Yawning from his morning awakening, Voldemort dragged Harry through the halls. Harry followed as fast as he could, but he found that Voldemort's long legs walked significantly faster than his. He stumbled when they got past a corner, past the window with the rising sun.
The man huffed, stopping. He easily scooped Harry up in his arms and continued on his fast pace. It was like Harry didn't weigh anything to him.
But he had to admit, he did like not having to jog to keep up with Voldemort. He curled up on himself to get through a doorframe, hugging close to Voldemort's chest. Voldemort twitched.
Harry was finally deposited on a sofa in a small room with a floo. Voldemort watched the fire intently.
"What are we waiting for?" Harry curled up on the sofa, still sleepy.
"Your phoenix tears." Voldemort answered, staring into the fire.
"Oh." Harry had forgotten about that. "They're coming in now?"
"Yes. My original contact fell through, but I was able to find another. I was concerned that they wouldn't come in time. You still have that nasty venom running through your veins from your basilisk bite." Voldemort fidgeted with his wand.
"Oh, right." Harry grinned. Voldemort was worried. He didn't think the man was capable of something like that.
The fire blared to life. Inside the flames lay a red box, wrapped securely in twine. Voldemort snatched it instantly. He lifted his knee, using it as a makeshift desk, and tore away the twine. After that, he lifted a box from the box.
The box-within-a-box continued until he was left with a small black box. From there, he lifted a large syringe with a clear liquid in it. He withdrew a blue strip of paper from his pocket. Dabbing the the tiniest of drops onto it, the paper turned white.
"This is genuine phoenix tears." Voldemort confirmed.
"Where am I getting stabbed?" He hoped it wasn't like that one shot he had to get that went into his ass cheek.
"You are not getting stabbed." Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Where were you bitten?"
Harry held out his forearm and pointed to the dark scar that was halfway down. Voldemort hummed. He patted the area around it until he found a good vein.
"On the count of three." Voldemort took their spare hands and laced them together.
Harry's lip quipped.
"One, two," Voldemort furrowed his brow, "three."
It was a little scary to see such a big needle go into him. It felt pinched, and the pressure from the needle in his veins made him a bit queasy. An iced chill like fresh frost entered his body, quickly warming. Voldemort withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball against the injection site. He secured the cotton with a wrapping of gauze.
"You should rest. The phoenix tears will work their way through your body in the next hour." Voldemort patted his arm.
"Got it. I can walk back on my own." Harry teased.
Voldemort looked away from him. Harry could feel embarrassment leaking through the connection, but Voldemort had a conflicted look on his face. He tilted his head, trying to figure out why the two weren't matching.
A sudden wave of exhaustion and peace overtook him. He flopped onto the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. He felt incredibly light, like he'd float away if he wasn't tied down. It was like flowers were growing in his brain, blossoming with their petals blocking out his thoughts.
He let out a little giggle.
"... an unintended side effect." Voldemort cocked his head, trying to get parallel with Harry.
Voldemort tried to haul him to his feet, but his legs were like strawberry jelly and quaked under his weight. A smirk graced Voldemort's face, and he lightly sat Harry back on the sofa. Harry leaned to the side and fell to the cushions.
Arms reached under him and raised him. His head lolled to the side, one of his arms reaching for the floor.
"Sure, you can walk back on your own." Voldemort mocked. "Can you at least try to cooperate?"
Harry slowly raised his arm and crossed it over his midsection. He turned his head into Voldemort's chest, letting out a sigh of relief as the electricity travelled through him. It was truly calming.
They exited the room, walking down the hall. But Harry's mouth moved before he could stop himself.
"Were you always Snake-Face to the Death Eaters or were you hot before?" Harry slurred.
Voldemort stopped in his tracks. He looked down at Harry, confusion and another emotion Harry couldn't place flooded over him. He started to walk again.
"I've always worn glamours. At times, it was so ingrained that I could hardly take them off. It's why I looked that way at my resurrection; my glamours were stuck until I could do a ritual to take them off." He thought for a moment. "I did have a nose. That was the only difference."
"Mhh, I think they'd like the hot version better." Harry curled up to his chest.
Voldemort stopped again.
"I need to be feared." He explained.
"But you could be adored." Harry countered. His eyelids felt like they were weighed down by heavy rocks.
Voldemort sighed.
"You shouldn't talk about me like that." Voldemort huffed. More embarrassment bled through their connection, along with the other strange one.
"You not, hmm, like hot hot, you just kind of look like them." Harry slurred, giggling as he remembered his times with Tom and Riddle.
"I am - " Voldemort sighed. "Stop talking.
Harry stayed curled. It was nice to be carried, the swaying back and forth as Voldemort walked lulled him into a sense of peace. Like slowly drifting on a boat at sea. Harry listened deeply to Voldemort's heartbeat.
He watched as the door to his room opened. Inside, Tom and Riddle sat on the floor, books strewn about, while they pointed at a roll of parchment with diagrams on it. They both looked up, their faces lighting up. But they darkened quickly
"What did you do to him?" Tom exclaimed in an accusatory tone.
Voldemort tched. "Injected him with phoenix tears. It had unintended side effects, but I do not believe he is harmed. Just…" He lifted him up a bit.
"TTTTooommm." Harry slurred, reaching out to him.
His movement was overpowered and he nearly rolled out of Voldemort's arms. The man scrambled to keep him from falling.
"Get him before he hurts himself," Voldemort commanded the two.
Tom stepped forward and shimmied his arms under him. He sank when the full weight was put upon him, but he still held him. He carried him over to their bed. Harry playfully flipped Tom's black hair from his dark brown eyes, both like gold in the candlelight of his room.
"How many phoenix tears did you give him?" Riddle asked, approaching Voldemort.
"10 millimetres."
"You gave him five times the recommended dose?" Riddle shouted.
"That's for normal injuries. He has basilisk venom in him, he needs more. It will also heal any injuries that he hasn't healed yet."
Harry tuned out their bickering. He turned to Tom and pulled on his tie. Tom got lower and gave him a curious expression. With all his pitiful strength, he leaned up and locked their lips. Tom leaned in, planting his arm on the bed. Harry twirled the tie in his hands playfully, tugging it down to deepen their kiss.
"... you should leave." Riddle said.
"I sorrily wish I never saw that." Voldemort sighed. "Keep in mind that this is a partial medication side effect."
Riddle put his hands up. "Relax. We wouldn't hurt him."
Tom pulled away from Harry, lightly cupping his face. He was blushing an intense shade of red from the tips of his ears down to the apples of his cheeks. A smile plastered itself across Harry's face, he tugged on his tie again.
But Tom withdrew instead of drawing closer.
"You need to sleep." He said, running his hand through Harry's hair; his greatest weakness.
The door slammed, and Riddle soon joined them, doing his best to take advantage of Harry's hyper-affectionate cuddles.
Voldemort faced another conflict within him.
He could deny it no longer.
Potter's relationship with his horcruxes was not platonic; it was romantic.
The mere idea of his younger selves becoming friends with Potter initially made him scoff. He was, is, and will forever be Voldemort. A creature that pulled the strings, did not have anything attached to him. Even those closest to him, he would not hesitate to discard if the moment needed it.
With isolation, he supposed friendship was a possibility. The horcruxes were feeding off of Potter's emotions, and Potter enjoyed having them wrapped around him. He didn't know if those emotions transferred or if the magic they siphoned was different depending on what feelings the person they were feeding on had.
Friends, he concluded, friends he could be okay with.
But boyfriends?
He'd only looked the possibility of romance in the face once. It had taken years for him to work his way past Voldemort's defences, and once Voldemort figured it out, he cast him aside like he was nothing. Voldemort did not desire him in any way but physical.
Abraxas became cold to him after that.
Voldemort was someone who could infer connections easily. This person liked that one, someone hated another, and those two were dating. He could see that romantic attraction in his horcruxes eyes every time they looked near Harry. Or every time he was mentioned.
He could see their love etched into their souls.
Voldemort could not love. It was something he accepted long ago. When he was friendless in the orphanage, when he rejected the notion of romance, and when he grew into an adult with no one close to him. Romantic or platonic, he was not capable.
So what made the horcruxes so sweet?
They doted on him day and night. Potter never seemed to be able to sit or lay down without one - or both - touching him. They were patient with him, never yelling, never angry, never annoyed. And they were willing to share him between the two of them.
Voldemort did not share.
Though he did show some minor favoritism to the youngest, Tom, as they called him, He was a little more outspoken than the other and showed a little more time. But it was sort of logical; everyone held their first love differently than others.
Voldemort shook his head. He should not be thinking of them like that. But he could not deny the facts. They were lovers. Partners. Boyfriends. And they cared for Potter just as much as he appeared to care for them.
He had heard the story and seen it in occlumency lessons. Tom tried to kill the sister of his best friend, then threw a basilisk at him. Tried to murder him. Yet they carried on as if nothing had happened.
Then again, Potter carried on with him with little caution.
How had murder been such a part of Potter's life that he was willing to forgive them?
Oh, right, Voldemort.
Voldemort stared himself down in the mirror.
Potter fought for his life on all occasions. But when it came to everything else, he didn't fight. He didn't fight Voldemort. Not when he arrived at the border of his house, not when he informed him he was going to train or be locked up forever, and not when the countless other spells he cast on Potter harmed him.
Voldemort reached out his hand and punched the mirror. The charms broke and the mirror shattered. Blood ran down Voldemort's hand and into the sink, with small reflected shards peaking out.
Why didn't he fight back?
He wanted Potter to fight. He'd seen it before in the graveyard; hell, he even saw it in his first year. So why was he not? Why wasn't he fighting with his horcruxes, fighting with him, fighting with even Tiberius?
He did fight against Bellatrix.
Sure, he was going to do it on his own, but now he figured that he'd introduce Potter to the gorier parts of the Dark Arts.
Perhaps Tom was right. Maybe he was ready
"Why do we have a bunny here?" Harry asked, staring at the cute, fluffy white rabbit.
"We are going to use some spells on her." Voldemort stated with a sinister smile on his face.
"What? No!" Harry leapt back, staring at Voldemort incredulously.
"No?" Voldemort looked surprised.
"No, you psychopath. It's so cute! How could you harm an innocent little bunny?" He replied, outraged.
Voldemort hummed. "Is the problem that she is cute? I can make her ugly."
Harry shook his head furiously, "No! She hasn't done anything wrong!"
Tom and Riddle both looked on in a mixture of irritation and amusement. Harry desperately looked at them for agreement but was met with a look of hesitance from Tom and indifference from Riddle.
They're still Voldemort. Harry had to remind himself.
"So you would be okay testing spells on people who have done wrong?" Voldemort pondered his words.
"Well…" If it was bad people… "depends on what we're doing."
"Just the stinging spell. Perhaps a few hexes? Nothing serious." He reassured him, an odd look crossing his face.
"If it's just that, then maybe?"
Harry wasn't entirely sure he had it in him to practice on people. But if it was bad people or the bunny, he'd pick people. Surely if they were picking torture from Death Eaters or him practicing low-level curses, they would pick him too?
"Lovely," It was weird to hear Voldemort say something like that, "We will go to the dungeons. Don't worry, I'll take you to someone who's obviously wrong."
Harry nodded, a bit reluctant. Tom and Riddle were luckily invited to come along, which relieved him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Voldemort to a degree; it was just that when they were past the family wing, he acted like a different person.
That, and Harry had the tendency to get hurt under Voldemort's care.
Voldemort had him become Ignis in order to leave the family wing, with Tom and Riddle in cloaks that concealed their faces. They passed the Carrow twins on the way out, their expressions alarmed. Harry wanted to smirk. Any type of fear from the inner circle was good.
They caught the eyes of many Death Eaters who were milling about the manor. He had to agree that the Voldemort persona was kind of scary, but to the point of scattering? They had ended up in Azkaban for their loyalty; which had given them some grace. Or were these the ones that had rebuked him? Punished for their crimes?
He's still Voldemort.
They walked into the basement of the manor, whose interior had been gutted and replaced with dingy cells. People shied away into their corners as they passed, fear drifting through the air.
Harry stared straight ahead, unsure of what he would do if he saw anyone he recognised. He would rather not think about it. They finally reached the end, where a blank wall lay.
"There's nothing here." Harry said.
Voldemort shook his head. "Reveal." He hissed.
Just like that, a wide metal door materialised in front of them. Harry was about to praise that piece of magic but kept his mouth shut. He wasn't going to stoke Voldemort's ego any more. They entered, the door creaking.
Inside were ten cells, with five of them filled. He recognised Kingsley, Amelia Bones, and -
"You unhand me at once!"
Dolores Umbridge.
"See? Someone is undeniably wrong." Voldemort patted him on the back.
"Consider it a gift, I never got you anything for your birthday." Tom purred in his ear. Harry blushed, but anger quickly filled him as he looked at Umbridge.
Harry balled up the fabric of his cape in his fists. She had wronged him so many times. Not just him, his friends, and the rest of Hogwarts. Evil. There was a sick pleasure she smiled with every time one of his peers got hurt.
At least Voldemort didn't torture children. He only tried to kill them.
"Dolores Umbridge." Harry said slowly,
"Who are you?" She exclaimed.
"Dolores, will you fucking stop your damn mouth?" From another cell, Amelia Bones groaned.
Harry's mouth quipped. He always heard of Amelia Bones, the head of her department. She helped clean up the corruption in the field. And she was one of the people to vote for his innocence.
He focused his attention back on Umbridge.
"What are we doing?" Harry would set aside his normal morals for this.
"Hm, let's start with something simple. Stinging, for now; then we'll do a little darker things. Nothing to dark, I do not expect you to do that." Voldemort offered a dark-coloured wand. "It's second-hand; it fit me, so it should fit you."
Fists unclenched. Harry grabbed the wand. It felt off in his hand—not exactly wrong, but not suited for him like his holly wand. He twirled it around, his magic slowly seeping into the wand.
"It feels fine," He announced after a minute.
"Good, now, try the stinging charm. Try to cast it normally at first, then we'll work on overpowering it." Voldemort gestured to Umbridge. "Watch me."
Voldemort withdrew his wand and slowly drew out the wand movements. "Acuelo."
A beam of light fled from the tip of his wand and struck Umbridge. She let out a pained yelp, squirming on the floor. She otherwise did not look hurt.
Harry swallowed hard. "Acuelo."
Umbridge mearly flinched.
"Put your anger into it. It is a dark spell. Dark spells," Riddle began.
" - are often fuelled by emotions." Harry finished for him.
Voldemort smirked. "Correct. Funnel your emotions into it."
Harry breathed out again. Funnel. He thought about all the detentions he had served. All the scarred hands with words inscribed on them. Harry looked down at his own. It was glamoured under his disguise, and he often concealed it with long sleeves. The familiar fire of anger ripped through him.
"Acuelo!" He screeched.
Umbridge screamed, rolling on the floor as she twitched. Her spasms made her almost appear to bounce on the ground. Harry saw that and cut off the spell. He shouldn't put all of his energy into his first spell.
"Good," Voldemort praised him. "That one was a bit overpowered. Perhaps the next one we'll try to be normally powered?"
"Okay." Maybe once more wouldn't hurt.
"Acuelo." He tried to express himself evenly, with the anger flowing out rather than exploding.
This time, she yelped only once while jumping.
"Good, good, you are catching on quickly. Let us do this again, and then we'll move on to other spells." Riddle laid a hand lightly on his back.
"Got it. Acuelo."
She spasmed again.
"You are learning this very fast. Let's move on to one you may not know: Operto." As Tom said it, a purple light left his wand.
From her neck, where it made contact, a large, palm-sized bruise was starting to form. The air left her lungs, and she groaned as she hovered her hand over the bruised area.
"Bruise?" Harry observed.
"Trample if you want to be more literal. I underpowered it. It won't kill anyone if you overpower it, but it can break bones." Tom informed. He nudged him again.
"Operto." Harry channelled his hatred into the spell.
There was a loud crack, and Umbridge let out a gurgle, holding her chest. She gasped for air, coughing. Blood speckled her lips.
"Oh!" Harry covered his mouth. He didn't intend to do that.
"Hm, you have more anger than I thought. Do you wish to continue? I will not make you do anything you do not want. Within reason." Voldemort said, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder.
Did he? He didn't necessarily feel wrong for doing this. Sure, he knew it should be wrong, but he just didn't feel like it was. If anything, he felt justified in his actions. Umbridge tortured children, so it was only logical that she would also be punished for it.
"Do you want to try something else? I do pre-warn that we all will also attack her, so do what you wish, she may not be all there if you want to do more later." Voldemort patted him on the back, pushing him a bit closer to the bars.
Harry bit his lip. "Do you have anything… more?" He didn't quite know how to phrase it."
"Something more…" Riddle muttered, looking off into the distance.
"How about you try channeling your anger on its own? Spells work as a nice path to guide your magic to do certain things, but if you just fuel it with emotion… you can do what you never thought you could." Tom practically purred.
Harry readied his wand. "Just… push the emotion through?"
"Yes." Riddle replied.
Riddle placed his warm hand over Harry's and pointed it at Umbridge, who tried her best to crawl away. He psyched himself up for it. Remembering all of the pain she inflicted on him and other students.
The magic didn't burst out of his wand, but instead was an erratic flow. He tried to gain control over it, but it was harder to handle.
"Relax." Tom laced their fingers. "Don't fight it."
Harry closed his eyes. He still channelled his emotions into his wand, but he also focused on relaxing his muscles. On how the relaxing warmth from Tom and Riddle eased his soul.
Screams echoed from all around him. He continued to push his feelings out. Sinking into Riddle's touch, he could feel himself become lighter.
When his energy drew dry, he opened his eyes.
Umbridge was more red than she was pink. Her skin appears flayed, with the layers flipped open like a can lid. Some of her skin had blackened circles that reminded him of cigarette burns.
One of her eyes was little more than jelly running down her face.
She sniffled, groaning in pain as her vocal cords became ripped. Her hands tried desperately to put her skin back onto her exposed muscle, only for it to slide off of it.
"Good." Voldemort praised, casting a spell onto Umbridge. "You left her interior almost perfect. She did do her own vocal chord damage."
"Are you satisfied?" Tom asked, thumbing the back of Harry's hand.
"Yeah." He nodded. "She looks like she got what she deserved."
A dark laugh left Riddle's mouth. "Well, I'm not. Crucio."
Umbridge's form contorted and spasmed. Her cracked screams filled Harry's ears and made them ring. Riddle held the spell for ten seconds before releasing her. Riddle lightly kissed Harry on the cheek.
"And for you?" Riddle asked Tom.
"Hm." Tom thought for a moment. "Can we do the stretching thing? You get the hand, I'll get the elbow?"
"But of course," Riddle smirked.
They raised their wands to Umbridge. A red circle enveloped her wrist and her elbow. Her arm raised to her side, almost pulling her to it. But then her arm began to stretch. She whimpered, and a disgusting ripping sound filled the air.
Blood leaked from her elbow, and she began to pull away from her arm. But she stayed put. Harry could see her skin start to rip open in long, vertical lines. Before long, those lines connected, and he could see the stringy muscle underneath snap little by little.
The hand popped off.
The forearm followed.
"I'll cauterize it, wouldn't want her bleeding out, do we?" Riddle smirked.
Fire erupted at her side. She tried to crawl away. But the inferno followed her and leaped onto her arm. Black and dark brown marks chased up to her shoulder before it finally stopped. The smell of burned flesh and fat filled the air. It reminded Harry of steak.
"Hm, I think that's enough for me." Riddle spoke after a moment of silence.
Harry knew he was lying. But his breath was a bit quicker, and he could see his colouration become duller. Was he losing his magic? Did Harry need to let him siphon more?
Tom was similar, but he only looked a bit dull.
Voldemort looked disappointed in them. But he covered it up.
"Crucio." Voldemort cursed her.
Voldemort held her under it for a full thirty seconds. What little energy was left in her dissipated as she twisted and turned in place. Not even a scream left her mouth.
"What are you going to do?" Harry asked as Voldemort raised his wand again.
Voldemort tilted his head. "I was thinking Death by a Thousand Cuts."
Harry thought for a moment. "Could you make it nine hundred and nine then?"
Voldemort looked at him oddly. But he nodded. "You want to keep her alive?"
"Yeah. Death is to merciful." Harry said it coldly.
Tom, Riddle, and Voldemort looked at him with the same wide, approving smile.
"I do agree." Voldemort jabbed his wand at Umbridge, a red spell leaving the tip.
Harry watched as a new cut appeared on Umbridge every second. She would twitch on occasion, but otherwise stayed as still as a corpse. A flood of blood leaked from her, much more than Harry would have thought possible.
Puddles of liquid pooled around her, glinting in the candlelight. Harry would occasionally see a thick layer of yellow fat before it was covered by red.
He knew it should disgust him.
But inside, he didn't feel anything.
That was a lie.
He felt great.
The rush of power when he forced all of his anger out, pouring out years of frustration and pent-up aggression into a few moments, was like nothing he had ever encountered. And after all of it, a calmness overtook him.
Like all the weight had been lifted from him.
Maybe Voldemort had been right when he said that the cruiatus curse on Death Eaters was a great form of stress relief.
Harry shook those thoughts from his head. He never wanted to be Voldemort - casting curses at everyone who displeased him. But maybe…
"Is it wrong to not feel anything when someone gets hurt?" Harry asked aloud.
Tom raised his head and stared down at him. He laid back down and breathed out hard.
"Depends." Tom answered.
"No." Riddle replied.
"Depends on what?" Harry bit his lip.
"Who, I'd say. An enemy, no. An ally, most likely." Tom wrapped his arms tighter around his chest, almost suffocating.
The memory replayed for him.
Yes, if it was an enemy, it was fine.
"May the other Death Eaters have a go at her?" Voldemort twirled his wand. "And may I disclose what she did to the students?"
"Yeah. Just make sure she doesn't die." Harry nodded.
"Very well. Let us depart."
Voldemort guided them through the manor. More people stared at them, quickly averting their gaze. Harry looked down and saw blood splattered on his robes, stark against the white fabric.
"Dammit." He cursed.
"There are ways to remove blood. Change out and give me your clothes." Voldemort stared at the other two. "You two as well."
"Got it."
Harry was in a perfect duelling stance. His wand was raised at the correct angle, and his grip practised and precise.
At the other end of the room, Corbin Yaxley stood. He was already sweating, with anxiety rising in his eyes. A snake-faced Voldemort surveilled the two, standing off to the side.
"We will be following the standard rules of duelling." Voldemort announced. "No unforgivables; no lethal spells. Additionally, I will add not long-term torture spells."
They both nodded.
"We begin at the count of five." Voldemort raised his wand in the air.
A blue number 5 rose in the air.
4
Harry's heart was pounding in his chest.
3
Corbin stared down at him, his face hardening.
2
He took a final breath.
1
Corbin threw the first curse. It was orange in colour, Harry momentarily thought of a mild jinx.
"Combustio." He spat.
The yellow curse streaked across the room. Harry dodged the spell, while Corbin merely used a shield to absorb it. He sent a high-level stinging spell his way.
Blood roared in his ears as he barely managed to move in time. He yelled out two more spells, trying to regain his balance. A sting filled his arm as a cutting curse made small but deep knicks across his left.
"Bombarda!" He pointed to the area to Corbin's right.
The floor exploded, sending shrapnel all over the room. One piece cut across his cheek, and another bruised his leg. Corbin took the brunt of it, with his robes in tatters and blood running down his face.
Harry didn't let up and cast water on the ground. Corbin either ignored it or didn't see it, but he ran over the water. He slipped, casting a spell Harry didn't recognise toward him.
In a moment of panic, he forced as much magic as he could into the shield, pushing it forward. The spell hit the shield, ricocheted off of it, and barreled toward Corbin.
Corbin screeched as it struck him. He writhed, back arcing, and spasmed on the ground. It was a terrifying few seconds.
Corbin stayed on the ground, groaning in pain.
"Do you surrender, Corbin?" Harry asked in a mocking tone.
"Yes." He huffed, curling into a ball.
Voldemort strode over to Harry. He placed a hand on his head and awkwardly ruffled his hair. "You did well, and quickly as well. You used your environment to your advantage, creating your own field. Next summer, I expect you to be able to duel one of the Carrow twins. Then, either Tiberius or Bellatrix. You learn fast."
Harry smiled as he felt warmth enter him. "I'm looking forward to it!"
Harry: Like, you're a little hot. No homo, you just look like my lovers
Voldemort, who is just the older version of his lovers: Stap it.
Voldemort: So, we can torture bad people?
Harry: Yea
(Torture montage)
Harry: That was... fun.
Voldemort, Tom, Riddle: (proud enough to shed a tear)
Harry: (blows up the ground)
Corbin: what the fuck what the fuck this wasn't in the plan
