Several more days passed before Harry woke up again. He found himself still in his father's luxurious bedroom, as if he had traveled back several months, making him question if the past six months in the Muggle world had been nothing more than a dream.

He stared at the canopy above his bed for a moment, and Voldemort soon entered from outside. "Finally awake? Oh, I had something to ask you, my dear Harry. Is Sirius Black still alive?"

"..." Harry was caught off guard, feeling a bit uneasy. He had to face this. "Yes." His voice surprised him with its weakness, but he summoned the courage to continue, softly but firmly, "He doesn't remember what he discovered. Please don't kill him, Father, I beg you."

This scene felt all too familiar, just like many times before when he had pleaded, "Please don't kill him." The last time he had said those words, he had been tortured to the brink of death, unable to beg for life or death. He had vowed, "I won't do it again," but he hadn't stopped. As the words danced on his tongue, Harry remembered the past but continued with determination.

Voldemort fell into a brief silence and then asked, "So, what do you plan to exchange for his life?"

"What does Father want?"

"Stay by my side and stop wandering around."

Harry didn't respond immediately. He thought that perhaps by staying with his father, he could eventually convince him to end the war. It had always been his plan. So he asked, "If I stay here, will I still be neutral?"

"You can be. Dumbledore still wants to capture you, doesn't he? Your whereabouts are exposed, and you have nowhere else to go right now. It's better to stay here for a while."

"...Alright."

"I propose this for your own good, Harry. Your current condition is concerning, and I don't want you running around outside."

Harry didn't say anything but was calculating. To persuade his father to end the war, he needed to be by his side. This had always been his plan. So, he asked, "If I stay here, will I still be neutral?"

"You can be. Dumbledore still wants to capture you, doesn't he? Your whereabouts are exposed, and you have nowhere else to go right now. It's better to stay here for a while."

"...Alright."

"I propose this for your own good, Harry. Your current condition is concerning, and I don't want you running around outside."

"...I didn't mean it that way," Harry mumbled, burying half his face in the blanket. "I'm not trying to be cautious of you..."

"Then tell me, what are you thinking? I thought you might resent me for our past misunderstandings..."

Every time this came up, it triggered PTSD, and Harry curled up under the blanket. "...Let's not bring up that incident again. I don't resent you, Father."

"I also forgive you for cozying up to the Order of the Phoenix a few days ago."

"I didn't—"

"It's okay, Harry. I forgive you." Voldemort showed understanding, offering Harry a favor. He was calculating strategically; to unravel the secrets within Harry and use the power he didn't understand, he needed to keep Harry close. To do that, he would employ a bit of persuasion – Harry was quite easy to manipulate.


That evening, a house-elf came to deliver a message, saying that Voldemort wanted Harry to come to the dining room.

"Thank you, Talis," Harry responded absentmindedly. He got up from the bed, changed into his old robe, and glanced at himself in the mirror. He still looked a bit haggard, and he ran his hand through his messy hair, but it stubbornly stuck up.

The dining room was on the second floor of the castle. It wasn't very large, but it was well-decorated. A long table could accommodate many people, perhaps hosting the castle's previous owners' guests a long time ago. Harry rarely came here; most of his meals had been consumed in his own study, eaten in haste before he went back to work.

The long table was set with exquisite food, and floating candles illuminated the room with a soft glow. Voldemort poured himself a glass of red wine and swirled it in the glass. "Welcome home, Harry. This is a welcome-back feast for you."

Harry was led into the room by a house-elf, feeling a bit awkward and unsure if he should take a seat. "Um... what's..."

"Sit down, Harry." Voldemort looked at the fifteen-year-old boy. "It seems I've neglected you in the past."

Harry sat down, speechless, as he watched the butterbeer bottle in front of him automatically pour a glass of bubbly drink.

"So, Harry, haven't you missed me in the past six months?" Voldemort's voice was soothing.

"I... I have, but I didn't dare to come back. It's as if I've been running away from home."

"Oh, the naughty runaway child. Just remember, this is always your home."

"Father... why are you suddenly saying all this?" Harry was not used to this side of his father.


Two days later, on the Death Eaters' gathering, Voldemort mentioned that Harry didn't have to attend, but Harry volunteered to go anyway.

The grand chandelier, shining with silver and green, illuminated the spacious hall. Many ancient silver sculptures adorned the hall, reflecting a subtle glow. At the high throne sat the all-powerful Dark Lord. The Death Eaters, dressed in robes, knelt in an imposing formation. Harry stood where he usually did, in the position belonging to the Dark Prince, wearing a mask as mysterious as ever.

However, he was genuinely a neutral party now.

"This attack on Rothenburg, Rodolphus, you must not disappoint me this time," the voice of Voldemort, altered by magic, resonated loudly throughout the hall.

Rodolphus Black knelt, about to receive his mission, when a strange hissing sound in Parseltongue interrupted. In this world, only two could speak Parseltongue: Lord and Prince.

Dark Prince had always been silent during meetings, so what had happened this time that required his intervention? The Death Eaters dared not even breathe, anxiously speculating about what wicked and dreadful discussions might be occurring between the two most influential figures of the Dark side.

However, the content of the Parseltongue message was: "Father, there's no need for this attack. Can you not stop them...?" Harry's tone was gentle as he pleaded.

"Oh, well, as an exchange, you've been recovering well recently and using less magic - you should know that using magic aggravates the injury to your Magic Core," Voldemort replied in Parseltongue after a slight pause.

"Of course!" Harry responded in Parseltongue, his eyes shining. He truly saw hope now, perhaps he could persuade his father to halt everything. After all... his father had already achieved immortality, and persuading him might be the only way.

And so, the Dark Lord changed his plans, and Rodolphus, who had already knelt, did not receive his task.

Perhaps the Dark Prince had provided different information that prompted Voldemort to reconsider, the Death Eaters speculated.


Days passed, and Harry became increasingly adept at being cutesy. He found that this could genuinely save lives. And... Harry reluctantly admitted to himself that he kind of enjoyed the interaction with his father in this manner. One day, his father pointed out this fact, and Harry's face turned beet red.

"How did I never notice that Harry can be so easily embarrassed?" Voldemort teased.

Harry could sense the decrease in conflict and death. Even in the Daily Prophet, the shadow of war seemed to be dissipating. Harry thought this was a positive sign. Perhaps he genuinely had a chance to persuade his father to stop it all.

Harry didn't want to rush things, though. He didn't want to upset the person responsible for the positive changes. So, he tried to behave better.

If he could keep his father happy by staying by his side, he could save more lives. Harry was willing to do that. Moreover, he secretly enjoyed spending time with his father. For the past ten years, Harry had followed, admired, and loved his father, but Voldemort had always been focused solely on his goals, never looking back at the battered child. Now, those years of devotion seemed to finally be acknowledged.


"I used to be so busy, and now with all this free time, I'm not used to it..." Harry flipped through a book casually one afternoon. Voldemort was on the other side of the desk, looking through Harry's childhood notebooks.

"I really want to bring my textbooks from the Muggle world. Hmm, can I leave the castle? I want to visit my old school," Harry asked, referring to his Muggle high school. Sometimes, Harry would share stories from the Muggle world with his father, and every time, Harry seemed genuinely happy. It was quite interesting; even Voldemort found some of it intriguing, though he never showed it.

"Perhaps you want to continue your education?" Voldemort suggested, offering a solution that Harry hadn't even dared to hope for. This surprised Harry, and he widened his eyes. "Can I?"

"Why not? Going to the Muggle world will reduce your use of magic, which is beneficial for your health. Besides, I can accompany you to the Muggle world if you wish."

"Really?" Harry's eyes sparkled with joy. He never expected his father to be willing to accompany him to the Muggle world to live a normal life.

"If you want to go, why didn't you ask earlier? You don't need to be so reserved, as if I've been mistreating you," Voldemort's voice carried a perfectly timed hint of innocence.

"But... Dumbledore and the others already know I'm there," Harry had concerns.

"It's fine; leave that to me. They won't find you," Voldemort casually stated. The very next day, Voldemort's efficiency was evident as they rented a house in Oxfordshire, close to Harry's old school. The house was simply and warmly furnished, giving off the feeling of a regular home.

Harry returned to school, and it felt strange. Facing Professor Cotton's inquiry, "Harry, why have you missed so many days of class?" Harry had to use the excuse of his ongoing illness, which wasn't entirely untrue, considering his old injuries had been flaring up again.

He was actually continuing his education? Harry couldn't believe it himself. When he saw his classmates again, memories of the Death Eater attack flashed through his mind. Harry paused, contemplating how fortunate they were to be alive and still attending school.


During the break, Jess pulled Harry aside, looked around to ensure no one could hear them, and then lowered his voice, asking mysteriously, "So, it was you who dealt with the Dementors, right? Your magic is impressive. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You remember that? Oh, you're a wizard; the Ministry of Magic didn't erase your memory," Harry nodded.

"But everyone else has forgotten... It's a good thing they did, or I wouldn't know how to continue being friends. That incident was really..." He shivered, still haunted by it.

"It was the Death Eaters' fault; don't dwell on it too much," Harry reassured his classmate, recalling Dumbledore's words. He tried to comfort him genuinely.

"Speaking of Death Eaters, it seems like there have been fewer attacks recently. The Prophet is full of speculations and strange comments. You're from the Potter family; do you know anything about what's going on?" Jess inquired with curiosity.

"You've noticed the decrease in attacks too?" Harry's mood brightened. It seemed that his efforts were bearing fruit, and it wasn't just his imagination.

Jess had never seen Harry this happy before. "It's still so unbelievable... you're actually from the famous Potter family," Jess scratched his nose. "No wonder you used to avoid me at the beginning; hearing about someone you know in a story must be awkward."

"But thanks to you, I don't need to subscribe to newspapers anymore," Harry reassured him understandingly.


Of course, Harry hadn't forgotten his attempts to convince Romancia to break up with Oscar. Romancia had forgotten the events, so she was now happily talking about her love life. However, Harry remembered that scene from the past and felt that he should warn the girl to stay away from the wrong guy.

But Romancia responded, "He's usually really nice to me. Why would you say that?"

But... there was no way to explain about Death Eater attacks and the like...

Harry could only say, "He doesn't really love you."

Romancia countered, "He's crazy about me."

Harry: "..."

Romancia: "You guys have no idea how great we are together. Why do you want us to break up?"

Romancia also remembered how Oscar used to call Harry "Sweet girl", something he had never called her. She suddenly got a bit angry and continued, "Do you also have your eye on Oscar? Stay away from my boyfriend!"

Harry sighed and said, "Well, I was wrong."


A.n.

Tell me what you think~ Voldemort has his plans, so we have some fluffy stories... for now. If you like it, just enjoy~ or if you don't like it, don't worry, it won't last long.

Updates after comments... Let me know if there's anyone reading this plzzz.