point?'' he snapped.

Obviously obliging only to do Harry a favour, the Dark Lord graciously stretched out his hand. Hedwig screeched and fluffed up her wings in a flash, beak snapping at air a hair's breadth away from elongated fingers.

Amber and scarlet locked in a furious, unblinking stare. A threatening hiss escaped thin lips. ''Your bird harbours a dislike to me.''

''Oh... well-'' Harry said, clearing his throat as he attempted to calm his companion down, scratching the feathers on her chest and making a few shushing noises before pointing out: ''You did kind of lock her into the attic for a while. Also, Hedwig has much better taste in people than I do.''

To preventively avoid any more hexes being cast for his cheek, Harry practically ran down the garden path, Hedwig silently soaring alongside him, not even perturbed by the cloud of fairies that buzzed up from the bushes. He was still laughing after practically barrelling through the front door. Before Voldemort caught up to say his piece, the door to the living room was thrown open, revealing a grinning Sirius. ''Hah, I knew it! No-one else in this sombre house is crazy enough to be this cheery other than my most precious godson!''

''Not true at all,'' he protested. ''Barty spreads plenty of cheer. Also, it's at least ten times less gloomy than your own house.''

''Touché'' Sirius winced, opening his arms for Harry to rush into. ''I'm glad you returned safely, pup,'' he whispered, hug a little too tight. Hedwig landed on the man's shoulder now, just as affectionate as she'd been with Harry. Seemed like those two got along swell.

Behind them, a cold voice cut in: ''Is there any reason at all why you assumed he would not?''

''For once, none to do with you,'' Sirius replied while refusing to let go of Harry. ''And all to do with the fact that Harry refused to tell me anything besides that he was going on an 'overnight trip abroad'. Which would have been fine, had Hermione not suddenly revealed this trip to involve catacombs. Was this a Necromancy field trip or what?''

''Errr… partially?'' Harry confessed. ''Don't look at him like that, I picked the location this time. Wait… when did you talk to 'Mione?''

Sirius sighed, at last releasing him to stressfully run a hand through elbow-length hair that was starting to show hints of grey. ''You'll be the death of me. Again. Come on in, everyone's been waiting for you.''

The last sight he'd been expecting greeted Harry: the stylish yet sparsely decorated dining room of Riddle House transformed with colourful garlands and bright lights. A fresh vase of flowers had been placed next to a replica of the dessert cake he'd once tasted at Malfoy manor and gotten into a fight with Amycus Carrow over. There was no need to ask who'd baked it. Despite the room being filled with many familiar faces, only one person other than Harry knew their way around a kitchen well enough to create such delicious treats.

He could barely utter yet another word of thanks to his partner – really, the amount of gifts was getting ridiculous – before lost in hugs and well-wishes from friends and family. The Malfoys primly sitting next to Hermione was just as funny a sight as Fleur looking entirely out of place in a dress of flowing green silk beside Ron wearing a hoodie and ripped jeans that he must have dug out of Sirius' wardrobe. Harry was ecstatic Hermione had been able to make it – she could only leave Bulgaria without her boyfriend worrying too much when those travels were under the guise of charity work, and with Fleur's guaranteed protection. Maybe that was the reason behind Fleur's presence. Harry did consider her a friend, but they were not exactly close in day-to-day life.

''Happy birthday, Evan,'' Barty smiled fondly. ''I know you said 'no elaborate party, but I promise that Black had no say in a single aspect of it, so it should be glitter-free. Our Lord mentioned you'd return right before lunch, giving us a small window of time before we have to delve into preparations.''

A bit overwhelmed by the attention, Harry wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do. Part of why he'd declined both Sirius' and Narcissa's offer to organise a party was that he'd never had one before. Not like this, with a gathering of people whose focus lay solely on him.

Any birthday before starting Hogwarts had gone ignored until Hagrid had showed up at midnight, wet from the storm with a flattened cake. The two birthdays after that had been spent at the Dursleys again with cards and packages the only reminder, and the two after that had been shoved aside due to Lughnasadh. His first shared birthday dinner had been at a Muggle pizzeria with Barty a day early, and last year's trip to France had been a day late and combined with business besides. It felt… strange, for all eyes to be on him when Harry's hadn't accomplished anything besides continuing to live another year.

The connection he shared with his partner was a life-saver now, as Voldemort took the lead upon sensing discomfort, catching his hand to guide Harry onto the chair to the man's left. The cake was magically divided and distributed without a single spell being uttered. ''You may pay tribute now,'' Voldemort stated on a tone that allowed no objections. Head surely resembling a tomato, Harry was soon fumbling with more wrapping paper as one present after another was handed over: a book on the significance of holly wands, magical and Muggle sweets, new - thankfully blue - dress robes, an enchanted razor, a wand holster like the one Carrow had used and Harry had expressed an interest in, and even a Foe-glass from his godfather.

''That's- wow. That's a lot,'' he stammered, flattered and more than ready to sprint out of the door.

Sirius reached across the table to pat his hand. ''Only the best for you, Harry.'' His eyes flickered to Voldemort for a brief moment. ''One thing we agree on, at least. So, enough silent suffering from you now. Tell us all about your trip.''

Since only Fleur, one of the least judgemental people he knew, had so far remained unaware of Harry's study of necromantic magic, he had no problem describing their descent into the catacombs, including the Inferi experiments. The others listened with rapt attention as he spoke not only of the Muggle artefacts and art they'd come across, but also the small army they'd raised on the way. He was quick to gloss over their departure, though.

''That is so fascinating,'' Hermione sighed. ''Walking amidst history while recalling people of the past - literally. I must admit that I was worried about your timing. There were reports in the Muggle news this very morning about recent earthquakes in that area. Viktor finally got me a television, you know,'' she added in afterthought.

''Earthquakes?'' he frowned, not remembering anything of the sort.

''Nothing severe, no-one was injured or anything, but it made the news due to the quakes lasting so long and a national monument being involved. The catacombs themselves apparently took some damage, so I was concerned you might have gotten stuck. Well, I suppose you were already gone by that point, it started right around midnight-'' Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, trying very hard not to make a scene, ''-leading to some local old wives' tales about angry spirits being dug up again. Harry, are you alright?''

''Those tales of spirits are true, Ms Granger,'' Voldemort smoothly came to the rescue. ''We had to abandon our search as one came rather close. I am not certain yet what type of spirit we were dealing with, so I'll have to do more research before we return. I'm afraid we may indeed have angered it.''

''What did you do to piss of a ghost?'' Ron loudly asked, earning a cold smile and a few reprimanding stares for the crude language.

''We may have caused a few earthquakes around midnight.''

''Voldemort!'' Harry hissed. ~There's no need to sound so suggestive about it!~

~I left the cause to their imagination. If anything raises suspicion, it is your reaction. Not to mention that we did not discuss keeping this a secret, did we?~ Harry blinked at the ooze of annoyance, magic prickling on the back of his neck.

He rubbed the spot in discomfort. ~That's no reason for pushing anyone's nose on it with innuendos. Look, I'll agree to inform Sirius in private so he won't fly at your throat when catching on for 'ruining my innocence' or whatever, and you might want to do the same with Barty as he's so damned protective, but neither the Malfoys nor my friends have any business being privy to what we do in the bedroom.~

He refused to back down from the piercing stare until his partner conceded. ''Agreed,'' Voldemort spoke at last, switching to English. ''Enough about vengeful spirits now. Barty, have there been any difficulties in Scilly? Did the dimension remain fully stable? It's the first without a physical entrance, after all.''

''All well so far, my Lord,'' the Death Eater reported, allowing Harry a reprieve to concentrate on his delicious birthday cake. Tactfully, no-one mentioned his outburst in Parseltongue, although Sirius' narrowed eyes were already telling he hadn't heard the last of it. Not knowing when else to unpack this – especially with Sirius' habit of causing scenes during large events that had led to the man being thrown out of not one, but two of them – he'd have to address this before leaving, Harry nervously concluded. To put the conversation off by at least a bit, he gathered the courage to step over his own hesitance surrounding birthdays and asked about Hermione's and Fleur's project.

Clearly glad to be involved in a conversation, both of them were quick to summarise their work, going into detail on efforts to reach more Muggle-borns. By use of polls in the newspaper – a tool Voldemort too had used to collect data – they were quickly gathering more information about the general opinion on topics Hermione, Fleur and Auror Odell cared about.

As soon as Harry got comfortable with this discussion, the atmosphere became more relaxed in general and soon, the dining room was filled with homely chattering. Narcissa convinced him to try on the new dress robes ' just in case they didn't quite fit' and Sirius had a blast weaving – with permission - some of the cornflowers and salvia Harry had received into a makeshift crown. ''Better than a boutonniere,'' Harry remarked as he finally relented to it being put on his head, throwing a pointed glance at his snickering brother. ''Although I doubt I can wear this at Lughnasadh.''

''Might make for a good photo though,'' Barty threw in, having wrapped up his discussion with Voldemort. ''Granger, did you bring – ah, perfect,'' the blond smirked as Hermione waved a rather old-fashioned camera around that looked like an identical copy of Creevey's. Turning to Harry again, the grin faded into a gentler smile. ''We never got an opportunity for that family portrait we talked about. Everyone's here now, so if you want…''

Throat suddenly blocked, Harry stared at the camera, with difficulty managing to nod.

Despite Barty's claims about family portraits though, it quickly became clear that the usually so confident Death Eater turned nervous whenever anyone dared move the camera in the vague direction of his Lord. Barty claimed the thing quickly to crown himself designated photographer and instead captured the other guests with Harry from various angles. Although Voldemort had not said anything for or against being eternalised in a photo, there seemed to be one of those unspoken rules hanging in the air. Harry recalled the newspaper clippings at Grimmauld Place, the only pictures of Voldemort ever taken being blurry and from a distance. Mentally reaching out, he prodded to see whether the man was annoyed at these antics or showed any dislike towards the camera in particular.

Although he was met with general discomfort, Harry figured from the other, outward signs of tenseness and miniscule movements of his partner's head and narrowing of red eyes that this was primarily caused by the noise and lights. Since Barty clearly wasn't brave enough to ask – what could one expect from a non-Gryffindor – Harry extracted himself from Narcissa's and Sirius' arms once sufficient shots had been taken for the 'Black family portrait' and approached his love.

There was no need to be nervous, Harry told himself as he shoved all nerves in a deep corner to worry about later.

''Hey… would you mind taking one with me?'' the teen asked with a surprisingly confident tone that he was mildly proud of. The sudden wish to have a picture of the two of them hanging in the bedroom was too strong not to chase.

~I have avoided being photographed since graduating Hogwarts, for fear of the unknown is always greater than the known,~ Voldemort replied, creases appearing in his forehead as he reached up and carefully righted the flowers in Harry's hair. All the hugging and pulling had made the already instable piece break apart. ~However, I imagine that anyone who reaches this house has either already met me in person or will die soon after. As long as you vow not to spread it, I would not be averse to taking a photo with you, darling.~

The fluttering in his stomach was very convincing, so he hastily replied: ~I promise.~

It was likely the stiffest photo out of all that were taken today, and yet Harry could feel his face hurt the most from his own smile as he stood next to his partner, one arm wrapped loosely around the man's waist while Voldemort gripped Harry's shoulder. Barty looked slightly awed at the sight himself before pressing the button.

''Bartemius,'' Voldemort spoke right after in his usual demanding tone, and Harry was glad the camera was fastened around Barty's neck with a strap, as it fell out of fumbling fingers. Understandable, as Voldemort had made a habit out of shortening his name since granting the title of Right Hand. ''Fetch Nagini, would you?''

The blond only made a face on his way out, once Voldemort was no longer paying attention to him. Had they been alone, Harry would have tried to elbow his partner in the ribs for treating Barty so coldly. Now, he only said: ~Don't bring his mood down so much, please. It's nice seeing him have so much fun.~

Voldemort threw him a noncomprehensive look. ~I merely told him to bring me Nagini. Politely.~

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Harry leaned his back against Voldemort's chest as they waited. This was not the time to start arguing, nor did he want to. Predictably, the others' mood had dampened somewhat too, the talking growing quieter with Harry's guardians whispering to each other while Sirius tried to show Ron some new trading cards that had just been released.

The Dark Lord's restlessness was smoothed somewhat when he could drape Nagini across his shoulders. ''Granger, you know how to operate this device as well, do you not?'' he inquired, motioning towards the camera that still hung around Barty's neck. At her hesitant nod, he gestured for the thing to be passed into Hermione's capable hands.

Before Harry could question what Voldemort had in mind, he was pulled to his partner's left side again and kept there by a hand that might as well have belonged to an unmoving, marble statue. Nagini hissed a quick hello before slithering further across Harry, her head coming to a rest right on top of his own. She didn't appear interested in the reason why she'd been brought downstairs, content to hang out with her favourite people.

''Now, Bartemius, stand to my right, where you belong. Straighten your spine, boy,'' Voldemort added. ''Ms Granger, if you will?''

For the sake of not messing up the photo, Harry stayed entirely still, even if every fibre in his being was screaming to peek around his partner's chest just to catch Barty's expression. He'd see once the photograph got developed, in all the moving glory that came with magical pictures.

''Thank you,'' Harry whispered once this last photo session was over with and Barty had pulled a chair out to sit down, knees clearly too wobbly from excitement to keep standing. The Death Eater didn't need to say anything to convey the gratitude written all over his face. He was gripping his left arm as if his life depended on it.

As all good things must come to an end, so did the lunch party, sooner than it should. Harry's high-spirited buzz quickly sobered, as he'd not been allowed to forget the upcoming talk with Sirius due to all the unsubtle glances and frowns burning into Voldemort's hands whenever they touched Harry in any capacity.

Dreading the worst, he pulled his godfather aside right before leaving for the Scilly Islands to prepare the larger celebration to come, and for good measure, hastily cast a privacy ward. In case Sirius flipped out completely, he'd rather not the whole house be included in their shouting match.

''I'm not going to like this, am I?'' Sirius asked, hopping nervously from one foot to the other.

There was neither time nor incentive to beat around the bush. ''No,'' Harry thus straightforwardly admitted. ''Look, I turned sixteen today, and Voldemort and I are very much committed. I want him in every single way you likely do not want to imagine, and he finally let me. If that is going to be a problem, it might be better if you stay home today, because I'm not risking another public outburst. I hate memory modification.''

Sirius puffed up his cheeks and let air escape slowly, right hand twitching yet never quite reaching the handle of his wand. ''Didn't you complain about him being prudish just a couple of months ago?'' he accused, expression twisted into a strange grimace that mirrored Harry's own. Necessary or not to avoid worse happening, this was one conversation he would have preferred to never have.

''We'd not exactly planned to live together quite so soon afterwards. Spending months under one roof solidified our relationship with unexpected speed. Now I'm legally old enough, I told Voldemort in no uncertain terms that he'd better stop holding back.'' When his godfather did not reply, Harry grabbed an immobile hand. ''Siri, I'm never going to change my mind about him. You cannot fathom how important he is to me. Please, he makes me… happier than I've ever been.''

''I know that,'' his godfather rasped, squeezing back and raising their entwined hands to the centre of his chest. ''Kiddo, ever since you brought me back- no, that isn't true,'' he broke off, pressing his eyes close. ''Ever since I fully accepted what happened to me, since we experimented with the limits of the control you can employ over me, I can feel when you're unhappy, at least when we're both in the same place. It started as an itch, growing over time to become an urging need to improve your mood whenever you're down. I… I never feel it when he's around. Maybe counterproductively, it has led me to resent him more, for making you happy without needing to try at all. I'm sorry, I know that isn't fair. Here I go on and on about putting nothing above your well-being, and then I let personal dislike get in the way.''

Circling conversations and the 'two steps forward, one step back' approach was so typical when speaking to Sirius that it hardly came as a shock that trying to briefly inform his godfather about last night somehow turned into a debate. Although the others who were waiting for them were bound to get impatient, leaving these things unresolved never ended well.

''It isn't true that he puts in no work,'' Harry contended. ''That you don't see it as he prefers to keep our arguments private doesn't mean Voldemort hasn't gone above and beyond my expectations. When I first let slip that I would pick his side, politically speaking… you warned me about bloodthirst, lies and ideologies that only led to hate. Had you ever imagined, then, that you'd witness a party in his own house with a mixed bunch of Pure-bloods, Muggle-borns, beings and blood-traitors?''

A few creases in Sirius' weathered forehead smoothed over, an excellent sign. He pushed on: ''We've come a long, long way. Yes, not everything is perfect, and I can't promise we'll ever live in a utopia, but seeing him try so hard to be human made me fall in love with him in the first place. The reason why it appears so effortless is because Voldemort can read me well enough to meet my wishes before I can even think to ask – provided he isn't being particularly stubborn or a conflict of interests arises. Every date he took me on was organised to cater to my needs, from high-speed Thestral flight to enjoying the ocean. All of that combined is what makes it look as if I'm 'automatically' happy whenever he's home.''

Sirius mulled his passionate speech over in silence, lowering their hands without breaking contact. ''You'll marry him, won't you?'' his godfather asked, a faraway look in his eyes that had Harry checking twice whether the man was getting lost in foggy memories again.

''We've already agreed on it,'' he divulged with thumping heart. The only one he'd talked to about their engagement so far had been Hermione, who wouldn't look at it through the lens of Pure-blood regulations.

''Per contract?''

He mutedly denied it with a shake of his head, unable to gauge whether the question had been disapproving or not. ''We only agreed on it vocally, among ourselves. He doesn't want Lucius or Narcissa to get official say over our relationship, or to somehow hold power over him if he were to become their son-in-law through technicalities. Once I'm of age, I am only bound to the Malfoy family through social, not legal matters. We'll make it official then. I agreed with that decision, by the way. For slightly different reasons, but I too am not fond of being entangled in contracts.''

With atypical caution, Sirius recommended: ''Best not allude too much to your… recent developments when they're within hearing range in that case. Though unlikely with one of them a marked Death Eater, they could use archaic loopholes about purity to enforce a marriage.'' When Harry blanched in response, his godfather frantically waved his hands. ''Rules that are complete and utter bull in my opinion,'' he reassured. ''I wasn't too thrilled about you going at it so young, but sleeping with anyone has no bearing on worth or integrity like my old folks used to believe. You could screw half of Hogwarts and I still wouldn't-''

''Siri,'' he exclaimed, trying to get the blabbering to stop with a dull stomping to the man's arm. ''That is all completely beside the point. Can you remain civil around Voldemort or not? I really need an answer here, we should have left five minutes ago.''

If there'd been pebbles lying around, Sirius might have spent half an hour miserably kicking one, judging by his downtrodden expression. Already half expecting a negative outcome, Harry was surprised and carefully delighted when the man grumbled: ''S'not as if you haven't shared a bedroom for months, is it? Something was bound to happen eventually. Just… just don't let yourself be pressured into anything you're uncomfortable with, alright kiddo? I don't really know how it is between guys but- maybe for starters only agree to do stuff he's comfortable returning just the same-''

The mumbled half-hearted attempt at advice was worse than the entire rest of their talk. Rooted to the spot, undecided between hysteric laughter and sinking into the ground, Harry grasped for his usual weapon of choice in awkward situations:

''You should direct this speech at Voldemort, he is the one still sporting bite marks on his chest.''

A vicious tongue that lashed Sirius into stunned silence at last.

XxX

The mesmerising view of azure sky being reflected in a crystal-clear ocean and the sun burning down on a gleaming, waving grain field was so unlike what she'd imagined to find in this top secret location for a celebration by and for dark mages, that Ginny had to blink a few times to figure it wasn't an illusion. The impatient flock of confunded Slytherins-in-the-making - all younger cousins of Pansy - bumping her in passing as they rushed into the tall, rustling stalks was painful enough that pinching herself was made redundant. She staggered, a gust of briny wind tousling her hair in just the wrong moment, whipping it into her eyes. It took much willpower to remember she was supposed to act posh and not swear like a sailor upon catching herself.

An arm hooked into hers to drag Ginny off to the side, straight through a patch of wheat with ears so heavy that they hung low, a highly artificial shine to each individual grain as if prepared specifically for advertising freshly baked loaves of bread. ''Don't gawk and stumble like a buffoonish Muggle,'' Pansy hissed into her ear. ''We have to clear the arrival spot, there's precise timing involved in Portkeys to such spectacular events. Not that I'd expect you to know that.''

Ginny was the last person on earth who would have convinced herself that collaborating with Pansy Parkinson, gossip snob and two-faced snake, would go smoothly or end well. The latter was still up for debate, but impressively, every step of this outlandish plan had gone exactly as predicted, from giving Eloise Parkinson a powerful sleeping draught before erasing her memories of the day – where had Pansy learnt to obliviate people? – to perfecting the disguise using a mixture of products from the Twins, old-fashioned Muggle make-up and a few touches of magical beauty spells that bordered on glamours - apparently all the rage in Slytherin nowadays. A de-aging potion had done the rest to make Ginny look five years younger than she truly was.

Half the work had been dodging Fred's questions, inquisitive and looking for trouble as he always was. Thankfully George was too busy wooing his girlfriend, for they might not have escaped an interrogation from both of the twins. As it was, Fred may not have fully believed the spun story about trashing a Pure-blood party for the fun of it and Parkinson being bored enough to help, but had been on board enough to promise covering for her this evening.

All in all, their combined efforts paying off was more than worth suffering through the whispered bragging that ended only when Pansy found and claimed an empty table off to the side of the small isle. All around the edge of it, circling the field, stones had been raised and flattened, far too clean or polished to be natural. The grey surfaces were speckled with white fossils, which would have fascinated Ginny for hours on any other day.

''Remember,'' Pansy mumbled, subtly looking left and right to ensure no-one was listening in. ''Head down and don't talk to anyone if not spoken to. Avoid any of my cousins: when the Confundus charms wear off, they might realise your features differ from Eloise's. Also, if my uncle, aunt or any other close family members approach you due to looking alike, what do you say?''

''That it's simply an amazing coincidence, as I'm a Half-blood whose mother was a De Montmorency,'' Ginny rattled off absentmindedly, more concerned with scanning the crowd while furiously wiping unruly strands out of her face. The wig's thick hair was annoying, she noted, and promptly decided to dye her own next time around, plus give Fred some feedback on the quality. Trying to recall more of the details Pansy had tried to drill into her head during the past hours, Ginny said: ''I've only been invited due to mum's family having political ties to both Britain and France and don't have my own Portkey because I'm a minor and arrived with family friends. You really think anyone is going to look at a supposed 10-year-old with scrutiny to ask questions like that?''

Pansy shrugged her right shoulder. ''Eloise's parents might until I can get them off your back by explaining she didn't feel well and made a last-minute decision not to come. I haven't spotted them yet, though.''

She could believe that easily, as the number of people who attended this celebration far outnumbered Ginny's prior estimations. The flat island was as crowded as the Great Hall during dinner, as if all of Hogwarts was taking a field trip. The amount of little kids was overwhelming too. Hopefully that meant no gruesome magic would be displayed here... Ginny wasn't entirely sure what dark mages did in their free time. ''And you're sure they won't up and leave to take care of their sick daughter?'' she asked, concerned about her cover being blown before being able to get any decent insider info.

Parkinson looked exasperated. ''No-one can leave unannounced. See that shimmering in the air? We're behind tight wards, Eloise. Oh- my parents. I'll go greet them for a moment. Hold this table, will you?''

Before Ginny could tear her eyes away from the faintly glittering sky above – as if a giant soap bubble domed the round, rocky isle - Pansy had slipped away, leaving her all alone in a nest of snakes. That was her presumption at least, always having been told that it was rare for anyone other than Slytherins to turn to dark magic. It had seemed true enough at Hogwarts, with most prominent Pure-bloods from families who put worth in old traditions being sorted into that House. Using her vantage point at the side, Ginny observed everyone who walked past or appeared in the designated Portkey spots. She recognised very few faces, and those only from school or vaguely from busy shopping trips in Diagon Alley: parents of some of her peers, most likely. She imagined that her own family's associates and the likes that attended today's celebration would be two very separate circles without any sort of overlap if put in a diagram.

Ginny, Pansy and the girl's younger cousins seemed to have been some of the last to get here, as within minutes, the new arrivals stopped altogether. She wondered how exactly the Portkey timing had been set up – half a minute apart? Theirs had been set for 18:37, which she'd considered an odd time until realising just how many guests had been invited. Wasn't this supposed to be a private event? Just how many worshipped the old ways still, enough to be included in a celebration sequestered somewhere far out in the ocean and behind wards to avoid being noticed?

Slowly, the majority started moving further away, all seeming drawn to the other end, a mass gathering about a hundred yards away. The longer Pansy did not return, the more Ginny felt exposed, sticking out like a sore thumb as one of the few who lingered at the entrance. Had the other girl been caught up in conversation? Were her parents not letting her go? Or – and a chill went down her spine at the thought – had Pansy made all of this talk of Harry up because she thought it would be funny to drop an unsuspecting Weasley among those who were of the opinion that blood-traitors might as well die?

No, Ginny sternly reprimanded herself, keeping a cool head. There'd been something the Slytherin Prefect had wanted in return, and Pansy wouldn't risk the ire of the entire D. A. next year by endangering one of their own.

Whatever the reason behind the other's disappearance, Ginny was alone now and needed to fit in to avoid uncomfortable questions. Both fake background stories were rather transparent if anyone were to pry for details. Posing as a little child too young to attend Hogwarts or use magic came with the added drawback of it being unusual to loiter around on her own.

Pretending to belong, the daring Gryffindor closely followed one of the last cliques of adults who headed into the golden field, heading straight ahead with confident strides. The plants must have been grown with magic, as the sturdy grain sprung up as soon as the group had passed, rather than remaining pitifully trampled as it should have. It made sense, she supposed; the rocky, saline soil was hardly fit for growing anything naturally other than patches of stringy grass and moss. She'd never heard of spells that could grow food so efficiently on barren rock though. It was an impressive feat. Mum sometimes even had trouble keeping their vegetable patch alive, and their garden was pretty fit for the planted crops.

Before those she'd followed noticed their additional shadow, Ginny wandered off to the side, entering the crowd they'd reached. She caught snippets of conversation in passing that were quickly disregarded as being of little importance: hushed speculations about a harvest ritual, bragging about tributes and one mundane grumpy complaint of 'when will food be served' that was shushed instantly. Interestingly, she didn't need to try very hard to push to the front, for as soon as the surrounding adults saw her smaller form, they'd make space or help her move along. It funnily reminded of a trip to the petting zoo, where her elders would always ensure the children could get up closest to the fences. It made Ginny all the more curious to see what lay beyond the last row of gathered people. What could be so spectacular that they'd all flocked to this spot?

Ducking underneath someone's elbow, she came face to face with the answer – and instantly wished to have remained ignorant.

Beyond a low stone altar overflowing with all kinds of obscure items that she hardly paid attention to, was a large rock hewn into the shape of a throne. On it sat something both barely human and painfully recognizable. A grotesque caricature of how one Tom Riddle had once looked.

Lord Voldemort was clad in long, flowing robes that covered all but skeletal hands and a strange, serpentine face that still held an echo of familiar angles. Breath arrested in her lungs, wide brown eyes roved with growing horror over the adult version of the boy she'd once poured her soul into in exchange for a few kind lies. Around his shoulders curled a live constrictor in mimicry of the Basilisk Tom had commanded to terrorise Hogwarts. It struck her that this must be the same beast that had almost cost her father his life before last Christmas.

Her gaze halted at the bleeding red, calculated stare with which he monitored the crowd. It served as a double shock, for while Tom's eyes back then had been a dark green, Ginny's own had been coloured the very same shade of scarlet whenever she'd glanced at her reflection when being forced to commit atrocities in Tom's name. The fiery, brutal essence of the Dark Lord finally lay out in the open for all to see, no longer hidden behind a layer of innocent charm.

And yet…

Here he sat, placed on a throne as hundreds gathered at his feet, craning their necks to see him.

Ginny attempted to retreat, but the same 'kindness' that had eased her way through the masses to a spot in the very front lines now hindered her escape, hands pushing the teen back in place. As growing panic could not erase her primal instinct not to get noticed by the dangerous predator perched in front of her, she halted the efforts, ducking low in desperate hope that the altar would serve both as a physical and visual buffer. Sweat turned her hands clammy, and Ginny dearly hoped that the Dark Lord would soon feel worshipped enough to let them all disperse once more.

The wall built up higher – spell bottles, food, wine, and the various results of magical craftwork being added, each time accompanied by a prayer to magic on high. Considering everyone's position here, she could not help but feel they were offering it not to magic, but directly to their Lord. No sooner had she thought it, did the masses part to allow two people to step in front, a man and a woman who appeared to be holding something invisible.

''My Lord!'' the woman eagerly spoke, gripping the air between her and the other. ''We have brought a sacrifice perhaps too large for the altar…''

The imposing man finally moved more than only his eyes, coming to life by slowly leaning forward. His voice, too, sounded so much like Tom that Ginny grappled with reality as Lord Voldemort quietly declared: ''The purpose of Lughnasadh is to seek modesty as we bask in the fruits granted to us by our god, Mrs Scabior. Why should the tribute you bring receive more attention than that of another and not become a silent part of the community offering to Magic?''

Words and tone alike held a warning to cease making a spectacle and bow with the rest. Mrs Scabior did not appear to get the hint, or perhaps did not wish to, for she only doubled down: ''Devoted as we are, my husband and I decided to procure only the best for you, my Lord.'' As if this had been a practised signal, her husband grasped a handful of something and tugged. Where only air had been before, a form was revealed as an invisibility cloak slowly slid away:

A boy. A young boy wearing decidedly Muggle clothing, limbs stiff and frightened eyes wide as he was caught in the hold of a body-bind charm. A scream worked up her throat, only halted because Ginny felt just as frozen.

''My Lord,'' Mr Scabior now spoke, raspy deep voice oozing smugness. ''Craft and crops are all well and good, but is it not the blood of our enemies spilling across the land that nourishes us? For a successful harvest, all must die first. The fields must be burned for anything to rise from its ashes during the next cycle.''

The muttering that rose all around was akin the buzzing of a hornet swarm. The hands that had guided a child in their midst were now readying to wrap around the throat of another, for no other reason than that this poor Muggle did not possess magic. Light-headed, Ginny furiously prayed all of this was but an awful dream, that she'd not be forced to witness this. Wands were already being drawn, pointed at the petrified boy…

''Did you raise this Muggle?'' a sharp voice cut through the fog of dread. Ginny instinctually winced, used to this harsh tone from whenever Tom had been discontented with her struggling.

''W-what?''

''Were you the one who raised it, nourished it? Where did you acquire this boy?''

The Scabiors exchanged confused glances. ''We- we wished to bring a fresh sacrifice, my Lord. This one we took from the wild.''

Dreaded seconds of silence passed. The serpent slithered across his arms, its forked tongue tasting the air. When a displeased hiss silenced every stray whisper, Ginny was unsure whether it was man or animal who'd uttered it. ''It would hardly be the blood of your labour then. If you have not planted the seed, nor watched it grow nor tended to it, it is not yours to reap. You have greatly misunderstood my teachings if you believe capturing a Muggle off the streets is appropriate.'' The two looked as if having been slapped, falling to their knees as the Dark Lord pushed himself up from his throne and stepped forward. He looked down with the same disdain Ginny had received when she'd collapsed on the cold, wet floor of the Chamber of Secrets.

Sharp teeth showed as the Dark Lord grasped the Muggle's chin, forcing the child to look at him. ''The only worth Muggles have as sacrifices is their rare understanding of death. Samhain. Yule. Those are the only tides where the ritualistic slaughter of the magicless is suitable, and even then, you may never – never - bring me one whose life has more potential to us than their death would. Do you understand?''

Going by their questioning gazes, they did not. To be truthful, neither could Ginny figure out what Tom was attempting to convey. Had he not wished to cleanse Hogwarts from the unworthy just for the sake of upholding Slytherin's prejudices? Why would he care about the lives of Muggles if his aim was to eradicate the impure? Had it not been his goal to strike down every Muggle in his path during the war?

''He's terrified,'' another voice ended the tense silence, one Ginny had not believed to hear today despite Pansy's claims. Breaking through the lines of dark mages, throwing an obliterating stare at the cowering Scabiors, was Harry. Following closely on his heels: a red-in-the-face, angry Hermione. The presence of the latter possibly was even more alarming, and if Ginny hadn't been so busy trying not to draw attention to herself, she'd have disbelievingly rubbed her eyes and checked a few more times whether this truly wasn't all a highly-convincing dream.

Harry crossed his arms and scowled. ''You don't need to traumatise this child a second longer for the purpose of launching into lectures. I'm sure they can be taught manners after he's been sent back.''

''Sent back?'' Tom asked, carefully neutral, letting go of his hold to turn to Harry instead. ''His death may not serve as a sacrifice to magic – that would rather defeat the purpose of our celebration today - yet I have not made a final decision on his fate. After all, curious eyes have seen far more than they should.''

Oddly, Harry grasped the front of his robes, expression twisting into something pained. ''You would do well to sate you thirst on those who deserve it,'' he advised, seemingly undeterred. While unaware what was meant, Ginny understood very well that the tone alone was dangerously crossing the line of open defiance. A sweaty hand reached for the hidden handle of her wand to defend her friend if necessary, for whatever reason Harry had for being here – he'd not changed. Had not been influenced. Could not be, head and voice raised with as much rebellion as shown towards Umbridge on the day he'd left Hogwarts.

Tom's reaction was… exceptionally strange. Whereas she'd expected curses to start flying to subdue Harry into silence, a beguiling smile slid onto his face. ''Perhaps some decisions are best made after receiving the advice of experts?'' he mused, circling around the frozen Muggle to place himself well into Harry's personal space, although the extended hand came to rest in front of Hermione instead, who eyed the Dark Lord with a healthy amount of wariness. ''Ms Granger here-'' he spoke, loud enough for everyone to hear. ''- is considered the brightest witch of her age. She also happens to be Muggle-born.''

''Voldemort-'' an annoyed Harry growled, though it was quickly drowned out by jeers and heckles. More than one person in her immediate vicinity took slurs in their mouth that made Ginny wish to try out a few punches. Hermione took it all in stride, balled fists her sole reaction.

''Ah-'' the man continued, letting his eyes sweep across the muttering crowd. ''So much prejudice I hear. If this is an attempt to appease me, you may do well to remain silent. I have put Ms Granger to the test myself and found the title… fitting. Under my personal watch, she received no less than ten Outstandings on all ten subjects taken in the O. W. L. exams, using spells few who have long graduated can ever hope to grasp the basics of. It has earned a base level of respect.''

Ginny was not the only one at a loss for words, surely. Tom always had been good at this, controlling others and changing the situation entirely with just a couple of well-placed words. What could have been a powerful, angry mob had been tamed into a herd of wide-eyed deer so fast it wasn't even funny. In fact, just Harry dared still speak, though to her discomfort, she could not understand the words he rasped and hissed in quick succession. Tom ignored the tirade entirely, focused on Hermione. ''You have read and judged all proposals for future legislations concerning the magicless, Granger. Keeping that in mind, what is your advice in this situation?''

The thought occurred that it was rather absurd that the Dark Lord himself seemed to actually consider the words of two sixteen-year-old drop-outs. Whatever for, Ginny did seem to be the only person who found this strange, for everyone else now merely looked at Hermione and Harry with interest, all contempt melted away in seconds. Was this the result of true power?

Hermione looked at the Dark Lord as if they regularly met up for tea, steady and calm. As calculating as Tom was. Astonishingly, it appeared that their respect went both ways. ''It depends on how long ago he has been captured and whether a missing person report has been filed with Muggle authorities.''

Next to her, Harry looked alarmed, sputtering: ''Hold on- Hermione-'' only to be silenced when she grabbed his hand. He leaned back to dubiously stare at her.

''Memory locks can be broken, but only using specialised spells. There is no reason to believe the Ministry of Magic abducts random Muggles across the country to check for false or missing memories. Unless this is already a high-profile case of kidnapping, it will be easy to modify his mind so none will be the wiser. In the past twenty years, there have been merely six cases of our Ministry involving themselves in Muggle-only crimes due to suspected contact with our world. All of those had had a great deal of coverage already.''

''And if this is, indeed, a high-profile case?'' the Dark Lord inquired, without first turning to ask the Scabiors for more information. Hermione's jaw tightened, as she clearly caught onto how he attempted to fish for her limits.

''He can be offered to integrate,'' she shot back, although her fire-spitting glare was telling of her disapproval. ''Even if the Muggle authorities will not stop searching, the Ministry will let it go without further investigation due to their prejudice. He'll be useful without risking discovery of your machinations, is that not what you want?''

Tom hummed, still not sounding satisfied. ''You have harped much on choice before during our discussion about this, Ms Granger. If the offer is refused…''

She paled, the grim line of her mouth starting to quiver. ''If you believe there is any scenario in which I condone an execution-'' she hissed back.

''I had hoped pressure would serve better to bring forth solutions with the same speed at which you can recall entire textbooks, as you have so far failed to give viable alternatives.'' He clacked his tongue and sent a warning glare at Harry, who'd already opened his mouth again. ''Scabior, when did you abduct this boy?''

''A- a few hours ago,'' Mrs Scabior nervously offered up, frightened gaze flitting back and forth between their Lord, Harry and Hermione. ''We waited near one of their schools to get one alone on the way to its home.''

If anything, Tom looked even less impressed. ''You took the first Muggle child that you stumbled across? Is that as much thought and care your preparations for an offering to magic are worth? No, I don't want to hear it. Another word out of either of you today and I'll ensure it is your own child's blood that will be poured upon this altar. Now begone, all of you: wash the sour taste of this encounter away, the proper festivities will be postponed for another hour as I look to solve this issue.'' Without any further protest, the dense gathering started backing away. ''Not you two-'' Tom added, one sickly white hand landing on the shoulders of Harry and Hermione respectively.

As much as Ginny had been longing to get away before, she'd have loved to overhear this upcoming conversation. Alas, she'd once again be far too noticeable by herself. Maybe it was better this way… her mind was still reeling from all she'd witnessed in the span of a couple of minutes.

Not that it got much of a break, for as she attempted to make her way back to the table she'd been supposed to hold for Pansy, glimpses of a few other familiar faces caused an unpleasant squeezing in her stomach. Was it just a trick of the light, or had she suddenly seen the tip of a long, red ponytail and the glinting of a suspiciously familiar earring? And there – for a second, she could have sworn to have spotted the Beauxbatons Champion in the very same direction. She attempted to use her lithe form to move closer but kept getting pushed away now everyone was fanning out in different directions across the island. Frustrated and doubting herself more every second over what was real and what a cruel illusion similar to the hallucinations that had plagued her in wake of the incidents in the Chamber, Ginny grew more frantic, ignoring the chiding around her as she started to shove-

She almost yelled into the face of the one who roughly grabbed her arm, holding her back from progressing further, until, through her swimming vision, she saw worried blue eyes surrounded by a sea of freckles.

''Ginny?'' her supposedly missing brother hissed.

''Ron?'' she hissed right back, wand whipping down again – she'd not even noticed drawing it and pointing it straight at his throat. ''How- how did you know-''

''How do you think, you're my sister! I'd recognise you even if you'd taken Polyjuice potion to turn into Hagrid, wouldn't I! Now, what you are doing here, all donned up in a disguise of… hold on, are you pretending to be Eloise Parkinson?''

She wasn't quite sure what was more unsettling: Ron being here alongside his other friends, or her brother apparently being familiar enough with the Parkinsons to know Pansy's little cousin by name. ''Maybe I wouldn't need to be here if you'd dropped an owl telling us where in the name of flying hippogriff dung you've been hiding!'' she snapped. ''What are you doing here?''

''Well, I'm here with Harry, aren't I?'' he retorted, looking slightly baffled even as he started dragging her away much like the Slytherin Prefect had done before. ''Bloody hell, breaking into closed parties…'' he muttered, although beneath the grumpiness, she detected a hint of fondness.

''Speaking of Harry, the last thing I'd expected to find here was him and Hermione trying to talk the actual Dark Lord down.''

Exhaling slowly, Ron rubbed his own cheeks. ''Bloody hell,'' he repeated. ''Figures you'd be here, you always were the most resourceful one out of us all. I did send letters, for your information. Mum and dad told you nothing, then?''

Stepping away from her brother, Ginny hid her feeling of betrayal by busying herself for a bit, taking one of the glasses that had appeared out of nowhere and filling it with the contents of the first bottle she blindly grabbed. It smelled vaguely of honey. Tasted of it too, and only after downing half a glass, did she find the confidence to disclose what little their parents had shown. ''Dropping your name resulted in whatever was in mum's hand to shatter on the floor and cause waterfalls of tears more than once so no, they didn't tell me. Could hardly choke out words, let alone a coherent explanation. It was worse than when Percy left. They know, then? That you…'' Still unclear what was going on exactly, with them being here but also Harry clearly speaking up against Tom and Hermione being a very unwilling advisor, she could only helplessly trail off. They'd hardly switched sides to become devoted followers of dark magic if the previous scene was anything to go by.

Ron's expression turned grim, knuckles white as he made a fist. ''Worse than Percy? Oh, isn't that rich,'' he said, sounding hurt. ''Figures, doesn't it? He goes off with a scene, telling mum and dad he'll not speak another word, doesn't answer a single letter and ignores dad even at work as if he's air, but somehow me sticking with Harry after discovering we've been lied to is worse? I've been writing! I even promised to meet up as soon as mum stops hinting she'll permanently put me on house arrest as soon as I drop by!'' With the speed her brother's ears reddened, Ginny wouldn't be surprised if he started shouting soon.

''Hey,'' she spoke, putting a hand on his arm. ''For the record, I didn't sneak off to Percy's office to listen to his excuses, okay? I am here, so if you want to tell me what is going on, that'd be fantastic. I mean, didn't actually expect to bump into you personally, but my goal behind sneaking in was to find out what happened to you lot so… best hear it from the source now I have the chance.'' Worked up as Ron already was, she bit back a stream of questions about the literal Dark Lord standing less than fifty yards or so away, or witnessing his followers dragging in a Muggle with the clear intention to kill the boy.

Her brother made a few valid attempts, and although paired with much hemming and hawing, he apparently finally found a good point to start. ''So, you know how we tried to listen in on Order meetings and figured out some of their plans?''

She nodded seriously. ''Of course. They mainly wanted to prevent You-Know-Who from gathering an army to start another war and tried to keep him from some sort of weapon.'' Unsure, she let her gaze wander once more, at the many families who'd gathered. ''Looks like they didn't succeed in the former…''

''Actually, both of those goals were completely pointless,'' Ron stated in the blunt way that only her brother could pull off. ''That weapon they talked about? Yeah, turns out that was a prophecy that You-Know-Who didn't actually want to touch with a ten-foot-pole and was forced to confront when Dumbledore blurted it out into his face – great job there – and regarding 'forming armies', he wasn't planning on openly fighting anyone until the Order tried to break into his house. Mum and dad included.'' She must have looked a tad too gobsmacked, for Ron sighed and propped his elbows on the table, chin leaning on his hands. ''Okay, so this is all going to sound really whacky…''

It was whacky. Far more than that. Talk of protecting Harry was overshadowed by equal right movements and finding a fine line between separating from Muggles and ways to integrate some of them for the sake of Muggle-borns. Old rites and the will of magic added a touch that might have stemmed from the Quibbler. Feeling faint, Ginny leaned against the rocks behind her, smoothed by centuries of wind and waves. ''And you're in the middle of this?'' she disbelievingly asked. ''Saved by You-Know-Who and now… what, advising him like Hermione does?''

He shrugged helplessly. ''At the moment I just guard a weird wand, but I've been included in some plans before, yeah. I hatched this scheme with Sirius to get a bit more on-the-grid today to have something else to do… hey, you could maybe help, since you're posing as one of them.''

Ginny shook her head before aware of it. ''Ron, I don't think I can be of any help right now. With anything. This is all a lot to take in and- and I need a moment to mull it all over, okay? Don't worry, I'm not going to run away or try to confront anyone. Just… you have to understand that I'm conflicted.''

''Gin…''

''He's tried to kill me before,'' she pointed out. ''You-Know-Who. A mere memory of his teenage self attempted to use my soul to come back to life. Ron, I can't just forget about that. I'm truly trying my very hardest to see the points you're trying to make and yeah, maybe both the Order and the Ministry are wrong or corrupt. But he tried to sic a Basilisk onto unsuspecting children for the sake of blood purity and just now? Just now he was unfazed by his little Death Eaters dragging in another child to kill, saying they should have done so at Samhain or Yule, because it doesn't fit his religion to slaughter Muggles today. Are you fine with that?''

''Of course not!'' her brother exclaimed. ''But I've had to face that sometimes, we only get a few choices handed to us, and I chose not to abandon my friends. I- I've been a bad friend before, okay?'' he confessed, torn. ''I let envy get the better of me so many times: of Harry's fame and popularity, of Hermione's talent and smarts. Every time, they were the better people, taking me back after half-hearted apologies… When I once again excluded myself by first accusing Harry of putting his name in the goblet for that tournament and right after he forgave me instantly got jealous about Hermione at the Yule ball… I felt so stupid.''

''You were jealous about Hermione?'' she asked, surprised. ''What do you mean?''

Ron looked as if he very much regretted saying anything, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. ''I fancied her,'' he quietly admitted, entire face flushed. ''But it didn't matter, because I was the one who blew my already miniscule chances by getting unreasonably mad and ever since, she's been happy with Vicky. A-anyways, that's all over now. I pulled my head out of my arse and saw that it was I who had to do better, not the world around me. Harry's fame made him a target of far too many people, Mione's smarts earned her scorn at school… so I figured that the least I could do to make up for my faults was to shield them, never abandon them again.'' He coughed awkwardly, never one for such heartfelt conversations. It was probably the first one they'd had in years, and Ginny didn't know how else to respond than to awkwardly pat his hand again, feeling a bit useless. ''So... so even if You-Know-Who is terrifying and more than mildly insane, as long as Harry believes that man will save the world, I'm with him. I can't deny he's done a lot of good, too.''

''You said that they… share a mind, in a way,'' she carefully spoke. ''Do you think that influenced him?'' It wouldn't be the first time that Tom got in someone's head by use of possession…

''Only in the sense that Harry got to rummage through You-Know-Who's hidden thoughts and apparently found a sliver of buried humanity. If anything changed Harry, it's been outside pressure and people hiding truths from him. You-Know-Who has been influenced far more, getting reasonable at times and altering his own plans just to appease Harry.''

''I suppose that makes sense,'' Ginny mused. ''Harry holds quite a lot of sway in our world, even if he doesn't want to use it. Having Harry's loyalty and support might be more valuable than keeping some of his puristic followers happy… Especially if You-Know-Who wishes to use politics rather than war.''

''Err, yes- politics. Sure,'' Ron muttered in an oddly flustered way that was highly suspicious.

''What are you not telling me?'' she asked, squinting at her brother.

''Oh, I think I see Sirius' signal. Thank Merlin. I mean- hey, Gin-'' he incomprehensibly stammered as he got up. ''You don't still fancy Harry, do you?''

''What? No, what does that have to do- Ron!''

''Good. Great! Huge relief, I wouldn't want- Stay out of trouble, okay?'' With that, Ron scrambled to leave, practically running towards a giant black dog that was snapping teeth at a witch who fainted in the arms of her friends. A shouting of 'The Grim, the Grim!' reached her ears. Too confused by all she'd heard, Ginny couldn't even fully appreciate the spectacle of Ron pretending to tame the mythical omen of death to impress the frightened onlookers.

XxX

Slowly, Voldemort was starting to see where his partner was coming from, preferring smaller gatherings to honour magic over this. Barely one-and-a-half hours had passed since the first arrivals, the actual celebration hadn't even started yet, and he'd already had to deal with obliviating a muggle child, Ginevra Weasley sneaking in - using a disguise hardly shielded her frayed thoughts - and Black once again being up to mischief. The rogue Animagus had roped the youngest Weasley son into his plan this time, adding to the headache.

The day had started so pleasantly, too…

''Are you angry with me?'' his partner worried, hands clasped behind Harry's back not to fidget. To appear appropriately distanced and hide their closeness from the public, the other stood five feet away from Voldemort's seat. ''It wasn't my intention to defy your authority-''

Those concerns were dismissed with a wave of his hand. ''No, trouble.'' His newfound favourite endearment rolled off the tongue before Voldemort could catch it on its way out. He took the reproachful glance in stride, refusing to pretend to be remorseful. Or even slightly apologetic. ''You held to our agreement, expressing your harshest critique of my methods in a language only we share. The comments you did openly make were hardly inappropriate, as I have made it known that I am courting you. At some level, it is expected that we attempt to be on the same page, even if your position is not considered equal to most.''

Predictably, Harry bristled at that, mouth settling in a grim line that ought to be kissed away. How much of a hassle would it be to set up privacy barriers and a couple of realistic illusion spells…? Until he'd announce the continuation of events, most of his people kept their distance, content to mingle and socialise among each other.

''Something still bothers you, though. Does it involve that boy?''

That boy… The Muggle's fright radiating so that the thing might have died of a heart attack if kept any longer. A skim of surface thoughts had revealed that the child believed Voldemort to be extra-terrestrial rather than magical. Ridiculously insulting, as if he did not belong on this earth, as if he could not feel the energy thrumming at its core in a way Muggles could never hope to understand. Well – it was a step up from demonic, he supposed.

The careful wording without any indications of judgement was reassuring of how true Harry's conviction was, how honest their talk this very morning. Sighing, the Dark Lord leaned back, rubbing the flattened bridge of his nose with one hand and putting the other atop Nagini's head where she'd nestled onto his thigh. She hissed happily at the attention. ''In part,'' he acknowledged. ''I realise that many have neglected the proper rites in fear of garnering unwanted attention from the Ministry, but had not imagined so much misinformation to thrive. Especially not as plenty were clearly familiar with the customs of Ostara. To think my own followers, born and bred into dark families, would bring a human sacrifice – a forced sacrifice no less – to Lughnasadh is perplexing.''

''It has been – what, fifteen years since they had the opportunity to attend this particular celebration led by you?'' Harry's emotions were threaded with a sympathised understanding that Voldemort could find no reason for. ''Not everyone has a flawless memory,'' his partner reminded with a rueful smile. ''As part of my education, Narcissa taught me how they'd purposefully shunned celebrating especially those sabbaths without ties to Muggle culture. It was easy to repurpose Ostara or Yule, keeping the general themes or lighter magical aspects while hiding the rest, which then eased a return to the old ways. Other feasts like Litha or Mabon ironically only continued being celebrated by light mages who lived near the few Muggle farming communities who had magicless equivalents. It's why the Weasleys still attended those kinds of events years after your downfall. They had no fear of scrutiny, after all.''

It was worrisome that Voldemort had overlooked this aspect of the community he ruled over, too caught up in setting things right by example that he'd not bothered with such irritating human flaws like fuzzy memories or laziness – guidebooks were available after all, he'd assumed all of his followers to pro-actively re-educate themselves, not only his Death Eaters. That would need to be mended, though not today. ''Speaking of Weasleys…'' he subtly used his partner's words to shift their conversation to another topic that had been on his mind. ''You harbour affection towards this family. Does that include all of them?''

''If this is your way of asking for permission to make any of their lives harder-''

''On the contrary. I have been attempting to calculate them into my plans. Ronald has proven himself already, and I personally invited William today as he's shown civility and is close to Delacour, but I have not yet decided how or if to approach the others. Say, is their youngest not a member of your army? What is your opinion of her?''

''Ginny? Oh-'' The frown that settled on Harry's brow strengthened the urge to cast strong privacy wards. ''She's fierce, intelligent… helped me a great deal getting everyone in line at the start despite being one of the younger members. I'm admittedly conflicted, as her history with you is… not the best, to put it mildly. The diaries' possession will make her one of the most unlikely members of the Weasley family to see our ways,'' he dismally stated. ''Truthfully, I'm expecting to get hexed into the next year if I ever try to explain the full story to her.''

Here Harry had accused him of dramatic reactions at times. Having listened in on the entire conversation that had taken place between the two Weasley children through use of amplifier spells, Voldemort was pleased to find the youngest had taken much of it in stride with minimal outbursts. It was another testament to Ronald's practical way of thinking, having started the explanation at a point that his sister had personally experienced and built on that instead of using Harry's highly unsuccessful attempts at chronological storytelling. It had been a sound decision not to pressure Ronald into a silencing contract like the rest of them – very much an experimental tactic rather than oversight.

''Why do you think it would be your responsibility to inform her?''

''As you said, she's part of the D. A. I consider all of them to be my responsibility. Now, I'm aware facing most of them will be difficult, but it'll still be my job to clarify my choices… and take the consequences in stride. I don't expect to end up on the same side as all of them, in which case I am to blame for weaponizing people who'll consider us their enemy.''

''Then, you should better strengthen the bonds forged with your followers – excuse me, allies –'' he corrected with a saccharine smile. ''Who already have accepted you.''

Harry didn't follow the suggestion instantly, crossing his arms as a sharp gaze travelled over the guests in the distance, most notably following the children who were playing tag in the fields Voldemort had grown. ''Is that why you agreed to invite everyone's kids today? Barty kept calling it a security risk…''

''They might not yet be aware that you will govern them, but it won't hurt to introduce them to your presence early. Not all had the privilege of attending Hogwarts together with you.''

''It still feels surreal,'' the teen admitted. ''The power you are prepared to hand to me.''

''Not permanently. Apart from inner circles of your choosing, your direct peers for now, I very much expect you to instil enough loyalty to add those you teach to my own subjects once grown. Adrian Pucey is a prime example that I'm certain many more will follow in time.''

''For now?''

The hesitance as Harry was thrown off was telling of certain implications still not having settled deep enough. ''I do not mean I shall take those away,'' he assured, reasonably certain his words had been misinterpreted. ''Time, however, will. They'll age, wither and die. Once that happens, you'll need to choose new acolytes. My current most trusted are certainly not the ones who first bore my mark. Already, the lives of many of have been claimed, the Knights of Walpurgis forgotten by history.''

A rising wave of sadness engulfed them both, Harry drawing a deep breath to keep steady. ''I did not-'' he started, voice riddled with misplaced guilt. He fell silent again, at a loss for words. ''I'll go search them out,'' he finally continued, steadier. ''It's still a long, long time before any of that is necessary.''

It would seem long to a teenager, Voldemort considered. He himself had, at sixteen, barely imagined to move on from commanding one generation to the next so quickly. His own peers had been a constant presence, both at school and whenever he set foot in Britain after graduating. Only during the war had he fully noticed the necessity of starting to recruit his Knight's children as replacements.

''Do that. But Evan, before that… You've not commented on the location of today's celebration. Do you like it?'' he inquired, the need for the answer to be 'yes' resounding perhaps too strongly through their mental connection, for Harry's entire body jerked with the force of his anticipation. Remnants of sorrow were quickly overtaken and wiped away by Voldemort's own emotions.

Clearly puzzled, his partner replied: ''Err- it's very nice, yeah. Is there something specifically special that I'm missing, though?''

That would not do. Had this present been too subtle?

''With your last positive reaction to being brought to see the ocean, I imagined you'd appreciate an island surrounded by it.''

Harry blinked rapidly, the pleasant feeling of being flattered fluttering over. The darkening of his cheeks was a sure sight for sore eyes, which he ensured to drink in. ''I thought Barty picked it?''

''He was allowed to choose which island,'' Voldemort corrected, smug when the other at last recognised his efforts. ''Although it's not merely one island. The dimension I created here covers a group of uninhabited isles and the expanse of ocean in between as a permanent solution to the issues we've been having regarding housing the rescued merfolk. It was reported to me that the created sanctuary on the southern coast was insufficiently protected against sightings from the mainland, and additionally targeted by the wild Atlantic merfolk who refused to take these refuges in due to honour laws. Like this, I could experiment with entirely closed-off spherical dimensions, re-house this troublesome group of merfolk and secure plentiful of space to practise dark magic away from governmental control.''

''Plus gift me a private island,'' Harry correctly noted, sounding faint. ''That is… wow. Merlin, You never do things by halves, do you?'' It appeared he was considering the place with new eyes now, a hint of wonder in brilliant green as his partner's attention was turned to the sky and sea, to inevitably wander back to Voldemort himself. ''I was under the assumption that this place was only temporarily shielded for Lughnasadh. What about your concern of running out of material items you are attached to, to create these dimensions?''

''That, too, I may have found an answer too.'' It had been somewhat of an epiphany surrounding the topic of birthday gifts: the already-worn book he'd received on New Year's Eve was perfect to read in such an idyllic, isolated place, resulting in Voldemort not minding at all to bind it to the isles. It was true that he didn't own much he would care enough to lose to serve as an anchor, but Harry would certainly add enough items of emotional value to his collection over time. When Voldemort refused to vocally expound on his statement, his partner huffed with a light shake of his head.

''All right then, keep your secrets. By the way, you told me to speak up if you overstepped with any gifts. While I think this is a wonderful one, I'm pretty sure that after this, my limit of what I can accept in good conscience has absolutely been reached. After Hedwig, the party with my friends and family and a literal island group, I'd feel horrible for accepting anything else. Not to say that I expect you to have organised even more, but just in case-'' he finished with an endearing stutter.

Always so modest… There had been one more, but Voldemort supposed it wouldn't be amiss to present on another occasion. ''Duly noted,'' he thus acknowledged, dipping his chin as he revelled in the relieved joy his love exuded. ''Now go on and gather your army. Seeing how poorly the generation of their parents are handling our traditions, I fear they will need your guidance. I'll inform Barty that we shall start in a few minutes.''

Once his Right Hand responded to the call, as always reliable and committed to serve, matters at last started progressing smoother after that troubled start. Postponing any grudges that would be sorted with appropriate punishment at a later, more suitable date, Voldemort put his people to work.

They did, indeed, require more guidance than the generations before them. Astonishment at needing to cut and thresh the provided barley with their own hands and wands instead of delegating this task to house-elves or servants was a common reaction. Even when made clear that they should purely use magic to mill it into flour and form dough to put in the conjured cauldrons, many seemed to consider it a form of lower labour until the Dark Lord personally set an example. His followers' aversion was getting ridiculous and at the same time made perfectly clear why his presence was necessary. When avoiding tasks to the point where it was considered beneath them to perform even by use of spells, it was no wonder that magic was being pulled out of balance. Especially when the few charms he did see being cast were light ones that performed one step at a time.

Taking an armful of the heavy grain and a handful of apples and spices, Voldemort carefully separated a seventh of his bounty, putting it in a circle around the rest. He envisioned every single step in his mind's eye to produce the desired result, then cast the proper incantation to sacrifice a small part of his personal harvest to put the rest to better use. A ring of fire flickered to life, the cosmic energy of the exchanged offering enough to transform the rest of the ingredients into a workable dough ready to bake in the cauldron that had been prepared before with a series of kenaz runes.

All but the oldest members of influential families and those people he'd personally taught over the years gazed at the display in astonished wonder. He damned societal rules for having neither an outlet for the faced frustration nor Harry at his side to send calming thoughts, who was instead busy helping his own family and friends several too many yards away. It was an unpleasant reminder that Draco Malfoy hadn't known what coffee beans looked like.

Perhaps requiring everyone's spawn to be present today had been a mistake… Though he personally had no qualms torturing anyone in front of children – or the children themselves for that matter were they to be rude – it wouldn't do favours to the image he had fashioned after his resurrection, showing his ruthless side only outside of extended social gatherings.

As soon as the ritual loaf was done and he'd shared it with his most trusted follower, Voldemort preserved his own sanity by focusing on the only three points of interest: His son at his side, his partner ever-present in his mind, and the swirling, heavy power that drifted between atoms from the core of his own being to the surges of air he breathed. With each passing heartbeat, the annoyance faded and the bonds he'd forged across the years became more prominent. Claws left trails in the gravel as the Dark Lord followed the flow of source magic, inviting to take it in, transform it.

The erected Occlumency barriers dissolved due to the raw force, but that hardly mattered when he was in this state of mind. Harry was not yet strong enough to break this kind of concentration, more likely to get pulled into the stream instead. Let him have it, let his darling experience this first-hand…

When Voldemort next opened his eyes, it was with a suffocating weight pressing against every inch of his skin that he linked to the significance of his title, and another layer of sight that he'd grown accustomed to, visions piling up against a backdrop of the here and now. His tongue felt heavy and tasted of earth as he sang what he saw:

The last fluttering leaf being cut loose from a bare branch, abandoned to protect the whole.

Scales and skin shed, turning milky to make way for regrowth, rebirth.

A thriving forest, burned by a single strike of guided lightning so the land below could be cultivated, used by her children so they'd not starve.

Pain and sorrow, toil and exhaustion, given freely for the promise of a better life.

Blood, given for a higher purpose.

Fear, endured to regain access to magic and a way to their Lord-

Lost in the flood of images Magic shaped for him to convey, it took a moment for her Lord to notice a discrepancy, that this feeling did not fit in with the rest. A sharp pain stung his left arm, right through the hidden dark mark.

Cold and Emptiness overlapped with a vision of earthbound spirits of protection coming into life with the first buds and fading at the end of summer, their dust contained in coloured glass.

Voldemort hissed as he forced himself to end the song, realising he was not the only one left confused. Although Harry was possibly the only person alive who could see exactly as he did, impressions should be left in the minds of everyone within hearing range as part of the Lughnasadh ritual.

Another stab at his skin, akin a desperate, rough scratching from the inside. Staring at the rich fabric of his robes, Voldemort attempted to identify the feeling, vaguely familiar. The magic he'd grasped at faded, and dazed muttering rose all around. Barty was the only one who dared touch him, speak to him, though the words sounded garbled and distanced.

The Dark Mark went both ways, but few of his followers dared make use of it in the sense of requesting to be transported to his side. In fact, only Severus had been allowed to use it like this without consequences and only out of sheer necessity. Not even his Right Hand was permitted to freely call out.

The main cause of bewilderment was the fact that every single one of his Death Eaters should be here today. Everyone except…

Fear. Cold. Emptiness.

Voldemort slowly pulled his sleeve back, the illusions on the mark fading as the connection was abused by every single one of his most devoted, those who'd refused to renounce his name. Those who had faced a lifetime in Azkaban for it, put behind wards that had cut them off from their master.

They were no longer in Azkaban. Though following the accompanying terror, neither were they quite free just yet.

---

AN: I did promise Harry&Voldemort were going to be toxically wholesome and that Lughnasadh would be turbulent. Don't think I've promised too much :P

Bit of bad news: there won't be scheduled regular updates for a while due to a little thing called Hogwarts Legacy coming out and my great need to binge this game. Does that mean I'm going on a Hiatus? – Not really. I just don't want to feel pressured by self-imposed deadlines or feel guilty for enjoying the game. I'm still going to continue writing IWS in between, it'll just be less frequent / shorter chapters and I won't be able to accurately predict how fast I can update.

As a little apology, I'll be posting two other Harrymort stories I have been working on for the past few years, which are finally ready enough for release ^^ So, stay tuned if you might be interested in:

- Smoke and Amber (rating M, 8 chapters): "After the war, Harry moves to the Muggle world to cope with grief and cuts most ties with the magical world. Eight years later, he meets a mysterious, attractive stranger at his local bar who speaks of vengeance and violence." Dubcon romance with themes of smoking, drinking and sex. Use of movie technicalities to have Voldemort cheat death once again. (Updates every other week, first chapter has already been uploaded today.)

- Worlds Beyond Death (Rating M, 13/? chapters written): When technology triumphs over magic, Muggles attempt to wipe out mages. Desperate to undo the damage, Harry travels back in time to prevent Voldemort's demise. Only, things don't quite work out as intended and he ends up being reborn in a world not entirely like his own with a tattoo of a red eye on the back of his hand." Romance, Do-over reincarnation fic, Soul Mate AU, Master of Death!Harry, slightly saner Voldemort, story starts rather dark but gets more light-hearted as things progress, slowish burn but much more fast-paced than IWS as I already covered 10 whole years in these first 13 chapters. (First update on Sunday the 19th of February and then every other week until I run out of chapters.)

Please read and review!
xx GeMerope