Worlds Beyond Death

by GeMerope

When technology triumphs over magic, Muggles attempt to wipe out mages. Desperate to undo the damage, Harry travels back in time to prevent Voldemort's demise. Only, things don't quite work out as intended and he ends up being reborn in a world not entirely like his own with a tattoo of a red eye on the back of his hand. HPLV, Soul mate AU, do-over fic, Master of Death!Harry.

7. The Librarian

Chapter 7: The Librarian

August passes fast, even compared to the years before in which Harry had a lot more to do. He's been thrown off so much by the revelations on his birthday that he spends the remaining weeks before going to Hogwarts trying to find information on what caused these changes. He is a bit more persistent in his questioning than usual when asking Severus about the new staff members, and although the potion master is at first a bit surprised by it, Sirius instantly explains it away with 'school nerves'.

It turns out that Quirrell did indeed leave his previous position of Professor for Muggle studies to travel abroad for a while and study various dark creatures. Harry truthfully isn't entirely sure whether Quirrell taught Muggle studies at Hogwarts in his first life as well, but the man definitely had been a professor before. After all, the older students, including Percy Weasley, had known Quirrell already. It was just one of those details that hadn't really been too important to remember and had slipped Harry's mind over time.

Somehow, Lockhart gained fame quicker this time and applied for a teaching job only shortly after the position was freed. Dumbledore initially refused, claiming that Quirrell was set to take it upon returning.

Lockhart's fame unluckily went hand in hand with quite a bit of influence. As the fraud kept pressing the School Board and influential employees of the Department of Education while Quirrell remained abroad, Dumbledore had no choice but to calm down the disgruntled board members and Ministry by promising Lockhart the position if Quirrell would not return until at least May, which he didn't. Not one to break promises lightly, Dumbledore thus instead offered the only other open position at the school. The only thing Severus could not tell him was why Madam Pince quit…

Content enough with the explanation for now, since the current situation would not mess up his plans too much - even if it meant having to deal with Lockhart again – Harry instead focuses on revising everything that will be covered in first year. Well, always anything. He doesn't bother reading the Defence books, knowing how much of a joke Lockhart's tests are, instead concentrating on refreshing his memory for pieces of theory in various courses that he can't recall.

He also 'practices' a couple of spells already, surprising his godfathers by getting them all down on the first try. Harry mainly shows it so Severus won't think he is cheating somehow when he will get high marks, and can thus defend Harry's abilities if other teachers are to ask questions. One of his goals is to impress Voldemort after all, to get on the man's radar even before revealing exactly who he is. It won't do to play the average student.

Also, it is much harder to purposefully mess up spells he has cast for decades than to perform them perfectly.

So, he gives his godfathers a taste of what to expect. While he was careful about showing anything out of the ordinary at age four to five, to not make them fearful of his abilities and possibly link that to who his Intended is, Harry is confident that by now, his godfathers know his character well enough to realise he won't instantly head down the path of the darkest of magic at the first opportunity and start torturing his peers or rip his own soul.

- Just aid a Dark Lord's resurrection and spearhead a war but well… there are some actions one cannot shun when attempting to pre-emptively thwart the desolate future he's borne witness to. -

Regarding showing off, Harry doesn't really care about the opinions of his peers, being far too old to deal with petty jealousy. At least he is confident that Hermione will be able to keep up. His only worry is Ron, as he recalls just how insecure and rude his friend was at the start. Ron made up for it with his large heart and loyalty, but Harry will have a much harder time earning that trust again if he and Hermione will be a front who outperforms everyone else… After all, they'd only become friends with Hermione in the first place as Harry had insisted on going after her when a Troll had threatened the castle. His best friend had been incredibly insensitive before that shared adventure…

Harry really does not wish to ruin any chance for a new friendship with Ron from the get-go, as he'd been just as important to Harry as Hermione throughout his first life, but he has no illusions that it will be easy to get to the same point as they'd been before. Despite all the time spent at the Weasleys, Harry never grew close to Ron, feeling more comfortable talking to his older brothers.

The first of September arrives, and Harry insists on taking the Hogwarts Express even though Severus offers to just floo to his quarters as they've been doing since Harry's early childhood. While he does want to stand out, it will be because of his achievements, not because he lives with one of the teachers.

Due to his enthusiasm, Sirius and he - Severus left for Hogwarts the day before to finish some potions to show the newest N. E. W. T class - arrive at platform 9 ¾ far too early, before the train is even there.

''I usually made it in the nick of time,'' Sirius jokes as he amusedly watches Harry's pacing. ''Regulus was always scolding me since he packed the day before, little nerd that he was,'' Sirius fondly reminisces.

''I packed my trunk yesterday too.''

''I am fully aware that Severus managed to raise you into an overachiever as well, no matter my extremely hard attempts to make you a decent teenager.''

''We have very different views on what a decent teenager is.''

Sirius grins and gives him a tight hug. ''See, that's what I mean. I didn't talk like that when I was a kid. You're just a little mini-Severus. But I love you regardless.''

Harry looks up and offers a cheeky smirk back. ''Regardless? Maybe you love me because of it. Remind me again who your Intended is?'' Sirius grumbles a bit and pretends to look elsewhere, which is, conveniently for him, quite believable as in that moment the Hogwarts Express lazily rolls in, puffing steam that fills the station. ''Will I still be seeing you throughout the year?'' Harry suddenly asks, not really having considered that before. Surely, Severus will floo to Grimmauld place regularly on weekends like usual…

''I'm afraid not kiddo,'' his godfather denies, patting his head. ''Want to give you the full Hogwarts experience. Your classmates also won't be having that privilege, so I thought it would be rather unfair for you to come home with Sevvy at the end of each week. You can only come on holidays unless, of course, you manage to find your way out by yourself,'' he adds with a fat wink. Of course Sirius would be encouraging him to sneak out…

''I do have the map,'' Harry ponders aloud. ''Which I saw shows tunnels to Hogsmeade… Some of its inhabitant will have a floo that they'll doubtlessly lend to a poor homesick Harry Potter.''

That causes his godfather to break into peals of laughter so loud that a few other people who arrived by now look up at. ''Ah, using your fame? Smart move, don't let Albus know or he'll have my head for not raising you like a humble enough saint. Come on now, the train is waiting. You can still pick and choose your compartment now, before it gets full. Or did you want to wait for someone?''

''No, I'll just wait for Neville in the train and keep him a spot free. Maybe one for Ron too, I don't know if he'd rather sit with his brothers but…''

''You do that. Now go, onto the best adventure of your life!'' the man encourages, half-hugging Harry while dragging him to the train. ''And do write me!'' To make a point, Sirius holds up Hedwig's cage in front of his face. ''Don't spoil her too much.''

''Says the one who fed her owl treats from the day we bought her,'' Harry quips. ''It's your fault that she gets cranky without her morning treat now.'' Dear Hedwig, who had once managed to get by on watery soup and a few pieces of vegetables at the Dursley's, now only gives condescending looks if he offers her anything but the best owl treats and finest pieces of meat. Harry isn't entirely sure what she'll be fed in the Owlery, but suspects that Hedwig will have to get used to a diet or hunt on her own.

After saying their final goodbyes, Harry instantly marches to 'his' compartment in the far back, the one he'd shared with Ron on his very first ride and usually picked each year after if still available.

He wonders if Malfoy will show up and make trouble this time around… The boy obviously knows who he is, but they haven't met often. Harry can only recall speaking to Draco thrice: twice when Sirius brought him along to visit Narcissa and once during a Quidditch match. There have been no offered hands of friendship or anything of the sort, perhaps because of the animosity between Sirius and Draco's parents – Narcissa is still salty about the only Gryffindor Black now being the head of her family – or perhaps even due to Severus. During their Hogwarts years, Lucius made numerous attempts to turn Severus into a good Slytherin and make him join the Death Eaters, which didn't work a bit due to Lily's and the Marauders' influence .

For some reason, Malfoy Senior still feels that Severus betrayed his expectations and made clear that he will do anything to remove Severus from his current position as Head of Slytherin house. Unsuccessfully so far.

With all of that, Harry rather dreads that Draco Malfoy will try to be a pesky brat once more, especially as Harry's friends right now consist of a Muggle-born and a whole bunch of blood-traitors, the latter not unknown by Malfoy. His only hope is that the brat won't have a personal vendetta against Harry this time around, as he certainly won't try to befriend the lost cause of Harry Potter.

''There you are! Harry, I made it, I really made it. Oh, I'm so excited!'' Hermione chatters as she drags her trunk into the compartment. As no-one else has arrived yet, he quickly flicks his wand and levitates it up onto the rack for her. ''Oh, wow,'' she says in wonder with that awed expression she always wears whenever he casts magic that she can't, yet. ''A levitation Charm right? I did not get to practising that one, but I saw that it's one of the first spells in our Charms book. I read that it gets more difficult depending on the weight of the object you levitate.''

''Yes, we'll learn it rather fast. Don't worry, you'll get it right on the first try,'' Harry promises. ''I'm sorry I didn't visit anymore this past week. Was quite busy.''

''No worries, you already warned me about it,'' she waves the apology away. ''I'm sure you had more pressing matters on your mind. Harry, I feel so unprepared despite all the practise I got in…''

''Mione, you cast wandless hexes after my tutelage, you'll be perfectly fine,'' he smirks. ''There will be people coming here with no understanding of magic at all. And even those who come from magical families don't know the first thing about practical spell use even though many Pure-bloods will try to brag about their background. Don't believe them. Even disregarding honing your wandless ability, you got a massive head start because you diligently read every book I smuggled in. So again, don't worry.''

She takes a deep breath and sits opposite of him, staring out of the window for a bit. ''Do I really need to pretend to have only met you today? It seems odd…''

''It's better that way. Our classmates might accept that we befriended each other before, but my godfathers might start asking questions about it if word gets out to them. As one is a teacher, things could get awkward. However, it's not unfeasible that we met here and became friends on the train. It's a long drive after all.'' That's how Ron and he started out, once upon a time…

''Right,'' she sighs, still looking a bit unsure. ''Isn't it off for you to be here? I mean, you already went through all this. Years of school with the same people… You're so much older than the rest of us in reality, won't that be difficult?''

He gazes out of the window, wondering how to answer that. ''I don't know,'' he admits at last. ''It's true that I'm older, but it's a strange feeling. My memories of that other life have faded over the years that I have spent in this world. I got to relive my childhood, in starker detail than I can recall my last one. All of this feels much more real now. That does not mean that it didn't happen, or that I don't think back upon those times, of course. Getting a second chance at life just made me realise that I must use every minute of it. I thus also got used to being a child again, and oftentimes catch myself thinking as one. Sorry, I can't explain it better.''

When freshly reborn in a baby's body, he had done everything to cling onto the memories of his old life, having dreaded exactly this, he knows. That had faded too. There are only so many years of a human life that one can actively remember beyond flashes and warped memories. The only image from his old life that he can recall in the same stark detail as right after it happened are the haggard faces of his best friends wishing him well.

''I think I understand,'' Hermione speaks with a cheerless, tight smile. ''Your second timeline is erasing the experiences of your first instead of adding to it?''

Taking in the words, Harry slowly dips his chin. ''That is a perfect description.''

Harry does not have time to expand on his feelings about it, as both Ron and Neville knock on the door a second after and invite themselves in when seeing Harry and a couple of empty seats. He isn't exactly shocked about that, considering at least Neville a friend by now. And while Ron and he haven't gotten along too well up until this point, it is not unusual for children to sit with people they vaguely know for a sense of community. It doesn't look like Ron has any real friends in their year yet.

The rest of the train ride is pleasant, the boys questioning Hermione about the Muggle world and being countered with being asked about their home life and expectations for Hogwarts. The three children also take turns giving Hedwig attention, as none of them have any pets. With Sirius still around and the whole Order aware of Pettigrew's betrayal, the rat hasn't dared to show up in the Weasley's backyard. Throughout all of the previous years, Harry hasn't heard a peep from Wormtail, even though he occasionally searched.

Harry is content to stay silent throughout most of the ride, lost in thoughts, though he does not neglect to buy a mountain of candy again.

His nerves increase as evening falls and they change into their school uniforms. Eleven years he has waited, trained, formed new connections and tried to make plans. In a few months - or perhaps weeks, if all goes smoothly - he will know whether all of that makes a difference. Voldemort is here, waiting in the castle.

It feels surreal.

Harry carefully lowers his trunk when the train stops and sneakily checks the protective spells on the locks while second-guessing his decision to bring all the Horcruxes along. True, he would constantly be worrying about Sirius discovering them if he'd have left them behind at Grimmauld place, but what if Voldemort can somehow sense and find a way to remove them? Harry might not be so far away from the Dark Lord when it comes to life experience now, but the man still does have a decade on him even without counting the years spent as a spirit, plus has studied magic far more intensely than Harry ever had the opportunity to in either of his lives.

Harry momentarily forgets those worries as they silently glide across the lake using the small boats, the castle coming into view with its hundreds of lit windows. While he's visited Hogwarts numerous times over the past years, there is something awing about the sight.

Only when they hit the shore and start their trek towards the Entrance Hall, does the anxiety return. He wonders briefly if being in Voldemort's presence will affect his magic due to the soul bond, and if he will feel anything in general. From his godparents, he now knows that soul bonds aren't always so obviously noticeable. His mind wanders to the day he got his scar. He could swear there had been something that day, some sort of pull… but it had been incredibly subtle and in the Leaky Cauldron he hadn't detected a thing. Maybe everything else on that day had been too overwhelming to notice, thoughts about Lockhart and the Philosopher's stone being on his mind before bumping into Quirrell.

Not this time… McGonagall takes them over from Hagrid and gives a brief speech, guiding them into the Great Hall. All other first-years use the moment to gape at the sea of students, the decorations and the ceiling that Harry already knows so well. His focus is pulled somewhere else entirely, staring straight at Professor Quirrell the whole way. Might as well start early with distinguishing himself to pique the man's interest. Harry can't exactly do so by showing off magic with Quirrell being a librarian instead of a teacher. Madam Pince may be gone, Harry doubts that her strict ruleset of no noise in the library has suddenly been scrapped as well.

When focusing, Harry does notice that something changes. Like an itch that he can't scratch, deep in his chest, although less unpleasant. A low humming of resonance in magic that is so faint, he only notices due to years of having nothing to do as a baby but finetuning his own magic.

His gaze doesn't entirely succeed in its purpose, as Severus, who sits directly next to Quirrell and is thus just as much in Harry's direct line of vision, slightly inclines his head. The two men exchange a few whispers, after which Quirrell turns away. Damn him. How much has Voldemort told his servant? Has the man been informed about the soul bond? Theoretically, there is a possibility that Quirrell can feel an echo of it when close to Harry due to the intermingling magic that comes from his parasitical connection with the Dark Lord.

''Ah, here you are again,'' the Sorting Hat speaks up as soon as Harry is called to the front and sits down on the stool to be sorted. ''You did say we'd meet soon. I kept your secret.''

''Thank you. As you might see in my mind, I'd really hate to go to Slytherin. Just a reminder.''

''You'd do well in there… it would make life with your Intended much easier.''

''I'm not going to make any life decisions just to please him.''

''Very well… You are stubborn enough for: GRYFFINDOR!''

Smiling, Harry stands, shooting Severus an apologetic look. Honestly, he is also rather glad to not be a Slytherin because of his godfather. It would have been much, much harder to sneak out at night or return late in the evening with Severus as his Head of House. The potion master does look a bit sourer than usual, maybe he already banked on using Harry's excellence at potions to award more points to Slytherin this year and guarantee the House Cup. Instead, he might have to go easier on Gryffindor if he doesn't want to feel Sirius' wrath back home.

With a twinge of discomfort, he notices how loud Dumbledore claps in response to Harry's Sorting as opposed to that of all other students, fresh Gryffindors included. The old Dumbledore had done the same, but back then Harry had been far too happy and overwhelmed to notice the blatant favouritism. Was it genuine? Or had the Headmaster's schemes truly started this early? He supresses a flicker of anger when the sour memory of the man insisting Harry be put with the Dursleys arises.

The feast proceeds much like last time, with only few surprises. Harry tunes out the short speech of Lockhart and the swooning that the man receives. Instead, he makes note of that Theodore Nott is sorted into Ravenclaw this time, and that Lisa Turpin becomes a Hufflepuff instead of a Ravenclaw. As Harry never was close to either, he does not particularly care, though he feels a hint of sympathy for Nott. The boy looks absolutely terrified, likely fearing getting into trouble with his family for not being 'good enough' for Slytherin. At least Malfoy now has one crony less… the blond already started bragging about having connections on the short trip from the boats to the entrance hall, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. No changes there…

There are a few new faces as well, and others are missing. Harry theorises that it may be due to soul bonds interfering with matches that were made in his old life. Instead of Seamus, two other first-years are sorted into Gryffindor who hadn't been at Hogwarts last time, if they'd even existed at all: a Kylee Twycross and a Gethin Cresswell. He vaguely recognises both surnames and figures they may be children of people who ended up with Muggles in his first life, who now married their magical Intended. There are others whom he doesn't know at all, two girls who go to Slytherin and Ravenclaw respectively, but he hasn't caught their names and can't ask as they sit at another table.

Pensively, Harry joins all of the other first-years as their Prefect shows them the way to the dorms. While his classmates are busy worrying over being able to remember the way, Harry takes in all the little details of the castle that has been buried beneath more important memories over time. During the previous years, he's seen precious little of Hogwarts. Besides the dungeons and the occasional trip to the lakeshore or edge of the Forbidden Forest with Severus to gather ingredients, he's only explored Dumbledore's office and the Chamber once. Next to him, Hermione is bouncing with excitement as he tries to answer all her muttered questions as well as he can.

At long last, Harry buries his face in the soft pillows of the four-poster bed that he missed for so incredibly long that he almost forgot how familiar it is. The smell of clean linen, the warmth of the cosy blankets… perfect. The other boys stay up a while to discuss all their new impressions, but Harry only wishes to sleep and does so as soon as he's changed and brushed his teeth.

The first weeks of school are interesting to say the least. There is no change in the curriculum or staff other than Lockhart, but this time Harry guides the other students to the classrooms so everyone will be on time, answers all of Severus' questions correctly - he isn't sure why his godfather even bothers unless it is meant to show how much Harry knows – and successfully performs every spell they are taught.

During the first few days, he receives many curious whispers about his appearance and scar, and while the amount of gossiping doesn't lessen, the topic does change. The admiring stares thrown his way are not only because of the miracle he performed as a baby, but also because he quickly gains a reputation of being one of the best students Hogwarts has ever had. It helps that Hermione shares that spotlight, even if Harry quickly has to shut up the rumour that they are going to be Hogwarts' new 'power couple'.

The only drawback is, as he feared, that Ron is left behind. Harry does what he can to help his dormmates, from assisting with homework to giving spell demonstrations. Dean, Gethin and Neville take it well, Neville even thanking Harry time and time again as it makes a positive difference in class when having someone patient to practise with. Alas, it does not have the same effect on Ron, who turns silent and brooding, shooting glares and making snide comments at Harry and Hermione whenever they get a spell right on their first try.

As much as it hurts, Harry can't tone it down. When choosing between sparing Ron's feelings and impressing Voldemort in order to try and save their world, his mind is quickly made up. With Quirrell not being a teacher and thus unable to witness Harry's performance in class, he needs the rumours to spread quickly.

It appears to work. They have quickly found their regular spot in the library, a table just in view of the librarian's desk. By the second week, Harry has already caught Quirrell's contemplative stares a couple of times. By the third week, it has become so noticeable that even Hermione starts to mention it.

''He's looking over here again,'' she whispers uncomfortably, glancing at Quirrell. They just arrived in the library to look up some actually useful spells on Defence instead of the drivel Lockhart 'taught'. It had always been Hermione's worst subject, and Harry doesn't want her to get off on the wrong foot. Even if she consistently passes with E's, he knows she'll panic for not receiving O's…

''It's starting to creep me out,'' she insists when Harry simply hums. ''Maybe we should try to find another table. Or… or report it.''

''Report it?'' Harry incredulously asks. ''You want to report the librarian for looking at those using his library? He's supposed to keep an eye on everyone, that's part of the job description.''

''Come on, someone of your age should be able to recognise that the way he stares isn't him watching out for people who damage the books,'' she hisses back. ''No, he is up to something and has an unhealthy interest in either one or both of us.''

Hermione's line of thought should not surprise him anymore. The difference in upbringing is incredibly noticeable in how little regard she has for figures of authority. With that also comes a dose of suspicion about the possible harmful intentions of adults that he personally thinks to be healthy, even if other people might find it concerning for an eleven-year-old. In his first life, it had taken some convincing until Hermione had wanted to admit that Snape might not be up to much good despite the man hating Harry's guts. These days, a few stares are enough to get her alarm bells ringing… Mentally, he congratulates Hermione for being so observant. Especially when it comes to Quirrell, she should be wary.

Harry never thought much about Quirrell, before. He'd been the quiet and shy Defence Professor until Harry had figured out it was an act – mere minutes before the man's death. There hadn't been use for reflections on his character. Now, Harry realises just how dangerous of a man Quirrell truly is: an excellent actor who fooled many people, willing to release a troll in a school solely as a distraction, fully on board with directly murdering a child for no other reason than being ordered to by his master. Undoubtedly, he was and is one of the Dark Lord's most fanatical followers.

Many - if not most - of the Death Eaters Harry had known would never have gone to the extent of voluntarily sharing their own body with Voldemort. Harry doesn't even know yet what Quirrell hopes to gain from it. Money? Power? The secret to eternal life?

Hermione releases a frustrated sound at his lack of response when Harry merely closes his book and languidly leans back. Maybe he should come clean about some of his plans. It hasn't been his intention to spook Hermione. ''He's looking at me,'' Harry quietly admits. ''It's a bit complicated but… he is, sort of… my Intended. I suppose he figured that out.'' He doesn't like having to twist the truth after having already told her so many of his secrets, but by now she's read so much about their world that she will definitely panic when hearing that the Dark Lord is at Hogwarts and Harry's actual Intended. He'll tell her in time. Latest when Voldemort and he will have figured out where they stand.

''Harry! And you knew all this time?'' she whispers. ''That explains so much! Wait a minute…'' she narrows her eyes. ''You picked this table. You knew full well we'd be in his view. Are you trying to seduce a teacher? Scandalous!''

''He's not a teacher, he's our librarian,'' he replies with a razor-sharp smile. ''Besides, I'm not trying to seduce anyone, you know my opinion on soul marks. Since I caught his attention now, I suppose that it might be time for a chat.'' Before Hermione can stop him - or before he can lose this sudden burst of foolish bravery - Harry jumps up and saunters over to Quirrell's desk, noticing how the man tenses up.

''Mr P-P-Potter. Do you n-need as-s-sistance?''

''In a way, although I am not sure if you can help me,'' he boldly states, leaning closer. The smell of garlic becomes stronger, and Harry worries if it is a way for Quirrell to ensure no-one wants to touch his turban, or if Voldemort really smells so strongly of the stuff. He hopes it is the former.

His heart pounds away as all of his efforts fall in place. This is it, the next words will cement the future. Not feeling like beating around the bush when it will lead to the same outcome, he calmly states his intentions: ''I'd like to talk to your master, if he's available.''

Quirrell's eyes widen only minimally, and Harry must admit that the man has excellent control over his role. ''T-to speak to the Headm-m-master, I rec-c-ommend going t-to your Head of H-house,'' he stutters with a slightly nervous smile. Harry raises an unimpressed eyebrow, not willing to play games of dancing around the topic.

''I'm sure you know who I am talking about. I have an offer for him. Maybe he'll be more likely to be responsive when knowing that otherwise, some of his pieces will be in danger.'' The other opens and closed his mouth, looking uncertain. A low, disembodied hiss comes from Quirrell's general direction, a good sign that Voldemort is listening attentively. ''I don't know exactly how this works,'' Harry confesses. ''Him talking to you and all, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt now on not being able to communicate in this environment. Send me a message if he's interested in a talk.''

With a wild thumping in his chest, Harry turns around and joins Hermione once again, who appears to be full of questions, as she was too far away to hear the hushed conversation.

''He looks shocked, what did you say?'' she questions. When he doesn't answer, she continues pestering: ''You said your soul mate is in his sixties! Do mages age that differently from Muggles? He looks middle-aged at most! Also, how is a red eye connected to Mr Quirrell?'' She gets rather annoyed when he waves the inquiries away and claims it is private. When he doesn't cave in the slightest, she eventually relents with a slight pout and starts hounding him about homework instead.

Instantly after leaving the library, he starts to doubt this daring move. He really hasn't learned, has he? All of that careful planning, only to approach Quirrell on a whim… Harry doesn't have long to panic about it, as he soon receives the awaited response: not two hours later, one of the school owls drops a blank envelope next to his plate, which he instantly pushes deep into his school bag.

All through dinner, his heart flutters like mad as he is both eager and scared to read Voldemort's response. Eleven years have built up to this moment… Absentmindedly, he rubs the back of his hand, where the mark is currently covered by a spell. No need to flaunt it in a full school of children who are insanely curious about the Intended of their hero. Not to mention that Lockhart will become even more of a nightmare with his marketing schemes if he is made aware of Harry already having a soul mate out there.

As soon as he can slip away into an empty corridor, he digs out the letter and breathlessly reads the contents:

Mr Potter,
My office is located on the third floor, near the library entrance. The room number is 314.
Please visit at your convenience.
Quirinus Quirrell

The message could barely have been shorter, but it sends a thrill through his spine anyways. At his own convenience, huh? Now the ball has started rolling, procrastination will only lead to further insecurities. So, he fully exploits that wording. Putting the letter away and picking up his school bag, Harry heads straight for the secret staircase that connects the ground floor with the library. It is a shortcut he's barely used before, but the Gryffindor suspects he'll take it more often from now on.

It doesn't take long at all before he stands in front of a very regular door with a small brass '314' on the wall next to it. Taking a deep breath, Harry raises a fist. It floats in front of the wood for a good few seconds in which he gathers courage and pulls himself together. There is no place now for playing a child.

Memories of an age long past fill his mind. He is the Boy-Who-Lived, who walks towards his death at Voldemort's hand in the Forbidden Forest in an attempt to save those he loves. He is the hailed hero who fulfilled the Prophecy by vanquishing the feared and hated Dark Lord. He is a despised relic, fresh off the battlefield after having lost dozens of people he considered family to Witchhunters. He is a time traveller who made a promise he will never be able to keep. He is the only person who can ensure that this world does not meet the same fate as his own did.

He is Harry James Potter: eleven and hopeful, thirty-four and hardened, forty-five and tired beyond belief.

He knocks.

Soft candles flicker as he steps into Quirrell's dusky and cramped office. The man himself is sitting behind a large desk covered in books. The single window, set in the wall behind it, is covered with a semi-transparent curtain to filter out even more light.

''I have been exp-p-pecting you,'' Quirrell stammers. Sighing, Harry takes the chair opposite of the librarian. Knowing that Quirrell can be calculating and dangerous, Harry tries to think of a way to have this conversation without slighting the other, even though he really wants to talk to Voldemort instead.

''I have it on good authority that your stuttering is merely an act,'' he starts, not willing to listen to the fake speech impediment for much longer. ''For the sake of easing this conversation on both our ends, it would be appreciated if you could drop it.'' He wouldn't have minded at all if Quirrell actually had trouble speaking, but if there is no need for it, it will spare them both time and effort.

The librarian presses his lips together until they form no more than a thin line. Nervously darting eyes turn steely. ''You know quite a lot, Mr Potter,'' he speaks, a sudden frostiness coating his voice.

Harry hums in agreement. ''You could say that. Can we speak openly here?'' he asks, gaze drifting to the walls. Although they are decorated with many tapestries, not a single portrait is in sight. He supposes that Quirrell is just as unwilling to let in potential spies as Harry is. He never thought about it in that light, but the fact that any painted character can move to any other portrait within the castle walls means that teachers could easily spy on each other, not to even mention the power the Headmaster could exert with this.

Quirrell inclines his head. ''This office is secure, yes.''

''In that case, is Lord Voldemort available to speak to?''

Quirrell blanches at the name, rather comical as the Death Eater is literally sharing a body with the Dark Lord. Harry holds up his hands. ''Look, I know that this is going to be a lot to take in at once, but I am frankly not willing to wait months for a moment in which to approach this topic tactfully. I know that he's possessing your body, but everything will go much smoother and quicker if I can talk to him personally instead of through you,'' he argues.

By the movement of Quirrell's robes, Harry sees that the other carefully draws his wand and points it towards Harry under the desk. ''And why would I let you?'' Quirrell enquires, eyes narrowing. ''Nothing you have said makes you seem trustworthy in any way. For all I know, you'll run to dear Severus to report… your godfather, yes? Perhaps you already did, and he is about to barge in. Not very ideal if anyone else would be involved in this conversation… Have you ever heard of the obliviate charm?''

Ignoring the threat of having his memory erased, Harry withdraws a wand - Voldemort's wand - with his left hand, places his right one flat on the desk and cast a Finite on the concealment spell. It melts away, revealing the bright red eye that is his soul mark.

''I wouldn't dare involve anyone else in this delicate matter,'' Harry declares, holding up his hand so Quirrell can clearly see the tattoo. The man sucks in a breath, shock visible for a second before it is smoothed over. Clearly, Voldemort did not warn his follower. For a moment, Harry feels uncertainty. What if, for some strange reason, Voldemort does not know? Surely that can't be… The Dark Lord already bore the lightning-bolt shaped mark on his neck before Harry received the curse scar, a scar that carries as much fame as Harry's name does. Even if Voldemort was unaware of their soul bond when coming to kill him – well possible, Harry isn't the only mage in the world born on that 31st of July – he should definitely know now.

''Let me see him,'' a high voice impatiently hisses. Harry sits up straighter.

''Master, you aren't strong enough,'' Quirrell insists with a hint of worry.

''Silence! I am strong enough to do this!''

Giving up quickly on trying to dissuade his master, Quirrell reaches around his own head and starts untying the turban with slightly trembling fingers, curious gaze never leaving Harry's face. Clearly, Quirrell is dying to ask a million questions yet doesn't dare. A tad awkwardly, he rises from the office chair to turn around.

Despite having expected the sight, Harry tenses up as he comes face to face with Lord Voldemort. Quietly, he observes the pallid skin and red eyes that burn as much as he remembers them to. Just like the day that this man came to kill Harry, Voldemort doesn't look completely serpentine yet, his nose not quite as flattened as it should become after his resurrection.

Neither of them speaks for a moment, sizing each other up. Voldemort's eyes flicker from the yew wand Harry is still holding to the soul mark. Slightly disappointed, the Gryffindor notices that the other's mark isn't visible in this form, as only the face sticks out. ''It's been a while,'' he finally breaks the silence.

''How. How could you possibly be aware of my presence here?'' Voldemort demands to know. The Dark Lord is evidently out of his depth and does not like it in the slightest. ''I left no traces, this infiltration went perfectly.''

''It did,'' Harry attempts to placate the man. This conversation is already not heading where he imagined… though what exactly had he imagined?

''Before I answer that question, I want to ask you something in return,'' he says, getting serious. He did not relive these eleven years without good reason. Soul marks and resurrection aside, all of this will be pointless if Voldemort cannot do what his Death Eaters trusted he could. ''Do you have the ability to protect us from Muggles if they are to discover magic in just over eight years?''

Voldemort furrows his brow and stares pensively for a while. It's a good sign that he doesn't start laughing. ''A rather specific question… Eight years is short. My last war went on for decades and was mainly spent in conflict between the light and dark side. Muggles were left out of the equation more than I wanted. Besides, I am currently in a rather sorry state,'' he grouchily adds.

Harry groans and tugs at his hair. ''We don't have more time! Maybe even less!''

''Start making sense, Potter,'' Voldemort orders, eyes mere slits now. ''I do not have all evening to entertain you.''

Taking a breather, Harry nods in agreement. ''First of all, I must apologise for killing you. I didn't originally mean to get you stuck without a body for so long. As a peace offering, I have brought your wand, which I saved from the ruins of my former home. It did help me a great deal to be honest, but I finally have my own now. I'm sorry that I didn't prevent all this… I'd wanted to tell you everything when you came to me that night, but due to the shape of your Mark, I knew that I should not interfere.''

''Correct me if I am wrong… are you talking about preventing me from firing a Killing Curse when you were one year old?'' the Dark Lord icily inquires, a heavy dose of suspicion in his tone. At least Harry isn't at the wrong end of Quirrell's wand yet. It looks like he's caught Voldemort enough by surprise that the man is considering everything he is saying. ''Forgive me for being... sceptical that this whole conversation is not a set-up.''

''I understand, I really do. I tried to play my first conversation with you in my head so many times, never finding a good way to start it,'' he nervously laughs. ''Because I know how impossible everything will sound, how ridiculous…''

He is met with Voldemort's emotionless stare, so Harry sits up straighter and states: ''My name is Harry James Potter. I'm forty-five years old, as this is my second attempt at life. I also happen to have a soul mark that links me to the one person I came to search the aid of: you.'' There, he said it. Two of his largest secrets spilled to the man he has so desperately been needing to speak to.

Voldemort does react now, although not in a positive way. As soon as Harry finishes speaking, he lets out a short, disbelieving chuckle. ''You can't expect me to swallow such garbage. I have explored every possible method of immortality in this world and nothing I came across would let someone relive their life!''

''Yes, I know you preferred Horcruxes,'' Harry throws in the room, which shuts the Dark Lord up rather effectively. ''I have four of yours in my possession, plus the means to destroy them if you do not cooperate.''

A cold silence descends as they stare each other down. Ruby eyes are blown wide open, and if Harry isn't mistaken, he sees panic flicker in them.

''You are threatening me. You are threatening me.''

''I have the leverage to do so,'' Harry affirms, noticing that his typical temper is rising again, something he never fully learnt to control. ''And I certainly will follow through if you don't listen. I don't have time to be playing games and neither do you. I had to relive how your people killed my parents, again, for the slight chance of that maybe this time, I could set it all right and not watch the rest of our world be uprooted and ripped apart by the Muggles who'll hunt us to extinction!''

He breathes heavily, trying to keep his voice under control. ''I've watched so many people die,'' Harry whispers, age-old pain seeping into his bones. ''I want to save them, but I can't do that without you.'' His eyes blur with rage over his lost friends who are stranded in that other world, the ones he abandoned, who would wait fruitlessly for his return. He cannot let that happen again to the versions of them he's come to know and started to love here. ''Most of the wizarding world will be against you, I realise that. But focusing on another war amongst ourselves is detrimental. It's not even just Britain, this calamity will happen world-wide through methods of Muggle communication that are faster than anything mages have invented.''

Voldemort isn't laughing anymore after that heartfelt confession.

''You'll have to give me more than a few pieces of jumbled information. Prove to me that you speak the truth!'' The voice echoes the same way as these words did countless years ago, when Harry witnessed Dumbledore's memory of a young Tom Riddle who needed evidence to trust in the existence of a magical school. Harry considers for a while what he can do or say to give irrefutable proof of his words being honest.

''In my first life,'' he starts, ''I did not know anything about your Horcruxes for years. Due to some twists of fate, your diary ended up in the hands of a friend of mine. After feeding off her soul, it used her to open the Chamber of Secrets, of which the entrance is in the girl's bathroom on the second floor. You need Parseltongue to open the entrance upstairs, the entrance to the main chamber itself, and the hidden door in the statue of Salazar Slytherin. The monster inside is a Basilisk, which you also used forty-nine years ago to kill a girl named Myrtle Warren, who still resides as a ghost in this castle, even though she cannot recall anything about the circumstances leading to her death apart from a large pair of yellow eyes at the sink. None of this knowledge is available to any other person than you at this point in time. No teacher has a clue about the Chamber's location, and certainly has not been down there. Is that proof enough?''

As he speaks, Voldemort's expression shifts to contemplative. ''How did you learn of how the Chamber looks? Of the statue and the various doors?''

~I opened those doors,~ Harry hisses. He does not know if it is only the candlelight, but in that moment, he could swear that the Dark Lord's eyes flash.

~You speak! You are another descendent of Salazar Slytherin?~ Then, his eyes flicker downwards. ~Unless… our soul bond?~ The question is hungering. Obsessive to a dangerously familiar point. Harry does not answer, not ready to reveal quite yet that he is a Horcrux himself. Let Voldemort think that he got four of the other vessels instead of only three. At the lack of reply, the man continues: ~When I attached myself to my follower and returned to Britain three months ago, I instantly searched for news on the one who killed me. When I saw your scar, I was in disbelief. Now, it makes sense. Naturally, a regular wizard would be no match for me on any level. Yet you have performed feats of magic unfamiliar to me…~

~You did not consider the possibility before?~ Harry curiously interjects. ~You must have received the mark on the date of my birth, and you obviously knew when I was born as you considered me as one of two children who fit the prophecy.~ It had always been something he wondered about as a consideration that might influence his decision on how to move forward: whether Voldemort had knowingly attempted to murder his own Intended or thought of Harry as nothing more than a prophesised enemy.

It takes a bit for the Dark Lord to continue, seconds filled with gauging if Harry can – or should – be trusted with this information. It's a positive sign when he continues:

~I rely on magic for most everything and hardly have a need for mirrors. The mark being placed on my neck, I noticed it only mid-August when one of my more daring followers congratulated me. I'd no way to pinpoint when exactly I received it, but assumed it to be days old, not weeks. So no, I did not consider that the one born at the end of July who was to be my demise, could be chosen by Magic as my match.'' Considering the sarcastic way Voldemort spoke of his follower commenting on the mark as something to be celebrated, Harry doesn't dare ask what the man's reaction to it was. ~Now answer me this, even if you claim to have had your 'reasons' for not stopping my attempt to kill you, why did you not search me out while I spent time as a spirit? If you are truly forty-five, apparition would not have been impossible.~

~In the first few years of this life, I was hindered by physical limitations, needing sleep and care constantly despite the state of my mind or magic,~ Harry reluctantly discloses. ~Afterwards… I did not think it was feasible. The only hint as to your location that I had from my previous life was 'Albania', which isn't much to go on. Approaching your scattered followers as a child also would not have gone over well. As soon as a single person would not have believed me, it could lead to my story making it to the ears of Dumbledore, whom I could not defeat right now even if I wanted to. So, I focused on training in areas that I lacked in before and searched for ways to make you listen to me without being dismissive, deciding to track down your Horcruxes. Which, as you have proven just now, was necessary.~

Quirrell moves, swaying as if he is having difficulties keeping upright. Harry realises that this conversation takes a lot of energy that is perhaps too much for the combined entities. Voldemort's face does not show any of this however, as he says: ~Your story still holds no water. You reincarnated yourself in order to ensure I save our kind eight years from now? I'd never allow them to hunt us, and I am eternal. The Horcruxes you claim to possess will ensure that I never perish.~

Voldemort's tone betrays how proud he is of this feat, one that hardly any witch or wizard managed. Harry does not want to reveal just how vulnerable this 'immortality' is, but Voldemort should not remain blind to it if he is to survive.

~Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, the Killing curse for living Horcruxes… they are not indestructible, and most of the items you used are unique pieces tied to the Founders or your other ancestors. Dumbledore soon discovered that you had created a way to cheat death and made it his mission to track down your Horcruxes in my original timeline. When Muggles uncovered and overran us, you were already-~

''No!'' Voldemort snarls. ''Impossible! How dare you suggest such a thing!"

''You need to know this to avoid repetition!'' Harry harshly bites back. ''Denial won't bring us anywhere! You left too many loose ends regarding those objects. Witnesses whose memories can be used and traces of magic. You cannot underestimate you enemies so!''

~Were you my enemy? Despite our marks?~ Voldemort whispers suddenly.

Harry tries to formulate a reply without revealing too much. Voldemort is, at least for now, probably more willing to listen if he thinks that Harry reincarnated in this same world and thus knows exactly what is going to happen. Best leave the titbit about being from a different dimension out.

~You killed my parents and attempted to kill me. Unlike now where I could prevent it, I grew up with my abusive Muggle family. I came to Hogwarts not knowing how anything worked, not having a clue about magic, and was instantly surrounded by light mages whom I looked up to and quickly regarded as family. Family threatened by your ideals. Yes, you were my enemy. Nothing could have prevented us from being enemies then. Make no mistake, that I know you will be proven right in the end does not mean that I approve of your methods of sowing conflict between mages, the way you treat others or the pleasure you take in performing the darkest of curses. We have the same goal now when it comes to Muggles, that is why I approach you, not because we happen to be soulbonded.~

Voldemort looks… almost disappointed for a fleeting moment that passes so swiftly Harry believes to have imaged it, the strange expression replaced by blankness. ~I suppose I should not have expected any different… Let us move onto business, then,'' he replies, switching back to English, probably to have Quirrell not be left out of the loop regarding future plans. ''You asked me to protect us from Muggles. There is only one way I deem sufficient to ensure they cannot harm us. If you cannot stomach my methods-''

''I'm well aware-'' Harry cuts in, meeting the sceptical gaze head-on. ''-of your methods. In fact, they need to be harder, faster, and more widespread. I disagree only to using them on our own people. I put my faith in diplomacy before, in an ideal of living side-by-side and learned the hard way that negotiating with oppressors only leads to betrayal and pain. You are the only one who is willing to face this harsh truth up front and has enough power to make a change. This is exactly why I crossed the borders of time to find you.''

The lipless mouth twitches into what might count as a smile. ''Very well. To utilise my power, I first must mend my own state, however. If this is your second life, surely you know everything about the Stone,'' the man hints. ''That would be a start for… mutual trust.''

Harry scoffs. ''I don't believe that you will fully trust anyone, least of all someone you don't have enough information on. I can only help you so far with the Philosopher stone anyways. In my first life, you finally tried to obtain it at the end of the school year. By then, Dumbledore will have different protections around it than are in place now.'' The mirror of Erised had not been used as an extra measure to hold the stone until after Harry had discovered it after all, and he isn't sure if the mirror replaced a previous, unknown obstacle.

''Tell me what you know,'' Voldemort persists. Harry wonders what the Dark Lord will do if he'll refuse. Harry still holds the Horcruxes as hostages after all, and he knows that he can likely out-duel Quirrell. Increasing the level of hostility won't bring them further either though…

''It may need to wait for another time. It looks like your host is about to faint.''

Voldemort makes a disgruntled noise. ''He'll hold out a bit longer still. Talk.''

Quirrell makes a soft, pained noise yet does not protest the words of his master.

Showing his displeasure, Harry warily answers: ''Fine, although I want you to be aware that I tell you this as an offering of goodwill, not because I feel you are in any position to threaten me right now.'' Voldemort's nostrils flare in response, seeming irked. ''As you must know from Quirrell, many of the teachers helped set up obstacles beyond the third floor corridor,'' he starts, then goes on to describe Fluffy, the Devil's Snare and the many other challenges, including how to defeat them, while internally hoping that the teachers have picked the same challenges this time as they did back then.

At least it appears that Voldemort is not surprised about the Troll Quirrell had offered as a guardian for the Stone. Once he's spoken of Snape's potions, Harry ends with: ''That is unfortunately where my knowledge ends. Somewhere after the Christmas holidays, Dumbledore will trap the Philosopher's stone in an enchanted mirror which will be placed in the final room, but I am unaware what it holds now instead.''

''Chess games and riddles…'' Voldemort mutters, disturbed. He smoothly slips into Parsel again as he hisses: ~Almost as if this is a trial to see who can reach it, not defensive measures to keep someone out.~

Harry smiles wryly. ~When I tried to stop you from getting the stone, I thought they were the most incredible pieces of magic I'd ever witness, so I did not think much of it. Many years afterwards, I realised that it did indeed look like some sort of set up or test. In my own theory, Dumbledore knew that you would reach the stone eventually, and wished to give others at least the chance to prevent you from doing so by going after you.~

~You tried to stop me?~

Harry fidgets as a glare pins him down. ~As stated before, I saw you only as someone who wanted me and those I cared about dead. I had no idea what was to come or how crucial your survival would turn out to be. So yes, I tried to stop you and succeeded. Not exactly due to my own merit of course, I was only eleven… but there were different circumstances at play then, ancient magic that neither of us were aware of. Now, I should really return to my dorms,~ he comments, getting up. ~It will be suspicious if I sneak out here late evening.~

~We shall speak again, Harry Potter,~

He inclines his head in return. ~I hope you enjoy having your wand back again. It served me well over those past years.~ he adds. ~We share wand cores, by the way. Brother wands, it's called, which prevents us from being able to properly duel each other. Thought you might find that interesting.~

Voldemort does not reply anymore, a very weary-looking Quirrell finally turning around with bags under his eyes that weren't there at the start of this conversation. Harry can't really bring himself to feel too sorry for the man, who chose this path. ''See you in the library, Mr Quirrell,'' Harry bids his farewell, swinging his bag over his shoulder. ''I'm sure that we'll need to have a few more talks soon.''

---

AN: And there certainly will be more talks :3

So, they have finally met face-to-face and Harry put some of his cards on the table already.
There's still some animosity which I hope can be expected from Voldemort's end, being so caught off guard as he was.

I know some of you were hoping Harry would go to Slytherin, but he is defintiely still brash enough for Gryffindor imo haha. Casually waltzing up to Voldemort just to clear the air..

Please let me know your thoughts :)
xx GeMerope