Chapter 2 - Angels
The prisoners are gone. So are the cells, for when Harry regains clarity of mind, they're back in the sitting room they'd conversed in earlier today. He has no recollection about being taken back here. There had only been room for painful memories and Voldemort's soothing presence locked in battle, until the Dark Lord ultimately claimed victory over a muddled, damaged mind.
He doesn't look smug about it for once, cradling Harry's smaller body as if afraid of it breaking if left to its own devices. A fear that may be justified, if only for the next couple minutes while jagged pieces of Harry slot back together. It does not bring further scars, because Voldemort will not allow for it, his presence and magic a cocoon designed specifically for Harry to heal in. With a sigh, the younger wizard yields, curling up in the embrace and returning the gesture with one of his own, placing the palm of his hand against the lightning mark that gleams silver on the side of a pale neck. At the contact, his soul mate shudders.
"You couldn't have given me a more unfitting nickname," Harry mutters quietly to break the pressing silence, when coming to his senses enough that he trusts his voice to speak without tremors betraying how shaken up he is. "Angel of death? After what I have done and the crimes I intend to commit?"
The other hums, arching into the touch with unmistakable enjoyment. It is a rarity that Lord Voldemort shows such vulnerability as baring his throat. Harry acknowledges the privilege with gratitude – and perhaps a touch of satisfaction.
"Master of death is a mouthful and one I'll certainly not shorten in a similar manner," the other replies just as softly. "You have risen above humanity, dear, you ought to embrace it. I find angel a more than fitting title for you."
Harry subconsciously seeks out the spot on his right forearm now hidden beneath the long sleeve of his robes, where splotches of dried golden blood - ichor – stain the skin. His fingertips gleam when he retreats his left hand, as if covered in mica dust. At the reminder of his newly formed connection with Death, the wizard wonders why he hadn't seen the being earlier, when the child he'd murdered sank to the floor, lifeless. Surely Death must have come for the Muggle? It's tempting to demand answers. Only Felix stops that line of thought, nudging him away from that course of action. Well, it's barely been an hour since their first meeting, which had not gone too well considering Death clearly resented having a new Master. Now the potion of luck advises against it, it's not difficult to guess why it might be a bad idea.
Rubbing his fingers together, the dried blood crumbles into glittering powder that clings to dark robes wherever it falls. Risen above humanity... what does that mean, exactly? Harry has the sinking feeling it'll take a long while to figure himself out.
Funny. He's stained with red and gold now, whereas Voldemort is marked by silver. Such fitting representation of their respective house pride.
"Didn't you hear them call us monsters?" he sombrely asks. When thinking back on the crumpled child he'd left in its damp cell, Harry cannot even deny it. "Perhaps in the end, that is all that remains of me."
"If your mercy is monstrous, then what am I?"
There's a dangerous, almost gleeful edge to the question that snaps Harry out of his gloom. Pushing himself up and placing both hands on Voldemort's shoulders, he peers into narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"
Harry's suspicious stare does not appear to have any effect, for his Intended leans back in the chair, relaxing now they are having a coherent conversation.
Thin fingers reach out to play with a strand of black hair before tucking it behind Harry's ear with excruciating slowness, iciness tracing the shell of it as if the question is deemed far less important than yet another part of Harry being memorised to touch. Impatience almost gets the better of him when his soul mate at long last inquires: "You have a mission, do you not? A virtuous goal of saving your loved ones – and by extension the entire wizarding population – by ridding the world of those who'd do them harm. You kill solely to bring us another step closer towards utopia. You see the death of your enemies as no more than a necessity, an unfortunate execution as punishment for their imminent crimes that must happen clinically and preferably painlessly. Even when you committed murder when half out of your mind for revenge, your instincts allowed nothing but the most painless method of doing so. It this not mercy?"
Mutedly, Harry gives a reluctant nod, unease coiling in his stomach about the accurate dissection of his line of thought. These had been his inner rationalisations to live with the guilt, but Harry didn't recall having conveyed this to his Intended with such clarity. The tension in his shoulders does not wane, for only one half of the comparison has been completed.
Voldemort offers a fleeting smile, as if he has pierced through the Occlumency barriers protecting Harry's every thought and knows exactly what is going on behind the curtains.
"I, on the other hand, have very different motivations for inflicting violence. Of course, murder is a useful tool to accomplish my goals, yet it is not the primary reason why I kill. Any justification I give others is a smokescreen, a convenient excuse to cover up the truth: I enjoy it. Whole-heartedly." He lets the confession sink in for a moment, the distracting hand that has caressed Harry's ear like a beloved pet now dropping to his cheek. The soft touch greatly contradicts the man's expression as his thin mouth splits into a feral grin. "To see life leave the eyes of a sentient being is the greatest rush to chase, a drug that never loses its efficaciousness. Ah, to listen to the whimpering and begging of my victims when they come to realise I hold their heart in the palm of my hand… when they know I will crush it and nevertheless try to convince me otherwise. Futilely, always futilely."
The Dark Lord abruptly leans forward until their faces are less than an inch apart and for the first time in ages, there is not a smidge of romantic tension in the gesture. Harry stares a viper in its face that waxes about its next kill. If not for their bonds, it would be a terrifying experience. Even now, looking away is too difficult a challenge when Voldemort's breath hitches. "That power, my darling," he whispers against Harry's lips.
Crimson eyes close and the thin slits of the man's serpentine nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, as if smelling an irresistible aroma. When Voldemort's gaze meets Harry's once more, dilated pupils almost blacken the infamous red, the mere thought of murder having been enough to produce an echo of the described rush. A trembling hunger is audible in his voice when he states: "It is life that I see as an unfortunate necessity in those around me. The soul of every person that stumbles across my path is weighed for its usefulness to me. Each time, I decide if their life is important enough to spend energy on combatting the urge to paint the halls of my home with their blood. Even when it is, this means a delayed sentence more often than not, until I have sucked them dry of every piece of information, of all I need from them. Or, if they catch me in a foul mood, I stop trying prematurely and slaughter them regardless."
"But…" Harry hesitantly replies, straining to untie his tongue at these bloody confessions. "You agreed to my plans to save all who carry magic, even placed people you dislike under your explicit protection…" He finds it hard to believe Voldemort's words. It does not make sense for a man who so openly accepted everyone close to Harry, who'd offered to defend them against outside threats.
"Your judgement impacts my own," the other clarifies with a small furrowing of his brow, as if now he fails to see Harry's point. "I shouldn't need to point out why, but if you insist: the only soul I never have to weigh the worth of is the one that completes me. As my other half, is it not desirable to have our wishes merge? I adopted your policy, even if I find it difficult to empathise with your grace. That isn't to say that I won't enjoy each murder to the fullest, but those you have deemed worth saving shall be spared on principle – on one condition."
A loaded pause hangs in the space between their lips, Voldemort waiting on whether Harry gives input.
He does not, for a repetition of 'what condition' would be quite redundant, whereas any protests or agreement are meaningless without having received more information. Thus, Harry merely cocks his head so his Intended carries on.
"Punishment," the Dark Lord clarifies. "I have made it my new norm to rein in my thirst for blood around anything bearing magic as long as they will not inhibit me. If a follower betrays me, if an enemy taunts me, if anyone dares lay a finger on you, I do not care if they're Merlin incarnate. They will die and agonisingly so."
Trying hard to sound curious rather than condescending, Harry questions: ''There are billions of people out there who should die, as opposed to our much smaller magical population. Is that not enough to get your fill of murder? Can you not find an alternative for mages who oppose you?''
"Not unless you can name a specific reason for why you wish for their continued existence... to which I must add that a blanket protection does not suffice. I will make exceptions only for those who are especially close or useful to you, even if I care not for them."
"Like Sirius and Severus…" Harry says, mentally noting that Voldemort put this idea into practice before this conversation by verbally affirming to protect his godfathers without being prompted to. It sounds promising, but Harry finds it difficult to accept that his Intended is straight up informing him there will be murders Harry may wish to prevent and won't be able to. Quite concretely, there is already one man whom the Dark Lord will most certainly hunt down under this agreement: Albus Dumbledore.
Tone significantly cooling when Harry struggles still, the Dark Lord speaks: "I am not asking for your permission here. There is no further compromise to be bartered for. This is my compromise."
Silently, Harry removes his hands from bony shoulders and slides off Voldemort's lap, who tenses but lets him. Some of his own built-up tension wanes when Harry can stretch his legs and pace up and down the room as he ponders on their current position. The compromise is much more than he ever thought to get when travelling back in time to ensure Voldemort wins the war. It is less than he's been hoping for after getting to know this version of the Dark Lord. When the man confirmed that he'll give up on the propaganda of blood prejudice, Harry thought they saw eye to eye about the future of the Wizarding world. To now hear this is only partially the case is an unexpected blow.
Regardless, it's a far cry from the bloody oppression and wild slaughter that Harry and his friends – even Hermione - had been willing to take in stride to preserve a spark of free magic. The alternative is unthinkable…
"Okay," he finally whispers, then repeats more strongly: "Okay, fine. I can accept this."
"As I said, I was not asking for permission."
Harry turns on his heel, smirking at his miffed soul mate. "You still love to receive it," he teases, falling back into a more confident version of himself. It's only a little forced.
The glare he is thrown does not quite manage to be as scorching as Voldemort undoubtedly wanted it to be.
The knot in his chest loosens. The Dark Lord may be a dangerous serpent, but he is Harry's dangerous serpent.
That is enough of a comfort to set him loose.
XxX
"You look at ease," Sirius states, face unreadable as his eyes follow the movements of the tiny, blindfolded serpent that slithers across the floor of the bedroom Hermione determined to be hers minutes ago.
After spending barely a few weeks together, Hermione has a hard time judging the more guarded and muted moods from a man whose default state of being is 'overly expressive'. Sirius literally jumped for joy a couple of times during the holidays Hermione was allowed to spent at Grimmauld Place. Hearing the neutral, flat tone now is a bit intimidating. Is he angry at her? Scared to be here?
If only her brother were here to translate. He could. Harry can do anything he sets his mind to.
She flops down on the soft, queen-sized bed with both arms spread, the back of her head sinking into blue pillows that emit the smell of lavender. Surprisingly domestic for the house of a Dark Lord best known for his string of violent murders. To not have to look at her adoptive father, Hermione tells the bed canopy: "I'm at ease wherever Harry goes. This room was given to me more by him than by Voldemort, so I don't see why I shouldn't enjoy it."
An uncomfortable clearing of a throat at her uttering of the Dark Lord's name is a reminder that they aren't alone. She looks to her left, taking in the nervous form of the man who'd introduced himself as Barty Crouch. Or no, nervous is the wrong word to use. Awkward, maybe. He looks unsure what to do with his hands as he folds twitching arms, then pushes them in the pocket of his robes, only to take them out and fold them again.
"Should I call him something else?" Hermione asks for the sake of politeness, not wishing to get off on a bad foot with the first Death Eater whom she meets. Not because she's scared of them, but as she does not wish to cause her brother unnecessary trouble. With Harry being a hundred percent on board with supporting his Intended, terrorist organisation included, it won't do to stir up internal drama. Sirius can and will likely manage that single-handedly.
Blue eyes dart over her face, as if gauging whether the question had been genuine. "I've not received any instructions about it, but saying his name isn't a common thing. Only his enemies dare speak so informally of the Dark Lord."
"Harry calls him that all the time," the girl points out, sitting up again just to emphasise her point with a shrug. "They're certainly no longer enemies and the acceptance of their soul bond makes him family to us. I'm not addressing family by titles. But fine, if it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stick to 'Zach' until I can ask him what name he prefers."
Crouch's face goes from pasty to pale. "Zach…?" he faintly asks.
Sirius jumps in with a malicious grin before she can answer, explaining: "Your Lord impersonated an eleven-year-old to meet up with Harry in public. Not his most glamorous moment, especially not when the Malfoy brat decided to poke fun at the real kid by claiming Harry should have had better taste than to go out with the likes of Zacharias Smith. Knowing what I do now, I'm surprised Malfoy got away with just a warning."
"He was lucky," Hermione informs them both. "I'm sure that if Malfoy had decided to mainly insult Harry instead of Smith, there'd only be tiny bits left of him."
Sirius, quite surprisingly, laughs loudly at the dark humour. His booming laughter is followed by a quieter snickering from Crouch.
"You're pretty alright, Granger."
"Hermione, please. I'll be staying a while, you might as well call me by my first name."
"Barty, then," the Death Eater offers with a lanky bow. "Ah… and you?" he asks, looking up at Sirius.
"That's Auror Black for you, since you're so hot on respecting titles, Crouch."
Unsurprisingly, the hostile, snappy answer kills any lingering joy in the room. Unwilling to fix the problems of adult men, Hermione asks them both to leave so she can explore the room that will be hers for the remainder of the holidays. There were many bedrooms in the mansion she'd been allowed to check out before picking one, and although this one in particular isn't the most spacious or luxuriously decorated, the view from the window is stunning. The trees are a bit sparser on this side of the house that is otherwise walled off by dense forest, allowing her to peek past the woods to see the lake that lies in the valley.
The vegetation looks quite plain, no fancy magical shrubs or tapestries of flowers blooming out of season in sight. It makes her wonder if the protective spells are similar to Hogwarts, with the mansion built in a remote location with anti-Muggle wards surrounding it to avoid curious hikers from stumbling across it by accident. Opening the window and hopping up onto the windowsill, the girl methodically analyses every plant in sight, every bird and insect flitting past. She'd devoured books on flora, fauna and geography with the same enthusiasm as every other topic and is thus quickly able to determine she's landed somewhere in northern Wales.
It is wonderful and freeing and so very far away from London that it hits even more thoroughly now that she won't have to spend another minute in Wool's Orphanage. Not this summer, nor any future summer…
Is that why the Dark Lord chose this place? To live somewhere that is Decidedly Not Wool's?
She should have figured out earlier that their childhoods had been spent in the same place, latest after Harry spoke of his connection to and past with the man. One doesn't go searching for expensive enchanted objects in orphanages for no reason, and Harry had told her plainly that he'd spent years of his second childhood hunting down leverage that would force Voldemort to listen. It's pretty embarrassing that she'd only made the connection days ago, when scarlet eyes had conveyed a knowing sympathy as Voldemort asked about where she'd grown up.
Once Hermione starts contemplating on the topic of the intimidating Dark Lord, it is difficult to stop, mind running miles a minute as she tries to make sense of him, finding an orderly spot for every facet she learned about Voldemort since officially meeting the man. To fit personal interactions in with the rest she learned about him, through books as well as through her new family. Her thoughts dart like a fawn across difficult-to-navigate pathways, jumping from the mood swings she witnessed during dinner to the almost besotted passion expressed towards Harry at any moment, be it in words or actions. One detail stands out; the manner in which the Dark Lord had kept fleetingly, almost subconsciously, touching his own soul mark as if needing to check it was still there.
It's not a gesture Hermione understand very well, for she is content to ignore the canvas of stars painted across her own back. No feeling emits from the tattoo at all. If she wouldn't have read all about soul marks, Hermione might have been able to convince herself that it's nothing more than a few smudges of ink. Aesthetically pleasing to look at without a deeper meaning, without a counterpart.
Being unable to turn one's brain off is at times a curse more than a blessing. Inevitably, the train of logical thought steadily chugging along forces Hermione to follow the tracks to considering that very counterpart. Or what Harry seems to believe might be it: four lines of black runes scribbled on the wrist of Regulus Black.
Winged lion, who stands in shadow of death, mind over heart, yet heart over wrath.
Despite her faith in Harry's skills, Hermione is sure that her brother will be just as confused as she is, were she to challenge him to explain this riddle.
An incessant hissing manages to finally free Hermione from her compulsory musings, so the girl carefully jumps off the windowsill to check on Hera. It's a pain that she's no Parselmouth, having no idea what has upset the snake who has been left in her care. Is it hungry? Bored? Missing Harry? In either case, it does not sound particularly happy. Grumbling, she tries to figure out where the hissing is coming from, bending down to see the serpent rub its tiny head against one of the bedposts…
"No!" Hermione reprimands, diving down to unceremoniously snatch Hera up and hastily fixate the blindfold that was about to come off. "Bad girl!"
With hammering heart, she cradles the wriggling animal to her chest, ensuring to keep a firm grip. Harry has got to make his familiar understand the damage caused if the gorgonophis accidentally petrifies half of his family. She'd hoped that her brother's anger after the incident with Ron would have been enough to ensure the snake won't cause further trouble, but maybe that had been wishful thinking. Hermione has no idea how long the memory span of this species of snake is. There's little to no published evidence of nonmagical reptiles using memory at all - though considering that Harry can have decent conversation with his companion as well as with Voldemort's serpent, there must be more to at least some magical species of snake.
It sparks more questions than can be answered in a quiet bedroom devoid of books. Having been granted permission to use the library, Hermione knows precisely where to go next to find answers. Or well, perhaps not precisely, as there aren't layouts of the house displayed on the walls (the lack of which is a fire hazard that she'll ensure to take up with the owner). After once more checking the blindfold of the snake that has grown more docile after a bit of cuddling – another very odd reaction when most reptiles get stressed from touch – she sets out to explore the manor, feeling like Ariadne in the Labyrinth of Knossos.
A few deductions about common places for a library to be located later as well as being subconsciously attracted to the smell of books, Hermione whirls around between towering bookcases. While not as big as the one at Hogwarts, it's massive for a private collection. She also has the nagging suspicion that many books on these shelves cannot be found at school. A quick scan of the titles confirms this, 'A Collection of Above Three Hundred Receipts in Cookery, Physick, and Surgery' being flanked by 'Compendium of Nightmares' and 'Coercive curses for the puppet master'.
The books being placed in alphabetical order isn't quite handy for a guest who is unaware of all titles kept here, but Hermione has always been resourceful when it comes to reading. She makes do, wrapping Hera around her neck as she browses the library for mentions of serpents ordinary, magical, and mythological.
Evening falls quickly as herpetology studies and Greek myths about gorgons are so very captivating. The stack is quickly added to with handwritten attempts to create a notation for Parseltongue and guidebooks on snake handling. As is usual for broad study sessions like this, none of the specific questions Hermione had are fully answered, but she gains knowledge on many topics that she'd not possessed before, which is its own reward.
Only when someone calls out and she manages to mentally pull away from the pages, does the girl notice the rumbling of her own stomach.
"Knew I'd find you here," Harry smiles. Though her brother looks eleven years old again, something haunting has wedged itself into in his eyes that wasn't there before today.
"Are you… okay?" she carefully asks. "Did Voldemort do something to you?"
Vibrant green eyes blink in obvious surprise that make clear she's missed the mark. "Voldemort? No, he's been wonderful. I…" His gaze drifts off somewhere past her, but when Hermione looks over her shoulder, nothing out of the ordinary can be seen. The library has not changed a bit. "I may have done something to myself," he mutters, sounding far away before snapping his attention back to her. "Which I'd like to speak to you about soon. As dinner is about to be served, now isn't the best time."
The dismissal feels uncomfortable after those worrying words. It only emphasizes how little she's seen of him in the past days, how little she's has been involved in Harry's moves since they left Hogwarts. Paper lions with scribbled notes and second-hand accounts from whatever Sirius was willing to divulge wasn't the same as when they were making so many plans together...
"Don't push me away?" she softly says, the word changing from a demand to a plea halfway up her throat.
"I didn't bring you here to ignore you, Mione. It's just that a lot has happened in a short amount of time that I haven't been able to fully process yet myself. Gathering all three Hallows had more consequences than I'd anticipated. Plus, I'd not expected to need to flee to Voldemort's place so soon, so there's quite a bit to adjust to. If it makes you feel better…" Her brother's cheeks darken as he holds up a hand and wiggles the thumb, on which a ring with a black stone now sits. "You're the first one I'm telling that I'm engaged."
With a delighted gasp, Hermione inches forward, taking his hand to look at the ring. "When did that happen?!"
"Just a couple of hours ago, after you guys arrived. I can hardly believe it myself." The happy grin is contagious as Harry stares down at the engagement ring. "I knew he was serious about us, but it came as quite the surprise when Voldemort suddenly sank to his knees in front of me… Mione, I'm getting married! I've never been married!"
"Don't look at me for advice, I haven't been either!"
"I'm sure you've read enough romance novels and- oh I don't know- marriage laws or something, that you have a better grasp on this than I do."
"If we're taking marriage laws into account, you have several more years to plan this, Harry," she replies to temper his enthusiasm a little, so he won't get ahead of himself. "You can only sign the legal paperwork and receive marriage benefits once you're legally of age."
"I don't think age is going to be my biggest issue with my Intended being a Dark Lord thought to be dead," he jokes. "When the Ministry gets wind of his return, they might be a bit too busy trying to throw him in Azkaban or worse, murder him, to advise us on paperwork. I thought about it for a bit while Voldemort was cooking, and once I find a way to get my old body back permanently, we could have a ceremony of our own. You know, how Muggles can have church weddings that don't count for the government. Just… a bit different."
The intrusive image of Voldemort striding into a cathedral, dressed in a radiant white gown, refuses to leave for a while after that statement.
"Is he religious?"
"Not that I know of unless you take a belief of magic into account. I did say different."
The practical side of Hermione does not see any sense in a mock ceremony that counts neither religiously nor officially, giving no advantages at all. Her tactful side ensures she keeps her mouth shut about it, to leave Harry the blissful delusion he's spun in his head. It is true that Voldemort can hardly marry anyone legally – either from beyond the grave or when the Ministry tries to put him back in one.
Harry spends a minute conversing with Hera before letting the serpent curl up in his hair, then gestures for Hermione to follow. On the way to the dining room, she snitches on the snake's attempt to once again get rid of the blindfold, which her brother isn't particularly happy about. She then lists off all the facts about reptiles the books in Voldemort's library had had to offer and fires off many more questions that only a Parselmouth can answer. By the time they make it to a stunning dining room - where Hermione is so distracted by the aquatic scenery that takes up a full wall that she only notices the laden table after a minute - she's gained much more insight into the world of magical snakes than she'd been able to gather in the past hours by reading. A fact that will never be uttered aloud. It's hard enough to admit to herself as is.
The seating arrangement is a challenge, leaving Sirius unhappy about being unable to claim either chair on his godson's side. Hermione does her best not to use her proximity to the Dark Lord to stare at the man, tempting though it is to analyse his serpentine features and apply all the facts she's learned about snakes onto him. Does his skin shed? Does his sense of smell improve by sticking out his tongue? Are there pit holes anywhere on his body with which he can detect infrared radiation?
"Harry said you made this?" Hermione asks to distract herself as well as to cut through the tension (although she has the feeling that only three of the five people present notice it, as Harry and Voldemort are quite busy unsubtly getting lost in each other's eyes).
"Of course. Owning House-elves is too high a risk," the man answers without making any attempt to tear his gaze away from his soulmate. "For the main dish today, I was inspired by a… golden glow."
Harry startles at that, arching an eyebrow. "Felix nudged you towards making something specific? Colour me intrigued."
"Felix?" Sirius butts in. "As in Felix Felicis? You've taken a luck potion?" he interrogates Voldemort.
"No, I did, which we've determined to affect him through our bond," Harry replies instead. As the starters are served and devoured, her brother reveals a few more details of what he's been up to today, including dragging an unwilling Lockhart out of bath and tricking an old Potion Master into giving up a bottle of the aforementioned brew to have a better chance at escaping Dumbledore. The details surrounding the latter topic are a bit fuzzy, but he had already said to not wish to talk about it quite yet.
Sirius shoves his clean plate away (being the last to finish the first course as he used every detection charm known to mankind on the food to ensure it was safe to eat before diving in) and states: "I cannot believe you risked all that for a wand. He'll just get a new one. I thought your aim had been the Philosopher's stone?"
"You're still impressed," Harry grins back at his godfather, who rolls his eyes without confirming or denying it. "I already did manage to save the Stone, wouldn't have needed to go back for it. Also, I had my reasons. He won't get another wand like this. Anyways, on the topic of Hogwarts and Dumbledore: did you manage to floo-call Severus to ask what's going on there at the moment?" It's pretty obvious that Harry is glossing over the subject of the Elder Wand, and Hermione wonders if he'd planned on mentioning it at all in front of Sirius, or if it had been a slip-up to reveal this much.
"I tried to floo his quarters and at home, to no avail," comes the much more sombre answer. "He might not return to either place until much later in the evening if Dumbledore is having them comb the castle and grounds. I'll keep trying to reach him, definitely won't be able to sleep before affirming he is safe."
"I will ask my spy for another update as well," Voldemort offers, as if it's utterly ordinary to reveal having spies at a school. Obviously, Hermione knows Quirrell is meant, but her adoptive father looks more than a little bit shocked, spluttering even as the Dark Lord waves a hand to make the main dish appear and ladles rise up to divide the pot of what appears to be a stew.
Spearing a piece of penny bun on her fork, Hermione quickly determines it's a wild mushroom stew with native fungi, which smells earthy and doesn't look particularly appetising. Odd for a brown sludge like this to have been inspired by Liquid Luck… she never noticed Harry having a particular fondness for mushrooms at Hogwarts, where he at most ate some fried ones with eggs for breakfast. Glancing at her brother, she's wholly unprepared to see him staring at the plate wide-eyed and frozen like a deer in headlights.
Naturally, Voldemort noticed the reaction long before she did, already having carefully placed a hand on the crown of Harry's head, where Hera instantly curls around one of the thin fingers.
"Harry?" he murmurs. "Are you quite alright?"
A weak noise spills past her brother's lips, life returning to his face in the form of furiously blinking tears away. She might not have noticed the wetness in his eyes with the constantly shifting light originating from the Black lake scenery, if not for the fact that it was… shiny, for lack of a better term. Voldemort's clawed thumb gathers up the droplet before it can spill down tanned cheeks, the look of ravenous fascination it is given a further reason for curiosity. Sitting barely a foot away from her brother, Hermione cannot help but look down at the pale hand, the top of the thumb glittering as if the tear is speckled with gold dust.
"I'm okay," Harry finally says, grimacing in embarrassment when noticing their looks. He does not appear to catch how his Intended quickly withdraws and licks the peculiar teardrop from his own thumb with a slow drag of the tongue while staring at Harry with avid fascination. "It's just- wow, that's a throwback. Not sure why Felix is being such an arsehole to me today. Mushroom stew is basically all I ate for years, during both wars. There weren't a whole lot of ingredients available other than berries, nuts, and mushrooms when camping in new forests day in day out."
"I'll remove it," Voldemort decidedly speaks, lifting his wand at the offending pot until the wrist is caught by Harry.
"No need, I don't want to waste food. I'm sure it'll taste excellent. Just hadn't expected to be hit by such a wave of melancholic sentimentality from a bowl of mushrooms of all things." Putting his money where his mouth is, Harry takes a big spoonful and chews thoughtfully. "Certainly the best version of it I've ever had the pleasure to try. You cook better than Hermione," Harry weakly grins, winking at her as he clearly struggles to improve his own mood.
"May I ask- ah, Harry," Barty speaks up when his Lord merely nods and resumes eating, "About that time?"
"What, the wars or my involuntary camping trip?"
The Death Eater looks a bit indecisive until hesitatingly asking: "Both? If it isn't too unpleasant, of course," he hurries to add.
Hermione has heard all the stories in detail before – the only thing Harry ever refused to spill the beans on was what exactly he'd done to thwart Voldemort's plans during the first time while on the run, something he does not reveal now either – but she listens with rapture to the retelling. The first war appeared to be a lot less boring than the second one, what with Harry organising break-ins of Gringotts and the Ministry, an almost lethal encounter with Nagini in Godric's Hollow and mysterious Patroni appearing.
Sirius looks like he wants to speak up on many occasions, throwing dirty looks at the Dark Lord at any mention of Harry's perils caused by the previous version of the man. However, he does not say a word until dessert is almost finished, when Harry recounts getting caught by Death Eaters (the Malfoys, Hermione knows from his first retelling, though of course this is not mentioned to Sirius, who is still active as an Auror) and narrowly escaping seconds before Voldemort arrived, who'd surely have killed him.
"You'd really have done all that?" Sirius asks, troubled as he shifts in his seat. "Murdered your own soulmate for power, had Harry not been on your side?"
It's then that Hermione remembers her new father is not aware of multiple dimensions being in play. That the two Dark Lords Harry encountered are decidedly distinct people with only one of them having been Harry's soulmate, makes a huge difference. According to the information Harry had relied to her after his many conversations with the older wizard at Hogwarts, the last attack on Godric's Hollow had only happened due to a lack of information about the bond. Whereas the other Voldemort had had no such inhibition to his motivations to kill Harry.
"He didn't know, did he?" she asks her brother, jumping to the Dark Lord's defence more for Harry's sake than anyone else's. "In your old life, he never figured out he was fighting his soul mate." A technical truth, with soulmates not existing.
Whereas Harry gives her a thankful smile, Sirius scoffs loudly in disbelief: "His soul mark is a lightning bolt for Merlin's sake! What mental twists do you have to make to remain ignorant to the fact that the boy you gave a famous lightning curse scar might be your Intended?"
Sirius is thrown four chilling glares after that outburst, for Voldemort not having disguised the mark in front of the family of his Intended gave no right to anyone who'd seen it to shout about it. Especially not in front of a third party – Barty Crouch, in this case – who might never have seen it as far as Sirius is aware.
Harry's eyes are most chilling of all as they land on his godfather and he speaks: "Rest assured that Hermione is correct: in my first life, Voldemort knew nothing about this soul bond, Sirius. The method he used to resurrect also did not do his psyche any favours. By this point, there's little resemblance between my fiancé and the man who wanted to see me dead at any cost."
The dropping of the word fiancé sends the conversation into a whole new spiral. Wisely, Hermione stays silent and picks the leftover crumbs of her cherry pie off the plate. No need to get involved.
After a whole lot of back-and-forth between 'I thought you wanted to be informed about relationship updates', 'you're too young for this' and 'I'm older than you, Siri,' later, Harry shuts the conversation down by abruptly and loudly switching the topic to:
"Who wants to watch me hatch a dragon?"
When Sirius's tired look is matched by Voldemort, who is clearly very over all the quarrelling, Hermione jumps to her feet with a wide grin.
"Sounds like a wonderful evening activity now we don't have professors to terrorise to pass the time," she tells her brother. Giddily, the girl takes the hand Harry gallantly offers, warmed by the mirth dancing in his eyes.
She did try to warn them all that Harry means chaos.
The others should really start trying to keep up.
AN: Mandatory explanation about marriage laws in the UK: in the 1990's, the general legal minimum age to marry was 18, with marriage at 16 or 17 being possible with parental consent, a clause that was removed in 2023 (the minimum age is now simply 18). As for the wizarding world where people are of age with 17, I figured it would not make sense if the marriage age was higher than that since canon implies that 17-y-olds are full adults who can drink, get licenses for transportation etc. Regarding same sex marriage, I feel like it would be a non-issue by this point in the wizarding world since soul bonds do not care for sex/gender in this AU. I did consider whether to put a similar 'parental consent' clause in at 15 or 16 to match the muggle version, but I think that with engagements possibly being enforced with magical contracts, parents have enough control already without needing to let their kids marry that young.
Also, because I may have unintentionally disappointed my beta by hyping up the dragon hatching here: it turns out that hatching a dragon takes quite a few weeks in canon, so while they will start the process next chapter, it will take a while before there are results.
Next up: the return of Death, with Harry finding out a bit more about the workings of, well, everything.
Stay tuned, next chapter will be posted around 27/28th of September.
Please read and review ^^
xx GeMerope