"The one with the power…"
Harry's eyes fluttered open, taking in the scene before him. The study lay in ruins, the room thick with tension as if the very walls were holding their breath. A sense of foreboding crept over him, amplified by the overwhelming magical presence he could feel nearby.
Raising his gaze slowly, Harry was met with a sight that nearly froze him in place. Voldemort knelt just a few feet away, a stark departure from his usual stance of dominance and arrogance. The Dark Lord's head was bowed, his hands clenched tightly against the stone floor. Despite his imposing presence, an inexplicable aura surrounded him, an enigmatic mix of sorrow, regret, fury, and something else Harry couldn't quite discern.
As Harry shifted on the cold floor, their eyes locked in a clash of crimson and emerald. "Harry?"
The memory of the blinding flash of green, the searing nothingness of the killing curse hitting him, lingered like a bitter taste on his tongue. It crashed down on Harry, wiping almost all other thoughts from his mind.
"You're a fucking bastard," Harry hissed through gritted teeth, his words laced with venom and pain as he struggled to push himself away from the wizard.
Voldemort's crimson eyes blinked once, then twice, reflecting genuine surprise. Emotions flickered across his face like shadows dancing in a storm—anger, confusion, grief, betrayal— and now, shock. His magic mirrored the same turmoil, beginning to pulse erratically as if struggling to contain the torrent of emotions roiling within him. As he gazed in disbelief at his very much alive heir, the intensity of his conflicting emotions were palpable, his magic insidiously whipping out into the air around them.
"How is this possible?" he demanded.
"I don't know. Maybe it's the Prophecy or some other cruel twist of fate. Nothing regarding us is normal." Harry retorted without thinking. He inwardly cursed himself for not taking a moment to gather his thoughts before returning and coming up with an actual plan. The events had unfolded too quickly, leaving him struggling to process anything. But one thing was certain as he stared up at the crimson eyes of the one he'd accepted as lord and master, the very same one who had so easily struck him down: he felt unimaginably betrayed. "Maybe you should stop trying to kill me."
His body felt strange, still resonating with the after-effects of the killing curse. He shivered, wanting to dispel it with his own magic but realizing he was still utterly drained. It seemed that coming back to life hadn't reset his body; it merely restarted him from where he left off. That realization weighed heavily on him, a bitter truth amidst the chaos consuming the young wizard. Staring back at the Dark Lord, he realized that coming back and enduring this confrontation would be harder than he had imagined.
"You took away my immortality," Voldemort hissed, seeming to regain his composure. His shock giving way to the same fury that had led to this consequence in the first place.
"No," Harry refused, his tone sharper than he intended, surprised by the depth of his own emotions. "You tried to do that all on your own. I kept a shard piece within me. You chose to strike me down."
Voldemort's expression darkened, anger clouding his features. "You destroyed the containers of my souls, five of them. That is no small feat," he accused, his intense distrust unmistakable as he raised his wand and aimed it once again at the one he'd chosen to be his apprentice and heir. "You betrayed me."
Harry exhaled heavily as he faced the yew wand. His limbs ached as he shifted into a sitting position, hands raised to show he wasn't a threat. His own wand was lost in the chaos, and even if he had it, there was no magic left in him to defend himself. Exhaustion weighed him down, stealing any will to fight.
"I didn't return to fight you." Harry's voice wavered, reflecting the confusion swirling within him. His gaze locked with the wizard; someone he had once viewed as an enemy but whom he had reluctantly grown to care for. The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him unsure of what to believe, what to trust. This wasn't unfolding as he had hoped; Harry needed to de- escalate the situation before Voldemort acted impulsively again. However, facing the Dark Lord after what he had just endured stirred up a whirlwind of emotions—betrayal and a deep sense of conflict. If Voldemort attacked again, it would be the end. Harry wouldn't return a second time—he refused to endure this emotional and physical agony twice.
"I didn't betray you. I told you I was loyal," he said softly, his voice turning from hostile to wary. Hadn't everything he'd done up to that point proven exactly that?
"I never betrayed you... I still haven't; returning them was the only way I could protect your soul," Harry continued, his eyes closing briefly in resignation. Was he a fool for returning, for still hoping to mend this broken bond? A fool for believing there was a shred of redemption left in Voldemort?
A subtle ripple of magic brushed against Harry's senses—dark, intense, a medley of possessiveness, curiosity, and even thinly veiled indecision. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken tension. "You still carry it. How is it that the soul shard lingers within you?" Voldemort's question hung in the air, his wand poised but not as eager to strike as before.
Harry's mind drifted back to his final moments in that surreal limbo between life and death. The sound of a distant train horn echoed in his ears, a reminder of the fleeting time he had to make a decision. He had approached the withered, feeble form of the soul shard.
"You can't help it," Dumbledore's voice echoed in Harry's memory, tinged with sorrow.
Harry gazed down at the fading soul shard, its essence seemingly ebbing away with each passing second. Harry reached out and placed his hand gently on its shrunken form. It seemed to lean into his touch, seeking solace and protection, revealing an intense desire for life amidst its immanently fading existence.
"Can't I?" Harry murmured, lifting his gaze to meet Dumbledore's grief-filled eyes. "I am the Master of Death."
"Harry…"
"Goodbye, Headmaster," he whispered, grasping the fragile soul shard. It clung to him as if he were its sole lifeline—and in that moment, he was. The distant train horn sounded once more, signaling its imminent approach. He tightened his hold on the shard, embracing it with a depth of attachment he had never known before.
Blinking back to reality, Harry found himself locking eyes once again with Voldemort's knifelike crimson gaze. He'd had little time to create a plan before returning. Staring up at the yew wand, he realized his time had run out. What could he say? Would he be able to hide the truth? He had never successfully lied to the Dark Lord about anything of importance before; he doubted he would be able to start now.
And almost immediately, as he tried to prepare himself with something cunning, something that might convince the Dark Lord to see things his way without compromising the Hallows and what he'd just learned, he halted his thoughts. With a sigh, Harry realized he didn't want to resort to lies. He sought clarity, even transparency; he wanted everything to be laid bare between them so he would finally know the truth of exactly what this was between the Dark Lord and himself. Anything less, and he doubted he could continue standing by the Dark Lord's side, assuming he was even given the chance to do so again.
His emotions stirred within him, a turbulent mix of betrayal and reluctance to accept that his trust in the Dark Lord had been built on lies and manipulation. There still lingered a stubborn hope that it had all been genuine, that the one who had groomed him as his heir truly wanted, even needed, Harry by his side.
This time, Harry resolved to hold nothing back. Living in uncertainty was no longer an option. He'd sacrificed too much. If his efforts failed, at least he would find solace in knowing he had done everything possible. He needed to finally know whether Voldemort was capable of offering the acceptance and trust Harry needed if there was to be any hope of a future where Harry remained loyal to his chosen path.
Decided, he dropped his mental shields and met Voldemort's intense gaze.
"I am immortal, the Master of Death," Harry declared. Voldemort's eyes widened in poorly concealed astonishment, the magic probing his mind intensifying in search of any deceptions.
"How," the Dark Lord asked, his voice filled with quiet disbelief.
Harry braced himself, about to willfully defy Dumbledore's advice, and found himself not caring. He'd come back determined not to be bound by expectations, no longer seeking to appease everyone at any cost. It hadn't worked before. This time, he would do things his way, the consequences be damned.
"I possessed the three Deathly Hallows before you attacked me." Crimson eyes widened further, a mix of astonishment and skepticism playing across the aristocratic features. The implications of what Harry had just said were clearly not lost on the Dark Lord.
"How did you manage to keep this from me?" Voldemort finally asked, his tone taking on a dangerous edge.
"I didn't know," Harry confessed softly. He proceeded to explain everything, recounting the limited knowledge he had gained during his fleeting moments between life and death.
Voldemort listened intently as Harry detailed how he had accidentally acquired each Hallow, unknowingly earning the title of Master of Death. He described the choice he had been given—to pass into the afterlife or return—and how he had chosen to come back, carrying a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul within him so that the Dark Lord would not have to make another Horocrux. The last revelation seemed to surprise Voldemort the most—after everything, Harry still remained his tether to the mortal realm. Now, his only one.
As Harry finished speaking, a tense silence settled over them. Voldemort studied Harry for a moment before asking, "Did you have a choice to return with the soul shard?"
It was a surprisingly astute question, though not unexpected given the intellect of the wizard asking it.
Harry nodded. "Yes. I could have returned without it or chosen not to return at all. This was my choice."
"And what exactly have you chosen?" the dark wizard probed, his gaze sharp and calculating.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, a knot forming in his stomach. In a way, he wanted to defend himself—to convey that despite everything both the world and the Dark Lord had done to him, he had chosen the only path that preserved the Horcruxes by returning them to their master. He had made Voldemort as whole as possible while still protecting the soul within him, ensuring that Voldemort wouldn't become mortal and decide to shatter his sanity again. He wanted to claim that he had been a loyal heir until the bitter end. Yet, the words evaded him. They felt too burdensome, too raw to voice; he lacked the strength and inclination to defend himself so intimately. Despite his desire for truth, having just revealed a secret Dumbledore thought he should guard at all costs, he dreaded the repercussions if the Dark Lord remained indifferent and still rejected him.
"I've chosen you," Harry whispered finally, his voice barely audible in the charged silence enveloping them. The simplicity of those words carried such profound layers of meaning. It felt insufficient yet still painfully vulnerable, as if he were exposing his very soul to the only one who held the power to destroy it, to destroy him.
The Dark Lord appeared to sense Harry's inner conflict, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. "Why?" he inquired, his voice a low murmur tinged with a surprising touch of insight, as if he, too, struggled to fathom Harry's decision.
And wasn't that the question that haunted Harry every waking moment and night since he'd started this path two years ago?
"Because I did not want to leave you," Harry breathed, looking down. Harry was shocked that he genuinely feared losing the fragile balance they had achieved, wondering if it was already irretrievable. How could they go back to how it was? Did he even want to after all that had transpired?
He looked up, moisture gathering in his eyes. Harry tried to blink it away, frustrated by his own emotional vulnerability. "I promised to be loyal, to remain by your side," he said. "Everything I've done tonight has been to honor that."
Harry's confession lingered in the air. The Dark Lord studied him with a mix of surprise and suspicion, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if seeking the truth behind Harry's words.
"You chose loyalty over your own life," Voldemort remarked, his tone lacking its usual venom, replaced instead by deep contemplation. Could the Dark Lord truly grasp such a sacrifice?
Harry nodded. "I made my choice." It was perhaps the first time he truly felt ownership of his choice. Neither the Light nor the Dark had dictated it; it was his alone, a reflection of the world he desired to live in.
"And what do you hope to achieve now?" Voldemort's voice cut through the silence, his eyes boring into Harry's with an intensity that made the young wizard squirm inwardly.
Harry met the crimson eyes, feeling a mix of familiarity and uncertainty flood his senses. How many times had they stared each other down? Engaged in deep conversations that peeled away layers of their souls? The Dark Lord seemed to know Harry better than Harry knew himself, and yet in this moment, Harry was no longer sure if he knew the Dark Lord at all.
"Honestly, I no longer know," he admitted, a hint of defeat creeping into his tone. He glanced away briefly, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "I thought I knew you. I thought you'd chosen me as well…" he turned back. "I don't know what to expect from you anymore… Was everything we went through a lie? All of this just manipulation that meant nothing to you?"
Voldemort regarded him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through Harry's soul, as if seeing him for the first time. Harry felt the Dark Lord's magic brushing against his own, probing like tendrils of smoke, seeking out hidden truths, trying to discern any lies. It was unsettling and possessive, with layers of desire intertwined with a harshness that hinted at the Dark Lord's own inner turmoil. His trust, seemingly broken by Harry returning the Horcruxes to his soul, now hung in the balance.
Without giving an answer, or perhaps not willing to provide it just yet, the Dark Lord turned away, casting a glance at Nagini, who was coiled nearby, silently observing but ready to strike if Harry proved to be a threat. Her black, reflective eyes locked onto Harry, her tongue flicking out to taste the air between them.
"You came back from the void," Nagini hissed softly, her tone tinged with curiosity and hesitation. "Does this mean you will stay?" There was a note of relief in her voice, a recognition of the significance of Harry's return, even if she didn't fully understand all that had transpired. It seemed that she sensed something had shifted, that perhaps Harry had been meant to die, and that it had affected Voldemort deeply.
Seeing that the Dark Lord was alive and still imbued with his magic, Nagini seemed to have forgiven him, accepting that what he had claimed he would do was accomplished. Seemingly lost on her was the betrayal hanging between the two wizards—the impact of Voldemort's immortality seemingly being compromised by his heir's actions and Harry, who had been attacked by the one he was trying to save.
"You think he deserves to remain at my side?" Voldemort's hiss was devoid of emotion as he spoke to the snake, his words more of a statement than a question, as if he were trying to answer that himself.
Harry tried not to flinch, steeling himself as he met the Dark Lord's fathomless eyes. "Tell me that you don't want me here, and I'll leave," his own unrest was reflected in his gaze as he awaited Voldemort's response.
Red eyes narrowed, clearly caught off guard by the counter; for once, he seemed as uncertain as Harry, as if he equally had not anticipated this colossal change of events. Did he realize that Harry needed Voldemort, that this was all he had left? Did he need Harry just as much? Harry had sacrificed everything to return to his side, believing they had become equally reliant on each other. He had thought the Dark Lord had truly come to value him, to care for him.
"I will need to think on this," Voldemort said finally.
Resigned that he would not get the answers he sought in this conversation, Harry nodded. Struggling, he pushed himself up to trembling hands and knees, then slowly stood.
"Where do you think you're going?" came the demanding response, halting Harry's movements.
Harry frowned. Hadn't he just been dismissed? "To my room, unless you plan to lock me up or kick me out?" he challenged, his exhaustion beginning to be replaced with numbness. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but this wasn't the resolution he sought.
Red eyes narrowed further, but nodded. He glanced to the left, where Harry realized his wand had fallen. Voldemort summoned it silently and pocketed it. "Do not attempt to leave the manor."
Harry withheld a snort, finding the command unnecessary. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. In a way, he was glad this confrontation was over. Too much had happened too quickly, and he needed time to think through what he wanted as well. "Alright," he agreed, turning to leave.
S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S~S
The next morning, Tipsy appeared at dawn. "Master wants to see you in the library," she squeaked, disappearing before Harry could say a word. Harry couldn't help but feel guilty for controlling her mind the previous night, but among the problems he had to deal with, that was the least of them.
He hadn't slept. He'd sat on his bed, staring out of his window the entire night, his thoughts swirling in turmoil. Every time he blinked, he saw the green light—a haunting reminder of Voldemort's capacity for the unthinkable, that despite everything, he was willing to strike down Harry if pushed enough. This realization didn't exactly surprise Harry; he knew exactly who he was dealing with. But that didn't make accepting it any easier.
Reflecting on the last 24 hours, Harry was discovering that he had returned from the void with a changed perspective. He had been able to deceive and, for a moment, even possess the Dark Lord. He had proven himself as the Master of Death. Something was stirring within him, a recognition of just what he'd accomplished and what he was becoming. For the first time, he was beginning to believe that he might actually possess the power to vanquish the Dark Lord.
And yet, he'd chosen not to. When given the choice, he'd decided to keep the Dark Lord immortal despite everything that had occurred between the two of them. It was a moment of clarity amidst the chaos, and he had landed on a profound revelation: he wanted a sane Voldemort not only to live but also wanted a world to exist where Harry stood by that Dark Lord's side. He wanted to learn from him, to be acknowledged as his apprentice and heir, and perhaps even to be accepted as his equal.
While the near-death experience had certainly provided some clarity, it had also unveiled the Dark Lord's true character when at his worst, exposing his vilest qualities with nowhere to hide. Voldemort had reacted true to his nature, terrified of his own mortality, reacting without hesitation when seemingly threatened by the one prophesized to be his downfall. He had been able to strike Harry down in that moment of panic and fear. Now, after a night of reflection, Voldemort was likely equally aware of Harry's full capabilities and true potential.
The question loomed: Would he want Harry to remain by his side? Would he trust Harry with the soul shard? Worse, the uncertainty now extended both ways. Would Harry ever be able to trust Voldemort again, to believe that the Dark Lord's suspicious nature and need to be in complete control wouldn't once again dictate his actions, leading him to betray Harry anew?
As he made his way to the library and knocked, Harry found himself equally wondering how much the returned soul shards were affecting Voldemort. That he had pushed this conversation until morning showed some form of restraint, a small glimmer of hope amidst the increasingly growing uncertainty.
"Enter."
The memory of his first time making this trip, right after he'd first taken the Dark Lord's mark and sworn obedience, washed over him. It felt like a surreal déjà vu, a reminder of how much had changed since then. Not just the circumstances but also how profoundly he himself had changed over time.
What greeted him was a familiar sight. Voldemort sat on the couch opposite the one Harry usually sat in. Like Harry, the Dark Lord still wore the same clothes from the night before. It seemed he'd been unable to sleep as well.
"Sit," Voldemort commanded. His voice was eerily devoid of emotions, which was almost worse than showing anger. Harry obeyed and took a seat.
They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably. "The Elder Wand, where is it?" Voldemort finally asked.
Harry tensed, uncomfortable with the demand and equally uneasy that he'd forgotten about it. He had dropped the pouch during the ritual, the same pouch Voldemort had gifted him in what felt like a lifetime ago.
"It's in my pouch, I left it in your office…" Harry admitted. The Dark Lord wordlessly summoned the leather sack from his desk and handed it over. The moleskin enchantments would prevent anyone but Harry from retrieving anything in it.
"Give it to me," Voldemort commanded.
Harry felt a pang of apprehension; this might be the worst mistake he had ever made. Was he a fool for obeying, for handing over unimaginable power to the most powerful Dark Lord to ever walk their world? He still had no clue what Voldemort intended.
The Dark Lord arched an expectant brow, a light pulse of power pushed against his scar. It didn't hurt, but the warning was clear.
"What will you do?" Harry dared to ask.
"If you are still my obedient heir, you will hand it over," Voldemort said, ignoring the question.
Harry stared at the Dark Lord, hardly believing what he was being asked. Just hours ago, he'd been struck with a killing curse. Voldemort wasn't exactly trustworthy at the moment.
"Harry, you really don't want to challenge me right now," the Dark Lord murmured, the pressure on his scar increasing, yet shockingly, still not turning to pain.
Not seeing much of a choice and already resigned to doing his best to try and mitigate what had been lost, Harry reached within the pouch and handed it over. He had known this was likely to happen when he'd admitted to having it the previous night. As Voldemort accepted the wand, Harry sensed a strange connection to it, like a phantom limb—an attachment that was his yet not.
Voldemort's grip tightened around the wand; his eyes locked on it as if entranced. In his hands, the wand pulsed with palpable energy. Dumbledore had been right; Voldemort had mastered it by defeating Harry. While Harry could still sense its power, the true Master of the Hallows until he lost all three, it now felt divided, as if the wand's essence, which enticed and promised unimaginable power, sought one as formidable as the Dark Lord—someone who had proven capable of gaining it from Harry's fallen grasp through the killing curse.
Voldemort shifted his gaze from the wand to Harry, his exceptionally cunning mind clearly at work. "Whoever possesses all three becomes the Master of Death?" Voldemort's question sounded more like a statement; he had likely spent the evening researching everything he could about the Deathly Hallows and their significance.
Harry nodded, waiting silently, dread beginning to pool in his stomach. A smart person would probably start trying to save themself, defending their actions. Yet Harry remained silent, awaiting the Dark Lord's next move. He found himself unwilling to beg; he'd been through too much. Now that Voldemort had somewhat calmed and was willing to engage in conversation with Harry, the young wizard hoped to glimpse even a hint of remorse or regret for the actions that had cost them both so dearly, but the Dark Lord's features were as indiscernible as ever. Would he be satisfied with one remaining soul shard and possession of one Hallow, or would he demand all three and fulfill Dumbledore's worst nightmares?
"The other Hallows, you still have them?" Voldemort's inquiry bore down on Harry, his crimson eyes fixed on the ring adorning Harry's hand. It no longer pulsed with the Dark Lord's magic yet held a mesmerizing allure, beckoning to Harry no less.
This was the option that Harry had feared most—Voldemort would not need the soul shard within Harry if he became immortal through another means. Swallowing hard, Harry nodded, bitterness coursing through him. The Cloak of Invisibility was tucked safely in his pouch; he had never taken off the ring, not even during the ritual. All three were in this room, and Harry had no wand and was still recovering from magical exhaustion against the Dark Lord, who now controlled the Elder Wand.
Crimson eyes once again focused on him. "How do I know you won't destroy the soul within you?"
Harry really didn't have a good answer. Since his visit to the afterlife, he knew the oaths he'd previously sworn were gone, something the Dark Lord could likely sense as well.
"The same reason I came back; I don't want you to split your soul, to be shattered again. I will protect it to ensure that never happens."
"You expect me to trust that?" The Dark Lord's skepticism was tangible, and Harry knew better than to expect blind faith from him.
Harry's smile was bitter. "Despite everything, my saving people hasn't changed. I wanted to save you…"
The Dark Lord scowled. "I don't need a savior."
Harry shrugged, not wanting to engage in semantics. "You told me you never wanted to split your soul again, that you never wanted to return to how you were. I feared that you would if you had no soul shards left."
Voldemort seemed to consider him for a long time, almost as if internally debating what he would do. Harry had never witnessed him to be hesitant before; it was strange, even surreal, to witness it now.
"Your friend, the traitor, you removed her mark," Voldemort said, shifting the conversation abruptly.
Harry leaned back, caught off guard by the change in topic. Apprehension coursed through him, especially at the mention of Hermione.
Harry nodded; among his many regrets, he didn't regret removing her mark. The Dark Lord scowled at Harry's unrepentant defiance, his grip tightening on the Elder Wand. Harry felt his own mark stir, as if Voldemort was tempted to punish him through that link instead of his scar, just on principle for what he'd dared to do to one of his marked ones.
"If you undid that one, why keep the one on yourself?" Voldemort's tone held both anger and curiosity.
Harry met his stare squarely. "Because I never betrayed you," he reiterated, frustration simmering beneath his words, tired of having to repeat himself. "I took your mark as part of our original agreement to become master and apprentice; it was part of our negotiation." The memory of that agreement felt like a lifetime ago. While left unsaid, Harry knew Voldemort's sharp mind would understand that he wanted their negotiation to remain intact, that his decision not to remove the mark, a direct link to his magic, was a deliberate concession to show his continued submission.
"You expect me to believe you won't remove it?" Voldemort's question echoed the skepticism he had just expressed about the safety of his soul shard.
Harry could feel the hopelessness of his situation closing in on him; there seemed to be no reliable way to control him anymore. If he indeed wielded the power of the Master of Death, he could end his own life and rid himself of the soul shard or any binding oaths at will.
Because of the Horcrux, Harry would be able to remove any marks that controlled him or his magic. It weighed heavily on Harry's heart as he realized that the only way Voldemort could exert true control over him again was to possess all three Deathly Hallows; the Horcrux would then become unnecessary.
Harry closed his eyes, frustration gnawing at him as he grappled with the situation. "If I were going to remove the mark or betray you, I would have done so by now. I'm not sure it can get much worse than you hitting me with a killing curse," Harry murmured, a tinge of irritation coloring his tone.
The Dark Lord shifted, leaning back against the couch. The Elder Wand flickered through his fingers in irritation. "Why have you chosen this?" It was the same question he had asked the night before, as if he truly could not comprehend Harry's actions or his ongoing profession of loyalty. His gaze bore into Harry, searching for understanding.
Harry's irritation and disappointment boiled over. "How many times do I have to say it?" he snapped, his nerves fraying under the weight of trying to keep himself together. "I've chosen to stay despite everything. Call me a fool, but this is my decision. For once, I'm doing what I want, not what everyone expects and demands."
His eyes narrowed on the Dark Lord, and leaning forward, he lowered his voice, raw emotions fueling his words. "You stand to gain the most from all this. You're still immortal, even more powerful with that wand. I won't harm your soul, and as it stands, I can't die. You have two fail-safes now to ensure that you win. With the Elder Wand in your possession, no one else can claim the title from me. They'd have to defeat you in a duel and get the other Hallows from me."
In the depths of his mind, Harry grappled with his conflicting emotions. He felt a strange sense of liberation, finally asserting his own desires, yet it was overshadowed by the realization that his loyalty and choices might never be understood or accepted by the one he needed to convince the most. How could someone so intelligent be so incredibly dense? "You're more powerful now than ever before and still immortal. It is what you've always wanted. Why can't you accept that I actually want this too?"
Harry closed his eyes, turning away. "You once said that in time, I might come to realize how lucky I am at this opportunity. It took a while, but I have. I never want to go back to who I was. I never want to be a sacrifice or a tool to be used and discarded again. Yes, you and I don't agree on everything, but everything you've promised has come to pass. You actually listen to me, you deny me nothing, you have trained me in all that you know. I told you that I truly submitted and that I was committed to this. Is it so hard for you to believe that I'm telling the truth? I'm still loyal to you… I want this just as much as I thought you did."
Voldemort's expression remained inscrutable as he absorbed Harry's impassioned words. Rising from his seat, he approached Harry, drawing his wand. Harry couldn't help but flinch, a rare display of fear in the Dark Lord's presence. It had been a long time since Harry had shown such fear before him. Voldemort's narrowing eyes reflected surprise at Harry's unexpected reaction, his slight frown hinting at displeasure.
"Drop your mental shields," Voldemort murmured, his tone unexpectedly calm.
Harry was taken aback by the request; it lacked the usual menacing presence that usually accompanied Voldemort's demands. Hesitant, Harry glanced from the wand pointed at him to the imposing figure of the Dark Lord standing over him.
Voldemort reached out with his free hand, grasping Harry's chin and lifting it slightly. "Harry, please drop your shields," he repeated, a note of genuineness in his voice. Emerald eyes widened in surprise; Voldemort had never once used the word "please" in their interactions.
Reluctantly, Harry lowered his shields, feeling the probing presence of the Dark Lord enter his mind, examining every thought and emotion.
"Have you truly chosen me? Are you still loyal, and will you remain so?" Voldemort's voice carried a rare hint of uncertainty, as though he were surprised to find himself genuinely seeking the answers to his questions.
Harry locked eyes with the crimson gaze. "Yes," he whispered, the truth resonating deep within him. He saw no other path, he didn't want another path; despite the challenges and conflicts, he remained committed. He genuinely wanted this, for things to go back to as they were.
"Even though you make it incredibly difficult sometimes," Harry added, unable to withhold his honesty, a mix of frustration and determination in his voice.
The Dark Lord appeared contemplative. "Perhaps so," he murmured, almost to himself. "Though I find you equally incomprehensible at times."
The tip of the elder wand lowered to Harry's arm, flicking up his sleeve. Would Voldemort place a new mark, one that Harry couldn't remove? Harry suppressed a shiver, torn between not wanting it yet feeling unable to refuse. Their relationship now felt so fractured, so wrong.
He felt a whisper of magic, but no pain. The wand withdrew. Harry glanced down in disbelief—unbelievably, the mark was gone, the link to his magic completely removed. "Why?" Harry's voice cracked hoarsely with emotion.
The Dark Lord turned, his steps deliberate as he walked back to the couch, each movement measured and controlled. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Voldemort himself was surprised by his uncharacteristic display. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the dark wizard's response.
"Because I find myself genuinely wanting you by my side. Not out of coercion or fear," His gaze momentarily drifted towards the window, as if seeking solace or understanding from the outside world, before returning to meet Harry's eyes with an unfathomable intensity.
"I regret how I reacted when you returned my Horcruxes. Having my shattered soul repaired was not a simple experience to endure. I acted impulsively before realizing that you had acted in perhaps the only way you could have under the circumstances. Despite everything, you kept my soul safe while preserving my immortality. And even after my reaction, you still chose to return; you have demonstrated that you remain loyal." He paused, his focus fixed on the young wizard before him. "And you know that I value loyalty above all else, that I will reward it when earned."
The wand flickered again through his fingers, this time slower and more controlled. "I find myself not accustomed to this degree of loyalty from someone," he confessed at last. "And I find myself equally unwilling to risk losing it, unwilling to risk losing you again."
Harry felt moisture gathering in his eyes, his throat constricting with emotion. He blinked rapidly, trying to compose himself. Was this real? Could he believe it? How could he be certain this wasn't just another form of manipulation?
"Please, don't seek revenge," Harry asked softly, feeling once again like he was fracturing inside. He wanted to believe Voldemort, to trust that the Dark Lord genuinely cared. It wasn't meant as an ultimatum, but he needed clarity on where everyone stood. He needed to know that he had succeeded in what he sought to do. As he dared to voice his request, he sensed a shift, a dangerous anger entering the Dark Lord's magic.
"We both know what they did was unforgivable," he said in a deadly whisper. His magic, moments before calm, now pulsed in aggravation at the reminder of exactly who was responsible for the current difficulties he was enduring with his heir.
Harry nodded in agreement; it had been the ultimate violation of both the Dark Lord's and his own trust. A small part of him wanted them to pay for what they'd put him through. But a larger part, the one that won out, just wanted all of this behind them. His parting words to them had been true. This was the last time he would fight their battles for them. He felt compelled to see it through to the bitter end; only then could he find true peace and leave them behind for good.
"I know. But you know I care for them. If they ever do anything again, I've made it clear that I won't stand in your way, but please, don't let my decisions last night result in their deaths. I would not be able to bear it."
"Is that your condition?"
Harry's head jerked up, realization dawning. As always, every time their relationship shifted, Voldemort allowed him to renegotiate. Did he truly see this as the same? Had Harry managed to show his loyalty in such a way that it had somehow fundamentally changed how the Dark Lord viewed him? He was tempted to nod his head to say yes, this is what he wanted. But he paused, realizing something. If it was true, if once again things had fundamentally changed, he knew what he needed.
Instead, Harry shook his head, turning down the terms. "I don't want to negotiate anymore. I choose this, I choose you. Even if you say no, I'll still remain by your side and protect your soul shard." Crimson's eyes stared at him as if unable to fathom what Harry was proposing. "I ask this as your heir, as someone you desire at your side. Do this for me because you care more for me than you care about seeking revenge. Do this because you don't want to see me broken."
The silence stretched, Harry unable to decipher the indecipherable expression before him. Then the Dark Lord's incredible magic changed, settled as if decided.
"Alright, Harry. Only this once. If they ever challenge me again, I won't forgive; there will be no mercy," Voldemort stated firmly.
"Thank you," Harry breathed, a mixture of gratitude and relief washing over him.
The Dark Lord's lips twitched imperceptibly. "You are my heir; I would deny you nothing,"
Epilogue
Six years later…
"The Dark Lord will really be here tomorrow?" one of the first years asked. She was a tiny wisp of a girl with long, curly black hair and curious brown eyes that gleamed with excited intelligence, a common trait among Ravenclaws.
"He's the Minister now, not the Dark Lord," a snooty Slytherin corrected. The boy, reminiscent of Draco in his mannerisms, had straight light brown hair and sun-kissed tan skin.
"Yeah, but he was the Dark Lord first!" Another girl argued, defending her friend's statement.
Class was about to start, and the school was in turmoil because Minister Slytherin, the elected Minister of Magic for the last three years but more widely known as the Dark Lord, was dropping by for an unplanned visit.
"He only likes purebloods," a sad, slightly pudgy boy remarked, the excitement of half the class fading as he spoke.
"I'm a half-blood," Harry reminded the class, entering through the professor's door adjacent to the Defense and Dueling classroom, or DEDU as students now called it. He had decided he'd eavesdropped enough on his students.
"Yeah, well, you're his son," the snooty Slytherin remarked again, as if to emphasize that Harry was an exception only due to his relationship with the dark wizard.
Harry withheld a sigh for multiple reasons. He had corrected them before, but the younger children seemed unable to distinguish between heir and son. Harry let it slide; it had stopped bothering him years ago. To the wizarding world at large, there didn't seem to be much of a difference, and even in his own mind, it had become increasingly blurred over the years. In a strange way, Voldemort had truly become his family after all they had been through.
"Settle down, everyone," Harry said instead, his voice carrying authority born from several years of teaching. "You'll have plenty of time to gossip about our visitor later. Right now, let's focus on today's lesson."
As the students quieted down and turned their attention to him, Harry couldn't help but reflect on his journey. Three years ago, he had finished his Mastery in both Dueling as well as Offensive and Defensive Spellcasting and immediately applied to teach at Hogwarts. Snape, surprisingly agreeable to having him on staff, accepted his application immediately. He suspected the dour headmaster had mostly done it just to get rid of the curse that Voldemort refused to remove until a satisfactory professor was found. "If his own heir isn't good enough, then there is no hope for the position," Snape had grumbled when he'd invited Harry to his office to deliver the news.
Teaching at Hogwarts had been a dream come true for Harry. It wasn't just about getting to use his hard-earned skills—it was about the joy of working with children, seeing their faces light up with understanding and excitement as they mastered new spells. It was also about the camaraderie among the staff and the shared passion for educating young witches and wizards. He had truly found a place where he felt he belonged.
Each day brought new challenges and triumphs. Harry relished the chance to inspire his students, to instill in them a love for magic and a dedication to honing their skills. He found fulfillment in guiding them through their magical education, knowing that he was shaping the future of wizarding society one lesson at a time. And he was able to do it on his terms, without house favoritism or blood status requirements. Snape had asked him to be the Head of House for Gryffindor and then later Slytherin, both of which he'd refused on principle so as not to create an appearance of favoritism. In all, it was more than he'd ever hoped for.
The timing had worked out well, coinciding with Voldemort's election as Minister of Magic in the same year. The position had led to a significant increase in the Dark Lord's workload, requiring him to spend most of his time at the ministry, leaving Harry in need of actual life hobbies outside of just being the wizard's heir. While the election hadn't been much of a democratic process but rather a veiled threat to vote Voldemort in or face what might become murderous consequences, Harry couldn't deny that Voldemort was performing admirably in the position. He had remained the same rational and calculating wizard that Harry had come to appreciate from the start. Although Voldemort's vision could be intimidating and even terrifying at times, it was something Harry found himself able to live with, especially since the Dark Lord had genuinely come to respect Harry's opinions and would, more often than not, listen to him.
Under Voldemort's administration, a series of significant changes had taken place in the wizarding world's laws and policies. One of the most notable shifts was the establishment of an open alliance with the vampire community, a diplomatic move that surprised many.
Thanks to Harry's influence and persuasion, the vampires were granted three votes in the Wizengamot under the guise to foster cooperation among magical beings, improving relations across the board.
Harry had negotiated with Voldemort to increase the vampires' votes from two on the conditions that Harry would never vote for them and would not become a liaison. If he wanted to speak with the vampire prince, Harry would do so on his own time. Harry suspected Voldemort had reneged on the original agreement to spare him from being caught in the crossfire between the ancient being and the Dark Lord—a surprisingly considerate move that Harry suspected stemmed both from Voldemort's possessiveness and reluctance to share him with the coven.
This shift prompted other magical beings like Goblins, Werewolves, and Centaurs to seek similar rights, which Voldemort delegated to Harry to resolve with a firm warning not to upset the current status quo, which favored purebloods or those in the Dark Lord's inner circle, much to Harry's frustration. As an interim measure, Harry established a Board of Magical Beings to represent all creature classes during Wizengamot sessions. While not ideal, this move provided some form of representation for the creatures, with the hope of evolving into a more satisfactory arrangement in the future.
Another significant change, fulfilling a long-standing wish of Harry's, provided werewolves with free supplies of Wolfsbane Potion. The laws were also changed to allow them employment opportunities but it was conditional: they had to sign a magically sealing contract compelling them to take the potion each full moon, ensuring the safety of both the wizarding community and the werewolves themselves. This change had been bittersweet for Harry. Despite multiple requests to meet, Harry had made a point of avoiding Remus at all costs feeling beyond betrayed that the werewolf had played a part in the events that had almost ruined Harry's life irreversibly.
Sticking to his personal promise, which was further reinforced by Voldemort's demanding insistence, Harry completely severed ties with anyone associated with the Order of the Phoenix. Although he occasionally encountered some former members at the Ministry, he refused to engage with them unless strictly necessary for his job or his role as Lord Potter- Black. During the initial weeks after Harry had fulfilled his oath, he had been constantly harassed at the Ministry by Arthur, Tonks, and even Kingsley, as they begged him to reveal what had happened and tried to question him about the Dark Lord's immortality. Harry adamantly refused to discuss it and demanded they leave him alone.
On one particularly annoying occasion, Voldemort had witnessed his heir being approached against his wishes and, judging by the dark pulse of magic Harry could feel radiating off the wizard, was not remotely pleased. The following day, mysteriously, every Order member working at the Ministry was found in violation of an infraction, leading to their suspension from work for periods ranging from one to four months. While there was no direct evidence linking it to Voldemort, it was evident that the Dark Lord was behind it. The message was clear: even though he refrained from killing them as per Harry's wish, he could and would take other measures. After that incident, the harassment ceased.
The point of greatest contention between Harry and the Dark Lord had been how to handle Neville. Voldemort refused to relent in any way. Neville was accused of murdering Bellatrix Lestrange in cold blood. While her fugitive status, never cleared by the Ministry since the first war, added complexity to the situation, it was a condition set by the Dark Lord himself— he would never allow the one who had dared to break into his own manor and steal his soul shard to live freely in their world. If caught, Neville would face trial, but Harry had no illusions about its fairness.
Harry was certain that the Dark Lord would ensure he suffered, likely life imprisonment or worse. In the end, Harry didn't contest it. At least he was pretending to go through the ministry instead of just enacting his own revenge, which Harry still wouldn't put past him if he somehow found Neville before he was legally detained. The Dark Lord had also put an arrest warrant out for Hermione for being an accomplice in the attempted theft against the
Slytherin Noble House. With her name under question, she would never be able to get a job or live in their society. Harry had been relieved to learn that following that fateful night, Ron and Hermione had fled to Australia after hearing there were warrants out for her and Neville. His journal had pulsed once just days after the whole ordeal, but Harry hadn't opened it, instead taking it to his family vault and leaving it to collect dust.
For his part, Harry had fully embraced being a loyal heir who supported Voldemort's increasing rise to power. He had become an advisor of sorts, someone that few in the magical world dared cross or undermine. It had only taken two years after what he now called the "void" incident for Harry to hone his magical abilities to the point where he was no longer seen as a mere apprentice, instead contributing significantly to the decisions and policies of Voldemort's rule and proving to be his own powerhouse in both spell creation and casting.
It had taken almost half a year for things to truly settle after the void incident. Harry had been forced to become painstakingly committed to proving himself as a loyal heir during this period. He sensed early on that Voldemort was deliberately testing his loyalty, issuing orders and tasks that often clashed with Harry's morals. Despite his occasional objections and efforts to dissuade Voldemort from his darkest impulses, Harry never outright refused an order. Over time, the need for such tests waned as Voldemort accepted Harry's unwavering loyalty.
Although it irked Harry to be constantly tested, he understood the difficulty for Voldemort to trust him without any form of control. Thus, he endured, and was ultimately rewarded by the Dark Lord who finally had accepted that Harry was staying because he wanted to.
Deciding how to handle the Hallows had been another awkward point between them. While the Dark Lord claimed to trust Harry, his controlling nature was constantly at odds with the decision to actually do so. He did not want to risk the Hallows getting compromised. Harry had ultimately been granted the privilege of keeping one Hallow on him at all times, a mark of trust from Voldemort that spoke volumes to the young wizard. Since Harry had little use for the Invisibility Cloak, it had been decided that it would remain in Voldemort's private office, with Harry notifying the wizard if he ever planned to take it from the manor.
Harry continued to wear the ring. He was thrilled to discover that one power of the Resurrection Stone was being able to summon the spectral forms of his loved ones. Occasionally, he would summon the forms of his parents and even Sirius. The joy he'd felt from them the first time he heard them both say they were proud could have powered a Patronus that would have destroyed a million Dementors. They had been watching over him this whole time, and while it was clear his journey pained both of them and they wished they'd been there for him, they also respected the wizard he was becoming and both agreed that they were glad he never became a murderer. In the end, they respected the decisions he'd made and never tried to change his mind. His visits with them were sparse, taking to heart their cautionary words about not becoming reliant on such powerful magic that bridged the gap between life and death. They had decided to limit summons to only once a year, warning that more could harm Harry.
To Harry's great delight, Sirius, in particular, still had a mischievous streak. During one of their spectral conversations, Sirius had jokingly asked Harry to visit Wormtail's cell and summon his ghostly form so he could haunt the rat. Harry, finding the idea both amusing and fitting, had gleefully carried out Sirius's request on his next summoning, relishing the poetic justice of it all.
One of the most surprising transformations occurred in Voldemort himself. Harry couldn't pinpoint whether it was the return of the soul shards or the depth of Harry's loyalty that triggered it, but the Dark Lord had started making a more concerted effort to demonstrate his appreciation for his heir. After the initial period of testing and challenges, he had come to truly accept that Harry was committed for the long haul. He even took the initiative to help Harry master the memory charms required to allow children to be reacquainted with their parents once they reached adulthood.
With the aid of the Elder Wand, the task turned out to be much simpler than Harry had anticipated. Together, they delved into the secrets of memory manipulation, perfecting the intricate spells that allowed children to enter the wizarding world without being missed but still loved until they reached maturity. What was most surprising was that Voldemort permitted Harry to borrow the Elder Wand to do the actual casting when he met with parents to introduce their children to the magical realm. As the Master of Death, the wand responded well to Harry, yet he could sense its innate desire for the Dark Lord as master in the ways of magic and casting.
Harry was just putting the finishing touches on his lesson plans when he sensed a familiar magical presence approaching. He glanced expectantly towards the door. Without the courtesy of a knock, the Dark Lord entered the room, his presence exuding an aura of immaculate power and authority as always.
Harry raised an eyebrow as Voldemort entered. "You're early," he observed.
Voldemort smirked in response. "I'm on time," he quipped, "it's everyone else's job to be expecting me."
Harry chuckled softly. "True enough." The wizard's ego hadn't decreased in the slightest. "The children were particularly challenging today, all in anticipation of your arrival."
This seemed to please the Dark Lord, a subtle satisfaction crossing his features as he settled into the room, glancing around curiously at the teaching aids Harry had adorned the classroom with.
"What do I owe the pleasure?" Harry asked, walking around his desk and leaning casually against it. "We weren't expecting you until the closing feast."
"I have promising news," Voldemort began, his tone carrying a note of anticipation. "The international exchange program with foreign magical schools has been secured."
Harry's interest was immediately piqued. "They agreed?" There had been resistance due to Voldemort's reputation preceding him, cautious about opening borders or forming alliances that might allow the Dark Lord to extend his reach beyond Magical Britain, which was exactly his intent.
"Yes," Voldemort confirmed, a hint of excitement in his voice. Harry knew this exchange would be instrumental in normalizing gray and dark magic, as well as introducing new magical practices to their Ministry and school. He would be lying if he didn't admit that he was excited as well.
"What are you doing the rest of the night, my heir?" Voldemort inquired.
Harry glanced at the mounting stack of papers on his desk. "Grading," he sighed.
The crimson stare focused on him. "Do you want to duel?"
Harry perked up, grinning broadly. "In the Chamber," he said, the papers already forgotten. "I don't want the detection wards to go off again and give Severus a heartattack." They had dueled a few months ago, and the Hogwarts wards had gone haywire due to the dangerous spellcasting they'd engaged in.
The gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes conveyed what Harry had suspected all along—that it hadn't been an oversight; the Dark Lord still enjoyed toying with his gloomy follower. "I need to remove those wards so you can begin instructing Unforgivables," he murmured, the two of them walking out of the classroom and towards the Chamber of Secrets together.
Harry gazed at the dark wizard warily. "I'm not teaching students Unforgivables," he stated firmly, this was a recurring conversation he'd suffered through each time the Dark Lord visited. Harry wasn't sure if the Dark Lord was serious or just trying to provoke him.
"Let's make a wager on it. You win this duel, and I'll never ask again. You lose, and you offer an optional workshop to seventh years who want to learn it," the Dark Lord proposed, a hint of smugness in his tone. Harry frowned, not liking the proposition at all. "I could just command it," the Dark Lord added, more self-assured than anything. While Harry had learned to pick his battles, sometimes there was no winning when the Dark Lord set his mind on something.
"Why does this matter to you so much?" Harry asked as the Dark Lord hissed open the passageway. Stairs appeared because, of course, someone like him would not slide down a pipe.
"Because you are their professor and they deserve to practice the full extent of all types of magic," the Dark Lord asserted.
"But Unforgivables?" Harry questioned.
"You've found them to be useful," the Dark Lord reminded, his tone serious as he glanced sideways at his heir.
Harry frowned, feeling a discomfort settle in his gut at the reminder of how often he had resorted to the Imperius Curse. People were just so stubborn at times. But he still refused to use the Killing Curse unless it was life and death and hadn't found a need to torture anyone of late. Since he worked in a school, he was beyond relieved that was the case.
"They should learn their limits in a controlled environment with an adept instructor. As you once did," the Dark Lord continued, his gaze pointedly fixed on Harry. "Would you rather they learn on their own without guidance? If you don't want them to harm themselves or be corrupted by such powerful magic, then you must be the one to introduce it to them."
"I won't teach them the Torture or Killing Curse," Harry stated firmly, scowling in distaste. He realized with a sinking feeling that the Dark Lord had already managed to manipulate him into agreeing to teach one of the Unforgivables before the duel had even begun.
"You're infuriating," Harry sighed as they reached the large chamber. He strode to the side under the giant snake statue, near where the basilisk had emerged in his second year. He gave it a wary glance out of habit, the ghost of the scar on his arm where the fang had pierced him seeming to hum in response to the snake's lair.
"Ready, my heir?" Voldemort's voice cut through his thoughts.
Harry grinned, the thrill of the challenge igniting his senses with genuine anticipation. "Do your worst."
The Dark Lord's crimson eyes gleamed. "I always do."
THE END
AN: WHOA, words can't express what an amazing journey this has been. THANK YOU for reading, commenting, and being supportive of this fic.
Please drop a review or your thoughts; I LOVE reading them.
There will be a sequel
Cheers!