(TW & AN: Murder. It isn't specified in Canon, but here, Mahoutokoro is an all boys school.)
Mahoutokoro (マホウトコロ), Minami Iwo Jima, Japan
Forbidden Arts, Mastoshi Yanagi
(Instrumental)
Nagini found him outside the dining room, as he stumbled for the front door. She stopped him and he could scarcely see her, like a ghost that led him to his designated bedroom in the Malfoy Manor.
He'd forgotten about the school trips, brain empty as thoughts fizzled in his head, none reaching fruition. He collapsed face down on the bed and let the white covers sandpaper his wide-open eyes. Nagini didn't stay with him long. She touched the back of his head, asked if he was alright, and seemed content with no answer.
He didn't sleep, wired and still, allowing himself to borderline suffocate. It felt like seconds and centuries later when the door opened again. He knew it was Nagini by the way she gently touched his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" She repeated. "Sorry to wake you. It's early."
It was still dark, and he hadn't been asleep, but he said, "It's fine," anyway.
She told him it was just past midnight, and she directed him to shower and change into a light set of robes. Yawning gold snake heads for buttons, the collar tight around his throat. On inspection he found his magic responded, something that shook a small amount of the numb apathy off. A little kick of smug success at feeling the curse twine around his fingers. He also found the bite on his collarbone, bruised dark purple. The skin was broken in a few places, the blood dried and flaking free. He'd pushed his fingers into the bruise and hissed, mouth inexplicably watering.
Tom was monitoring him carefully, examining thoughts with a feather light touch, but Harry felt fine.
"…Japan first. It's on an island. Are you sure you're alright?" Nagini asked when he exited the bathroom.
"I… Never said. Do you- know?"
"About Bellatrix?"
"Yeah."
"Yes. I saw her when she arrived. I had to assume. Did you kill her?" She asked the question casually, seeming only curious.
"Yeah." Harry wasn't sure why his throat wasn't letting his words out properly.
"I never liked her. Too grabby. Loud. Look at my face."
He did as she said without thought.
"You are in shock. Come on. I know where they keep the potions."
"No?" He'd meant more words to come out, but again they caught in his neck. Though he had to agree his limbs were still strangely numb.
She took his hand and led him out of the room anyway, goosebumps erupting on his arms immediately against the chill of the hallway. She took him to a fully equipped potions lab, where he had been absently expecting a cupboard.
She rifled through the storeroom as though the house was hers while Harry stood blankly beside a pewter cauldron he could easily bathe in.
"Ah, Pepper-Ups? Calming Draughts…" She called for a house elf and asked for vodka and a blanket. "He's dressed you for Japan weather. He's waiting for us, but," she shrugged and gave him the potions, already uncorked, as though she somehow knew his hands weren't really working. She was dressed warmly in a crimson-red robe with a fluffy hood that pushed her short black hair out at an angle.
He took the potions and didn't feel better, strictly speaking. Only more aware of how strange he felt. She gave him a shot of vodka and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, humming. He drank it and extended the small glass for another.
"Am I insane? Do people know when they're insane?" He asked her.
"I don't think so. I think you're doing really well, Harry. Considering," she flinched. "He isn't so… On the inside? He's just…" She flapped both hands. "He isn't all awful."
"I just bring the worst out in him for some reason, huh?" His words were nearly biting, and he reigned it in, none of it aimed at Nagini.
"He's in a lot of pain. I can't help him anymore, not really. If he fell asleep… If he ate, I want to know how you did it."
He'd never seen her so demanding, pointing at the ground as though that was where he should put the words.
"It's… Hard to explain, but I'm going to keep doing it. I made a deal with him. He's gonna eat at least once a day."
Her eyes lit up. She took the shot glass from his hand and dropped it on the stones—shattering it—before she took his arm and brought him through the door, "You're talking. You're a bit better."
"Yeah. Thanks. Nagini," He stopped her, turned her to face him, "Thank you." He hugged her quickly, unsure of the gesture but making it anyway.
She was smiling when he let go. She nodded, her hood wobbling, before she retook his hand and led him back to the dining room.
The sight of the Dark Lord, sitting in the same seat he had been hours earlier—his eyes sharp as knives—was enough to weaken Harry's legs. The room was clean, with no trace of Bellatrix; the metallic scent vanished along with her, the table no longer bearing gouges from his curse. The air was somehow thick with it regardless, pulling his gaze like a magnet to the corner where she'd fallen. Nagini didn't let go of him as they came to stand before Voldemort.
He leaned back in his seat, a razor grin fading into a soft smirk. The pale of his skin was stark against the deep black of his robes, dark red rings around his eyes. His cheeks were sunken, his knuckles and wrist bones protruding. Regardless, he smiled at Harry while he wobbled on his feet under a fluffy brown blanket, held entirely together by Nagini.
"Mahoutokoro will not be receptive. For them, it is a matter of honour. They do not wish to appear weak; I expect the visit will be short and formal."
Despite the reverberating shock he could no longer deny he was in, he watched Voldemort's mouth move and had to swallow too much spit.
'Why… won't he just ask nice?' Harry wondered.
'It would be conceding a defeat. The first will be the hardest.'
"You will keep your wits about you. If capable." The Dark Lord said in Parseltongue, Adam's apple bobbing repeatedly in his throat.
'Why does he have to be so… Why do you have to be so…' He couldn't find a word for what Tom was, for what the Dark Lord was. Impossible to describe or comprehend. Eating him alive from the inside.
He realised he was squeezing Nagini's hand and relaxed his grip.
"…Portkey, or?" Harry's throat was tight, and he wanted to sit down, his whole body trying to swing itself into a chair.
"Mmm. Today is complicated. Mahoutokoro has an Apparition point, but it is small. No international Floo. Portkey is the only option for the distance, but I aim to bring at least forty Death Eaters." He seemed to be talking to watch Harry's eyes on his mouth.
"…So, a Portkey?"
The Dark Lord rolled his eyes and stood, reaching into his pocket to reveal a wooden box that was just larger than his palm. Inside, a fat chunk of off-white jade.
"A piece of the school itself," Voldemort said.
"…Do you make the Portkeys?" Harry asked, sensing an opening.
"I have someone else do it for me," he extended the box. Harry dropped the blanket and timed his contact, surprisingly difficult with his fuzzing, empty skull.
He was blinded by morning light when the three of them reappeared. He turned on the spot to take in the ocean and short cliff faces made of smooth, rolling yellow stone. There wasn't a soul in sight, and the Dark Lord remained unmasked and unhooded. The early sunlight gave his hair a golden tint, his eyes glowing. It reminded Harry instantly of the dream he'd had before he'd killed Dumbledore. The dream version of Tom almost stood before him in the flesh. His expression was similar, almost soft, calculating, always watching him, even when he wasn't.
Harry glanced around at the rocks and the solitude to avoid the intensity of looking at Voldemort as Nagini became a serpent, coiling in the rising sun on slightly warm stones.
"Is this…? This isn't the school, right?" Harry asked.
"Well spotted, this is a small cliff overlooking the ocean." He gestured at a short bench, flinching before he hid it.
Harry sat on the narrow wooden seat, and the Dark Lord sat beside him. He left a good distance between them, where he placed another box—withdrawn from his robes, then enlarged. The thin wooden container revealed fruit, cheese, cured meat, and tiny bread buns.
"Satisfactory?" Voldemort took three grapes and a piece of bread.
"Not if that's all you're eating?" Harry opted for cheese, gripping the seat with his right hand and digging his heels into the rocks.
He sighed, ate a grape and winced. "Why duel? Twice weekly?"
"To prove that you are not strong enough. You have deteriorated rapidly,' Tom said.
The Dark Lord scoffed.
"Did that grape just sting your mouth?" Tom hissed. Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "You know I am right."
"What's a grape stinging his mouth got to do with anything?" Harry asked.
"The sting. From starving," Tom said.
He was familiar with the swelling, salivating sharpness in the roof of his mouth, tongue, and cheeks when no food had passed his lips in a while, courtesy of the Dursleys and a perceived slight. "Oh."
Voldemort ate the last two grapes, glaring at the ocean.
"…Bread hurts more."
"What?"
"Bread hurts more. Your mouth. If you're… Starving." Harry said.
"What does it matter?" He took a bite, scowling all the while like an obstinate child forced to remain at the table.
"…If you don't eat all your dinner, you'll get no dessert," Harry had said it automatically, mostly because Voldemort was reminding him of a toddler. The Dark Lord whipped to look at him with one eyebrow raised, smirking, before he snorted a laugh, caught it, then snorted another.
"Baffling. You are baffling."
"I don't get it?"
Voldemort forced the grin off his face with apparent difficulty and plucked some cheese cubes from the box. "This is Hosoma No Dan. It is one of the take-off points for the giant storm petrels that carry students too young to board at the school." He began casting privacy and obscuring wards over himself, Harry, and Nagini.
As if on cue, as soon as he was done, a woman in a sherbet yellow kimono led a group of small boys in light pink robes, all under ten. She sang a song in Japanese, and the children joined in, off-key and dancing haphazardly as they walked.
He and the Dark Lord had been facing away from the path, but Voldemort turned in his seat to watch them ascend the sloping path towards the top—wand still in hand.
"Are you gonna kill a bunch of kids?"
The Dark Lord laughed again. "I appreciate your growing thirst for blood. This is political. I am not going to kill them."
"I wasn't saying you should kill them; you were just looking at them like…"
"…I could?" Voldemort finished for him.
The children had vanished over the hill, and the grating, loud squawks of giant storm petrels—not unlike a flock of mutant seagulls—filled the air. He couldn't see the group from where he sat, though he did when they began to drop off the short cliff, at first one by one, then in groups, until all fifty or so had taken to the air on the wing of colossal grey and white birds, like small planes.
To Harry's surprise, the woman who had led the students up the path came back down it, hiking up the bottom of her kimono to save herself on the steps. She was inexplicably crying, swiping angrily at tears as she passed by them.
When she was gone, the Dark Lord cast a Tempus—Nine-fifteen—and picked up another piece of bread. "Is this enough for you?"
"Not really. They're small rolls."
"I was not aware you would also be dictating what constitutes a full meal?"
"One tiny piece of bread, two cheese cubes and three grapes isn't a full meal by anyone's standards."
"…You can count, too. I will be eating light. Until I can…" He trailed off, swallowed, and didn't finish.
"Fair enough," Harry said. "How long have you been, uh. Not eating properly?"
He exhaled and looked at him as though he'd asked after his bathroom habits.
"Fine, don't tell me. Should have Cassiopeia or Nagini talk to Lydia for you, though." Harry looked away because he felt his cheeks reddening. He couldn't look at him for long; the memory of the night before, barely hours earlier, buzzing in his head—his fingers still tingling with pins and needles.
As though he could hear the thought in Harry's head, he smirked, "How was it?"
He figured Voldemort meant the murder. "I-" He swallowed and reset, wiping his palms on his knees. "It was… I don't know. I don't think I have the words. Did you ever…" He stopped because he felt the question would either be ignored or sneered at.
"Did I ever what?" He asked, taking another three grapes.
"Were you ever scared of yourself?" He said it quickly, bracing. "I mean, obviously, the answer is n-"
"Yes." He popped a grape in his mouth and held it for a few seconds before he bit. "I scare myself."
"I… Scared myself with how much… I didn't even do- half of the things that came to me. To her. I could have…"
Voldemort was slowly smiling, and he had to look away again. "What came to you, Harry?"
"…Now I feel like," he took another steadying breath, afraid somehow that saying the words would cement them in truth, "I feel like I want to do it again."
The Dark Lord sat bolt upright at his words; whether it was the content or the serpent tongue, Harry wasn't sure. The redness of his face felt as though it had spread down his chest, eyes locked on a sleeping Nagini—her dark green scales shone in the sunlight as though she was cut from a dark emerald.
"How was it for you?" Tom asked, and Harry nearly clapped a hand over his mouth with the way Voldemort went rigid.
The Dark Lord grabbed his face, squeezing his teeth into his cheeks, "You touch me again, and I'll spill your fucking guts."
"That good, then?" Tom laughed through his unwillingly clenched teeth, and Voldemort shoved him away, standing abruptly.
"Imaginez ce qu'il ferait," Tom said, standing as well, not relenting.
Voldemort spun on him, "You. You. You, I don't understand. Only one thing comes to mind."
"Let me assure you, it is countless things."
"Name one." He demanded.
Tom scoffed, apparently comfortable enough to look away, narrowing his eyes at the sea.
"I said name one."
"Do my reasons haunt you?"
The Dark Lord was before him instantly, nearly nose to nose. "Name—a—reason. What is your stake in this? What is your goal?"
"Il y a une partie de moi qui veut sentir ta peau sur la mienne comme si j'avais été privée de soleil pendant une éternité. Une partie de moi qui a désespérément besoin d'être touchée. Un désir égoïste et pécheur de te regarder te tordre sous moi, ou de te tordre sous toi, pour me sentir moi-même. De le regarder te sentir. A few reasons for you, my Lord." Throughout his song-like, buttery speech, Voldemort's eyes flicked to his lips no less than three times.
He could only describe the Dark Lord as hypnotised by himself.
"…Puis mendier," He grazed Harry's cheek with the back of his hand, held it just long enough to weaken his knees, then stepped back.
"You first," Tom said.
"I am, unfortunately, busy today," he gave a quick, mock bow, then pulled his hood up.
'I want to head-butt him,' Tom thought, tone casual.
'Not even going to bother asking what you said.' He didn't respond, so Harry thought, 'Because you wouldn't tell me? Would you?'
'Typically, I say things in French because I do not want you to hear them.'
'…Typical. Got a boner and a secret.'
"We have that in common then,' Tom snapped, biting in his head.
'…What the hell? You're the one who- you said this was- that you manipulated me into this? Apparently, so expertly that I didn't feel a fucking thing? And my secret isn't even something I know-'
'You are the one who won't cease mentioning erections. Are you in or out? Are we picking and choosing? How the fuck would we do that, Harry?'
"You fight quite often. For lovers," the Dark Lord said, watching the theatre on his face, "Something the matter?" He summoned the mask, drew his wand, and rolled up his sleeve to press it to the Dark Mark.
Harry balked; the word 'lovers' put a stop to all thought.
Voldemort dismantled the privacy wards and vanished the food entirely, as eight Death Eaters—fully anonymous, black hooded robes, skulls for faces—appeared using a Portkey. One of them immediately activated another and vanished in a blur, taking the original Portkey with them.
Storm clouds gathered in the distance, and the Dark Lord watched the forming front instead of his followers. They repeatedly Portkeyed in groups of eight until there were forty of them, waiting, spread across the rocks and onto the sparse grassy hills.
"See that?" The Dark Lord said in Parseltongue as he picked Nagini up. "Mahoutokoro."
Harry looked at the storm clouds again, far out at sea. They were unnaturally dark, almost black, and dense, a cloud wall.
"Is that… Bad?" He asked, met with a sharp laugh. He extended the Babel Fish from his pocket, and Harry touched it with Nagini, the serpent using her snout.
The Dark Lord Disapparated without warning, leaving him to stand there with his followers and, as was customary, no instruction. His arm was quickly taken by a stranger—or not, there was no way to tell—and he was side-along Apparated, no words said.
They reappeared in an open courtyard at the base of a steep, deep-green mountain. The stone underfoot was Jade but not green. Tom called it 'mutton-fat', and Harry decided it did look the colour of lard. One large, smooth slab connected to a wide and winding staircase, wrapping around the mountain that Tom quickly told him was a volcano.
Voldemort didn't turn to face his followers as the pops and cracks began in earnest, instead, he watched the stairs, so Harry did too.
The dense storm clouds directly overhead were whipping the vegetation into a frenzy, warm air lifting, falling, and changing direction sporadically. Making him work to stay on his feet.
"How does it look, Harry? Good? Welcoming?" Voldemort asked, not turning.
'…He's saying my name a lot,' He noticed.
'Yes,' Tom thought.
"Uhh, looks like they made this storm? Right?"
"Yes," Voldemort said.
Six teen boys were descending the stairs, dressed in deep yellow kimono-like robes, followed by a group of ten older men dressed in the same style—though their robes were black.
"Sensei is in the temple. He will see you first." One of the men said, his English decent.
They were all grimacing, and Harry could feel the Dark Lord's smirk.
"Lead on," he said, already moving. He forced them up the stairs, his Death Eaters right behind.
Nagini was sniffing Harry's cheek from Voldemort's shoulders, and he touched her chin, almost smiling as he followed the students of Mahoutokoro.
"I assume this is their six," the Dark Lord said, watching the backs of the yellow-clad students, their robes whipping in the wild breeze.
Harry didn't say anything, eyes on them as well. Their uniforms and similar haircuts made it difficult to tell them apart, particularly from behind. From the front, he'd managed to register some height differences, and he swore that one of them had different coloured eyes than the rest, but his brain felt like a sieve.
"I believe Mahoutokoro will be one of our most significant challenges."
When Voldemort said 'our,' he tripped on a step, adrenaline catching him before he stumbled entirely.
The staircase was long and gradual, and after fifteen minutes, Harry wondered if it would ever end. The view of the turbulent ocean would poke through the trees sporadically, reminding him that he was on a small island in what appeared to be a hurricane, the wind screaming around them.
The temple of Mahoutokoro was inlaid on the side of the volcano. Mutton-fat jade carved with intricate, protruding symbols and faces, as tall as the uppermost tip of the island; it towered above their heads. There was not much of a landing at the doors, a steep drop-off into the forest below.
The men in black robes opened the heavy jade entrance. The doors opened at a perfectly invisible seem, as though a giant statue was opening.
The students and the men, Harry assumed professors, but he knew next to nothing—marched into the school, leading them single-mindedly and without pause through the tall, sprawling atrium, much larger inside than the volcano indicated, torches lit and gleaming on the walls and floors.
The students of Mahoutokoro lined the jade hall—robes of all different colours, the smallest in pink. Tom counted not much more than one hundred of them despite the size of the school—all boys, all unmoving. They passed into a wide and tall reception room. A large round window displayed the storm outside, and a stern, middle-aged man sat on the floor at a short table.
Beside him, a woman with her hands in her lap, staring unflinchingly at the teapot on the table between them. The Dark Lord's followers remained in the atrium, swarming around the arched entrance.
"Tell them to sit." The stern man said, and the woman repeated it in English.
"I am Hiroaki Ushioda. This is my fine school." He said, and again, the woman repeated, not introduced.
Voldemort moved first, taking a cushion as the yellow-robed students took to the wall, lining up with their arms crossed behind their backs, watching Harry and the Dark Lord, eyes sharp.
"Mahoutokoro is the pride of magical Japan," he said, "You will address it, and myself, with the utmost respect." He demanded, and the woman flinched fractionally, eyes darting to the Dark Lord before she said:
"We welcome you to Mahoutokoro. The pride of Japan. We ask that you treat our home and our Sensei with respect."
"I am not here to discuss matters of pride," Voldemort said, a hand on Nagini's chin. "I am here to discuss the competition and your attendance."
"He asks about the competition," she repeated.
The stern man jerked his hand toward the six students.
"He would like you to see our chosen six," she said. She seemed desperately uncomfortable but hid it well, Harry only noticing because Tom did.
"Torajiro Konda-kun." Ushioda said, and the shortest of the teens against the wall stepped forward, gave a short bow, and then stepped back.
"Ryosei Tanabe-kun." The process was repeated. Tanabe stepped forward, and he was the one with different eyes; bright green to everyone else's brown. The tallest by far, nearly six feet tall.
"Tokimune Yamashiro-kun." Harry couldn't keep up. Ushioda barked the names, and they came forward and retreated rapidly.
"Tetsuhiko Kamenashi-kun." He was the most muscular of the six, his jaw set and nostrils flared as he bowed.
"Takanibu Naito-kun." He was the angriest, openly glaring at the Dark Lord.
"Tadasu Edamura-kun." The final student bowed and returned to the line.
Harry felt how little Voldemort cared.
"Where are the women? Girls?" Nagini asked. "Is she the only one?" She pointed her serpentine nose at the translator, and she flinched.
"My familiar asks where your female students and faculty are," the Dark Lord said casually. His tone told Harry that he already knew, that it was simply a jab.
One that landed. The translator's eyes went wide, and she resisted, shaking her head fractionally.
It was Ushioda who insisted she repeat it.
"He asks… He asks where are the…" She sucked her lips, and Harry felt awful.
"Spit it out," Ushioda growled.
"Where are the women and girls." She stuck her chin in the air as she said it, not making eye contact.
He was incensed immediately, slamming a large fist on the table and glaring daggers at Voldemort. "Mahoutokoro is a proud establishment, built for those whom magic was created for. Women are in their rightful place."
"He says the women tend to their work in the home."
Harry detected an edge to her tone, one that seemed lost on the headmaster.
"I don't like this place," Nagini said.
"We will do what we have come here to do, and then we will be released from this disgrace," Ushioda said, standing abruptly and demanding his students and staff follow him.
Voldemort stood as well, oozing pure, unadulterated joy. Harry almost smirked as he followed his lead and chewed his tongue.
Ushioda pushed through the Death Eaters, who were bleeding the same air of superiority.
They were taken back outside into the ever-swelling storm. Harry realised the six chosen students had brooms, unsure when or how they acquired them.
"My pupils see only one upside to the disgraceful Dark Lord shaming us with his presence. Tell him they want to fly with the Potter boy." Ushioda said, and Voldemort stiffened fractionally, not quite giving himself away. Still, enough to make Harry nervous as he stared at the stairs he was standing on—forced down the path as more staff and students came to stand by the Dark Lord and his followers.
The translator repeated, with less insults.
Voldemort glanced at the sky, and again, Nagini was close to Harry's face. He got the sense the Dark Lord was going to say no.
"Say no and not only do you look weak; Harry looks like a weakness," Tom said in Parseltongue, under his breath. It was Harry's turn to look at the black, furious sky.
'We do not need to win,' Tom thought, and Harry scowled.
'Obviously, I want to win.'
'You are still in shock.'
'Barely,' he frowned at being in shock at all.
"I'll need a broom," Harry said. The translator repeated his words.
He was offered one by one of the scowling yellow-clad students—who was immediately intercepted by Voldemort, raising an arm to block him.
"Lucius. Get him a broom. Top of the line," the Dark Lord said. "We will wait." His tone said run.
The elder Malfoy held the Portkeys used by the Death Eaters, and he vanished instantly. No one moved to invite them back inside, so they stood on the jade stairs under an endlessly threatening storm. The wind continued to whip without direction, and Harry was grateful—bizarrely—that Lucius was in charge of his broom.
'Are you alright?' Tom wondered.
Harry had been busy pushing away all thought, staring steadfastly at Nagini, somewhat successfully. 'I don't want to think about it right now.'
A new fear had begun to bubble up from the depths of his mind. One that he would have, weeks earlier, dismissed immediately.
'…Harry.'
'Don't. I said I don't want to talk about it.'
'I can… hear your thoughts, you know.'
'Oh, I know. It's fucking great.'
Tom went quiet momentarily before the irritating thought gained enough momentum to set his heart racing.
'Harry, I'm not-'
'Did you do this? Did you make me into a monster? On purpose? Do- am I all wrong because you made me?' The thoughts came out in a rush, his hands sweating.
'Spend less time on your adopted view of right and wrong and focus on me.'
'Focus on you?' Harry barked a laugh that wasn't hidden by the fierce howling of the wind.'Would you fake all this to turn me into a monster? Yes or no? Did you make me feel this way for fun? For your own gain? Are you just a really good liar, and I'm a fucking idiot?'
He realised that he'd begun to hyperventilate. The realisation, as well as where he was, didn't serve to stop the building panic. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed to be true.
'Harry, don't do this now.' Tom's thought did the opposite of help, and he was immediately aware that he wasn't denying it.
He could feel Voldemort watching him, and something broke in his head. Like a rush of molten heat that coursed from his skull to his limbs at high pressure. The reality of where he stood—next to the Dark Lord, with all that he'd done and what he'd become—so starkly against everything he'd thought he vehemently stood for. If he had been warned, he would not have believed it; would have dismissed it as entirely impossible. The people he'd lost and the future that was sacrificed in his cradle weighed a sudden ton against who he'd morphed into. The sick things he wanted, desired with his full chest, guided expertly into the darkest parts of himself by the one he'd been sworn to destroy—his given life's purpose. The one who killed his parents, and his hope, over and over—relentless and single-minded. The one he begged in all but words for every annihilation.
He'd gripped the Dark Lord's robes at some point during his mental unravelling, probably in an attempt not to tumble off the side of the volcano, though he didn't recall thinking it or moving at all. The tragedy in his head must have been playing on his face. Instead of being shoved off the edge, the Dark Lord withdrew a Portkey without a word and took the three of them away from Mahoutokoro.
Harry found his legs unreliable as they reconnected with solid ground; the Portkey and the panic swept them out from underneath and tumbled him into unfamiliar dry grass. He watched a blue-tinted Voldemort attempt several actions at once—He removed Nagini, his mask, and hood, then withdrew a tent from his pocket and enlarged it. He pressed his wand to his Dark Mark, and he barked instructions at Nagini when she stood before him as a woman.
Harry couldn't understand English for some reason; words were lost outside his ears somewhere as he repeatedly decided that it must be true. That he was a product. A means to an end. Until his thoughts were slowed to a near halt by the Dark Lord's familiar, and he was levitated inside the tent. It wasn't long until the green, swimming coldness was joined by the familiar, warm, and unwelcome bliss that pushed him into sleep.
He was awoken by the clicking of fingers right beside his head, startling him upright.
"A spectacular performance," Voldemort said. Nagini stood beside him, still in her red robes.
Harry took a second to remember and then narrowed his eyes. "Didn't go in planning on…" He didn't bother finishing, could already see that the Dark Lord was deaf to it.
"Mahoutokoro will expect you to roll over in paralysed fear at the very sight of them."
"Here's something to think about; I don't care." Harry ground his teeth together, prodding aggressively at Tom, demanding.
"Get up. I will not spend another moment on your whim." The Dark Lord spun on the spot and guided Nagini away.
He was in his designated bed, in the usual tent. He was confused by Voldemort's lack of true fury, an irritation at best. Tom was avoiding him, entirely disengaged and locked in his head. Harry scowled as he followed the Dark Lord outside. He was tired, his legs stiff, his body made of cold lead.
The structure collapsed as soon as he stepped out, shrunken and summoned into Voldemort's hand, tucked into his pocket as he pulled another Portkey out. He enlarged the box, this time cardboard, making Harry raise an eyebrow.
"…Government appointed Portkey. Unfortunately, there is only one way in or out," the Dark Lord said.
"In or out of where?"
"Australia." He spat the word with venom, and Nagini bared her teeth and then shrugged. Voldemort hadn't moved to replace his mask or hood, instead, he took a swig of Polyjuice Potion, given to him by his familiar. He gave it back to her, scowling.
He then opened the box to reveal a blank card made of white plastic. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at it as though it had directly offended him, his face fully morphed into that of Avrom Dermot, whoever that really was—dark eyes, dark hair, tan skin.
Harry and Nagini touched the card when the Dark Lord did.
Ngangkari Ara Irititja (Gaang-car-ee Ara Ear-it-it-ja), near Yulara, Central Australia
FIGJAM, Butterfingers
I rock around in trucker thongs
Fucked off of bucket-bongs
If you don't like it, you can come suck a long dick
'Cause I'm trip hop, all the way to hip hop
I get so plastered, you'd think I'm drinking gyp rock
But I'm shit-hot, no matter how you look at it
And my lyrics make you wanna read the book-a-let
Don't - 'cause I'm cooking it right like the Iron Chef
That's why I'm deaf, now to the higher clef
My rhymes are fat like Chief Wiggum and in fact
I never lack it's like a magic pack of Tim Tams
We're the ducks nuts and you suck and I don't give a damn
So good on the cut, they should call me Edward Scissorhands
So give a hand for me and my associates (you suck!)
Well, that's just inappropriate
Smoke me a kipper, bitch
I'm from the Ipa-swich
Side of town, don't forget to write it down (Westside!)
What the fuck, it ain't gangster rap
Think you're tougher, then you probably suffer wanker's cramp
And I'll thank you to fuck right off
Professional fuckwits, take one night off
To Harry's monumental confusion, they reappeared in the baggage sorting area of an airport. Judging by the sheer number of snaking conveyor belts, a large one. The few dozen workers didn't look their way although they were dressed in decidedly non-Muggle clothing. A woman in a pencil skirt, holding a clipboard and a pen, approached them and looked them up and down rapidly, chewing gum.
"Can't come through dressed like that," she said. "Funny cloaks off."
Voldemort exhaled audibly as he shrugged his robes free. Harry and Nagini did the same—Harry and the Dark Lord in dress shirts and black pants, Nagini had another jacket on underneath her cloak—and the Dark Lord shrunk the robes down to nearly nothing, giving them to his familiar to hold. The woman with the severe brunette bun led them out of the baggage sorting area into a bustling, loud claim area. Hundreds of Muggles weaved around each other, the air dense with stress.
He read names from the charts displaying arrival times and destinations, places he'd never head of: Emerald, Melbourne, Mackay, Proserpine, Adelaide. The woman walked fast, and Harry had to jog to catch up—momentarily slowed. She took them outside, and the sign on the airport read 'Brisbane International'.
No one said anything as they walked through the large carpark, the midmorning sun bright and hot. She brought them to an older, dark-skinned man with a broad, flat nose and deep wrinkles.
"Aye, how's it goin'? Call me Munmardie, eh? This your government-mandated tick in your asshole?" He said as they approached, pointing at the woman with the clipboard.
She spat her gum on the black bitumen road, clacked a heel, and lit a cigarette. "Your government-mandated tick on your asshole, mate."
"Ah, no worries, things happen where we're going, aye?" He grinned, nodding. He was dressed in a singlet-shirt and shorts, flip-flops on his feet.
Harry had repeatedly prodded at Tom throughout the bizarre interaction, receiving nothing in return, making his stomach roll.
"Is that a threat?" She asked.
Nagini held Voldemort's arm, blinking at Munmardie and the clipboard yielding official.
"A threat? From me? Laughin'" He smacked the back of the car he was standing in front of, and the woman took another draw from her cigarette.
"On—your—time," Voldemort said through his teeth.
"Yeah, on your time, Nomagi." He laughed, his belly bouncing.
"One more fuckin' word and I write you up," she hissed, pointing a finger and dropping the smoke, "Get in the car."
"Is that her name? Nomagi?" Nagini asked in Parseltongue, as Munmardie took the driver's seat, and the woman with the clipboard took the front passenger.
"No. She is a Muggle." Voldemort opened the door for her, and she sat in the middle, a blessed buffer between Harry and the cause of every problem he'd ever had.
"Now, Voldemort, alright to call you that? You mighta guessed we got a couple regulations in place. Nothin' to worry about, they'll tell ya, just ask 'em," Munmardie smiled at the woman in the front seat for an uncomfortably long time before he started the car, still grinning. She steadfastly ignored him. "We'll swing through the only Floo point in the state, and then we can start towards Ngangkari Ara Irititja. You know what the 'school' is, right, mate?"
"Yes."
There was an awkward silence in the car as they validated parking and waited for boom gates to open.
"This has got to be the weirdest situation I've ever been in," Harry muttered in Parseltongue.
"No strange languages," the woman in the front snapped. Harry glanced at her clipboard and found a printed form-like document, spaces for notes and tick-boxes. Her handwriting was too small to read.
Munmardie laughed, "Can't control how people talk even if ya want to."
"The weirdest?" Voldemort repeated, as though to anger the official, "Surely it only grazes the top twenty."
"…Yeah, probably." His mouth only moved in rebellion. The rest of him was achingly tired, not willing to be where he was. "Last night was pretty weird." He said it to watch the Dark Lord flinch.
He did, falling quiet, nose scrunching up as he stared straight ahead. It didn't bring Harry any vindication, as he'd hoped, only discomfort.
'Tom. Yes or no?' He repeated. He dug his nails into his palms when there was continued silence in his head. He bit his tongue, nostrils flaring, determined not to squirm; certain Voldemort took some sort of satisfaction from watching it all on his face. More irritating still that the car smelled like him. That his mind kept wandering to the feel of his hand on the Dark Lord's cock. "Have I told you lately that I hate you?"
"Not as of late," Voldemort said.
"Yeah, well. I Fucking hate you."
"Of course you do. It is decidedly mutual."
Harry narrowed his eyes and stared out the window, watching the skyscrapers in the distance. They seemed to be heading toward the city, but he had no real idea where they were ever going until they were there.
"Both of you are liars," Nagini said simply, crossing her arms.
"Nagini," they both said, and Harry pressed his forehead harder into the glass.
"I don't think people who hate each other can act the way you two do." She continued.
"I assure you, darling, they can." The Dark Lord was still staring daggers at the headrest in front of him, smirking every time the government official flinched at the serpent tongue.
Munmardie was grinning periodically; Harry could see his mouth in the rear-vision mirror.
They reached the city after around fifteen minutes. Nagini leaned across Harry's lap to stare open-mouthed at the glass sky-scraping buildings, blue and shining in the sunlight.
"Fuckin' hate driving in this city," Munmardie muttered to himself seconds before he slammed on the brakes and yelled, "Oi! Watch where ya goin' ya fuckin' dickhead! Can't drive for shit!"
Harry bit his tongue, eyes wide, almost smiling at the obvious discomfort on the Dark Lord's face. Nagini distracted him with the flask of Polyjuice potion, and he did an expert job of not reacting at all to the flavour.
"What's going on here? Why is there a Muggle government official?" He finally asked.
"The magical community here is tightly regulated. The government inserted themselves the very instant they learned of Wizardkind. It caused a mass exodus, witches and wizards seeking refuge in other countries. Those that remain here are, in essence, trapped. Floo, Portkey, flight and Apparition are strictly monitored—Apparition has not been taught in this country in over fifty years. They cannot hold Muggle passports. It is not a place any witch or wizard would want to find themselves."
"Well… Then, why are we here? How are the students going to get out?"
"We are here under the pretense of 'discussing' an exchange student program. It is an offer that, on paper, has already been rejected. They are happy to believe they are wasting my time. If the school accepts, their students will be smuggled out."
The conversation was cut short as they parked, which was apparently an undertaking, given the way Munmardie kept swearing under his breath and looping the block. Harry was thrilled to climb out of the small white car. He held the door open for Nagini, and she bounced on the sidewalk, swinging her head back to look up at the buildings. They stood outside a bank, ATM's on the outside, tellers at desks in the sprawling reception within.
Munmardie locked the car while the woman was still in it, confidently walking into the building. The government official was practically feral when she climbed out, stomping after the dark-skinned man. Harry moved when Voldemort did, almost unconsciously tugged along by the thread that bound them.
Munmardie was already in an elevator, slamming the 'hold doors' button while the men and women in suits around him pulled faces.
Once the four of them had joined him in the elevator, Munmardie screamed—loud and echoing in the atrium—and everyone that was in the elevator promptly exited, eyes wide as they jogged away. Harry could no longer hold it in and snorted as the elevator doors closed, cleared of all but one grimacing Muggle.
The elevator ride to the very top of the building was silent and almost tangibly painful. Harry kept his eyes on the numbered buttons, counted the floors and fought a wild grin. They emerged in a bland hallway with white plasterboard walls and blue carpet. The woman with the clipboard took the lead, opening the third dark brown door on the left.
Inside the white room was a desk—where a well-groomed man sat, reading a magazine—and a tall, unadorned fireplace jutting from the wall without windows. The windows themselves overlooked the sprawling city over forty floors below.
'…Tom. I'll honestly yell. I'll do it,' he thought, unable to keep his mind off it for long.
'Harry, we can't do this right now.'
'When? Ever?'
'…Soon.'
He balled his fists and glared at the man at the desk, who raised an eyebrow at him. "You all who's going out to bum-fuck nowhere to see those little hoodlums?" He looked at the woman with the clipboard, "Ew, Kate. Don't envy your job." His voice was high-pitched and nasal.
"You sit here all day doing nothing?" She said.
He gestured like that won him the argument, "Exactly. Have fun in the desert." He flapped his magazine and pursed his lips.
Munmardie took the small white cardboard box off the mantle and threw a handful of Floo powder from within into the tiny fire in the hearth. Green flames roared to head height, and he turned to them and said, "You'll wanna say 'Barrow Creek' loud and clear, aye?"
"Nagini," Voldemort reached for her, and she dropped to the floor, writhing until she was serpent. Much to the startled, yelling Muggle's dismay. He knelt for her to climb onto his shoulders, an invisible smirk on his face.
Munmardie went first, shouted the name and vanished. The Dark Lord pushed Harry forward, and both entered the Floo simultaneously, Voldemort thankfully speaking the name and shooting them through the network.
"Quick! Run! Before she comes through!" Munmardie said as they entered a brick building with old wooden floors. As Kate appeared behind them, he said, "Nah, only jokin'."
"Animagi need to be announced on entry!" She snapped as she brushed the ash off her skirt.
"She is neither witch nor Animagi; there is nothing to declare," Voldemort said, as she scribbled furiously on her form.
He set Nagini down, and she transformed, retaking her human form. There were a few desks, one clear, the other two cluttered with paperwork and knick-knacks, though there was no one in the room with them. Nagini pocketed a handful of pencils and a stapler, grinning like a cat burglar.
"This is Davenport, the closest Floo point to the school. Means an eight-hour fuckin' drive, did they tell you that?" Munmardie looked the Dark Lord up and down and nodded when Voldemort's face darkened.
"Yeah. That's how I feel every time they tell me, 'Munmardie, we got anotha one!' I love takin' these cunts on a trek," he jerked his head and pushed the glass-paned doors open. "At least we got my troopy."
Harry had no idea what a troopy was. No one asked, and he didn't bother. It was hot and dry outside the small building, the grass and vegetation crispy in the red dirt. There was a yellow four-wheel drive parked on the road, roof racks loaded with equipment. Munmardie smacked the hood, smiling wide.
The woman with the clipboard took the front passenger seat, and Nagini was once again a divider between him and the Dark Lord. Harry was still coming to terms with the reality of an eight-hour car ride.
"Can we do magic? Will that freak her out? What time is it?" His questions came out aggressively.
Voldemort cast a Tempus that showed eleven—and made Kate wince—which put their arrival time at seven that night. He wasn't sleeping without contact, so spending the hours unconscious was unlikely. The 'Town' of Davenport was in the rear-view mirror within a minute of driving; Harry had to assume less than one-hundred people lived there.
A sign on the side of the road read:
WARNING! REMOTE AREAS AHEAD!
THE FOLLOWING PRECAUTIONS ARE ADVISED:
But they drove by too fast for Harry to catch any more of it. There was nothing as far as the eye could see, sprawling red, sandy dirt with sparse, low-lying shrubs, a few rare trees. The narrow, sun-burnt bitumen highway stretched out in a straight line until it vanished on the horizon. Munmardie turned the radio on, and straight away he was singing the wrong words, off-key.
Harry looked at Voldemort from the corner of his eye and nearly sighed with relief when he drew his wand and silenced the back seat.
Within the first half hour his Horcrux was bombarding his head, and Tom let him in—sheepish, but not sheepish enough, if you asked Harry.
'I spy with my little eye, something beginning with AHHHHHHH!'
Harry winced, fighting to keep his eyes on the headrest in front of him, his hands balled into fists—the rage becoming familiar, sharp in his mouth and his palms, cutting up his throat.
'Came to see how you were, sweet baby, after your first optional, intentional murder. How are you feeling champ? Me and Morty are so PROUD. Hell, he's so proud his cock is hard right now! Just thinking about it! Don't look, sicko, what is wrong with you.'
'Tom…' Harry thought, then, 'Wait, did you just call him Morty?'
'Yeah, it's his new nickname. I came up with it. He LOVES it.'
The image of his Horcrux in the Dark Lord's head, calling him Morty, Made him snort, eyes wide.
'I know, it's excellent.' His Horcrux continued despite the lack of response.
'…Surely he's- the boner isn't about the murder, and more about what happened afterward?' Harry wondered.
'Oh, no. Specifically the look on your face when you squashed Bellatrix LIKE A BUG. Although, credit, Tom Riddle, he liked your little speech.'
'…Good,' Tom thought.
'Yeah, cool.' Harry glared. 'Secret French stuff.' Harry didn't know how to feel about the knowledge he'd been given.
'Oh, he said-'
'Don't.' Tom was suddenly fully present.
'Oh? You know, sometimes, Harry, I feel like, 'Ah, what a shit fucking shame it was me locked away and not you,' What makes you so special, right? Why you, with the arms and legs and pumping heart and functioning cock, why you? Then other times I think, 'Haha, look at this know-nothing clueless slut-for-brains walking right into a disaster all over again.' This is one of those times. Tom said he wants to fuck himself. In French.'
There was a dumb silence in his head. A giddy vibration from his Horcrux, a stunned non-comprehension from Harry, and a shocked anger from Tom—rearing up like a phantom in his mind.
'Why does that make you mad? It's not a big deal; he's had the same thought; he wants to tear himself to ribbons too. He wouldn't say it as poetically as you did. At this point I think he might scream?'
'…You want to- yourself? Voldemort?' Harry repeated.
'It is not that simple. Comparatively it is a small desire but one I have hidden from him nonetheless. He was not going to stop until I gave him something. It served a purpose. And it was private.'
'I'm just saying, if even I think it's time to throw your poor dog a bone, maybe it's overdue?' His Horcrux was rifling through his thoughts again, this time with more attention, looped tighter in the threads.
'Is there something you wanted,' Tom thought, ice in his tone.
'No, genuinely, I was just checking on the state of your Harry's head after that show. I gotta say, I was expecting a bigger mess? I was hoping for a bigger mess. I mean, it's always a fucking laughable disaster in here. BIGGER than this, is what I was trying to say.'
He smoothed his palms on his knees and glanced at the Dark Lord, found him stoic, eyes narrowed. His repeated swallowed the only sign he wasn't a statue. His face was less familiar, though his mannerisms were undeniable. Harry swallowed the excess saliva and returned to his mind.
'He's trying to figure out a way to touch you right now. He's got two dilemmas, publicity, and the fact he doesn't want it to look like it's for your benefit.'
'Is it for my benefit?' Harry latched onto his Horcruxes words.
'Haha! Stupid ass.'
Tom had been seething rage, silencing himself repeatedly as it wafted off him like steam, infecting his head. 'You will treat him with respect.'
'Pft, okay, Voldemort. You don't scare me. You need me more than I need you, you can bet your whole fucking ass on it.'
Harry had had enough, his irritation winning out over trepidation. He wrapped his arm around Nagini, tucking his hand between hers and the Dark Lord's thighs, his heart pounding a disrupted, furious beat as he eliminated one of Voldemort's concerns. Nagini didn't flinch or question it, leaning her head on his shoulder. He watched the Dark Lord's hand move fractionally towards his, and he closed his eyes, leaned back and awaited the blessed inevitable. His touch was the barest of grazes, calling his Horcrux away when the warm fuzzy oblivion crept though him.
His eyes snapped open the instant the contact ceased, not able to tell if he'd fallen asleep or not. The way the landscape hadn't changed at all didn't help. He couldn't tell if the sun had begun falling, or if they'd changed direction. Voldemort was asleep, the cause of the disconnection. He removed his arm, entirely numb, from behind Nagini.
"The time?" She asked, as he rolled his sensationless wrist in circles.
Tom snaked the numbers from his fingers and found that it was nearly one, that he'd been asleep for nearly two hours. Nagini sharply nudged the Dark Lord in the ribs and offered him the flask of Polyjuice.
If Harry had to guess, he'd say that Voldemort was simultaneously annoyed to have been woken, and to have fallen asleep in the first place.
"Why aren't you mad? About Mahoutokoro?" Harry asked.
"They will expect you to be weak, after that spectacle. Is that what you will be?"
"To be honest I really couldn't give a fuck about the competition, just like you."
"It is a means to an end."
"Yeah. Seems a lot of things are." His words came out sharp.
He chuckled and met Harry's eyes, "What happened Harry, did your lover scorn you?"
"Piss off. Stop saying lovers?"
"I admit I enjoy the way it makes you squirm."
Harry ignored him, sucking his cheeks into his teeth and biting.
"I am correct, aren't I?" He was smug.
"…You wish."
"An awful liar."
"Enough," Nagini said.
His mind was on the thought that had sent him spiralling to begin with, and he saw the Dark Lord register it, satisfaction curling his upper lip.
'Tom, yes or fucking no?' He thought. Voldemort chuckled, and Harry shot him a warning look.
"If you think it's so funny when I freak out, why bother Portkeying me away?"
"And have you make me look like a fool? Weak?"
"That much was already done," Harry said. "We both looked stupid. Next excuse."
"Do not imagine simply because you have had an independent thought that you are now above me."
"…Been above you this whole time."
"Say it again."
"Said I've been above you this whole time."
Voldemort grabbed him by the throat, pushing him into the door and Nagini back in her seat. She shoved at him until the light was sputtering from his hands, lighting up the abruptly stopped car; they skidded off the road and kicked up a cloud of red dust that swallowed them. He scrambled for his seatbelt and the door handle, successfully falling out onto the hot road.
Voldemort was right after him as the dust floated down the highway, Nagini quickly behind.
"Enough! You're both being morons!" She tried to take the Dark Lord's arm but he snatched himself free.
Munmardie and the government official had spilled out of the four-wheel drive, both swearing—her at him, and him at the Dark Lord—which Harry thought was brave. Also pointless, Voldemort couldn't see or hear either of them.
"Say it on more time."
"Are you stupid? I said I've been above you this whole ti-"
"This is reckless fucking endangerment and someone is going to be hearing from my higher-ups, because this just takes the fucking cak-"
Snakes of red biting light erupted from the Dark Lord's hand, wide mouths snapping at the air until the connected with flesh, ripping and tearing and burning as they went. A baffled squawk became a shrill gargled scream—cut into silence as Kate fell, mangled, on the bitumen.
"Well, fuck me, mate, about damn time someone did that, aye?" Munmardie said. "The dog." He spat at the ground.
The Dark Lord's chest was heaving, and Kate's corpse was sizzling, eyelids singed right off, leaving her to stare horrifically wide-eyed at the sky. Harry was still on the road, stunned, until the realisation that it was hot enough to burn him reemerged. He scrambled to his feet, eyes locked on Voldemort's.
"We can go a bit faster without that pain in the ass. Do us a favour and touch your magic stick to the troopy, aye? I would, but they put a trace on me the second I squirted out me mum. I fart and the government makes a note about the smell." Munmardie took in the look on Harry's face, "People go missing out here all the time. Nomagi wander off without water. No questions there to ask, fulla." He shrugged and pointed at the car.
Voldemort's hand was shaking as he drew the Elder Wand. It was slight, barely perceptible, but Harry was watching him carefully. His forearms were red and stinging from contact with hot bitumen. His throat was worse off, he could feel it blistering, his collar felt as though it was threaded with shards of glass. He pressed two fingers into the bite on his collarbone, rolling his head as the sensation connected immediately to his cock.
The Dark Lord transfigured the corpse of the government official into a large boulder, and then flung it a startling distance into the desert. There was a vein visible and pumping in his forehead as he touched his wand to the four-wheel drive. He stepped back rapidly as the car sprouted eight mechanical, spider-like legs.
"Ah, aint she a beauty?" Munmardie slapped the side of the car and it knelt, reminding Harry of a horse lowering itself for a child. "Better get off this track quick now," he scooped up Kate's clipboard and tossed it in the car as he climbed up.
Harry shook himself and followed, guiding a stunned and glaring Nagini into the middle.
"You wanted to do that to Harry." She said as Voldemort retook his seat and his stoic expression.
"Yes."
"…You're being senseless aga-"
"Nagini. I did not do it to him, did I?"
"It was close."
"Always is."
She crossed her arms and stared out the front windscreen as the car got to its feet. It felt akin to what riding a giraffe might feel like, if a giraffe were air-conditioned and capable of warp-speed.
It quickly took them far from the highway, scuttling across the desert, turning the shrubs to blurs. Munmardie had his arms behind his head, eyes closed, grinning.
"You have become quite brave with your tongue, Potter. Is it that you no longer value your life?"
"You told me to say it again? Want me to follow orders or not?"
"What about the lives of those who remain? Distant as they are from you?"
Harry fell silent, but the threat was beginning to hold less weight. He wasn't sure if it was recklessness, impatience, or a growing, numb indifference that lightened the significance.
Half an hour passed in quiet, and Harry wondered how much faster they'd arrive. Munmardie had fallen asleep at the wheel, snoring and silenced again. Twice, the car had stopped dead and laid low to the ground, before it would scamper full speed once more.
The Dark Lord allowed the Polyjuice to wear off. Instead of looking at him Harry used the bruised bite as a distraction, digging his fingers into it and shutting his eyes. He grazed his fingers along the fresh burn and stopped he felt Voldemort's eyes on him—sharp and tangible.
"Do you want them healed, or are you playing with them?" The way he hummed the question sent a chill down his spine, sweat pricking on the back of his neck.
"Bit of both," Harry said.
Though the car was air conditioned it felt hot and tight in the back seat. The proximity and the pain swimming his head. "What happens if you get mad and there's no one around to conveniently murder?"
"I suggest running."
"…How fast are you?" Harry looked at him, unable to help it. A flush of goosebumps stung the burns on his neck and forearms.
He was violently stunning. Handsome didn't quite cover it, felt too soft in Harry's opinion. While handsome was true for Tom Riddle, there was a severity to the Dark Lord. Angular, furious. The stillness of his face and the usual lack of expression did nothing to hide the way his eyes projected it, a ravenous rage held expertly in place—yet still too wild for its master's hands, overflowing on occasion, uncontrollable volcanism. Usually Harry's doing.
"…There it is again." Voldemort said, "Pleading."
Harry looked away, face unreasonably hot. "Maybe I'm tired and you're seeing what you want to."
"…Funny."
He forced his eyes closed and pressed his head to the window, feigning sleep. Hours passed that way, and rest didn't come. The burns and his inability prevented it. He'd been about to ask how much longer he'd be forced to endure the scent of cedar, the maddening pain in his neck, and the heat that kept flushing down his chest; when the car stopped. Without grace it lowered itself to the sand and tucked its legs back into obscurity. The motion woke Munmardie, and his mouth was moving. The Dark Lord didn't seem to care and left him silenced.
"You're rude to people a lot for someone who talks non-stop about politics." Harry said.
"I do not recall a single time in which I have 'talked non-stop about politics' in your presence." He sat back in his seat, looking up at the roof.
Munmardie was in charge of the wheel again, driving them across a barely there track in the red sand and dead grass, much slower than the highway.
"Okay, guess that's relative, but you do, though."
"Nagini make him shut up."
She frowned.
In the distance—poking out of the otherwise flat landscape—was a red stone mountain. The largest thing he could see by far. It was cut through with vertical lines, eroded by rain.
"Is that the school?" Harry asked.
"The rock? No."
"You didn't call it the rock when you told me," Nagini snapped. Voldemort smirked and extended a hand. She put his tiny robes in his outstretched palm and rolled her eyes.
"It depends who you ask. The first people call it Uluru. The British call it Ayers Rock." He enlarged and threw his robes on, and Harry realised that the Dark Lord wasn't wearing a seatbelt. He said 'The British' with amusement, and he assumed it was conflict making Voldemort grin like a hyena. He liked conflict, Harry decided, it was easy to swoop in and take advantage.
"Are you gonna heal my burns first, or am I going in looking like…" He wasn't sure what it looked like, only that it wouldn't look normal. As far as normal went, between Voldemort, Harry Potter, and Nagini.
"Mm, I thought you enjoyed them." The deep, vibrating hum that his voice occasionally took was unfair.
"I'm sure you'll give me more."
He exhaled audibly, shifting in his seat, and Harry took it as a win.
"…Say when."
It was his turn to squirm. He cleared his throat and bug-eyed out the window. The sun was low on the horizon, close to sunset. "You say when."
"You two are the worst just kiss?" Nagini flapped her arms.
Harry choked on spit, and she needed to pat him on the back while his eyes watered. "…Nagini, no." He said when he'd recovered speech.
Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose for a long moment, before he tossed his hood up and conjured the black skull face, twined with silver. He drew his wand and flicked it in Harry's direction. So, he pulled his collar down and didn't meet his eyes as he healed the burns. First his neck, then his forearms. He left the bite on his collarbone, though the deep blue bruise was visible while he healed his throat. He didn't offer salve, the ghost of a sting left behind.
"Doesn't even make sense?" Nagini said.
They'd reached a chain link gate—covered in warning, no trespassing, and beware signs.
"Welcome to Ngangkari Ara Irititja." Munmardie said. Harry wasn't sure when he'd been un-silenced. The gate swung clumsily open without assistance, and their guide was grumbling under his breath.
Harry was sick to death of the quiet in his head.
They pulled to a stop next to a few other derelict cars, and two camels, chewing and tied to a log post. There were no roads, only dirt tracks. The buildings stood in bizarre juxtaposition. One large, white box shaped structure, with uniform square windows—reminding Harry of a hospital—surrounded by half a dozen medium-sized thatched huts.
Sprinting through the centre of them were two dark skinned teenagers, a boy and a girl. He was shirtless, with no shoes, screeching with laughter as he ran, a red dog at his heels. He spotted the yellow four-wheel drive as they got out, and the two teens bee-lined for the car as Harry saw what they were running from—six other teens, one of them swinging a baseball bat.
"Munmardie! I swear I ain't done nothin'-" The boy was yelling and running, then he was silent, skidding to a stop in front of Harry. He sharply elbowed the girl and said, "Kitarra, Uncle Kev is gonna flip the fuck out." Then he howled with laughter. The girl seemed less sure, looked him up and down, then backed away as the Dark Lord rounded the car.
The six that were chasing hastily retreated, scattering like bugs.
"He thought it was a fuckin' joke? How come no one said nothin'?" He straightened, locked eyes with Harry, and was laughing all over again. "I gotta see his face."
"Where's he at, Kit?" Munmardie asked, scratching the panting dog behind the ears.
"…Uh," She was taller and darker than the boy next to her, all wiry muscle, "He's where he always is? What's goin' on?" Her hair was dyed bleach blonde, a fluffy bun on her head.
"I'm Yungurra," the teen said, bouncing as he turned, "I'll take ya to Kev."
Harry followed, grateful to be free of the car. His legs were partially numb. Yungurra ducked into one of the huts, and Harry correctly assumed they were bigger on the inside.
A long, wide hallway sprawled off the side of a small entry room. The walls were smoothed and polished dirt. When he reached out to touch it, nothing came free. It felt and looked almost like solid rock, sloping above their heads. There were no edges or straight lines, the scattering of archways were doorless, the building lit only by sunlight.
The Dark Lord overtook him in the hallway, and Harry rolled his eyes. Yungurra stopped outside the only door, giggling as he tapped on the thin wood. "Kev! Hey KEV! Ya remember that letter ya said was bullshit?"
"Yungurra fuck OFF away from my door I'm warning you, this is the last ti-" The door peeled open, making a tacky noise as it released from its frame. A man, reasonably tall—about the same height as Harry—stood slack-jawed in the arch. His mousey brown moustache was curled at the tips, long hair tied back in a tight braid, his outfit nearly the same as Munmardie's—who had also followed them inside.
Kitarra, the girl with the bleach blonde hair, had disappeared.
"Holy fuck me swinging," Kev said.
"They all swear a lot," Nagini said, grinning at Harry.
Voldemort stepped forward, forcing the man back into what Harry guessed was his office. On closer inspection, he was also living in it, a bed tucked into a side room with no door.
He shut the room behind them, assuming that it was a private conversation.
"I am under the impression you thought this meeting was a hoax?" The Dark Lord asked, sitting down without invitation.
Kev rounded his desk, not taking his eyes off Voldemort. There were plenty of chairs in the room, and Nagini took the two-seater couch to herself. Harry took the seat beside the Dark Lord and found no resistance.
"In my defence, I only received the one letter. Today's date, of course, but the government didn't give us a heads up or nothing, no, 'Hey, we're on our way with the Dark Lord Voldemort'. You know what this place is, right? These kids are…" He looked at Harry and grimaced, then fixed a stack of paperwork on his desk.
"There is no exchange student program. A distraction for your government. In December Hogwarts is hosting a duelling competition. Eleven schools, each represented by six students."
He laughed, then he held up a hand, "I- hold on, a competition? I dunno if you've noticed mate, but security is a bit fucking tight?"
"The students would be smuggled out."
"You see that big white ugly building when you came in? Filled to the brim with Nomagi cunts who think they're out here experimenting on these unwanted magical kids. We have trouble smuggling them out."
"Do you?" The Dark Lord leaned in, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "You do?"
"…Alright, sounds like you want me to leave that to you?" He laughed again, disbelieving, "They're stupid, but make no mistake, they're a pain in the fucking ringhole."
"…We are accepting one hundred students from each school to spectate, in your case however, I have decided it best if only your six champions are unaccounted for."
"Well, it's an easy job, picking which six… No exchange program?" He looked disappointed.
"Not on paper."
"And just the six?"
"For now."
He nodded, said, "Huh," then nodded again. "Okay. I hear you. Yungurra!"
Harry almost jerked in his seat, and turned when the door tacked open.
"Alright, sir? Was just checkin' ya door for ya."
"Get your mob, please. And… Ethan and Grace."
"Oh, fuck off, not them, he had a bat five minutes ago, sir?"
"What'd'ya think that little asshole and his sidekick will get up to without you keeping 'em in check, aye? And just think, maybe, while you're away, their single-minded groupies will find something else to be fucking stupid about?"
Yungurra swung his arms to shield his face, swaying on the spot before he said, "Ugh, fine." And sprinted away.
"Yungurra Bishop." Kev sighed, "Resident shit stirrer. Would start a fist-fight with a tree if someone told him it looked at him wrong." He stood up, "I take it you weren't told about how long exactly it takes to reach Ngangkari? They love that trick. Where's your official? In the Box?"
"I killed her."
Kev stopped with his hand on the door. "Kate, then?"
"Yeah," Harry said, when Voldemort made no move to answer.
"…Well," He pulled the door open, a loud tack, "Things happen in the desert."
There was screeching down the hall, like four or more young children were being drawn and quartered in the next room. "Fuck's sake." Kev muttered. "Munmardie? Miriam! They're at it again."
A group of kids were piled up at the end of the hall to their left, screaming. Sparks started flying from the stack of children, and looming black shadows—vaguely human shaped—were crawling up the mud walls. Instead of scaring the kids, it sent half of them ballistic, shouting louder, stomping their feet and diving into the pile until Kev split them apart with magic—ten children floating frozen in the air.
At the centre of the pile was an angry little boy, no older than nine, glaring at them with his arms crossed, the only one not levitating. He was pale with red hair, a smattering of dark freckles. He got up without a word and walked away as though nothing had happened. Kev lowered his hand and the kids softly landed, suddenly animated, all talking at once at him.
"Hey! Hey! I told you, enough! Go and find Miriam, tell her what he did." He held a hand up in warning and they dispersed.
"What did he mean, when he said the Muggles were experimenting on the children?" Harry asked in Parseltongue, following Kev out of the hut.
"Exactly as it sounds," the Dark Lord said.
They were met outside by three officials with clipboards and white shirts, and two security guards in light-blue, guns drawn, pointed at the red dirt.
"Kate?" The woman in the middle said, "You arrived two and half hours ahead of schedule."
"Oh, is that what it say on ya paper there? Nah, we left at near sun-up this mornin', went through Macca's in Brissy, got a frappe." Munmardie said. "And Kate got lost in the fuckin' desert, I told her she wasn't gonna find cell-phone reception but she wanna complain about my drivin'. She be out there somewhere, on the highway. Bet ya find her jus' fine, aye?"
"Stun the guards. I'll Obliviate the others," Kev muttered as Munmardie held his arms wide and monologued.
Voldemort didn't hesitate, rendering the guards useless with a flick of his wrist, while Kev did the same—three quick Obliviations that seemed well practiced. He followed up by wiping the guards minds clean, then he simply began walking away, leaving the five of them to blink at each other and their clipboards.
"Won't hold them off forever; this mess will need a little more work." Kev's tone placed blame, but nobody took it. "Ah, shit, I'm Kevin, by the way. Kevin Walsh. I run this waking nightmare."
"I'm Nagini!"
Harry smirked and sucked his lips into his teeth. They were taken into another hut, this time a wide-open space with six large, laminated tables, each with ten chairs. There was a small raised stage with a podium. A buffet of food stood to the left of it, and five children of varying ages were helping themselves.
"We don't host often," Kev said, taking a seat—aluminium and faux leather—at the table closest to the stage.
Nagini sat between Harry and the Dark Lord, and he blessed her silently. Munmardie examined his hands beside Kevin.
Harry heard Yungurra before he saw him.
"Miss! Miss! Listen! He had a bat! Six on two! Should lose TV privilege I reckon, Miss. Don't you reckon?"
"…Yungurra, he said you burned his brother's letters?" A tall pudgy woman with a broad nose and an accent he couldn't place, similar but different to the Australian's. Similar but different in appearance.
"That's fuckin' pure conjecture, miss, he's blamin' me cuz I'm black."
She brought the students with her, a few Harry recognised. Kitarra, Yungurra, and two of the six that were chasing them. A copper haired, pale girl, and a lithe boy with dirty blonde hair, rage in his hazel eyes—the one who had wielded the bat. Another boy and girl brought the total to six.
"Our champions. Chosen because if I left 'em here they'd burn the place to the ground."
"Hello!" The girl Harry didn't recognise said. She had long, straight black hair and friendly brown eyes.
"…And I don't think I could actually survive without Janiya's cooking," Kev nodded at the girl who'd spoken and she grinned.
"Yungurra Bishop," Kev gestured for them to sit down and they did, "Kitarra Murphy. Ethan Walker, Grace Phillips, Janiya Bondoc, and Saulo Niu."
Saulo was short but heavily built, his head shaved on the sides. He was tan with a wide-set face, mischief in eyes.
"And Miriam Wirihana, our Guidance Officer."
"I gotta tell ya Kev when he said it was real I thought he was taking the piss." Miriam's eyes were wide.
"I never take the piss, miss," Yungurra said.
"So, it's not an exchange thing?" Miriam seemed as disappointed as Kevin had been. "I was having fun with that idea."
"Not on paper," Kev said, and she perked up.
"…How we gonna get 'em out?"
Kevin shrugged and looked at Voldemort.
"It will not be an issue," the Dark Lord said.
"If Harry Potter's here, does that mean he's in the competition?" Saulo asked. "We gonna fight him?"
Yungurra laughed and squirmed in his seat. "Yeah, what happened, eh? Weren't you s'posed to kill him?" he asked Harry, pointing at the Dark Lord.
"Yunga," Kitarra hissed.
"Run your big mouth I dare you," Ethan said, revealing perfect white teeth. Grace giggled under her breath.
He turned to Voldemort, almost bewildered but too tired, "How is this school a political move? Genuinely, I don't get it?"
"…I like them." Nagini said.
"You would," Voldemort said.
She shrugged and Harry didn't get an answer.
"Nah, I'm serious? I'm curious? Cuz, like, he killed your folks, right? And I draw my power from my ancestors. Is that not how it works for you? If I was your parents I'd cut you off for sure-"
Harry stood up, curse on his arm at Tom's bidding, though he was calmer than he thought he'd feel at Yungurra's words. Exhausted by them regardless. "I want to leave. If we can't do that I need space. I'll- I'm not-" He interrupted his Parseltongue with laughter, bubbling up as he half ran for the door.
'Tom. Yes or no? Yes or fucking no?' He didn't go far, kicking up dust until he stopped behind one of the huts, out of sight.
'…I need you to listen until I am done. Can you do that?'
'Of course, I can do that?' Harry thought.
'I mean it. Please. Let me finish.'
'You haven't even started?'
'Harry.'
'Fine, I'll let you finish?'
'At first, I wanted to corrupt you, to break your mind and take over the pieces. Don't. You said you'd let me finish.'
Harry's eyes were narrowed and he was biting his tongue, legs tense as he ground his heels into the sand. His nails dug into his palms, and none of it was quite enough.
'I was intoxicated by the possibilities, by a misplaced and ravenous hatred for you. I wanted what you had; I wanted to destroy it. That is not the case now. It has been a long time since I have felt that way; I could not be further from that state of mind.'
'But-'
'Harry. I do not think you are a monster—I- I think you are beautiful. Perfect. While it is true that I led you here, you followed. If given the opportunity, I would do it again. Gently. I'd tell you everything as we walked the same path. No one has known me as you do. No one has ever come this far and not shied away. I wish I had seen it sooner. This is for you. Everything I do.'
It took the steam right out of him, and he deflated against the wall, frowning. 'Well… Tell me everything now?'
'You know why I can't.'
'Yeah, so you keep saying.' Harry didn't bother mentioning that he didn't truly, really know why. The sun was setting, orange and rippling in the distance.
'I know you know I want to.'
He felt the Dark Lord approaching and stood up, straightening his face. He didn't turn to look at him. "I'm tired."
"We will not be heading back tonight." After a beat of silence, Voldemort said, "Not another second in that car."
"How are we getting back, then?"
"…The car. Tomorrow's problem." He was walking, and Harry and Nagini automatically followed him out of the gate and into the desert.
He set up the tent when they were suitably far enough away. He set up wards; Harry wasn't sure what kind, his mouth firmly closed. He didn't wait for the Dark Lord to finish, ducked into the tent and collapsed into his bed, pointedly ignoring the fact that he couldn't sleep even if he wanted to.
'…You think I'm beautiful?' He blushed as he thought it and instantly felt stupid.
'Yes.'
'You're… You too.'
There was a warm buzz in his head, a wash of affection that was usually withheld. Though he couldn't sleep, he didn't mind. The shock of the night before, the day he'd had, and his lack of proper rest didn't hold much weight, it seemed, when Tom bathed him in light from the inside.
Unbidden and with some uncomfortable shame, his mind bounced to the sensation of his hand on the Dark Lord's cock.
'Oh. Sorry.'
'…It's fine.'
'Is it? This is… My Horcrux said that you wanted to- fuck yourself, but you said loads more to Voldemort than just that.'
'It would be hypocritical of me to Shepard you into this and feel jealous when…'
'And yet,' Harry interrupted.
'And yet. It is more complicated than just that. He stands in front of you and-'
He could feel Tom clamming up and resisted, 'And what?'
'Disrespects you. Flesh and blood, he could touch you—more than that, and yet…'
'Yeah. And yet.'
Like a moth to a flame, the Dark Lord invaded their conversation, dragging one of the dining table chairs noisily behind him as he entered Harry's curtained-off area.
"Ugh." Harry said. "What."
"Look at me."
"No. Fuck off."
"…Look at me."
"You're gonna do Legilimency, though."
"Yes, and it would waste less of my time if you met my eyes."
Harry sucked his cheeks and rolled over while Tom did a quick mental sweep. As soon as he met Voldemort's eyes he shot straight for the memory of the panic attack he'd had on steps of Mahoutokoro. He withdrew just as quickly, a sharp sting—mirroring the look on the Dark Lord's face.
Harry sighed and let his weight slump into the mattress, unwilling to engage with Voldemort's lust for his emotional discomfort. "Remember when you were stuck to the back of Quirrell's head? That was so stupid. Like, so stupid."
The Dark Lord didn't find it as funny as he did, "Mm. When I could not touch you. I often wonder about Dumbledore's theory. That it was your mother's love shielding you. I believe the simpler, more likely answer lies with our Horcruxes."
"He was wrong about a lot of things," Harry watched the Dark Lord's hands twitch in his lap, then move as if he was summoning them. Flooded with relief before contact as he tucked his hand under the collar of Harry's shirt. The warmth followed soon after.
"If I died, would I just spring back up? Do you know?"
"I have wondered. Should we test the theory, Harry?" He was tracing his chest absently at first, then less so, burning a tiny pattern.
"No, probably… Not." He was fighting sleep, but bone tired. 'He's bigger than me.' Harry thought, almost a knee-jerk, his mind flinging back to the feel of his hand on the Dark Lord's erection.
'Not by much,' Tom thought, fuzzy.
'Yeah but I'm not… Is that…' He couldn't articulate it, and left Tom to pick up the pieces of his thoughts.
'Interesting that you should fear pain,' He drew Harry's attention to the slowly forming burn, the only thing keeping him conscious, his eyes already glued shut.
'I'm not scared of pain… I don't know. I've never done it before. You know that.'
'Neither have I.'
For some reason, that knowledge made it worse. '…Has he?'
'I have no idea, but honestly, I have doubts.'
"We're all virgins?"
"You said that out loud," Tom said.
"Oh. My bad."
The Dark Lord sighed, and an awkward quiet followed—long enough for Harry to fall asleep.
(AN: Tom meticulously crafting his speech while the world burns around him. What is with these pair and getting very murdery on the weekends? My sincerest apologies to those who translate this fic to read it. I know I said no phonetic accents, but I consider the Australian dialect to be a whole other English. I won't do it for people whose first language isn't English. You get it. This chapter is not meant in any way to insult the First Nations people of my country—and the characters described are not meant to bear any resemblance to any living or deceased persons, nor do I claim ownership of the stories or culture that I have clumsily depicted here (This is true for every country and culture I write about, but I'm on First Nations land as I type). I have a deep love for my country's ancient culture and I will go to war about it. If one of these students wins the competition through the random number generator, fuck it, Harry who? Kidding, but I love them. I will fight for them in court, your honour. Carry on.)
