Chapter 40. The Dark Lord's Secret
Then Harry turned to Snape.
Snape still had the expression of someone who had just eaten a fly. "Po..." he uttered a syllable and stopped.
"Respected Mr. Snape, may I invite you for a drink?" Harry innocently asked. He had decided that he wouldn't feel awkward, just let others be the ones feeling awkward. He still had important things to inquire about.
"Of course, beautiful Princess," Snape said with malice.
Harry steered the conversation towards the question he wanted to know.
Snape, with a mocking tone, asked, "Why doesn't the Princess directly ask the Lord if she has fallen out of favor?"
"Directly asking wouldn't be interesting," Harry cunningly replied, recalling the time long ago when he guessed the true purpose of Voldemort, a question his father had set for him.
Harry asked more and more people, combining the scattered information he knew as the Dark Prince, along with his understanding of Voldemort. Like fitting puzzle pieces together, he gradually pieced together a complete picture. The entire picture involved multiple countries, Muggles, and had a much broader impact than Harry had imagined. The magical preparations and layouts seemed full of murderous intent. Voldemort was undoubtedly planning something terrifying. Harry remembered his father's words not long ago, "There will be no more wars, none at all." The words echoed in Harry's ears, and upon careful consideration, the implications made his heart pound with fear.
Could his father be planning to enslave humanity on such a level? Harry had always known that his father detested humans, and now that he was immortal, he wouldn't be content to stop. Harry couldn't sit still anymore, clad in a convenient outfit; he left the luxuriously decorated ballroom like Cinderella at midnight. As the clock struck, all the beautiful illusions shattered.
He changed into practical clothing, following the breadcrumbs left by the Death Eaters, determined to unravel this mystery. With the complete dark picture, the heavy darkness he had tried to escape enveloped him once again. The recent decrease in attacks was because Dark Lord was setting up some major schemes; he had never intended to stop! Harry's obedient compliance had achieved nothing. But what more could Harry do? How could he stop him?
Despair overwhelmed Harry. He only knew that the methods he thought were effective in preventing the war were still futile. Despite his many mistakes in the past, he couldn't afford to make any more.
Harry, who had investigated thoroughly, confronted Voldemort again.
"Father... you never... intended to stop the war, did you?" The boy's green eyes were filled with pain.
"Harry." Voldemort's voice was stern, a clear warning that the boy shouldn't cross boundaries.
"In the past month, attacks have decreased, only because you sent Death Eaters to prepare more dreadful plans. Isn't that right?" Harry ignored Voldemort's warning, his hoarse voice full of despair.
"But why? Haven't you already achieved immortality? Why do you still need death?" Harry had already guessed the answer; he understood his father. He asked softly, "Is it because you find the recovery speed not fast enough? Immortality isn't perfect enough—though it's already close to perfection? You eternally loathe yourself for not being powerful enough... This immortality still can't satisfy you, right?"
"It seems Harry understands what a perfectionist is. After so many years together, it shouldn't blind you too much." Faced with the various evidence Harry found, Voldemort finally lazily admitted it, revealing even crazier plans ahead. He had recently found a way to use Harry's power, and he couldn't be bothered to pretend anymore.
"So, you've been deceiving me all along..." A moment of silence, the air so quiet that you could hear your own heart pounding.
"It seems our Harry has some misunderstandings... Lord Voldemort kindly reminds you that he never promised you anything, so there's no deception to speak of." Harry recalled their experiences during this period, a short, less than two-month period, the happiest time in Harry's life. He hoped for the war to end, and in the darkness of his life, he saw sunlight almost within reach. He reached out, eagerly wanting to touch a bit of brightness and warmth, only to be shattered.
"So, all those moments we spent together... you were deceiving me?" Harry remembered their activities, their time together, the bonding, the kisses, even establishing a soul link... Now, all these sweet memories seemed to mock his foolishness. He had loved this person so desperately, thinking he would get some response, but it was all an illusion.
"Don't you enjoy it? It's your own delusions, who else can you blame?" Voldemort's words, spoken from a high and indifferent position, pierced through all the beautiful dreams like a knife, stabbing Harry's heart. Harry finally knew. All of father's tenderness was a façade; he only wanted to know how Harry completed the last step of that ritual.
Harry stared blankly at the mocking figure, as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured on him, swallowed by bone-chilling cold.
The Order hated him, everyone should hate him. He thought he only had his father, but he was truly alone, without a home, without family. He even hated himself.
Although he had anticipated it early on, and he always knew that someone like him didn't deserve any light and warmth, knowing it still made him feel sad.
"Playing with feelings... don't you realize how hurtful it is?" Harry thought he had become numb long ago, but at this moment, he still felt a pang in his heart.
"Why does the Dark Lord care?" Voldemort said nonchalantly. "You shouldn't care either; you should have learned to be stronger."
"Yes, you don't care... I should have known. It's pointless to tell you these things."
"It's love, this foolish emotion, that makes you weak. You've always been weak." Voldemort's high-sounding words made him look unmoved. "But, Harry, you better understand... only when you're powerful enough do you have the qualifications to negotiate."
When the disguise was torn off, this turned out to be the real, icy truth.
"To influence the Dark Lord's actions, you're still not worthy." Voldemort seemed to know what would hurt Harry the most.
"Of course, don't blame yourself. It's all my fault for believing in you." Harry felt the pain in his chest, his mind in chaos, struggling to regain a bit of composure. "I won't come back to find you. Don't force me to come back, if you still have even a bit of our relationship— if it even exists."
Harry just wanted to escape, the farther the better. Even though he had no idea where to escape to... now he knew, there was no place for him in this world.
"Oh, my dear Harry... I'm afraid the decision isn't yours. You belong to me, and your power belongs to me." Voldemort, nonchalant, like a giant snake coiling around its prey, said, "Why not consider cooperating with the Dark Lord? The most stable relationship is an alliance of interests, and Lord Voldemort won't mistreat his allies."
"No, don't force me to come back!" Harry waved his hand, opening a portal and disappearing into a radiant light. The young man, in a sorry state, fled Slytherin Castle again, leaving Voldemort alone.
Voldemort didn't seem troubled either, watching Harry leave with indifference. His beloved Harry... how many times had he run away from home? This boy threw occasional tantrums, but what impact could it have?
Voldemort wasn't concerned at all. He knew that as long as he threatened Harry with other people's lives, his Harry would obediently return. It was so easy to manipulate.
Most importantly, the soul link he recently established was indeed effective—although he still didn't know what it was, he could now harness the power within Harry's soul. Thus, there was no need to cajole Harry into a foolish romance. If the boy wanted to continue, he could accompany him; if not, it was up to him.
As long as the boy was alive, he could use the soul link between them, tapping into that mysterious power.
Once he finished his current tasks, in a few days, he would summon the boy back. No matter how far Harry fled, he couldn't escape the control of the Dark Lord.
Yes, it was love, this foolish emotion, that made the boy weak and easily manipulated.
Lord Voldemort was grateful that he had rid himself of those useless emotions.
Harry staggered through the night, running aimlessly. He was in such a sorry state. He didn't even know what he was running from, as there was no one chasing him. Yet, he just wanted to escape, the farther, the better.
Harry still had nowhere to go, and he couldn't even return to the Muggle world house. He had once again fled from home, as if everything had come full circle. The night was deep, the city lights were dazzling, and the main road ahead was bustling with traffic and noise. But the vibrancy had no connection to Harry; he only felt pain and helplessness.
Harry felt the pain in his chest. He had always known that someone like him didn't deserve love. He had killed so many people, committed so much evil; everyone he encountered should hate him. He thought he had no expectations for life, but he still knew he was considered a failure in his father's eyes. How could he expect love? Why would he be foolish enough to hope for such a thing?
Harry tightly wrapped his robe around himself, panting heavily from running, yet unwilling to stop. His lungs felt like they were tearing apart. Like a person intoxicated, he stumbled into an alley, each step deeper than the last, until he reached a dead end.
Far from the main road, the sounds of cars faded away. There were only three high, old brick walls providing shelter from the cold wind. A dim streetlamp flickered, casting a yellowish elongated shadow of Harry.
A sense of familiarity hit him like lightning. Harry shivered all over.
Wasn't this the place where he first met his father?
It was a snowy night, everything covered in a thick layer of snow.
He remembered his five-year-old self huddled in this corner, so cold, so hungry, with no warmth left in his body, teetering on the brink of life and death. Then, like a god, his father appeared, saved him, and gave him a home.
Ten years had passed, and now... why had he ended up back here?
In a hurry, he set the destination of the Portkey randomly, not bothering to look where he was going, just wanting to escape. Yet, he ended up here. Perhaps his subconscious had chosen this fateful meeting place, a place of destined farewell.
He slumped against the same wall, just like when he was a child, hugging his knees, burying his head in his arms. It was as if he could feel the coldness from that memory again; he was shivering. So cold. He was sitting in the snow at the end of December back then. Now, it was only the end of October. Why was it so cold? He touched his forehead; oh, he seemed to have a fever again. It had been happening frequently lately.
He immersed himself in the cold, mirroring his mood.
"Father..." His thin hands drooped by his side, and a myriad of emotions swirled in Harry's heart. His nose tingled with a hint of bitterness.
Harry had to make his own choice.
Recalling his brief and painful life, he remembered how he, as a child, tried to make his father happy, forced himself to work late, even killed for his father... he hurt so many innocent people and had already fallen into an irreparable abyss. Harry hated himself, but he still loved his father.
Originally, that tall figure was Harry's entire world. He had once loved that person with his entire life, and that person was the entire meaning of his life...
So Harry had made too many mistakes. And now... could he still go on killing? Could he let those mistakes continue? He didn't want to do it anymore, absolutely not.
Did he have to watch that person continue his mad ambitions? If Voldemort wanted to increase his power, then Harry... estimating in his mind, this war would claim too many innocent lives, even in the next battle, and the one after that... What if Voldemort was never satisfied, accumulating power, and there was no end to this?
He couldn't stand idly by, Harry took a deep breath. He had to stop it!
After all, these were mistakes Harry had made. Pandora's Box was opened by him. Now he had to take responsibility, take responsibility for this world.
This had become the only lifeline that shattered Harry could grasp at this moment—he must stop his father... stop more killings, stop this war! He had to do this; every heartbeat, every breath, should be for this purpose. Otherwise, why did he even deserve to live?
Initially, he thought he could persuade him. Later, he thought that making his father happy was the only way he could save people... But now, he realized that no matter how well he performed, it was useless. It didn't delay that person's plans at all. Just by making Voldemort happy, he couldn't save anyone!
To stop him meant that he had to become an enemy of his father, an enemy of the person he loved the most. Did he have to kill his fa...
Harry had never really thought about killing his father. Even the passing thought made him unbearably sad.
Besides, how could he kill him? That person had achieved eternity; now, no one could kill him! Harry knew how effective their magical ritual was. Voldemort had anchored himself to this world; he would automatically heal even if injured, resurrect even if killed, and reconstitute himself from ashes. That kind of eternal life couldn't be imprisoned either. Harry couldn't pose any threat to him.
Harry couldn't find any clue... he had no way.
Despite his concerns, he knew that Dumbledore might not trust him, but now he could only seek help from the Order of the Phoenix, perhaps getting a slight chance.
Harry used magic again, contacting Hermione. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and tried to calm his emotions before activating the magical communication. "Can you help me? I need to meet Dumbledore."
Harry didn't know if he managed to conceal the trembling in his voice.