AN: There were somehow more questions about the unicorn scene than I had expected :P To answer some of the more common ones here:

- Has Harry been cursed due to killing a unicorn? - According to canon, you are only cursed by a unicorn when you drink its blood ("From the moment the blood touches your lips'' is the exact quote), not when you kill one. Harry is thus not at risk of being cursed.

- Could he not have taken a small bit of blood via a spell? - No such spell is known so far and although I could have made one up, I'm not sure if Harry would know such a specific spell (maybe used by Magizoologists or Healers at most?) if neither Quirrell nor Voldemort do, who rather risked discovery by killing new unicorns whenever they needed a sip.

- What happened at the end? - When the unicorn recognised that its death was necessary to strengthen the one who would save all of them, it sacrificed itself and, to lighten Harry's burden, hypnotised him so Harry wouldn't have to actually remember staining his hands with its death/cutting open its corpse to take blood. It felt right to me that unicorns, being the elusive and sacred creatures they are considered to be, would play a role in the preservation of magic in this world.

I hope that answers all question about the last chapter ^^ On with the next :D
Enjoy!

Chapter 9: Trust

In the following weeks, Harry grows increasingly anxious. More talks with Voldemort follow - both brief and long, the man has become significantly more talkative since receiving the unicorn blood, even personally inviting Harry to their office for regular chats - during which Harry gathers that the man is all for ditching the Stone and instead wishes to gain a body through soul magic. The glaring problem in this plan is that Harry neither thinks it a good idea if Nagini is turned into a seventh Horcrux, nor is he happy at the prospect of giving away one more of his own secrets. Voldemort is possessive and impossibly protective of his soul, making it very unappealing for Harry to come clean, as he hates the hovering possibility of losing freedom. Besides, they are Intended for each other as equals… Revealing he holds a piece of the man's soul might skew their relationship to one of ownership in Voldemort's eyes.

Each day, he attempts to come up with an alternative story that will turn the Dark Lord away from the idea of using his familiar as a Vessel - at least for the moment. He curses himself for making too many assumptions before. Had he not, the man would still be trying to find ways to get the Stone instead. The only pinprick of light is that by now, Voldemort apparently considers it worthwhile to run his grander plans by Harry, so he surely will be notified when the wizard decides it is time to split off another piece of soul.

''Don't you want to have the Philosopher Stone?'' Harry asks while watching Quirrell at work one late evening in the week leading up to Halloween. The librarian was incredibly relieved at the news that he won't need to venture into the Forest again and warmed up a bit to Harry's company due to it. As Voldemort always grows increasingly tired after talking for a while, Quirrell now oftentimes speaks in his stead. Harry is aware that the Dark Lord hears every word of course, but that doesn't mean he only wants to use Quirrell as a mouthpiece. Getting to know the man himself might be interesting too.

Quirrell looks up, a frown marring his face. ''It would have been quite the boon, of course,'' he stiffly replies. ''Endless gold to fund my projects and the chance to study such a unique object would be a gift no scholar would turn down. However, our main goal was to shorten the time I host my Lord, so if there is a more efficient way to do so, one that will not alert Dumbledore, I'll have to count my losses. We can always try to hunt for the Stone after, can we not?''

Harry shrugs. ''I don't know, Dumbledore destroyed it last time. Deemed it too dangerous to keep such an object around… admittedly only after you nearly got your hands on it. Flamel agreed.''

''You'd think its creator who lived for centuries due to it would have more reservations about that,'' Quirrell voices, sounding horrified. ''Merely the thought of destroying something with such academic value! Did Flamel make his reasoning public?''

Shifting uncomfortably, Harry confesses: ''I only heard that by his own account, Flamel had lived long enough, but it was Dumbledore I got that information from. He may have omitted less palatable parts of this discussion with Flamel when relaying it to me, an at the time traumatised eleven-year-old. I received no news afterwards because I returned to my Muggle family soon after and had no access to the magical world for two entire months. I hadn't dared subscribe to the paper during summers yet.''

''I doubt their conversation went as peacefully as he claimed,'' Quirrell remarks. ''As an avid researcher myself, it is difficult to imagine an invention being destroyed: the literal philosopher's stone, which had been a coveted subject for about a millennium in the field of Alchemy until Flamel succeeded in its creation. I've not achieved anything so magnificent, only written theses to be honest, but burning even a single page would not be something I could be convinced to do.''

''What have you written about?'' It is surprising and delightful news that Quirrell's motivation for getting the Stone appear to be to study it and get enough funds for further research. It isn't something Harry considered before.

''Muggle theory,'' the man pensively replies. ''Written under a pseudonym, as my theories were far too controversial to be accepted by my employer. It is both wonderful and incredibly disturbing that every single one of my theories has been proven correct. By you. I predicted their technology could overwhelm us at some point in time, that they could rise up and organise themselves, invent ways to counter magic...''

Harry's face falls, regretting having asked as this subject brings forth far too many unpleasant memories. ''I wish it wasn't so,'' he whispers. ''I wish I could deny the reality of our future, to find a way we can peacefully coexist as the people I cared so much for wanted. It isn't meant to be, I know. It's either them or us… and I won't be hunted again.'' He releases a shaky breath.

''May I ask what happened to your Muggle family?'' Quirrell asks. ''Both then and now?''

''I don't know what became of them in my previous life. They hated and feared anything to do with magic, more so than the average Muggle. Last time I saw my family, I helped hide them so they would not be killed by Voldemort in an attempt to get to me. After the Wizarding war was over, I never felt the desire to contact them again, nor would I imagine they'd have wanted to see me. Who knows, perhaps they instantly jumped on the bandwagon to hunt down all mages. I never found out. In this life… they were not confronted with as much magic since I ensured not to grow up in that household again. Who knows what they'll do.''

''Do you regret potentially saving their lives?''

The muffled words that are uttered from beneath the turban - Quirrell only takes it off sporadically when Voldemort wishes to have a longer conversation, to minimise the chances of their cover being blown - take a moment for Harry to comprehend.

''I didn't think an awful lot about it, certainly not enough for any regrets. They were only three people in a world filled with hostile Muggles. They were not the ones to instigate the wave of hatred against our kind, nor can I imagine them actively playing a role in what went down. As I said, they were very fearful of magic and were the kind of people to cheer on others without lifting a finger themselves. While always trying to have the last and loudest word, the only time they dared harm a wizard was when they could take their hatred out on a child without consequence. When adult mages showed up, the Dursleys were only talk. They certainly weren't good people, and I would absolutely not go out of my way to save them again, but what happened, happened. I would only have regretted it if I'd have heard of it negatively affecting anyone I cared for in the end, which I didn't.''

''You would simply leave them be?'' Quirrell incredulously questions.

He thinks about it for a while. The Dursleys are a faraway memory in his weary mind. What they'd done to the Harry before is not enough to muster up real emotions regarding them now. It has been decades since he's last seen them, in another world. It makes it easier to detach himself from necessary future actions. ''I did not say that,'' Harry speaks softly. ''I made choices back then without having the full picture. I see no sense in regretting those, that's all. Not only will I not repeat those choices, I have a moral obligation to be more pro-active. I can hardly expect Voldemort to save us while shying away from violence myself. I have no reason to hunt specifically them down first but won't hesitate if they cross my path. I feel… nothing for them now. ''

''We cannot kill all of them one by one,'' Voldemort says, sounding exasperated. ''We'll talk more about this another time. Quirinus, tell him of my recent plans.''

The man dips his head to mimic a bow. Both excited and anxious about getting to hear Voldemort's next steps, Harry listens attentively. ''We are leaving the castle during Yuletide,'' Quirrell explains. ''We'll move Nagini out of Hogwarts and find a place to perform the ritual that will grant our Lord increased immortality. If all goes well, we can instantly continue working on using her to create a new vessel.''

The librarian sounds very pleased. Harry is everything but, throat running dry.

''That- that sounds pretty risky. Wouldn't it be better to wait with such rituals until at least summer and instead use the time here to work on plans to counter Muggles?''

Quirrell stills and raises an eyebrow. ''No matter the plans we forge, those cannot be executed without a following,'' he rationalises. ''To call the remaining loyal Death Eaters, our Lord will need a body. Were you not the one pressing about time?''

Harry remains silent, not having come up with any convenient enough excuse as to why Voldemort shouldn't create another Horcrux. The other throws him a suspicious look. ''What exactly about this plan is not to your liking?'' the Death Eater frostily asks. ''The only reason not to pursue the Philosopher's stone is because there is a quicker method. There'd be no sense in waiting.''

''I only described how he resurrected last time! I never said that it'd be a good idea to do so again!'' he bursts out. ''Voldemort was bordering on insane last time, likely due to the amount of times he split his soul!'' Desperation settles in his stomach, for Harry recognises that he can't hide much longer, no matter his desperate wish to cling to freedom.

His pleading look crosses Quirrell's irritated one. Without another word, the man starts to unwrap his turban in a very recognisable gesture of 'not my pay-grade, take it up with the boss'.

''You realise,'' a furious Voldemort hisses, ''You are not making it easier to trust you when you withhold vital information? You knew very well why I asked for details last time, we spent weeks organising this trip, haggling with Dumbledore and the rest of the staff to ensure we can leave over Yuletide!'' If he would have a body to move in instead of relying on Quirrell, Harry is sure he'd be on the wrong end of a wand right now. ''If you do not want me to put your title to the test once more, then anything that is of importance for my sanity and survival-''

''I'll tell you everything you need to know,'' Harry concedes tiredly, sagging down on his chair with a feel of defeat. There is no way out other than by flat-out-lying, which won't be productive for anyone involved. Voldemort won this round. In the end, Harry's safety and feelings are nothing compared to the prolonged existence of their entire society. It was selfish to think even for a moment that keeping the secret of being a Horcrux was viable. ''Nagini wasn't your first choice for a last Horcrux, was she? You planned on using the death of the one prophesised to vanquish you to cement your own life.''

''And?''

Harry considers for a while how to word it, then switches to Parseltongue just in case Voldemort doesn't wish Quirrell to have this delicate information. ~Your ritual worked. Upon your own destruction, not all of your remaining soul left the house with you that day. I safeguarded more than your wand these past ten years.~ Ruby eyes widen. In shock? Recognition? ~You did turn Nagini into a Horcrux last time, but she was your seventh, not your sixth.~

~I had eight pieces of soul,~ Voldemort softly states, appearing more distraught at that information than Harry expected. ~The arithmantic implication of that… Eight is the number of over-achievement, of drive, it has earthly ties rather than esoteric.~ Red eyes flicker to Harry's face. ~If I would not have known and once again attempted to create a Horcrux with a ritual meant to complete my aim to be sevenfold, I can only image the disaster that would have struck. And you would have let this happen?~ he angrily accuses.

''No!'' Harry speaks, putting force behind the word. ''I only spoke of Nagini as I thought the damage had already been done. I never figured out last time when she'd taken in part of your soul. I always assumed it would have been about three years from now, but there was no definite proof. When I found her here, I was so sure that you'd already gone through with it. Ever since realising my miscalculation, I've attempted to stall you from repeating your mistake. I only…'' he makes a frustrated noise. ~I only did not wish for you to know what I was...~

Far gentler than Harry had imagined Voldemort to be capable of, the man speaks: ~Is it so terrible that I know you house my soul? If anything, this increases your value to me. If you are mine…~

~That's exactly it, I am Not. Yours!~ he spits back, having been afraid of exactly this. ~Not a pet, not a piece to possess, I am not you either.~

~You were mine by right the moment Magic marked you,~ Voldemort intercedes, nostrils flaring.

~In the same way that you belong to me by your mark! That is the difference. I can live with mutual ties, I cannot with you deciding to claim me based on a parasitical sliver of soul that clings to mine!~

He shouldn't have said that. Voldemort's entire expression becomes one of encompassing rage. Maybe calling him a parasite, especially now his main soul is so literally feeding off Quirrell's magic, was not the most sensitive route to take. ''I'll see myself out,'' Harry utters through gritted teeth, unable to deal with Voldemort now. ''Goodnight.'' He isn't stopped, neither by words nor magic as he marches out of the office.

He does not search them out this time, having said all that Voldemort needs to know to avoid the path leading to disaster. A small part of Harry also isn't eager to speak to the Dark Lord at the moment, as the Death Day of his parents is drawing near, those who perished because of Voldemort.

Harry hasn't probed about who murdered them, as it doesn't honestly make a difference when Voldemort was the one to order their deaths in the end. Whose wand fired the fatal curse is inconsequential.

He uses the next few days to lay out his own schemes, opting to lay low until Christmas at least, not wishing to raise Dumbledore's suspicion until the second Hallow is safely in Harry's hands. With his trusty cloak, he can then search out the mirror of Erised. Of course, he doesn't need a cloak to be virtually invisible nowadays, but Dumbledore will be watching his moves, might have been in the same room even the very first time he'd found the mirror. He can't risk discovery by using magic wildly above the level of an eleven-year-old where the Headmaster can see it.

Of course, he's debated leaving the mirror alone, but a stronger gut feeling overrules his head on this occasion. Dangerous or not, perhaps it can show Harry some much-needed clarity. His heart feels muddled with desires that pull in every direction. Being shown his innermost, deepest wishes, can perhaps help in making the right decisions for the future. As much as he misses them, Harry somehow doubts that he'll see Lily and James again. What it will show instead though, he hasn't the foggiest.

And afterwards… after casting a glimpse into the mirror… He'll attempt to save the Stone regardless of Voldemort having no plans for the artefact anymore. Quirrell's words touched something in Harry's core, a part that sickens at the mere mention of erasing an object of such magical value. In the last years of his life, they'd all clung to every spark they could find, to the point of hoarding near-empty potion vials so the last drops could remind them that once, there'd been a whole world of magic, of abundance. A reminder of what was being systematically erased. Even if his concerns about the events being repeated have lessened since contacting Voldemort, Harry feels physically ill at the waste of the Stone's destruction.

Having no plans to use it, only of preservation, should make it doable to retrieve the Stone should Dumbledore implement the same safety measures as last time. There is of course a chance that the Headmaster simply hands it back to Flamel if the Dark Lord ignores the prized object, but the fact that this is not guaranteed gnaws at Harry's insides nonetheless.

''You don't look too well,'' Hermione voices her concerns right before the Halloween feast. ''Is something wrong?''

''I'm nervous for today,'' he confesses, slowing to a halt. ''Something bad always happens at Halloween.''

''Shouldn't you know what happens? Can't you prevent it?''

He curtly shakes his head. ''I know what happened before, in my world. So much has changed now that it's doubtful I can count on a repetition.'' Quirrell has no reason to release a troll in Hogwarts this time. Only leaving out whom the culprit had been, he quietly tells Hermione what happened during his first Halloween at Hogwarts.

At the end of it, she merely grins. ''The most preposterous part of this is Ronald Weasley managing to defeat a Mountain Troll. I'm slightly wounded that you were friends with him before me,'' she teases. ''I can barely imagine it.''

Glumly, Harry admits that he can't either with how Ron is acting now, every bit the insecure child. ''I don't know if something changed that made him less agreeable, or if I was just as juvenile back then,'' he comments with a strained smile.

''Good thing I'm here,'' Hermione proudly states, face shining the way it always does when she receives recognition.

The feast itself passes without a hitch, almost too perfect, which only unsettles Harry further. He chews on candy without tasting it, staring far too often at the staff table where Quirrell is making quiet conversation with Severus. Despite the first impression Harry had in the Leaky Cauldron, the two men actually get somewhat along. Not for the first time, he wonders if Severus has caught onto something being off. Regardless, it is thankfully unlikely that his godfather will be proactively on the look-out for Voldemort, having never joined the Death Eaters nor having made any vows to Dumbledore. Harry has obviously not been endangered this year either, so Severus won't have been alerted of anything being amiss.

The longer he stays at Hogwarts, the more his own life and that of people in his close vicinity start to diverge from what is familiar. His previous knowledge becomes less and less reliable, which he is in two minds about. At the start, getting a new chance had felt like attempting to carefully follow echoes of his own steps whenever he could – minus the Dursleys. Gradually, that attitude shifted as this world started becoming his real life.

Harry is still ruminating on past and future beyond his grasp as he makes his way back to the Gryffindor common room, starting to carefully count himself lucky for avoiding disaster today. Until, of course, his name is called.

''Harry! Sneaking away from all your fans?'' Lockhart grins, forcing Harry to turn to his Defence professor with a scowl. ''I know, my boy, I know. Being elusive is one way to remain mysterious, but on certain occasions, one simply must enjoy the limelight! I have organised a little club meeting tonight,'' the obnoxious wizard reveals with a conspiratorial grin full of blinking teeth. Harry wishes he wouldn't have returned alone, or that he would have accompanied Hermione to the library after dinner despite not wanting to run into Quirrell today. If he must pick between Voldemort and Lockhart, he would even consider Voldemort if that would end up with Harry in shackles.

One way or the other, he thinks, then pushes all suggestions his brain comes up with far, far away. Today is not the day to hit puberty.

''I'm rather tired, Sir,'' he smiles thinly. ''Tomorrow is still a regular school day; my godfather will skin me alive if I do less than stellar at potions in the morning. A lack of sleep is not an acceptable excuse.''

Lockhart lets out one of those annoying huffy laughs. ''Don't you worry about that, I'll talk to my good friend Severus.'' With a strong grip, he starts dragging a bewildered Harry along. Merlin's balls, he forgot just how persistent Lockhart could be. Cursing inwardly, he weighs his options. Hexing a teacher in the hallways would be a moronic move, but slipping away as soon as the grip tightens will only make Lockhart try harder next time. That leaves… actually going to this meeting and hoping it will only be half as awful as it sounds. Which doesn't mean he has to act happy about it.

Lockhart let's go of Harry's wrist only after pulling him along two floors, confident that Harry's mood has been placated. Unwillingly, the Gryffindor listens to his teacher's rantings, seething each time the fraud mentions one of his heroic deeds or awards he hasn't earned by any merit of his own. Uncovering Lockhart has been low on the priority list, but Harry might just have found what could occupy the second half of his school year.

''Oh, pardon me, I didn't see you there,'' Lockhart exclaims after rounding a corner and harshly bumping shoulders with none other than Quirrell.

''No p-problem, p-p-professor,'' the other stammers, ducking his head. ''I had my n-nose in a b-b-book. Ah, P-Potter,'' he speaks, eyes glinting as they take in Harry's dishevelled form and crumpled robes. ''I need to sp-p-peak with you about a b-book you borrowed. I n-need it returned urgently. Very urgently,'' he mumbles, which Harry picks up as the perfect justification to get away from this fan club.

''Of course Sir, right away.''

''Harry!'' Lockhart cries. ''A dusty book can wait, your fans cannot!''

With a half-hearted smile, he waves the objection off. ''Another time, Professor. I couldn't possibly hamper the studies of one of my peers by selfishly keeping a book past the due date. Mr Quirrell, I sincerely apologise, it slipped my mind entirely that I should have returned one this morning. So much on my mind on this particular day. Would you accompany me to Gryffindor tower so you can ensure yourself of its pristine condition, or should I bring it to the library?''

''M-my office,'' Quirrell mutters, which has Harry's stomach coiling unpleasantly. Voldemort would really demand to speak to him? Today of all days? As an outright refusal will only deliver him back into Lockhart's claws, he begrudgingly agrees and sprints off without looking back.

About twenty minutes of fuming later, he stands in front of the office with an alibi book in hand – one of the random library books he'd indeed intended to return soon. No need to give Lockhart a valid reason to think Harry is already on the way back from Quirrell's office and readily available for a second attempt at being dragged off. He only barely bothers knocking before storming in and closing the door harsher than necessary. ''What is it?'' he bites, uncaring how impolite his tone is as he looks at Quirrell, who thankfully appears healthy today, Voldemort likely having lavished on unicorn blood not too long ago.

''The ritual will take place tonight,'' the Death Eater states matter-of-factly. ''With the information you provided, my Lord was able to construct the necessary theory and adapt it to our current situation. Samhain is a perfect time to perform soul magic. My Lord wishes to cordially invite you to witness the creation of his physical body.'' Harry tenses up, both at the words and the flat tone in which they are delivered. Obviously, this is only a matter of formality, Voldemort is no less pleased with Harry than he's been since their previous talk. More baffling than the invitation itself however, is just how little time it took Voldemort to plan this. Harry only described what he'd seen, without knowing any of the concrete spells or how the Dark Lord had created the embryonic body that had been used.

''Will I be required to participate?'' he hesitantly enquires, thinking of the resurrection he'd been captured for.

''Your participation likely leads to more favourable results,'' Quirrell diplomatically states. ''Yet it is not vital.'' There is a dangerous edge that makes the hairs on the back of Harry's neck raise. Not vital… but important, he concludes. So, Voldemort does not like admitting to being dependant, while at the same time posing this as some sort of test of Harry's loyalty? Denying to offer aid might return the Dark Lord in a weaker state than necessary, which surely counts as some form of betrayal. Or at very least will make Voldemort less inclined to believe the urgency of Harry's warnings. It's true that his unwillingness to share what he knew already made them clash and sowed mistrust.

Not wishing to stall the unavoidable, he yields quickly, pride insignificant in the greater scheme. ''In that case, I am prepared to offer what is needed. How long will this take? My dormmates will be highly suspicious if I am still gone after curfew.''

''You'll find that to be of no concern, none of them will recall details of the evening past dinner, much less of the night. Do take a seat, you'll need every bit of energy and will not wake up rested.''

Admittedly a bit curious about the extraction of Voldemort's current soul into a rudimentary body – this is a ritual he's only ever seen the result of, not its creation – Harry agrees to the request. Since the Dark Lord does not participate in the conversation, the Gryffindor assumes he too is gathering strength. It might be wise to follow that example.

''Alright, please inform me of the details I need to know,'' he suggests, relaxing slightly as the cold look in Quirrell's eyes thaws somewhat at his ready cooperation. Harry is aware that the envisioned alliance between himself and Voldemort has not started ideally.

Maybe it's time to finally give his Intended the benefit of the doubt and earn some trust back.