Chapter 15: The Art of Deceit
Nothing ever escapes Hermione's notice. As soon as Harry returns to the stands and tries very hard to pretend everything is just like before, casually asking for his Omniocular back, her look zooms in on the plus one hovering over Harry's shoulder. It doesn't help that no Chasers are anywhere near the hoops, the wild cheering having died down to spare sore throats for the next anticipated goal.
''Granger,'' Voldemort smirks. Impressively, it looks exactly like Smith's typical haughty, condescending one. Had Quirrell provided memories in addition to the hairs? Or is Voldemort just that good in mimicking the character of students he's only been able to study through hearing their voices in class?
Her eyes scan Harry's face first, eyebrows arching in question. It could have been interpreted as a 'Why-in-Merlin's-name-did-you-bring-Smith-in-here' if not for the fact that her gaze moves on to a curious Sirius, after which a switch flips, Hermione abruptly holding her hand out and a smile being plastered across her face.
''Zach, come now. I've told you ages ago to stop calling me by my last name. We're both close enough to Harry to be friends.''
Oh fucking no.
''Hermione, then,'' Voldemort smoothly improvises, taking the hand and shaking it firmly, once. His stare grows piercing, more similar to the ones the Dark Lord has subjected Harry to than those of an innocent, if annoying, Hufflepuff. ''To a splendid friendship.'''
Inside, Harry is rapidly dying.
His unhelpful brain whispers that he really should have used the few minutes of private conversation to finally pull Voldemort's plans for Muggle-borns out of the man, before allowing his Intended to face Hermione. The unexpected ambush had left Harry too little time to think strategically.
''Hey, introduce me too!'' Sirius says, never wanting to be left out, having chewed down his mouthful of snacks and scrambled out of his seat. ''Any friend of Harry is a friend of mine!''
''Ah- I suppose Harry hasn't mentioned me before…'' The humble, hurt look is far too convincing. ''Well, we did not wish to get in trouble with Professor Snape- But I heard you are nothing alike.'' An arm snakes around Harry's waist as if it belongs there.
Infuriatingly, it feels like it does. The Gryffindor tells himself that not causing a scene by shaking it off is the smart thing to do. There's no other reason why he leans closer instead of putting more distance between them. The fingers that grip his waist tighten possessively, pleasantly.
Practically being a hobby detective outside of his regular work, it's not surprising that Sirius catches on quick. Nor that he appears to be delighted about this turn of events. It makes sense, both of his godfathers would naturally rather have Harry being busy dallying with students than clutch onto the romanticised view of Magic's Chosen by attempting to uncover the identity of his soul mate.
''Oh- yeah. I'm nowhere near as old-fashioned as Sev... Snape. Professor Snape,'' the man grins. ''I can imagine he gets a bit protective of Harry at school, huh? Don't worry, the secret is entirely safe with me.''
''Smith,'' another incredulously grating voice cuts into their conversation. ''Can it be true?'' Draco Malfoy, who has been sitting two rows above them with his parents, exclaims. ''I thought Potter would have better taste than-'' his jeering is cut off by his mother, whose hand shoots out and encircles around Draco's wrist.
''Now now, Draco,'' she chastises through a strained smile. ''No need for all that.'' She sends polite smiles to everyone within hearing range. ''I apologise on behalf of my son, cousin,'' she addresses Sirius, who doesn't look impressed.
''It's not me who needs an apology.'' Gesturing over to Harry and Voldemort, whose eyes are boring into the young Slytherin, he adds: ''Nor is it you who owes the apology.''
Red in the face – and only after having glanced over to Lucius, who gives a merely imperceptible nod, - does Draco stutter out a furious sort of an apology to the both of them. Harry would have found the scene hilarious if it'd truly been Smith and not the actual Dark Lord who'd been insulted.
''Let it go,'' he whispers in the man's ear. Doing so might have been a mistake, as leaning in closer gives leeway for Voldemort to keep him there, the already tight grip adjusting to pull Harry further into his side, even as they move to sit down, squeezing into the spot on the bench between Sirius and Hermione, a spot really only meant for one person.
Concentrating on the match becomes an impossibility with Voldemort soaking in Harry's presence, deft fingers expertly finding ways to ride up his shirt to graze bare skin without on-lookers noticing.
He allows it, resting on the shoulder of his Intended while lazily following the movement of brooms whenever they happen to drift past, thoughts straying to the hidden soul mark his hair must be brushing against. There's something strangely peaceful about the next few hours. Funny, when Harry knows he's sitting next to a serpent who considers him prey, who would have ripped into skin with bare teeth if it'd make their bond whole faster.
That particular image sends a shudder through the entirety of his body that has nothing to do with fear. What follows is a slew of conflicted thoughts circling an exploration of urges he knows should be natural at this age, but which he'd kind of forgotten about due to the absence of them. Just Harry's sodding luck to be stuck here now, amongst thousands of spectators, where he can't disappear into his room to hide from the onset of puberty.
''What's the matter?'' Voldemort asks, turning to look at him. ''Your magic is spiking.''
''Shut up,'' he replies through clenched teeth, biting his bottom lip to supress a moan when the fingers digging into his side slip lower, trailing a blazing path across sweat-drenched skin to dip below the waistband at his hip. ''Can you not?'' His pathetic plea is thankfully drowned out in loud cheers as one of the teams – Harry really doesn't care anymore which one – scores.
The mutter in his ear is entirely unapologetic: ''I need to replenish my magic, Harry. Physical contact is the fastest way to do so. We have such little time and many moons ahead in which we remain apart.'' Even so, the hand is removed, a layer of cloth acting as a barrier once more when it resumes its original position, placed firmly on his waist. ''It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable.''
It sounds like the best apology he is going to get from Voldemort and grasps it with both hands. Lifting his head, Harry meets eyes that still hold desperation bordering on madness. ''Thank you,'' he mumbles, willing all sense to leave him to boldly lean forward and press urgent lips against the side of Voldemort's neck. The soul mark being invisible in this disguise is irrelevant when Harry can feel it tingling against his mouth, can hear the sharp intake as his Intended registers the move.
All lingering hesitation about the future course of action falls away in that moment. This was meant to be, and even Harry's dislike for Fate's meddling won't spoil this bright future.
There's no love yet, not in any sense that he is familiar with. However, having his first life be ruled by many different forms of it, Harry can recognise plain as day that it won't take much to feel if only he allows it.
He will allow it.
The snitch is caught far too soon after that, barely a couple of minutes in which Harry can curl into Voldemort's side. The man just took his fourth sip of Polyjuice too, bit of a waste of the potion… Harry secretly hoped to see Voldemort's real form once more after the match.
When they've been pushed to the exit among the rest of the cheerful crowd and nestled into a corner to the side of the arena, Sirius turns to their addition: ''I'd invite you along for the after-party, but Sev is home… Since you guys wanted to stay on the down-low it's probably not a good idea.''
''He could come to my place,'' Voldemort suggests, fingers that have been clenching Harry's not to lose him tightening painfully.
''Sorry kid,'' Sirius spoke, shaking his head. ''We still have a full program today and it'd not help you guys if Severus starts asking questions about why Harry didn't come home with Hermione and I. You can see each other at Hogwarts again, okay?''
Harry quickly steps in between them when realising the polite smile is slipping and that Zacharius Smith can't be seen wearing an expression of pure murderous intent. Fortunately, Smith is only an inch taller than Harry, effectively hiding piercing eyes from view. ''Soon,'' he reassures softly. ''And perhaps when summer hols arrive, we can finally tell Severus too…'' The hint hangs in the air, is inhaled by Voldemort as the Dark Lord takes a deep breath.
''The start of summer it is,'' he decides, penetrating stare now concentrating fully on Harry's face. With clenching stomach, Harry realises the full meaning of those words. Voldemort won't wait any longer than he must. So much for a peaceful few weeks of summer…
''Okay,'' he agrees, because what else is there to say? The Dark Lord already has shown tremendous patience by letting Harry do as he pleases for the remainder of the school year. There's no justifiable reason to stay away longer, certainly not now fully aware of the wrecking effects his absence has on the magic of his Intended. For their goal to be fulfilled, Voldemort can't be negatively affected, either in magic or mind.
Their goodbye is as platonic as can be, not wishing to give the press any reason to plaster Harry and Zacharius Smith on the front page of the Prophet. Hopefully the reporters were too busy focusing on the match to watch the stands… As Voldemort seems unconcerned about it, Harry once more assumes the Dark Lord has ways to take care of such gossip.
Upon returning to Grimmauld, Harry has an easier time fending off Sirius' questions – we just met at school, share a couple of classes, we only had one date before – than Hermione's. After he quietly complies to her demand to put up privacy wards, she crosses her arms and gives a stern look.
''I did not know he was going to show up today. Or at all.''
''That really was the Dark Lord,'' Hermione answers with a shaky voice, much smaller and wheezing than during her conversation with 'Zach'. ''I shook hands. With Lord Voldemort.'' Her knees buckle, the bed creaks as the girl practically falls down on the mattress. ''HARRY!'' she shouts with a strangled cry. ''My heart cannot take all of this! I'm going to get a- a myocardial infarction before I'm of age!''
''You… mean a heart attack?'' he asks after thinking for a couple of seconds.
The glare is blistering. ''My parents were physicians; I'll not dirty their memory by using colloquial terms.''
Harry cannot help but burst out laughing at her genuine indignation. ''Have I told you yet how much I love you?'' he asks through the tears. When he gets his voice under control a bit better, he grins and tells her: ''l promise to let you in on any planned visits. No guarantees how many of those there'll be though, as he has a thing for catching me off guard, it seems.''
''He's very dramatic,'' she agrees with a sigh.
Harry snorts at that, reminded of every single monologue the other Voldemort had given once upon a time. ''You don't know the half of it. I'm glad his drama isn't paired with an obsession to put me six feet under this time around. Being ambushed is much more pleasant when his intention is to watch Quidditch with me and not to test my resilience to the Killing Curse.''
Hazel eyes widen and lose all remaining outrage. ''Harry… do you want to talk about it?''
Resisting the reflex to close up instantly is hard. Hermione has done nothing to deserve biting snark in return to her trying to be helpful. ''There's nothing to say that I haven't already mulled over and attempted to process in the past eleven years, Mione. I have reconciled with my soulmate being a version of the same person who haunted my first life until I was forced to kill him. I have also managed to recognise that this version is not so dissimilar to that person. I watched him try to murder me once more, as a mere baby. It's irrelevant.''
''Irrelevant? Harry, just because he is your soul mate…''
''Not because of that,'' he rebukes. ''That only makes it… easier. I'm not the same person I was once. I see his atrocities not as something to fight but something necessary to embrace. If I can feel-'' he pauses, throat awfully lumpy. ''-if I can feel a semblance of affection when at his side, helping to commit those sins, should I deny myself that, because of who we used to be? The Harry Potter who gathered a ragtag group of misfits to topple an oppressor is long dead. I no longer feel the same passionate anger as I once did. No sense of righteousness when facing Voldemort, as what happened after starkly showed that we weren't right. I'm tired, Hermione. I just want to…'' he closes his eyes, recalling the way that arm had so securely wrapped around him just an hour ago. ''-Just want to feel like I did today. Safe.''
Two smaller arms comfort him now, long curls tickling his nose as Hermione gives him the biggest hug since meeting her at Wool's. ''We'll all be safe,'' she reassures him. ''Because of you.''
He can't properly express the weight that falls from his heart at those words, as if the millstone tied around his ankle, dragging him down into the depths of the black lake, is at last cut loose.
''I'll do everything to make it happen,'' he promises her. ''To spare you any pain.'' Her still-smooth arms will never carry the scars of a parallel future: neither the carved 'Mudblood' that Bellatrix had left nor the multiple long lines caused by the rotating blades of one of the drones Hermione had bravely caught bare-handed to see it destroyed.
The rest of the holidays pass in a blur, Sirius wishing to make up for not being around his godson for the majority of the year by dragging 'his kids' to all corners of the country, from bustling shopping streets to an auction of magical artefacts where the dropped names of Lord Black and Harry Potter allow them a peek behind the curtains. Harry gets the shock of his life when in one of the central displays stands a very familiar golden cup with the engraving of a badger. Only his godfather's quiet scoff draws him back to reality.
''If that's a real Founder item, I'm tossing my Auror badge away,'' the man mutters in Harry's ear with a sly grin. ''If it were, there'd be three dozen protective enchantments on that glass box, not just a dust-repellent one. Maybe this auction is not so much of a real deal as my colleague had me believe.'' Harry eyes the cup once more, but there's no pull, no familiar tingle of magic.
Is Voldemort aware that the items he used to store his soul have fake duplicates being sold for handfuls of Galleons too many?
Whether authentic or not, getting a look at all the different trinkets and baubles is a good opportunity to note what is currently in demand on private markets of collectors. There are unedited versions of books long censored by the Ministry, glittering jewels that protect their owner from all sorts of dark charms and stone splinters of neolithic sites that, according to the labels, each holds a different druidic spell of which the incantations have been lost to time.
As interesting as the excursion was, Harry is also glad when evening arrives, Kreacher having cooked up an elaborate Sunday roast to fill their rumbling bellies. Harry doesn't even notice the plate too many until the doorbell rings.
''Can you get that, Harry?'' Sirius breathlessly asks, busy helping the elf with balancing pots and pans.
Slipping from the table, Harry opens the door to a pleasant surprise: ''Uncle!''
''Hi Harry,'' Regulus smiles, ruffling his hair before lowering his hood and taking off the rainy coat. ''Sorry I've not been around much since you started school.''
''Sirius already told me you got a new job right after summer, it's fine. Glad you found the time to come over today. You're just in time for dinner. ''
''You're always so understanding,'' the man says with a lop-sided grin that makes him resemble his older brother very much. Together, they head into the dining room. ''Ah, Sirius, Severus, so good to see you again. Can't say I missed England much, but this place will always have a special place in my heart. I see you've been taking care of the old house,'' he remarks, approvingly looking around. ''Reinforced the ceiling?''
''More like completely renewed,'' Sirius replies, a tad sheepish. ''A colleague of mine errr… confiscated a couple of dark items and asked me to have a look. Blew a hole in the ceiling when a trap accidentally triggered... the wood was rotting anyways,'' he hastily adds at Regulus' frown.
''You never change…'' Then, he spots Hermione, who warily moved over to a secure spot behind Harry. ''Ah, you must be the newest family addition?''
''Sorry?'' she asks in confusion, then flushes at her own impoliteness. ''Er, I'm just a friend of Harry's.''
''My very best friend,'' Harry corrects, trying to save the situation and brush past Regulus' comment in hopes she doesn't ask for clarification. He hadn't thought that Sirius would inform anyone else about this matter until the adoption would be officially approved. ''Hermione Granger. 'Mione, this is my Uncle Reggie.''
''Oh, from Reginald, as in 'king'?'' she questions, as usual grasping for a more interesting topic than smalltalk as she takes a step forward to formally offer her hand.
''Reginald... I like that one better,'' he answers, taken slightly aback and gazing down at the girl in curiosity. ''No, our family is not known for creative naming. They look at a star chart and pick a random one from that, preferably one that has already been used multiple times. I go by Reggie since I didn't wish to be Regulus the third.''
''Regulus?'' she repeats. In his raving hunger and hurry to remedy it, Harry completely misses how his friend's smile fades or how her eyes widen just a fraction before pulling her hand away as if burned. ''So pleased to make your acquaintance,'' she squeaks, rushing to the table as well, waiting impatiently for Severus to start dividing the portions.
With a bemused last glance, Regulus takes the spot between his brother and nephew, first asking Harry about how his Hogwarts experience has been so far – expressing shock at the news of the petrifications, only relaxing when Severus assures to be on alert – and then elaborates on his new job as an archaeologist.
''Mother would turn in her grave most likely,'' he muses. ''Much of it consists of disguising myself as a Muggle and joining their teams to ensure they're not harmed by magical items of ancient civilisations we might stumble across.''
''Has it helped with your own research?'' Sirius inquires, entirely earnest for once.
Dark eyes glare at Regulus' plate, pale lips pressing into a grim line. ''No. I thought I was well on my way when finding artefacts relating to the roman cult of Mithras, but I hit a dead end. I fear I may never solve my riddle.''
''What riddle?'' Harry asks, almost rolling his eyes when he is instantly reprimanded for talking with his mouth full by Severus.
His uncle waves the question away, seeming embarrassed. ''Something personal, Harry, no offence. Sirius shouldn't have brought it up in the first place.''
Sirius won't let it go so easily, protesting: ''These two kiddos turned out to be the brightest students Hogwarts has had in fifty years according to Minerva, maybe they can help solve it. Come on, I don't want you to mope around for ten more years. Harry also solved mine and Se-''
''I said no,'' Regulus sternly interrupts, spearing the slab of beef on his plate in a way that makes clear he has some unresolved issues about the touchy topic. Always keeping his cool, Severus steers the conversation into safer waters, asking for more details about some of the sites Regulus worked at in the past few months. As he just started, Harry's uncle has only been sent out to several small dig sites, the largest of which only took three weeks. ''I've been haggling with my employer for an opportunity to go to France,'' he admits. ''At my last team, there were rumours of a promising new place in Reims, where our family originates from. I'd very much like to prevent Muggles finding any of our ancestors' graves… as well as ensure that if there are items of value left behind, they don't end up in the hands of our competitors from other countries. Sirius, if I find anything-''
''I have not heard that question,'' Sirius loudly exclaims, putting his fingers in his ears. ''Oh my, if anyone were to find priceless objects in gravesites, that is really considered property of the state in which they're found. Let us assume that everyone who finds such a thing and works for the Ministry does the proper thing by handing it to the respective governments, else we'd have real trouble on our hands and with my job I'd certainly be forced to report that!''
Regulus scoffs at his brother's antics. ''Alright, alright. While you're at it, also report that dragon egg Kreacher enthusiastically showed me when I went to the bathroom earlier, will you?''
''That's different!'' Sirius exclaims, launching into an explanation of the mysterious gift Harry received and their worry to piss the unknown sender off.
Not wishing to unintentionally let anything about it slip, Harry excuses himself from the table soon after. He intended to stay in the same room, curling up on the more comfortable seats near the fireplace, but Hermione is quick to whisper: ''Harry- can we go upstairs? Please? I need to ask you something.''
The desperation in her tone is so sudden that he doesn't think twice about it, giving Regulus a final hug and wishing him well with the next site.
''Harry…'' his friend starts as soon as the door to her bedroom closes, looking absolutely frazzled. ''Is Regulus a common name in the magical world? I- I don't want to freak out over nothing but… well-'' Her voice shifts several pitches higher.
''What is wrong?'' he asks in return, worry growing. ''Did you hear anything bad about someone with that name?''
''No, no that isn't it!''
''Okay… I wouldn't say it's common, but then again, he is the third Regulus in the past couple of generations of the Black family so… I guess it depends on your definition.''
Not seeming satisfied with that answer, Hermione makes a frustrated noise and is suddenly pulling her robes over her head, making Harry hurriedly cover his face as he has no idea what is happening or how to deal with this. ''Look!'' she angrily demands, which he very unwillingly does, peeking through his fingers to see Hermione's naked back. A back covered in small golden dots and lines, with one large, silver star on the right.
''Your soul mark?'' Harry breathlessly asks, mortification forgotten as he steps forward to study it. ''I've never seen one this large.'' He squints, certain the pattern is familiar. ''A constellation… Wait, is that-''
Hermione makes a muffled sound, hastily covering herself again and pulling at her hair. ''Because the mark shows the Leo constellation, I thought I'd lucked out by landing in Gryffindor and hoped I'd run across my Intended at school at some point. I didn't at all think about the individual stars!''
Now, Astronomy had never been Harry's best subject at school, but he did remember the basics. The brightest star in the Leo constellation was Alpha Leonis, also called… Regulus. He exhaled slowly, realising that some of his plans had suddenly gotten a whole lot more problematic.
''Soul marks are rarely that general to only indicate one's House. Your new theory makes more sense…'' he grimaces. ''That does... errr... complicate matters .''
''I know! He's part of your family and this is going to get so awkward. Besides, he's already, like, thirty. I thought I'd be happy when finding out who my soulmate is but Harry, all I can think of is sheer panic!''
''Not just part of my family,'' he fesses up, a knot forming in his stomach. ''I had wished to only tell you once we'd gotten a definite confirmation from the Ministry about the how and when so you wouldn't be disappointed if it didn't work but-'' Almost tripping over his tongue, he tells Hermione of his plea to have her be adopted as a Black. Instead of adding to her panic as feared, she calms down, staring.
''You want me to… become your sister?''
He tries to gauge the tone in which it is said, steeling himself for her to blow up on him for this horrible idea. ''I thought you weren't really happy at the- the orphanage,'' he stammers. ''And I considered you a sister already. Should I not have asked my godfathers to-''
''Harry!'' she whispers, then opens and closes her mouth at a loss for what to say. Timidly, the girl wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his shoulder. ''You really should stop leaving me out of major decisions,'' she huffs, but the hug is crushing and her voice trembling.
''Yeah… very bad habit of mine,'' he mumbles, hugging her back. ''It's not too late yet to say no if you don't want to.''
The sound he receives in respond resembles a cat's hiss. ''Don't be an idiot.''
''And what of Regulus? I honestly do not know anyone by that name apart from a few dusty portraits of long-dead ancestors. Not to sound corny, but it's usually fated that soul mates meet, even if they don't know about it for a long time. The chance that your mark refers to my uncle is thus pretty high.''
She untangles herself and shrugs defeatedly, sitting down on the bed, drawing her knees to her chest. Having overcome her earlier panic through the shock of the news after might have put things into a different perspective…
''I don't know. I mean… this is not at all what I imagined since you told me about this whole concept. In my mind, I was supposed to match someone at school with whom I could hang out in the library and have trips to Hogsmeade with in a couple of years. You know, sharing experiences. Even if hypothetically I would be fully on board with this… I'm stuck at Hogwarts for the next six and a half years while he travels abroad and doesn't even return to London during school holidays.'' She groans quietly. ''I had figured I could deal with all of this later. Focus on my studies and help you until running into my soul mate at some point in the distant future.''
''Nothing stops you from doing so. It didn't seem like Regulus caught on, so who knows what his own mark looks like. Plus, of the two of you, he is the only one possibly negatively affected after today. Because you are still at Hogwarts for so long, you also have plenty of time to figure out what you want to do with this before even approaching him about it.'' He hopes Regulus won't actually become a victim of the blasted deterioration, or if so, that it'll be mild. It's a blessing that Hermione can't be.
''You're right,'' she affirms, brushing her curls out of her face. ''Nothing romantic even needs to happen, does it? Soul mates don't have to end up together. His job of searching for magical artefacts to protect them from Muggles sound terrifically interesting. Maybe I could become his apprentice. Help with research.''
By the time she graduates Hogwarts, there hopefully won't be any more Muggles that magical items need protecting from. He neglects to mention this.
''I'm lucky to have you…'' she continues. ''You're actually rather qualified to give advice on 'how to deal with an unexpected soul mate'.''
Isn't that an understatement. ''And Regulus didn't even try to murder you in a past life,'' he jokes to cheer her up. ''Although I have to give you the mandatory advice not to decide right away that you don't want a future relationship. I get that you might not feel like it now, and that is fine. It's also fine if you maintain that opinion later. Just… don't make it difficult for your future self in case you do change your mind. That includes seriously considering whether being adopted into the same family is wise. It doesn't legally change anything about whatever decision you make as in the wizarding world, even blood-related matches aren't unheard of and you are neither related nor grew up around him but-'' He takes a deep breath. ''It might cause unwanted gossip or put Regulus in an uncomfortable position.''
''Why Black, actually?'' she frowns. ''Why not Snape? Or even staying a Granger? You kept your own surname.''
''According to my very official paperwork, I am Potter-Black, even if no-one calls me that. As they aren't married and one can't be adopted into two families at once, Severus is more similar to a foster guardian. You as well will have to be legally tied to one of them, and Sirius absolutely has more sway in the Ministry. In addition, I'm pretty sure that Sev would like to see his surname die with him. His own father was… not a pleasant man.''
His friend lets her head hit the pillow, staring up at the ceiling while Harry sits at her bedside and pats chestnut curls as she wrinkles her forehead in thought. ''I need to look to the future,'' she finally declares. ''Not just romantically, but one that is mine to take. For that, I can only work with what I already have. I don't know my Intended yet, even if I now technically met Regulus – and I didn't wildly misinterpret my soul mark anyways. What is important today is the same that was important yesterday: helping you prevent a horrible future, become the best witch I can be. Being part of your family will help with both of these goals. So, if you'll have me, I'd really love to take this chance.'' Then, she puckers her lips. ''What actually happens when you reveal yourself? After the Quidditch match, your Intended was clear about crashing into your life at the start of summer. If I become a Black… what happens to me?''
''It'll be up to you. Regardless of whether you are already a Black by then, I won't hold it against you if you deny knowing about my true allegiances. Sev and Siri are good people, I'm positive they won't punish you for my actions.''
''And you?'' At his shrug, she grabs his hand, lips quirking in that not-quite-a-smile way. ''Another thing you try not to think about too much until reaching the point where you'll have to?''
''Worked so far, didn't it? Honestly, what else can I do? Telling them now would ruin all my plans at Hogwarts, so I see it as one more bridge I'll cross when I'm forced to at wandpoint. If they reject me for all the lies, I have a couple of places to go to. Voldemort's, for one.''
''I'm glad you found him.''
Unsure how to react to that statement, Harry scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ''Me too. Moreso that he's lost some of the lunatic tendencies I remember. Being around him is… nice. Not only in the sense of 'fate-and-soul-pull', although that's quite a bonus, but the talks we had make me wish for many more.'' With a hint of serenity, he tells Hermione of the shared conversations, the evenings in which he and Quirrel talked with input here and there from the Dark Lord, and the small 'celebration' after Voldemort's successful resurrection. He only stops when realising Hermione nodded off, still lying on top of her blankets. He conjures another one to drape over her before sneaking off to his own bedroom.
The reminiscing makes him long to return to Hogwarts again, if only because it will mean the last term has arrived. Just a few months more before his Intended will call Harry to his side to work on their common purpose.
One last chapter before Hogwarts will be closed to him forever… he'll ensure to make it a good one.