Chapter 23: The Longest Night (Part 1)
''First things first,'' Sirius starts the moment they are all seated around the coffee table. ''Putting aside all talk of time travel and future wars for the moment: I need to know how much danger my family is in.'' Bravely, he gives Voldemort a level stare that proves he's not as drunk as the excuse made him out to be. ''To lay some cards on the table: we have evidence that makes you a suspect of being the one who has terrorised Hogwarts and targeted our family this year. Are you the Heir of Slytherin?'' he demands to know, teeth bared in a matter that hints towards his Animagus form.
The Dark Lord's lips quirk at the boldness of the aggressive accusations, amused for reasons only Harry understands. ''That is the wrong question to ask, Black. The correct one would be: am I responsible for petrifying students during the past school terms? The answer to that is 'not directly', though I provided an important tool that made it possible for someone to imitate the deeds of the true Heir of Slytherin.''
The evasive reply surely isn't helpful, and Harry racks his brain how to interrupt this farce of an interrogation without being rude to either party. ''Siri, it's not-'' he says, but Voldemort's words clearly haven't impressed an already frustrated Sirius, who latches onto the wrong point entirely:
''So, you were involved. Were you aware that Hermione would be attacked? Were you the one imitating me to sneak into the Ministry of Magic?''
At this, the Dark Lord glances at Harry. ~It is hardly fair that I am being questioned here when I became your scapegoat, dear. Unless you prefer me to be a shield for your blame? It would likely not make them hate me more than they already do.~
''Cease speaking in a tongue only you can understand,'' Severus demands, having gathered his bearings and wearing a typical scowl now they've all settled. ''It is not conductive to your claim of being open with providing information. Do us mages of humble origin truly need to teach a Pure-blood Lord etiquette?''
A hiss with no real meaning escapes from between Voldemort's teeth at the interruption. ''You will find our origins shockingly similarly humble, Severus Snape. Do not presume to know me: I know well the rejection of a muggle father filled with hatred of magic.''
Severus hides his surprise well. Harry only catches it because he's spent most of his life observing his godfathers.
Before this talk can derail before they've properly started, Harry answers them both: ''Voldemort is not to blame for this year's chaos at Hogwarts. The explanation of the why and how will have to wait until you've heard the rest of my story, but if you want to point fingers, here I am.''
Technically, the Basilisk plot had been Hermione's idea, but Harry wishes to keep their knowledge of her involvement to a minimum – even if it cannot be denied in full after the girl so openly showed to be 'in' on several of Harry's greatest secrets. Flashing a quick smile at Voldemort, he mentions: ''I appreciate that you offered to – ah ,be my shield' – but you know I can handle myself.''
''As you wish,'' the other mutters, the hand that has snuck around Harry's waist to rest on his hip tightening so they are pressed snugly against each other. Harry does not protest it, secretly quite pleased that his mangled body did not deter his Intended from touching him.
''You would not hurt Hermione,'' Sirius states with a small frown, setting the whisky bottle on the table.
''Never.''
''In which case, she was not in danger from a monster. Wasn't dragged down to the Chamber of Secrets at all, if you arranged this in the first place.''
Harry starts to suspect that Sirius had only been pretending and hasn't taken a single sip of his drink, using only the facade as an excuse while remaining sharp as ever. Listening raptly to the quick deductions, Harry's other godfather presses his lips together in displeasure. Oh man, Severus is seething.
''We're doing this the wrong way 'round,'' Harry warns with a hint of impatience. ''My recent choices only happened because of the future you've heard nothing but snippets of so far.''
Sirius falls silent at this, though from the way his expression twists into a sudden, horrified grimace, it is not to quietly listen to Harry's tale. ''When did you arrive?'' he demands to know after a moment of internal struggle, voice harsher than has ever been directed at Harry. The man moves to the edge of his seat, body language screaming that he is preparing to launch himself at Harry and prod a wand into the hollow of his throat at the first wrong movement. ''What happened to my son? Did you hide him away and replace him? How long have you played pretend, using his innocent face?''
It's a question Harry has not anticipated, though it makes sense that his godfathers would be concerned about this possibility after hearing no more than 'time-travel'. The known and legal methods of reversing time create a second version of the self, after all. A rebirth such as the one Harry experienced is not commonplace. Even Voldemort had never heard of this feat of magic before they'd crossed paths.
Besides, from what the Dark Lord theorised, Harry did usurp the Harry Potter of this world. That it happened moments after birth makes it only barely more excusable. He prays it will be enough.
Attempting to laden his voice with as much honesty as one can humanly show, he says: ''The first sight I was met with after travelling back in time were the faces of my parents. The first words I heard a squabble about my name. You called it 'impossible time-travel' before, Padfoot, and it truly is. I used neither time-turner nor any other device that temporarily shifts time. The ritual I performed used a tether of soul and memory to launch my consciousness across time, leaving one body behind to die, to inhabit a past version of myself. I'd aimed for the age of eleven, but clearly messed up somewhere. In hindsight, I'm infinitely glad all happened as it did, for I wouldn't have wanted to miss a childhood shared with the both of you for the world.''
The wide-eyed, stunned stares from both of his godfathers are understandable as they process all he throws on them. As expected, Severus remains silent as he quietly makes sense of it, while Sirius openly voices his thought process:
''You displaced your own soul… inhabited a child with an adult's mind like some sort of changeling…''
''I'm still me,'' Harry attempts to reassure. ''Yes, I've kept secrets and acted like a child – I had strict goals to follow that did not include instantly shouting to the world what is to come – but I'm not an entirely different person.''
''You used magic to take a different body. This isn't time-travel, it can't be. You were… reborn.''
''In my own body!'' Harry stresses, trying his best to get this across. ''I'm not some stranger who stole the body of a random babe, Siri, I always was Harry Potter! Look, I know I can't make up for the deception. For I admit I deceived you: limited as I was by the needs of my body, I kept my own mind and magic upon rebirth. I must apologise to you first and foremost, for I deliberately manipulated you into taking me in. And yet, I can't regret it, for the Dursleys would have starved and beaten me for a decade in hopes of subduing my magical abilities. I could not be subjected to that, not after I just ran from a world in which all I feared was the violence Muggles directed at our people.'' He shivers at the thought, clenching hands and teeth to hold back the memories. The trembling only stops when a large, pale hand wraps around his own. Grateful for the reassurance, he leans more heavily against Voldemort.
Having someone to lean on is nice. It's one more tally on the wall of things Harry has started to like about this soul bond.
He is certain that this confession will lead to many more uncomfortable questions which will force him to fess up to every moment in the past years during which he'd pretended to be someone he wasn't. Because of this nervous anticipation, he could have tightly hugged Severus when the man instead asks: ''What happens in the future? What could make one so desperate to leave everything behind, including one's own life? What Muggles scarred your body so, Harrison?''
Swallowing heavily, he raises his chin, meeting Severus' coal-black stare. ''What Muggles? Enough of them. Too many of them. Our existence was broadcasted across the world and they responded with guns and steel. With laws prohibiting magic to the furthest corners of earth. And in the end, with methods to make us as empty as they are. We were captured and neutralised like one would declaw a cat that caused too much trouble to its cruel owner's liking. We were not hunted by a niche group, Sev. Even the very few that sided with us at the start changed their tune eventually, convinced we did not need magic, afraid we would think ourselves superior when having uncontrolled access to our power.''
''We are,'' Voldemort sharply interjects.
''I don't care if we are or not,'' Harry half-shrugs in answer, placing his weary head on his Intended's bony shoulder. ''I did not travel back to prove we're better than Muggles.''
''Then why?'' Sirius inquires before Voldemort has a chance to reply. ''I know of his plans for those who can't wield magic. He openly declared to rain death upon them all mere minutes ago and you didn't seem opposed to this… this madness, but what is your personal aim, Harry? Surely you didn't travel so far only for vengeance. If I know you at all, if you have shown a smidge of your true self in all these years, then that doesn't sound like you.''
Although the disgust for Voldemort's declaration is obvious, it is warming to hear how desperately Sirius hopes to hear a justifiable reason. Desperate to have faith in the child he raised.
Harry has no trouble providing it, for while the offered revenge was gladly accepted as another gift from his soul-bonded, his own intentions differ.
Even if the end-result does not.
''Why? Because I care,'' he heatedly speaks, once more sitting up straight. ''About you and Severus and every single person I lost too early. I care about this miracle called magic that I can't allow to be extinguished as if never having existed. I care about every drop of potion and every spark that can light up a child's face with happiness. They took it from me, and I will not let it be taken away again. I will not die. I won't let any of you die.''
''We will prevent it,'' Voldemort adds, sounding far calmer than Harry is, who has a hard time choking down grief and rage as he tries to explain himself. ''With our combined forces, we'll eradicate enough Muggles that when the time comes that they discover us, they'll no longer have the means to systematically wipe us out. Having heard all details from Harry about the final war, I have concluded this is the only way to avoid our own extinction.''
Severus sharply inhales. ''There are billions of Muggles.''
''Do you believe me incapable of keeping my word, Snape? I have considered hundreds of methods to obliterate them without having to face a single Muggle directly. They'll be dead before having had a chance to learn it was the doing of mages who hide amongst them.''
''That's not what I meant. There are so many of them and so little of us. You justify the annihilation of Muggles with the survival of a select few. Who are you to decide which lives are worth more? How do you quantify the number of 'acceptable' deaths to save the life of a single witch or wizard?''
Before Voldemort – as Harry knows the man wants to - can elaborate on how he personally always considered Muggles no more than pesky smears of mud beneath the boot of wizardkind, Harry interjects with his own reasoning. It may not be perfect, but he knows that his godfathers are likelier to understand emotional motivation born from love than from hatred.
''There is no need to calculate anything. In my eyes, Muggles are nothing but our future oppressors. We didn't ask for war. Save for a few people who saw the danger before the rest did, we did not turn on Muggles. They attacked, discriminated, killed and enslaved. Muggles won the war in my old life, and I'll stop at nothing until we win in this one. I've had enough of seeing my family and friends beaten and slaughtered for the crime of having been born mages.''
''The answer can't be to murder Muggles for the crime of not having been born with magic'' Sirius protests.
Harry blinks, taken aback at that fault in logic. ''I won't,'' he says, affronted. ''I won't kill a single Muggle for not having magic. I'll pre-emptively kill them for the crimes they will commit against those who do. It's not a what-if. Not a debate. I've been there, seen it, witnessed them put down children. My own ten-year-old godson was dragged away to prison and robbed not only of his active magic, but of the inherent Metamorphmagus abilities he was born with. He was broken before they carried him off. Can either of you honestly say that you wouldn't have done the same as I did, had you seen that happen to me?''
''How can you ask that?'' A rough hand is anxiously carded through the man's long, black tresses. ''When you force me to share a table with the very man who has killed my own family, who attacked the home of my own godson, you? I'm staying my hand, am I not?''
It's hardly a fair comparison, and Harry stubbornly crosses his arms. ''You do so because I asked. Because you know he is my soulmate. Not because you didn't want to kill him on sight for his deeds. Sirius, I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. Had I not crawled out of the broken mess of Godric's Hollow and busied you, you would have gone after Wormtail for revenge. You'd not have rested until the one who betrayed your best friends was dead.''
This revelation seems to stir something in the other, who throws Harry a fearful look. ''I wanted to. I wanted to go after him, but then you were there and Severus and… Wait, in your other life, did I…?''
Sighing heavily, Harry nods. ''You did… and in the chaos, with you voicing blame towards yourself for my parents' deaths, you were arrested. No trial and a one-way-ticket to Azkaban. It took you twelve years to escape and find me. We had so little time,'' he admits in a small voice. ''Far too little. I- I can't talk more about it. Not now.''
Sirius looks conflicted about whether he wants to ask more or not. Clearing his throat, he states: ''Going after Wormtail for revenge was what I wanted to do ten years ago. An impulsive decision made by someone who barely knew what being an adult entailed. Having learned how to take responsibility, both in my job and at home, I can clearly recognise now that an eye for an eye is not a healthy response. Harry, what you suggest will only start a vicious cycle of revenge.''
''Truly? I'd like to see a Muggle use a magical soul-bond to be reborn,'' Harry dryly answers.
''Is that how you pulled it off?'' Severus asks, gaze flicking briefly over to Voldemort.
From a certain point of view, he had. Although Voldemort had not been his Intended in Harry's last life, there'd been no doubt about their souls being linked with Harry being the man's Horcrux. It had formed a bond that had remained even long after both the piece of soul attached to Harry and Voldemort himself had been dead.
When thinking about it from that angle, there could never have been another candidate for his soul mate in this world. Fleetingly, he speculates if Harry Potter's soul mark changed between the brief moment of birth and Harry's arrival. Had the original one in this world been tied to someone else? Prophecy or not, he does not truly think he could ever have stood as Voldemort's equal without his own memories, his experiences and the aligning goals that had been shaped because of it.
So, he nods and recounts how he got his hands on the ritual that had brought him back: of the Death Eaters for whom Azkaban had become prison and haven both. Of Narcissa, who felt she owed a debt to Harry. Of hope and hatred meeting in the last place of Magical Britain the Muggles had not yet conquered.
''That was ultimately the turning point,'' Harry explains, by now clutching onto Voldemort's hand for dear life. ''The death of the only person who would have stood a chance to unite us in our open fight against our tormentors. Even those who'd suffered most under Voldemort's rule agreed that in the end, it had been better. Without him to rally behind, there was too much division in the wake of the previous war. We tried, believe me we tried: the Ministry attempted to negotiate with the Muggle prime Minister, the staff of St Mungo's started a campaign to show Muggles how beneficial healing magic is, the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix called for treaties and cooperation, yet all ultimately failed in the face of hordes of Muggles who demanded our blood. People who were dissatisfied that we hadn't used our magic to help end famine or sickness earlier, who were jealous or fearful of the influence we could have on the world.''
''This is much to take in,'' Severus replies to Harry's passionate plea for understanding. He doesn't look so composed anymore, having switched tea for strong coffee and fiddling with his cup, which is so atypical for the man that Harry believes he is about to have a nervous breakdown. ''It all sounds… logical, from your point of view. Nevertheless, logic doesn't negate that you are still talking about retribution for something that has not happened. Not here. We've not exhausted all other options and circumstances are vastly different from how you described already. There's been no second wizarding war to rip open old wounds and divide our people. You-'' he nods at Voldemort, ''-are alive and know what might come, taking the element of surprise from those who would hurt us. And as much as neither of you will want to hear this: you're forgetting another powerful wizard who can make peace happen: Dumbledore.''
Voldemort snarls in the same second that Harry scoffs.
''Truly made for each other, huh,'' Sirius disapprovingly mutters. ''Where was Dumbledore in all of this? Surely that man will live to be a century or two.''
''Err,'' Harry says, hesitating about how much to reveal without piling more blame on Voldemort. He absolutely does not wish to go into the why and how behind the Headmaster's death, which involves Dumbledore hunting down Horcruxes and Severus having been a Death Eater in another life. ''Dumbledore did die years before we were discovered. Was downed by a cursed artefact he could not resist, if you must know. Look, I respect Dumbledore as a formidable wizard and know that both of you put a great deal of trust in him, some of which is certainly warranted, but at the same time, I had to deal with his maddening schemes for most of my first childhood. He always makes things far more complicated than they need be. Trials, riddles, clues and puzzles that take so long to solve that many people unnecessarily suffer in the meantime. Dumbledore is brilliant in a way that's too eccentric to be practical. The heart of the problem is that he's terrified of his hypocrisy being discovered and wraps all his actions in secrecy and trails of breadcrumbs to ensure those he needs something from don't find out the whole truth.''
''I don't understand,'' Sirius says, disgruntled. ''Can you give an example at least? You are the one speaking in riddles now.''
Where to start? With how long it had taken for Dumbledore to speak of the Prophecy? With how Harry had figured out during the battle of Hogwarts that he had to sacrifice himself because Dumbledore had never bothered spelling that out? With the lessons about Voldemort's past that had gone on for a whole year until their purpose had been revealed?
He thinks of Skeeter and her book; The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. Harry supposes that The Life and Omissions of Albus Dumbledore would have made for a less catchy title, even if it is much closer to the truth.
''There was… an item,'' Harry carefully starts when having found an example that hopefully won't take many hours of explaining. ''One he wanted to prevent Voldemort from claiming. Problematically, this item and its history were tied to his own rather shady past with Dark Lord Grindelwald. Dumbledore had it and wished to watch over it personally for as long as humanly possible, then pass it on to someone he deemed worthy. Since he refused to confide in anyone about his own mistakes though, this meant he carefully planned the exact moment of his own death, ordering an unwilling man to dramatically kill him in a strategic moment rather than succumbing to the curse that was already eating away at his life.
It also meant that when he wished me to find this item, he left nothing more than an old fairy tale book with a symbol inside that sent me and my friends on a wild goose chase that we only completed because of several very lucky coincidences. It was frustrating, put us all in mortal danger more than once and was overall truly a great summary of how Dumbledore always operates. So no, I will not go to him and explain my side of the story. He won't listen. He'll draw up his own plans – which, knowing his ideologies, involve trying to uselessly negotiate with Muggles and thwarting Voldemort instead of helping us, - and ruin everyone else's work in the last moment.''
''This item he didn't wish You-Know… you, to get your hands on…'' Severus suspiciously speculates with a wave into the Dark Lord's direction. ''Harry, if you created chaos in Hogwarts this year, does that mean… did you steal that which Dumbledore hid in the Third-Floor-Corridor?''
An interesting case of reaching the right conclusion with the wrong information. Hermione can probably tell him if there exists a specific word for that. Harry squashes his first instinct of correcting his godfather because it isn't the item he meant, but honestly, better to let them think so. He doesn't need prying questions about the Elder wand, certainly not now he's failed to retrieve it and needs a new plan to get a hold of it.
''I did steal the Philosopher's Stone,'' he thus freely admits. ''Dumbledore would have destroyed it just to ensure it would not fall into Voldemort's hands, as the Headmaster falsely believes it was needed to fully resurrect. Which, as should be evident today, was not necessary as Voldemort returned to life months ago, whereas I only stole it the day before we left Hogwarts. Should I have let Dumbledore pulverise the actual Philosopher's Stone, a feat of magic achieved with toil and tears of generations of alchemists? It is as much a part of our heritage as Hogwarts is. Imagine razing the castle to the ground just so your enemy cannot use it, and then even being wrong about them wanting to use it in the first place! I had to put a stop to this madness and steal the stone before Dumbledore's paranoia got in the way.''
Severus doesn't buy the explanation, countering with: ''He hid it. If the Headmaster wanted to see it destroyed, he'd have done so long ago.''
''Not after anyone were to prove the protections failed. Which would have happened eventually. Those traps were once breached by three determined eleven-year-olds. With the Weasley Twins growing bolder every year, I'd have bet my entire Gringotts vault that they would have stolen the Stone just to prove they can within the next year, had I not gotten there first.''
Silent seconds trickle by until Severus breaks it: ''You solved my riddle, then.''
Does Harry imagine the twinge of pride in those words?
''Figured you wouldn't make goat rhymes without a good reason. I also watched you brew often enough that I'm very familiar with your storage system, that helped with the time limit.''
His moment of basking in the tiny hint of recognition doesn't last long, sharp stings of pain that shoot up Harry's spine his only warning before his body starts changing again, the effects of the gifted age potion at its end. Grimacing, Harry pulls out the bottle and, seeing there's about two doses left, does not hesitate to take another sip so his old body remains for a little while longer. He does not want to have the rest of this conversation as a child.
Unsure where to pick up the thread of said conversation and glancing over to Sirius, who has not said a word since Harry expressed mistrust in Dumbledore's capability of preventing the coming war, he offers: ''If you both have any pressing questions you want answers to…''
''Lily and James,'' his godfather instantly puts forward. He must have been stewing on this for a while, then. Did he even listen to Harry's confession of stealing the Stone? ''You said you were conscious from birth. So, you know what wonderful people they were. People the world have to do without because of him.''
''I did not kill them,'' Voldemort denies the accusation, voice soft in the way a bear's paws are, surrounded by claws.
''You all but did!'' the other snarls, now really jumping up from his chair, waving his wand around frantically. ''You had it out for them, they specifically hid from you, and the moment they left the safety of their wards, your followers swooped in and killed them! And you-'' he turns to Harry, still seething with fury. ''You knew what would happen if you were put with your Muggle family last time. Do you want to tell me that you couldn't have protected them? Or were your plans of murder so much more important than saving your own parents? Because if so… if so, I can't offer forgiveness or support.''
Harry slowly rises to his feet as well to meet Sirius at eye-height. Lily and James had been wonderful indeed, and the world had never recovered the fullness of its colours after their deaths had bleakened it. He faces the angry grief with all the heartache he feels over their demise openly displayed.
''The day my parents died was the only time I ever wavered. My sole purpose of travelling back was to ensure Voldemort survived to win the war and yet, on that day, I was willing to overhaul everything just to save them. You must know that the first time, they'd been home. My father was killed trying to fight Voldemort downstairs and my mother refused to step aside, sacrificing her own life to protect me. Knowing that, I tried to change the outcome by sending them away to Muggle London under the Imperius curse. I could not imagine they'd be targeted in such a place. When I heard… When Voldemort arrived in Godric's Hollow and spoke of their deaths, I-''
His choked words are cut off by strong arms that grip him in a tight embrace. Harry inhales the smell of leather when Sirius' jacket absorbs his tears. ''I really tried,'' he whispers still, answering the hug by wrapping his own arms around his godfather. ''I didn't know what would happen, not even if I'd survive that night myself, but I knew I had to take that gamble so they could live. And then they didn't. I loved them, Siri, and I had to hide how crushed I was because I wasn't supposed to be able to comprehend what had happened. It was… so hard.''
The moment is ruined by a noise. Perhaps Harry would have been lucky enough to miss it had he not stopped speaking. Unfortunately, he did, and as such the scoff - quiet though it was – is audible enough. Disentangling himself from his godfather, Harry turns to stare at Voldemort in disbelief. The accompanying disdain visible in crimson eyes does not improve the situation. ''Are you fucking kidding me?'' he hisses. ''I can weep in your arms as long as it's followed by talk of murder, but when I speak of my parents – who are dead because of you in both of my lifetimes – it's unacceptable?''
''What is forgiveness for if you keep bringing up that which cannot be changed?'' the man bites back, suddenly not so civil anymore. ''All of this, of us, works because you look to the future instead of wallowing in the past. If we start this and compare how hard our lives were, may I remind that your choices that same day left me as a wraith for ten years and a parasite for another?''
Sputtering, Harry faces the Dark Lord. ''How in the world did you make this about you? Are you serious right now?''
With a fluid motion, Voldemort suddenly towers over all of them and takes an intimidating step closer. Quite heroically, Sirius tries to get in between them, an attempt which Harry instantly blocks. He juts his chin forward to stubbornly meet Voldemort's anger head-on.
''Yes, Harry. I fail to see what you attempt to accomplish here by lamenting about a fate that was sealed over a decade ago.''
''Well guess what, not everyone is happy to see their own family dead!'' he bites back in the man's face, raising his voice.
''You dare-''
''Stop this nonsense, all of you!'' Severus sneers in his most impressive classroom voice, a tone that is reserved for his least tolerable students. ''If you want to bicker like children, do so another day.''
''Sev,'' Sirius grounds out, no less angry about Voldemort's comments than Harry is. ''Are you going to let his insults to James' and Lily's memories slide for the sake of keeping peace? Don't make me laugh!''
''No, I am recommending everyone to take a breather, because there happen to be two entirely innocent people upstairs who don't deserve their first real meeting to be ruined by the house blowing up with dark magic. Not to even mention that you are both getting worked up over entirely different points. Merlin, the last time I heard a squabble with so much tone-deafness involved a Goyle. A Goyle! Harrison, it's perfectly normal to experience sorrow for your parents and I'm sorry we could not support you in the moment it was still fresh. That being said, having heard everything you revealed today, it's clear that you were willing to give up on the plan of saving your Intended's life for your parents, which is understandably a sore point.''
He wants to protest, say it isn't like that. Voldemort did not die that Halloween night as a result of Harry trying to save Lily and James. Those had been two separate decisions entirely.
…But he had thought about it… Harry silently admits, aggressivity deflating. He'd indeed been ready to give up on living in this new world for the chance of giving his parents the happy life they'd been denied – at least for a little while longer. Whether or not Voldemort would have survived in the end would have been beyond Harry's influence down that road. There was a high chance that without the prophesised vanquisher of the Dark Lord, Dumbledore would have taken a more active role, figured out the secret behind the man's immortality again and offed the Dark Lord himself long before the Muggles could be eradicated. For without Harry, the knowledge of this being necessary would have been lost.
''-and you,'' Severus continues all the while Harry is wrestling with himself. ''You had me almost convinced that Dumbledore's tales about you were wrong. That you do possess a shred of empathy, that I do not need to worry as I have for the past eleven years that my son is destined for a cold-blooded monster. Harry should not have to be less than human to be accepted by you, should not have to fear rejection at the first outburst of an emotion that makes you uncomfortable. And it should not be difficult to understand that when the topic of any of your victims comes up, your first leap of logic should not be to take it as a personal attack.''
''If you do not wish your career as a potion master to be cut short, Severus Snape, I wonder why you must test my patience not to sever both of your hands from your body for the audacity of this ill attempt to meddle in my conflict. This is between Harry and I,'' Voldemort coldly replies, mouth pressed thin in vexation as his gaze wanders to Harry. Fortunately for them both, the prior disgust is nowhere to be found. As closed off as Voldemort seems, something in the expression of his Intended has changed for the better. Placing his finger on what exactly is difficult. Harry is fairly certain he's never seen Voldemort like this.
''It is,'' he agrees before either of his godfathers can continue this painful reproach. Severus surely meant well and did diffuse the situation, but having an argument with middlemen is plain embarrassing. Not to mention that right now, it is difficult to judge how likely Voldemort is to make good on the threat of mutilation. Were he anyone else, it could be brushed off as empty words. Yet Harry is acutely aware that the title of Dark Lord, though once self-imposed, has long been earned through bloodshed. And patience is not on their side on a day said Dark Lord is barely starting to recover from the magical and mental strain put on his soul bond over the course of months.
''No, Sev… thanks for stepping in with your perspective, but I'd prefer to let this go for now and discuss it in private,'' Harry asserts when seeing his godfather wishes to protest. After clearing his throat and wiping away any remnant of the tears he'd spilled on Sirius' shoulder, Harry adds: ''Hadn't wanted to argue in front of you. And for the record, Dumbledore is wrong about his demonising views. Can we-'' he gestures vaguely to the sofa and throws Voldemort a questioning look. ''Is it okay if we sit down again...'' Feeling more uncomfortable about having made a scene by the second, he quietly adds ~like before?~ under his breath.
Still wearing that strange expression (Guarded? Supressing anger?) Voldemort stiffly nods, resuming his position with as much regality as can be expected given the overall awkwardness.
Despite sitting just as close together as before, there is a distance Harry does not know how to cross. Voldemort does not reach for his hand again, which makes Harry uneasier than it should. Having been the one to truly start the argument and not having apologised, he's not quite sure whether to make the first move – what if pretending as if nothing happened will make the man break away entirely? What if he leaves?
Would it be better if Voldemort left?
His godfathers – even Sirius – seem to catch onto Harry's need to fill the awkward silence, forcing themselves to calm down enough to come up with more questions, from details about how and when Muggles discover their world to whether Harry had always known about Sirius' and Severus' soul marks and set them up because of that.
The only question not asked is the most pressing, final one about what his godfathers will do with this wave of new information. All of them purposefully skate around the issue, unwilling to discuss it.
The conversation feels slower than before, like dragging a limp body through sticky tar. Somewhere in between two topics, the aging potion loses its effect once more. Harry does not take the last sip, as he fears that moving again will somehow build this wall between them up higher.
The talk tapers off after he's told the tale of the dragon egg he received for Christmas originally having been meant to bribe Hagrid into giving up information about Fluffy, information not needed anymore after Harry revealed to have already figured out the trick to get past the Cerberus in his last life.
The Dark Lord himself has not said a word during all of this, eyes unblinkingly fixed on the opposite wall as if the painting of Orion Black's finest-bred Pegasus is the most fascinating piece of art he's ever seen.
Until:
~I was tactless.~
The words feel like a gulp of fresh air, and when Harry carefully turns his head, his Intended is no longer averting his gaze.
Guilt. The expression Harry couldn't place as it looks so intensely foreign on Voldemort is guilt.
Harry has never been great at apologising after arguments (how many fights with Ron could have been solved sooner if both he and his friend had been less stubborn and better at vocalising?), but if the actual Dark Lord can get over this hurdle, so can he. ''So was I,'' Harry responds. ''Needlessly defensive, too. I'm sorry.''
~I hadn't considered until now that our joining would entail such quarrels.~
''We've fought before,'' he frowns. He debates for a second whether to switch to Parseltongue yet figures it's best if his godfathers are made aware of at least one half of the conversation, to reveal they're making up instead of escalating the argument. Besides, Severus had been quite annoyed about the use of their secret language before. Though the man hasn't specifically told Voldemort off for it now, he'll likely do so if Harry returns in kind. ''You were pretty pissed when I threatened to kill you again if you didn't cooperate.''
(''You what?'' Sirius chokes out. Harry ignores it.)
~That was far more clear-cut than this. You bared your scars to me, I vowed to repent, then cut you with words instead. I do not know how to progress in a way that mends this situation. I considered erasing the memories of the moment that started this argument, but I suppose that might be another violation.~
''You suppose,'' Harry says, carefully allowing himself to smile. The confession shouldn't be funny, but the image of Voldemort frantically trying to undo his tracks so he could pretend to have never fucked up is hilarious.
Entirely serious, the other continues: ~Yes, I do. I wish I had approached this differently from the start. Alas, fixing mistakes by re-doing a situation cannot always be the solution. I cannot pretend it did not happen; it would be unwise to erase the past in such a way. Harry, I cannot return the Potters to your life, the most I can do is protect your current parents – and I know very well that you consider them such, regardless of your own age.~
Harry hesitates. Just like Severus and Sirius have avoided breaching the topic of final decisions, Harry and Voldemort also never discussed possible outcomes of this talk. Of the consequences if the men will reject the necessary future action of eradicating Muggles. Naturally, Harry himself has strong opinions on it: he'll duel his Intended if need be, if that is the only way to guard his godfather's lives, freedom, and memories alike.
They deserved the truth after all they've suffered under a lie.
Even if they'll go around shouting about it on the streets, nothing will come of it in Harry's opinion. Dumbledore will probably believe them, but the Ministry and majority of the wizarding world won't. He didn't expect the Dark Lord to share this opinion, however, so to hear Voldemort speak of not just building up agreeable relations but outright protecting them sounds too good to be true.
It's as if the man reads his mind (which can't be, Harry's Occlumency barriers are as strong as ever), when Voldemort leans closer with a knowing smile and whispers: ~I prefer to apologise in actions rather than words by ensuring their safety for you. We are powerful enough that they cannot hinder the path we'll pave one way or another. I won't have further wedges separate us.~
All remaining resentment evaporates. Harry has a hard time controlling his breathing as he tries not to swoon too obviously at the reassurance that Voldemort will go to even greater lengths than Harry expected, just to please him.
''No cutting off hands?'' he questions, raising an eyebrow until he is rewarded by a wry smirk.
~I prefer not to waste such talent. My threat was heated but empty.~
The relief that statement brings allows Harry to discard the last hesitation he'd held. ~I want to kiss you again,~ he hisses. ~Quite badly, actually.~
As expected, Severus sharply clears his throat the moment Harry hides his emotions in the language of snakes.
The self-satisfied smile he receives in return to that profession will have to do for now, for Voldemort does not indulge. ~I suggest we wrap this up quickly, then. In fact, since you have spent such a lengthy time explaining yourself, I would like a moment alone with your godfathers to speak my mind without them believing my words to be influenced by your presence. Perhaps a good moment to see how your sister is faring?~
Harry gives his Intended a long and hard stare. Empty threat or not, how long will it take for arguments to get a tad too heated again? ''I trust you with myself, but my family…''
''Have I broken any promise to you, Harry? Protection naturally includes being shielded from harm caused by myself in any shape or form. I have my honour.''
''Even if they attack?''
Voldemort chuckles disbelievingly at the suggestion. ''I assure you that I can weather anything thrown at me without having to retaliate in the slightest. The very first speciality I mastered was Defence, Harry, not the Dark Arts themselves.''
''Can we have a say in your discussion?'' Sirius crabbily asks.
As much as Harry would like to simply jump up and exit before he can change his mind, emotions have bounced back and forth enough. Pouring more oil into the fire by disappearing like that might just make the house explode. Taking a deep breath, he thus carefully explains: ''Voldemort has requested to speak to you alone. I apparently kill the vibe.''
''That is grossly paraphrasing,'' Voldemort instantly mutters. ''More concretely, I know that both of you are holding back for Harry's sake, and that you believe me to be guilty of the same. It will be productive to discuss certain topics openly without Harry present to clear the air about our intentions.''
Severus starts with a careful ''I don't think-'' but is cut off by Sirius loudly proclaiming: ''Perfect! There are many choice words I have for you that aren't fit for good company. Harry, go to your room.'' Clearly, someone has already erased the fact that Harry is an adult from his mind as soon as the immediate evidence is no longer visible.
As it suits Harry for now to be officially dismissed, he shrinks the robes he's been swathed in down to the appropriate size now he's resumed the form of an eleven-year-old and gets to his feet. ''Be nice and don't hex each other,'' he warns before slipping out of the room, purposefully closing the door behind him again so the expected angry voices aren't carried upstairs.
Where once he might have cursed not having extendable ears, Harry doesn't think he wants to know what insults the three men he cares about most – and what a strange thought, that Voldemort has grown on him this fast that the Dark Lord is included in that group – are hurling at each other.
As Harry is not about to twiddle thumbs in his bedroom, he takes Voldemort's advice. It doesn't take long to search out his best friend after finding both the upstairs drawing room and the study empty. To not be interrupted constantly in the study while working, as well as to make use of otherwise 'empty, useless space', Sirius remodelled the Tapestry room into a functional library years ago. The tapestry now functions as little more than background wall decoration, partially hidden by bookcases and shelves. Though once a central point of argument between Sirius and Regulus, Harry's uncle had accepted the remodelling eventually and is now seated in one of the comfortable wingback reading chairs, engrossed in a book. A few feet away from him sits Hermione, curled up in another chair with a book of her own.
''Knock knock,'' Harry announces his entrance, rapping on the wooden door frame to get their attention. ''Err… you guys good?''
''Oh, hi!'' Hermione beams as soon as she looks up, sounding a tad breathless. ''Perfect, we're experimenting! Isn't that exciting?''
Regulus does not appear to be as exuberant, but Harry knows his uncle hardly ever wears his heart on his sleeve in the way the man's older brother does, so that isn't reason for concern. Harry receives a small, polite nod and kind smile before Regulus turns his attention to the pages again.
''Experimenting in what way?'' he asks, a tad confused.
''Well,'' Hermione says in the typical tone she always uses before going on a rant. ''Regulus has a tricky soul mark and we've both concluded that more information is needed to find out whether it truly refers to me. We just have too little data, even after he's asked me all about my life that there is to know. So, we're taking into account every existing factor of soul bonds instead of merely the marks, which always have an error margin due to human mistakes in interpretation. It is far more scientific to observe the full scope of possible effects. Right now, we're measuring whether physical distance measurably affects the strength of our spells. I have been sitting here, whereas he moved from the attic to the third floor, to the other end of the second floor, and now to the same room. After each change, we each cast a Lumos under the same controlled conditions.''
''You both came up with a way to scientifically measure your soul bond…?''
It is Regulus who answers: ''This is merely the first experiment, obviously. In this house, with other people present too, we frustratingly cannot have a sterile environment to work with, so there is still a possibility of the results being skewed by outward sources. However, we both agreed this method is more sensible than interpreting marks. Mine is a riddle and from all we've discovered, only two of four lines would clearly point to Hermione. Having fruitlessly searched for its meaning for years, I fear we may read too much into it to suit our desired result.''
Harry has never heard of anyone figuring out soul marks via science, let alone of two people thinking of this as the most obvious way to go at it at the same time. He's even more certain of this outcome being positive than back when he'd seen his godfathers' soul marks.
''Okay… and may I ask what you'll do when you have your answer?''
Regulus and Hermione give him eerily matching frowns until his uncle explains: ''Naturally, that depends on the answer. Though in either case, I have not suffered any deterioration since our first meeting and Hermione wishes to focus on her studies first and foremost. So, whether our hypothesis is proven or has to be discarded matters not for our short-term actions. I'll resume work and she her schooling.''
If only Harry's own soul bond were as drama-free as this one. Of course Voldemort had to be affected to the point of practically losing his mind after being apart from Harry from a few months. And of course his Intended would not content himself with shoving important decisions about it several years into the future. That the man came knocking the minute Harry returned to England speaks volumes.
''And how are you?'' Hermione carefully asks. ''I hope your being here is a good sign?''
Glancing at Regulus, Harry questions in return: ''Uncle, were you ever told about my Intended?''
''That would have been a terrible breach of privacy,'' the man denies, then hesitates and closes his book. ''Though Sirius could not fully hide that something about it worried him… Why do you ask?''
Good, so then Regulus won't absolutely flip out when Harry reveals bits and pieces, as it won't lead to the conclusion of the literal resurrected Dark Lord verbally sparring with Sirius downstairs.
''The reason you were rushed upstairs is that my own soul mate arrived shortly before you did. And you're right, Sirius is incredibly unhappy about the match that magic made for me. To answer your question, Mione, I still don't know what will happen exactly. Much was said, but mainly about history and future, if you catch my drift. Not so much about our soul-bond. They wanted to speak without me for a bit, so I assume it'll go more in that direction now.''
Hermione stares at him, jaw slack for a moment. ''He's still here?'' she hisses in shock, getting out of her chair to rush towards Harry and shake him by the shoulders. ''You left them alone? Are you crazy?''
''Wouldn't be the first time I've worn that label proudly,'' he huffs, swatting her hands away to drag one more chair close to wait in comfort. ''Get in line behind Rita Skeeter, will you? Jokes aside, don't worry too much, my Intended showed promising restraint after some initial arguments. He even apologised to me.''
Hermione doesn't appear convinced, wrinkling her nose. ''And do they know that I… well, how much I helped you?'' Her eyes hush over to Regulus, who can hardly pretend he's not aware of the conversation happening right in front of him.
He shakes his head. ''Only bits and pieces. Can't say you did yourself a favour with showing you met my soul mate before, but they'll get over that. They also must have pieced together clues about your involvement in my... err, pranks at Hogwarts. There's no use fretting about it now, not until we know what's been said downstairs.''
Unable to openly voice all his concerns since Regulus shows no intention of leaving, Harry picks out a book and in between reading observes the others as they resume their 'experiment', as they've labelled it. It isn't particularly interesting to watch how they spend half an hour in certain distances from each other before casting a synchronised Lumos and make notes on its strength - aided by measuring spells for improved accuracy- but it at least occupies him enough to not rush to the living room again to check how colossal of a mistake leaving Sirius, Severus and Voldemort in one room was.
Another hour or two pass like this, rumbling stomachs filled only with sandwiches Kreacher served directly to the library as the old elf was worried about his family's health after having received the order that the planned elaborate after-holiday dinner should be postponed. Just as Harry is about to jump up in frustration as he can wait no longer, he hears Severus's voice. ''Here you are. What part of 'your room' did you misunderstand, Harrison?''
''The part where Sirius must have misheard my age,'' he replies, discarding his book on advanced Quidditch tactics.
''You're legally a child. Our child.'' The tone leaves no room for arguments. Severus gives Harry an indiscernible stare for a moment, then lets it drift past him. ''Regulus, I appreciate that you visited and we do not wish to be rude, but today is not the best day to share dinner with us.''
Probably due to Harry's earlier warnings about tension running high over his own soul mate, Regulus voices not a single word of protest, merely promising to owl Hermione about further research before going to Sirius' study to discreetly floo home. Severus breathes an audible sound of relief.
''Come, both of you.''
''Severus…'' Harry starts as they follow the man downstairs. ''When you say I'm still your child…''
It comes out wavering, far more scared than he wanted it to. Merlin, he shouldn't sound so pathetic.
His godfather does not answer directly, but stills before reaching the end of the stairway, giving Harry a glance over his shoulder. ''Do you know why Sirius dislikes the family tapestry so much?'' he asks, arching an eyebrow.
''Because most people he likes have been blasted off it?''
''That's part of it. You see, all those who were 'blasted off' were disowned for sharing certain beliefs, beliefs that Sirius shares as well. He is convinced that his own name would have been erased eventually, had his parents survived long enough to see him sorted into Gryffindor and befriend those of 'lower blood'.''
''Very likely,'' Harry agrees. ''Why are you telling me this?''
''Because Sirius swore one thing to me when he covered it up. That these marks of shame end with us, that no name will ever be erased from it again, for a parent's love should not be conditional. Now come, food is getting cold,'' Severus brusquely adds, steps heavier as he rushes down the last steps, black robes billowing behind him.
With tentative hope, Harry follows.
AN: and The Talk will resume... I'd hoped to wrap this up in one chapter but everyone has far too much to say about Harry's life X'D
Next up: an awkward dinner, trust issues and a long private conversation between Harry and Voldemort.
Please Read and Review!
xx GeMerope.