Chapter 24: The Longest Night (Part 2)
His family makes for an odd picture in the large space of the old kitchen. Unlike any other guest ever dared do, Voldemort has seated himself at the head of the dining table. Habit or spite?
In either case, it'll come back to bite the man, for neither of Harry's godfathers are easily intimidated. Sirius already occupies one of the seats directly next to the Dark Lord, and Severus quickly takes the other before Harry can push past to claim the remaining empty chair at the side of his Intended.
Everyone ignores the scowl and reprimanding red glare thrown at Severus when a physical barrier between the two soulmates is created. Preferring to keep the peace, Harry does not protest this once.
''Soooo…'' Sirius says, loading up his plate only to push a few peas from one side to the other and back again without taking a bite. ''You guys aren't big on the 'mutual redemption' trope, I take it?''
''You've been reading too many pulp romances,'' Harry scoffs, quickly grabbing the lion's share of the served steak pie now Sirius shows little appetite, as half of this dish usually lands in his godfather's bottomless stomach. A golden opportunity.
''Me? Never.''
''Three entire shelves in the library are dedicated to those novels.''
''Seventy-two books,'' Hermione specifies, then reddens as Sirius turns to stare at her. ''I- I thought it'd be a fun project to catalogue the library during Easter break,'' she mutters, then shovels mashed potatoes into her mouth as an excuse not to speak any further.
Voldemort hums as he picks at the food, carefully inspecting each bite before thoughtfully chewing it down. He clearly does not have the same reservations as Sirius does, having summoned a bit of everything to his plate from all that Kreacher served up for this feast. Not a picky eater then, information Harry files away for future use. ''A library without a proper catalogue is disastrous,'' Voldemort speaks, giving an approving nod towards Hermione. ''A travesty that the one at Hogwarts is only revised once every decade. I ensured to have a personal version within months of attending school that was brought up to date with each new entry.''
Hermione perks up and swallows her food. ''You created an automated custom register linked to the incoming deliveries?'' She's practically vibrating in her seat at the prospect.
Inaudibly, Harry mutters: ''Why am I not surprised,'' under his breath. If it weren't' for bloody battles and soul-links, perhaps Hermione would have been a better fit than Harry is.
''The deliveries and removals. I considered binding my charm to the school owls first as only specific ones are used for library shipments, but it came with the drawback that older books taken off the shelves are usually kept in storage, not sent outside the castle. I thus linked my spell to the shelves themselves. It allowed me to see all works that had ever been there and informed me whenever someone had taken a book away – either permanently or for temporary study purposes. It made it unnecessary to ask the librarian whether a book I needed was available at any given time.''
''That's brilliant! I must look into this next year.''
''I imagine you will have plenty of time to do so without being interrupted by someone wishing to entangle you in his ploys,'' Voldemort thinly smiles, upon which Harry throws his Intended a dirty glare.
''Regarding said ploys-'' Severus pounces on the topic, none too happy.
So, the pleasantries have come to an end. Harry already wondered how long it would take for his godfathers to address one of the many erumpents in the room. He's still curious what was all said while he was upstairs, though asking Voldemort in private will likely be more informative than bringing it up now. Harry is already pleasantly surprised to have found them all in the same room with neither of his godfathers sulking and Voldemort not having left the house in a fit of rage.
''-Now both of you are here, I wish to hear the full truth behind these petrifications. What were you thinking? What was the aim? Moreover, was there any risk for you, Hermione? Any at all?''
It would be nice to silently blame Voldemort for this exact topic being raised, but Harry can recognise that Severus has been stewing on this since the first mention earlier today. Before he can decide on how much to give away and how to shield his sister from blame, Hermione asks: ''May I?'' while giving Harry an inquisitive look.
''Are you certain?''
She does not hesitate at all before nodding. ''I've come to a decision: I'm not ashamed of supporting you in any way I can, Harry.'' When he dips his head in acknowledgement, she takes a deep breath and stubbornly raises her chin to look Severus straight in the eye. ''All your suspicions about Professor Lockhart being an incompetent fraud were correct. Thing is, he was so much worse than that.''
It is admirable how she comprehensibly sums up Lockhart's actions in Harry's first life even though she's only heard these tales second-hand. ''He was willing to kill and mentally scar his own students to keep up the ruse,'' she fiercely says once informing them of how Lockhart had been willing to let Ginny die. ''We couldn't let him get away with it and last time his mask only broke due to these dire circumstances forcing him into actual danger. Since we couldn't count on such horrible happenings taking place at Hogwarts this year by itself, we instead… well… fabricated it. Harry let me come up with ideas on how to deal with Lockhart, and since he vetoed my ideas of letting Acromantulas loose, waking the actual Basilisk and hatching his dragon egg-'
Sirius chokes on air at the mention of Hermione's first insane plans that would have risked the lives of the entire student body. He's still coughing when she continues with: ''-I had to get creative and thought of faking attacks instead. We already had somewhat of a blueprint with Harry's memories and knew exactly how to set the stage. With a little help from…'' she trails off as her gaze flicks to Voldemort, who gives a dismissive wave.
''I already mentioned I provided the means to pull these schemes off.''
''Ah, good. Well then, after our own research into spells and potions got nowhere, Lord Voldemort gave us a tool of sorts to petrify people – and only petrify, there was no chance of death.'' Harry is about to protest her choice of words when reluctantly acknowledging it's probably best if his godfathers don't know he owns a Gorgonophis. Severus already isn't pleased about the dragon now stowed away in a cupboard, and that one is still contained in its egg. ''We selected Muggle-born students to make it looks like the real Heir of Slytherin was on the loose, but ensured not to target anyone in their O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. years as that would have been very inconsiderate.''
''Because petrifying people is so considerate in itself,'' Sirius throws in. Having recovered from his previous shock, the man looks less disapproving than Harry anticipated, warm eyes dancing with mirth. It appears that, with the lack of real danger and malicious intent (other than towards Lockhart) Siri is quickly getting on board with this revenge plot. His peas are all but forgotten, plate shoved aside to make room for two elbows on the table as he listens with rapture, stubbly chin propped in his hands.
''We couldn't keep petrifying cats and ghosts,'' Hermione shrugs. ''There wouldn't have been enough panic to build up to a point where Lockhart would be hounded to go search for the monster by himself.''
Severus does not seem convinced, black eyebrows knitted together. ''And what about Weasley? He isn't Muggle-born. Was that an attempt to allay suspicion and intentionally involve the Ministry?''
Suddenly a bit sheepish, Hermione looks over to Harry, who picks up the thread from here. ''Not at all. Petrifying Ron was an accident due to my carelessness. I was actually afraid that it would put more suspicion on me, as he'd been found at the foot of my bed – he'd wanted to rummage through my trunk as Ron was the only one who suspected something was foul about mine and Hermione's behaviours. I'd neither expected anyone to jump to hasty conclusions that I must have been the actual target, nor had I thought Fudge would show up so soon. Originally, the Ministry only bothered getting involved after four students were petrified - two of whom at the same time - plus the timespan had been much greater than the few months we took to devise this. We had to adapt some of our plans after that, what with Hagrid being put into custody and later Dumbledore's arrest. I genuinely hadn't wanted to get Hagrid into trouble.''
''Is that why you broke curfew to feed Fang?''
''Partially. Hagrid and I used to be friends in my other life. I've kept my distance now since he and Voldemort have... errr, unpleasant history and I didn't want to put Hagrid through any emotional conflict, but that doesn't mean I don't still care for him.''
''Hold on a second,'' Sirius interjects, eyebrows knitting together. ''You imitated something that happened to you before, right? Does that mean there's an actual Basilisk at Hogwarts that can go on a killing spree at any moment?''
Harry quickly shakes his head. ''There is a Basilisks yeah, has been for like a thousand years – including when you guys went to school – but it only wakes under specific circumstances. Years ago, I already nullified the chances of my history repeating itself regarding this, by removing the dark item that would have awoken the real Basilisk when landing in the wrong hands. It's why I wasn't afraid of bringing Lockhart so close to the Chamber to scare him.''
Inhaling slowly through his nose, Severus grumpily mutters: ''To think Slytherin lost the House Cup by Hermione getting rewarded for all of this.''
''They did have a noble goal,'' Voldemort points out, who has eaten in relative silence. ''Gilderoy Lockhart already attacked other mages in the past. He could have done much more damage had he been allowed to continue like before after filling children's heads with nonsense for an entire year. In my opinion, that should be rewarded.''
From the way Severus' expression darkens, he vehemently disagrees. Yet it is not Voldemort he addresses when saying: ''Deception or not… Harry, you admitted that Lockhart himself is a criminal who does not shy away from hurting children. From what I gathered, you left Hermione alone with him, let her deal with this. Used her as bait. In other words, you put a child in harm's way in a situation that should have been dealt with by adults.''
Anger bubbles up at the accusation. Instantly, his appetite fades. ''I put…? I was a child!" he bites back defensively. ''A man burned beneath my hands when I was eleven years old. A basilisk's fang spread its venom in my veins when I was twelve. I faced dementors and dragons and acromantulas before I turned fifteen because the adults in my life didn't care to protect me. Do not tell me what a child can handle. Do not tell me that the child's play we pulled at Hogwarts endangered Hermione in any way. I will not be accused of the same failure. I kept her safe every step of the way!''
The only one who dares move after the sudden outburst that causes a gush of wind to manifest into the room and the glassware to rattle dangerously - which Harry realises only seconds later – is Voldemort, who rises from his seat and sweeps around the table to put a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. Though the gesture is comforting enough to calm him down, the Dark Lord offers no words of support.
On the contrary: as he slides onto the chair on Harry's right, he murmurs: ''Twelve? You were twelve when the Chamber of Secrets was opened in your first lifetime and you dealt with Lockhart?''
''…what does that matter?''
''It matters when someone circumvents one of the most complicated curses I have ever designed. If Lockhart is truly as incompetent as you claimed in all but memory charms, he should have succumbed to it after teaching for one year, not two. This means he either has powerful outside help or is aptly hiding more dangerous talents.'' Serpentine features harden into a distinctly predatory expression now a risk has been identified.
Across the table, Hermione abruptly lowers her gaze to her plate as they are treading into dangerous territory. Smart girl, Voldemort would not be above delving into her mind if the opportunity were to present itself. Weighing options, Harry determines that it is detrimental if Voldemort believes Lockhart to be an actual danger to them instead of an asset – he hasn't gone through all these lengths only to have his new follower murdered. He'd rather talk his way out of this.
''Lockhart taught only in my second year last time. There must have been changed factors. A certain someone stayed abroad rather long, which caused the Ministry to appoint him.''
Out of the corners of his eyes, he sees crimson slits narrow. ''You are the only changed factor due to your time-travel. Yet none of your actions in life should have influenced either Lockhart's or my own movements between my death and when you next contacted me.''
''Butterfly effects exist,'' Harry stubbornly insists, even as cold fear is gripping his heart. This is far too soon. ''I spent years making connections, searching artefacts, setting up our meeting. It is a well-known fact that movements of time-travellers create ripples, a conclusion based on data gathered from those who can travel back a paltry twenty-four hours instead of eleven years.''
Voldemort does not deem this claim worth a response with anything but a tightening of his grip on Harry's shoulder. Ominously leaning in and placing cold lips at Harry's ear, the wizard whispers: ~You're teetering on the edge of truth and lie. What you are so afraid of, Harry? What are you not telling me this time?~
A 'nothing' forms on his tongue, but Harry knows how voicing a lie will end. Raised voices and slamming doors.
Trust. Trust.
There is too much on the line. He cannot trust Voldemort with this yet, nor can he lie.
''Once we have won the war,'' he vows, minimally turning his head towards the other until icy breath caresses the corner of his mouth. ''I will tell you on the day we declare victory.''
The Dark Lord is unreadable, searching his face for who-knows-what with a prodding stare. To the man's credit, he does not attempt to cast Legilimency. ''Your last secret?'' he flatly asks.
Harry hesitates a second too long.
~I have entrusted you with my soul.~ There's a tremor in his voice that cannot solely be explained away with anger.
''By accident. And I don't know how that is equivalent to secrets,'' Harry dismisses, not backing down.
''That is not what I meant,'' the Dark Lord hisses, free hand shooting out to tightly grab Harry's right one, thumb digging into the soul mark. Harry's stomach twists as he recognises hurt. Barely noticeable – he doubts anyone else at the table hears anything but Voldemort being absolutely pissed – but it is there, simmering under the surface. He sorely wishes they were alone now to sort this out.
~You gained mine in return~ he attempts to placate the other.
~I am starting to doubt it.~
Harry recoils when he finds nothing but anger in those words.
''I'll… be better,'' he promises, desperate not to lose his own soul mate of all people. ''I'll make it up to you.''
His words fail to chip away at the wall of ice Voldemort has slammed up between them. ''I ought to leave. Your family has ensured me you're not being thrown onto the streets, so you'll hardly have need of me. I shall upkeep my oath of protection regardless.'' Harry's hand falls limply to the side when the other stands and releases him in the process. The others around the table remain as silent as they have been since the start of this tense conversation.
Fuck. For the first time in literal decades, Harry feels like he's back in Madam Puddifoot's with Cho, stumbling to find the right words to make her happy as he inevitably barrels towards a disaster involving far too many tears. Has he learned nothing at all?
Not about romance, Harry is embarrassed to realise.
However, he has learned a fair bit in other aspects of life. Ever since being put in a position of power after the forming of the D.A. and being appointed Quidditch Captain, Harry has become more and more comfortable taking the lead. He's been a figurehead in two wars and oftentimes had to find the right words of encouragement to bypass hurdles on the way forward or, for lack of fitting speeches, jump into action. This shouldn't be so different.
He mirrors the movements of his Intended, getting to his feet as well – annoyingly, it does not make him much taller. ''Stop, please.''
Stiffly, the man halts and turns back with a look of contempt. Infuriatingly, it is justified. Voldemort showed up tonight with the purpose of mending their bond, gave a most wonderful gift, spent hours not just tolerating but actively speaking to his family… and Harry repaid it with a figurative slap in the face by letting it slip that he still keeps major secrets close to his chest. It's made worse by Voldemort having none in return – he has been forthcoming and candid every step of the way since they established that the soul bond meant something to them both.
~I did not mean to hurt you.~ he says, desperately trying to find out how he can make up for this.
~Hurt?~ Voldemort snaps. ~You presume you can get under my skin? Ridiculous, I care not for-~
~-I confessed to having secrets still as I refused to outright lie to you,~ Harry interrupts. ~Do not lie to my face, now.~ Taking a deep breath, he steps forward and catches a long, black sleeve, as if establishing a modicum of physical contact will anchor him there. ~I have two left. The one I had planned to take to my grave before telling another soul, I have already vowed to disclose to you in due time. The other, I will tell you tonight still if you so wish.~
A peace offering that will hopefully be enough. Voldemort already knows bits about the Hallows and with Harry having two now and possibly needing help in reaching the third, revealing the full picture isn't too great a sacrifice. It's a positive sign that his Intended makes no immediate move towards the door.
''Before you both leave…'' Hermione pipes up.
As she is not usually so tone-deaf to cut through obvious tension, Harry figures that what the girl has to say must be important. He wonders briefly how she could tell he'd been about to drag his Intended out of here, something within his chest eager to sort this out first rather than stay with his family. Unwilling to let Voldemort out of sight, he asks without looking away: ''What is it, Mione?''
''Well… for all we chatted about library catalogues and what we were up to at Hogwarts, nothing has been solved, has it? Professor Sna… Severus implied you are still welcome, but are you leaving without asking what that means, concretely? Because even as – especially as – someone who has recently been taken into this family, I would very much like to know where we all stand.'' She takes a deep breath, looking from one to the other in conflict. ''Crudely said: Sirius, Severus… is this a gesture of support or a ceasefire until Harry and Voldemort start killing Muggles?''
Sirius groans loudly, burying his head in his hands. ''Why does it sound as if you're on board with that? Are there no innocent children left in this world?'' he laments, dramatically shaking a fist towards the ceiling. ''Hermione, you're Muggle-born, for Merlin's sake!''
The statement makes her only pause for a second. ''I am, which means I have seen both sides of the world. This one actually gave me a purpose, someone to be. Ever since I learned about magic, my life is so much brighter. Knowing that in the future, all of it will be erased when Muggles try to take this away from me again is too much. And I know they will because Harry's predictions have never failed me before. Besides, you can't understand how it is to grow up with Muggles, Sirius. Every accidental magic I ever performed estranged me from the other kids at Wool's.'' Hermione tenses up, entire body rigid, fists balled on the table. ''I had no friends as they all thought me weird. You should know that, it's why Harry asked you to adopt me in the first place. I don't belong there and never will. And- And if they are going to force me to go back, I'd rather help Harry in making sure they never can!''
During her passionate plea, Harry didn't have the heart to keep his eyes averted. As such, he only feels it when Voldemort moves, the hem of a sleeve being tugged out of Harry's grasp. Instead of heading for the exit, however, he approaches the table, looking down at Hermione as if seeing her with new eyes.
''You grew up at Wool's?'' he softly asks.
Hermione meets his gaze with a puzzled look. ''I did. How do you know- Oh.'' Comprehension dawns on her face. ''You too, huh?''
''Yes,'' he admits. ''Me too.''
''So that's why Harry met me so early. Because of you,'' she smiles gently. ''I know it likely hasn't left many pleasant memories but… thank you, in a way.'' She clears her throat, eyes wandering towards Sirius once more. ''You didn't answer me yet.''
It slipped Harry's mind how persistent his friend can be when she sets her mind on something. A grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he recalls how a different Hermione had once upon a time methodically scanned every single newspaper and magazine front to back for literal months to ensure that the reporter she was blackmailing didn't write a single letter out of line. Now too, she won't be distracted from her inquiry, not even by the literal Dark Lord.
His godfathers exchange a glance, Severus crossing his arms with a scowl yet leaning back, a clear sign he's leaving the talking to his partner. Harry supposes it makes sense, as both he and Hermione are legally Sirius' responsibility. His word weighs heavier when it involves them.
''Out of pure interest,'' Sirius speaks, playing around with a heavy ring on his finger. The Black family ring, Harry recognises, a symbol the man hardly ever wears, having complained up and down about archaic traditions. When did he decide to slip it onto his finger? ''What will you do if we decide to relay all you've told us to Dumbledore? Erase our memories? Bind us in silence?''
The stress on 'you' indicates they've already received an answer from Voldemort. Having spoken about it earlier in Parseltongue, Harry does not hem and haw about openly revealing his own intentions: ''I'd have to live with it. You deserve the truth after all you've done for me. As rude as this may sound, what you do with this information won't hinder me. Although Dumbledore would certainly be an annoyance, he has less influence than you like to believe. Of course, I would have to cut you off so you don't know where I reside at any point in time, which I would really hate to do, but that would be the extent of the consequences.''
A hint of tension disappears from his godfather's shoulders. ''That is reassuring, kiddo. More than I can express. As we agreed with your… your…'' he grimaces a bit, as if unable to reconcile with the fact, ''your soulmate,'' he at last manages to bring himself to say, ''we'll stay as neutral in this as possible. Neither Severus nor I can fully get behind aiding you in the slaughter of billions, but neither can we turn our backs on you. We know war and have now seen what it has done to you. I understand why you seek to change this fate. I just hope that along the way, you might listen to the advice of people who aren't crazy about the idea of genocide.''
''Who can offer a different perspective, is what Pad meant to say,'' Severus cuts in, throwing Sirius a mild glower.
''You truly want me to try alternatives?'' Harry asks in disbelief. ''After everything I've shown and told you?''
''Butterfly effects exist,'' Severus neutrally throws back in his face. ''We already established that you have changed much, and I listed off reasons why the same attempts might have different results this time. Harrison, we won't give ultimatums or force you to change your ways. We're only hoping you are open to the possibility and we'll be here if you need advice.''
''Advice like going to Dumbledore.''
The black-clad man lifts his hands in a gesture of peace. ''In my ears, that sounds more reasonable than running off to devise ways to kill swathes of people. You must realise your ideal sounds… villainous.'' The label is uttered in a mild tone, yet Harry can hear a hint of fear layered underneath it. It only hardens his resolve.
''I've had a long time to come to terms with that I'm no hero, Sev. I tried to be many times. Put myself in danger and ultimately gave my own life to protect everyone else. It led me to this point, where I can only be bothered to save whom and what I care about. I have no interest in failing for walking into the same traps as those who died before me.'' Then, he exhales slowly, allowing himself to feel a smidge of warmth in his heart. ''That being said, I am immensely grateful for your willingness to accept… all of this. I can't imagine it was an easy choice.''
''Yeah, couldn't even sleep on it,'' Sirius quips in a mockery of a complaint. ''Didn't you know a good night's rest helps with making decisions?'' The humour isn't as sturdy a shield as he might wish to pretend, but it tells Harry that the heavy part is over. Neutrality is better than many of the alternatives he was afraid of. Best not prod the issue further for now. Both Sirius and Severus do best with having space to think, each in their own way.
''In that case,'' Voldemort coolly speaks, straightening himself. The air of humour evaporates immediately. ''I imagine it will be more productive to continue our own conversation tomorrow, Harry. There is… much to consider.''
Fears about his godfathers branding themselves as his enemies having been alleviated, Harry can at last give his Intended the attention he deserves. Bluntly, he states: ''You and I both become erratic when left alone with our thoughts. I have a counterproposal that involves a lack of distraction and some wine, what do you say?''
Voldemort blinks slowly like a sunbathing serpent as he considers the offer. ''Where?''
Harry shrugs. ''Unless we're going to your place, I can only offer my humble bedroom.''
Sirius instantly interferes with: ''We're not letting you go to his evil castle on the moors or where-ever else Dark Lords build their lairs. You're staying here tonight.''
''Fine. My bedroom it is, then.''
''Wait-'' his godfather backtracks, cheeks flushing. ''That's not what I meant-''
Despite all the prior baggage accumulated through their arguments, Voldemort shows interest, cocking his head as he seemingly gauges the situation. ''The wine better live up to your company.''
Harry can't determine whether he's being insulted or complimented with that cryptic request.
''Where did you get wine?'' Severus inquires, scandalised.
Harry doesn't even need to make up excuses, as someone else does so for him: ''Come on, I gave him that map for a reason. House-Elves give those who enter the kitchens anything, Sev. You won't believe how often Prongs, Moony and I got hammered from the moment we found out where Hogwarts' food and drink came from.''
''How old were you?''
''Twelve, why?''
''No wonder you occasionally sound as if you were dropped too often as a child,'' Severus snarks.
''Only occasionally? Wonderful!''
Their banter fades into the background as Harry tentatively reaches for Voldemort's hand. He would have still spared a few words of thanks to his sister, had she not already chosen to silently disappear without a soul (except perhaps the Dark Lord and his inhuman senses) noticing. Her stealth is admirable. ''Let's get out of here,'' he mutters. ''They won't really try and stop us. Not after they've finally left all the intense talks behind them and are resorting to this to keep their sanity intact.''
''Is that what you wish to do as well, Harry?'' comes a whisper when they're already halfway up the first flight of stairs.
''Would that solve anything?'' he retorts. ''Not like there's much to save of my sanity.'' He somehow manages to pull himself together long enough to reach his bedroom without breaking down about his own insecurities. Maybe he is still somewhat sane after all.
''Convince me to stay,'' Voldemort demands the second the door closes. There's no trace left of either the desperation he showed up at the door with or the charm that caught Harry's breath more than once today.
A harsh glint in crimson irises and tight set of the mouth are a stark reminder of his Intended's less savoury side. A side that had once been all Harry had known in a life in which they'd never progressed past being enemies. It's too easy to forget, sometimes, after spending many evenings in Hogwarts getting to know each other (even if Quirrell's presence was less than conventional) and getting comfortable with the idea that Voldemort has, for lack of a better term, been quite actively wooing him.
Beneath gifts and endearments, disarming smiles and thoughtful gestures, this is still the same man he always has been: proud, arrogant and ruthless. Used to getting his way without being contradicted – the fools who tried being swiftly punished. It must take a frustrating amount of restraint to remain somewhat calm when Harry goes against Voldemort's wishes time and again.
Since the situation is less than ideal, perhaps making good on some promises will appease his Intended. For one thing is certain: Harry does not want to lose this bond they've built. It goes beyond the soul bond they've had no say in; he's genuinely come to enjoy the other's presence and conversation. Now they're on the same side, it is easy to see the similarities they share without feeling ashamed of those.
Even way back when, Harry had felt a connection to his nemesis, as much as he'd tried to reject the notion out of fear.
Undoing the latches of his trunk, he rummages around until finding a bottle of wine that he indeed retrieved from the Hogwarts kitchens a while back. He'd planned on drinking it in celebration after the culmination of his Hogwarts ploys– in similar fashion to how Voldemort, Quirrell and he had shared cheering champagne after the resurrection – yet as it all did not work out as planned, the bottle has kept gathering dust.
Upon retrieving his holly wand from where it rests on top of the dresser, two knickknacks are quickly transfigured into wine glasses. One of them is a tad disformed as Harry's mind is halfway somewhere else. He keeps that one to himself as he'd be loathe to give his soulmate anything less than perfect. Voldemort already has to deal with the mess that is Harry himself.
''Wandless magic is not a skill many possess,'' Voldemort comments, mercifully breaking the ever-building silence while Harry fills their glasses to the brim. The self-loathing lessens a tad at the subtle compliment. ''I did wonder where you kept your wand. I admit to being impressed you were able to adapt your robes without one.''
''I had a full year to train it before I safeguarded your wand. Afterwards, I also only used a wand outside of the house to not get caught. Showing anything more than magic that could be explained away as accidental outbursts would have been far too suspicious. I've always taken care to put my wand somewhere far enough out of reach that grabbing it does not become a reflex. Even now I have my own, Severus is strict on rules about underage magic.''
''And up until today, you had to upkeep the illusion…'' the other adds, accepting the wine Harry has poured for him. ''Is it because of this that keeping secrets have become a second nature to you, Harry?''
Ah, someone sure knows how to swiftly press his finger on sore topics without warning.
''Yes and no,'' he replies, taking a thoughtful sip while leaning against the wall. He feels too tense to sit down and Voldemort shows no sign of wishing to give up on his position of looming over Harry either. Better not increase that distance. A sharp note rings out as Harry lets his finger glide over the rim of the glass as he thinks of what to say.
''I grew up with many secrets to keep, this is true. However, I already decided very early on which ones I wished to keep from whom, you included. Especially from you, in fact, for your actions have far more far-reaching consequences than anyone else's. You already surprised me by extracting some much earlier than I wanted to – my status as a keeper of your soul to name a prominent one.''
''Did my reaction disappoint?'' The tone is kept awfully neutral, as blank as Voldemort's expression.
Heaving a sigh, Harry honestly speaks: ''It did at first, as you should know. You reacted exactly as I feared, even if you adapted your stance towards claiming me as a piece of you later on. That's neither here nor there, however. The point I wish to make is that my hiding certain truths from you is not a flawed automatism but a decision I calculated years before we met. There is far too much on the line to reveal anything that could make you waver or doubt the sincerity of what I have revealed to you.''
''Your secret would undermine your own words? That does not sound promising.''
''Earlier today, when you gifted me the aging potion you crafted, you worried that Severus would misinterpret the gesture in the worst possible way. Which he did. This is… similar. I want to concentrate on what needs to be done without the uncertainty of what-ifs and you leaping to unhelpful conclusions. Because of it, I can't say that I am sorry for refusing to tell you, I'm only sorry that it once again creates a rift between us.''
Voldemort wearily closes his eyes and empties his glass in one go. When he next speaks, his voice is more clipped than before Harry's explanation. ''My patience wears thin. I've heard nothing that sounds remotely like a reason for me to remain. Harry: what do you need of me? What do you want? In the past months, I was led to believe you sought equality, a partnership. That you too thought the gift of magic we received is worth exploring. Tonight has shown me this was an error. I cannot leave room between us for your refusal to open up. I cannot kiss lips that remain sealed when I pursue answers. I do not accept the deal you proposed to hear only one more piece of information you so graciously dangle in front of me. If you wish to keep your secrets, have it your way. But in that case, do not expect to have it all. Our bond can be fulfilled in different ways.''
Wine turns to vinegar in his mouth. Harry was already aware he'd messed up, yes, but didn't realise until now how close he was to losing everything. This certainly does not feel like the right moment to have uncorked something reserved for a celebration.
More than anything, he is… perplexed. Sure, he theoretically knows that this Voldemort is not the same person who'd made it his personal mission to hunt Harry down, but all the same, he'd been banking on the same obsession taking root in altered form when realising his soulmate's intentions.
''You'd give up on something you want?'' he blurts out, unable to hold back how much disbelief he feels. ''That sounds very unlike you.''
''Truly?'' the Dark Lord asks with a sardonic smile. ''You claim to know me in and out, Harry, whereas I feel you hardly know me at all. I've more self-respect than to bend over backwards to your whims. I've been more than cordial so far. Where I could have swept you away during Easter break, sequestered you away from your family to forcefully keep you at my side, I instead sought you out in an environment you preferred. What I expect in return is a modicum of courtesy that I've been crystal clear about should include a level of trust you don't seem to be willing to extend to me. I want you on my terms or not at all. As such, the snitch is in your court, so to speak.''
As harsh as the words are, displayed even starker than before is how much Harry having added insult to injury has upset the older man. Worse is that it's entirely valid. Harry too hates it when others deny him important facts that have profound influence on his life. Isn't it exactly why he is so wary about Dumbledore still, isn't it what he complained to his godfathers about? In any normal situation, it would be a simple matter of respect…
The Dark Lord has halted expectantly, leaving Harry's stomach in knots, ones that are impossible to disentangle as they've been pulled tight by his own doing. Nevertheless, staying silent is no option as he recognises the unspoken ultimatum for what it is. If only he could slip out of the room for a minute to seek Hermione's counsel… If only it wasn't a given that the bedroom would be empty upon returning from doing so.
His previous thought is just as valid now. After what they've built up, Harry cannot imagine losing his Intended as more than a political ally. He wishes to wind back time by a couple of hours, before either of their arguments happened, when Voldemort had casually draped the living room with his charisma, showing off advanced spells and drawing Harry to his side.
He has a snitch to catch, because once it flies away, it won't return.
The analogy helps, for Harry knows how to fly well and find the perfect moment to go in for the dive. When compared to conversation, he knows the moment to dive is now, even if it'll end with his knees and face planted firmly into the dirt, begging for a last chance.
''I want you,'' he softly confesses, gaze dropping to the floor. ''I want you and I want to save magic. I don't know if I can have both if I tell you all I know. That is what I'm afraid of.''
If he hadn't looked away, Harry would have seen the frost in Voldemort's eyes thaw. As is, nothing alleviates his fears until cold fingertips graze his cheek. ''I am magic, darling.''
Swallowing thickly, Harry duels with himself as he's torn between duty and selfish wishes. There's no telling what will happen if he admits to not being sure of the future. Severus' words ring truer than his godfather knows: so much is different that despite the cruel persistence of Muggles, there is a tiny chance that mages will be spared without Harry lifting a finger. That they'll never be discovered or that something is different enough to allow for cooperation.
It's a chance he does not wish to entertain. Not least of all because it would mean giving up on the idea of having come here with a purpose. On being able to make a difference.
It would mean being unable to fulfil his promise and having left Ron and Hermione behind to die without him for nothing.
Only one spark of hope remains, one possibility of reassurance that would mean he can have it all. Lifting a trembling hand, he grasps thin fingers to hold onto them like a lifeline.
''You vowed to take revenge for me,'' he murmurs. ''To slaughter any and all Muggles in my name.''
''I did.''
''Is it reason enough? Will you go through with it regardless of what else I tell you?''
Finally, he dares meet his soulmate's gaze again and is instantly lost. Voldemort's face is closer than Harry expected, leaning in as if invisible strings connect them. Which is, in a way, quite true. The silver lightning bolt on the pale side of the man's neck gleams like an old scar as it catches the light. His own lightning scar and the mark on the back of his hand both tingle pleasantly.
''Muggles are unworthy to breathe the same air as you, my dear, and I prefer to pierce their lungs over changing the direction of the wind.''
Harry's breath arrests in his own lungs at the sheer devotion that shimmers through in the casual threat of violence.
They strive towards the same goal. Whether Muggles are a threat or not, Voldemort would see them all burn either way. Upon this realisation, Harry gives a miniscule nod, perfectly aware that his Intended will feel every fraction of movement in the fingers that so obsessively ghost over Harry's jawline, a second hand having joined the first.
''Once my lips have nothing left to omit, will you kiss me again?'' he bravely asks, looking up as he fishes for forgiveness.
The Dark Lord hums in thought, gaze resting heavily on Harry's mouth. ''Start talking, darling,'' he demands without responding to the question.
It's not a no.
Not in a position to complain about a lack of answers, Harry separates himself from claiming hands and puts his glass aside. ''Let's sit,'' he proposes, gesturing towards the bed as the only chair in his bedroom is covered in possibly-still-wearable-laundry. ''This will take a while.''
Though the other makes a move to follow the suggestion, neither of them manages to get comfortable before being interrupted by a third party, one that sleepily wriggles out from underneath the pillow as soon as Harry sits down on the edge of his bed. He'd entirely forgotten about having brought Hera upstairs before.
~Hi dear, it's me,~ he quickly hisses, although the announcement is probably unnecessary as her tongue is already flicking in the air to sense him - eyes covered as usual. Letting her move around freely would be too dangerous. ~Had a good nap?~
~I like the fluffiness here,~ Hera replies, tasting the air once more. ~Oh, hello saviour. I took good care of your mate. We're bonded now!~ The small serpent makes for quite the sight as she slithers out further, raises part of her body into the air in Voldemort's direction and puffs up in pride.
~Continue to look after him, he'll need it when I am not here,~ Voldemort replies evenly. Despite recognising her presence, the man does not seem as moved by Hera's adorableness as Harry usually is and is quick to remove the tiny serpent from the bed, depositing her on the floor. ~Go hunt.~
''There's not much she can hunt here and I'd prefer my family to remain un-petrified, so you better keep the door closed,'' Harry grumbles while fluffing up the head pillow and propping it up against the wall.
If he were the type to properly analyse his own feelings, Harry would recognise his displeasure does not at all stem from Voldemort dismissing Hera (who simply slithers under the bed to continue her nap) and has far more to do with the tense atmosphere that hasn't left since entering the bedroom. Alas, he has a hopeless case of being a bona fide Gryffindor with several lifetimes of repressed emotions.
Voldemort hums noncommittedly and, as soon as Harry's back hits the pillow, claims the left side of the bed. It's a single, but Harry is small and has scooted to one edge enough that Voldemort's gaunt frame easily fits in the remaining space. Despite all that's been left unsaid hovering between them still, a cold arm wraps around Harry's shoulder as soon as the request is granted, to which Harry responds by leaning into the half-embrace with a hint of a sigh.
''So…'' he starts, trying to keep his breath even to suppress his nerves as he peeks up. There's really no great way to start this, is there? Better get straight to the point then… ''What do you know about multiverses?''
That his Intended's expression morphs from somewhat neutral to appalled is not a good sign. The grip tightens as Voldemort turns towards him and somehow manages to loom again.
''How many degrees?'' he asks with a hissing, vaguely threatening undertone.
Harry blinks rapidly. ''Degrees…?''
''How many degrees of reality?''
''I have no idea what you are talking about.''
Clearly frustrated, Voldemort pins him down with a stare. ''You speak of a multiverse theory being your largest secret. A secret that is both connected to why there was an unexplainable mix-up in this year's staff at Hogwarts, as well as to the credibility of your claims about Muggles. In addition, there have been several odd discrepancies in your knowledge at times-''
Harry blinks again at the abrupt outburst. Right, he did consider that Voldemort and Hermione could have been perfect for each other. Hadn't the man received straight O's during his finals? Why was he even remotely surprised for a second that Voldemort jumps straight into connecting all the right dots?
''-which could be chalked up to you never gaining certain information in your last life, but which make far more sense with the explanation of it having happened differently – beyond your direct sphere of influence. Your utter confusion over why I did not claim the house of my late father as a base of operations was one such prominent detail… You sounded so very certain that it was the most logical option. I can only conclude that you travelled through more dimensions than merely time. So, how different is the world you come from, Harry? In other words, how many degrees of reality lie between this world and yours? This must have been included in the calculations as you described using a ritual to travel.''
The last thing he expected upon lifting a corner of the veil that had shrouded his old world from view was for Voldemort to have more knowledge about this topic than he - the one who'd actually travelled beyond worlds - did.
''Calculations?'' he hesitatingly repeats, arching an eyebrow as he struggles to sit up so he's not being stared down at anymore. ''The ritual was created by your followers with very different intentions than we used it for. It was meant to bring you back from the dead by dragging a younger version of you to the future. It failed as they could find no magical tie to a specific point in your past. Apparently, you can't revive people like that. The ritual was given to me because Centaurs had a vision about me using it to reach you. We thus attempted to adapt it so I - as the only one who'd ever held a soul-connection to you – would end up in the past with my memories intact, with the purpose of preventing you from ever dying. My only waypoints, however, were our brother wands and the fact that I once used to be your Horcrux. It was like staring down a hole in the earth and jumping in, hoping to emerge on the other side intact. A last-ditch-attempt made in utter desperation. Even Hermione didn't know how to guarantee our desired outcome happening. Some of the mentioned possibilities were me dying on the spot, travelling to the future, ending up in the body of someone else…''
''…and being wildly flung into a different dimension without a clue which one,'' Voldemort finishes far more softly than before.
''Exactly. However, none of that changed my goal. I'm making the best of what I got and I'll be damned if I let any universe be conquered by Muggles like my own has been. For I also travelled time, ended up in a version of my old body with you once again after me due to a prophecy hanging over my head. Sure, some things may be different here, but much of life happens as I remember it to and most changes I have seen that weren't made by me were snowball effects stemming from a very limited number of differences.''
''Tell me one such line of effects,'' Voldemort insists, sounding more curious than angry, hopefully a good sign.
It does not take long to find one example close to home: all of Sirius' and Severus' lives were thrown into disarray by the simple fact that Orion and Walburga Black had died before Sirius went to Hogwarts. No disinheritance, no rebellion, no bullying, no lost friendships or family bonds. After hesitating for a moment, Harry elaborates on the changed fate of his Uncle's life as well: sorted into a different house and never influenced by Death Eaters, ultimately saving his life.
''Those are not minor changes.''
''Never said they were. I said there were only a few points in time that differed, which then led to more diversions from what I knew. Ultimately, the only unforeseeable change here was Sirius' and Regulus' parents dying early of illness.''
''Illness? Ah, I suppose that was the official version…'' Voldemort muses, causing Harry to narrow his eyes in suspicion.
''What do you mean?''
''I killed them.'' It is said with an utter lack of remorse. The man hardly moves a muscle, nonchalant over this murder as he's been over all others. Harry can only stare, speechless, until Voldemort catches on to an elaboration being necessary. ''They held political views that were incompatible with mine. I'd have left them alone if refusing my mark would have been their gravest error, but they attempted to blackmail me into halting my rise to power.'' Shallow lines appear in his pale forehead as the man thinks. ''Which means another change in either my own or their lives were the origin of this alteration between our realities. I doubt you can tell me which if you were unaware of their murder.'' After another pondering look, he says with a far more demanding tone: ''Never speak of this with another soul.''
Uncomfortable, Harry shifts restlessly. ''They're Sirius' parents, would he at least not have a right-''
''Not that-,'' the other impatiently snaps, waving the topic away like a pesky fly. ''I speak of what you have revealed to me tonight. Your travelling through the fabric of the universe itself. Even if their minds could comprehend it in full – doubtful – your godfathers especially must never know. When they already speak of compromises and alternatives now, they'd stop at nothing to hold us back from taking control of the fate of our world if they knew you come from further away than their own future.''
''…us…?'' Harry echoes, the squirming knots loosening at last.
''Us.''
The word is a simmering, silky thing that sets the air aflame. Against all of Harry's wishes to keep a cool head until he's said all that needs to be put out into the open, the simple statement evokes a parched throat and an overwhelming urge to grab the front of soft robes to pull Voldemort down and devour those lips he now knows the exquisite taste of. His willpower is hanging by a thread that is quickly unravelling.
''That you have not changed your mind after this means more to me than you can imagine,'' he admits upon regaining control of his voice, having to look away to avoid doing something as stupid as throwing himself at his Intended before being absolutely certain the man is fully made aware of the sheer scope of Harry's secrets. The self-restraint is physically painful, but the need for honesty between them wins out. Now the dam has broken, there's so much that he has to say: about soul marks and Hallows, about the frustrating differences he hasn't yet traced back to a cause…
''There's still a lot left to unpack,'' he summarises, testing the waters of when to continue.
''No,'' the man denies, taking Harry's right hand. ''Not tonight. Naturally, we'll discuss every tiny detail until it bores you eventually. Yet for now, your willingness to speak of it is enough. I only needed to know what you wanted, Harry, for I long made up my mind about my own wishes. I want to accept that which Magic has bestowed upon me. The only true connection that matters in life.''
Even as a familiar pull tugs in the centre of Harry's chest, he hesitates, for the words are tainted by doubt that Voldemort unwittingly planted seeds of. The promise of 'us' and the impression given prior about holding their soul bond in such high regard directly contradict that the Dark Lord threatened to cut ties mere minutes ago. Voldemort made clear he would up and leave permanently if the wrong choice was made. Was the ultimatum merely a bluff? Or would his Intended truly quell such strong emotions out of principle?
Perhaps it is time to truly test the limits of the connection they now share. After all, the one putting most worth on it is not aware of one little fact…
Inhaling deeply, Harry confesses: ''In my last life, I was your Horcrux. We shared a prophecy, wand cores and a mental link. But for fairness' sake, I need you to know that I was not your soulmate.''
Voldemort grows silent as he takes in this information, stops breathing, stops moving. It is as if the bed is all of a sudden adorned by a marble statue.
''Who was?'' From the whisper, the tone of voice can't be determined. Harry hasn't even seen pale lips move, face still just as expressionless as before.
''No-one. Magic did not play matchmaker in my world. The first time I ever saw a soul mark was upon my rebirth.''
The first bit of the Dark Lord that comes alive again is the thumb that rests on the back of Harry's hand, now languidly stroking the tattoo. ''A world without soul bonds?'' There is life in his words again too, astonishment rearing its head. ''All the changes I envisioned being possible did not include basic principles of magic being different.''
When Voldemort falls silent once more, it is pensive rather than shocked, scarlet gaze drifting off to the blank wall. It is a state in which Harry does not wish to disturb the other, so he stays quiet and enjoys the simple pleasure of his hand ceaselessly being brushed.
He almost jumps when after minutes, the man speaks: ''A world without soulmates and I still managed to bind you to me in body, mind and soul. Even death did not fully part us.''
The proclamation has more than a hint of smugness to it.
''It wasn't exactly pleasant for me. You make it out to be something… romantic, but my blood was forcefully taken, our mental link caused horrible headaches on the best days and cost my godfather his life on the very worst. The only time the sliver of your soul in me was of any help was the day it died in my stead.'' Harsh, maybe, but Voldemort is making it sound as if his other self from worlds away somehow did Harry a favour by putting him through those nightmarish years, which feels so wrong that he cannot help but rebuke.
His hand prickles uncomfortably when light caresses turn into a numbing grip within seconds, Voldemort pulling him closer as the man feverishly speaks: ''Nevertheless, it brought you to me, did it not? Harry, don't you see? An entire world where Magic does not interfere in this way-'' he lifts a finger to the lightning bolt on his own neck, mouth splitting into a manic grin. ''-but you and I were still bound as tight by magic as any two people can be. A prophecy made, matching wand cores, pieces of ourselves exchanged.''
''We were enemies,'' he carefully reminds, growing rigid when Voldemort's makes an inhuman noise, hovering between growl and grunt that speaks of dismissal and aggression.
''Had we not been, we wouldn't be here right in this moment. Had you not killed me then, had your world not burned because of it, you wouldn't have found your way to me or been reborn with that very mark. This was meant to be.''
''Stop it,'' Harry whispers, horrified by the implications. Is Voldemort truly suggesting that Magic had a greater plan? That such a plan involved the eradication of mages in an entire world just to play with star-crossed lovers?
Now is the absolute worst moment to remember the Hallows. How they had reacted to his touch, recognised him across space and time.
Meant to be here.
He is suffocating in his own skin. His very presence in this place, in this body, causes a sudden wave of nausea and makes him want to scream like he hasn't had the urge to since his parents died.
It only helps marginally that Voldemort's feral smile slips away, replaced by concern at last. Much more careful hands touch his sides as if searching for something and Harry can't muster up the strength to slap them away. He can't do anything as he struggles to keep his wits about him while wild theories pile atop each other about magic, fate and the illusion of free will. It's too much, far too much to handle: Harry feels like he's being torn apart by a black hole of forbidden knowledge that Voldemort opened up, beyond which he can hear the agonising cries of everyone who died because of Harry.
He swallows on automatism when a glass vial is pushed to his lips. Maybe it's because he'd been fed so many potions in the Hospital Wing while half-conscious after bad Quidditch matches or battles with monsters. Its taste of burning herbs and wood is quickly recognised, having drank this potion already twice today.
''Better?'' Voldemort asks when a minute later, Harry has regained his old body – true body? – once again. He's sitting hunched over on the bed, taking up significantly more space than before. The only reason he's not falling off the edge is because the older wizard is practically wrapped around him. Arms have carefully encircled his waist, a flat nose is pressed against his temple.
''Why…?'' he mumbles, disorientated.
''You reacted to nothing I said and were muttering to yourself about getting rid of your skin. As you showed gratitude earlier today for my invention, I assumed this might help ground you.''
Admittedly, it did certainly help snap out of the sheer panic that had taken over. Taking in scar-covered arms and hands helps to feel real, in a twisted way.
''You could have adapted my robes again instead of banishing them,'' Harry reproaches.
''Of course I could have.'' Cold fingers splay themselves between Harry's shoulder blades. ''I didn't want to.''
''You're being impossible again,'' he groans, unsure how to take this after the rollercoaster of emotions he's gone through within the span of hours. If his Intended thinks it is a good idea to flirt after Harry has barely recovered from either their arguments or this existential crisis, he's very wrong.
''You misunderstand. It would have defeated my purpose to cover up the body that you feel at home in. Although I cannot deny I prefer seeing you like this.''
When Harry doesn't respond, Voldemort eventually adds: ''I'm not usually selfless, dear, but for tonight, tell me whether you wish me to stay or leave. I'll abide.''
''Stay,'' Harry responds before a heartbeat has passed. Closing his eyes, he allows himself to relax into the embrace, his face finding its way into the crook of Voldemort's neck. ''There's nothing to be gained by being apart. I much prefer you to stay with me. There's still so much we haven't spoken about…''
''You have saved my mind more than once. Let me advise you now on how to keep your own wits about you: opening all boxes at once that you've kept locked and finding new points to worry or fight over won't end well. Your decision to initiate me in all I should know has given us the most precious resource of all: time. Concentrate on the here and now, Harry. I refuse to push you further into instability.''
Harry snorts quietly, burying his nose more firmly into soft, pearly skin. ''That almost sounds as if you want to pretend we have a healthy, normal relationship.'' He's not even sure if their fight has truly been resolved, yet here they lay clinging to each other.
''Neither of us would ever fit the standards of normal and I hardly have proper comparisons on 'healthy', but a relationship sounds doable.''
So much for not pushing. It took all of ten seconds to cross boundaries again. Harry is in no state to think about how to define what they are.
He'd rather not think at all anymore.
As Voldemort would likely respond ill to being verbally told to shut up, Harry takes his chances with rendering the Dark Lord physically unable to speak. With a last remnant of energy, he lifts his head and slings both arms around Voldemort's neck. Their breath mingles for the split second Harry lifts himself up.
When their lips meet in a hard kiss, he can't tell who crossed the distance first.
AN:
Voldemort: 'are we in a relationship?'
Harry: 'I don't want to think about it, I don't want you to talk about it, let's keep it simple and just kiss because I know we both want to.'
Voldemort: 'Great, he answered with a kiss, we're definitely in a relationship.'
Aren't they both the absolute best in communication lmao.
Happy New Year to you all! I thought it fitting to upload a chapter on Voldemort's birthday ^^
Please Read and Review,
xx GeMerope