Become the Beast, Karliene
I've always been a hunter
Nothing on my tail
But there was something in you
I knew could make that change
To capture a predator
You can't remain the prey
You have to become
An equal
In every way
So look in the mirror
And tell me, who do you see?
Is it still you?
Or is it me?
Become the beast
We don't have to hide
Do I terrify you
Or do you feel alive?
Do you feel the hunger
Does it howl inside?
Splinters of my soul
Cut through your skin
And burrow within
So embrace the darkness
And I will help you see
That you can be limitless
And fearless
If you follow me
He would have preferred a shower and found himself wishing the Dark Lord had thrown a longer tantrum (Or whatever he'd done all the previous day).
Instead of going down the stairs, the Dark Lord took them up, and Harry was hit with an unreasonable fear that Ginny and the others were still in the Astronomy tower.
From the top of the circular balcony, they were given an unobstructed view of the Quidditch Pitch—or the new and colossal stadium in its place—and a large palace-like white tent not far from the pitch. The few specks gathered around it were also dressed in white. The sun was rising, lit the sky with orange and purple.
The Dark Lord stared at the tent for a long moment; Harry registered that he wasn't breathing. He'd stopped a good distance away from the edge so that Voldemort didn't get any fresh ideas.
"…At least Kom Ombo doesn't seem to be here to win the competition?" Harry said, tentative.
"Yes, what a relief." He took Harry's arm and Disapparated, leaving Nagini on the stones in the Astronomy tower.
They reappeared in an office he'd never seen before, large and opulent, dressed in dark red and gold, shelves that reached the ceiling behind the mahogany desk—brimming with magical artifacts and heavy bound books. The Dark Lord shoved him toward one of the three doors in the room and told him that he'd find a change of clothes inside.
A white tiled bathroom was behind the door, welcome since he had not had a single spare second to shower. He did so rapidly, Bed Sheet waiting by the door. Harry decided that the Lethifold looked hungry and that he'd have to mention it. Probably before Nagini noticed.
Fresh robes were waiting for him, in the usual form and fashion. He stopped to stare at them for a moment, wondered for likely the tenth time where they were. Wherever he went, the Dark Lord pre-empted it. Likely, Narcissa's doing, but he'd directed her, no doubt. He was meticulously accommodated, though he didn't much feel welcome.
He dried himself with magic and grinned like an idiot about it. The sound of voices outside the door stopped him with his hand on the handle once he was dressed.
Voldemort, talking softly with someone. A woman, he figured. Or a man with a very delicate voice. He only hesitated for another instant before deciding if it was a private meeting, they were doing privacy wrong.
"Ugh, you?" He accidentally said at the sight of the red hooded figure—the Unspeakable.
The depth of her hood hid her face, but Harry got a glimpse of golden blonde hair.
"Sit," Voldemort said. He was sitting behind the desk, hands steepled.
Harry moved automatically before his brain registered the word.
She didn't say anything to him, standing when he sat in one of two red armchairs. He frowned while she removed her wand and cast over him, directing the scowl at the Dark Lord. He was sure that whatever was happening, he wouldn't be told what it was.
"…Follow-up questions," she muttered, though it seemed more to herself.
He could feel magic pulling at his scar—he couldn't think of another way to describe it—a dragging sensation in his forehead, pressure like a migraine without the pain. Soon after, inky blackness spilled out, pure—without the green light of Nagini's magic—blooming under the Unspeakable's wand.
"Are you certain that is what the prophecy indicates?" she asked.
"Do not discuss it here," the Dark Lord snapped, but she seemed unphased.
He almost heard Crux's voice before he felt him request access.
'Okay, so, he thinks that the… Wait, no. Slow down. You said you have a theory, leg boy. Tell it to me. Your theory.'
'My theory?' Harry wondered.
'About the prophecy, fucking hell.'
"It does not seem to indicate that to me, my Lord." The Unspeakable said, apparently disregarding his firm suggestion.
The pressure in his head was distracting, the cloud of black magic obscuring his vision.
'Well, that's one theory discounted. Shame you can't see his face, that one's gonna piss him off. Ohh, hold on, I've gotta see that I'll be right back,' Crux was gone before Harry could blink.
The magic dispersed. She picked up Harry's wrist and pricked his thumb with a blade she whipped out of her robes like it was a mugging. She pressed a droplet of blood into a vial; Harry narrowed his eyes but allowed it. She requested the Dark Lord's hand, and he was far more reluctant to give it. She pricked his thumb just the same, the drop of blood captured in a fresh vial.
'Your theory?' Crux thought when he bounced back in, 'He's pissed off, yeah. Still thinks he can find some way around it, though. Anyway. You.'
'Uhh. I don't know, I kind of thought that 'Four pieces whole' would mean that uh… You came back to me, somehow. And Tom… Tom would go to the Dark Lord.' He decided that he didn't like the idea.
Crux made an 'Error' noise, 'No. He wishes. He's sitting there wishing right now. It would be convenient, wouldn't it? Except, just like he thought, you fucked that up proper when you went nuclear and blew your core up. Too entwined now, I reckon. He's still nursing hope, but…'
Harry looked at the Dark Lord. He was watching the Unspeakable, eyes intense. She was fiddling with something on the desk, but it didn't matter. Whatever she found would be withheld from him. His eyes trailed unbidden to Voldemort's hands, clenched tight on the mahogany—dead Horcrux ring on his thumb, white knuckles.
'Funny that you had the same idea he did. You want me back? Wanna get rid of your lover boy already?'
'No. Neither.' Harry thought, immediately true.
He didn't want his Horcrux, and he definitely didn't want to get rid of Tom.
'You're in luck then, stupid, 'cause all my bets are on her reporting back and giving it a terminal diagnosis.'
'What if you're wrong, though?'
'He's on a wing and a prayer; don't even worry your pretty princess head.' Crux was gone again, and Harry was starting to feel like a doggy-door was built into the side of his skull.
'Do you think he's right?' Harry wondered.
'Yes,' Tom thought.
'…What do you think?'
'My interest in returning to him would be… Conditional. On the whole, I-' He stopped mid-thought and looked at the Unspeakable, though neither could decipher what she was doing with the blood and the tiny cauldron of steaming unidentifiable potion on the desktop. 'I don't want it.'
Harry released a breath he noticed he was holding as he let it out.
'Okay. Me neither.'
The Unspeakable finished up, collected the potion into one large vial, and told the Dark Lord she'd be in touch. Harry remembered her name was Vale once she'd left the room.
"Where are we?" Harry asked.
"The Ministry of Magic."
"You can Apparate into the Ministry now?"
"…Yes." He rolled up his sleeve and pressed the Elder wand to his Dark Mark, a movement Harry watched closely, biting his lips too hard.
"…What do you think the prophecy 'indicates'?" He asked in Parseltongue, better odds of a sane answer.
"None of your concern," Voldemort muttered, hand on a drawer handle. He removed several letters but didn't open them.
"Kinda is, though," Harry said. "Why'd you leave Nagini? She'd hate the cold in the tower."
"She is welcome to leave the tower," though he seemed distracted, he was invested enough to have a tone.
Harry wondered how he'd react if he discovered that Nagini had accidentally given part of the prophecy to Har-im-hotep, the thought moving his mind away from the Dark Lord's familiar, "Are you avoiding the school because of Har?"
When Lucius entered—interrupting Harry's line of questioning—he looked white, eyes too wide.
"My Lord," he bowed swiftly, squinted at Harry, "We have searched for you this morning," he shook his head minutely, "There have been attacks through the night."
"…Where."
"The Beaufort and Perrot estates. It is more the manner of the strikes…" Lucius hesitated again, still frowning at Harry, growing on his face.
"Spit it out, Lucius."
"Forgive me, my Lord, perhaps this should be a private discussion?"
"You assumed incorrectly."
Harry was surprised to hear him say it, had been about to stand to leave—he didn't know where he was going to go—instead he pretended he'd been shifting in his seat.
The Malfoy Patriarch steadied himself and reassessed, "…Are you aware of his whereabouts last night?" He pointed at Harry.
"…Why?" The Dark Lord asked, as Harry barked a shocked laugh.
"You think I attacked some Death Eater houses?" He laughed again, "No, seriously?"
Bed Sheet was cooing and popping at the back of his head, and again, he noted that the Lethifold needed to be fed before his brain zipped back to the present moment.
"I am aware of his whereabouts."
Lucius made a face that said, 'Are you sure, though?' and the Dark Lord stood up.
"Get to the point," Voldemort said.
The blonde looked down at the hardwood floor as he spoke, "The magic, the destruction wrought, it is as though…" His eyes popped back to Harry.
"Well it wasn't me?" He said, looking at Voldemort.
"I know it was not you," exasperated Parseltongue that gave him chills regardless of tone. "You will bring those that were present to me tonight, Lucius. Consult with Greyback. Bring him, as well."
Lucius bowed and turned to leave, but the Dark Lord stopped him.
"You will squash any suspicion around Harry and do well to cease entertaining it yourself."
His name never failed to shock his heart into an irregular rhythm; the way he said it, like it was filthy, stirred a strange reaction in his solar plexus.
Lucius bowed again, though he was facing away, "Yes, my Lord. Of course."
When he was gone, Harry asked, "Why would he think it was me? Do you think they all think it was me?"
"…I aim to find out."
It occurred to Harry that the only one who could confirm his innocence was the Dark Lord, and he could only do so because they'd slept in adjacent beds, hands locked together with magic.
"You're not… I mean. You won't tell them that, uh-"
"Tell them what, Harry, that we share a room? That I aim to have you screaming under me? That you desperately desire to be?" He was still standing, suddenly looming over him, not allowing any space for Harry to get up or escape unless he flopped over the back of the chair.
Harry laughed, though nothing was funny, a nervous sound. "Hello…?" He didn't know why he said hello. "…Yeah, I guess, that. Without the bit about… Are you going to tell them that?"
He traced the Elder wand along Harry's cheek, up to the scar on his forehead, where he paused.
He looked up at Voldemort and met his gaze on purpose. Holding in his reaction to the starved malice in the Dark Lord's eyes was a monumental effort, the intensity almost winding him.
"…Say the word," Voldemort pressed the wand into his scar as though he might manually dig his Horcrux free.
"…You."
"No." The Dark Lord exhaled a humourless laugh as though he expected as much, dropped his wand hand to Harry's throat and lifted him—choking—off the chair to Disapparate.
Voldemort dropped him on the ground when they rematerialised outside the Malfoy Manor. It wasn't lost on Harry by that point that the Dark Lord was steadfastly avoiding the situation at the school.
His legs weren't reliable as he followed Voldemort up the white gravel path. Ideas were swimming in his head, swirling with the gravity of the prophecies, everything Crux had ever said. Everything the Dark Lord had done. A rabid nervousness that grew smaller each time he weighed the reality. If he failed, something horrific was going to happen. 'All will suffer dawn' sounded inclusive. He'd gotten none of the Almadrasat prophecies, but if he was correct about Har-im-hotep's vague warning, it was all down to him. Again. And Voldemort. Again.
"…When are you gonna talk to Har?" He asked when they reached the double doors.
"When are you going to be silent?"
Harry shrugged, though the Dark Lord wasn't looking. "What are we doing?" He knew he wouldn't be answered, talking for the fun of it. "You should eat," he added when they were halfway down the hallway to the large dining room.
Voldemort turned without warning and shoved him into the wall. He didn't say anything, silent as he held Harry there, where any Death Eater could see. At any moment, Narcissa might round the corner and find something insane. Harry wondered dumbly—as the Dark Lord stared furiously at his mouth, then his eyes, then his mouth again—how many times Narcissa had been Obliviated.
"Yes?" Harry said, because it felt appropriate.
"Shut—up."
"It's just that I don't remember if you actually ate anything this morning. And if you did, it wasn't a lot. We have—a—deal." He had to hiss the remainder through a closing windpipe, Voldemort choking him with both hands, "You're—not—gonna—get—anywhere—"
"What is wrong with you?" He looked entirely bewildered.
"Eating—one—biteaday."
"I am genuinely asking. Tell me, what the fuck is wrong with you?" The Dark Lord asked, still strangling the air out of him, which, in Harry's opinion, made the question that much funnier.
"Me?" He wheezed, laughing and choked but coherent enough, "Me?"
He was dropped, and Voldemort paced rapidly in the hallway.
Crux took the opportunity to crash into Harry's head. 'Are you ready? Like really really ready? Because I'm gonna tell you, he's RABID. All he can think about besides death and shit. Less and less, these days. More and more and more about ripping into you.'
His stomach fizzed at that reality, but he pushed off the wall anyway. The Dark Lord was pressing his wand to his Dark Mark, and as usual, Harry watched with wide eyes and too much blood in his cock.
'Leg boy seems ready to go, too, wouldn't you say, Tom?' Crux asked, and Harry tore his eyes away.
'Is there something you needed?' Tom wondered. He did a decent job keeping a steady cadence, but Harry knew better.
'No, just bored. Letting you know that the word is on the tip of his stupid tongue, for fuck's sake, legs. Literally. Rally up. Let's fucking GO.'
Harry decided in that instant that if what his Horcrux was saying was true, it certainly wasn't happening in a random Malfoy hallway.
'You're so right. It's almost like you should have a plan or something,' Crux thought.
'…You can go?' Harry thought.
'I don't really think Lethifold is appropriate fuck attire. If they like fingers, do you reckon they bite off cocks?'
He didn't have an answer, and he also hadn't considered it—either thing. Harry was lightheaded and swaying in the hallway before the Dark Lord moved again, apparently growing tired of waiting in the corridor for whoever he was waiting for.
'And setting is important too, like you thought, can't be a Malfoy hallway.'
'…Why are you so invested in this? It's weird,' Harry wondered.
'It's weird? It's weird? Well then, princess, consider yourself the fucking weirdest,' Crux thought, laughing between Harry's ears as he sat down in his usual seat at the long dining table.
'No, seriously, why are you helping us? What do you get out of this?' Harry practically felt the shrug.
'Your boyfriend pays my taxes. And they're due, by the way,' Crux thought.
Tom took him into his section of Harry's mind, and he sighed loud enough to draw the Dark Lord's attention.
Narcissa entered in the same moment, bowing low, silver-blonde hair half-tied back.
Voldemort sighed almost as loud as Harry, before requesting breakfast for the second time that morning. Harry pursed his lips to stifle the grin before a rush of adrenaline relieved him of the smile entirely.
The Malfoy Matriarch was quick to fulfil his request, a range of foods summoned moments later under the guidance of a House Elf, Narcissa herself already gone. Though Harry was still hungry, and the Malfoy's always outdid themselves, he was watching the Dark Lord remove his hood and mask instead of the table. His cheeks were red enough to feel the heat like a fever.
Anyone looking from the outside in would a nonchalant Dark Lord plucking red grapes from the table, moving as though Harry wasn't even there.
He knew better though, having spent much time examining the tiny cracks in his veneer. The way his left eye twitched, the way his hands would fractionally clench—not tight enough to burst any grapes but definitely happening. The way his gaze would wander inevitably to Harry.
"What are you looking at?"
Harry didn't respond, thought it was pretty obvious that he was blatantly staring. When Crux and Tom emerged, Crux left his head, and Harry wondered why he never stayed afterwards—always bolting like a frightened horse.
'Do you think he's right? About what he said? That… The word is 'In his mouth' or whatever?' Harry wondered.
Tom assessed the Dark Lord, something he'd done less and less after Harry's Horcrux had forced him to carry extra weight. 'Yes. I think you could break him.'
Harry didn't like his choice of words or his tone. He picked a piece of toast, ripped it in half, and decided that—first opportunity—he'd do what he had to.