Want, Kelsey Waters

Got yourself a little bitty habit
Get it in your head you gotta have it
Up and down you tip-toe
Can't stand to get low
So you gotta stay high
It's a tricky little situation
A sticky triangulation
Leading you to whatever you do
To cover up now
It's alright

Yeah I want you
But I'm never gonna quit
Yeah you want to
But you're never gonna quit
Yeah we want to
But we're never gonna quit
Guess you want what you want
Even if it don't want you back


The Dark Lord had cemented plans with the headmistress of Beauxbatons, and the students were sent back to bed. After which, the Dark Lord, Harry, Lucius, and Crouch were promptly ejected from the Château, the doors slamming behind them, glowing wards erected around the entrance as they walked away. Something that further irritated Barty, who'd been sneering and scoffing at his plate all night.

"…Explain it to me, you little shit. How are you, the poster child for the glistening and perfect Wizarding World, sitting beside him, over me?" Crouch snarled it under his breath, baring his teeth as he gripped the upper sleeve of Harry's robes.

Voldemort was ahead, just far enough that he wasn't sure if he was in earshot. Lucius had stopped, though, and turned on the spot to raise an eyebrow at Barty.

Harry and Tom tried to talk at once, the former to crack a joke, the latter to spit a warning, coming out a garbled and extremely mixed message. Crouch hadn't let him go, apparently expecting a better answer. Harry watched from the corner of his eye as the Dark Lord took Lucius' cane, already extended by the elder Malfoy. He stepped forward and swung it into Barty's shins with a shocking crack.

Voldemort snapped the cane up as he went down, connecting the metal end with Crouch's face. He passed it back to Lucius, who nodded.

"Take care of this." The Dark Lord gestured at the heap that was Barty, holding his mouth and nose with wide eyes, making alarmed noises into his hand.

"Yes, my Lord." Lucius bowed, though Voldemort was already walking away.

"I'm prettier," Harry whispered to Barty as he passed. Crouch stared at him with wild, violent eyes as he spat teeth onto his open palm.

He had to jog to reach the Dark Lord, who had stopped near a fountain. As Harry approached, the Dark Lord burned a rose, bright light with jagged red edges gnawing at the white flower until it was ash taken by a light breeze.

Lucius' pop of Apparition signalled that they were alone in the Beauxbatons courtyard.

"The grounds and school benefit greatly from Nicolas Flamel," the Dark Lord said, the light fading from his hand. "He attended Beauxbatons in the fourteenth century. They are not especially skilled in combat, but they compensate for it in all the ways that gold can."

"You understand you are to win?" Voldemort continued, finally turning to face him.

Nagini watched them both in silence from the Dark Lord's shoulders.

"Yeah. I got that impression."

He took Harry's arm and Disapparated.

They reappeared in the empty field; he couldn't really tell which one. There was almost no pause between Apparitions, whipping through the tube twice more, before they stood outside the long, uneven wooden bridge outside Hogwarts, met by a handful of the Dark Lord's followers and escorted across.

Harry kept his right hand in his pocket, where even the silk lining felt like sandpaper. It kept him keenly aware of where they had just been, what he'd done at Nurmengard, and how he'd gotten the burn—still turning over in his head on a nearly unshakable loop.

Tom was content to let him stew in it. He was busy with his thoughts like a master of war, considering his opponents' moves and recalibrating his own.

He felt decidedly in over his head, almost as though it was a game the Dark Lord was playing with himself, Harry merely a pawn in it. As he walked, he was lost in his mind, rhythmically wriggling his hand in his pocket to ensure that not a second passed without feeling it.

They stood outside the statue of the eagle far faster than he would have thought, his heart jumping into his mouth as he followed Voldemort up the narrow, winding stairs.

He set Nagini on a new armchair with a wide seat, rolled his shoulders, then his head. He vanished the mask, removed the gloves, and sat at the desk. Harry watched every movement with fierce concentration, a bizarre and intoxicating mix of blind hatred and intense want, one that Tom needed to work to contain to keep him still and his mouth shut. The Dark Lord pulled back his hood, opened a drawer, removed a quill and several scrolls, and pointed at the free seat. Harry took it, placing both hands on the wood.

Voldemort's eyes flicked to the burn, and he opened another drawer.

Harry's stomach kept rolling, and swallowing inaudibly took all his effort.

"You will see Cassiopeia when you leave here to receive your new schedule. I assumed you would accept my choices."

"…Okay. Who are they?" He didn't really doubt that the Dark Lord had made reasonable selections for the new staff, but he wanted to watch his lips move. Or bite them off his face.

"You can read?" He said, removing the lid from a jar that Harry had just registered.

"Yeah?"

"Read your schedule." He smoothed burn salve on the back of Harry's hand and cast wordlessly, wandlessly, over it.

'It is not an act of kindness. He does not want you going to Lydia,' Tom thought before Harry finished the idea.

At the sight of the salve and the thought that Voldemort didn't want him to go to the healer, he felt several implications, each accompanied by a pulse of adrenaline.

'Do not thank him.'

The words had been on his lips, unsure what to do with himself as the Dark Lord completed healing his burns. Not a mark remained, on par with Lydia's work.

"Er, okay," he said, which felt worse.

Nagini watched them from her armchair. It was impossible to gauge what she thought while she was a serpent. If she hadn't seen the Dark Lord burn him, she knew about it now.

The thought of anyone understanding what was going on and what he was trying to do made Harry want to vomit. Voldemort cleared the leftover salve from his skin with magic and placed two fingers on his hand.

"If you have an issue with my chosen faculty, bring it to me." The Dark Lord's use of Parseltongue felt deliberate, landing right as the warm bliss did, his skin erupting in goosebumps, his mouth watering. "You will begin the new schedule next week."

"Okay." He sighed and put his head on the desk, but Tom didn't let him sleep.

'Tell me how it felt.' He insisted again.

'What?'

'Nurmengard. Charlie.'

Harry didn't respond immediately, watching the Dark Lord's arm with enough intensity to count hairs.

'I'd do anything you told me to,' he thought.

There was a long pause, during which his heart leapt repeatedly, confusing him until Tom interrupted, 'I did not tell you to do that.'

'You said to do what I wanted.' Harry's eyes had moved to Voldemort's face without permission, tracing his cheekbones with his imagination. Warmth radiated through him, and he wondered what he was ever mad about.

'And what did you want?'

'To hurt him, to show him what I meant. To show him that I meant it.'

'And how did it feel?'

'Good. Better than good. We're really fucking powerful, aren't we?' Harry noticed that his mouth was open and closed it, swallowing, still staring.

'I have been waiting for you to acknowledge it.'

"Do you want something?" The Dark Lord asked in Parseltongue.

"Uh," Harry's eyes refused to leave his. If he managed to remove them successfully, they would slingshot back within the same instant. "No?"

The Dark Lord hummed, a sound that was beginning to grow on him. "In preparation for your interview tomorrow, you will bring me the invisibility cloak before the start of your lessons."

"Huh. That's a weird request."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and Harry thought it was amazing how he still looked like a Greek statue while angry.

'He intends to be there.'

"Invisible? But couldn't you-" He'd been about to say, 'watch in my head,' but Tom stopped it.

The Dark Lord didn't offer a reason, and Harry wasn't allowed to press for one.

"Okay," he said instead. Throughout he hadn't removed his gaze, watching his face like it was a movie. Where Harry was enraptured, Tom was analytical, watching every muscle twitch and noting it.

Voldemort seemed to have nothing more to say, frowning as he returned to his abandoned scrolls. In the silence, Harry's head lulled back to the desk, and Tom finally let him sleep.


Nagini woke him as usual. Also as expected, the Dark Lord was gone. Tom cast their Tempus to find it was nearly midnight.

She walked with him to his room, refusing most attempts at conversation, even those in Parseltongue, until Harry realised it probably had everything to do with his Death Eater entourage. She left him outside the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, squeezed his hand and smiled before she vanished back down the darkened stairs.

He was exhausted, still not done for the night, but desperate for a shower and a change of clothes.

No energy was left to do it quickly, but he wasn't in a rush. The blissful brain fog and a lingering refusal from his muscles to move made the whole process take over forty minutes. He didn't bother with an outer robe; instead, he wore a dress shirt, haphazardly tucked into his most comfortable dress pants.

He took the map from his bag and searched for Cassiopeia. Not long after he spotted the name 'Tom Riddle' moving away from the wing, he found her in the hospital with Lydia. He watched the Dark Lord vanish entirely off the edge of the map before he yawned and stood up.

He wanted to leave it until the next night, but Tom insisted they do as they'd been told. If Harry was honest with himself, he wanted to ask her if she knew how his Horcrux was doing. And whether she knew anything… Else.

It was another thing entirely if he was brave enough to broach that subject, but he was sure Tom would have something to say if he didn't.

His guard followed him through the halls, empty of all but several cats and Peeves—outside the hospital wing corridor, creating a massive clog in one of the bathrooms and diving into the puddle it created like an Olympic swimmer, vanishing through the floor on impact and floating back up to repeat the process.

Harry walked through the water gingerly and was left alone by the poltergeist.

"Peeves is out there flooding the corridor," Harry said to announce himself as he entered the wing.

"Oh, yeah." Cassiopeia waved a hand in dismissal, facing away from him. Harry had never seen her dressed so casually, fresh out of the shower and in a t-shirt too big for her frame, silk pyjama shorts, damp hair piled on her head in a precarious bun.

Lydia was dressed similarly; her short brown hair was wet, the Dark Mark prominent on her left arm.

"Oh, you," the vampire realized who she was talking to and turned around, "Heard you wormed yourself a free world holiday." She tsked.

"…I need my schedule."

"Psh. S'pose you want me to leave this room as well?"

"…Yeah. Thanks."

Lydia grinned as Cassiopeia huffed.

"I'll be back," she told the healer, following Harry back through the double doors.

"You and him both need to give me a night off, actually," she said. "Fuck off Peeves!"

"He was just here, right?" Harry pressed.

"Mm." She raised an eyebrow and cleared the puddle with magic. "You lot can wait for him at his room." She shooed his Death Eaters, and they went without protest.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked.

She didn't answer, scowling as she walked. They descended into the central hall, and she sat down on a stone bench, silencing a painting of a violinist.

She cast wards over their conversation and said, "No. Not really. I had planned to make her fall madly in love with me, but apparently…" She swallowed and shook her head, made a 'switcheroo' motion with her hands. "Anyway. What do you want?"

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked, wondering if he'd misjudged the vibe between them.

"No. It's fine, I'm just," she laughed suddenly, startling him. "It's fine. I'm fine. Hold on, let me concern myself with your business," she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, shook herself, and then said, "What are you up to, you sneaky mother fucker?"

"Er, nothing?"

"Nothing? Requesting to hop around the globe with him for…? Come on. Up. To. Something."

"To make sure the Horcrux is…" He didn't finish. Instead, he said, "That's a lie. I'm- he doesn't look in your head, right?"

She laughed, "Oh, wow. He hasn't told you? That's crazy? Did it just not come up?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"He can't see my mind. We swore a blood pact."

"A what?"

"Have you seen the vial around his neck?" she tapped her neck, as though he might not know where it was.

"Uh, no, I haven't… Seen… What's a blood pact?"

She gave him a pained look. "It is a pact. Sealed with blood. We swore not to use Legilimency on each other."

"But… Tom has?" He thought about her showing him the memory of Voldemort after Harry had been rescued from the Order.

"You're a separate entity, wouldn't you say? If the blood pact affected you, you'd be incapable of attempting it."

He digested that, frowning.

'Why didn't you tell me?' He wondered.

'It was never relevant.'

"Okay… Well. I'm-" He bounced his leg and dug his nails into the palms of his hands.

"Jesus. Are you going to blow a valve? What are you like, fucking him or something?" She snorted, then giggled. When Harry didn't say anything, she stopped abruptly. "You're not?"

"No…" He let the 'but' hang in the air.

Her eyes trailed off, then whipped back, "You want to?"

"You understand him almost as well as I do—in some ways, better," Tom said. "We would like your insight and your assistance."

"Oh my god. Oh my god." She giggled, then squealed into her fists, "Harry! Fucking! Potter!" She shoved him forcefully, and he had to grip the stone to stay on the bench. "I'm so in."

"You can't tell him."

"That was obvious from your cagey behaviour, dear. Oh, this is good. Oho, boy." She looked astonished, "You're a ballsy lad. Crazy, fucking mad, but brave." She nodded, agreeing with her own words.

"So… How's the Horcrux?" Harry asked after clearing his throat, eyes wide and trained on the stone floor.

"He's spoken about it all of probably twice, so…"

"Yeah, I was worried about that. Nagini showed us a memory of Voldemort trying to read to him."

"Bless her. She didn't even notice anything strange going on until she was locked out of the last meeting."

"And you did?" Harry asked.

"There are signs if you know what you're looking for. I had no idea you were, uh… Making plans? Machinations?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

"It's… I don't even understand what's going on."

She laughed softly, "No change of pace for you, then?"

"Guess not. How long have there been signs?"

She tapped her nose and grinned. "Here's the gods damned honest truth, Harry. Are you ready?"

"…Yeah?"

"I've left your schedule in the hospital wing."

"Oh."


She'd taken him to his room and told him she'd leave his timetable with one of his assorted Death Eaters before morning. Though he was dead tired, he'd been unable to sleep until the sun had nearly risen, his mind running a loop he wasn't strong enough to stop.

Tom dragged them out of bed regardless and made him look well-rested in the mirror. He paid careful attention to his hair and chose the Skulmadras robes. Dramatic and un-warded.

He then made sure the cloak was in his bag where he left it and checked the map. It was six in the morning, and so very few students were up. He spotted a larger-than-average gathering in the Great Hall and found the name 'Tom Riddle' at the centre of the staff table, surrounded by Death Eaters, faculty, and a few names he didn't recognise.

He thought about it, then decided Voldemort did say before classes. He was also starved, so he shook off the nerves and jammed the map back into his bag.

He took his schedule from the Death Eater that offered it when he exited his room. He stuffed it in his pocket and aimed to look at it when he had the brain capacity.

'I think I'm going to tell Ginny,' he thought as he descended the stairs. 'She deserves to know, and I'm sick of…'

'It is your decision.'

He gnawed his lips, somehow less comforted by support. 'What if it's too much? What if it's the thing that makes her-'

'Leave? I genuinely doubt it.'

'…I didn't even ask how he was.' A wave of guilt hit him at the thought. He'd looked at Lydia and Charlie had completely slipped his mind, entirely focused on the Dark Lord, as usual. 'Am I… Is there something wrong with me?'

'Yes,' Tom thought without hesitation. 'Are you looking for a specific response?'

'Am I-' He inhaled unevenly, 'Am I like obsessed with him?'

'Harry,' Tom had his 'don't freak out' tone on in full force, reminding Harry suddenly of a deer in headlights, making him stop in the defence tower stairwell.

'That's not true I'm not obsessed with him,' he thought resolutely, walking again.

'Of course you aren't,' Tom agreed, pushing Harry's thoughts down with the rest.

Instead of wandering into what appeared to be a staff meeting, he stood outside the Great Hall's doors, and Tom tapped on the Dark Lord's head as though using it as some sort of doorbell. They weren't allowed inside his mind; instead, he followed them back into Harry's.

'We have the cloak,' Tom had been prepared, all their contraband thoughts well-hidden before they reached the hall.

The Dark Lord didn't respond, vanishing from their minds. Less than thirty seconds later, the doors swung open, and Voldemort stepped through.

He paused and looked Harry up and down—he couldn't tell if his eyes were lingering or disapproving—before he put a gloved hand out. Harry scrambled to remove the cloak from his bag and stepped forward for Voldemort to snatch it from his grip, shooing him away from the hall immediately.

He went, frowning at the stones as he walked and deciding to have Dobby bring him breakfast.


Divination with the Hufflepuffs went predictably. Reed and Ruby sat with him on a blanket at the forest's edge, and they took turns complaining about their equally dismal predictions for the future while the rest of the student body sneered bravely in his direction.

His second class for the day was an empty slot until the following Tuesday, where he'd take physical combat training with a professor named Gale Everglade. An elective he hadn't elected, but Tom was more than keen.

He had them spend most of the free period running the chilled grounds and around the lake, swinging off trees and doing as many pull-ups and sit-ups as he could under Tom's relentless direction.

'We have duelling with Cassiopeia tonight,' Harry complained, winded.

'Yes?'

'…Never mind.'


He saw Ginny before his interview with Skeeter, but only briefly, certainly not enough time to say, 'Hey, not sure if I killed or permanently maimed your brother last night,' so he didn't.

She'd wished him luck and told him to tell her immediately how it went, that she'd wait for him outside his room. He'd nervously agreed; his heart had hammered while he filled with guilt and the fear that he'd done exactly too much to her.

'Why didn't he just watch in my head instead of under the cloak?' Harry finally wondered, able to summon the appropriate nerves as the lunch hour drew dangerously close.

'He wants to make you uncomfortable. You must be the opposite, do you understand?'

'I don't think I'm capable of… Being comfortable right now.'

'You have become a decent enough liar.'

'No, I haven't?'

'No, you have not.' Tom sighed out loud.

'…I really should find out if Charlie is alright.'

Tom didn't answer, moving them to the faculty tower to the same room where they'd met Percy, followed by their guard. He waited for any sign of anyone, leaning heavily against the wall and resisting the urge to sink to the floor.

'He knocked Barty's teeth out.' Harry thought.

'He did.'


(AN: To be comfortably posting daily, I wanted to get ten thousand words ahead again. Now that's done, we can resume dailies ;) )