You Belong to Me, Cat Pierce
I've heard allegations 'bout your reputation
I'll show you my shadows if you show yours
Let's get it right dear, give a good fight dear
We'll keep it all up behind closed doors
Feels like we're dreaming, we're tripping and reeling
Just say that you belong to me,
I could get lost in the feelings we're feeling
Just say that you belong to me,
Do you want more of this? Isn't it glorious?
I can't believe that it's free
I will adore you, I'll only live for you
Just say that you belong to me
I must confess to you, I want to posses you
Tom began reading through Pollux's letters at breakfast, steadfastly avoiding saying anything about the dream out loud, though Harry couldn't stop thinking about it.
He scanned for names, dates, strange turns of phrase. Rereading the same mundane paragraphs over and over while Harry nursed a pumpkin juice and a coffee on the desktop—unable to decide and ultimately ignoring both—trying to watch the Dark Lord.
Voldemort was writing, staring at the fireplace, left hand scribbling without the assistance of his eyes. A carefully placed jug blocked Harry's view, and Tom was repeatedly pulling his eyes back to the letters on his lap.
"Avalon said that classes are back on?" Harry watched him bite his lips with interest, and Tom gave up on reading.
"…Yes."
"And?"
The Dark Lord shook his head and winced, "And? And what?"
"When did that happen?"
"Narcissa dealt with it. Assisted by Widrich."
"…That's not really when it happened, but I'll take it." Harry finally decided on pumpkin juice.
"These are extenuating circumstances, and our attention is required elsewhere. Do you mistrust their judgement?"
"Maybe they hired some spies? By accident? …On purpose? What do we really know?"
He'd successfully made Voldemort squirm in his seat; eyes narrowed to slits. "We see the Unspeakable first. Then the werewolf. Eat."
Tom noted that the potion was one of the Dark Lord's top priorities. Reluctant to sleep, most likely. He'd also noticed weakness. A yielding. Too far gone to hide, even in the moments where the Dark Lord held on to his composure like a liferaft.
"Harry will mark five hundred more." Not a question.
Voldemort flipped his parchment facedown and scoffed, "To what end? Yours?"
"You know what end."
And Harry understood which end was what as Tom spoke. He wanted Harry to have as many marked as possible in the event of fusion. If the Dark Lord was actually Squibbed as a result there would be a power vacuum, regardless of whether it was common knowledge—and it would be hard to hide.
Harry thought—whenever he did think about it—Squibbing him seemed wildly unnecessary. Wildly unnecessary and problematic. Feeding Crux would still be a requirement; there would be thousands of marks with no tether point—Tom had no idea if his wand would work on Voldemort's mark. And any wards or locks tied to the Dark Lord's signature would be inaccessible, unless…
"…So be it," Voldemort said, breaking the overlong silence.
It was pure conjecture on Tom's part—he thought so himself—but he believed there was a chance he and Tom could perfectly mimic the Dark Lord's magical core.
In the event of complete mayhem, Harry would have one thousand marked and the hope his core was a mirror.
After they'd seen the rude, obscured Unspeakable and the Dark Lord's blood had been drawn for another batch, Voldemort uncharacteristically took enough Replenishers to walk in a straight line.
Harry followed him to the few cells in the very depths of Gwrych, keyed into and passing through extensive, impressive wards. Narcissa would have to be Obliviating a small army's worth of people to keep the magic construction a secret.
He decided that part wasn't his concern as they came to stand before Remus' cell to find him pacing inside.
"You are paying for the safety and wellbeing of your wife and son with information. It is in their best interests that it is good information," Tom said, before anyone else could speak.
Without the bliss Harry was irritable. He'd quickly grown used to easy access to the potions, compartmentalising where they came from was simple enough when they tasted… Good. Crimson colour disregarded in favour of the sunlight that radiated outward each time he took one.
An alternative was to hold the Dark Lord's hand. Absurd. A thought that popped up repeatedly anyway, and he thought it again as he watched Remus pause and deliberate.
He didn't take Voldemort's hand in front of Remus Lupin, but there was a bizarre, nearly hilarious moment where he'd seriously considered it. Imagined the look on the werewolf's face if he did.
Instead, Harry said in Parseltongue, "I'm… Agitated."
Rather than ignore Harry—as he'd expected—the Dark Lord cut Remus off before he spoke with a gesture and said, "…Why?"
"Oh. Uh, because I've got no potions. I didn't realise how- I feel like I need them."
Voldemort considered him, eyes squinted, and Harry knew that face. Deliberating Legilimency.
In the end he put his hand on the back of Harry's neck without entering his mind. Casual in the motion, as though no one was watching. As if he'd done it a thousand times. Then the Dark Lord returned his gaze to Remus, impatient eyes demanding he hurry up and talk.
"I can- I can give you Ironwood's base of operations—but he wants you to come. He wants you to show up with your best so he can take all of you." Snake visible above his left eyebrow.
"Aberforth. Credence. Nagini. Lucius. Fenrir," Voldemort pressed.
When the bliss hit him standing it was a lot like being absolutely wasted, Harry decided. Brilliant, brain-mushing liquid joy cascaded down his spine, braced on the stone frame. "That's better," he declared, slurred serpent tongue.
The Dark Lord's thumb traced a circle at Harry's hairline, absently until he threaded his fingers through strands, and Harry had to drop his head on the stone, bliss fizzing his nerves, concentrated at his neck.
"…Greyback is dead. An unsuccessful relocation, as I- as I heard it."
Harry had his eyes open—a feat—so he could see the confusion in Remus' features.
Repeatedly shaking his head in disbelief, questioning with narrowed eyes.
He didn't want to answer any unspoken questions, particularly Lupin's. Harry blinked slowly in return, borderline staring through him.
"Your familiar is a well-kept secret. No one knows what they did with her after-" he stopped and Harry assumed there was a look on the Dark Lord's face. "…Harry?"
"…Don't talk… To me." He pointed through the bars, attempting a threat but ultimately letting his arm flop around inside the cell.
Bed Sheet was holding the bars, the edges of his hem like small fists. Shaking the metal—or attempting it—mild indignant eldritch chirping.
Harry couldn't decide if he was upset that he hadn't been allowed to eat Remus, angry on Harry's behalf, or play-pretending as a prisoner.
Harry snorted because no matter why he was doing it, he could fit through the bars.
Voldemort pressed and kneaded the muscles under his ears, disintegrating tension Harry hadn't noticed he was holding. "…Feels good." Effort to breathe evenly.
"And?" The Dark Lord snapped at Remus.
"Credence—I don't know much about him. I know he carried out that attack against Aberforth's will, that he did so with information he stole from- from Madeye."
"Where is he?"
"I- I don't know that either."
"You had better know something," Voldemort's warning made Harry laugh—a free, vibrating cackle.
"You had better know something," he mimicked, chuckling again when he parroted perfectly.
Remus was rough around the edges, he decided, swallowing giggles. Unshaven, clothes clean but old, grey in his beard and his temples. Far more wrinkled, his frown lines deep.
Looking at Harry as though he was watching him die rather than laugh. Harry smiled and made it worse.
"I… Have a few names and addresses. Some time has passed since Madeye and Aberforth considered me-"
"Brave? Trustworthy? Capable?" Harry slurred, but the words were audible enough.
"…Behave," a conflicting message because the word meant 'stop' but Voldemort's tone said '…Continue.' He'd spoken in English, and the way he held the back of Harry's neck—alternating between barely tracing the goosebumps and squeezing a decade's worth of tension out—made him stare at the Dark Lord.
If they were alone, Harry would have leaned in. He almost did anyway, gaze volleying from Voldemort's eyes to his lips and back again.
"…Harry." Remus insisted, his pleading tone more irritating than anything else.
"The next words out of your mouth… Had better be someone's name or address—" he rolled his forehead on the bars, willing the agitation away—tainting the bliss, "—Or I'll kill you for the fun of it."
The next words from Remus' mouth were indeed names and addresses. Further driving the point home that he was no longer in a position to receive free-flowing information, and that Ironwood wanted them to come.
Harry insisted on that address as well. Then he told Remus to give him his hand, face schooled to the best of his ability.
The werewolf didn't have a choice in the matter. He took a tiny measure of satisfaction watching him understand that Harry hadn't asked because he wanted a handshake, and that there was no other option than to obey.
As soon as his arm was through the metal, Harry grabbed his wrist and turned side-on, yanking the man's hand behind his back.
Bed Sheet needed no prompting, his mouth unravelling, thin tendrils twined around his and Remus' wrists to bite off the howling werewolf's fingers and most of his thumb.
The moment Remus was done spouting locations and bleeding profusely, the Dark Lord had led Harry by the neck out of the cells—an exercise in furious concentration; he didn't want to inconvenience Voldemort by slowing them down; he would let go. So he put one foot in front of the other with intense focus, all his willpower in his legs.
He was taken to Narcissa and released in the hallway outside the library—had made a face but didn't resist.
Without the bliss fogging his mind, he figured it was best not to be seen moved by the Dark Lord and mewling about it. Best, but honestly, not desired.
A large part of him was done with the secrecy.
Maybe all of him.
Lingering fear that shrivelled by the day, his desire to declare that Voldemort was his overshadowed any other hesitation.
And before the door opened, he was thinking about the dream. About his Horcrux. Ice shards in his veins, pounding in his temples as they shattered in his head, sharp cold aching.
The Dark Lord requested that Narcissa 'Expedite his spy', something Tom had meant to bring up.
Harry ignored the words and continued examining the memory. Winded by the intensity. Unrecovered.
Tom was thinking about it too, which didn't help; his recollection was clearer than Harry's. Tom had watched with razor-sharp eyes, hadn't missed a thing. Where Harry recalled not much other than blinding, inescapable pleasure, Tom had the showreel to match.
'That was…'
'…Intense.' Tom finished for him.
'…Yeah.' He followed Voldemort to the piano sitting room, both quiet.
'Do you think Remus—' Harry didn't finish the thought, pulled back into thoughts of the dream like it was a glue trap.
'This is boring. I'm bored. Hungry, too,' Crux thought.
'You will wait,' Voldemort told him.
In Harry's head for the meeting with his spy, Harry cloaked, the Dark Lord Polyjuiced to appear as a stranger, not Avrom—an alias that he'd comprised in the smear campaign he'd run with Rita Skeeter against Harry's name—dirty blond hair, brown eyes, mid-thirties. Common and unremarkable. Sat at the back of an almost empty pub near midnight.
They'd spent the better part of the day dissecting Pollux's letter and writing orders for fresh Death Eaters to investigate the addresses given by Remus, then kidnap anyone they found. Or, more accurately, the Dark Lord had done those things while Harry watched and Tom offered slow suggestions through the molasses of bliss. They'd moved a three-seater chaise to the desk so Voldemort could sit while Harry laid in his lap. Fingers traced from his chin to his chest and back again until he'd fallen asleep, mewling.
'Not for long,' Crux mocked Voldemort's tone. 'We could be doing something more interesting I'm sure everyone can agree. Nod if you can hear me Harry.'
He grinned despite the Dark Lord's irritation. '…It's nearly December,' Harry glanced out the frosted window to his left, dark save for a single streetlight.
Not sure where they were; apparently not relevant information. An unfamiliar chunk of unfamiliar town lit gold by the lamplight, sleeping under a blanket of snow.
'…We've hardly spoken about the competition?' Harry thought, when no one commented on the month.
'Do you truly believe you will lose? Tell me how you feel now, in true tandem with my Horcrux?' Voldemort was holding a drink—a metal tankard—ignoring it.
'Wow, turned him into a superhero, have you, Morty? …True tandem, give me a break.'
The words 'True tandem' brought something else to mind—the Dark Lord in tandem with Tom.
'I wouldn't know for sure; I need to duel.' He was aware they'd watched him think different.
'I have larger concerns.'
Harry wasn't sure if it was the new face, but Voldemort looked far more sombre than usual. 'What if we're still looking for them in December?'
'Then you will compete, and I will work.' Voldemort's eyes tore away from Harry's to watch a burly older man enter and order from a nearly asleep barkeep. 'That is her.'
'…Her?'
'Fulcinia. You understand you speak of this to no one?'
'Yeah, obviously, you said 'her?''
'Polyjuice,' Tom supplied.
'Is anyone else bored?' Crux wondered. 'I know Legs is erect as usual. Something on your mind?'
The woman disguised as an old man joined them, a high-pitched attempt at gruff: "A'ight?"
The Dark Lord flinched and silenced them, and her shoulders slumped in relief.
"…Forgive my… Indisposal, my Lord." She bowed her grey balding head, voice feminine—a light English accent mingling with another he couldn't identify.
"We have the location of Ironwood's base of operations," Voldemort said, ignoring her apology.
"Then you must understand why that information is not protected." She sipped from her tankard, gagged, and placed it back on the shabby table with bug-eyes.
"His daughter."
She nodded, "He frames it as a desire for a 'Conversation', as I hear it. I avoid the man and his spawn."
"…As you should. As you will continue to do."
Again, she nodded, glancing intermittently at Harry—hooded by Bed Sheet and tucked in the dark. "I've heard that you should expect correspondence from Ironwood. Burn the owl and the letter as you see them."
"The post is monitored."
"Of course." She bowed over her mug, "I believe he would aim to work around it."
The Dark Lord shook his head, incredulous.
'What do you say we get out of here, Princess?' His Horcrux crooned, as though Harry was the one making the decisions and they weren't in an important meeting.
He absently refused, but his mind slingshotted back to the dream.
"…Aberforth?" Voldemort pressed.
'Just say you're bored, Harry, he'll fall under the table and suck your dick to make you feel bett-'
'Would you be silent.' The Dark Lord tried to demand, but he only sounded tired.
'Why would I do tha-'
Voldemort took Harry's hand beneath the table, and his Horcrux was propelled out of his head.
"Moody is more influential than Aberforth; the man is too busy chasing his wayward son. Your familiar is alive and unharmed. No attempts have been made on her for information; she remains a serpent."
The Dark Lord's lips quirked—Harry watched with hooded eyes, bliss pulsing up his arm—and his eyebrows furrowed.
"Where is she?"
"I can only tell you what I've heard from Credence himself." She tapped her ear—large for her bearded head, "And those closest to him. He's not too careful with his voice or his magic, that one."
A 'get on with it' gesture from Voldemort's free hand.
"He believes Nagini was a prisoner. Held against her will. Aberforth… Either encouraged or ignored Credence's point of view. Drumlanrig was-" She cleared her throat at the look on the Dark Lord's face, "-Was a disaster for them, as well."
"Where do they meet."
"We're sent Portkeys. No addresses."
The Dark Lord retracted from Harry's mind and told her, "Look at me," because she'd been staring at her drink.
Harry watched him read her mind and could tell by the minute movements of his cheeks that he'd found nothing substantial that she hadn't already said.
When they returned to Gwrych, Voldemort was strange. Quiet—not unusual—disgruntled—also usual. But he also seemed nervous. Glancing at Harry side-long with over-wide eyes. Polyjuice worn off.
Led to the room with the piano and shoved inside.
Harry turned to watch the Dark Lord gesture wildly into the room with one hand, say: "Err," shake his head vigorously, then slam the door, leaving Harry alone at nearly one in the morning.
"…What?"
Crux in his head before he'd done a full turn.
'…Why did he leave you in here what's he doing?'
'I don't know, I was hoping you'd know?' Harry thought, scanning the room.
It was Tom who spotted the ring, sat on an intricately folded cut of rich red fabric.
'No—fucking—way.' Crux thought, 'Let me stay here.'
Harry thought, as he stared at the stone, mouth open, that if he ejected Crux in that moment he'd never hear the end of it. He also didn't want to kick him out—didn't feel remotely fair.
Tom picked it up, hands already numb, holding tighter than necessary. No hesitation as he turned the ring three times in his palm then squeezed his eyes shut.
'…You first,' Tom thought, heart in his throat.
'I can't believe he did this?' Harry didn't open his eyes. Gnawed his lips instead. 'He didn't want us to know? To see them?'
'Harry open your fucking eyes,' Crux demanded.
Tom's internal monologue made his fear that Merope wouldn't come for him plain.
He needn't have worried.
Breath knocked out of his lungs at the sight of them. Glowing, ethereal. Smiling at him.
"Harry." Lily stepped forward, and Harry had to sit down—automatically freeing Bed Sheet from his shoulders.
Slammed with not only his emotions but Tom's and Crux's—usually concealed, not then. Banging like a drum in his head.
A potent mixture of regret, rage, longing, and an aching sadness that he could never examine for more than an instant—brought out of the depths of his mind and held there by her.
Her hair faded by her opacity. No substance. Reaching for him regardless. Looking at him like she loved him—sorrowful smile.
Merope, behind her, observing Harry silently. She looked healthier in death than she had in life. Cheeks fuller, her eyes glittering, almost alive—save for her transparency. Strangely contented.
"…Mum—" Thousands of words trapped in his throat, suddenly dispossessed of the ability to speak.
Crux struck dumb; Tom struck dumber. Words irrelevant and impossible. He kept trying anyway.
"I-I'm sorry," airways closing, "I'm—sorry."
"No. Harry," she knelt before him so he didn't have to crane his neck and he didn't know why but it broke him.
Weeping in that uncontrollable way, bubbling out his mouth and his eyes and his soul.
"Nothing that happened was your fault," she spoke calmly though he was unravelling.
'Let me talk,' Crux thought, 'Let me talk like you did before. Harry. Are you listening.'
"…How-" He wanted to say 'How wasn't it?' but nothing would come out, grief fuelled panic—panic that he was wasting his time, that he might not get another chance to speak with her, seconds ticking painfully by as he fought a war with his own throat, heart breaking like an egg, clogging his thoughts with yolk.
"Breathe," Lily told him, and he tried, but it would come no other way than a frantic rhythmless hysteria.
Tom summoned the curse, ran the biting darkness up both arms and held Harry's neck. Rivulets like water trailed down his back while Tom corrected his breathing—reduced to huffs, hiccupping and sweating.
'Harry let me talk.'
He didn't know which words to say, dozens of questions sprouting with the sharp numb clarity the curse gave him. She didn't seem surprised to see him bathe himself in it.
"Do you- do you know what I am?" Harry asked.
"What you are," she touched his hand—bleeding darkness down the arm of the chair—and he couldn't feel it, "Is my son."
'I want to talk to her. Let me talk to her; let me talk like you did before.'
Tom's attention flicked between Merope and Lily in an almost reliable beat.
"I'm Voldemort's Horcrux. And he's… He's mine." He swallowed the double meaning; didn't want it to get out.
"I know." And if she knew that she must know everything, he decided.
'Harry let me talk to her what if he comes back what if he changes his mind, just let me talk to her just for a minute… Harry. Please.'
"He wants to talk to you. My- my Horcrux. I didn't make him on purpose-"
"I know." She looked deeply sad for a moment before it melted from her face, and she repeated, "I know."
He opened his mouth and his mind the same way he had with Remus, but Crux didn't speak straight away.
Rushes of nervous fear made his palms sweat.
'…What if she hates me too?'
'She won't,' Tom was the first to assure him because Harry didn't know what to think in return other than:
'Talk to her.'
"Hi mum." Agonising grief like barbed wire in his throat, "I really… Missed you."
"Hello, Harry." Her voice as heavy as his, "I've missed you, too. More than anything else."
"You missed me too? Me…? I didn't think you knew that I was here."
"I watch over you both," she shook her head minutely, "You're my son. You're both my son."
Tears streaming freely again, the work of all three of them, Tom's grip on Harry's emotions slipping along with his own.
"Where's dad?" Crux asked, and she hesitated.
"Where we are, things are clearer. Everything that happened, everything that's happening now, everything that could happen, we can glimpse it. With all the knowledge I was able to understand our sacrifice and your position, now. The hopeless choices you've been offered."
"And the love you found anyway," Merope said, snapping Tom's attention away.
"Your father needs more time. Though we see clearly… The afterlife doesn't alter… Opinion."
"He hates me," Crux declared, and he believed it wholeheartedly, his thoughts like a live wire in Harry's head, too brilliant to observe directly, blinding like the sun.
"No, Harry. He loves you."
"He can't stand the monster we've become, is that it?"
"Voldemort." She snapped, then shook her head and righted herself, glancing at Merope, "We have no love for Voldemort."
Again, Harry was choking on panic.
"Harry. I may not hold any affection for him, but I see this as it is. You are my son. I love you with every fibre of my being. You are tied to that man, for better or worse, by strands of fate so thick the Gods whisper."
"What did you say to him…? To Voldemort, that night- that night in the chamber?" Harry asked, then Tom asked, "…Gods?" Before he snapped his mouth shut.
"I told him you are his equal. That you would never bow to his will the way he believes he wants you to because you're my son."
Merope stood closer, and Harry couldn't bear Tom's anxious, enraged longing for another instant.
"M- Merope." Tom glanced at Lily and switched to Parseltongue, "I have thought often… About meeting you." Chills so intense they ran up his face into his hairline.
"…And I you. I watched you grow."
Tom inhaled three times before he said, "Do I disappoint you?"
"No. I imagine I disappointed you."
"…You did. Greatly."
She nodded, "When you grew inside me so did hope. I hoped you would change me. I hoped to redirect centuries of hereditary anguish. To shield you from that inheritance. I wasn't strong enough."
Harry could tell Tom hadn't expected that response, his rage chilled immediately, overwhelmed with the longing for things to be different, that he could glimpse the vision she'd had for them both.
"You found love anyway. Powerful odds against you, and you found it anyway. Don't let it go. Do whatever it takes to keep it; with love, nothing can stop you. Promise me." Her hand was on his cheek, searching his eyes, intent on a promise.
"I promise."
Inside Harry's head, Tom was spinning like a top, swallowed by regret, his monologue running a rapid-fire pledge to never stop apologising for what he'd taken from Harry:
'I'm sorry I want to make it right I'll try to make it right forever I'm sorry even if it's impossible I'll try I'll never stop please I need you to understand-'
"Will you stay? Both of you?" Harry asked.
"As long as you hold the ring," Lily said, "You'll see us."