(TW: Murders in this chapter)

Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums, A Perfect Circle

Don't fret precious, I'm here
Step away from the window, go back to sleep
Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils
See, they don't give a fuck about you, like I do

Counting bodies like sheep
To the rhythm of the war drums

Count bodies like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep, like sheep

I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons
I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason
I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and your choices, son
They're one in the same
I must isolate you
Isolate and save you from yourself


Harry had thought that he knew the extent of Tom's Legilimency ability, but it was quickly apparent that he could become a nearly undetectable ghost in his head, silent, not engaging in any capacity as Harry wandered the grounds of Ravadinovo with his mask, gloves, and hood on. Narcissa had stayed at a distance, not walking with him.

She let him wander the grounds for a little under an hour. He frowned deeply as he walked, not taking in the sculptures or the peacocks, desperate to be anywhere else. She returned him to his room with yet another set of robes she directed him to change into after he bathed. More casual than his travel set, made to accentuate his mask, a small hood attached to tight-fitting robes that ended above the knee. They were heavily charmed for defence, as they always were.

He asked her where they were going as she took him back onto the grounds, past the religious or Roman statues and fountains, and through the decorative gatehouse. There, they collected a guard of fifteen masked, robed Death Eaters who formed a spearhead, wands drawn. They walked toward the expansive tent village that had cropped up in the grass outside the estate, large white tents as far as the eye could see.

"You are not to speak to anyone, alright?" She told him, and he nodded.

"Why are we…"

"Hush, just enjoy some sun," she said, touching his arm briefly.

He didn't think he could enjoy the sun much longer; thick, angry storm clouds drew together in the distance.

'Why would she be taking us through there?' Harry wondered.

No sign that Tom existed greeted him in response, and he resumed frowning. The Death Eaters moved like an arrow, Narcissa and Harry at the centre. As they reached the tents, crowds gathered, and he understood. This was a stunt: walking him through the tents to garner interest before he was unmasked.

He was nauseous as they walked, groups of witches and wizards muttering at each other as they passed, whispers spreading like wildfire, hundreds of people, with cracks and pops of Apparition constant at the edges of the camp. Harry didn't know if Narcissa had been told to, but she took him past Cedrum, clearly visible in his lime green three-piece suit, under a pergola with Lucius and Draco Malfoy and three people in flowing red robes with white blindfolds. Over twenty bloated corpses in varying states of decay stood around their open tent, swaying almost rhythmically. One of the dead looked at their procession, then they all did, causing the three robed people —Avalon, Eris, and Ginny— to point their heads at him, though there was no way they could see him with their own eyes.

He couldn't react to them, but he knew they knew who he was. Narcissa nodded to her husband and son and then continued them on. Harry walked backwards and gave the slightest wave that Ginny returned, a tiny flick of her fingers, his chest aching as they rounded a corner.


He was left alone in his room until nightfall after his PR lap, seething in silence while Tom continued to leave him on his own with it. Cassiopeia interrupted his brewing anger, the vampire levitating outfits in front of her, as well as a suitcase.

"I'm getting ready in here. I heard you having a conniption from the other end of this puny castle," Cassiopeia said, setting down the clothes and the case on his bed.

"I assume you know what happens tonight? Right? I didn't really want to broach it with you because, ugh, you know…"

"He's telling everyone I'm a Death Eater," Harry said, bitter. He looked out of the windows instead of at her, watching the lightning from the storm that had taken all day to cover them, still resisting rain.

"…Yeah. That. And… Your reaction counts. You need to sell it, okay?"

Harry heard the words she didn't say: 'If you want to live, dance, monkey.'

He turned, and she pushed his robes into his chest. They were formal and extravagant, though not charmed at all for defence.

"…Why- why aren't these charmed?" He asked, and she shrugged.

"I don't know; that's not my job," she said, not seeming concerned. She opened the suitcase to reveal all manner of beauty products and makeup. She started on her hair as Harry locked himself in his bathroom to get changed.

Once they were dressed and ready, Cassiopeia was in a low-cut ruby red dress, meticulously made up, her hair in cascading loops, and dramatic in her makeup; Harry was masked, gloved, and hooded, though he wore a suit-like set of robes. Fat silver buttons ran up the legs of his trousers to the knee, shiny black dress shoes. Tom did not comment on the lack of protection.

"Come on, I need to go get my baby from the nursery before we head out," the vampire said, dragging him from the room.

The castle was kitsch in its decoration; nothing matched or made sense, and vivid and clashing colours as though orchestrated by a toddler. Inside the room she led them to were three vampire spawn, their arms bound tightly behind their backs with thick fabric bindings, metal muzzles on their faces, a chain tight around each of their waists, connected to the several metal hoops driven into the stone walls. Two men, and Cassiopeia's spawn—probably-Sasha. Two of them were shrieking at the sight of them; one of the males was silent, with his mouth agape.

"She speaks like nine English words as far as I can tell," Cassiopeia said as she stood in the doorway of the otherwise empty room. She took in the look in Harry's eyes, "Oh, right, it is off-putting. They're… Deranged when they're young. We undergo brain death. Then we're sent mad with the hunger. It takes a while. Bird mouth here looks about four months old. Don't let him fool you; he's as crazy as the other two, just a little smarter," she entered the room as she spoke, unhooking her spawn from the hook while she gnashed uselessly, bumping into Cassiopeia with her chest, whining.

"Her name isn't even Sasha; she's Vanya," she said as she dragged her fighting from the room, "Come on, Vanya, we're going to have some dinner? Are you hungry? Is any of this landing? No? Okay."

Harry followed at a fair distance —slow going as Vanya struggled and shrieked every inch of the way— to a haphazardly decorated drawing room, where Enos, his sisters, the Dark Lord, with Nagini on his shoulders, and ten of his masked followers waited. As Cassiopeia opened the door, they all moved out of it, apparently only waiting for them.

Harry fell instep beside Cassiopeia as she handed her spawn to the waiting Death Eaters, all ten of them required to walk the new vampire out the front door, a flurry of enraged brown hair and red fabric.

"So, what is it with this one?" Enos asked as they walked, pointing at Harry, "He is not food or interesting?"

"Oh, he's interesting, don't worry about that," Cassiopeia said, nudging Harry in the ribs.

As they passed through the gatehouse, they were joined by at least one hundred masked Death Eaters and an equal number of vampires. While they moved through the tents, more of his followers gathered. The procession past the hundreds of fabric dwellings, further afield there were hundreds of pops of Apparition, and he could see thousands of red pillar candles, some levitating, others held in the hands of hundreds of dead. Further behind the horde were four deceased dragons —runes carved into their scaled bodies, every inch— surrounding an area he couldn't see behind the shambling, candled corpses.

"What the fuck!" Enos shouted gleefully, pushing one of his sisters in excitement.

As they approached, the dragons screeched, almost siren-like, made strange by their decaying throats. He was glad to find that though the dead surrounded them, there was no smell. Enos seemed captivated as they moved through the floating candles and the zombies, poking at their faces and laughing, nearly skipping towards hundreds of beautifully dressed tables. Drums were beating somewhere, making Harry's heart faster, as if trying to keep pace. The thunder and lightning continued overhead, though the rain was still suspended.

Above the tables, suspended by nothing, swimming in the air like water, were dozens of women dressed in long, flowing white dresses. Vampires, he realised as they reached the largest table, with seating for at least two hundred. Eno's servants were already waiting near the giant table, with buckets of water and rags at their feet.

Behind their seats was a raised stage, which made him nauseous to look at, worse than the corpses or the implications of rags and buckets. Cassiopeia directed him to a seat and had him stand behind it. Thankfully, she would be seated between him and the Dark Lord. She cast a spell at the sky, summoning a massive projection of the main table into the air above their heads so those seated at the hundreds of tables beyond, and those standing in the fields further behind could view the gathering at the centre.

Though Harry could see the horde of dead, the candles that he'd watched her meticulously carve, there was no sign of Ginny, for which he was almost grateful, though he was sure she was watching him through any number of the dead eyes.

As they stood behind their seats, another group of witches and wizards erected wards around the main table, visible but transparent like glass.

Vanya was chained to a tall post, a distance from another spawn—the one Cassiopeia had said was four months old. Their muzzles were removed with magic, and Vanya was flipping wildly against her restraints, snapping at the air.

Enos clapped, and Cassiopeia cast a Sonorus on him, his voice startling him as he tried to speak, and then he laughed, hurting Harry's ears.

"Oh, this is good! BOO!" Everyone ducked like a bomb went off, "I am very happy to have you all near my home and not in it. I hope this feast is the start of a very lucrative relationship. Drink! Be MERRY!" Enos shouted, slamming his fist on the wood and sitting at the head of the table, everyone else following suit, the Death Eaters vanishing their masks.

Barely a minute passed before one of the vampires addressed Cassiopeia.

"I must say, Cassiopeia, you look far more ravishing without that snarling black slut on your arm. I heard tell she was veritably torn to shreds by those dastardly hunters," the handsome, blonde, well-dressed man said across the table, then Enos boomed:

"Don't you mess up my CENTREPIEC- ah! She did it. Fucking witch, I knew before she even-" As he'd shouted, Cassiopeia had sprung across the space, spilling vases, candles and pitchers of blood onto the expansive black tablecloth as she dove into the blonde vampire, tipping him out of his chair, swinging off his neck before he had time to raise a defence and tackling him to the ground. There, she worked to twist his head free from his shoulders with a furious, quick effort, blasting fire from her palms into his temples. He howled, scrambling to remove her hands, unsuccessfully. There was a wet, sucking, crunching snap as she popped it free, screeching as she did so, raining blood from the disconnected head in her hands, earning chittering, whooping, and giggling from the table.

"Veritably torn to shreds, motherfuck," she growled. The body disintegrated rapidly into oily black ash, and she vanished it from her dress and hands before she climbed back up and walked across the table.

Enos whistled, a sharp, deep sound, then clapped above his head. His servants descended instantly, mopping the blood and the black oil-like substance furiously from the chair and tablecloth with rags and buckets while Cassiopeia huffed next to him. They corrected the tipped-over chair, which was quickly occupied by another vampire at Eno's demand. This time a woman, dripping in diamonds with silver gloves up to her shoulders. She smiled at them with glittering black eyes as she placed a white napkin on her lap.

Cassiopeia frowned at the Dark Lord and then at Enos before she said, "…Sorry about your vases and etcetera."

"You're a terrible pain, you know, always so. He was such a value to me that… What was his name? Ace? No, that sounds not correct," he said, Signy and Tofa on either side of him, whispering in his ears, "I demand recompense."

"Sake," Cassiopeia hissed under her breath.

"Twenty Thestrals —the skeletal horse birds— for your court, and a further thirty of my prisoners," the Dark Lord said.

"Ah, fine. You do keep them clean and fresh; I accept it," Enos said, slamming his fist on the table and bouncing his goblet, "I'll have the necks now." He said something into one of his sister's ears—Harry couldn't tell which—and she sprinted away, her white dress whipping behind her like multiple tails.

"…Sorry," Cassiopeia muttered at Voldemort, drowned by the conversations at the table.

He didn't say anything to her. Instead, he signalled for Narcissa with a gloved hand. She was further down the table, sitting beside Lucius, Draco nowhere to be seen. She nodded and flurried away, presumably to organise prisoners.

The sister that left was back almost as soon as she'd gone, smiling so wide it was frightening.

After a few minutes, Narcissa returned, followed by a procession of Death Eaters, unmasked but hooded, leading the thirty prisoners with bags on their heads at wandpoint, allowed through the wards by those maintaining them. From the other side, behind Enos, three male vampires led a further twenty women, chained by their wrists to each other in a line, also blinded with hoods, dressed in long white nightgowns. They were moved to the Dark Lord's prisoners to stand in a clueless, whimpering, sightless group. Instantly, the vampires stood and looked at Enos, who waved a hand in invitation.

"Virgins! From the villages nearby. It's a shame they are not Saxons! Right! Right?! Not at the TABLE!" He boomed at them, and they sprinted; the wizards and witches holding the hostages stumbled back as all but Enos and Cassiopeia descended on the screaming, confused victims. Some tried to run, tripping on their bindings, unable to catch themselves as they stumbled into the grass, gasping, begging. Harry considered himself lucky that he didn't recognise any of them and tried repeatedly to avert his eyes.

"Hur, not Saxons, big Norse invader man, so relatable," Cassiopeia muttered into Harry's ear, slightly louder than the ringing.

Vanya flailed in her restraints, yowling like an animal, twisting and spiralling almost as though she were performing an interpretive dance. The other new spawn watched with a still open mouth, though his eyes and demeanour were considerably wilder.

"Oh, right, I should probably deal with that," Cassiopeia said, standing from her seat, hitching up her dress to jog across the field and secure a meal for her offspring. Vanya ultimately destroyed the man's throat instantly, bleeding him out in record time, the wide gash in his neck pouring blood into her confused but spirited mouth.

Cassiopeia returned to the table and asked:

"Unappetizing enough for you, my Lord?"

"A perfectly elegant dinner party," Voldemort said, though Harry could tell he hated every second of it. He knew Tom well enough to pick up on the subtle tone. So did Cassiopeia, who was grinning about it.

'Would you stop ignoring me?' Harry snapped in his head, clenching his fists tight. He couldn't dig his nails in because of his gloves. He locked his eyes on the vampires in the air, still swimming through it, almost ethereal, far different from the scene in the grass behind him, the screams dying down to gurgling rasps.

The vampires decimated the crowd and returned to their seats—breathless, covered in blood, and furiously animated— while Eno's servants dragged the multitude of bodies away, apart from Vanya's, because she tried to take down anyone that got too close. She was sticking her fingers repeatedly into the dead man's neck, in a squatting position, giggling, snarling, and yelling one repeated word in Bulgarian.

"…They're so cute at that age," Cassiopeia said, grimacing, "Does anyone know what she's saying?" she asked the table at large.

"…She is saying 'tasty," the vampire woman dripping diamonds and blood said, amused.

"Oh, adorable," Cassiopeia said, turning to look at Vanya again, frowning and smiling simultaneously.

"Are you ready, Nagini?" The Dark Lord asked in Parseltongue, making Harry's heart skip a minimum of nine beats even though it wasn't directed at him, making Cassiopeia narrow her eyes in his direction.

"Do like you said?" Nagini asked.

"Yes. Show them," he straightened his arm and let her descend from his shoulders onto the table, the serpent language and her presence among the plates causing a hush. She began to contort, unravelling, spilling sapphire blue silk onto the silver cutlery, remarkably knocking nothing over, arms and legs breaking free to the delighted and shocked gasps of vampires and wizards alike, then the hundreds of tables beyond that were receiving a bird's eye view of the gathering, blown up and projected in perfect colour above their heads.

"Bravas! A woman-snake!" Enos exclaimed. Tofa and Signy gasped, cooing at Nagini as though she were a puppy, beckoning her closer. Instead, the Maledictus flipped off the table to stand behind Voldemort, requesting a chair in English.

"…But then it would be uneven on the right side," Enos said, "Ah! One more seat for the left!"

"Fucking genius," Cassiopeia muttered.

Narcissa summoned the new chairs, one for each side of the long table; another vampire was placed on the left—brought in by the servants—with Nagini on the other side of the Dark Lord. The whole table and the massive crowd beyond were still buzzing at her true form and the casual mass murder. Adrenaline punched through him repeatedly at the thought of his own reveal, guaranteed before the night was out.

"Settle down, eh? You're making me antsy," Cassiopeia told him.

"Yeah. I'm settled," Harry said through gritted teeth, increasingly annoyed with Tom's lack of support, as though what he'd said that morning had really been that dire.

Food appeared on the table, prepared by the house elves and served by Narcissa: trays of roast pig, pheasant, and duck, side dishes that Harry didn't bother recognising. His goblet filled with wine, and he took it, downed it, and watched it refill. He had no appetite for food and wasn't sure he'd ever want to eat again, but he swallowed the second goblet and let it refill a third time. He watched the dragon furthest from him, snapping its dead jaws at the sky.

'Was it? That dire? Because this is happening right now? There are like ten thousand Death Eaters here, watching us. There are cameras fucking flashing; Tom, any minute, he's gonna stand up and drag us to that stage. What happened to 'blah blah bigger things to worry about'? Huh?' Harry thought, receiving no reply nor sign of life.

'Git,' when it was clear he was getting no response.

"You there! Woman-snake! Discuss with me!" Enos boomed, and Nagini nodded in acceptance, "How do you transform? Are you a witch-bitch as well?"

"No, I have a curse on my blood. I am a Maledictus."

"How does one receive a curse such as this? To change into a snake?"

"It is passed down matrilineally, but the curse is magical. Created by a witch or wizard."

"Bah, cunts, aren't they, the magic-folk?"

She remained silent and glanced at Voldemort, her eyes momentarily wide.

"You are safe," Voldemort told her in Parseltongue, earning another reaction from Harry, who got a squinting look from Cassiopeia that made him duck his head.

"And this hissy business, what is it?" Enos asked Nagini.

"Parseltongue. Snakespeak. Very few can understand it," she responded.

"…Very few," the Dark Lord repeated, still in the serpent tongue.

"…Stop doing that; it's unfriendly," Enos glared, and Harry felt the Dark Lord smile as though it were a physical thing, something he just knew was happening, though he couldn't see his masked face.

"Could anyone learn your snake language?" One of the sisters asked, leaning right over the table. It was the first time he'd heard one of them say anything, shrill like a bird.

"It's possible, but the pronunciation is difficult," Nagini told her, and she nodded like a bobblehead.

"Say more?" The sister asked, and the other nodded along with her.

Nagini looked at the Dark Lord, who gestured for her to continue and amplified her voice to fill the field.

"'Poison of asps is under our lips'? Why do you seek us, then? Breaking our knotted fellowships with your noisy-footed men? Time and time over we let them go; hearing and slipping aside; until they followed and troubled us–so we struck back, and they died."

The table and the crowd beyond had fallen quiet, only thunder joining her voice.

"'Poison of asps is under our lips'? Why do you wrench them apart? To learn how the venom makes and drips and works its way to the heart? It is unjust that when we have done all that a serpent should, you gather our poisons, one by one, and thin them out to your good."

Goosebumps had sprung up on his arms, her haunting cadence and the stillness of the gathering combining to send a chill through him.

"'Poison of asps is under our lips' that is your answer? No. Because we hissed at Adam's eclipse, is the reason you hate us so."

There was a long silence before Enos clapped loudly until everyone else joined in, and Nagini bowed her head graciously.

"I have no idea what she was saying, but it made my dick hard!" Enos shouted, and Tom physically reacted, nearly standing them up before Harry caught them, gripping the table to stay in his seat and immediately drenched in sweat—the first sign of life all day.

Cassiopeia's hand grazed the Dark Lord's arm as he seemed to fight the same reaction, his left hand tight on the fabric draping the table.

"I have disembowelled for less," Voldemort said slowly, carefully.

"Ah! You're fucking the woman-snake! Of course. An accident of social interaction, yes?"

Cassiopeia's lips were twitching as though she was trying not to burst into laughter. Her eyes were bright as she looked at Harry and nudged him in the arm as though it were nothing more than entertaining. Nagini looked mortified, her eyes like saucers, locked on the tablecloth.

"Enough of this," Voldemort snapped in Parseltongue, standing up and yanking Harry out of his chair by the scruff of his robes, leaving his stomach on the seat, not wanting to let go of the table as he was dragged to the dais behind the giant table. Everyone seated turned to look at them, the image blown up above their heads for the rest of the crowd to see as the Dark Lord cast another Sonorus:

"You have put your faith in me, and with your belief and dedication, we have accomplished much worth celebrating. With this in mind, we host Skulmadras: a unifying of our people, shaped by you, to honour your success. A tribute to your continued conviction and a well-earned reprieve. I value your loyalty, and I aim to reward it."

He couldn't stop swallowing as Voldemort spoke, his palms sweaty. There was nothing he could do about it. He felt like his head was wobbling on his shoulders, though he wasn't sure, couldn't confirm if it was or wasn't.

"With this in mind, I introduce someone," he gestured at Harry. The table was muttering, the crowd beyond out of their seats and pressed against the solid wards.

"The unwavering devotion and sacrifice of this individual—who expected no reward or acknowledgment for the tireless work he has undertaken, without complaint—was instrumental to our continued success. It is time to recognise yet another overwhelming victory."

'Great. Amazing. He's such an asshole. You're such an asshole,' Harry snapped in his head, sweating bullets under his mask as Tom fought him to keep them motionless, still blatantly ignoring Harry, invisible, undetectable in his head while his hands shook, '…Please stop ignoring me.'

"It is my privilege to present you…"

The Dark Lord yanked his hood back, vanished his mask, and hissed Harry's full name into the instantly howling, clamouring crowd. Even Enos shouted: "Ohhhh! A twist!" applauding louder than the rest, "That's the Boy Who Lived! Tofa! Look! Signy!"

"Welcome him warmly," Voldemort said, shoving him forward, voice still louder than the mayhem.

'Tom…'

Tom raised Harry's left arm —not acknowledging the weakness in his legs, his continued pleas, or the terror that was threatening to seal his throat— and roared:

"Morsmorde!"

It flooded forth in swirling waves, an Aurora Borealis, snaking green magic, moving through the wards like water and forming an immense, florescent skull, as though the moon had come to kiss the Earth, a vast serpent writhing and crushing the bones beneath it; audibly crunching in the suddenly silent field, raining sparks and fragments of incorporeal skull. Again, the crowd was incensed, whooping, cheering, beating their fists on the glass-like wards and raising their wands to shoot explosions of light into the sky. Tom let the spell go, leaving the colossal mark —matching his own— in the air. Cameras flashed among the crowd like a disco ball; Tom wouldn't let him close his eyes or lower his head.

'Fuck you,' Harry thought weakly, a fury welling in his gut that he was glad Tom could feel, although he seemed pleased to have caused it before he vanished in Harry's head once more.

He wasn't led back to the table. Instead, the Dark Lord dragged him off the stage to Narcissa, who was waiting to escort him away from the still caterwauling gathering. The Dark Lord had Disapparated as soon as he'd passed Harry to the Malfoy Matriarch; the vampires and Death Eaters at the table began to disperse or lock into animated conversation, and the glass wards were dismantled, the projection released. Cameras snapped from every angle, a group of the Dark Lord's followers keeping the media and the rest of the crowd a distance from Narcissa and Harry, unmasked and alone in his head, trudging back to the small castle through the multitude of the dead, still swaying among their candles. He was followed by a horde of reporters, vampires, and Death Eaters, who only relented as they made it through the gatehouse. The rain arrived as they passed through it—a torrential downpour of fat, angry droplets.


He'd been placed in his room, his relief at having it over and done with competing with the fear that it had happened at all as he took off his robes, glasses, and shoes. He collapsed into the bed and refused to acknowledge the tears threatening to fall, swiping at them angrily when they did.

'Fuck you,' he repeated in his head, hoping for a reaction but knowing that he wouldn't receive it, 'for all of it. All of this. I meant it; I couldn't love you. You're a fucking monster.'

Any reply he might have won was interrupted by the burn of his Dark Mark, making Tom sit bolt upright; then he was jamming Harry's boots and glasses on before he Apparated, reappearing in a mismatched sitting room he assumed was also inside Ravadinovo. He didn't have time to take much in before the Dark Lord snarled:

"Look at me. Do not resist."

'If I had the time to beg forgiveness, Harry, I would. I am sorry. I tried. It was not enough,' Tom thought rapidly, Harry's limbs instantly numb in response.

'What? What?!'

Tom looked up instead of answering, teeth bared, rage bubbling. The Dark Lord locked onto their eyes and crashed into their head, flooding Harry with pure adrenaline as he laid bare his mind with increasing aggression, cracking the cells of his brain like eggs as he discovered that they knew about Harry's Horcrux, conspired with Nagini and Cassiopeia to corral the Dark Lord into not killing him, by attempting to make him think it was his idea. He uncovered the relationship Harry had formed with Tom, the masochism, the dreams, how much Tom and his commands affected him, and how it ultimately caused him to react to Voldemort himself, that Harry had watched him sleep. Every interaction was watched at high speed, flashing like a showreel.

The Dark Lord extracted every scrap of thought or experience, squeezing Harry's skull tighter with each memory examined, his fury, shock, and disgust palpable. Harry's heart hammered in his chest, bile rising in his throat. His legs nearly buckled as he understood what this meant. He'd outweighed his usefulness.

He didn't spare Tom, ripped his carefully concealed emotions and thoughts open as though made of spider's silk. An elaborate web, neatly organised and connected by threads of varying colours. Harry saw his thought processes on everything they'd seen and done, on everyone they'd met, psychoanalysed and cross-examined, far too large to take in at a glance, though no stone appeared unturned. No one as thoroughly investigated or analysed as Harry himself. An enormous segment just for him, everything he'd ever said to Tom held in the strands of it; at the centre was a ravenous desire, desperate, burning like a sun—an obsession, alighting the threads and contaminating every thought with a golden, intense heat.

As Voldemort violently snapped himself from their head, there was a moment of disbelief, the Dark Lord's mouth hanging open, eyes wide, before he shook himself forcefully, twitched his left hand, and sent Harry flying with a shock wave, slamming him into the stone wall behind with a crack.


(AN: Nagini recites Poison of Asps by Rudyard Kipling. Imagine dating Nagini. That's a fun thought experiment. An amazing 'meet the family' scene. Another double length xx)