A myriad of conflicting emotions swirled through Harry as he willed himself into compliance. Forcing himself to tolerate Bellatrix's presence had been one thing. To not fight against the iron grip clutching the back of his neck took all his willpower. The dominating display of his power over him wasn't just for Harry's benefit, but for all present. The use of parseltongue as well had been part of the show. He was making it very clear that Harry belonged to him, right down to his very voice.

Narcissa's earlier words resonated with him as he was bulldozed towards the secret entrance down to the secret chamber below. Voldemort was possessive of him, so much so that he would defend him against assassination attempts. What he still was missing was why. What made him suddenly so important to the Dark Lord?

He didn't dare ask questions. Nails dug into the flesh of Harry's neck as he was shoved into motion, nearly tripping on the hem of his robes. Preoccupied with concentrating on not tripping down the stairs, he had little time to brace himself before he was shoved against the door at the bottom of the stairs. Voldemort just used him to push the door open before releasing him forcefully.

Harry staggered inside, nearly losing his balance before he froze in shock and horror. His breath turned equally still in his lungs. Behind him, Voldemort shut the door and Harry heard him murmur enchantments, sealing them within his magic as well as an additional secrecy measure.

He understood why the second he saw the locket.

Blinking several times, Harry made an effort to dispel what was surely an illusion. Right in front of him, made from gleaming gold and sparkling emeralds, was the locket of Salazar Slytherin. The very locket that had evaded his and Dumbledore's efforts to reach, replaced with a fake.

In front of him was a horcrux.

Not just that, but it was impossibly hanging around the neck of Dolores Jane Umbridge. Hanging from the same chains he had dangled from himself was a woman he wished to never see again. Harry slowly straightened, eyes wide as he took in the full scene, processing every gruesome detail. Her formal robes had been torn open at her throat, exposing her under dress and… her breasts. Shuddering in revulsion, Harry continued to look down her limp and seemingly lifeless body.

"Is she dead?"

Harry startled himself as he voiced the question aloud. His voice sounded strangely close, the confines of Voldemort's privacy charms containing his voice to that space. He turned a little, looking over his shoulder. Voldemort slowly paced towards Umbridge, holding his wand between his hands. His red eyes shone with icy rage as he surveyed his prisoner with unconcealed disgust.

"Yes."

Mouth opening and closing mutely in response to Voldemort cold answer, Harry found himself with nothing to say. What could he say? He felt no remorse whatsoever. The evil woman deserved it, and likely a lot worse too. Voldemort didn't appear to require anything from Harry as he paced to stand in front of Umbridge's corpse. Her head was lolled against her left arm, her eyes shut with her mouth open as if in a frozen scream.

Harry's stomach twisted upon itself then. She'd clearly been tortured to death and he could see under the metal shackles where her skin had rubbed raw. He'd experienced that agony for himself. He swallowed down his nausea, looking down to her crumpled feet. He saw then that there was a puddle shimmering under her, liquid pooling around her. Harry looked away then.

"Disgusting, isn't she?" Voldemort said suddenly. He flicked his wand and the urine vanished. "I know you believe me to be a sadist, but even I have my limits. Her shrieking irked me and so I silenced her for good when I could not endure her pathetic begging any longer."

Voldemort raised his free hand, snarling in his disgust as he grasped his locket from Umbridge's still breast and ripped it from her, snapping the chain. The sudden violence of his action triggered Harry to flinch instinctively.

"I must at least relish at the triumph of having my property restored to me," Voldemort then said, his voice turning low and soft. He turned his back sharply on Umbridge, leaving her suspended in the chains. Just like that, she was disregarded, no longer worthy of any more of his attention.

Instead, his livid red eyes latched back onto Harry. He backed away, his heart starting to hammer. Being a subject of Lord Voldemort's interest had done him no good in that very room before. He nearly backed into the rack of Abraxas Malfoy's tools. He grimaced at the sight of the polished handles and the flails that he had felt upon his own flesh.

"You know I didn't find the real one. You saw my memories. I don't know how… how she got it."

He managed to gabble out just as Voldemort reached him. He looked down at the artefact clutched in Voldemort's fist, the golden chain hanging down.

"I know, Harry, I know," Voldemort said, his voice weirdly consoling. "Fret not. I managed to discover how that creature had come into possession of my heirloom."

As Voldemort crowded him, Harry tugged his wrists against the binds that kept him so very helpless. He inwardly cursed himself for putting his hands behind his back rather than in front when Draco had restrained him.

"The fake I found had a note," Harry said as he made himself look up into Voldemort's inhuman eyes. "It was signed off by someone with the initials 'R.A.B'. I… I don't know who that is… or was."

Voldemort turned his wand over towards Harry. With a flick, he triggered the bindings around Harry's wrists to disintegrate and dissolve behind him. Harry regarded him warily as he slowly brought his arms around to his front.

"Hold out your hands," Voldemort ordered quietly.

Harry frowned at him, but did as told, raising his hands upwards, cupping his palms. He could tell what the man wanted. To his confusion, Voldemort placed the locket into his waiting hands. It was oddly warm. Sickened, Harry wondered if he was feeling the last residual heat from Umbridge's cooling corpse. Then, suddenly, the metal object in his hand twitched. His skin crawled at once as he could sense something within the metal. Almost as if there was a heartbeat pulsing underneath. The emeralds gleamed, the serpent appearing almost alive itself. The colour matched his robe sleeves.

"Would you like to know how Dolores Umbridge came into possession of my horcrux?"

At the question, Harry looked up, meeting Voldemort's blood red gaze. His pupils were dilated, eyes unblinking.

"Um… yes?"

"She took it from a thief. Mundungus Fletcher."

Harry narrowed his eyes, looking sharply away. Voldemort laughed softly.

"I know he is a member of the Order, Harry. One who fled at the sight of me… a measly coward."

Harry then frowned, his head giving an ache. His scar throbbed, distracting him.

"Hang on, Mundungus had your horcrux?" Harry asked, very confused.

"When I find the sneak-thief, I will rip out from his mind how he managed to get his hands on it, but he is not your mysterious R.A.B, Harry. I know who that is… and I can help you solve the riddle. When I prepared the cave to keep my horcrux safely housed, I requested his aid. Or, at least, the use of his family's house elf."

Very confused, Harry stared at the horcrux. "Who?"

"Regulus Black."

Harry's eyes then snapped up to Voldemort's. "Sirius's brother?"

"The very same."

"But… he was a Death Eater. He died… he…" Harry felt a pang of loss on Sirius's behalf. Then he felt the dots connecting in his head.

Mundungus… Sirius… locket…

The clue that brought them together snapped in place. Harry's hand came up involuntarily as he smacked himself in the forehead. He could suddenly remember how during the summer at Grimmauld Place, they had found a locket among the Black family keepsakes. A strange locket that had been impossible to open. He'd even held it himself, stubbornly trying to prise it open before it was snatched away.

"It was there. It was there… at Grimmauld Place," Harry gasped out, mortified that it had been right there in his hands. "Bloody Mundungus, he must have stolen the locket while he was there, pilfering the silver."

"Grimmauld Place… ah, that is where the Black family townhouse resides in London. The property you inherited?"

Harry drew back a little in surprise, unsure if Voldemort knew the name from the memories he stole from Harry or from Snape.

"It's where the Order used to have its headquarters," Harry said, uncertain, feeling sick with himself as he divulged the intelligence. "Mundungus picked the place clean. I cornered him in Hogsmeade, trying to sell off the silver he stole. He would have had no idea what this was… only that he could make galleons off it, selling it."

"Instead, he fell afoul of Madame Umbridge. No doubt he cursed his luck, unknowing that her interference spared him from a far more grisly fate. No matter… he cannot hide from me now I know that he attempted to profit from what is mine ."

Harry couldn't muster up any sympathy for Mundungus, not if he had truly fled the fight while his friends fought to protect him when leaving Privet Drive. He instead looked down at the horcrux in his hands, trying to not think about how it felt like it was writhing. He wasn't sure if it was his fevered imagination or not. There was just something wrong about it. He half wanted to throw it as far from himself as possible, then there was another part of him that had a strange fascination with the rich green of the emeralds and the highly polished gold that was too shiny and perfect for something so old.

"Strange, is it not, how sometimes our lost property has a habit of returning back to its owner? Almost providential. Not only did I manage to procure my wayward soul, I also was given a good reason to smite that pathetic excuse of a witch. All in all, a rather fortunate day."

Harry glanced past Voldemort to Umbridge.

"I'm not sure Umbridge would agree."

Voldemort then smiled and laughed. Harry felt a little sick with himself. Had he just amused Lord Voldemort on purpose?

"Now that I know all my remaining horcruxes are accounted for, there no longer is a risk of them being discovered or, worse, destroyed. Your friends , for instance…"

Harry tensed, pulling himself up a little straighter. His heart beat quickened. Voldemort's smile broadened, revealing those sharp, nasty teeth as he then brought his hand over the locket, taking it from Harry's hands.

"They do not pose a threat to me. Not without your lead. Dumbledore left you so woefully under-prepared for the task he set you so I know your friends will not be able to finish what you barely had a chance to start. As I find myself in quite the… generous mood, I would consider… sparing them if they surrendered to me."

Harry gazed at the locket, shame and dismay fighting for dominance amid the whirlstorm of his emotions. He didn't want to imagine what Ron and Hermione would say if they saw him now, dressed in expensive silk, wearing golden glasses that had been gifted to him on his birthday.

To his surprise, it was Draco's words from days before that came to him. If anyone did believe that Harry had failed them or let them down, they weren't in a place to judge. See how they cope after being tortured to their limit. He was doing what he had to. There was no shame in that. If his surrender was a way to convince Voldemort to spare lives, he had little choice. His pride was not worth any more lives.

"I don't know where they are," Harry said quietly.

"Your closest friends are unaccounted for. The… youngest son of the Weasley family and the mudblood girl."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Voldemort's slur. "Her name is Hermione… and isn't it rich for you to use that word, half-blood ?"

His scar immediately flared with pain as Voldemort deliberately exposed him to their full connection. Not expecting the sudden, debilitating pain, Harry's knees gave out. He dropped down hard, hands clasping over his forehead as he let out a strangled yell.

"You will speak to me with respect, Harry. Say anything like that to me again and you will go without your tongue… permanently ."

Breathing heavily, Harry tried to clamp back the pain he was in, but it was as if a branding iron was searing into his skin. He let out a loud moan, doubling over. He could feel the crushing force of Voldemort's anger, pressing down on him like a shoe stamping down on a cockroach.

Then just as suddenly as it started, the pain was gone.

"Get up."

Harry lowered his hands from his scar, angered himself. He set his jaw, pushing himself up from the ground where he had fell. His face throbbed as blood rushed, a caustic blend of humiliation and rage burned through him, making him dangerously reckless. He pressed his teeth together, forcing his endangered tongue still. Voldemort did not make idle threats. He could seriously run the risk of being rendered mute if he wasn't careful.

Once he had straightened, Voldemort slid his horcrux into the folds of his robes. His hairless brows were furrowed down, his face a picture of anger and irritation.

"As I was saying, your friends are unaccounted for. The rest of the Weasley family, however, is in Ministry custody and under surveillance."

Sickening fear throbbed into life. Harry quickly regretted his loose tongue. He kept his gaze downcast, unable to trust himself to speak. Too much was at stake. Closing his eyes briefly, he willed his stomach contents to remain inside his body. The sheer thought of the Weasleys being in danger… Ginny… the twins… Mr and Mrs Weasley. The family that shown him unconditional kindness and treated him like he was one of their own… he held their lives in his hands. He shook his head, unable to comprehend it.

"Wh-what is it that you even want from me?" Harry whispered, unable to conceal his fear. He opened his eyes, glancing up to where Umbridge hung as a reminder of the murderer in his midst. The man who had already killed his birth family and leveled the same threat at his surrogate one.

"For you to think before you speak," Voldemort said curtly, moving even closer. Harry shuddered, trying to draw back but the man had claimed all the space. His presence pressed upon him, trapping him, leaving him claustrophobic and so very afraid. "For you to understand and accept your place. You only draw breath because I deem it so. You only are free from those very chains because I granted you mercy. You know what I want… and you will show me deference."

Harry looked at him. He simply didn't understand why he was so obsessed with him. Narcissa's words sat heavily upon him. His gaze flickered downwards to where Voldemort had stowed away his horcrux, another one of his possessions. Was he just like the locket? A keepsake?

"It would have been easier for you to have just let me die," Harry said seriously, then added honestly, "I wish you had."

Voldemort's reaction then puzzled Harry. He actually flinched as if the thought of his death upset him. It was the most human reaction he'd ever seen him make. He then sighed, almost sounding regretful.

"It appears that I value your life more than you do."

"I don't know why," Harry said pointedly, "and I don't understand how you could change your mind. It can't be just because you can use me as a hostage. It's more… it's something more."

Anguished, he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. Voldemort lowered his wand. Silently, he raised his free hand and brought a finger upwards to Harry's face. He brushed aside his fringe, exposing the scar.

"You hold all the pieces to the puzzle, Harry," Voldemort said softly. "For reasons I must confess, I don't understand myself, you appear unable to come to the conclusion on your own. Perhaps… I should tell you. The truth will bring you only pain, but… maybe it will help you to understand."

"What?" Harry stared into the large, snake-like eyes so close to his own face. "What is it?"

"I only realised the truth myself mere days ago, in this very room, when I assembled the clues from your own mind. I suspect that Dumbledore had also come to the same conclusion, which may explain why he never discouraged you from endangering your life. He expected you to make the grand sacrifice when the time came and had you raised to prove yourself as a martyr."

Harry recoiled, the words cutting deep. "No, that's not true. He only ever tried to keep me safe."

"You may think you knew the old man, Harry. What you saw of Albus Dumbledore was what he wanted you to see. He made it so you put your absolute trust in him so you would follow his orders without question. Oh, I know you disagreed with him from time to time and I expect he feared your defiance would turn you against him, but in the end, he used your fierce loyalty and dedication against you. He knew, if you were armed with the truth, you would sacrifice yourself."

Harry's hairs stood on end. He remained silent, just staring. Voldemort fell silent, waiting and watching Harry process all that he had said. He patiently observed as Harry's mind reeled, trying to deny it, trying to refuse that he wasn't Dumbledore's pawn. But… his own words betrayed him. Hadn't he once said to Scrimgeour that he was Dumbledore's man 'through and through'? Harry had known for a long time that he would very likely die and he thought he'd made peace with that fact, but all of a sudden, it seemed unfair. Why didn't Dumbledore fight for his right to live more?

Didn't he care if Harry lived or died? Was he just a soldier in his army? Willing to die for a cause?

Didn't he deserve to live?

"What truth? What didn't he want me to know?" Harry then asked. Voldemort smiled, his eyes gleaming with dark triumph.

"You are my final horcrux."

Harry drew in a sharp breath. The second after he heard it said, he knew, right deep down in the very heart of him, that it was true. It felt as if all the dots came together, connections fusing in his head as the pieces of the puzzle all assembled. He understood then… and he wished he didn't. He wished it didn't make sense, but it did. The reason behind the connection between his scar and Voldemort… it wasn't because he had absorbed some of Voldemort's magic on that Halloween night. He couldn't speak parseltongue because he somehow inherited the ability magically. He was so intrinsically linked to Voldemort because in his scar, in his very body, there was a piece of the bastard's soul.

And that meant, as long as Harry lived, Voldemort could not be killed.

"That's why you saved my life… why you haven't killed me…" Harry murmured then as he voiced his thoughts. "The part of you that I came away with… it's a bit of your soul."

Voldemort then shifted back a step, his robes rustling. His face had turned slack, almost as if he was surprised. His nostrils huffed out a long breath, one that Harry felt on his own face.

"On that night, many impossible feats took place. I, for one, met my match. The magic that was unleashed… it created a cataclysm that shattered my soul along with my body. At the heart of it was you and yet you came away with nothing but a curse-scar. I should have known the moment I discovered that you had uncommon abilities of your own that something else was lost from me that night. I believe… the fragment that split from me was very small. Too small to create a true horcrux, yet enough to create a magical connection. The connection has only grown all the more stronger as I regained my strength."

Harry nodded, understanding. It all made perfect sense. Yet as his understanding grew, an ugly feeling in his heart manifested. A strong and intense feeling. One of betrayal.

Dumbledore knew.

"I would have to die for you to die," Harry said hollowly, "the prophecy…"

"Is null and void, yes," Voldemort finished for him, "the only way this could ever end is with your death. I cannot allow that to happen. Even if the part of my soul that you harbour is very small, it is still mine. Your death would only weaken me."

Harry tucked his arms around himself then, feeling so very tired then and so very used. Everything Voldemort had taunted to him about in that room was true. About Dumbledore, about his relatives, and himself. He didn't ever fight for what he wanted. He just… passively followed what Dumbledore told him to do. He accepted his duty without hesitation, just believing that it was the right thing to do. But why him? Why did he have to be the one? Why couldn't he just… live?

He felt so lost.

"I believe Narcissa has already come to the conclusion that you possess my soul."

Harry lifted his chin, not expecting any more shocking news. His mouth fell open, but then he recalled her words. He could kick himself. She had even told him to his face practically, referring to him as one of Voldemort's belongings. He really had missed the clues.

Yet now he knew… he didn't know what to think. He should be disgusted and fuelled with a desire to end his own life. Instead, he just… felt angry.

"Did you tell her?" Harry asked, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears.

"No, but I see no harm in her keeping her suspicions. I mean what I said to you upstairs. I am indebted to her… Draco as well. They will prove to be suitable allies for you to keep close."

Voldemort then placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. Almost gently, he guided him away from the wall. Harry moved, unable to even summon up the energy to resist.

"Come, Harry. I have given you much to process. Wormtail can deal with the Umbridge woman later."

Walking in step with Voldemort, Harry followed. He knew that everything had changed. The knowledge of what he was to Voldemort, the truth of his scar, the discovery of the locket… there was no possible chance for him to ever win. To even get close, he would have to die himself.

It was over.

And yet… as he allowed himself to be escorted up the narrow stairs, leaving a dead Umbridge behind in chains, he was still being brought towards a future. It wasn't the world that he'd aspired towards, a world without Voldemort and without darkness. It was a different world, one that would be forged in the blood of innocents. So many would die… and he would live. Not just live, but live in luxury as a prized possession. He'd be allowed to return to Hogwarts, to… to just be.

The awful thing was that he couldn't say no. Life as a horcrux was surely better than death? A death that would serve nothing while the other horcruxes were safe. Just a sacrifice that would turn him into a martyr. Could he do that?

Harry pushed that thought to the side the moment he and Voldemort ascended up to the top of the stairs. In the Drawing Room, only Draco remained. He had hastily risen from where he'd been clearly waiting for them in one of the plush velvet seats before a wizarding chessboard. In the muted light of the candelabra, Draco's features were more angular than usual, shadows under his cheekbones were deep.

Before leaving Harry, Voldemort drew in close one last time. He brought his mouth close to Harry's ear.

" Remember what I said about your friends. As long as they surrender, I will spare them, but… if they do not…"

With the threat ringing in Harry's ear, Voldemort let go of his shoulder and silently swept away.