Chapter 25

After an unremarkable Charms period that afternoon, dinner was a cheerful mixture of House colours at the Ravenclaw table. Quidditch players from all former teams except Slytherin had gathered together to get to know each other for tonight's first match of the year. Harry found an empty spot on the edge of the gathering. Next to him Katie Bell and Demelza Robins were discussing the perks of Chasing together with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw for the first time.

Across from him a boy was eyeing him between bites, distracting him from his musings. He stared back, wrecking his mind for a name.

"Don't remember me?" the boy sneered. "Emmett Cadwallader."

Harry cleared his throat and tried to recall. "You had that far shot last year right? With Hufflepuff´s second game."

When no response to his question, Harry went back to eating his stew. Then Cadwallader said in a riling tone: "Is this your way of snooping for information? Go back to your own team, Potter."

The conversation around them lagged. Harry put his fork down. "It's not my team. And Slytherin's already got a seeker."

The boy looked up slowly, as if surprised Harry was still talking. "I hear you're an A level jerk now," he murmured, eyes darting to Demelza on his left, who smirked.

"What are you-" Harry started but stopped when Katie subtly jabbed him on the arm. She loudly said: "Really? They didn't prefer you over Draco?"

Harry decided to ignore Cadwallader. Sometimes it was hard to remember that most Gryffindors still viewed him as some kind of traitor. He took another bite, as if this weren't an interrogation. "Why do you all assume I want to be there? I'm still a Gryffindor you know, it's just that I have to stay in the dungeons now."

Katie's mouth fell open slightly. "We- well some of us thought you were…"

"Courting them," Ron supplied when she fell silent. He rolled his eyes when Harry turned his way, as if to say "I know, right?" He had apparently kept Harry's new lodging situation to himself. Harry itched to let something sharp slip, but held back. Ron had more important things on his mind right now than refuting the rumours surrounding him. He forced a chuckle.

"Well, as much as I'm fond of Malfoy, he can be a right awful roommate."

"No doubt," Katie murmured, to which others hummed their agreement.

When talk turned back to Quidditch, most of his former housemates appeared to relax around him. One step at the time, he thought wryly. He could work on Cadwalladar another time. Having decided this, hunger came with a gnarl in his stomach and he focused back on his food.

888

Harry was on his way to the Quidditch pitch after dinner, Firebolt slung over his shoulder. He felt anticipation warm his stomach. Technically tonight's game was supposed to be a try-out session, but both teams had scheduled the pitch – an 'accident' on the part of the anti-Slytherin camp, according to Neville: everyone was dying to throttle Slytherin as soon as possible. Slytherin had agreed to the match, also eager to play after such a long dry spell.

And it's a foolproof way to test the newbie's, he mused as the stands came into view. He looked up and noted the direction of the wind by the whipping of the flags. When his eyes lowered, he saw something that send a tinge of fear through his legs, nearly making him stumble.

Lucius Malfoy was standing not twenty meters away, talking to his son near the equipment shed.

Malfoy senior was overdressed as usual in thick layered robes of what was probably the latest wizarding fashion, gaze boring into his son's head while Draco studied the muddy ground. As his talk wound down, Lucius stepped back and patted Draco's shoulder. With a short nod goodbye Draco walked back towards his team.

His father watched him go, hands clasped around the silver cane at his back, stance eerily frozen. There was a storm just waiting to rise up around the man – or perhaps Harry was imaging things: Lucius looked as calm and collected as ever. Harry sighed in relief as Lucius briskly turned around to walk back towards the castle, looking deep in thought. Harry's eyes tracked the dark figure's path, which soon drew level with Hagrid's hut. Numbness leaving his legs, he resumed pace towards the locker rooms.

"Potter."

He jumped. The anxiety from seconds before stirred and something took over Harry's brain. In the next moment his wand was digging into the soft flesh of Nott's neck.

"Yes?" he said.

Nott recovered quickly, shooting him a lazy smirk. Nott was here, he mused, but he had never shown any particular interest in Quidditch before. Harry felt like his hands ought to be shaking. He was glad of the magic he felt sizzling underneath his skin, as if in response to his fear. Smoke wafted from his wand tip. In contrast, calmness weaved like a spell over his shoulders and back.

Irrational.

His hand twitched at the thought. Nott hissed, jerking his head back from his seething wand. He noticed Pansy then, standing next to him. He wanted to cut the smirk out of her face to see what that looked like. A very visceral image, not his own, trailed that thought and he shuddered.

The Slytherin team had gathered nearby. Draco stood next to Urquhart, who was rumoured to be taking over from Malfoy as the new choice of captain. The hulking figures of Crabbe and Goyle were absent. Perhaps Malfoy had removed them from the team in anticipation of tonight's new recruits – no more House boundaries meant Slytherin could draw as much players from other Houses as were willing to make the switch.

A splash of blue among the green uniforms confirmed that indeed, Slytherin did not lack in popularity this year. Former Ravenclaw beater Jason Samuals was talking to a Slytherin he didn't know. His eyes slid over to a figure at the back with long black tresses. With a jolt he realised it was Cho.

He hurriedly focused his gaze back on Nott, uncertain how his attention could have wondered from this potential threat.

"Relax," Nott chuckled, which looked less than convincing held at wand-point. "I was merely wondering what everyone thinks, but somehow," – he threw a glance at Malfoy, who turned their way – "no one dares to say."

Harry tilted his head, forcing a bored expression. His wand was hot in his hand. If Nott was hinting at the events of last week…

Theodore raised an eyebrow at the lack of response. "Whether you want to join our Quidditch team as a Seeker, of course."

Nott's eyes were flat, unreadable. But Harry had learned to look for emotion in stoic faces. Around them the others shifted ever so slightly in the silence, discomfited. Zabini's expression remained blank, but tension was visible in his stance. Malfoy on the other hand looked like he'd swallowed a knarl.

He suddenly knew just how to get the situation ticking his way.

"Perhaps," he tossed out, not quite able to keep the coldness from his tone. Nott's eyes narrowed in disbelieve or perhaps fascination: he wasn't reacting like he should.

"Theo," Draco drawled, almost a growl. "What are you doing?"

Nott raised his hands defensively, turning half a circle. "I'm just going where the talent is."

He threw Harry a raised brow. Draco's eyebrows twitched.

"I'll think about it," Harry said in a bored tone.

A hush of silence again.

"What?" Malfoy snapped after a beat. Losing the Seeker position was clearly not a scenario he had accounted for.

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Draco," Nott jeered, delighted. He lifted his broom a fraction – a shiny Nimbus 2001. "Dad's still good for the money."

A few chuckles followed this. Fighting off a smirk of his own, Harry broke away from the circle to join his future teammates, or so he hoped, at the other end of the pitch. Behind his back Draco's voice had turned shrill with agitation. Turning the encounter over in his head, Harry considered there was still a thing or two about Nott left to figure out.

Ron was waiting with the snitch, shooting him a puzzled look. Harry rolled his eyes. "Politics."

"Right," Ron murmured, scratching his cheek. "Right."

Turning on his heels, he clapped his hands with an "Oi!" to gather their red, blue and yellow assembly. The makeshift Hogwarts team bent their heads together and Harry joined them. Ron snarled: "We're going to crush them into the ground. Victory to the toughest!"

The battle cry was echoed. Harry met Ron's intense gaze. He looked slightly off, his eyes bloodshot and grimacing. It looked like sleep had left him a week ago. Sensing his fresh Mark this close felt like a swallow of Firewhiskey had hit his veins. In contrast a burn started in his stomach as he considered his friend – Ginny gone, Hermione vanished, and now Ron had to deal with this….

Luna sounded the whistle and the fourteen players shot upwards. He left the ground and his jumbled emotions with relief. Cho send him a quick smile before she was off. He wondered distractedly what she was up to, playing for the Slytherin team. She wouldn't challenge Draco for the Seeker position, he thought – only Theodore got away with that.

Searching around for a speck of gold, Harry had to dodge a volley of bludger attacks. Both sides were playing offense, and the score quickly left the lower digits. Ten minutes into the game it was clear that the mixture of House colours was confusing all around, to the point where Robin accidentally threw the Quaffle to Cho before covering her mouth with a hand in horror. Harry patted her shoulder in passing, thinking it a logical mistake. She responded with a scowl.

He bolted upwards to quiet his growing agitation with the lot of them. Just in time: Draco had frozen in place halfway across the pitch. They both flew hard at the golden speck that hung between them. Draco was nearly there when a beater slammed into his side, giving Harry plenty of time to catch the golden ball, to loud cheers from his teammates. Malfoy's sour expression turned grim as they flew downwards. Harry followed his gaze down and saw Nott, lips twitching upwards, head bent close to Urquhart and his catch turned queasy in his stomach.

888

Later that evening a subdued mood clung to the Slytherin common room in the wake of Huffinclaw's victory, as the three joined Houses had coined their inter-House collaboration, though the Slytherins called them 'The Muds', which Harry thought was very uninspired, aside from being incorrect as well. Feeling like the instigator of said mood, he was ready for all kinds of quick-and-dirty tricks upon entering the dungeons, but aside from a few stares no one paid him any mind.

Nott was holding court with a couple of sixth years, looking serious. As he walked past the group, Harry caught part of a phrase about Slytherin's reputation. Draco was sitting with Daphne Greengrass on the other side of the fireplace, looking grumpy indeed.

Harry found a seat nearby and opened Voldemort's book on wandless magic on his lap, which he'd transfigured to look like seventh year's Transfiguration appendix – the man was unlikely to notice its absence from his library, or so he hoped. Within minutes Nott's subtle jabs had Malfoy practically steaming in frustration.

No one bothered him. He hadn't counted on that reaction and it started to make him feel displaced, weirded out. When the words started to blend together on the page Harry closed his tome and walked the cold route towards his four-poster.

Minutes later, Draco followed him into the dormitory.

"You're kidding," the blond said immediately after waving around a Silencing charm.

"Hm?" Harry said, not looking up from rummaging through his trunk. Perhaps it still held something that no one had bothered to remove, like the two-way mirror…

Draco spoke in a clipped tone: "You know perfectly well Nott's got no say in this. He's not on the team."

Harry looked up with narrowed eyes. "I think he's got plenty of say, considering he's still around after all the shit he pulled."

Malfoy's posture turned stiff as he went to stand next to his four-poster, perhaps reminded of their earlier encounter in the entrance hall, or so Harry hoped. Draco glanced away first, blond tresses covering his face. They were getting quite long this year. Harry wondered if that was some sort of Pureblood fashion.

"That's different," Draco said quietly. He shook his head like one would shake away a fly. "You think you got us figured out already, don't you?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Then what are you doing stirring him up?"

Harry couldn't suppress a small grin. "Did you see his face?"

Malfoy passed a hand through his hair, exasperated. Good. Let him think he was just kidding around.

They both sank down on their respective beds at the same time. Harry felt a weird twinge in his chest – just for a moment, if you didn't look too closely, it was like the good old days of hanging around in Gryffindor tower with Ron. But Ron would be splayed out in an ungraceful mess of limbs, not sitting down with measured speed and crossing is legs, like Malfoy did.

"How do you imagine the Gryffindors feel about me these days?"

"Ah," Draco uttered in an exaggerated tone. "Gryffies don't want the Golden Boy anymore, now that he's proved rotten?"

Harry kept silent. Malfoy scoffed. "Poor Potter, reviled by all things pure and light. Not even Dumbledore bothers to save him."

"Oh, they'll turn around." Harry's palms were suddenly flaming, and he realised he'd dug his nails in hard. The words had tumbled out beyond his control. It took a few more seconds before he realised the anger wasn't his own either.

His hands slowly detached from the duvet. Riddle was annoyed. Silence drew out as Harry tried to grasp at meaning, his own panicked heart only a distant thud to his senses. Riddle wasn't one to handle disrespect well. Harry had become persona non grata in at least two of the four Houses. That had to suck for the crazy bastard, he considered with a twinge of satisfaction.

You're sooo predictable, Harry thought childishly at the shard of the Dark Lord, feeling chafed.

He opened his eyes. Malfoy's gaze held a gleam of interest. Harry cursed himself for forgetting he was not alone.

"You know," Malfoy continued unperturbed, "they act like you should've died or something, like a proper hero, instead of surrendering. We're not such hypocrites, you'll find."

Just a different kind, Harry thought but stayed silent, studying the pattern of silver seams threaded through the green coverlet. He unclenched his hands slowly, relaxing his shoulders. Calm could be used as a shield, Riddle had taught him.

"Adapting to circumstance is a quality we can appreciate in Slytherin."

His eyes shot up to assess the boy. Malfoy jump slightly in response.

Draco might be trapped by his duty as Harry's guard, but he wasn't about to make his job easy – this was the boy who grinned when the Death Eaters came into the Great Hall. He gave a tiny shake of his head. "So caring, Draco."

Malfoy's expression shuttered at once, the gleam replaced by a more familiar, steely expression. He said softly: "I stand corrected. You're not so Slytherin after all."

There seemed to be some kind of puzzlement or worry behind his steely gaze. When Harry turned back to his rummaging, the silence held. His trunk did not reveal any of his prized possessions.

888

Harry couldn't sleep. His mind was refusing to shut down.

Quite an intimate thing, this body-sharing business. Whenever things were not to his liking, Riddle would manage him. He shivered. Was his voice the first step towards possession? No, he thought. This was merely a convulsion of a mad man, a sliver of soul attempting at influence. Still he'd got him to lose his cool, fucking around with his head like this…

Can you hear me? he thought, feeling silly when no reply came.

Back when the Chamber of Secrets was open, Ginny had not been aware of being possessed. Harry was. He relaxed slightly into the mattress, bolstered by this logic. Although, that moment the other day with Draco in the entrance hall was a bit of a draw, come to think of it…

His stomach burned. Ginny's face was suddenly stark in his mind. Thoughts of her red hair were enough to shake the sticky feeling of the Horcrux completely, whether real or imagined.

The next day of classes went by in a haze of fatigue. He crashed into Neville at their meeting point in front of the Potions classroom. While their teacher talked, Harry started dropping off several times. Each time his eyes opened just before his head crashed into the desk – waking up felt like a Portkey hooked into his stomach.

Zabini, whom he was once more pared with, whispered viciously: "Take a pepper-up or something Potter. Your hairs are ruining the potion."

Harry rubbed his eyes and straightened. "Sorry."

"Everything all right here boys?" Slughorn said in a cheery voice behind them.

"Yes, fine sir," Zabini said dismissively, hovering a hair out of their concoction. It left a yellowish streak in the potion though, which didn't look promising. Harry winced.

"Hmf," Slughorn uttered, taking a note before moving on to the next bench.

"Thanks a bunch," Zabini hissed at him, vanishing the potion with a jerk of his wand. "Next class, you're going to be here extra early, so we can remake it."

Harry opened one eye. "Why don't you pair with Malfoy then." He didn't mind the low grade that working with Neville could cause, if it meant seeing more of his friend. Between classes and Malfoy's 'Potterwatch', there was very little private time left for him – and even less to spend with Gryffindors of unsavoury status, like Ron, who was always busy around the grounds with one manual task or another.

"I can stand for one class to be spared from my roommates, thank you," Zabini stiffly replied.

This woke Harry up a little. "But I am one," he said with a laugh. When Zabini didn't respond he chuckled. It seemed all that Pureblood bigotry was starting to wear on this fine example.

Zabini shook his head once, reminding him of Watanabe. "They're like territorial apes aiming for the biggest banana tree. Well, they can be," he added the last word in a mumble, appearing quite busy with shoving his potions kit into his bag all of a sudden.

Something inside Harry thrilled at being taken into Zabini's confidence, however small. He realised then that he wasn't sure whether the feeling was his own or not. He refused to let that spoil the sense of warmth in his chest. Harry glanced towards Malfoy, who was smiling sickly at Slughorn's praise of his near-perfect potion.

"I know what you mean," he said in commiseration.

888

The answer to what gift Harry could offer the Dark Lord, had yet to present itself on Wednesday afternoon. He felt a pressure in his chest at the mere thought that Voldemort might show up right there and then to demand his answer. In exchange he would keep from torturing Ron through the Dark Mark, though. It seemed too good to be true. Besides, there was nothing Harry could do if the man changed his mind in the future.

As he was standing next to Neville in one of the greenhouses, oiling some pointy leaf of a colourful plant in Herbology class of which he'd forgotten the Latin name, he considered that perhaps Voldemort was merely toying with him. He had no use for Ron except to blackmail Harry into behaving like he wanted, whatever that meant. Ron would be more likely to muck up his plans than make himself an asset.

He bit his lip, feeling trapped by the idea of what Voldemort might ask of him in the future. He could demand all sorts of things, and Harry would never be able to refuse him again. He noticed his arms shaking when Neville put a hand over his.

"Alright there, Harry?"

"Yes, just thinking about Ron," he said to stop any more questions.

Neville nodded, already distracted by the plants, the way the leafs changed colours at the tips in reaction to the balm, where they held a poisonous substance.

When classes finished Harry headed up to McGonagall's office, hoping to find her there. She was absent however. He wondered if she was still in touch with Dumbledore. Most likely, he thought with some energy returning to his limbs. He turned around, thinking he'd better try again in the weekend.

888

Snape was negotiating the finer points of the new restrictions on Hogwarts House Elves with the Head Elf, when he heard the sound of the floo to his right.

Some of them had become difficult, refusing to put in the extra-long hours required courtesy of a House-Elf named Dobby, who happened to be close to a certain troublesome former Gryffindor.

Voldemort's distinct figure landed lightly on the balls of his feet inside the great iron curls of the Headmaster's hearth and stepped out onto the rug.

Snape jumped, shooing off the elf, who vanished on the spot, before bowing his head, thinking fast.

"Severus," the Dark Lord said, a sigh in fact, black robes swirling into his line of sight.

"My Lord."

The Dark Lord gestured for him to sit back down in the Headmaster's chair, which he did, wondering if this meant official business, or the unofficial, oftentimes painful kind. Though Lord Voldemort never stated his purpose outright, one could be sure there was always an undercurrent with this man. Snape was glad he hadn't brought his snake this time, then remembered Hogwarts' pipes system was Nagini's new home now.

The Dark Lord sank into the visitor's chair, raising a palm. The next instant an ancient set of wizarding chess floated into view to settle down on the desk between them.

Snape obliged without a word, putting forward a white pawn, which Voldemort mirrored.

They were evenly matched in the beginning. The game went on for some time, in Snape's opinion, before a dormant black bishop caught his remaining knight, signalling the start of the endgame. Snape was beaten shortly afterwards. The white king hung its head as a rook patted his shoulder.

"They are remarkably quiet," he commented when the silence stretched after the pieces had been returned to their wooden box.

Voldemort's head was tilted back and his eyes half closed as he regarded Snape. "I suppose they are still mourning his absence. As are you."

Snape froze.

One of the man's pastimes was to catch his subjects unawares, the off-centre remark either true or false, and observe the results. It was risky to ask questions but Snape decided to feign ignorance. "What precisely would I be mourning, my Lord?"

"The presence of your our old mentor." Snape blinked. Voldemort went on, waving a dismissive hand: "No shame in it. Quite a remarkable wizard."

Snape said: "I worked closely with him for many years. He may have… rubbed off somewhat." He frowned slightly as if disturbed by the notion.

The Dark Lord's head tilted to the left. "Ah, but you miss him, my loyal servant. You miss his brimming personality."

Snape looked down, though he was quite confident of his Occlumency shields. Riddle had sensed a whiff of emotion. It was wise to play the part.

"Yes," Voldemort hissed, dragging out the word. "That cloying feeling is seeping through your magic." He meant the Mark, Snape knew from Albus theories. The Dark Lord was in a generous mood however because he changed the subject: "Any occurrences of note?"

"None, my Lord." He knew the Dark Lord would only be interested in any sign of resistance inside the school.

Voldemort once more tipped back his head to rest against the high-backed chair, closing his eyes. He appeared tired, but that was probably Snape superimposing his own state of fatigue on the man in front of him.

"I have need of your questioning skills, Severus. We have a new addition to the Malfoy dungeon. A former colleague of yours, I believe."

The Malfoy dungeon was for high-profile guests only. A muscle wanted to jump in Snape's jaw. "Certainly. When do you wish for my presence?"

"This Saturday, four in the afternoon. He will be stubborn. Bring ample Veritaserum."

"I shall, my Lord."

Snape wondered whether it was a former teacher or an Order member, and whether he himself was still able, fifteen years onwards, to draw up the necessary amount of malice. He decided to put that thought aside until he had to face this unfortunate soul, whomever it may be.

"Where is our Chosen One?" the Dark Lord asked next.

Suppressing a shiver at Voldemort's choice of that now incongruous title, Snape replied: "Most likely in his dormitory at this hour. Would you like for me to fetch him?"

"Not necessary. I shall leave you to your work."

Snape rose along with the Dark Lord, bowing his head. He was still getting used to this new form of deference, a more casual one which only a few servants in favour were allowed.

Voldemort was at the door when he called over his shoulder: "And Severus, I expect a report by tomorrow evening of your findings regarding the Order's use of the Room of Hidden Things, or whatever you call it."

Snape sagged in his chair as soon as the Dark Lord was gone from the tower room, resisting the urge to burrow his head in his palms.

888

Silence draped over the castle stones, undisturbed by the soles of his boots. Voldemort's robes blended with the shadows of the third floor corridor, a place few had business being at this hour.

It had been years since he'd taken a glance at it. Back then, he could only afford short-term goals. What would it show him this time, he wondered with anticipation.

Stopping next to the trapdoor, he tossed a spell to check for tampering before unlocking it. He folded into himself to descend the narrow space downwards until he felt solid stone, a motion well-practiced due to countless visits to the Chamber of Secrets' underground halls.

The chambers beyond were a feat of wizarding space. They stood completely bare of objects. The exception to this stood in the last room: a magnificent mirror which still remained in the same place Dumbledore had left it.

He threw a lumos towards the centre of the room. On the threshold his mind churned, thinking back to the last time he was here, when his immortality was thwarted by a hairsbreadth due to the flailing of a twelve-year old boy. Dumbledore's trick should not have set him back as far as it had, he considered, caught in the memory.

After a few seconds he managed to shake off the twinge in his chest. Purpose flowed through him as he strode up to the shimmering object and stepped in front of it.

He took a breath – and looked up.

He was no longer alone. The old Headmaster lay at his feet, eyes glassy, skin nearly the colour of his beard. The culprit was immediately clear: it was the young green-eyed man about to stand from a kneeling position at his side, and gazing up at the mirror's Riddle in reverence. He looked older, about twenty-five or thirty. Nagini unwinded from his alternate's shoulders to settle onto mirror Potter's.

The Dark Lord's gaze was drawn to the sword next. It was sheeted hilt-deep inside Dumbledore's chest. While he watched, Potter pulled it out. The decorative stones now matched the blade dripping blood. Harry's green cloak merely darkened where it met the generous flow of red. He recognised his mother's locket, hanging from the young man's chest. Potter´s searing eyes were locked on Voldemort's alternate self. His counterpart smirked and raised the tiara which he held clutched between both hands. A ring glimmered on his left – Voldemort imagined it to be the resurrection stone, so it probably was.

The mirror's Harry bowed his head to his counterpart then, to be crowned.

The Dark Lord wetted his lips, eyes inexplicably glued to the scene. Stepping away from the mirror took conscious effort, and he was not certain of the amount of time that had passed.

Back on the third floor corridor his feet took him on automatic to the dungeon stairs where he stopped, hand drumming on the railing. His mouth twitched as he imagined the reaction he'd get walking into the Slytherin common room now. But unnecessary – he would summon the boy through Draco. First, he would greet Nagini.

A few elves were still at work scrubbing pots as he entered the Hogwarts kitchens, though they did so without a sound. They froze when he passed, shrinking into the wall. He headed for the huge fireplace, then stopped abruptly upon finding his pet snake in his favourite position – and in the arms of his young charge. Potter's form was folded into a leather fauteuil he had pulled from somewhere. His head rested on the chair back in a pose similar to Voldemort's own an hour ago.

Both appeared to revel in the warmth exuded by the flames. They were also soundly asleep, which explained the studious quiet of the elves.

Voldemort took a seat on the rug with the hearth at his back. The fabric's warmth kept away the cold of the stones. His eyes wanted to droop as well. But the adrenaline from the vision had not yet left his blood and so it was easy to resist the pull.

Of course it didn't mean anything. No link with reality was implied. Putting meaning into it meant deluding himself. He knew all this, still he could not deny his own inner conflict, which felt all too real. Why should he want to honour Potter so, when he could just as well unleash another of his Horcruxes on a more fitting human form – his Bella for instance? The mirror had been tricked before, was perhaps still warped by Dumbledore's machinations years later.

He studied Potter's sleeping form. Bags lined Harry's eyes. He marvelled anew that such a vulnerable creature could harbour an immortal piece of his soul.

He counted on his younger self's ability to realign the boy's wilful idealism with his own restructuring of wizard society. His own particular way of governing could do with a human touch, also, as his advisors kept reminding him. Redirecting Potter's righteous energy towards quieting the fanatics, though tiresome now, would undoubtedly be rewarding in the end.

The boy twitched then, and rubbed at his scar with his free left hand. He blinked, taking in his surroundings when his gaze fell upon the Dark Lord.

"Gha!" Potter yelled, jumping in the air, eyes round and fearful. This move disturbed Nagini, who hissed in her sleep. Harry looked down, then up, clearly feeling trapped.

Voldemort smirked lazily, whispering: "Best not wake her."

Harry visibly swallowed. He began trying to extricate himself from the large animal wrapped around him, starting with the snake's thick neck. Nagini came awake enough to grumble: "Hmmm… no twitching, nest-brother."

This worked on the boy like a freezing charm. After confirming that Voldemort wasn't going anywhere, he sagged back into the upholstery.

They stared at each other in silence. The Dark Lord was content to keep staring, but Potter quickly grew agitated.

"Why are you-" Harry clamped his mouth shut on the rest of the sentence, but Voldemort caught a flicker of thought anyway, due to his still half-awake state.

"On the floor?" he returned in a low tone so as to not disturb Nagini. "I enjoy the warmth."

The boy's puzzlement turned more pronounced.

His followers expected him to demand high standards of comfort – that was something they could understand. But comfort held a different meaning to him, which the Horcrux would have known.

"Interesting that I'm talking to just you for a change."

The boy fell into stillness. "What do you mean?" he breathed. "Sir," he muttered then.

"Your reactions can be… entertaining." Whereas watching his counterpart was quite boring.

Harry broke the stare to glance down at the creature in his lap. "You wanted to see me because of last week, right?" he blurted, clumsily changing the subject. Voldemort filed away the signs of discomfort for later study.

The Dark Lord felt another smirk tug at his mouth but he resisted it. "What about last week, Potter?"

"The meeting. You wanted something in return for… not using the Mark on Ron."

Voldemort chuckled, stretching out his legs to let the flames reach the lower part of his back. Harry should be grateful he was in moderately good spirits. The boy's eyes kept glued to a spot on Nagini's scales where his left hand stroked them.

"You are lying, Harry," he hissed and Harry's hand shook. "We agreed I would keep from using the Mark to apply pain. I said nothing about not making use of my newest servant."

At this Potter's shoulders knotted with tension. Perhaps his Horcrux kept far from such emotion-wired subjects and was therefore currently absent in Potter's mannerisms. Either that, or his influence over Potter was not as persistent as Harry wanted him to think.

He pushed beyond and Potter flinched as the Legilimency spell took. Voldemort saw flashes of conversation – Potter talking to Nagini, Potter explaining to someone that the Granger girl knew something that made her a target. Next the young Malfoy trembling in Potter's strangling hold while Harry murmured insults in his ear-

Harry starting bending over his inflamed scar, threatening to wake Nagini again, and he stopped. That last fragment revealed a duality still present in Potter's behaviour. The boy warranted closer study to ascertain how much of his Horcrux had taken hold, and the triggers to that part of him. Distilling the boy's thoughts this way, when he was in a weaker state, was more effective than dosing him with truth serum. He would have to guess at the times when Potter would be just as weary for a next round of Legilimency, or have Draco report in.

Potter straightened, breathing levelling out. Voldemort drank in the sound of his shaking voice: "How w- will you be making use of him, may I ask?"

"That depends on his own behaviour and competence. He shall certainly have to start at the bottom."

"I've thought of what to offer you in exchange for not hurting him," Harry went on. He took a deep breath. "I would like to offer Nagini my help in assisting her with her search for a partner."

Voldemort's brows raised as he took this in. "What makes you think that's necessary?" he asked in a bored tone.

Potter caught his eyes then. "Um. She wants one." It sounded like a question.

"You don't say."

"Yes, she wants a mate." Potter tossed a hand. His cheeks coloured subtly. "She says you're too busy with your- what'd she call it, human webs to accompany her. So she asked me if I wanted to help her search the Forbidden Forest."

The boy was telling the truth – Voldemort could see their conversation in his eyes, in this same room. Leave it to Potter to find something to offer him that still fit in with his sensibilities.

"To find her kin one would have to travel to the continent, far eastwards." Albania, for example. He wondered whether his snake wasn't actually planning an adventure of a different kind – he remembered the Basilisk loved to roam the Forbidden Forest for the sense of freedom that natural hunting gave her. "Something which would please her, not me. No, that won't do." Harry's shoulders sank. His cheeks lost colour.

"But," Voldemort said, fingers stroking the wand inside his pocket in anticipation. "I might allow you to accompany me on such an endeavour. If you behave on this trip and do as I ask, you may take her out hunting."

"What kind of trip?"

Voldemort tilted his head. When the moment stretched Harry blinked tiredly and asserted: "My Lord?"

"The program will involve visits to foreign dignitaries and heads of state on the continent."

Harry straightened, fully awake once more. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again to whisper: "What will my role there be, sir?"

"All in due time, Potter." Voldemort unfolded himself to stand, holding out his arms.

Harry stood also, careful to slowly lower the pounds of snake into his waiting arms. Nagini's breathing stayed even throughout. He would question her next about the going's on inside the castle, but in private.

This docile Potter pleased him. Though the fiercer version, where the urges of boy and Horcrux blended together like they did in the memory he'd gleamed, proved unexpectedly entertaining.

"I accept your offer, Potter," he stated before departing. As he turned towards the door his lips twitched at the barely repressed panic still roaring in Potter's gaze.

888

Voldemort's visit left Harry antsy again. Strangely, afterwards he slept just fine in his four-poster for the first time in a long while. Perhaps it was the sheer relief that for the time being, he had done all he could to help Ron. That visit could have gone a lot worse. It was no use pushing the Dark Lord for anything more since he had already given Harry more consideration than he had expected of him.

The next day of classes went by in a pleasant semblance of normalcy and Harry pushed the Dark Lord's words from his mind.

Ron's first confrontation with his new position would be that Saturday, he had been informed that morning, in the next junior Death Eater's meeting. His friend took it in stride, bolstered by Harry's assurance his Mark wouldn't bother him for a while, at least. They skipped their study period in the afternoon, spending their time playing exploding snap in the Gryffindor common room, where they were soon joined by Dean and Neville.

After dinner Harry was summoned to the Headmaster's office without explanation. Climbing the stairs, Malfoy's remark about adapting to circumstances buzzed through his head. Was he going to have to keep on adapting, whatever might be asked of him? Or would he find his way with time, and come out if not on top, then at least even, like he had managed yesterday evening.

Snape and Takumi were standing by the windows when he entered, conversing in quiet tones. His nerves flared at the sight.

"Mr. Potter," Armando Dippet greeted him with a solemn nod from his painted chair. A few frames over, Phineas Black was watching him as well with a surly expression. Other portraits blinked open bleary eyes at this, or stopped pretending to be asleep altogether.

"Hello, Mr. Dippet," Harry answered.

"I have to say, young man, I never imagined this," Dippet commented with a shake of his aged head. "Such a good lad he was."

After a moment Harry realized he was referring to Riddle, whom he had met as Headmaster.

"I predicted this might happen," Professor Brian Gagwilde interjected, before moving a white bishop on the chess board covering the right third of his frame. It was unclear who his opponent was, since there was no space for him or her to inhabit the portrait.

"So you've been telling us the entire summer," a Headmistress opposite murmured, too softly for him to hear. Harry had to smile at the dryness in her tone. Her neighbour looked like someone who loved the sound of his own voice, alright.

"Mr. Potter?" Watanabe cut in, drawing his eyes back to the room's living inhabitants. The portraits fell quiet, once more feigning sleep in seconds.

Harry approached, returning the greeting with a bow of his head. Snape's form was blessedly turned towards the window. The view of the lake at sunset was probably magnificent from up here. He decided to follow Snape's lead, which was to say ignore the man.

Watanabe was not one to mince words. "You've been invited by the Evening Prophet to attend an interview concerning last week's events. I will be assisting you."

He took that in. He could almost feel Snape's condescending expression at those words: he once again looked like the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-The-Centre-Of-Attention.

"What if I don't want to go? Sir?"

Watanabe's neutral expression didn't change. "Our Lord wishes you to be present. The rumours surrounding your temporary absence last week are getting wilder by the day. We can curb them this way, as well as inform the people of your new standing."

"My.. standing?"

"With regard to the Dark Lord's administration."

And that is what? he thought.

He nodded mechanically, not wanting to let on.

"The reporter is an acquaintance of yours, I believe." Watanabe took a piece of parchment from his robe pocket and held it at eyelevel. "A Ms. Rita Skeeter?"

He felt a sense of foreboding. "I guess."

Takumi's head tilted slightly. "You'd prefer someone else?"

If he scorned her now, her writings about him would probably get much worse.

"That's alright. She can be a little… sensational." He shrugged.

"Ah. In that case, not to worry. I will be screening the interview before publication."

"Alright." He almost hunched to burrow his hands in his pockets, but shook off the urge. He folded his arms instead.

"The interview will be in about half an hour. There are some things we should discuss first." Watanabe gestured towards the two rigid-looking chairs near the fireplace. Harry sat, shooting a glance at Snape moving behind his desk. The man appeared to be ignoring his two visitors, and started scribbling away at something.

The hearth was warm at their backs, which bolstered him somewhat. Watanabe sank down next to him and turned his neck to regard him. "Although the Dark Lord has placed restrictions on any classified subjects, we must still take care when crafting your public image."

Harry wondered for a moment what kind of reputation the Dark Lord wanted for him.

"The public narrative is that you were a pupil of his greatest enemy, have been a factor in his first downfall even, yet he let you live. More than that, he allows you to continue your education here at Hogwarts, a place which you clearly love." Watanabe seemed to wait for something, studying him. Harry refused to reward the wreckage that was his new life with a nod.

The man went on unperturbed: "He has given you generous space to decide whether you want to join the rebels or to stay and help your friends in this difficult transition. So, you have made the brave choice to stay, which is an attribute to your character."

Harry bit his tongue on his thoughts. I tried to escape twice. Both times I've been tortured. Both times the lives of my friends were threatened.

Watanabe smiled lightly. "You are bursting to say something."

He shook his head. He wanted to see where Takumi was getting at first.

"Now that you have chosen to stay, what would you wish to contribute to our Lord's administration? What do you want to do, or to have changed?"

Harry glanced towards the resident Headmaster, whose quill now hung frozen over the paper. He swallowed, thinking perhaps more was at stake here than it seemed.

"You really want to know what I want?"

"Yes, so we can practice what you are going to say about your aims for the coming years for the purpose of the interview."

Harry blinked, thinking it was rather cruel to be asking him this, as if his opinion mattered. The man's well-meaning attitude was starting to grind already.

"Well. I want the torture of Muggleborns at the borders to stop, first of all."

Watanabe grimaced. "Yes, I disagreed with him on this point."

Harry tried to keep his mouth from falling open. "And the Muggles. No more killing," he prodded to see how that would go over. The older wizard took note of this on a little writing pad.

"Barbarous acts, certainly."

Harry blinked again. "Did you tell him this?"

"I did. Do consider though, that we have some demanding allies that want a reward for their services. The vampires, for example. Potens est primum."

"Sorry, what sir?"

"It is wise to keep the powerful satisfied, is what it means," Watanabe quietly explained.

Harry tried to find the right words to voice his opinion. "So you think the Muggles deserve it?"

"Not by any means," Wanatabe said, and Harry´s head jerked again. "I'm merely presenting you with the Dark Lord's utilitarian viewpoint."

Harry mulled this over a moment, eyes roaming the portraits on the walls. "He judges the value of people by their usefulness to him," he rephrased. "The powerful can make use of the weak, and he makes use of the powerful."

Watanabe gave a nod. "To put it simply."

"So he's a bully, is what you're saying," Harry stated to rile Takumi's serene pose. "Sir."

Watanabe had that smile again. "He is many things, to many people. However, we were discussing you, and what you want to be doing in the near future."

Harry scowled and turned his head to watch the fire. The scratching from Snape's quill resumed.

Takumi clasped his hands in front of him, undeterred by the silence. "So. You want to champion the rights of people, magical and not, who are being marginalised at this time in the new administration."

"And magical beings," he said, thinking of the House Elves at Hogwarts and not able to keep silent on that matter.

"Hm. Perhaps a Foundation is in order, for reaching these goals. Say, we can call it the Harry Potter Foundation."

Harry quickly glanced at Snape. He expected a snide comment, but the Headmaster's face remained smooth. He felt a twinge of nerves in his chest, wondering why Snape would waste a perfect opportunity to mock him. They must have discussed him before he walked in, Harry thought. He turned back towards Watanabe.

"Are you serious? I'll actually be allowed to do something?"

"Of course. I will have an account set up for you next week at Gringotts. In the meantime, consider how you want to go about achieving your goals. In fact this might be a good opportunity to appeal to the readers of the Prophet."

Harry stared at him, trying to gauge the expression on his face. Of course? He felt dizzy at the sudden twists of the conversation. "Am I allowed to talk to the people in charge of this, these rules or decrees?"

"I think it will be a learning experience for you." Watanabe folded his knees and took his first sip of tea on the tray between them. "I have noticed Hogwarts does not prepare its students for their future careers quite as well as my own wizarding school did for me – Mahoutokoro on the island of Minami Iwo Jima. In Japan at sixteen years of age all students are send out to stretch their skills, as we would say, at an organisation of their choosing – a company, or the Ministry of Magic even. They do this in an internship of six months. We offer nothing of the sort in English wizarding schools below University level. This is something I am working on changing here at Hogwarts for the seventh years."

Watanabe's words held a certain fire as he spoke. "Why did you leave Japan?" Harry asked, had been dying to ask for some time in fact. He sounded so… reasonable. Why did he start working for Tom Riddle? What would be the appeal of being a Death Eater to a man like him?

"Ah. That's a story for another time, I think." Watanabe quirked a grin. "So, now that you have your headline for the interview, we shall go over the procedure concerning what is sensitive information and what is not."

Harry nodded, feeling antsy again as he thought of meeting Skeeter in a few minutes time.

"Firstly, when asked, do not offer any information about Nagini. You may tell her she likes the old magic of the building, which is why she's let out to roam." He waited for Harry's nod before continuing: "This goes the same for the Chamber of Secrets. Secondly, don't engage in anything regarding the Dark Lord's politics or the rebels. You may tell her how you feel about attending Hogwarts, and the changes that have occurred here. You may not share whatever you may have heard about the situation with the resistance."

"What do I tell her in case she asks?"

"Say you are concerned for your friends, and hope they stay out of harm's way. That is the case, right?"

Harry nodded. Three more warnings later and Harry was grinding his teeth. It all came down to two things: don't tell her anything about your opinion of the outside world, and do fill the time gushing about your new Foundation and your magical education.

Voldemort was clearly holding the press in an iron fist. If he did call out on something, there was no chance in hell any of it would get printed, he was sure. What he could count on, was getting punished for it. Or Ron would, he thought with frayed nerves.

Watanabe sat back in the end and clasped his hands. "Any questions?"

Harry took a sip of his own cooling tea to give himself more time to think. "You're serious about this Foundation thing?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't get it. What does he get out of this?" When Watanabe merely narrowed his eyes he explained: "I mean, say he gives permission for this… Foundation. Wouldn't I be going against the laws he's making, protesting for the rights of Muggleborns?"

"You have my permission Mr. Potter, which will be sufficient." He bent closer with his elbows on his knees, instantly putting him on alert. "I will allow you some room, Mr. Potter, to try and change things from within the system. But not without: any activities that point towards cooperation with the resistance I shall have to report to the Dark Lord."

His eyes flew fast between both of Harry's, assessing. Tracking them made him vaguely dizzy again. "If you were to breach these rules, I am afraid I shall have to revoke that privilege, and your aims shall remain unfulfilled for the foreseeable future."

Harry sat back, swallowing hard. They had him all figured out, he realised. They knew he wouldn't want to risk this chance to change things from the inside, if he could. If he would make contact with the resistance, all these offered doors would close on him.

Perhaps the horcrux should do the interview, he thought flippantly. But he couldn't summon him like one of Voldemort's servants. Besides, Riddle could care less about the rights of Muggleborns and magical creatures.

Takumi sat back as well to consider him. "I've told our Lord before that your continued popularity is a direct consequence of your passionate regard for others. Your caring attitude does not need to interfere with his plans for you, as I am trying to demonstrate to him in this way. Do not make me regret giving you this opportunity, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded, marvelling that Watanabe would look out for him so. "May I ask, what are his plans for me?"

"I could not tell you."

Harry decided to hold off on any further questions until he had time to explore this Foundation thing. "Thank you," he murmured into the silence, not wanting to appear ungrateful. Watanabe was in fact on his side. "If we're really going to do this though, let's not call it the Harry Potter Foundation."

"What should we call it?"

Harry thought a moment. "The Magical Rights Foundation?"

"The Foundation for Magical Rights, very well." Watanabe noted this down. They both stood. Watanabe whisked away the chairs and turned towards the fireplace, holding out the floo powder. Harry took a handful, eyes turning to regard Snape's form.

Snape was staring right at him this time, through him it felt like. His gaze narrowed. "Watch that tongue of yours, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded, somehow relieved to hear the man speak. "Yes, sir."

A/N: thoughts?