Chapter 8 – A Change of Plans
To Harry's dismay, he does not talk to Voldemort again for quite a while. During each library visit, Quirrell mysteriously disappears from the desk, and knocking on the man's office door garners no response. The Marauder's map is rather unhelpful in these moments too, as Harry can't exactly have the secret map out to check where Quirrell is at all times. It's always frustrating to check the map in the dorms only to realise that of course, the man is simply in his office or the library, only to not find him there when having made his way downstairs. The invisibility cloak would be helpful in these moments…
This goes on for almost two weeks, during which Harry becomes increasingly irritated. Maybe it would be a different story if he at least figured out why the other avoids him so. Is Voldemort trying to verify Harry's information before speaking again? Does he attempt to find something of equal value as the Horcruxes to hold over Harry's head? Or has the Dark Lord decided that this story of reincarnation is so ludicrous that he moved onto getting the stone as quickly as possible to leave?
Hermione notices the worsening mood, quickly picking up that it is connected to Quirrell's absence. After Harry refuses to listen to any advice on how Quirrell maybe is not ready for a soulmate who looks like a child, she keeps silent and focuses on studying. To have someone rational to speak to, Harry visits his godfather's office a few times, conversing mostly about potions, other classes and the dreadful Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons they both love to criticise. Lockhart has been a menace, pulling Harry aside more than once to rant about their similarities. The annoying twat so far hasn't appeared to notice Harry's reluctance. Or expertly ignores it. It's a small blessing that Colin Creevey isn't a student yet, no signed pictures having been distributed so far.
Harry decisively puts down his cup of tea on the saucer during one of their evening talks. ''Severus? I think that I need… advice, though I'm not sure if I want to go too much into detail. Would you be alright with giving me a general feel of what direction to go in?''
The potion master raises his eyebrows, the only indication of surprise. ''I'll listen to your plight yet cannot promise advice when being left unaware of details or context. I'm not interested in changing my career to Divinator.''
''Being willing to try is already a great support, thank you. There is this… particular person whom I wish to get closer to. However, I have the feeling they are avoiding me. I revealed some information that may have been upsetting, so that could be the reason why. I don't want that to stand between us though. My question is mainly… should I try to confront them or wait it out?''
Severus hums lowly and cups his glass with both hands, blowing the steam away carefully before answering. ''It depends on this person's character. May I ask which House they are in? As students are sorted by personality traits, that might be helpful.''
''Slytherin.'' Even if not a student anymore, Voldemort is practically the embodiment of the House.
''Then, the reason why they avoid you may be due to house rivalry, nothing else,'' Severus suggests, at which Harry shakes his head.
''I doubt that plays a role in this case. It hasn't come up in either way.''
''Hmm, if you are certain… With Slytherins, I recommend direct confrontation if you are anxious for an answer now. They may have good reasons for avoiding you, but you have no possible way of knowing how long it will take before they are ready. Also, if I know my students well enough, by the time they come to you again, they'll have made sure to have the upper hand.''
''You have a point there… now I only need a way to approach them without being left staring at an empty spot.'' Maybe he should try upping his concealment charms in an attempt to use the map in other places than his dorms after all. Or ambush Quirrell in a spot he visits often. Already, an idea forms in Harry's mind. It is time for another office break-in.
Going back to planning such a thing isn't difficult. By now, Harry has become quite the expert. Two Horcrux hunts, a handful of burglaries and even more breakouts have made him resourceful and sneaky. Being in the castle he knows like the back of his hand and of which he has a magical map to boot makes it even far simpler. Plus, unlike the Headmaster, Quirrell had neither a magical familiar nor ancient artefacts in his office as far as Harry is aware. Within a week, he's studied and practised all necessary spells, a week during which Voldemort still expertly avoids him. Just in case, he wants something stronger than the concealment charms and darkening spells he used to get around in the Muggle world.
Weaponised with a combination of notice-me-not, a Chameleon charm and shadow magic, Harry heads for Quirrell's office on a Sunday, right after breakfast. As hardly any students use the library in the early morning, the librarian won't feel compelled to sit at his desk yet. So, he wolfs down breakfast, uses the fastest way possible to get to the office, analyses the locking spells on the door - not quite a simple lock here – and is in within a few minutes. He saunters through the office for a spot to hide, not wanting Quirrell to instantly see him and flee again. When the dot of Quirrell rounds the corner, Harry has found a comfortable spot, wedged behind a huge potted fern and a couple of mysterious chests.
He shuffles behind the plant, grateful for his small body – only to freeze completely when realising that he isn't the only one who thought of this as a great hiding place. A few more inches and he'd have stepped on a very familiar, slumbering snake. Okay, he did not expect to find Nagini here, not in the least because she does not show up on the Marauder's map. Now he thinks of it, neither does Voldemort, so the Dark Lord probably uses highly advanced traceless spells. Harry holds his breath, not having enough time to either search a new spot nor to wake up and hush the serpent with a calming Parseltongue speech. Is this new? Had Quirrell actually hidden Voldemort's snake in his own office last time as well? If so, how come no-one had ever noticed the gigantic animal? Is Quirrell such a recluse that other teachers never set foot into his office? Then again, Harry didn't notice Nagini before either… She's excellent at keeping quiet.
His mind doesn't have time to stop boggling before the one he's been stalking steps in. The hunch in the man's shoulders disappears as soon as the door shuts behind him. The Gryffindor does not reveal himself yet, first wanting to see how this plays out, to have Quirrell settle down. With frantic gestures, the librarian unravels his turban, revealing Voldemort's face.
''Master, please, I cannot- I need-'' Quirrell begs in distress. He looks incredibly unhealthy, Harry observes, peering through the dense leaves of the fern. He noticed some dark spots under the man's eyes at breakfast, but the worst of it was clearly hidden with charms.
''We will go hunt soon,'' Voldemort announces, sounding annoyed. ''This evening is perfect. You will hold out that long.''
''Yes, my Lord,'' the man miserably answers, cradling his left hand. Squinting, Harry tries to make out more details. It looks frailer than the other, skeletal. Almost like… Voldemort's. Are their bodies merging further than merely the face on the back of Quirrell's head? He never considered any possible complications of this parasitic spellwork. Can Voldemort technically take over the other's body then? No, that would not make a lot of sense, parasites usually die with their hosts. Harry thinks about that for a while, then wonders if that is Voldemort's grand plan with using the philosopher's stone. Granting Quirrell's body eternal life so he can permanently possess it without the body falling to pieces. The idea is rather gruesome, especially as Harry can't figure out where Quirrell's consciousness would fit in there. Maybe he is having an overactive imagination and Voldemort has a different plan altogether…
''Until then,'' the Dark Lord hisses, ''Keep a low profile. Everything has to be set up for tomorrow morning. We have one chance to retrieve it unnoticed. I suppose you should be grateful for no longer being a teacher.'' The men sit down in their office chair and Harry attempts not to move as Voldemort might spot him from this angle. As long as he keeps utterly still, the spells that mask his presence and magic should be enough to-
~Potter,~
Releasing an irritated sigh, Harry complies and steps out from his hiding spot. Maybe he still lacks a few decades of experience to fool this man.
''I thought my spells were top-notch,'' he replies, surly. As soon as the first word leaves his lips, Quirrell jumps up in shock and whirls around, giving him a wild look. Apparently, Harry at least surprised one of them. Interesting, so they do not share thoughts or the same senses.
''How did you get in?'' Quirrell snarls, lifting his wand threateningly. Harry does not reply, resisting all urges to jump into a defensive stance and start a duel. It isn't easy to suppress these reflexes, but he manages. At a dry cough, the Death Eater stiffens. With another glare, Quirrell slowly turns around so Harry is faced with the burning crimson eyes of the Dark Lord, who appears to be fascinated rather than angry.
''Admittedly, your disguise would have been more than adequate, had you not been hiding from me specifically.''
Harry raises an eyebrow. Voldemort noticed him based on the aura he emits? Are the Dark Lord's abilities that impressive, or are the culprits the marks on their skin, or rather what those represent? When concentrating enough, Harry can feel the strange sensation it causes when he is close to the other, like a starting itch. Not as unpleasant, but as tangible nonetheless. ''So, you have plans for tomorrow?'' he bluntly asks. ''Would those plans involve not dodging my attempts to talk to you anymore?''
Thin lips fold into a smile. ''Ah, Harry, do I detect a hint of desperation in your words? So eager to be involved in my daily life?'' the Dark Lord speaks, mockery slipping into his voice. Harry briefly presses nails into the palm of his hands to stop anger from welling up.
''You are avoiding the question as expertly as you have avoided me these past weeks. I know what you are capable of and whatever your motives, you disappearing from my radar is never a good sign.''
''You're paranoid,'' Voldemort scoffed.
''A trait I learned to appreciate because of you,'' he straightforwardly retorts, finally dropping all of the charms on himself as he realises that he resembles barely more than a shadow. No wonder Quirrell was so suspicious and unwilling to turn around. ''I offered you my knowledge, showed my intentions to aid you. You yourself told me we'd speak again. Why the sudden silence?''
''For someone claiming to be in his forties, you're quite impatient if you find a few weeks to be a long time.'' As this is still not an answer to the question, Harry refuses to take any further bait and waits, arms crossed. ''Stubborn, aren't you?'' the other concludes after pausing for a while. ''Did it occur to you that, because I was previously not aware of the information you gave me, I did not factor it into my plans and thus needed some time to adapt without being influenced further?''
Not having considered that, Harry shifts uncomfortably. ''Could have warned me about it,'' he mutters, relaxing slightly. ''Communication is one of the most vital skills in life, you know? Keeps people alive.''
''I never found communication essential.''
''Yes well, and you died. Congratulations on proving my point,'' Harry snarks.
As soon as the words leave his thrice-damned unfiltered mouth, Harry realises he's gone too far. Voldemort's entire expression is one of fury and if the man would have full control over Quirrell's body, Harry surely would have been hit with an excruciatingly painful curse. He forgot how it was to face this man as an enemy. Voldemort had filled many a nightmare of Harry's past self. That he got cosy in this new time with a plan to join the other does not change the fact that the Dark Lord is just as dangerous, and just as displeased about disrespect.
''Get out.''
''I'm sorry,'' he backtracks, ''I shouldn't have brought that up, let's talk about-''
''Out!'' Voldemort roars with surprising power.
It lasts only a moment. Quirrell buckles and cries out in pain, grabbing the edge of the desk to stay half-way upright. Unable to watch idly, Harry decides to rush to the men's side and help them into a chair. Due to their anatomical position, he goes around the back to continue his conversation with Voldemort, whose exhausted face morphs into a stern one as soon as he realises Harry is still there. ''I told you to leave.'' The whisper reeks of danger.
He has not survived this long to be intimidated by a temper tantrum of a single person, no matter whether that is the Dark Lord himself. ''No,'' he thus replies in quiet seriousness, standing his ground. ''I understand that you did not factor me in, but that is exactly why you should not shut me out. Other than you, I know how your ideas worked out, I know where the flaws lay. I know who turned on you and who stuck by you. Neither of us can afford the time you claim to need.''
''Help me? You had the power to stop my death and chose not to. Now, you insert yourself into my life to pressure me into action with information you have knowingly withheld to fit your purpose. You speak of time? You have wasted ten entire years. More than what you claim is left now.''
''I explained why. This is my second chance at life, yes, but I am neither omniscient nor omnipotent. I did not know where you were. I did not have the contacts necessary to find you and both my body and environment worked against me.''
''I speak of the day I came to kill you. Your explanation of that was… unsatisfying.''
Harry squares his jaw. It indeed had been a spur of the moment decision not to speak up after all, one that he can only fully explain to Voldemort by revealing the consequences of that decisive afternoon. So much ties into this – the Horcrux for one, and the removal of Voldemort's negative influence to have a chance of a fresh start.
''You believed in fate enough to attempt to murder me over a prophecy you heard two lines of. My defence is this: your demise that day was fated. Nothing would have made sense otherwise, or have you forgotten the shape of your soul mark?'' Harry inquires, brushing his bangs away to reveal the scar. ''Had I prevented your death that day, I wouldn't have this.''
The scar looks exactly the same as it had in Harry's first life. The feel of it thankfully is not. There is no flaring pain when in Voldemort's vicinity, not even the lightest twinge of unpleasantness. As both scars were a sign of his holding a Horcrux, Harry figures Lily's sacrificial magic was what caused pain whenever facing the Dark Lord in his last life. A protection that worked both ways until Voldemort had taken Harry's blood to resurrect and turned the double-edged sword into one that cut only Harry.
''So it was not out of personal revenge?'' the Dark Lord muses. ''Retribution for your family?''
Baffled, Harry replies: ''No. I was devastated to hear they died again, but it did not make me waver in my resolve to work with you. I've come to accept that there appear to be fixed points that cannot be changed, otherwise much of the world I knew would already be unrecognisable beyond belief due to butterfly effects. Their deaths may be one of those that I could not have prevented.''
''What makes you so sure that you can stop the tragedy you described, then?''
Shivers shoot down his spine at the implication. What if there is more that he can't prevent? The deaths of so many different people, the discovery of magic and the utter destruction of their world… All he worked for was so fragile, this new life could shatter in his hands at any careless moment. Ribs become a vice around his lungs, every breath a struggle as the weight of Voldemort's words hits him. ''I'm not sure at all,'' he brokenly admits. ''But I cannot do more than try, so try I will with everything I can give. There's nothing left for me but that.''
Wrapped in silence, Harry waits with bated breath for an answer. That he isn't being thrown out of the room is a good sign. Just like during their last conversation, Harry is struck by how reasonable Voldemort is, how willing to listen. Had the Dark Lord been like this previously?
He finds it hard to recall… They had usually spoken a while before fighting, true, but Harry had always gotten the impression that it was more about Voldemort bragging than listening. Then again, they are in an entirely different position now, one of power and equality that they'd never truly shared before despite the prophecy's wording.
''There is one aspect that you do not seem to consider in all of this.'' Voldemort's scrutinising eyes flicker over Harry's face ''You have met me before, I assume we've had many a conversation that left impressions on you.'' After a hesitant nod in agreement on Harry's side, the man continues: ''This connection you seem to think we have, which goes beyond magic and is founded in shared experiences… it is not mutual. You cannot expect me to indulge in my secrets after speaking to you once before today. You caught my interest, Harry Potter, and I shall heed your words. That is all for now.''
That hadn't seemed to be the case during their first conversation, Harry thinks in confusion. Voldemort had been quite open. Had even asked about their soul bond despite that not being the most pressing matter…
Harry doesn't know why he feels upset at being rejected so now. Voldemort is right, the man has nought but a first surface impression of Harry. In a way, he presumed to interact with this Dark Lord the same way he'd done the very last time they'd battled: with full awareness of each other's characters and fears, with understanding of the driving force behind their words. But to this person, Harry is no more than an irregularity that should be accounted for, a possible future asset.
That should have become clear earlier, when Harry was asked whether he'd acted out in revenge of all things. The other Voldemort would have known that Harry would not snuff out a life out of personal vengeance alone. He hadn't even managed to muster up enough will to cast a full Cruciatus curse in the height of rage when chasing down a taunting Bellatrix. Their connection had been based on hatred, yes, but Voldemort had regarded him with an ounce of respect. It was why the Dark Lord had insisted on doing the questionable honours of finishing Harry off personally, even when it would have been much easier for a Death Eater to slit his throat.
However, reverting back to speaking with this Dark Lord as if he were a complete stranger is impossible.
''I cannot erase my own memories,'' he defends.
''I only ask for your awareness in that I do not share those. Unless, of course, you are willing to show them to me?''
Harry lets out a scoffing laugh before even thinking about it. Oh yes, it will definitely help them get along if Voldemort sees the many times Harry attempted to thwart him. ''I'm a vastly different person compared to the teenager who met and defied you. Showing you my memories would not be productive,'' he diplomatically answers. ''I'll keep our differences in mind instead.''
He receives a piercing, long look. ''That is settled, then. You should head back to your dorms before anyone finds you missing for too long. I have business to attend to.''
''I have one more question that's been bugging me over the past weeks, if I may?'' Though asking for permission, he doesn't actually wait to be denied and continues: ''I do not quite understand the necessity of the Philosopher's Stone if you are looking to regain a body. I never did figure out that part last time either, for while I hindered you from getting the Stone then, it did not matter in the end. The next time another one of your followers crossed your path, you managed to gain a form. Small and kind of brittle, but physical nonetheless, and once you had all ingredients for a resurrection ritual, you also managed that without the Stone. So why not use that method now?''
Voldemort's stare grows more intense – a feat which Harry didn't think possible before it happened – at his question. ~Explain these rituals. In detail,~ he demands. The sudden switch to Parseltongue is telling: the Dark Lord is out of his depth and does not wish his follower to know of this. Odd, as from Harry's limited knowledge, he's pretty sure that Voldemort had acquired the rudimentary body soon after Pettigrew returned. The rat absolutely hadn't known enough obscure magic to have told the Dark Lord about the ritual, which meant Voldemort discovered it by himself. How had he managed that as a mere spirit?
While still wondering why this version of the man is unaware of the steps needed to gain such a body, Harry attempts to describe the scenes of his dreams and the resurrection he witnessed in the graveyard of Little Hangleton.
~An embryonic homunculus, sustained with venom?~ Voldemort breathes in fascination. ~That does sound like…. Yes, that is most achievable in the right circumstances. And yet, there has to be a different component, one to stabilise the soul to this vessel.~
~I thought that was what Nagini's venom was for.~
~Oh?~
~Well, with Horcruxes, the soul and the vessel become linked, do they not? So, any part of her would have your soul in it.~
At this, Voldemort's face splits into a terrifying grin. ~A Horcrux? Ah, I see now what direction this is heading in. You spoke before of a living Horcrux… I did wonder if that meant my theory was correct.~
Harry almost slaps himself. Seeing Nagini here left no doubt in his mind that she already holds a piece of soul. That was an error, clearly.
His mind spins when attempting to fit the puzzle pieces from his memories together with this info. If he assumes that the circumstances in which both versions of Voldemort met Nagini were the same, then the serpent had still been transformed into a Horcrux before Voldemort created an artificial body. As the ability to make a Horcrux was unlikely while in spirit form, did that mean that Voldemort had turned her somewhere during this year? But he'd have had to kill for that and had been at Hogwarts on the back of Quirrell's head. No murder had taken place within the castle's walls… Though teachers could leave the grounds at will as well, couldn't they?
Harry gives up, realising that there are too many aspects he is unaware of regarding the past and thus chooses to focus on the present. ~You were correct. Nagini successfully became a Horcrux,~ he acknowledges. ~I was unaware that she isn't yet at this point.~
That raises the question of whether this is the reason for Voldemort's sanity. When counting Harry, the man reached his goal of having seven pieces of soul. What if it had been the eighth one that sent him over the edge? That would bring further complications, as Harry needs to decide which is more important: preventing the seventh Horcrux from being made or keeping the secret of being one himself close to his chest.
~I was reluctant to test my theory so soon. Now, I see that caution was unnecessary. Of course, my power would be enough for such a feat,~ the man hisses, pleased. ~With part of a living Horcrux sustaining me, I can create this body you spoke of. Perhaps I can ignore Dumbledore's bait after all and give Quirinus a different reward... You did well to tell me of this, Harry. My resurrection is at my fingertips now, does that fit your precious schedule?~
Harry gets no chance to answer, for in that moment, Quirrell finally collapses completely. The additional face fades, leaving the teen to stare at a bald head.
Always having safety on the forefront of his mind, Harry quickly checks whether Nagini is still asleep. She changed positions a bit, but her slumber continues. Upon returning to the desk, Harry ponders on the next steps to take. Who knows how long they will be out for, now Quirrell's body has been pushed to the limit. It is both unfortunate and positive that today is a Sunday. Not having to attend classes means more time to think of a solution. On the other hand, Sunday is study time in the library and many teachers use the day to peruse books to prepare for the following week. If the librarian is missing the entire day without having stopped by the hospital wing, someone might show up at the doorstep to check in. Harry's own dormmates might also grow suspicious if he can't be found all day…
Harry grimaces when realising that he knows exactly what sustains this magic. They mentioned it before when he was listening in: unicorn blood. Even if Harry would wake Quirrell up with an Ennervate, they'd be in no shape to hunt such an elusive creature while also dodging Centaurs, not without risking fainting again in a much more exposed spot than this office.
That leaves only one option. One highly inconvenient option that Harry is none too fond of.
He's still mentally cursing after crossing the first line of trees. Having spent so many of his least favourite years hiding in various forests, being here brings the strange sensation of both shelter and anguish.
It tips more towards the latter when combined with his memories of this specific forest. Even disregarding all the monsters it contains, its leaf-covered floor had ever so briefly been his last resting place.
Stopping in his tracks, he spares a thought for that his actual last resting place was very possibly a forest as well. When discussing the method to send Harry back in time, none of them had voiced what would happen to his body. As only his mind was transported, he'd likely left a corpse behind. Harry shudders, guilt intensifying when intrusive images of Hermione and Ron crying over his dead body refuse to be dispelled. That makes failing to save his old world even worse.
Merlin, this place sure is such a great source for cheer, isn't it?
It does not take long until he finds crusts of silver on the underbrush, old blood from Voldemort's last kill. After taking some time to reinforce all the spells he cast on himself to stay hidden, Harry follows the trail, trees growing larger the deeper he goes. Using motion-sensor spells that he had been taught be Molly Weasley a long, long time ago, he expertly avoids anything that is larger than a rabbit until finally spotting shining white blurs in the distance. Harry carefully approaches the herd, watching from a distance.
What he has to do is awful, killing a unicorn is considered a heinous crime for good reasons. The pure beings are compassionate and harmonious, each playing a vital part in their herd. He does not have the resources to come up with an alternative substance for Voldemort to sustain himself with though, and if he won't do the deed, the Dark Lord will do so himself.
Recalling from Professor Grubbly-Plank's teachings that unicorns aren't fond of men as they grow older, Harry creeps closer ever so slowly, hoping the notice-me-not charms hold. He rationally knows that luring away one of the golden foals is his best bet, yet his stomach churns at the thought. That will be only the last resort.
As unicorns are bloody fast, he makes a wide arch around the clearing they reside in, setting up a ward all around that will be impossible to pass, leaving only a small opening. He then releases chaos amongst the animals by throwing a stream of hot sparks in their midst. As expected, the entire herd panics and, in their confusion to scatter, Harry grabs onto the first unicorn that happens to run towards the only exit. He swings himself on its back, hoping that by the time it calms down, they'll be far away from the rest. The ride is faster than any broom and wilder than the motions of Hippogriff or Thestral wings. Harry hears only his beating heart while pressed against the gleaming back, trying his best to hold on.
After what seems to be hours, it finally slows down, and Harry can see that they reached the forests' edge. Beyond the trees, smoke spirals from the chimney of Hagrid's hut. ''I'm sorry,'' he chokes, both to the unicorn and to Hagrid, who considers all animals of the forest his children in a way. ''I don't have a choice.'' He grabs the mane tightly and presses his wand against the warm neck. It throws its head back, intelligent eyes boring into his. ''All of you will perish too if I don't help him now,'' he tries to justify. An impossibly soft whinny escapes from the beast. Somehow, it makes him feel a bit better, a sense of peace washing over his tired body. In the moment he cuts its throat and the unicorn buckles beneath him, his mind's eye is filled with the brightest light he's ever seen.
Harry blinks and whirls around in confusion when realising he is nowhere near the forest anymore. Instead, he stands in Quirrell's office again. Was all of that a dream?
But as he turns to check on the men, Harry notices five large silver containers standing on the desk. Even before lifting one of the lids, he instinctively understands they are filled to the brim with blood. Voldemort won't need to hunt down any other unicorns this year.
AN: Harry goes all surprised pikachu face at not being left in the loop after he basically told Voldemort last chapter 'I don't care we're soulmates' then doesn't realise what the problem is. Ah, obliviousness.
Let me know your thoughts :)
xx Gemerope