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.

107. C106 - Goodbye, Hello

Happy Lord Voldemort day to you all. Let's all commemorate our favourite Dark Lord today :3

Enjoy!

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Chapter 106 - Goodbye, Hello

Their roles were typically reversed.

When Sirius had stormed in and thrown all his pain into the open, when a whining snout had been buried into Remus' arms, that was the first thought that flitted through his mind. ''It's okay,'' he kept whispering on repeat, unable to give the same type of relief his friend always provided in the hours before the full moon. Remus couldn't exactly transform at will to share Padfoot's mindset – and if he could, more problems would arise, as it would be Moony taking over. Who knew how the wild wolf would react to the situation at hand, having a hurt pack member begging for help.

Remus couldn't imagine it to end in anything but bloodshed.

Banning Moony from his thoughts – the wolf was far away, so shortly after the last transformation, trotting noiselessly at the edges of their mind without being overwhelming – Remus concentrated fully on Sirius. Flanks that trembled underneath thick fur were treated to reassuring strokes, wildly mowing paws were grasped firmly to warm the cold pads and Remus hugged his friend until practically buried beneath the bear-like mass of muscles and wet pelt.

The gathering his friend was to partake in earlier today must have gone awry. To do with Harry, surely, or the Dark Lord. Few people besides those two would be able to faze Sirius.

If only he'd have found the strength to volunteer going there personally, as a few werewolves of the pack had been asked to attend in lieu of their alliance. Remus had been too reluctant when Greyback had thrown the offer into the group a couple of weeks back, neither wishing to seem like being suddenly okay with playing ambassador nor up for facing Voldemort again.

'Have a better answer for me next time' the ominous, disdainful voice thundered through his brain, an unpleasant reminder that shook other memories awake: of heavy magic pressing against his lungs, distant howling in his ears as Moony recognised the Dark Lord. Remus still had no other answer, could not give a better offer without losing sight of himself.

Now, with an upset Sirius attempting to crawl back to sanity, Remus felt his own pride hadn't been worth staying away. Much like Padfoot would do anything for the child entrusted into his care by their dearest friends, Remus would give up what little comfort and dignity remained if it could aid the only person left that he so deeply cared for.

Your motivations have centred around Black for the past fourteen years and will not change now.

How had the terrifying man, with whom he'd barely exchanged two words until that moment, been able to dig so deep and uncover Remus' soul?

Heart-rending wails quieted to pitiful whining, then rapid breathing. He supressed any urge to run out to find the culprit still. Blindly running in circles without meaningful clues was useless.

Just as Remus wanted to suggest his friend shift back into human form to talk this through, the flap of the cramped tent was thrown open by a rough hand, yellowed nails purposefully sharpened.

''I don't appreciate your dog keeping everyone up,'' Greyback snarled.

''He just calmed down,'' Remus bit back. There was no fear today, rejuvenating moonlight fresh in his veins. An illusion of course, the leader of the pack having gathered just as much strength, if not more so during the recent full moon. Nonetheless, the heady feel made Remus confident enough to raise his head.

''That off howling could be heard from miles away, I also just returned from the hunting to tell him to shut up.''

''Mission accomplished, please do get on with it.'' As long as Greyback was occupied in the nearby forest, he'd not go on stomach-turning hunts for more tender flesh than deer.

Remus was made to regret talking back. Before having had a second to blink, Greyback had hauled him up from the floor and shoved with far more strength than a single man should be allowed to have. Gasping when harshly hitting the ground, Remus tried to gather his wits, instinctively drawing his wand.

The action was answered with a sickened noise. ''Fuck, you're still so human.''

Those sharp nails Remus had noticed earlier were up in his face now, grasping at skin, leaving gashes. He barely felt it, not when Padfoot still lay on the floor in pain. His friend may not convey such through noise anymore, but the white edges that showed in his eyes were telling enough of panic and stress.

Remus did not feel very human as he responded in kind, blood boiling when he moved to crash into Greyback's legs. They both toppled to the ground, a short wrestling match ensuing that he unsurprisingly lost, a weight settling heavy on Remus' back. ''Get out,'' he rasped, not about to give in.

''Maybe I should drown your little pet,'' Greyback panted in his ear. ''So you have no more ties but your pack.''

For all that he hated both dark magic and the curse that lay upon him – a curse Greyback had forced on him – the threat of Sirius' life was enough for thoughts of aggression to cloud his logic, erasing all mild manners that he purposefully employed not to submit to his nature. He shook Greyback off with a sudden bout of strength and agility, intent on winning the next round. Robes were torn, more pain inflicted and a tooth knocked loose, but in the end, the pack's leader lay flat on his back with the tip of a wand pressed into the hollow of that filthy throat.

''Maybe I should cut your tongue out, Remus heatedly hissed.

Vibrant laughter was not the response he'd hoped for. Greyback was truly deranged.

''Found both fangs and claws, did you, pup?''

''Get. Out.''

Greyback grunted, slapping the wand away and pushing Remus off, though he made no further move to either attack or leave, gazing down at Sirius' curled-up form on the floor instead. ''Maybe the stray does have its uses. I happen to recall your pet closely trails the Dark Lord's own.''

Warily, Remus firmly put himself between his friend and enemy. ''What does the Dark Lord have to do with this?'' (Or Harry, for that matter, a question that was swallowed out of distaste for Greyback's insinuation that the hardy teenager was no more than a pet. The odd relationship was baffling yet genuine as far as he could judge, and Remus cared not to humour Greyback's disgusting opinions on it.)

''There was a celebration today, hailing magic and all that lot. You should know about it, for goodwill I agreed to have some of ours attend. None returned… They should have by now, I expected them back latest an hour ago. If your mutt was there are well and showed up like this, it doesn't take a fine genius Professor like yourself to see the glaring red lines of correlation.''

That was indeed the same line of thought as Remus had had. It would have been preferable to get answers without Greyback breathing down their necks, to lower the pressure, but it didn't look like the other was keen on going anywhere. With other werewolves perhaps being involved as well, Greyback staying and hearing what was going on wasn't such a horrible idea. Personal issues aside, the man was considered responsible for the well-being of the whole pack. In such shaky times, infighting and keeping secrets would only make everyone's position worse.

Carefully kneeling down, Remus scratched behind a floppy ear. ''Padfoot, can you come back to talk to me? I can't help if I don't know what is going on.''

Begging grey eyes so achingly similar to Sirius' regular ones very much tried to sway him into stopping this attempt of convincing his friend to face the world as a human once more. When Remus did not relent – a massive feat, it felt as if he'd weathered a storm when he managed not to get lost in that look - Padfoot let out a last yip before fur started shrinking back.

''Hi,'' his friend rasped, looking anywhere else. Remus' hand twitched as he refrained from reaching out once more, reminding himself sternly that he could not stroke Sirius' hair the same way he'd done with the shaggy fur. Not with Greyback watching anyways.

''Hey,'' he whispered back, taking Sirius' hand instead. ''Sorry to spring questions on you instantly but… what is going on? Are you alright? Is Harry?''

A snarl sounded from the side. ''You surely mean to ask if my wolves are alright? Your family?''

Remus decidedly ignored it, figuring his friend would pick up on Greyback's mood well enough to include them.

The rambled, gruff answer however, didn't make much sense: ''Everyone's fine, I think… just stuck for now. Don't think they managed to Kiss anyone.''

''Kiss?'' Greyback impatiently asked. ''Make some bloody sense, I didn't give anyone permission to visit an orgy.''

Seeing that Sirius was instantly getting distressed again, Remus lightly squeezed the hand he held. ''Take your time.''

''I- I can't. I wasn't supposed to…'' the other muttered, head snapping towards Greyback. ''Where's Umbridge?''

The name was like a slap to the cheek more painful than any wound marring his face after the fight. As if it could alleviate his guilt – Moony's guilt – Remus liked to pretend the woman did not exist, lest he be reminded of the most awful deed he'd committed in life.

He'd tasted her blood, infected it, passed on the curse…

He'd not even turned her proper, which his own creator loved to snarkily point out. Umbridge was a mangy thing of a wolf, the absolute runt of the pack who could barely keep up. Not that that was realistically Remus' fault, there was no evidence at all that a werewolf's creator determined their strength, but still. It kind of stung.

Both the circumstances of her turning as well as it being common knowledge that Remus hated his inner wolf had made Umbridge seek him out a couple of times in a misguided attempt to find kinship. Between the waves of guilt and not being able to see past Umbridge's atrocities before being condemned to live life as a werewolf, the woman had not found what she'd been searching for. Remus cared not for the pack's rules of 'shedding one's human sins'. She'd gleefully hurt whatever group she could squish under her pink slippers, from merfolk to her own students. Even if it likely stemmed from buried self-loathing, there'd been no reason at all to turn that hatred upon others.

Remus knew that all too well.

Between those musings, he only vaguely registered Greyback's reply: ''Should have returned with me. Tried to teach her running in human form in hopes it would make her more useful during the highlight of our cycle. Not sure how long it will take her to catch up to me on those stubby legs…''

Taking a few, deep breaths, Sirius found his voice again and enough strength to carry on with more coherency. It still sounded strained, rushed as if he hoped to get it all out at once and be done with it: ''We cannot let her out of sight. Your people have not returned because the party got crashed by a fleet of Dementors. Their talk with the Dark Lord did not turn out well and we're gearing up for war. Umbridge was their latest reliable ally: werewolf or not, there's a good possibility they'll search her out again.''

Whatever other reasoning Sirius could have given would have been more expected than this. Dementors were unpleasant, yes, but they'd always been bound to others. Dumbledore had been wary of the creatures, the old professor adamant about their true loyalties lying with Voldemort. It had been viewed as an inevitability by the Order - himself included - that those factions would openly join forces when the time was ripe. When, not if.

Just as he was about to fire off a slew of questions about it, Greyback beat him to it with an utterly unimportant one: ''And why were you sent to relay this info instead of my wolves?''

Sirius grumbled unhappily: ''Mostly Voldemort wanting me out of his non-existing hair, I'm sure. He had some nicely manipulating words about how I can't refuse when Umbridge's actions could endanger Harry. It's… a longer story but- the basic gist is that there's too high a chance of that woman turning on everyone, including your pack and its alliance with Voldemort, if only to get back at Harry for punishing her.''

Punishing?

''What do you mean?'' Remus pressed. ''Why would she blame Harry? She was tried at demand of the Dark Lord, was she not?''

A startled look and a silence that dragged on too long froze the breath in his lungs. ''No…?'' his friend finally answered. ''It was Harry who decided Umbridge would be infected with lycanthropy. My godson and his friends had most trouble with Umbridge, who'd made their school year a nightmare. Since the kiddo did not agree to Voldemort's proposition of plainly murdering her, he was made to suggest an alternative punishment.''

Something coiled in Remus' stomach and there might as well be a Dementor just outside the tent, going by the iciness in his chest.. Had he not been vocal about how destructive life as a werewolf was? Who'd choose this over death for their enemies if not for the purpose of extended torture? What could possibly justify such pure malice?

''And you… you let him?''

''I only heard after the fact,'' Sirius vehemently protested. ''I voted for controlling her through death magic and very much told Harry off afterwards in hopes he'd see why making her a werewolf as retribution was a horrendous decision. Can't say I succeeded very well,'' he added, expression clouded. ''Don't judge him too severely, please. The kiddo truly is convinced he did the right thing by letting her live.''

That was barely a comfort. Remus didn't even need to give his friend one of their knowing looks to convey further disapproval.

Next to them, Greyback followed the exchange with crossed arms and bemusement. He'd agreed to this as well, which was honestly difficult to understand considering the man thought of lycanthropy as anything but a punishment. Not for the people who were turned at least, only for those close to them whom the new wolves could be weaponised against. Had he truly seen value in Umbridge? Or was his standing with the Dark Lord so precarious that Greyback would throw his beliefs of werewolf supremacy aside to please his Lord?

Or… had the other wolf felt what Remus had been faced with? That urge to follow the flow of deep magic Moony had bowed to as being superior? It would finally put sense to Greyback's actions, even if the man would never openly admit to it.

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck, fatigue blooming in every crack and crease of his worn-down body now the imminent panic seeped away. He swallowed heavily. ''In either case, what's done is done. Umbridge will surely not let go of an opportunity to get her own revenge and the Dementors have reason to go after the kid personally too – can never catch a break from being hunted by deadly enemies it seems – so an allyship between Umbridge and her favourite Ministry pets needs to be prevented.''

''You owe far more answers than that bare-bones summary,'' Greyback huffed. ''But I agree to your basic line of thought. I'll get Dolores under supervision for the time being.''

Far more dramatic than necessary, Greyback made his exit. A whiff of the rainy forest drifted into the tent. Even after months, it smelled unfamiliar, Remus never having found a home here. Maybe he'd come to like it now the scent had clung to Sirius.

''Are you truly okay?'' Remus muttered, leading his friend to the only chair he owned, a rough wooden thing that he'd not transformed into anything more comfortable to not appear better than any of the other werewolves.

''No,'' the man said, practically expelling the word with a harsh breath. ''I'm jumping out of my skin. The memory of those- those things approaching… I thought they'd take me back, Moony. Back to that nightmare. Only my instinct to protect Harry kept me together.'' The brave façade crumbled, another cry strangled in weathered hands that Sirius buried his face in. ''Not that he needed me much,'' the man ironically grinned through his fingers; a sad, desperate kind of grimace with more teeth than necessary. When the hands were at last lowered in his friends' lap, it had mellowed into a weary smile. ''Who'd have thought that James' cute little son would grow up to shake the foundations of our world?''

Ever so careful to not set Sirius off again, he neutrally asked: ''What do you mean?''

Chapped lips trembled, though he got the impression that it was not out of nervousness this time. It resembled the same kind of shivering Padfoot used to shake off adrenaline after a long run chasing rabbits. ''Harry fought them off, in the end. The Dementors. Sure, some of us could cast Patroni, but those were only useful to hold them off for a moment. The Lughnasadh celebration took place inside one of those dimensional bubbles Voldemort has been experimenting with. Good for protection in theory, but we learned today that when the enemy gets inside and can't flee, it can become a steel trap for everyone rather quickly. Harry… you know of his involvement in necromancy of course, considering he brought me back-''

Again, Remus had to hide a double-take and took a large gulp of the cold tea he'd brewed before Sirius had shown up. The explanation of Sirius' resurrection had not gone into detail at all and Remus had assumed the one to have brought his friend back from the dead had been the Dark Lord himself. In fact, that had been implied, hadn't it? He recalled Sirius mentioning his resurrection having been a gift of sorts to Harry.

There was no time to drill deeper into the subject as Padfoot already hurried along with his tale: ''- delved into the dimension of the dead right in that moment. Well, I only noticed after he'd returned, Necromancy is not exactly flashy considering the whole part of 'connecting to the other world and leaving the body behind' is invisible to bystanders. Anyhow, when Harry did return, he ripped the Dementors apart. They for sure started panicking then, don't think anyone else has killed one before.''

Pride coloured his voice. Awe at his godson's inhuman powers. Godlike, indeed, if Sirius spoke the truth.

''You witnessed this? Personally?'' To think the child who'd once been affected enough by Dementors to faint from a Boggart version had, a mere few years after the fact, gained the ability to kill them, was mind-boggling.

''Sure did. Was at Harry's side the moment I could. It was scary, seeing him like that. It's not natural magic, not something to casually mess with. The kiddo's face was…'' Sirius trailed off, jaw working as if to suppress yet another disturbed grimace.

Remus would not learn how Harry's face had looked, or what else had transpired, for Greyback chose that very moment to storm in like a whirlwind, startling both men. After several months of being with the pack, it was still uncanny how someone as brash as the burly wolf could move in absolute silence. He was back fast, likely full of energy from the recent moon that enabled him to run for hours on end even in human form. Greyback had honed those lingering effects more than any.

''She's gone,'' he roared. ''Dolores left us. From the scent of rot and lingering frost, several Dementors breached our territory to reach her.''

Even through the shock, Remus was quick to say: ''It's not your fault,'' when his friends' face paled. ''Umbridge was out in the forest, over a mile away. If the Dementors searched her out immediately, you could not have warned us in time, not even if you'd have gone straight to Greyback.''

Though pale, Sirius did not protest this explanation, did not resort to despair as feared. He jumped to his feet, pacing restlessly while Greyback spat on the ground, still snarling: ''We treated her like family. If I find out Dolores joined her former lapdogs voluntarily, I'll rip her to shreds myself. You-'' he addressed Sirius, pointing a threatening finger. ''I'll tell the others you're free to come and go here without being challenged. Least and most I am willing to do.''

''For what, being the bearer of bad news?'' Sirius asked with understandable guardedness.

The grim werewolf shook his head, not looking happy about his own statement of protection at all. ''Matter of pride. I can't cast a Patronus and from the tracks I found, there were at least four of 'm. Had I still been with Dolores when they arrived instead of having been drawn to the camp by your grating dog howls, I'd have lost my soul tonight, no doubt about it.'' The man eyed Sirius with a pissed look as if he'd rather have sacrificed his very soul than being forced to be civil to a human on his own grounds for the sake of honour. ''Don't think this hospitality changes anything,'' Greyback added with a hiss before striding out.

''That could have gone worse,'' Remus tried to salvage the situation.

The other stopped mid-pace, one foot hovering in the air. If the situation wouldn't have been so dire, he'd have found the look comical. ''Worse? Moony, Voldemort is going to murder me in my sleep the moment he hears of this. I would murder me if I didn't need to live to rectify this mess!'' Resolutely, the foot was put down, literally and - if Sirius' next words were anything to go by - figuratively: ''We can't let this go. Don't give me that look Remus, it's not out of guilt this time. I know that I couldn't have prevented this without a time-turner that would have allowed me to be here an hour or so earlier. It's just the right thing to do. Voldemort and his little soldiers are busy in the Ministry, Harry and the other kiddos should recuperate…''

''Heading out on your own to track down and kill dark wizards didn't bring you much good the last few times you tried,'' Remus warned, setting the rest of his tea on the table.

''Moony-''

''Which is why it's good you have me.''

Feeling a – maybe slightly inappropriate – grin tugging at the corners of his lips, he summoned his wand again and placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder.

His decision was backed by many different reasons, Remus tried to tell himself. Ending Sirius' misery and preventing a situation like the one with Wormtail, reliving old times by fighting together, stopping a force of evil that could hurt the child they both cared for in their own way…

Above all hovered the reason he tried to ignore: Umbridge was his responsibility. Moony's wayward pup, who'd have to either be dragged back to the pack or fight for her freedom under the judging full moon.

XxX

The start of the morning was… not good. Waking up in unfamiliar territory wasn't the problem, Harry had learned to sleep in so many places that he didn't really care anymore. Waking up surrounded only by people he knew barely more about than their criminal records, however, was something else.

~Where is he?~ he asked Nagini, who'd draped herself across his feet like a weighted blanket. She gave him a bleary, tired look. At least he could count on one person to keep watch. Neither Snape, Narcissa nor Barty were in sight, and Saeth was sleeping on a chair closer to her father's bed than Harry's, arms crossed and head lolled to the side.

Sure, Nagini was intimidatingly deadly, not to mention that it'd been made very clear how important both she and Harry were to the Dark Lord, but it still stung that Harry had just been left here.

~Out,~ she yawned, raising her head to point at the door with a flicker of her tongue ~Can I rest now?~

The teen calmed somewhat as he cradled her snout in his hands. ~Of course, Nagini. You did very well in protecting me.~ For good measure, he pressed a kiss on the top of her head before getting out of bed. ~Will you be alright here, or should I bring you along?~

~Softness is comfy~ she muttered, moving to slither her body under the covers Harry had just vacated. ~Warm. No-one will dare touch me.~

That was a fair assessment: if she'd been enough to keep the Death Eaters away from Harry, he doubted anyone would risk approaching Nagini even while asleep. A cranky magical serpent that could both constrict and inject venom was no joke to accidentally wake.

''Morning,'' he threw into the room for the sake of politeness, noticing most of the Death Eaters were awake, mumbling amongst themselves or staring off into space. The few greetings he received in return were wary, as if none of them quite knew how to act towards him in the absence of their Lord.

Only Bellatrix paid him unwavering attention, following Harry's every move with heavy-lidded eyes. The teen tried his best to ignore his own state of undress or the bloodied, now crusted runes that still covered the majority of his body.

Harry picked up crumpled robes from the chair he'd dumped them on last evening and used more energy to ignore his aching bladder than the staring. Hopefully this ancient building at least had modern toilet facilities, he was not looking forward to searching for an outhouse.

''You left me,'' he accused when having hurried outside and, by following the feelings that thrummed through their mental connection, found his partner several minutes later in one of the adjacent buildings. Voldemort was alone, in a sitting room of sorts where he was assessing a vial filled to the brim with a murky substance in the morning light. With the door closed, Harry no longer cared to contain his fury. ''You left while I slept in a room full of convicts who escaped Azkaban after a harrowing fifteen years that messed with their heads. Might I add that neither Narcissa, Barty nor Sirius were there anymore. Not even Snape.''

To get rid of the pent-up energy, Harry furiously started pacing the length of the worn rug that spanned the distance between the door and the table Voldemort was sitting at. In response, the man set down the vial with a clink and effortlessly crossed the distance, keeping up with Harry's pace.

''Nagini lay at your feet.'' The reply held an irritatingly unconcerned undertone. ''Moreover, Rookwood's daughter didn't leave the room.''

He shut down that excuse real quick: ''She too succumbed to sleep, obviously. The day was tiring for everyone. Which left me to wake up and find myself amidst strangers, with only Nagini serving as a barrier between me and ten Death Eaters whom I don't know the intentions of.''

''It is not your safety that you are concerned about. You've never been concerned for it before; I refuse to believe you've started caring now.'' The Dark Lord's pace was drawn to a halt as he turned to look at Harry, who also hovered in place at the abrupt stop. When had he started following Voldemort's movements instead of the other way around?

The tall figure loomed closer, hands folded neatly behind Voldemort's back. His expression was unreadable in off-putting incongruence with the glee that crossed their mental link, almost sliding through his own poor barriers. ''Did you miss me that much?''

Explosive denial was one option. Awkward silence another.

Harry chose neither approach, in the end, furiously working to contain the flames that crept up his face. ''I've gotten used to waking up with you in the morning,'' he crankily mumbled. ''Whenever you managed to make it home, whether you also slept or not, you were there when I woke.''

The 'What was so important that you couldn't, now?' was left unsaid.

Voldemort picked up on it anyhow. Slim, cool fingers caught the nape of his neck as the man stepped into Harry's space. Standing chest-to-chest with not even an inch between them, Harry could feel his partner's slow and steady heartbeat. The generally commanding timbre of his voice dropped down to a tempered muttering: ''Independence is a vital trait. My followers respect you for the power you displayed yesterday, yet also witnessed that I had to pull you back from the Cosmos, that I had to heal you. Had I remained at your bedside all night, what would that have shown?''

''The truth,'' Harry plainly stated, refusing to feel shame. ''That I need you.''

At least on occasions like last night, having thrown himself into the deep end and needing the comforting presence of his partner. What did he care for pride when he had love?

''Your envy is endearing,'' Voldemort murmured as the hand travelled to take Harry's chin, tilted it in a position far more accessible for demanding lips to claim. Through the kiss, Harry hardly noticed they were moving in synch until his back hit a wall and he was rendered unable to move away. Overcome with a burst of want, he hardly minded it, securing his partner in place in equal measure by wrapping an arm around Voldemort's thin waist, drawing the man even closer. He needed only invitingly part his lips to get what he craved, a tongue alike silk sliding against his own, dragging over teeth and filling the space of his mouth.

There was a delicious, consuming buzz in every fibre of Harry's being as he pushed back, prodded into his lover's mouth, kissing and suckling as if his life depends on it. It took even less time for his knees to weaken than it did to become breathless. ''I'm not envious,'' he puffed out when Voldemort withdrew – only for a second, mouth back on his own in a lingering kiss soon after. The noncommittal hum made Harry pause, turn his head ever so slightly so the insistent drag of Voldemort's mouth had to make do with his cheek. ''What would I even be envious of?''

''The world.'' The answer was wrapped in a neat bow of dark amusement. Harry couldn't see what was so funny. ''My time being taken up by anything else than holding your hand throughout the night. You were once exasperated by my own irritation at not being the centre of your attention… Well, we are not so different, you only refuse to admit it.''

Nails that scratched at his scalp made Harry forget any compelling argument against that ludicrous statement.

''What was your time being taken up by?'' he asked. ''I was under the impression that you were ecstatic to have your most devoted followers back and yet you left not only me, but them as well.'' He bit his tongue before another barrage of questions could slip out, of worry over his partner's own mental wellbeing, of the emotions that had welled up when the prisoners had appeared. Voldemort would speak of it when ready for a conversation, as usual.

The other arched his barely visible eyebrow, clearly debating whether he'd answer at all with more than 'being busy'. Maybe due to sensing Harry's sour mood, Voldemort chose to elaborate: ''I ensured none who were allowed to leave harboured any resentment for being put in danger yesterday and informed Barty about recent plans. He'll be joining us, after all. For the remainder of the night, I've been strengthening wards, keeping an eye on the visitors whose loyalty I am not assured of and just now, checked whether or not this vial of Polyjuice is past its due date. We cannot have our talks at the Ministry be ruined when Dumbledore unexpectedly morphs into one of my own followers, thought to be dead.''

''Visitors?'' Harry asked, finally deciding to let go of his anger, moving to take one of the chairs. Voldemort claimed the seat next to it, naturally drawn to the closest spot possible.

It might have looked awkward to outsiders, the way so little space was left between them during a simple conversation, Harry's fingers sliding across a bony thigh on impulse while Voldemort's hand slipped between spine and the unyielding wood of Harry's chair. A tinkling could be heard when a bare foot pressed against his calf. With a content sigh, Harry sagged forwards slightly, inhaling the pleasant scent he'd come to associate with safety.

''Ah- yes. As you know, I invited William Weasley to yesterday's celebration to see whether the open-mindedness he's shown before and his closeness to Delacour can be used in our favour. He is not yet loyal to me however, so I consider him a guest here until our plans have been set in motion. Ronald and Granger volunteered their aid in keeping watch, agreeing that we could not risk William going rogue by deciding to inform his brother or father at the Ministry before we were ready. In addition, as you don't know, we have one more Weasley on our hands. Ginevra snuck in.''

''Parkinson!'' Harry exclaimed, the Knut finally dropping about the weird behaviour of Eloise Parkinson and Voldemort's order to the girl to find Bill. So it had been Ginny's horse Patronus that had joined the fray. ''But how-''

''A childish scheme, which she can be thankful for to have worked out positively, else I'd consider her a prisoner, not a guest. Put your concerns away, my dear. We can take care of this after dealing with the Ministry of Magic. There's about forty minutes left before we leave, so I advise you to make yourself more presentable. Narcissa has gone to fetch some of your robes from Malfoy manor.''

Well, that explained the absence of one of his guardians…''And where is Siri?''

''On a mission we'll speak of after.'' A hit of exasperation told Harry he'd prodded enough. Little need for sleep aside, Voldemort staying up all night never improved his mood either. Harry doubted the man had had time to fetch one of his energy-saving draughts between all the other described self-imposed tasks.

After lifting his head to receive one more, drawn-out kiss, Harry got ready as well he could. He was relieved to find indeed one working toilet, scrubbed off the flaky runes at the sink, attempted to wash himself with a damp cloth for lack of a shower and flattened his hair a bit by pressing it down with his hands.

Narcissa brought new robes a few minutes later, of a simple cut with little decoration, fit for any wizard to show up in good company without looking as if going to a ball. He thanked her for the choice, doing a whirl under Narcissa's critical eye. ''Think I can charm the country into not throwing me in shackles with this?'' he grinned, trying to supress his own nerves with humour.

It didn't really land, pale eyes widening in shocked worry. ''Harry- if anything at all happens-''

''Have some faith, Narcissa,'' Voldemort cut in. He'd finished his own last touches too – robes straightened and speckless, wand fastened at his hip with a thin silk belt, the yew wood contrasting against the dark cloth. ''If anyone dares touch him, they shall pay a price of my design.''

Somehow, that assurance of violence on Harry's behalf did hit its mark, for her stance eased. Moments like these were a good reminder of Narcissa's proficiency as a duellist: although well-versed in social events, she preferred to solve conflicts with her wand, not words. That was Lucius' territory.

''Of course, my Lord. I shall concentrate on my duties here and leave his wellbeing in your capable hands.''

''Return to your sister's side, then. Bella is still the highest in command of those who escaped and thus cannot lean on anyone but blood family. Not even her own husband.''

With a last curtsy and a press of her warm hand to Harry's cheek, Narcissa was off.

''No crown?'' Harry quipped with a smile, plucking at his collar. While the robe was fine in general, it did feel a tad stiff, most likely due to it being brand-new. Ever since his adoption, he'd stayed too few days with the Malfoys to go through the whole wardrobe they'd bought in advance.

Voldemort smiled wryly, sliding closer to pry Harry's fingers away from the fabric, drawing them towards his mouth instead. ''Perhaps tomorrow, depending on today's outcome. Now, it is time to summon Barty…''

XxX

The Atrium at eight 'o clock in the morning was a beehive of activity. Pops of apparition were interrupted by the whooshing of many a fireplace, every employee trying to rush to their offices in the span of as few minutes as humanly possible just to leave home a moment later. The ornate golden fountain and banners with Ministry slogans were looked at by none who arrived at this hour, only there to impress visitors who only trickled in by nine, with very few exceptions.

Today was such an exception, when three of the most wanted men in the country appeared in a dramatic storm of flames, the phoenix whose fire surrounded the figures for a few seconds more soaring up high to stretch its wings and cry out a song.

The gathered mass of employees collectively held their breaths when taking in the odd trio. Their hero and scapegoat combined in the form of Harry Potter was flanked by none other than Albus Dumbledore and the terrifying wizard their boss had claimed again and again to be gone from this earth.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

As if on cue, a flock of owls - animals that had long since been banned from the Ministry for the mess they left - appeared out of nowhere, dropping dozens of the newspapers everyone had wondered about being late at breakfast today.

The headline:

Unlikely Alliance Formed in Face of Dementor Attack.

Nothing stopped the men from moving forward, the crowd rippling and recoiling in fear, watching on like a flock of deer in headlights as the three marched towards the centre of the Atrium, no-one daring to look away for more than the second it took to take in that front page title without having the time to read the article in full. Not here and now.

Voldemort scanned the amassed workers, highly aware of his own movements, keeping them elegantly languid. They needed fear without outright panic, confusion without chaos. A single scare too many could set off a powder keg. The position of his wand had been a deliberate choice: anyone could see it placed at his sash rather than hidden away, waiting to be drawn. Not that safety was more than an illusion. Senses and reflexes both had been improved beyond human ability: should anyone dare fire a spell, its counter would be cast before the incantation could traverse more than two feet from the wand of whoever was foolish enough to pose a challenge.

It was tempting to provoke exactly such a thing, throw caution to the wind and bathe the Atrium in a sea of emerald green. In another time, he might have, able to blame madness for the thirst. That was no longer a possibility.

Harry's presence reminded Voldemort that this was hardly a loss worth mourning, considering all he'd gained in return.

Once having pushed past that surge of bloodlust, it was easier to note that not all among those who surrounded them was frightened or caught off guard. In strategic distances from each other, forming an outer ring stretching across the entire atrium, were his own followers who worked at the Ministry: Lucius, Corban, Avery, Gibbon… even the newest head of the Aurors was keeping watch and giving subtle signals to sympathising underlings. By rough estimate, no less than ten percent of those present were tied to him already in varying degrees.

Some individuals he spotted were more problematic: Arthur Weasley appeared conflicted, Nymphadora Tonks' pink hair had already shifted to pale blonde in an attempt to approach unnoticed and Mafalda Hopkirk – a mousy witch with little backbone who worked in the Improper Use of Magic office – trembled so much, eyes fear-stricken, that even the tiniest movement on his part might actually set her off screaming. He whispered a muting charm under his breath, disguising it as a sigh.

Before anyone could have registered that his lips formed a word, he spoke louder: ''I'd appreciate it if someone could fetch the Minister for Magic. He has a few things to answer for.''

''Perhaps we should first explain…'' Barty-as-Dumbledore immediately cut in, frowning sagely in a way that made Dumbledore look far wiser than the real man had ever been. The words – part of their practised act - sowed a kinder sort of confusion, an opening for curiosity about getting answers.

Voldemort pretended to give it a moment of thought.

''Very well,'' he softly answered, letting a loaded pause gather up anticipation for the speech that was to follow:

''I am aware that my reputation precedes me. I am not here, however, to sow violence. Civil solutions must be found in face of a new threat. Hereby I state that you have been deceived by the ignorance and malign irresponsibility of those currently in power. Cornelius Fudge denied I could ever return, dreamt up conspiracy theories about Albus Dumbledore seeking power, and put the blame of his own shortcomings upon the shoulders of someone the Ministry has tried and failed to control for malicious purposes: Harry Potter. Today, the lies will end. Today, you will receive the well-deserved truth about what has been happening behind the scenes.''

The shift in demeanour was palpable. How he loved to string the right words together just so… An incantation disguised as a sentence. Perhaps he should try his hand at those poetry battles in France one day. As with most activities, he surely would show talent for it.

''Liar!'' someone in the back shouted. Dirk Cresswell, Voldemort noted. Goblin liaison office. An utterly unremarkable Muggle-born whose most notable trait was having learned a second language.

''He speaks the truth!'' Harry heatedly retorted, breaking the discussed modus operandi to jump to his defence. Dangerous and adorable. Voldemort kept himself in check, straining not to seem too familiar even as he itched to place a reassuring hand on his love's shoulder. ''Dumbledore was baselessly chased off the grounds of Hogwarts because of Fudge's mad claims, and everyone kept insisting that I tried to help in toppling the government. That is not what happened at all.''

''Although I fear-'' Another unrehearsed interruption, though as it was Barty who went off script now, Voldemort allowed his loyal and resourceful subject to continue: ''-that nothing will be the same after today. Due to Cornelius playing deaf and already having shown a willingness to arrest myself or dear Harry on the spot, we had to find different allies to raise our concerns to. I do not wish to cause panic, but we have a problem at hand that requires every single witch and wizard in this country to work together as one, putting differences in belief aside for the sole purpose of survival. The Dementors, who have already caused multiple incidents over the course of the last couple of years that were brushed under the rug, have broken their ties with the Ministry as of yesterday. I personally witnessed how a whole flock of them left the confines of Azkaban and attacked innocent civilians.''

The multitude of raised voices that responded to that claim battered on his sensitive ears. He should have cast a muting charm on the lot of them. ''And as such…. I implore you to bring me Cornelius Fudge,'' Voldemort once again demanded.

It did not take long. Deer had transformed into vicious dogs showing fangs now their indignation had been appealed to. Everyone hated being deceived, and Fudge's lies were blatantly obvious now. Voldemort's own less so, subtle twistings of the truth in his own favour hardly traceable.

It was wondrous how much could be accomplished when showing the public one opinion from two such opposing sources. His mere presence confirmed that Dumbledore's theories had held water all along, and the both of them insisting on the same version of events regarding a new threat made for a terribly convincing argument for most anyone. What would a resurrected Dark Lord and his publicly beloved enemy agree on, if not the truth? A shame that the real Albus Dumbledore would likely have been far too caught up in tiresome prejudices to agree even on this, rejecting Voldemort's sincerity on principle alone.

''What is this commotion?'' Red in the face, a puffed-up Minister appeared, having been called out of his office. As soon as he stepped foot in the Atrium, multiple of the employees took their chance to drag and shove Fudge towards the centre, ''What- Unhand me at once! Robards, Kingsley, don't just stand there!'' he barked at the nearest Aurors, clearly having missed the central point of today's gathering.

Kingsley was far too busy pensively staring at Dumbledore to pay anyone else attention, leaving Robards to half-heartedly defend the Minister, making a few idle threats of arrest. Robards was a strictly law-abiding citizen however, and shoving someone – regardless of if it was the Minister himself or a street urchin– was not exactly a crime, leaving him unable to do anything more than Fudge himself could.

It was comical how fast the Minister fell silent as soon as beady eyes landed on Voldemort. Apart from a distasteful sputtering, the man uttered nothing at all when coming face to face with the manifestation of his fears, that which ripped the last shreds of control out of Fudge's hands: the return of the Dark Lord.

''Choosing to revolve your campaign around my apparent death was not your wisest move,'' Voldemort rubbed it in with a sardonic smile. ''Neither was slandering all who tried to correct that error.''

''You- you-'' Fudge whispered, pale as a sheet. He seemed unable to form an actual sentence, unsure on how to end it.

''There is nothing you have to say to me, Minister. It is those who gave you their vote of confidence that are owed an apology, before you bow out.'' He gracefully gestured towards the crowd. ''Were you aware that the Dementors you assured us all to have such perfect control over, took a trip to Cornwall last night in an attempt to lavish on the souls of our fellow mages? An attempt only thwarted by the presence of myself, Dumbledore, and Mr Potter. This was no small group either, a whole thirty of them decided to attack my people.'' He let a hint of the actual wrath he felt over the incident seep through.

''I returned two years ago,'' he declared. If Fudge whitened any further, he would start to resemble Voldemort's own skin colour. ''Years in which I painstakingly built up a community, found ways to practise my profession without hostility. I left you your Ministry, your Wizengamot, and for what?''

The question rang clear through the Atrium. No Legilimency was necessary to see the cogwheels turning, his words just enough to busy their audience with attempting to complete a puzzle he'd only handed them a handful of pieces to.

''Dumbledore…'' Fudge now whispered, turning desperately to a stern Barty.

His Right Hand did not respond immediately, the way bright blue irises peered down on the Minister over half-moon spectacles enough to hush the last whispers. An impressive performance. Voldemort pushed away the unwelcome feeling of being a student again, always only a disappointment in the Transfiguration classroom.

''You want my advice now, Cornelius? I gave my warnings: about the danger of using Dementors, the cruelty of Dolores Umbridge who was so keen on bringing them to Hogwarts and certainly about the return of Lord Voldemort. I've admittedly had to reconsider my level of concern about the latter, but that does not change the fact that you outright refused to believe. You listened to none of it, spending energy instead to slander my name, remove me as Chief Warlock and Headmaster of Hogwarts. Even on retracting my completely unrelated Order of Merlin. I'm still cross about the latter.''

Voldemort's prepared himself to grab the handle of his wand when Fudge was so audacious to turn pleading eyes to Harry. ''Mr Potter, do you recall when I wiped the incident with your aunt-''

''Minister,'' Harry interjected through clenched teeth. ''I've smacked your undersecretary in the face for her stupid comments and I won't hesitate to do the same to you. Last I recall, you were exceptionally rude to me during the hearing that decided the result of my own guardianship. You brought nothing to the Ministry but corruption and cowardice. I'd appreciate it if you'd let more competent people take over without useless drama. I fought your pets yesterday night. They almost cost one of my friends his soul. Do us all a favour and get lost.''

The honesty of Gryffindors was more brutal than any snide remarks Voldemort would have lashed Fudge with.

The man wildly looked around once more, nervously fidgeting with his tie when finding not a single person who'd openly stand by him. ''I- well- I did my best,'' he huffed. ''All those ridiculous claims- how could one be expected to believe- no proof…'' he inarticulately muttered, backing away. When Fudge drew his wand, Voldemort was indifferent: their dear Minister only wanted to leave the humiliation behind.

With a pop of apparition, the Ministry of Magic was without a Minister.

An applause had of course been too much to hope for. They were left with the same puzzled, uncertain crowd as before, only now it had lost all sense of direction at their boss' leaving.

At this perfect opportunity, the Dark Lord took the reins so freely offered:

''I recommend everyone read the Prophet to inform yourselves of the situation at hand. It includes suggestions regarding your and your families' safety which are to be followed. Spread this news to your colleagues who arrived too early to be present in the Atrium and are still unaware. To not remain headless for long, the Heads of all Departments are to gather in conference hall three so necessary steps to protect ourselves can be discussed. Dumbledore, Potter, follow me.''

Although it was an emergency that had driven him out into the public eye, Voldemort would be the last to deny he enjoyed it. Taking decisions for those beneath him was as natural as breathing. The concocted plan may not include taking the throne for himself, not even placing a blatant puppet on it, but it was he nonetheless who would shape the government from today onward, in the same way the national press had folded to his whims. Delacour's work was a perfect example of how proper delegation could be as effective as direct management.

Out of caution, Voldemort did not address Barty during their walk. The disguise of Dumbledore needed to be perfect. The slightest witnessed crack could send this all spiralling unpleasantly. The chances of anyone seeing were far too high, especially since a few of those he'd picked out of the crowd earlier had rushed after them, following at a distance they deemed 'safe'. How long would they take to risk a confrontation? Who would remain in the shadows as a silent watcher and who'd demand answers? For the first time, the Dark Lord reconsidered the decision to let the Weasleys go without silencing contracts. It had served its purpose after the Order's raid and following conversations, but now…

~That went better than I'd feared,~ Harry hissed, breaking through his musing. ~It was disconcerting how calm I was throughout it all, admittedly.~

~You are distressed about… your lack of distress?~

~Last time I was here, Aurors attacked me, Ron almost died and I had to reveal my allegiance to my friends right after you murdered the Head of the Auror Office. Yeah, I'd expected to be nervous.~

Voldemort found it impossible to relate: danger brought exhilaration, not stress.

~You have learned, since then, to handle positions of power,~ he reminded. ~I am pleased that you have grown more comfortable in such decisive roles.~

Harry nodded seriously, cracking his neck as they walked, taking a moment to answer. ~Think I'm still more used to that in the sense of battle or training for battle. Maybe I was calm because I half expected a fight to break out.~

They arrived at the conference hall Voldemort had practically ordered the Department leaders to meet at. In light of the most recent, abrupt changes, he was not concerned they'd refuse to follow.

The hall was large and impersonal, holding little else than a dark brown table and matching set of chairs. ~Keep that alert stance,~ he murmured as they took their seats in the as-of-yet empty room. Better said, he and Harry sat down; still eerily in-character, Barty casually roamed the room to fawn over an unremarkable potted plant the way Dumbledore would in that unhinged way the old fool found pleasure in the most mundane facets of life.

~There's no guarantee these negotiations will go smoothly. The Wizengamot will be slighted by being excluded and I'm sure many more will feel they deserve a spot at the table as well.~

~Sounds like we're in for another exhausting day. You actually enjoy this, don't you?~ Harry asked, stunning eyes squinting in disbelief.

~Of course. You could too, if you'd start thinking like a politician~

~Just thinking is hard enough in general.~

A somewhat untrue statement. Self-deprecating cynicism had a time and place that was not in the midst of their bloodless revolution.

~I'd have believed that snarky remark a year ago. Not so much after knowing all the wild opinions and theories you can craft at a moment's notice when spurred to.~ He relished in the rush of being flattered that made his love's magic curl pleasantly.

It was cut short when one pair of the footsteps that had trailed them from a distance caught up.

''Do I need to congratulate you for being promoted to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Mr Weasley?'' he coldly asked. ''I'd been looking forward to speaking to Madam Bones.''

Harry, who'd automatically gotten to his feet at the appearance of Arthur Weasley – learned politeness from the Malfoys or just an awkward habit? – cleared his throat. ''It's good to see you safe and sound,'' the teen stated. The words rang with a profound sincerity that caused a spark of jealousy to ignite.

Weasley wore a tired, sad smile. ''I hope I can return that. Are you? Safe and sound?'' He hesitated, unsubtly glancing at Voldemort. His mouth set in a grimmer line when the man's gaze wandered further to Barty. Ah yes, Weasly was one of the few who were aware of the little switching stunt – or at least could deduct it from the revelation of Dumbledore having been captured.

''I am now,'' Harry answered. He wavered when light that flooded through the open doors was blocked anew by the arrival of two more people: Hugh Moon, from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and Majida Karam, the fairly recent replacement of Ludovic Bagman as head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

''Weasley? What are you doing here?'' Moon frowned.

''Mr Weasley was only asking after my well-being,'' Harry responded for the man. ''Which is honestly a nice change from my experiences with the Ministry. You know, Aurors throwing stunners at me and the Undersecretary torturing me at school.''

That statement caused two uncomfortable expressions. ''Now, Mr Potter…'' Karam coughed. ''Dolores Umbridge's actions were found to have been unsanctioned violations-''

''Only after she signed the werewolf registry, correct? Wasn't there an official statement barely a month prior that the Auror investigation cleared her of all accusations made by students? Convenient how fast that cover-up was suddenly thrown aside when she grew literal claws instead of the figurative ones she'd been using to dig her way into Hogwarts at behest of the Ministry.''

''Enough, Potter,'' Voldemort softly warned, very much steeling his heart when catching a surprised, wounded look. He considered continuing this conversation in Parseltongue yet didn't wish to worsen the situation by pressing their guests' noses on this shared 'dark' skill and adding secrecy to the conversation all at once. ''The Ministry's mistreatment of you is not our primary point of debate today. Both Fudge and Umbridge are gone now, we must focus on the state of war we're in.''

While Karam and Moon traded an uncertain look, the most competent person in the Ministry of Magic entered.

''I had not entertained the thought of being in solid agreement with you, yet here we are,'' Madam Bones spoke, striding into the room. In her left hand, she held a rolled-up Prophet. ''A convincing speech, earlier. Even so, I must say that I'd prefer to get a more detailed summary from Albus.''

How little resistance was put up was very telling indeed of the influence Dumbledore's name still had to those in the Ministry who'd never stooped to licking Fudge's boots. The leader of Law Enforcement looking a known murderer in the eye and assessing how to work together instead of trying to arrest him could only be chalked up to her trust in Dumbledore's judgement. What an interesting experience. Capturing the old man before the Dementor attack had been fortunate.

With a beguiling smile, Barty stopped his loitering and approached the new arrivals. ''Let us have some tea first. The Ministry does not happen to have secret greenhouses to grow lemongrass, I fear?''

Shaking her head, Bones pulled a chair back – bravely, one only three seats removed from Voldemort's own. ''Afraid not.'' She adjusted her monocle, turning a tick to the left to face Weasley. ''Arthur, I must really ask you to leave. If we make one exception, we'll have to make many.''

It was admirable how Weasley left without looking timid, staying long enough to be assured of both Harry's and Ron's safety. Voldemort did not quite agree with his partner's mumbled statement that the man would be kept informed, but they'd cross that bridge after managing today's talk.

They did not need to wait much longer for the other Department Heads to trickle in – quit a few with dragging feet and arrested breath as they tiptoed around Voldemort as if not daring to wake a slumbering dragon - until they were ten in total. The majority huddled into the seats at the very far other end of the large conference table, as if that would put them out of range of his curses. Voldemort did not taunt them into coming closer. This gathering was, in the greater scheme, only an excuse. The less people who were willing to partake in active planning, the better. They were much more useful as silent witnesses.

As soon as everyone had settled in, Bones withdrew a small metal container, putting it on the table. Calmly, she undid the latches and opened the lid, showing a single tiny vial. The clear liquid it contained certainly wasn't water.

''I realise that if you say who you are, you'll be able to negate its effects,'' Bones stated, making it float over to him, passing Harry by. Another smidge of proof about her firm morals, not to break the law by illegally interrogating a minor. ''As very few people can, that in itself will be evidence enough that all of this is to be taken seriously and not, as one of my colleagues suggested, an elaborate prank or publicity stunt.'' She raised an eyebrow in the direction of the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, a striking blonde witch called Amanda Brocklehurst.

Or she would usually be called that, as Voldemort recognised that this one was the disguised Auror and Order member Tonks. Methamorphmagi sure were something. Fleetingly scanning surface thoughts, she'd not been ordered to impersonate her superior, as none of the others at the table appeared to be aware of the change, including Madam Bones. He wondered where the real Brocklehurst had disappeared off to after spouting that ridiculous theory.

With a look of contempt, he focused on his Occlumency barriers and unstopped the Veritaserum, bringing it to his lips. The way it grappled at his mind was easily blocked. ''Your question?''

''Simply state your name,'' Bones ordered. Sensible, for if he were truly who he posed to be, he'd answer the same regardless of whether the potion worked.

''Lord Voldemort,'' he indulged her, then disintegrated the vial with wandless magic, grains of glass raining down on the dark table. The display of casual power was likely just as effective as the confirmation of his identity. The way the remaining uncertain expressions morphed into shock was telling. ''With that out of the way, can we move on?''

''Let us do so. Albus…?'' It was no surprise that Bones took the initiative again. Not only due to her character, also because the Department of Magical Law Enforcement held a position of authority over the others since its creation. She was the only one here who was a current member of the Wizengamot since Dumbledore had had his title removed, and essentially was free to command the Auror corps. Since the closing of the door, Voldemort had in fact taken note of several Aurors positioning themselves on the corridor to guard it. The light clanking of the equipment always carried on their person for emergencies – self-wrapping chains and probity probes - was unmistakable.

''I'll correctly assume that I am meant to clarify the situation?'' Barty asked, steepling his fingers together. ''I too had expected that being in one room with another Dark Lord would result in a duel of epic proportions. Before I start my tale, however… Amelia, I do hope mine and Harry's wanted posters will be removed?''

The way she pursed her lips did not predict an affirmative answer. ''The crime Cornelius accused you of was seditious libel and the illegitimate attempt to usurp his office. Regardless of at which angle we look at your appearance today, you very much did force Cornelius out of the Ministry. When it comes to you-'' she nodded curtly to Harry ''Mr Potter, there is plenty of proof that you broke into the Department of Mysteries and damaged hundreds of thousands of priceless, irreplaceable artefacts.''

''Dumbledore, the need to clear your name is misplaced here,'' Voldemort firmly stated to steer the conversation in a more constructive direction. Not that he blamed Barty: the old man would have focused on his own innocence first and foremost. It was a generous leap to have included Harry in the same breath. ''I have committed serial murder, torture, theft, impersonation and, naturally, cast dark magic on the daily,'' he drawled in a bored tone. ''Who did or did not commit crimes is irrelevant in face of the facts: Dementors are running wild and have openly declared war on our kind.'' He withdrew a vial of his own then, one filled with shimmering Memoria Fluidum that he'd taken from the Pensieve last night during a brief trip home.

''Inclina,'' he cast, raising one hand above the table. Its surface rippled, creaking as wood was bent into the shape he desired, dipping inwards at the middle to form a large concavity, so shallow it was barely two hair's breadths deep in the middle. Upon pouring the liquid in, the contents spread rapidly, filling the incurvation to turn it into a pool of shining silver.

Grasping at his own temple, he concentrated on last night's memory – altered slightly to replace Barty's form with Dumbledore's, clad the Death Eaters Voldemort had protected in different robes than their prison garments and blurred the faces of everyone present apart from himself, Harry and Dumbledore - then dropped it into the makeshift Pensieve. As it was too shallow to dip one's head in, he disturbed the surface with his fingers, the scene rising in the air like a dark cloud.

He both heard and felt Harry suck in a breath as the memory unfolded in front of them all. With everyone else distracted by the view, he did follow his own urge now, sitting back down to briefly touch his partner's hand under the table. No more than a brush, really, yet it was enough for Harry to lose some of that tenseness as they watched the Dementors split up once again, one half attacking Voldemort, the other half descending upon a panicked crowd.

''This memory has been manipulated,'' Karam pointed out.

''Of course,'' Voldemort calmly replied. ''We have not reached any agreements so far. Why would I freely deliver you the identities of my followers?''

Karam frowned yet backed off at that plausible explanation. In truth, while keeping the anonymity of those loyal to him was important, having such an obvious manipulation placed upon it served as a way to hide the subtle ones about Barty and the return of his most faithful.

''If my word means more to you,'' Barty told the woman, ''This is how I recall last evening as well, and my own mind is not so easily manipulated.'' With a relieved nod, Karam turned her attention to the scene again.

It was strange to see from this perspective, bleakly painting just how hopeless the situation had truly been, only four Patroni flying across the battlefield to push the enemy back.

It was highly convenient that his and Dumbledore's Patroni matched, now, as well as that Draco Malfoy's took the form of a serpent. The placement of the animal guardians might be slightly off, but he doubted that would be registered in the chaos. Tonks notably calmed down when her eyes followed the pearly Phoenix.

Besides, the Patroni were soon forgotten when the first Dementor disappeared in a flash of white fire.

''What? What was that?'' It was the first time the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Lucretia Fawley, had spoken. They all stared, entranced, when more of the creatures were pulled from existence. In the tumult of storming Dementors, incoherent screaming and bright shields, it was indeed difficult to immediately pinpoint the source. As soon as the memory-form of Voldemort started moving towards Harry, the Dark Lord waved the vision away, drawing the Memoria Fluidum back into the flask.

''That was Mr Potter's doing,'' he revealed. His partner had not said much yet, but it was of utmost importance that these people would recognise the necessity of Harry's involvement. ''Unfortunately, his unique ability is limited and self-destructive. Only seven Dementors could be destroyed before he collapsed. Have you seen enough to be convinced of the threat? The attack you just witnessed will not be the last and there is no telling how fast they will strike.''

While Bones pondered on how to answer, Herbert Hornby, who oversaw the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, piped up: ''Bringing this to our attention was wise, but states of emergencies do not excuse crimes! You openly admitted to murder to the highest authorities in the Ministry of-''

Hornby's voice was grating. His stupidity even more so. The Dark Lord did not need to pull his wand or speak a word to make the man's tongue swell up to the point it blocked his airway. While Hornby was busy clawing at his throat in panic, growing ever redder in the face, Voldemort raised his voice: ''Let us not circle around pointless arguments here. I would hope it is clear to everyone present that this gathering's sole purpose is finding a quick solution to untangle the mess the Ministry has become. I am not above sacrificing a few pawns if it keeps even a single magical soul out of the stomach of these things.''

''This is not what we agreed upon,'' Barty said, slowly rising to his feet. In that moment, Voldemort wasn't quite sure whether he wished to compliment or strangle Barty with the grey beard he now sported.

Hornby coughed and sputtered as his tongue was reduced to regular size.

''I will not be held back by idiocy. Too much is at stake,'' Voldemort icily bit. ''This concerns us all. The enemy has few weak spots and only a handful of mages can do as much as hold them off, it'd be suicide to refuse the help of anyone capable. I am more than capable.''

''I believe we are in need of more context to accompany this memory,'' Fawley declared, a hungry look in her eyes that showed more interest in Harry's unique ability than anything else. Predictably, she added: ''If Mr Potter has found a way to destroy these beings, he is the perfect weapon-''

''No,'' Harry denied, glaring at her. ''I will not be made into your weapon. I've had enough of being pushed and pulled around for abilities I never asked for. I'll help, of course, but on my terms. Terms already agreed upon by both Professor Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort.''

The unwavering refusal showed exactly the strength of character Voldemort so admired in his partner. He sent a wave of approval through their mental link, pure magic leaking out unintentionally to creep over Harry's skin, only invisible due to the amount of willpower he put into holding it back just enough not to physically manifest. The answering reaction was glorious to behold: the working of Harry's throat, the slight tremble of his bottom lip… Rough fingers shifted an inch to the right to dig into Voldemort's thigh.

Their eyes met, and it was clear as day that they shared the same desire in that moment.

Barty sharply cleared his throat, cheerfully announcing: ''Amelia, I still owe you that brief. This memory indeed did not paint the full picture.''

The atmosphere visibly relaxed when 'Dumbledore' recited their partially fabricated version of events. It did faithfully include the Lughnasadh celebration and Voldemort's role as a channeler for Magic. Hearing of hundreds gathering to witness a sermon led by the Dark Lord had more than one person growing restless. Good. Let them know the support for practising the old ways never truly died. It would make them think twice about turning on him later.

The detail that obviously had needed altering was 'Dumbledore's' involvement: how he'd supposedly heard of the celebration through a network of friends and acquaintances and decided to stop the Dark Lord, only to arrive shortly before the Dementors gathered their forces.

''And how did you come to attend, Mr Potter?'' Madam Bones finally asked. ''I was under the assumption that your whereabouts was unknown even to Albus. Minerva expressed her worries to me a few times after your rushed departure from Hogwarts.''

As Harry wasn't a particularly stellar liar to say the least, they'd mutually decided to divulge the truth in this case. Having finally managed to overcome the earlier wooziness and having ripped his gaze away from Voldemort, the Gryffindor confessed, head held high: ''Lord Voldemort and I reconciled long before all of this went down. I was already at the feast.''

Before Bones had a chance to reply, Voldemort added: ''Mr Potter was the reason why the negotiations between myself and Dumbledore proceeded smoothly. A few… misconceptions were quickly cleared up. You may have heard the rumours surrounding our unique situation, considering Dumbledore went out of his way to announce to many of his acquaintances that my downfall was no coincidence. Indeed, there is ancient magic at work that pertains to us both. Rather than continue the feud I started over the threat I was led to believe he posed to my existence, we reached an agreement.''

''You're being far too vague about it,'' Harry butted in with a sigh. ''Look, we really haven't the time to go into detail, but I am a faithful believer in Magic. Lord Voldemort has shown me how to fix much of what I think is wrong with the world and I am convinced he can achieve that which is sorely needed: a unified magical society. The celebrations I've taken part in over the past few years were a glimpse of a brighter future than the divided mess we're in now. Of course, for that to come true, we first must defeat the Dementors, who are out to target everyone.''

''You can't mean that,'' Tonks indignantly blurted out, perhaps forgetting she was supposed to play the far timider Mrs Brocklehurst. The reaction was vexing, mostly because it cut the moment short that Voldemort could bask in Harry's outspoken praise, praise the teen truly meant from the depth of his heart. ''Harry - sorry, Mr Potter. This man dragged our country into war with the purpose of dividing us by the purity of blood, the opposite of what you claim his goal to be! I get working together out of absolute desperation, but I can not understand actually being on his side!''

Several of her colleagues attempted to shush Tonks, no doubt frightened half to death of what her disapproving words could lead to. Voldemort decided to overlook her hostility, knowing that in time, she too would come to see how wrong her views were.

''You don't need to understand it,'' Harry rebuked. ''I only explained the role I played and wanted to make clear whom I answer to. If you can work together 'out of desperation', that's good enough for today. We're in too much of a hurry to also discuss the many factors that led me to have a change of heart regarding my trust in this man since I last faced him as an enemy.''

''Which leads us to the question of the Ministry's future guidance,'' Voldemort smoothly interjected, drawing attention back to him. ''Over the past years, I have watched the political field from the side-lines and determined the only logical choice of Fudge's successor to be Madam Bones.''

His move to play with open cards that favoured one in their midst was met with disgruntlement by Bones' colleagues. The woman herself too at last seemed to have been taken aback.

''I am not on your side, nor have I ever been interested in a promotion of that level. Why me?''

Voldemort leaned back, displaying his being at ease while everyone else was off guard. ''It should come as no surprise that I would prefer to fill the position myself,'' he started. ''Yet I realise those who openly support me are not so great in number that my rule would not be contested. With the revelation of my resurrection, any person put forward as a candidate will be scrutinised to see if they have any ties to me as well, and if they do, it would lead to the same result of a rebellion we cannot afford.''

''You... actually resurrected? Your 'downfall' was not a mere metaphor?'' Fawley asked.

''That is hardly relevant here,'' he replied, although as a scholar, he understood the fascination. Fawley personally worked in the Death Chamber, so today's revelations must upend many of the theories known to her. ''To the matter at hand: with the strain currently present underneath the surface of our community and in the face of a war against resilient creatures that sow fear by their very nature, two traits are of utmost importance for the next Minister for Magic: unshakable impartiality and a distaste for corruption by any means. Bones, you are not on anyone's side but that of your own morality, which makes you one of remarkably few who are insusceptible to favouritism. You care not for who pitches an idea, only the idea in itself and how it rhymes with your pragmatic view of the world. You are the stability the people need during this rough storm.''

He let the words sink in, waiting patiently for her answer.

As Madam Bones actually thought before speaking, one of her colleagues who was less endowed with wisdom – Hornby again, not having learned his lesson – heatedly asked: ''Do we not get a vote?''

Irritated, he shot back: ''Your last vote was wasted on Cornelius Fudge, I'd rather not grant you another chance at folly. I implore you to refrain from speaking again, or the next spell I cast on you will be a slicing hex to your tongue.''

''My colleague does have a point,'' Bones defended the man, folding her hands underneath her chin as she gravely gazed at Voldemort. ''You are proposing to forego an election.''

''Not unheard of in times of war, Amelia,'' Barty put in his two cents, furrowing his wrinkled brow in concern. ''Quite honestly, I had expected a provisional government to form one way or the other after the return of Lord Voldemort would obliterate Cornelius' sandcastle. We cannot focus on elaborate election campaigns and leave the Ministry without an official leader when under direct attack.''

''One more question,'' Fawley said, her eyes never having left Harry since his ability to kill Dementors had been shown. ''You mention outright war. Your memory showed one attack, the reason for which has not been properly cleared up. All this times, there's been no mention of why they showed. Nor have I read a word about that in the Prophet.''

The why was a stinging point of past misplaced trust in his former allies. Voldemort did not wish to outright admit to this being partially his fault, yet knew he must take responsibility…

''It was because of me,'' Harry beat him to it. ''I- I accidentally killed one of the Dementors at Hogwarts who tried to attack one of my peers. They're unreasonable creatures who hold grudges and were already dissatisfied by being starved and by Lord Voldemort's refusal to form an allyship with them. Their anger turned into this. They…'' he swallowed nervously. A flicker of real fear shot through their bond. ''They asked for my soul. When Voldemort refused to offer me up, the Dementors declared war upon all mages.''

Every single one of those statements was both true and extremely pulled out of context to shift the angle of the entire situation in a way that made Voldemort's actions almost saint-like. What an excellently Slytherin move.

Could one fall in love twice?

A scoff broke the silence.

''You are to blame? So the solution is easy then, isn't it? We just have to give the Dementors what they want to prevent this entire mess: Potter!''

The promised slicing curse did not land on Hornby's tongue, but his throat. The flash of a shield spell was the only thing preventing a full decapitation, infuriatingly limiting the damage enough not to kill the man that instant. The glaringly red gash from which blood gushed and spurted matched the haze that clouded the Dark Lord's vision. Anger was a pounding thing, he barely registered his own movements, hisses slipping from his lips to inflict further damage on the dying man that was choking on his own blood. He put more force behind the spells, intent on breaking the shield to land a lethal hit-

Only when Harry placed himself physically in between Voldemort and his victim to heal the man of all things, did the fog ebb away. He took in the terrified faces all around, glared at the wands directed at him as he breathed through the fury.

It had been Harry's shield that had protected Hornby, he understood. No-one else could have acted so quickly, recognised his breaking point a split second before he'd turned to murder. Voldemort wished to cast the curse again, properly this time to cleanly slice through. He swallowed it down. Giving into instinct had been… unwise. Had one of the Department Heads truly died, these talks would have spiralled out of control. He'd have to find a way to reward his partner.

Voldemort slowly lowered himself into his seat again, settling for an impassive stare as Harry expertly removed misplaced blood and repaired damaged skin. ''He'll live,'' Harry finally announced in relief, hoisting Hornby up on the chair he'd fallen off with his wild thrashing. ''The first cut might scar, though. Any deeper and you could have joined nearly-headless Nick. Oh- don't speak yet,'' he advised. ''Your voice box will need some rest.''

Underneath seven incredulous stares, Harry put his wand away and slid back over to Voldemort's side as if nothing had happened. As if he'd not just prevented a slaughter by displaying healing abilities on the level of a trained Mediwizard. Voldemort could not be any prouder.

Keeping his voice as levelled as inhumanly possible, the Dark Lord announced: ''Now the preposterous and vile suggestion of turning Potter into an unwilling martyr has been declined, let us move onto discussing viable options. Madam Bones, am I correct in my assumption that you've come to the conclusion that your leadership is necessary?''

The woman was the last one to keep her wand trained firmly on him. ''In face of the alternative my declining could bring, yes. I think we can all be exceptionally grateful that you maintained enough common sense not to use this chance to grasp power for yourself.'' When he did not respond negatively to the open insult, she at last lowered her weapon. ''To protect our people from both outward and inward threats, I agree to being appointed interim Minister,'' The statement was met by quiet muttered agreement from her spooked colleagues. ''However, I also insist on the regular procedures revolving such a temporary government in unstable times, including a committee of advisors from all levels within the Ministry. I additionally insist that these positions be filled by people of different backgrounds and blood statuses.''

''I do not oppose that,'' Voldemort thinly smiled, having found his equilibrium again. The hand that had slipped into his under the table may have helped. ''My views on blood status are not as rigid as you appear to believe. Should you be able to find any capable Muggle-borns within your ranks, be my guest. I must add that meaninglessly filling this committee with employees based purely on blood status would only hinder our progress, so I suggest you choose wisely. Perhaps one who already has a job where a quick mind and thick skin is necessary.''

''Yes… the Aurors, perhaps,'' Bones mumbled, taking exactly the direction Voldemort had hoped to nudge her into. She took a few steadying breaths before continuing: ''We have a very talented Muggle-born Auror who has shown potential and proactiveness across the board…'' She conjured a piece of parchment, writing the name 'Aveline Odell' at the very top of her candidate list. ''Since we are all here today, I would like to note down any suggestions of employees who could contribute. As per protocol, we are searching for a team of twelve.'' She glanced over to Dumbledore, then. ''Albus, you've been rather quiet. What is your opinion? You've known most every member of the Ministry's staff currently working here both as a student and as a worker.''

''I did not wish to influence Ministry affairs any further, Amelia… but if you are asking so politely, I might have a few suggestions…''

Those suggestions, combined with the set criteria of a diverse team, quickly filled the list with very favourable names. To balance out the Aurors, Proudfoot was suggested quickly as newest leader of the Office, and a few carefully placed words about war experience were enough to get Arthur Weasley on the list after Barty confessed the man to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix. It was a risky move, but one that would allow them to keep an eye on Weasley's movements. Plus, Voldemort could always blackmail the man with his children. Brocklehurst's plea to add one Nymphadora Tonks was shot down easily when Harry pointed out it would be another Pure-blood from the Aurors and thus entirely unfair to all other departments.

In the end, after another solid hour of back-and-forth in which Voldemort participated as little as possible to not add further strife, ten out of twelve turned out to be within his direct sphere of influence. Expanding his ranks to be more inclusive had truly paid off.

''What will be your own course of action?'' Madam Bones asked when the ink had finally dried, eyes flicking between Voldemort and Barty. ''I naturally cannot allow either of you to actively take part in governing if we wish to avoid dissidence.''

Barty stroked his beard, humming. ''The International Confederation has shown little interest for my official fugitive status.'' It was said with a cheery grin and a twinkle in his eye. ''We can assume the Dementors will focus on Britain first as the only real threat to them is here, but it won't hurt to inform our neighbours of the situation at hand. My being abroad will also serve to postpone any decisions over that official status of mine.''

The woman nodded quickly in agreement. ''I appreciate that, Albus. Truly. I realise that Cornelius' accusations about you were unfounded, but I cannot start my run with a trial of the former Chief Warlock and Headmaster of Hogwarts. The Wizengamot will be enough of a handful as is, imagine the disaster if they'd actually condemn you.''

''A wise move,'' Voldemort said. ''For similar reasons, Mr Potter and I will return to 'hiding' once more. My current goal is to research his ability to kill our enemy with the intention to replicate it. I shall send an owl regarding our progress. Nevertheless, the errors of the previous government cannot be brushed aside entirely and extent also to some of his peers who can currently not continue their studies for fear that appearing in public would see them punished. It is surely not in our best interest to leave our youth uneducated in this manner. In two months at most, I expect a pardon for them.''

Madam Bones heaved a sigh and once more adjusted her monocle. ''As stated before, I cannot in good conscience do so. What I can do is organise a fair trial in the near future for Mr Potter and the friends he brought along to wreck the Department of Mysteries.''

''It's not as if I broke in for the fun of it,'' Harry protested. ''If Umbridge hadn't messed with-''

Madam Bones sharply cleared her throat. ''Mitigating factors such as the previous Minister's lack of action and appointment of Dolores Umbridge will of course be taken into account. Also, with the Dementors no longer under the Ministry's command, even a sentence that would find you guilty would of course not land you in the prison we can no longer use. Lastly, considering our state of war, it will be up to you when you wish to defend yourself in court, Mr Potter. I will not waste precious resources on persecuting you for such a low-priority claim as financial damages. That is the best I can do.''

A generous offer, one that greatly improved Harry's overall situation and ability of movement. Bones would solely be forced to act if Harry were to show his face again on her turf, where there was really no excuse not to have the already-present Aurors detain him. It was probably smart to steer clear of places such as Hogsmeade or Diagon to avoid running into any overzealous Aurors on duty, but other than that, his partner no longer needed to worry about constant disguises.

''Acceptable,'' Voldemort readily agreed in Harry's stead, rising from his chair. ''We should be going, then. It was not exactly a pleasure, but I am glad today's outcome was positive.''

''It would have been a waste to see the Ministry reduced to ash,'' Madam Bones grimly stated. She could not help but glance over to Hornby, who'd not even attempted to say another word since his near-death-experience.

The Dark Lord answered with a dark smile.

''How wonderful that it did not need to come to that. To keep it that way, I hope you heed warnings better than your predecessor did. My instructions will be delivered by owl.''

''Instructions?'' she sharply asked, but Voldemort was already busy steering Harry towards the exit.

''Until next time… Minister.''

---

AN: The last scene from the perspective of Percy Weasley, who in true workaholic style holed himself up in the office since 5am:
'Huh, I wonder why the Minister did not come in today. I'll keep his tea warm until he returns, that way I'll surely get a promotion. Wait, why is everyone so noisy on the corridors? Oh hello Madam Bones. You were promoted to what now? Where was I?'

Ah, so much seems to be going on at once that it is hard to focus on which scenes to actually write out ^^''
Thinking of some Death Eater interactions and an overdue conversation with Ginny... thoughts?

Please read and review :)
xx GeMerope