A/N: A new chapter? Yes! I am very fond of this story, so I intend to keep updating it. Thank you for your lovely reviews and continued interest!
Warning: very dark themes and violence in this chapter! Please tread carefully, reader.
Chapter 31
Next day's tally: one Death Eater imprisoned, one Order member rescued.
Also: one dead body.
Harry had been sopping up the remains of his eggs with the sourdough bread on the menu here, when Remus appeared in a flash of Phoenix fire near the sitting area, trembling a little as he lowered a small person onto the couch.
He shoved away from the table and gaped. Surely not Neville, who had helped him get out …
He looked. Not Neville.
He felt the eggs come back up again and whirled away, grasping the back of the couch to stay upright.
The face looked like someone had used a stick to carve a deep zig-zag sign into beach sand; instead of sand sticking up at the edges, here was a mess of human flesh, bloody-brownish, cleaved right down to skull. It was the shape of a lightning bolt, he realised.
Fawkes was observing the room from the windows. Perhaps this was his new home now.
"Harry." Remus' voice trembled. "You're awake. Gods, I'm sorry you have to see this."
He swallowed then said: "Well, it's meant for me, so…"
"Do you recognise who this is?"
Harry turned back, now a little more prepared for it. The wide jaw, the yellow-coloured borders of the robes. "Zacharias Smith."
After a series of what he assumed were revealing and de-cursing spells on the body, Remus wordlessly snatched up a plain card and held it out to Harry, who read:
A gift. Tomorrow, a friend.
The sound of the floo in the kitchen made them both turn, wands raised. But it was Bill – of course the wards had held. Bill's face went from drawn to repulsed in the next heartbeat. "How twisted do you have to be…"
Bill Weasley he now associated with completely different things from the night before.
"A gift," the Bill began, glancing at the card. "What does he mean?"
"He means," Harry began and Bill's eyes sprang to him, apparently surprised. "Zacharias, he beat me up one time at Hogwarts."
"That time you had to go to St. Mungo's, you mean?" Bill asked, sharp as ever.
"Yes. Riddle was pretty angry about that. He would see this as a… gift."
"Why though, why would he care?" Bill asked.
Well, because it nearly destroyed his horcrux. "He wants to decide himself when to punish me, I heard him say one time to his Death Eaters."
Bill shook his head. "The guy is such a creep."
The grown-ups whispered for a time. He was imagining the moment when Voldemort had caught his classmate, of Zacharias scared out of his wits. But the boy was dead, so being happy in any way was repulsive.
He was still holding the letter and placed it carefully on the table. A friend next. This couldn't go on. As much as he wanted nothing less, he had to go back.
"He's thinking of running away," Remus murmured from much too close.
"I'm not," Harry said with irritation at the close attention.
Both the man's bushier-than-normal eyebrows lifted. "You smell scared, you're halfway out of your chair and your heart-rate is increasing."
He sat back down. Werewolves. "If I don't show up there… A friend next. You see where this is going? Each day he's going to…"
"That's for the Order to deal with, not you. This is the second time you've been wanting to run off and lying about it," Bill said in an undertone. "Should I be getting worried?"
"I-".
"First things first," Lupin intervened. "Bill?" Lupin jerked his head and Bill nodded. "Can you also contact Minerva, from the Burrow? She'll get in touch with the family. And try to get a sense of her, how she's doing."
Bill proceeded to put some kind of charm on the body – the wand gesture routine – then bend down close to the mutilated head. He beckoned Fawkes. Bill, body and bird vanished.
Remus steered him back into the kitchen. "Meanwhile, we'll have some tea."
This seemed like a conversation to avoid, but he had missed them all an awful lot, despite their interference… He sat down as Remus poured the left-over tea.
"The second time, Bill said? You just got here yesterday, did you try to run off already?"
So Bill had kept that quiet. "I didn't try to run off. I wanted to help with the prisoner."
"Ah." Puzzlement. He knew Lupin wasn't comfortable pushing at such things. "Well," Lupin tried again when Harry said no more. "You helped a lot with her already and we're glad for that. Still, you have to be careful with calling them, it's not safe. As you well know."
"Yes."
Lupin sighed after a while of silence. "I'd hoped you'd want to talk a bit with me. About the happenings since the battle, anything. I'm a good listener. You know that, right?"
Just putting it out there now felt forced. "I know. I told professor Dumbledore what happened."
"I'm glad."
Harry waited, but Remus merely took a sip of his tea. "So he hasn't told you."
"No, and I won't pry." The tea clanged in the delicate saucer between Lupin's long-clawed hands, which he spread in invitation.
"Did you… I saw that newspaper article about you… biting someone."
"You mean about me killing someone?" Remus smiled faintly – self-deprecating.
"Yes."
Remus bend to study his tea cup. "They let me out on the full moon after not giving me any food for days. It was a horrible experience. I wasn't in my right mind, but still I know I ripped into those people with my own bare hands…
"Remus, you can't blame yourself for this."
Lupin looked at him with deep lines set into his slightly wild face. "If not me, who?"
"Riddle and his bunch of morons."
Remus chuckled. "Only you would call them that. But back to my question. Please, Harry. Isn't there anything I can help out with?"
Harry thought a bit. It was true Remus was good at listening, and he had plenty of things he felt awful about. "Why did you all get me out?" he whispered finally.
Lupin froze half-sip. "Why wouldn't we? You were… we wanted to get you away from him as soon as possible, of course."
"I'm not like the other people here, though. Not anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I killed someone, for one thing."
"Because he ordered it?"
"Yes. Or he'd murder Hermione."
"That's… terrible, Harry."
If Lupin knew more about him, let's see about his kindness then. "It was Umbridge." He had to swallow a laugh: it was me, I killed Umbridge. "Not a big loss, right? She didn't think you were human, being a werewolf, so..."
Remus didn't take the bait. "You did the best you could. It's all any of us can do."
I'm glad I could help out yesterday at least."
"Have you had dealings with Bellatrix, before?"
"I've spoken to her a few times." Was she still here, one floor downwards?
"Is that how it works, then? Can you get… any Death Eater?"
"Only the ones whose Marks I've touched before, because those I can recognise. Why?"
"Just curious." Lupin touched his arm briefly. "Now that you're here though, it's time to forget about all that. To recover and start focusing on your education."
That was a messy change of subject. "How?" He gestured wildly to the place where Voldemort's note had vanished. "How can I stay here, when you saw his message?"
"He's baiting you, Harry."
"Oh, you don't believe he'll go-"
They both jumped slightly at the sound of the floo. Tonks walked in: "He took it to the family, then?" Lupin nodded.
Tonks found another seat at the table across from Harry. "Wotcher, Harry," she said, regarding him calmly.
He returned her greeting, then remarked to Lupin: "How are you going to protect every single friend I have?"
"We have a system of protection for students who are in danger: he can't get to them."
"Right," Harry nodded, and gestured wide to the floo. "That's why Smith turned up dead, then. Works swimmingly."
"He wasn't at Hogwarts at the time," Tonks spoke up.
Not quite waterproof, then was it? So many people could be at home during weekends away from this mysterious protection, or at Hogsmeade… "Has he tried to get to other students? How's this work anyway?"
Lupin straightened from his slough. "Let's not get into that now. Hermione will be here soon with her study group and I need to discuss some things with Tonks." He looked pointedly at Harry: "But first, you should eat some more breakfast."
888
Studying with Hermione seemed a bit of a pointless activity, since he doubted he'd find a regular career path for a while. That hardly mattered though, when writing assignments and discussing Transfiguration theory took him back to Hogwarts days.
Hermione's group consisted of Susan Bones who greeted him warmly, a Hufflepuff boy he didn't know from fifth year, and a boy and a girl who'd finished Hogwarts and were apprenticing in the fields of Arithmency and charm development – their parents were Order members and so they had gone into hiding.
They were sitting on couches in the drawing room, although the group normally met up elsewhere, apparently. Each person worked on their own things, with some minor back and forth discussion. Hagrid had put on a giant pot of tea and his signature 'rock' cookies.
Harry was bent over a step-by-step Transfiguration scheme with Hermione, who was not studying herself but had decided to focus on Harry's gaps in education. There were plenty where Transfiguration was concerned.
He elbowed her when the scheme started getting too complicated:
"I'm sure you don't need to do any potions studying, right, with all the work you're doing?" He swallowed the 'for the Order' bit, although now he realised Voldemort would surely connect those dots if he bothered to look later.
Hermione smiled a bit sadly. "I taught myself the seventh year book, so I managed as well as I could I guess. But it's awful to think of Snape being our teacher all these years. All the while biding his time to return to Riddle – he probably never wanted to teach anyway, right?"
"Seems like a fair guess, if you consider what an ass he was about it."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
"You met him in his new… role, right?"
"You mean as a Death Eater?" She nodded, the headmaster one she'd seen already.
"Well, I've not seen him in any crowd. I've only seen him do damage control things outside of his work as Headmaster… Like when I've been hurt, he'll take a look. Though I haven't seen him much at all, honestly."
Hermione clenched her teeth with a painful expression. "They hurt you a lot?"
"Only sometimes. When I try t escape, when I don't show enough respect, that kind of thing."
Hermione smiled wryly. "Why do I get the feeling you're talking about Riddle?"
"Yeah," he murmured. "Not much respect to give there."
When she just looked at him calmly, with the kind affection he'd so missed, he burst out in a whisper: "Mione, I really love staying here and studying with you. But I'll have to go soon." He knew his gaze was pleading now. "You probably heard what Volde- Riddle said: each day I'm not back, he'll kill someone."
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. "I know, it's awful Harry. But the Order is working on this, we have to count on that." She nodded like she needed to convince herself as well. "And Dumbledore would never endanger students."
How could anyone solve the threat of a dead person each day? "You know he'll find other ways… and it's all because I don't show up."
"Well, no, it's because he decided to kill people."
"You know what I mean. What would you do in my place?"
Hermione was studying him again, probably the weird colour in his eyes. "I would leave it to the Order, Harry. If they can't judge this threat correctly, who can?
888
That evening found him at a small dinner table with only Hagrid and Hermione attending. Hagrid was reminiscing on the finer points of Hedwig's nightly hunting trips, including prey details like the amount of rodent paws in the excrements. She was too conspicuous of course to send out with letters.
Hermione was happy to advise Harry on the goals for his Foundation, should he ever get back to it. He didn't have the heart to tell her the Dark Lord would probably chew his ideas to bits when he got back. But he tried to keep in mind her points on finding ambassadors in the Ministry and media for Muggleborns, and on better representation of minorities and repressed groups. After dinner Hermione had to leave to an unknowable location because of her potions activities.
As he was trying to focus on the book she left him on the inner workings of the Wizengamot in the sitting area, a bell sounded. Hagrid, soaking a few tea bags in a small garden bucket, glanced his way warily.
"Upstairs with yeh, Harry, if you don' mind. I hav' company ter entertain, and we can't have you seen."
"Sure," he left the book on a shelf. "Good night, then."
Upstairs he waited out of sight on the landing. There was some murmuring, the low sound of floo fire, then all noise was cut off, like someone had put up a silencing charm.
It took some conscious effort to dare look down the railing of the open staircase; after all, he should probably not witness this, when at some point Voldemort could plough his mind. But he felt restless and not ready to head off to his room to sleep. Bending down to peer through the railing, he saw only a woman's backside, hair in a tall ponytail. Dumbledore's gnarled hands were partly visible on the tabletop. He had probably entered the house with the visitor, if he wasn't able to greet Harry.
If only she would stand up, or twist her head so he could see who it was. But then of course, he definitely shouldn't...
"Sir, are you Harry Potter?" was whispered from just below, and he jerked back. Just below halfway up the stairs, out of nowhere a house elf had appeared. Not one he recognized from Hogwarts.
"Who wants to know?"
"Mistress, sir."
"And that is who?"
The elf considered him with narrowed eyes, then said: "You will go with me."
The simple words were slow to get into his mind; he didn't feel the hand around his leg until air whooshed around him and a completely different room asserted itself through soundless elf magic.
A high ceiling hung in twilight, shadows clung to the different furniture pieces. He scrambled to stand.
"Where am I?" He aimed his wand at the elf, glad he still had it.
The elf was entirely unbothered. "This is being my mistress's house, and Harry Potter may wait for the arrival of mistress in the next room."
He threw a freezing charm, which the elf blocked. "Tell me who your mistress is."
He or she walked towards an opposite door. "She wants you to know she is a good friend of Albus Dumbledore." The elf went out of sight.
But Albus would have told him about this, wouldn't he? If this was legitimate, the man would have come around to speak to him, visitor or no, since he'd been keen for Harry to stay in the cottage. Adrenaline needling him, he walked a few paces when one foot got stuck to the floor, then the other, nearly making him fall over. He could only stand frozen, waiting while knowing this was really bad. He swallowed a Muggle curse.
There was a tapestried staircase nearby with faded grandeur. His near-panicked thoughts came up empty as to who the owner could be – this kidnapping felt a bit roundabout for a Death Eater, at least.
He was trapped, but he could still use his wand. "Expecto Patronum." The shimmering stag that appeared twisted its head towards him. He told it to go to Dumbledore with a brief description of the past five minutes, and added: "Tell him this might be a friend, but I want him to confirm this."
A floo sounded ahead after perhaps 15 minutes, and the door opposite opened. He could move his feet again.
Mrs. Longbottom was standing in the doorway, her frame imposing. Her robes were a dark sort, no vulture-stuffed hat in sight. The elf sneaked in. Standing straight, he or she wrung her towel and snug a glance back at him.
"Mrs. Longbottom?"
The woman beckoned."Mr. Potter. Come."
Since it was exceedingly rude to just start cursing right off the bat for no clear reason, he followed and into a foyer that was much better lit. It led off to a drawing room and dining room.
She addressed the elf: "Deadra, You will go in… let's say five minutes. For now, make some tea for us please."
Neville's grandmother took a longer look at him.
"With all due respect ma'am, what is going on?"
"I will be forthright with you, Mr. Potter, since you deserve it. My elf will go to You Know Who's house elf in a moment. I will make a deal with him."
Harry felt a sudden vertigo at her words and decided his first urge had been the right one. "You're going to hand me over to the Dark Lord?"
She had her wand grasped loosely, similar to how Snape held his. He threw a blinding jinx, which she blocked. Two cups of tea floated between them, then Augusta send them to the side.
"Unfortunately yes, since I seem to have no other choice."
"Why?"
She started to circle him and he turned to keep aim.
"You are a brave boy and my grandson admires you, as many do. But disturbing company finds you often. Your presence has made Minerva's house into a giant target. I happen to be quite fond of her."
"Maybe I don't want to go back."
"Oh? You were singing a different tune earlier, Potter."
He mulled that over. "Your house elf is spying on me," he breathed. He threw a soundless curse that would burn her skin, from Snape's repertoire. Mrs. Longbottom blocked again with lightning speed.
"I don't think Professor McGonagall will appreciate this."
Her mouth twisted with stress. "I am protecting her, nevertheless." She threw something shimmering his way. He waved a block but without effect: her spell went right through it, weaving ropes that bound his hands to his sides.
She directed his wand to slide out of his trapped hand and down into his jeans. If she thought that was merciful... He wanted to curse the Muggle way but it was better to safe the energy.
She once more leaned against the table behind her. "You have come to the same conclusion as I, Mr. Potter. Albus trusts the old Phoenix method for Hogwarts, but he'll find other ways to get your friends. There will be no end to this until you are returned."
He couldn't disagree, really, and yet it seemed a strange move on her part. Augusta Longbottom, an Order veteran, going alone against Albus' orders just because they disagreed on the risks?
Harry murmured: "I don't think you really want to do this ma'am. Not unless you felt trapped. Riddle knows the names of the persons who were there that night I escaped, and Neville is one of them." His mouth twisted. "And you think the only way you can safe him is to offer me in his stead."
His arms were starting to get numb from the pressure of the robes. Augusta didn't answer but walked over to a small clock on the ridge above the fireplace, her back turned to him. That was answer enough, really.
How much time had passed? The elf was probably at Riddle's manor by now. He wasn't ready to meet the man yet, he really wasn't. He'd just gotten a taste of freedom… The dizzying stress kept him stumbling a little. He shuffled backwards to find a wall or a chair.
"What do you think Neville will say-"
"Don't." She was still facing away, but now she met his gaze again, the wall candles seeming to soften her weathered face. "You have nothing to fear from the Dark Lord, boy, whereas my grandson…"
He jerked at the ropes. "You're wrong about Dumbledore. He would never take a risk with students' lives."
"Ah, but he would. For you."
He didn't know why he was still resisting this outcome, when it was the solution to what might otherwise be a bloodbath of upcoming days at the safe house – or rather, The Weasley shop. It was just hard to accept the new reality so soon, that Voldemort would be meeting him any second now. All the carefree atmosphere he'd found in the last few days would vanish again.
He finally found a wall at his back to steady him. There was the sound of the floo…
The figure that climbed out was smaller than expected: Neville. And a companion of similar height whose face was indistinguishable in the hearth, both scrambling up from the soot.
"Gran?" Neville said, breathless, taking in the scene. "What's going on?"
The figure getting out behind him was Dean. He looked grim and just as battered as the last time they spoke.
"Neville, I've said time and again you are not to come here unannounced!" boomed his grandmother, whirling around, and Neville jumped at the volume.
Neville beseeched: "I'm sorry, but Gran… My coin from Dumbledore's Army got activated, which is when we need to report on our home situation." He did a double take when he saw Harry standing tied up in a corner. "Oh shit. Now I see why."
"Hi, Neville," Harry gave a small smile. Dumbledore would be sending adults here, not children – his message must still be underway… He had after all no clue how far removed they were here from McGonagall's safe house.
"What the hell?" Dean had noticed him too and immediately brandished his wand at Augusta, making Harry's chest twinge painfully at the show of faith. He would be no match for the woman, though.
Neville frowned at the whole situation. "Please explain this, gran."
Longbottom senior ignored him to continue her affronted streak: "And why is Mr. Thomas here, when he's under strict protection?"
"I thought it would be safe to go with Neville, Mrs. Longbottom…" Dean said, which clearly ended with a silent 'and apparently it's not'.
"She's summoned You Know Who," Harry supplied.
Neville gasped at this, actually reeled back. His shaky arm sought the mantel for support. His grandmother grasped his arm and attempted to pull him away bodily, out of this room of doom. But Neville was almost grown and having none of it, shaking her off to stride towards Harry. "I don't know why you would do this but I can't let this happen, grandma. Finite."
The ropes slid off and he felt a twinge that, even with family, Neville would blindly take his side. "You should get out of here – Dean you too. He'll be here any second."
Mrs. Longbottom was balling her fists. "You heard him, get out now while you can! The Dark Lord is coming, you foolish … Deadra, take Neville back to Hogwarts! Aim for the gates."
"No, I'm going to stay right-"
But the elf was already sprinting forwards and vanished Neville from the room.
Harry felt some tension leave: only Dean was still in danger.
Dean found his gaze and send a pointed look to the floo. He nodded. Should he try running off with Dean? But then, what would the old woman have to face when Voldemort showed up… Though that was a problem of her own making.
Dean drew close to steer Harry around Augusta: "You're bonkers, ma'am, if you think Neville is going to forgive you for this."
"At least he will be here to either forgive me or not. I don't expect children to understand," she sneered at them."
She send some kind of jinx, which Dean sidestepped: it crashed into a nearby vase. Dean then shoved him between his shoulder blades towards the floo while putting up a shielding charm. "I'm not letting you take him."
Mrs. Longbottom chuckled. Her next spell was some kind of charm, for which Harry barely found the block. "He's the reason you're in danger."
"Tough luck then," Dean muttered next to him.
A horrible excitement swept through Harry. He touched the other boy's arm, feeling sick. "Dean. He's coming. Go and take the floo."
"Good," Dean said with trembling voice. "I'm not one for hiding, Harry." He backed them away from the centre of the room, but placed his wand in his cloak pocket. Was he crazy?
His scar burned with maddening intensity.
Voldemort's tall form appeared in the middle of the room, with a shower of sparks – of course the wards had let him through. He lowered the pitch black hood of his cloak, gaze zeroing in on Harry, who clamped down on the increasing pain. Shit, shit...
Dean made a trembling fist around his wand which he burrowed inside his right pocket. Surely he knew this would not escape Voldemort's notice…
"Mr. Riddle," Augusta said tensely.
"Mrs. Longbottom," the Dark Lord began with an ironic tilt of his head. "You have delivered on your promise, it seems. And this is…"
"Colin, Neville's friend from school," Harry interjected, thinking of Riddle's earlier threat: Will it be the mudblood Thomas?
Voldemort raised a mocking eyebrow, but turned back to Neville's grandmother. "You have Lord Voldemort's mercy. What is your intention with delivering Potter to me?"
Her hands trembled but her voice was firm: "You may have heard it said that my grandson helped Harry Potter escape. Although that is true, you'd also want to know he had no choice: he was forced to do this by the Order. I am here to bring you Potter in exchange for my grandson's safety. To be voided only if he were to take up arms against you."
Voldemort's hand twitched – impatience, annoyance. "I do not make deals, Madame. You have brought me here like an errand boy. You clearly need a reminder of your place. Crucio."
Mrs. Longbottom screamed and screamed. Harry threw a reducto, which Voldemort vanished with a twist of his left palm.
Harry was glad that Neville wasn't here to see this.
Riddle let up the curse. His eyes already drifted back to Harry, who felt stupid holding his wand and not doing anything.
There was a muffled click from Dean to his left, a very metal click which strongly reminded him of something, then-
BANG. An ear-splitting sound, and the smell of smoke. It was impossible, preposterous, but it could only mean…
With a grunt Voldemort sagged sideways, dropping his wand.
Across from him, Mrs. Longbottom looked at the scene with wide eyes, one hand across her heart. Dean was staring at his work with an open mouth – smoke drifted from a hole in his pocket where he had to be holding a concealed gun.
An actual Muggle gun.
Riddle was drawing himself up slowly, breathing heavily. Blood seeped over his left hand which he had clamped down over the wound.
He could have clapped Dean on the back but the boy was running off through the nearest exit, and just in time: a nasty spell flew right past Harry that slammed a smoking hole in the nearby wall.
He couldn't let him get to Dean…
He backed away from the murderous countenance and ran into a different room, the one where Deadra had come from.
"Potter, you fool," Voldemort rasped, but he did follow, sending out something that threw up parts of the floor in giant pieces.
He was launched through the air. His side slammed into a table corner, which send sharp stabs through his shoulder before gravity slung him backwards into the ground, which gave his whole backside an extra twist of pain. He yelped, then just as Riddle entered, managed to stumble into the next room, a library…
The Longbottom elf appeared next to him. He glanced down hopefully but in the next instant, his feet seemed to suck into the carpet again and his arms were mowing through air to keep upright.
Voldemort's heavy breaths were behind him now. Harry closed his eyes. He sensed the man coming around to face him.
He was yanked forward into soft wool, two arms locking around him. He blinked at the unusual gesture, only to watch the room spin out of sight.
888
They reappeared into smells of the forest. Voldemort sagged, apparently nearing the end of his strength. The man pulled him along in a tight grip so he had to fall backwards with him, onto a layer of leaves, with Harry slamming into his chest.
Voldemort drew a sharp breath at the impact. He should've just knocked Harry out with magic, because the pressure of Harry's weight on the shot wound had to be killing. There was a sheen of sweat covering Riddle's face, visible up close. He was all sharp angles much like the young Riddle in Dumbledore's memories, but paler and without a proper nose.
The man's rage was still painful. Not finding his own wand for the moment, he scrambled for Riddle's – he didn't mind at all jamming a knee into the bleeding area in the process. The man wheezed, grip slackening, which would surely never have happened were Voldemort in any kind of physical shape, instead of mortally wounded. With another stomp and a sudden wrench he managed to twist the tip of the wand back to its owner.
But of course Voldemort didn't need a wand.
A shock of something like electricity swept over him, his arms and legs jerking wildly. The agony took a while. When it stopped, he slumped like a doll back onto Riddle's frame, his muscles still twitching, overexerted. A few hellish seconds passed with a similar knife-like pain in his head. This and Riddle's laboured breathing now encompassed his senses – were anyone to see it, they must make for quite a pathetic sight.
The man's bloody digits crawled over his own and rotated the angel of the slender wood once more so the tip dug into his windpipe. Riddle's left hand clamped the rest of his throat as he pushed the both of them off the ground to sit, then stand, with what had to be pure magic.
He gagged a little at the pressure. Still his limbs shook: only Riddle's wand and hand were keeping him upright.
But his lifeless fingers, they still clung to the wand at his windpipe. Was this not a sign, should he not end the purgatory here, the seventh piece at least?
Thinking of his hatred for the murderer holding him, he started:
"Avada Keda-"
Events sped up: Voldemort snarled as the green light started to swell between them, muffled Harry's mouth and cut his own wand to the side faster than an eye blink, pressing Harry's head flat against his collarbone, out of the way of any stray spell power.
The light around him faded.
Where the emerging spell had scraped his neck it caused an intense burning sensation. He focused on this while trying to ignore the other's wild heartbeat against his ear, the very human thrum of… fear.
His mind felt numb now like his body, dulled by the adrenaline of near death. He noticed vaguely the Dark Lord's hand tightening in his hair, and a wetness seeping from the man's clothes into his chest.
Time floated onwards. Voldemort had removed his bloody hand from his mouth but the smell of iron still lingered below his nose. Harry listened to the leaves and the wind.
All of a sudden he got pulled sideways into Apparation again.
His left eye found the familiar surroundings of Voldemort's drawing room – the other eye was still pressed tightly to the man's chest. Through their link he felt the Dark Lord scan his network of servants. The man yanked viciously at a Dark Mark – Snape's cold one.
Again a few awful seconds passed while they stood together. Voldemort's breathing slowed with Harry's head tugged below Riddle's chin, as if in a fatherly embrace. Could the man not dump him on the couch?
A rustling behind him, a clear intake of breath.
"You're wounded, my Lord…" Snape said, coming closer.
Well, don't mind him at all.
Voldemort pushed him away finally. His still-shocked muscles couldn't take his weight and he observed himself like a spectator as he fell sideways. The carpet did little to cushion his battered body on impact, and he gave an involuntary cry.
"A Muggle gun. Fix it, Severus," the Dark Lord was hissing in pure rage.
Snape started muttering spells in a rush while pushing the Dark Lord gently into the couch's back, out of Harry's eyesight. It was now clear that the wetness he felt on his shirt was the blood seeping in copious amounts out of Riddle's chest; he looked like death warmed up. Dark robes were discarded, as well as an undershirt shimmering with blood, then Snape blocked his view.
Tadders was suddenly there to pick up the garments, only to vanish again. He was quickly back to bow over him next, asking what "young sir" would like.
"Tadders. Can you…" he muffled against the carpet, wincing and trying next in a whisper: "Can you help me up?"
The masked elf bodily propped him into a nearby high-backed chair, aided by magic. He felt some control returning to his limbs as he pushed back into the seat, although his arms were still too numb to lift.
Voldemort sat on the sofa in a bit of a slouch, while Snape was beside the couch in a conjured chair. Harry saw a glimpse of whitish skin and a thin frame. Dean had taken a great shot but had missed the heart, clearly, or it would have been a satisfying Muggle ending.
"I cannot risk magic interfering with the bullet, my Lord," Snape was saying. That slippery bastard would want to heal the Dark Lord, of course. "Might I suggest some Ogden's for this procedure?"
"No." Sweat was still coating the man's face. Harry realised then that his scar was without any pain. "Nagini may anaesthetise me locally. Fetch her, Tadders."
"Though I am aware of your disposition towards Muggles, this is a Muggle wound and I would therefore be greatly aided with some assistance from a Muggle doctor or trauma surgeon," Snape said next, wand on his knee after having finished his spell work.
"No. You will perform this surgery yourself. And Severus? This will stay between us."
Tadders returned from a side door with the snake, who threw a fit at being woken apparently:
"I do not care what you need, elfling.…" she hissed as she approached Riddle.
Riddle cut in: "Some of your toxin, Nagini, on this wound."
"Master, you are damaged," Nagini exclaimed, and then proceeded to burrow her teeth gently into the open area of the gaping wound. The sight was nightmarish. He didn't want to look but it was hard not to be drawn to the spectacle. Snape's head was bowed as he waited for the snake to finish.
"Remember that feeling of Nagini's poison, Harry?" Voldemort suddenly addressed him mid-bite, making him jerk in surprise. "Quite pleasant, hence the danger. You look like you could use some fortification as well. Elf, pour Potter some Ogden's Old."
Harry nearly wanted to share a glance of consternation with Snape. "He needs it as well," he said, not wanting to utter the name.
Riddle chuckled. "What do you say, Severus?"
"I'd say Potter wants me to slip up in the procedure."
"Oh he would. It wouldn't matter though."
The elf had gone again apparently because next he was back with a tray of Firewhiskey. Oh why not: he had just tried to kill himself, he was back in a room with two of the most horrid men, and most likely going to get some kind of gruesome punishment later. Cheers.
Tadders saw his efforts to straighten up and placed a small and bigger glass from his tray down on the armrest. He murmured: "Some water as well, since young master is not used to it."
Harry drank the small glass – the stuff burned with a subtle sweetness at the end.
Voldemort dismissed his snake, who grumbled onwards to the hearth in the other room. Snape had placed a pair of forceps on another tray which also held a few potion bottles. "Please bite on this my Lord. It is to preserve teeth."
At least he was making it painful.
"If you mess this up, my servant, I will be haunting you."
Snape sat back, tilting his head.
It seemed Voldemort had been aiming for such a reaction, since his eyes seemed to come alive a bit. "You hold the longest vendetta's of anyone I know, except for myself, of course. If however you succeed in this, I will consider your actions at Hogwarts forgotten. Do continue."
He noticed talking cost Riddle great effort, but despite the whole situation the man seemed… giddy. Harry shivered: from the snake, or perhaps from having him back…
"Please brace yourself, my Lord." Snape went to work with the forceps, putting physical weight on the wound, although how was blocked from his view.
Harry took another sip, deciding to feel entertained instead of repulsed.
Voldemort caught Harry's eye and addressed him: "Giving up, Potter?"
The tone was condescending but beneath that – through the sickening connection-
Worry.
Harry sank back, hating Snape's presence. He took the glass of water to down it in one go.
There was a metallic sound – it had to be the bullet extracted and placed on a tray. Snape conjured bandage and drawled, greasy hair streaking his face: "Your superior asked you a question, Potter."
"Go to hell, Snape."
Snape's sharp turn was aborted by Riddle's hand on his shoulder. Snape went on bandaging.
"And here I thought you were so dedicated to your friends," Voldemort continued, mocking him lightly.
"Potter never demonstrated any sort of backbone to me," Snape helpfully supplied, now sealing the bandaged chest with a charm. He presented a bottle to the Dark Lord, then started to wrap up his supplies.
Tadders had vanished apparently, because he returned with a pile of clothes for Riddle. The man straightened slowly on the sofa, careful with the wound, then spread his arms: the first item on the pile shimmered away and appeared on his frame, then a heavy cloth wrapped him completely. The bulk of clothes made him look much more imposing. Voldemort swallowed the potion.
He glanced away from the both of them. Whether he answered or not, torture was always near anyway. Voldemort, he mused, really didn't know all that Harry could feel of his moods and feelings, or he would definitely be concealing that- that concern… Fear, worry.
"Tell me why," Riddle said with sinister impatience.
"You know why," Harry answered, then realised the shape of his words meant they'd switched to Parseltongue.
"We don't need Severus here to torture it out of you, do we?"
"I imagined how long I'd be stuck with you, of course. That's what decided it." he sneered.
Voldemort burned his displeasure along their link. It seemed the connection was more direct now, like the emotions had been diluted before with distance.
"Thank you, Severus." Riddle tilted his head.
Snape shrank his two work cases. "I will be back in two days' time to check on the wound, my Lord." With a bow and no glance towards Harry, he left.
Voldemort stood, his hands twitching, hopefully with pain – and approached Harry's chair to brace his hands against the wooden ornaments on both sides of his head. His expression was completely flat as he hissed:
"You've been a busy, busy bee. You stole away the Weasley boy, you snatched Bella from me. All with powers I gave you."
The air between them became painfully warm. Voldemort leaned in a little and it burned his arms and chest. Gasping, Harry backed up as much as possible, which was almost nothing with the chair at his back. He threw his hands up to shield his face. This turned his palms and fingers flaming hot. He moaned at the sheer agony, twisting left and right.
"Stop it," he keened. "Please, what do you want from me?"
"I've never encountered anyone so disrespectful. Though all this does tell me that, despite your little act just now, these are not the actions of someone desperate to end it all, wouldn't you agree?"
The air cooled. Harry peered between his inflamed fingers.
Riddle sank down on one knee, which meant he now had to look up slightly. "We had a deal Harry, quite a good one for you. I was even willing to offer you something to fight for. But we keep coming back to your erratic behaviour."
Harry wheezed in uneven breaths, face wet as the burning pain continued on – he knew from experience with the Dursley stove that since he wasn't able to cool the skin, the burn would just burrow deeper.
"I do sense a… sickening lethargy about you that's soiling our connection." He put on a thin smile, tilting his head slightly: "I can't be blamed this time for your misère. Was the Order's welcome for their golden boy not so warm as you thought it would be?"
He decided nothing Voldemort would spew was worth listening to. Voldemort's palm came up next to his cheek. Harry flinched, preparing for agony, but the hand landed like a cooling spell. The man's stare was quite near and gods, this was getting too intense: it seemed the man would wait an eternity to get an answer, all while his slender still-red fingers lightly stroked the side of his face.
"They did. They were." Well, wasn't that the best retort ever?
"Hm. Legilimens."
Harry twisted but the man was already inside his thoughts, seeing all the happenings of the past few days. Though not all of them, he realised, just the most nerve-wracking: Fred and George's suspicion in the beginning, their parents' quiet acceptance of Ron's faith, Bellatrix leering, feeling him up, Bill's frowns.
Though there was also Dumbledore's unwavering confidence in him: interactions with the former headmaster were spun out under Riddle's gaze. The hardest to witness were Albus' last words to him: "However, to actively thwart Riddle… It will undo all the possible goodwill he might still harbour towards you."
The room shimmered back into focus. There had been no pain in his Legilimency this time. Voldemort did not let go of his head.
"Ye of little faith…"
The man continued caressing his cheek lightly, then combed through his hair like he did it often, long nails scratching lightly over his scalp.
For his part Harry wondered whether he might go crazy, with the disjointed feeling of anger coming to life in his scar together with the gentle treatment. He knew the tactic by now, making him want to crawl out of his skin, while at the same time feeling that yearning which was hard to suppress when no adult had ever held him with affection – excepting Sirius.
He was careful to let his eyes rest just below Voldemort's blank gaze. He knew he had these issues which his friends didn't have, this antenna for parental affection, or parental farce as it were the case here. This watchfulness had sprung up from the time he had memories: in middle school, with kind teachers who inevitably couldn't offer him more than praise, and years later with Dumbledore who was a bit of a grandfather figure, though much more an army leader. It was something he recognised within himself, which meant it never took him off guard, at least.
There was some basis here, between the two of them: he was like Nagini in that way. And he knew he was transparent so he blurted: "I don't care what you think of me, of this. It's just a natural reaction."
One hair-thin eyebrow rose. "I myself never let others affect my thoughts or feelings. It's a weakness, do you not agree? Your mind is so scattered now, I could fragment it with just a little push. You would have to be carted off to St. Mungo's."
Another carding through his hair, and he had to battle his eyelids which wanted to close a little.
Harry grinned then, feeling flippant. He met the red eyes before he was aware of it:
"That's actually not a bad idea, putting me in the psych ward. You wouldn't have to deal with me any longer, and you'd always know where to find your horcrux."
Voldemort laughed. It was a real laugh: it transformed his rigid features, relaxed his jaw and made crow's feet appear around his eyes. Harry felt an unnameable and painful twinge at the thought that maybe no one had ever seen him this way, so human.
"Quite so. Though I do care, Harry, as you know. I care about Nagini and I care about you."
He wanted to laugh at that as well, but it wasn't really funny, and his smile slipped away.
"Moreover, the emotions in this little head tell me you want me to care about you."
Any affection was a sensitive thing to him, but it would be no use denying the man's overgrown selfworth.
He clenched his jaw. "Don't take it personal, sir, my emotional issues are not about you. They're there because you killed the two persons who would always care about me, who would have loved me my whole life. And I will never forgive you for that."
"Touché." The man paused to regard him. "I'll consider granting you your death wish: burrow you under the ground again, in an icy cage where no one can find you."
The man's eyes glistened. "But then again... you feel alive now, Potter, don't you?"
888
A/N: Oh Harry, a bit of Stockholm Syndrome there…
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In the scene with Voldemort, I drew on an experience I myself had regarding a kind and caring teacher, when I felt very alone in college at some point (please reach out when you feel alone!): I imagined this was someone's father, and how awesome that would be. But because I recognised this need that I apparently still had (my father was not very fatherly to me, but he tried), I could also dismiss it as a personal flight of fancy – not something that could really happen.