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Chapter 29: Lily’s plan

Harry’s mind was whirling. He had spent the last few hours reading through as many of his mum’s notes as he could manage and what he found surpassed anything that he could have imagined in his wildest dream.

Death had certainly not lied when he had told Harry that his mother had wanted to fulfil Walpurgis’ prophecy, however, the deity had left out just how far his mum had gone to make that idea of hers come true.

Lily had apparently stumbled over the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, which wasn’t surprising considering that she had become an Unspeakable after Hogwarts. She had quickly realised that the Potters were the last descendants of the Peverells, which was the only bloodline that could produce born necromancers in Britain and thus, the Master of Death. Unfortunately however, the Potter’s blood had diluted to the point where a necromancer hadn’t been born in over 150 years. His mum however, clever witch she had been, didn’t allow something like diluted blood to stop her and thus started to search for a way to reverse the effect. In the end, she found one.

Just in time, too, because she and his dad had been trying for a child and that was the first of a string of rituals that she needed to perform to restore the ancient family magics.

It was strange to realise that his mum had made him into what he was today and while he couldn’t be 100% sure, he felt that in contrast to Sirius, she would want him to embrace the power inside of him; the rare talent she had gifted him. Even stranger still was to find correspondence between her and Voldemort, planning the birth of the first Master of Death since Ignotus Peverell.

Voldemort clearly only saw victory finally within his reach and it made Harry wonder if his mum had believed that his birth would revive the dark lord’s shrivelled heart or if she had planned to use him to control the wizard. She must have planned something, that much was clear, for his mother had written that she was purposefully using Voldemort’s magic in her rituals to form an artificial connection between them.

That was the most difficult realisation Harry had to stomach; the knowledge that he was just as much her eagerly expected baby boy as a magically crafted tool and something told him that he still didn’t grasp the motives behind her actions and maybe, possibly, she hadn't quite either. It had confused Harry so much so that in the end he had been forced to push the question of what he felt to the side to be able to continue.

Later on, his mum had gone a step further in her resolve to bring peace to the wizarding world and unearthed an ancient ritual in the depths of the department of Mysteries; the ritual of “Magical Claim.”

The ritual of Magical Claim was used to determine whether the witch or wizard enacting it was the true Magical Lord, the one above all other Lords and Ladies. While it was effective in separating the True Lord from those that simply claimed the title, it also ran the risk of killing those who used it that were not True Lords.

But in the end, something must have gone wrong with his mum’s well thought out plan. Nothing in Voldemort’s letters hinted at anger or any other reason why he should have attacked Harry and his family; in fact, the dark Lord and his mum almost seemed friendly in their correspondence and Voldemort clearly had anticipated his arrival nearly as eagerly as his mum and dad. So what had made him attack in the end? Lily’s notes, of course, didn’t hold the answer. Maybe Voldemort would be able to explain, but for that, Harry would have to return and while he was - slowly - coming to terms with the fact that he wanted to learn more about necromancy and bring his mum’s plan to fulfilment, he was still hesitant about returning to Voldemort’s side. Because that would mean that he truly would be betraying his dad, Sirius, Ron and Hermione and all his other friends who were fighting against the cruel wizard.

His resolve brought another problem along as well. While his mum had found out a lot about necromancers, there weren’t any actual books or notes on the topic to be found in her papers: no spells or rituals, no explanation of what he would have to do to become a true necromancer, or what it meant to be the Master of Death.

Another thing his mum’s notes didn’t answer however, was to explain her motive. Harry desperately wanted to know if she had just wanted the war to end, or if, just like himself, she had seen the blatant bigotry that was present everywhere in the wizarding world, regardless if one looked at the light side, or the dark one. Maybe she had also listened to Moody and Kingsley discussing taking out children for preventative measures.

If that had been his mum’s motive, then at least he still took after one of them. That thought was somehow reassuring; it would mean that Harry at least wouldn’t betray both of his parents if he truly returned to Voldemort’s side.

A loud buzzing interrupted his thoughts and Harry nearly fell off his bed in surprise. Groaning, he rubbed his burning eyes and reached for his wand as he realised that it was his alarm going off; he hadn’t slept a wink.

Forcing himself to move, Harry got up from the bed and stretched until his joints popped and he sighed in relief as some of the stiffness disappeared from his tired limbs. He glanced back at Angrboda, who still lay curled up and fast asleep at the end of his bed, clearly, the long night had exhausted her as well. Deciding to let his familiar sleep a while longer, Harry shuffled into his bathroom and took a quick shower. He would have loved to stay under the hot spray, but time was running out, and summoned his auror robes from where he had forgotten them hanging over a chair in his bedroom.

“Do you want to go with me to work or stay in and sleep today?” Harry asked his familiar once he stepped out of the bathroom.
Angrboda lifted her head, yawned hugely and unsurprisingly replied, “Angrboda will accompany master,” before shrinking to her pocket size. Harry picked her up and waited until she had slithered under his sleeve before he finally left his bedroom, making his way down to the ground floor. By now he was so late that there was no time to eat breakfast, however, when he descended the final stairs, he found his dad waiting for him in the entrance hall, two napkin-wrapped sandwiches in his hands.

“Morning Prongslet, I was starting to think you overslept and I would have to wake you. Coming late to work is never well received,” he greeted him with a cheerful smile as if their argument the evening prior had never happened.

Maybe, Harry thought, it was better that way. Arguing wouldn’t make anything better and clearly, it wouldn’t change his dad’s beliefs either.

“Almost,” he replied, taking the sandwiches with a small thanks. “The last few days were exhausting.”

James nodded, his expression sombre. “They were. Rufus’ death was a shock for us all.”

Harry stayed silent, neither agreeing or disagreeing with his dad’s assumptions. He certainly was not in the mood to inform him what exactly he had found tiresome these past days.That was a can of worms he didn’t want to open, especially not before he had even eaten breakfast.

“Let’s go then, I don’t want to find out what kind of punishment Robards has in store for coming too late,” he said, before taking a bite.
His dad chuckled. “In my time it was a sparring match with either our mentor, or one of the trainers down in the gym and believe me, most times it ended with the poor recrute beaten up.” Harry winced. He really didn’t need that after an all-nighter.

A glimmer of hope arrived once they arrived in the office, in the form of Kingsley’s announcement that the department for magical law enforcement was about to close Scrimgeour’s case. Therefore Harry’s usual classes, which had been put on hold in order for the trainees to support their mentors and the office, would resume. He had never been so glad to hear that he would have to go back to lectures in the afternoon.

However, Bones’ decision wasn’t greeted with much enthusiasm, as many aurors thought that investigating the case for barely two weeks wasn’t enough, but as no sturdy proof had arisen, there was truly no feasible reason for Madame Bones and her office to keep the case open any longer.

In contrast to his colleagues, Robards had taken the new command in stride and shooed Harry off with a command to join his fellow trainees in the gym, while he would take care of the last reports on his own.

Not wanting to argue such an order, Harry hastily left for the elevators. A wide grin broke out on his face when he entered the exercise room a few minutes later. He had missed this. No file shifting could ever replace some proper physical exercise, regardless how exhausting it felt. Besides, Harry had always liked to exercise, the strain in his muscles having become an equivalent of freedom after he had been locked away for so many years at the Dursleys.

Only a handful of other people were there so early in the morning and most of them were older recruits or junior aurors. In the next three hours, Harry moved from weights to treadmill, before finally finishing off his exercise with a mock duel against one of the older trainees, Miles Spinnet, who turned out to be a cousin of his former quidditch team mate Alicia. Miles was a good dueler, and certainly knew more spells despite Harry’s participation in Robard’s excessive training regimen. However, in the end Harry managed to disarm him thanks to his quick reflexes.

“Wow, all those rumours about you really are true, aren’t they?” Miles asked as he pushed himself up from the ground.
Harry just shrugged. “I think it was more luck than anything else,” Harry grinned sheepishly.
“Nah,” the other waved him off, “being quick is an acknowledged skill as well. As long as you manage to overwhelm your opponents, it doesn’t matter if you did so with the help of an Expelliarmus or a more complex spell.”

Together they went together into the changing room and got ready for the second half of the work day, which meant lunch break and then classes for Harry. As Cedric was nowhere to be found, Harry joined Miles and his classmates. They were old enough that Harry didn’t remember any of them from Hogwarts and most of the group hadn’t been Gryffindors anyway. But they were a relaxed, funny bunch and after the conversations he had been forced to take part in with the older aurors, it was just what Harry needed.

They chatted and joked all throughout lunch and on their way down to the classrooms where they finally had to part. However, Harry’s good mood evaporated quickly, when he entered his classroom and saw Warrington sitting alone in a corner. He looked horrible: dark bags under his eyes, pale skin, and exhausted countenance.

A heavy lump instantly dropped into Harry’s stomach and he hoped against hope that the source of the change in his classmate wasn’t what he feared it was. Maybe he shouldn’t ask. It would probably be wiser, not knowing would mean no temptation, but when had Harry ever been known for his wise decisions?

“Hey, Warrington, is everything alright?” he asked, stepping closer.
For a second his classmate didn't react and Harry was starting to think that he hadn’t heard him, but then the older boy blinked as if waking from a dream. A nightmare, most likely.

“It’s -” he began, looking up at Harry, and Harry was sure that he wanted to say ‘nothing’ but then, for some reason, Warrington seemed to change his mind and instead said, “It’s my brother. He is dying, he only has a few days left. It’s a bloodline curse.”

Harry had expected the reply, but still it felt as if his heart froze in that second and his mind instantly jumped to the small, sick looking boy. Just 11 years old, his whole life still ahead. Harry hadn’t even spoken to him that time at Warrington Manor, but he had the feeling that he was a kind, bright child, far too young to die. But he would if nobody lifted the curse on him. If Harry didn’t lift the curse on him. If Harry didn’t return to Voldemort, ask him to teach him necromancy and lift the curse.

Their tutor arrived then and he was forced to sit down, unable to say anything to Warrington. Not that anything helpful would have come to his mind and really, no words made a situation like that any better. Still, he couldn’t think of anything else the rest of the day and by the time his classes ended and he left the classroom, he felt sick to his stomach. Was he really considering letting Gracius die just to keep the farce his life had become? What kind of person would that make him?

The class ended and Harry was forced to push his swirling thoughts to the side. Packing up his things, he watched Warrington throw his own textbook and still blank scroll carelessly into his backpack before practically fleeing from the classroom.

Picking up his own rucksack, Harry returned upstairs to the office, where he found his mentor sending a stack of folders back to the archives with a flick of his wand and a relieved sigh.

“How was training?” he asked, as soon as he noticed Harry.

“Good,” Harry replied, the one word coming out closer to a sigh of relief as well.
“And classes?”
“Good, too.”

Robards gave him a long look that conveyed more understanding than either of them felt comfortable voicing while at the office, then nodded. “Well done for today. You may go home early.”

Smiling tiredly, Harry wished his mentor a good evening, before glancing over to where his dad once again sat together with Moody and Tonks. His annoyance that had lessened over the day, returned in full force.

Was he truly considering continuing like this day in and day out when there was a feasible alternative?

If Harry was honest with himself, he didn’t see that working for any length of time. He had never been good with turning a blind eye and letting unbearably unfair situations continue. He had never been that person, not when Umbridge had terrorised the student body, not now. And at letting innocent people die, he was even worse.

But would returning to Voldemort really change anything? Would he truly be able to prevent the dark lord from committing even worse atrocities? And even if Harry succeeded in doing so, it would still mean betraying everyone but his mum. Feeling a sudden headache coming on, Harry tried to push the topic far away from him. His deadline had run out three days ago, but considering Voldemort kept visiting Hades in his dreams, he guessed he wouldn't be killed when he returned now. After all, better late than never, right?

Sighing again, Harry rubbed his head, wishing it would do something about the persistent ache. He felt that he had far too big problems for a mere 16 years old. He should be worrying about his first crush and the latest Hogwarts rumours right now, instead he was thinking about dark lords and wars. It had all been so much easier when he had stayed with Voldemort. The man had known exactly what he wanted and which path to treat. Thinking of it, even as his 16-year-old diary-self Voldemort had already made that impression. Maybe the dark lord was just truly a born leader, while Harry had merely been pushed into the role. He didn’t want to think about it any more.

He needed to speak to somebody. His friends.

Standing in the middle of the now deserted ministry corridor, Harry raised his wand and shouted “Expecto Patronum!” Two stags broke out in a flash of silver light, one instantly dashing away to search out Neville, the other to Cedric. Not wishing to be in the middle of the atrium when their replies arrived, Harry stayed where he was and waited. It didn’t take long.

Soon Cedric’s patronus arrived and spoke with the voice of his friend.
“No problem, I am home already and have nothing planned. Just tell me where to meet you two and when.”

Neville’s butterfly appeared not a second later. “I would love to, but I am at Hogwarts. I can’t just floo over to the Leakey.”

The solution came to Harry easily. At least one problem he could solve without problem.
“Meet me at the Room of Requirement on the 7th floor corridor in half an hour.” Harry didn’t know if Cedric had ever found the room, but if not, he would get to know it now.

Knowing that he didn't have much time, Harry went back into the Auror Office and quickly told his dad about his plans, not wishing to make him even more suspicious after the day prior.

“Have fun,” his dad simply said with a smile. “I was worried that your friendships would suffer because I took you out of Hogwarts. You should try to meet them more often.”
The smile Harry sent back in return felt strained. He knew his dad was thinking of Ron and Hermione.

Getting to Hogwarts was a quick matter, even without using Dumbledore’s fireplace. He simply apparated to the Hogwarts gates from the Ministry’s apparition room and walked the remaining distance.

The halls were deserted when he arrived, which suited him just well as he didn’t feel like joining another impromptu party in Gryffindor Tower, but there was the buzz of excited chatter coming from the Great Hall.

He began to climb the stairs and soon spotted Neville ahead of him, just stepping onto the staircase leading to the fourth floor.
“Hey Nev!” he called out to the boy.
Neville stopped and turned around with a happy smile. Harry was glad to see that it looked much less shy than the smiles he had known from the boys these past years.

“You know, I am starting to feel as if I am finally part of one of those cool cliques. With friends to sneak around after curfew.”

“It’s not after curfew yet,” Harry teased, catching up to his friend, who shrugged.
“Not yet, but I am sure it will be by the time I’ll sneak back into the common room.”

“Probably,” Harry admitted and they started to climb the rest of the way to the 7th floor corridor up together.

Upstairs, Harry began to pace in front of the tapestries of Barnabas the Barmy until a plain door appeared in front of them. Inside the room of requirement they found - Voldemort’s living room. Maybe Harry should have known, but the realisation just how comfortable he felt in the small parlour with the many books and the dark Lord’s favourite armchair hit Harry like the upcoming Hogwarts Express.

He stared at said armchair for a second, then blinked when he noticed Neville shift beside him. His friend truly was sensitive to other people’s moods. Shaking his momentary trance off, Harry purposely walked past the armchair and sat down on the two-seater.

Neville had barely taken the empty seat beside him, when a soft knock sounded and Cedric’s head appeared in the doorway.
“Oh good, you are here,” he greeted, his hesitant expression morphing into one of relief. “I thought I dreamed your message - I was already half asleep when it arrived,” Cedric added with a chuckle, entering completely and closing the door behind him.

“Sorry, if I had known -” Neville blushed, but Cedric just waved him off.
“It’s alright. My friends come before a good night’s rest, besides, it was Harry’s patronus who nearly woke me, not yours,” he winked, sat down in the free armchair and began to pull out three shrunken bottles from his cloak pocket. “So, is this a celebration or -” he trailed off.

“Not a celebration,” Harry stated. “But those are appreciated anyway.”

Neville snorted. “You two realise that this is -what?- the fourth time we are meeting up like this?”
“Are you accusing us of alcoholism?” Harry quirked an eyebrow, flicking his wand to conjure three shot glasses.
“It’s not alcoholism as long as we are not drinking daily,” Cedric commented.
“Or even weekly,” Harry added, equally unconcerned.

“But don’t you feel it’s kind of sad that we always meet up to - to drink out of frustration?”
“True, but that’s a different point altogether,” Cedric sighed, before turning to Harry.
“What is this about then?” he questioned, his eyes flickering from Harry over to Neville and back again.

Neville gave Harry a curious look as well, but when he didn’t say anything, Cedric summoned the three shot glasses, poured each of them a healthy measure and said, “If none of you will say anything, let me go first.” The blond threw his head back and downed the firewhiskey, before he continued, “I hate my life!” the declaration hung in the stunned silence for a second, before Cedric went on. “It really isn’t anything to do with you, Harry, but ever since my resurrection -” his words faltered for a second, “I have been totally miserable.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said automatically, but Cedric merely lifted his hand to halt him.
“It really isn’t your fault, I mean it. My death wasn’t even your fault.”
Harry instantly opened his mouth to protest. “But I talked you into it! Without me-”

I wanted to win just as much as you and I agreed to share the victory out of my own free will,” Cedric cut him off. “You didn’t force me into anything,” he emphasised the last part. “But there are things you can’t really come back from and be the same, like being resurrected, right?”

Harry nodded slowly and reached for his shot glass as well.

“My dad barely lets me out of his sight, I hate my job - which he picked for me, by the way, and all I hear day-in and day-out are Light slogans that are just as bad as the dark lord’s - the only difference being that instead of condemning muggle-borns he is condemning dark families. He drew in a shaky breath, but neither Harry nor Neville said anything, simply waiting.

“I am wondering,” he finally continued, voice agitated, “if he has ever listened to himself. I mean, evil deeds should be punished, but all those tirades about people who did nothing wrong aside from not voluntarily destroying old books with -admittedly- horrible contents-”

“Did they cast any spells from those books?” Neville interrupted.
“No!” Cedric exclaimed. “In most cases they are just keeping them because the books are heirlooms and in many cases, quite rare,” Cedric explained. “Seriously, I am so close to just chucking it all - really, the only thing stopping me at this point is the fear of what would come after, but if it continues like this, I am not sure how much longer I will be able to continue with this charade!” He exclaimed. Harry’s eyebrows went up, having never heard the even-tempered boy so annoyed before. However, he simply watched as the blond man refilled his glass of fire whiskey and then continued.

“I’ve always wanted to study wizarding law, before my resurrection, I mean. I wanted to protect innocent people from evil dark mages - that’s not my reason anymore, but my dream hasn’t changed. But my father is against it, he believes that such a job would endanger me far too much.”

The Hufflepuff finally fell silent and for a moment nothing but the refilling of their classes could be heard. Then, finally, Neville broke the silence, looking directly at Cedric.

“Last time you mentioned my family magic,”
The Hufflepuff nodded. “Yes, I remember. Elemental magic, quite impressive.”
“I only told Harry so far - it’s not that I don’t trust you, but last time at the Leaky wasn't the right time -” Neville trailed off and Harry could hear a hint of the boy's old insecurity seep back into his voice.
Cedric must have noticed it as well because he leaned forwards in his seat, whiskey glass still in hand, and said, “You can tell me whatever is bothering you. We might not have known each other for long, but I consider you a friend. I will keep your secrets, I promise.”

Neville blushed, but continued. Cedric’s words must have reassured him, for he rushed out: “I am an elemental, too, and for months now I’ve been contemplating letting Harry unseal my inheritance.”

The Hufflepuff’s eyes widened and Neville instantly began to look nervous.
“Oh, wow. That’s -” Cedric said, apparently searching for the right voice. “That's actually awesome!” His face split into a wide grin that made his brown eyes shine with an inner light. Neville blushed even more violently, but when he continued next, his voice sounded much steadier.

“According to the law, it would make me a dark mage, but at this point I am not sure if I want to continue - can continue - like this,” he gestured vaguely at himself.

“My grandma,” he went on, voice thick, “is the one who has bound my magic ever since my gift showed itself when I was five years old. She has always been a staunch light supporter and since I am not yet 17, she can still disinherit me and I fear that she would rather let our name die than leave it to somebody like me. But having my magic bound it feels - it feels like somebody cut off a limb.”

“That’s tough,” Cedric winced. “Do you really think your gran would disinherit you?”
Neville shrugged. “Well, she is a tough lady.”
Harry snorted, but then quickly shoved his hands in front of his mouth. His friend however, only turned to him with a wide grin and took a big gulp of his fire whiskey as well.

“I can’t be sure, of course,” Neville said. “But she always talks so proudly of my mum and dad’s achievements. My dad was an auror and my mum a lawyer for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“You and Harry really have big footsteps to follow in,” Cedric said, glancing compassionately from Neville to Harry. Then he chuckled, but it sounded kind of bitter. “Now I am kind of glad that my dad never worked anywhere beside the Department for magical beasts.”

“Glad to be of service,” Neville winked back and the two of them chuckled silently.

But to Harry’s dismay, when they finally fell silent again, their eyes settled on him. For a split second he wanted to keep silent, pretend that all his worries and problems, all the doubts in the light side and what he was doing, didn’t exist. Act as if his world-view hadn’t changed fundamentally and if he wasn’t torn apart on the inside.

However, he had called them here, and asked them to come after a long day of classes and work. Besides, he really needed to talk. Maybe his friends could provide a new perspective, help clear some things for him. Reaching for his own glass of fire whiskey, Harry took a fortifying gulp and then began.

“First, I think I should tell you, Nev,” Harry said with a glance at his friend, “that Cedric knows this first part already. It isn’t anything to do with me not trusting you - because I do - it happened by chance -” realising that he was starting to ramble, Harry took a deep breath to calm himself down and continued more quietly. “What I want to tell you, is that I am the one who brought Cedric back, and Sirius, and my dad. I am the necromancer and Cedric knows because he recognised my voice during the ritual.”

Neville’s eyes widened and Harry watched as his friend paled. Next to him, Cedric glanced worriedly from him to the other Gryffindor and back, but didn’t say a word. Harry was about to force out a laugh and tell Neville that it had just been a stupid joke, when his friend took a big gulp of his fire whiskey and asked, “How did you…? When…?” And just like this, his explanation became even more complicated.

Thinking quickly about what he needed to and actually could tell his friends, Harry settled on: “I didn’t stay with my relatives this summer, but an… acquaintance. He isn’t quite what you would call a light wizard and I found this old document in his study. It contained the description of a ritual that was supposed to be able to resurrect the dead and…”

“And you always wished to meet your parents,” Neville guessed, his voice understanding and Harry wanted to hug him for his good heart.

“Yes… Well, actually, I didn’t want to risk it at first, they were dead for so long and the scroll wasn’t really clear on any possible risks. But Cedric and my godfather had been dead for way less time.”

“So, I was your guinea pig?” Cedric quirked an eyebrow.
Harry chuckled, but didn’t tell his friend that the guinea pig had actually been Barty Crouch Jr, the death eater who had infiltrated Hogwarts and charmed the goblet of fire to bring them to Voldemort.

“I didn’t know it back then, but the document actually belonged to an ancestor and I inherited the ability. It's quite the unlikely coincidence and I believe without the family gift I could have tried and tried and the ritual would never have worked. Or maybe even have killed me, actually. Necromancy - travelling to the Black Cosmos - isn't without danger.”

“Well,” Neville commented when he fell silent for a second, trying to put his thoughts into some semblance of order, “that explains what you meant when you told me the Ministry would have you kissed if they ever found out what your family gift is.” He sounded quite tired but they all sounded like that today. Maybe it was their topic, or maybe the half empty bottle of Ogden’s.

Neville’s eyes flickered over to Cedric and Harry nearly choked when he suddenly asked, “So, what’s it like to be resurrected? Does it feel strange?”
Maybe they really had too much fire whiskey.

“Um…” Cedric replied eloquently and Neville, belatedly, apparently realised how insensitive the question was, because he hastened to say, “Sorry, that was so rude!” He looked quite shocked by his own behaviour.

Cedric however had recovered and waved him off. “No, it's not a problem, I was just surprised. To answer your question, I have never thought about it,” he mused. “That must mean I don’t actually feel different than before, right?” He asked, but apparently didn't expect an answer because he immediately continued, “The problems I have with my dad don’t stem from the resurrection, it's just my dad who has turned into a pain in the ass. Or maybe I just see it more now,” he muttered.

Harry nearly choked on his mouth full of fire whiskey, however, he was glad to hear that Cedric apparently hadn’t any problems with his resurrection himself.

“Anyway,” he continued, when they had been sipping their drinks in silence for a bit, “It was Sirius who talked me into resurrecting my mum and dad - on New Year’s eve. I was so drunk that I forgot why I hadn’t tried to bring them back already. It turned out, my caution was right; because something went wrong with mum’s resurrection.”

Cedric frowned, but clearly was too polite to ask for any details, so Harry went ahead and explained, “Her new body formed but her soul didn’t return.”
“I’m sorry,” the Hufflepuff said. “I mean, I knew she hadn't woken up yet, but I didn’t know you had tried to bring her back.”

“I still don’t really know what happened and after the failed resurrection I decided to not try again. Necromancy is considered the darkest of all arts and it is dangerous. I even broke off contact with my acquaintance.”

Silence settled over them like a heavy blanket and for a minute nobody said a word. It was Neville who interrupted it once more.
“You said you miss using your family magic and that it didn’t feel evil to you. Still you decided on not using it again. What made you reconsider now? That’s what is bothering you, right?”

Harry nodded, not denying it. “You remember when we talked about Warrington?”
“You mean your first case, about the rumours that his mother went to Greece in hope to find a necromancer to cure her younger son?” Cedric asked.

Harry nodded again. “Gratus, the boy, is dying. I could still save him but that would mean returning to that acquaintance and asking him for help. I just don’t know enough about necromancy, I have never truly studied it and I don’t know where to start looking for independent information either. Besides, books on the topic are banned. They’re now incredibly rare, but he probably has the largest collection on the topic… here in Britain anyway. I would probably even be able to find a book that can tell me what went wrong with my mum…” he trailed off.

“But would that be so bad? To visit him?” Cedric questioned.

Harry snorted inwardly. Nobody just visited Voldemort. “He isn’t just grey. He is firmly on the dark side.”

His friends winced.

“Maybe if you just see him as a means to an end? If you really need access to his library…” Cedric proposed.
Harry sighed, knowing that would never work. Not if his said means went by the name of Lord Voldemort.

“That won’t work, he is too intelligent to not catch on immediately. You know what a bad liar I am,” he told his friends honestly. “Besides, I don’t really think he is entirely bad,” he paused, that actually sounded totally wrong, so he corrected himself. “Or rather, I don’t think that all things he wants are bad things. I mean, what is so bad about teaching muggle-borns some wizarding traditions as well, not only the opposite? Why shouldn’t we celebrate magic, or conduct rituals? Why is it wrong to use the gifts we were given as long as we don’t use it to harm others? I just don’t agree on his preferred methods.”

“That actually sounds as if you don’t only miss your family magic,” Cedric commented.

Harry didn’t know what to reply.

“Harry,” Neville ventured carefully. “Did you break off contact with that friend of yours because you wanted to or because it is what would be considered the ‘right’ thing to do?” When Harry still didn’t answer, the Gryffindor continued, “Because I told you there is nobody who deserves some happiness more than you. Besides, didn’t we already agree that it is never as easy as black and white in someone's life?”
Next to Neville Cedric nodded vigorously. “If it’s really his methods that bother you and not his general goals or character, why don’t you try talking to him?” the blond asked, making Harry flush.

“Well, we actually had some contact recently and that is what he said as well,” he admitted. “But I don't know how much talking to him would help. I think he has some problems with empathising with people. Understanding emotions and such.”

“Well,” Cedric interjected, “that is hardly his fault. Things like that have their roots in early childhood or are genetic. That doesn’t mean however you can’t make him understand.”

This time it was Neville who nodded in agreement. “Maybe you just need the right method?” he asked.
“Besides,” Cedric added, “since when does Harry Potter give up so easily? Especially with a friend?”

And wasn’t that just echoing his earlier thoughts?

Harry hesitated, his mouth already open for another protest, however, truth to be told he didn’t want to argue the point any longer. If he were to be honest, then he had regretted returning to Dumbledore and the order early as soon as he had left Regia Magicae and now, with his friends encouraging him to follow his own wishes, he didn’t really have the energy to resist any longer. Of course, an argument could be made that Cedric and Neville didn’t know who exactly his so-called ‘acquaintance’ truly was.

“Yeah,” Harry finally agreed, a tremulous smile on his lips. “And since when could I watch an innocent child die? But do you really think I can change the mind of a dark wizard?”

His friends just nodded in unison.

“Well, I guess I have my answer then. Thanks guys. I wish I had talked to you sooner.”

“Just do it next time,” Cedric grinned, before flicking his wand to refill their glasses.

A comfortable silence fell over the room as they each were occupied with their own thoughts. It was Neville who broke the moment by saying: “I think we should try to do what we want. I mean, we are all miserable.”

Cedric gave the Gryffindor a long look as if he saw him for the first time, but nodded. “Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Let’s l make a deal. I will go and file for a transfer into a new department tomorrow. I still have two days left; there is a time span where new apprentices can still switch.”

“And I will try to find out how the binding on my magic can be resolved,” Neville agreed.

Then, his friends’ eyes settled on Harry.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, and ignoring his wildly racing heart, he promised.

“And I will visit my friend and ask him to help save that boy.”

This decision, he knew, would change his life irreversibly. But somehow, he already felt better.

_________

Harry had been dead tired when he finally pushed himself up from the copy of Voldemort’s two seater the room of requirement had provided and wished Neville a good night. However, by the time he had crossed the Hogwarts grounds, separated from Cedric in front of the school gate and apparated back home, he was once again wide awake.

The nervous energy had returned to him full force; he didn’t want to wait any longer. As strange as it sounded to his own ears, he wanted to return to Voldemort and the lightness he had felt ever since admitting it, had turned into a sort of hyper-active nervousness.

“Calm down, hatchling,” Angrboda made herself known. “Angrboda will protect you.”
“There is no need to protect me,” Harry smiled, her protectiveness distracting him for a second.
His familiar coked her head doubtfully. “Then why are you trembling like an Aspen leaf?”
Harry sighed, and took a second to sink down on his sofa. “I am nervous because we will visit your mother and her Master.”
Angrboda hissed in confusion. “But that’s no reason to be nervous.”
Of course the snake would say that, Harry sighed inwardly, but as the daughter of the wizard’s familiar, naturally she didn’t see the problems. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to explain, “I fear he is angry with me. I left without permission and even when I learned that he was searching for me, I kept hiding.”
“Stupid hatchling. But mother’s master is generous. He will forgive you.”
“I hope so.”

Rising to his feet, Harry made his way into his bedroom to take off his auror robes and change into something more neutral. However, when his eyes landed on his reflection in the mirror, he hesitated. He needed to change more than just his robes, he realised, but wasn’t sure if it would be better to do so now, or later.

However, he had never been one for subtlety, so making up his mind, he picked a robe that would suit his Hades persona just as well as Harry Potter.

Once he was dressed, he rejoined his familiar who had returned to her normal size. It was quite impressive seeing her all stretched out. Even when Angrboda went ahead, Harry still had part of her body next to and behind him. She also was nearly inaudible as she moved (at least to Harry’s human ears), gliding along the corridor like a large shadow.

Once in the receiving room, Harry pulled the portkey from under his collar and grabbed the pendant firmly. Hopefully it would work despite the wards, but then again, it had been crafted by Voldemort and the wizard was a magical genius.

Looking down at Angrboda, he hissed, “We will take a portkey, so you have to curl around me and hold tight.”
His familiar began to move, coiling her large body around him. Grasping the portkey tightly, Harry’s heart rate began to quicken once more.

As soon as she stilled, he once again warned, “Hold tight,” before whispering “Morsmordre,” and was whisked away.

Harry felt the moment the Voldemort’s wards accepted him with a warm rush of sensations through his body. The rush of magic was so familiar that, unexpectedly, he felt as if he had arrived home after having gone on a long journey. He could feel Voldemort in them, his power, his ingeniousness and his very nature. He hadn’t expected returning would feel like this. How could he have stayed away for so long? How could he have willingly forgone this?

Still with eyes closed, Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat, however, it wouldn’t go away so he simply opened his eyes to see1 where exactly the portkey had dropped him off.

For a moment he thought something must have gone horribly wrong, because once the port key let go of him, he found himself in utter darkness. Then he noticed a weak, orange glimmer to the side and realised that he must have landed in Voldemort’s parlour.

Pulling out his wand, Harry muttered a soft “lumos”. Golden light spilled from its tip and illuminated furniture that had grown all too familiar during the summer. He had been correct with his assumption.

Angrboda let go of him, immediately disappearing further into the room, probably to search for Nagini, leaving him to search for the Master of the castle himself.

However, Voldemort was nowhere in sight and the room was suspiciously quiet. Wondering if the dark lord might have gone to bed already, and if so, if he should dare wake him or rather return tomorrow, Harry stood there indecisively for a moment. Deciding that he could at least check the bedroom as long as he was quiet, Harry dimmed his Lumos and walked in the direction his familiar had disappeared.

The door to Voldemort’s bedroom stood ajar, making it easy for Harry to peek inside. The fireplace in the bedroom burned much brighter than the almost dead hearth in the living room, bathing everything in a soft, golden light. Angrboda and Nagini lay curled together on the rug just before it, hissing softly to one another, however, Voldemort’s bed was empty.

Contemplating what he was supposed to do now that the wizard he was looking for wasn’t at home, Harry made his way back into the living room. Without realising it his legs carried him over to the sofa he had always occupied during the summer and before he knew it, he had tucked himself into his usual corner.

He didn’t want to go home just yet, not now that he had returned. It was already rather late, so with a bit of luck Voldemort would be back soon and anyway; waiting for a little while didn’t sound as bad as giving up after having finally found his courage. Besides, Gratus needed his help, and his mom, too, he couldn’t just give up so easily, the child was counting on him after all.

Sighing, Harry tried to push the worry from his mind. He was here now, if anybody knew how to dissolve an ancient blood curse or the soulless shell of a body, it would be Voldemort, as difficult as it was to admit it.

Maybe he should fetch a book from the library to distract himself until he came back? But exhaustion was finally catching up with him and after the long day he had had, and all the excitement, Harry didn’t feel particularly like moving. Instead, he simply stared into the glowing embers and watched as they slowly grew dimmer and dimmer in front of his eyes.

____________________________

Voldemort appeared in a cloud of black smoke in his antichamber. The inner circle meeting had gone much longer than he had expected, however, after Scrimgeour’s death

Pushing the door to his private rooms open, he stepped inside, his eyes automatically wandered over to the counterpart of his wayward valet’s charmed lunch box. In spite of the darkness in the room, he had no problems making it out on the small sideboard next to his favourite armchair. Checking if a missive had arrived had become a habit he found himself unable to shake. He had developed it during the months he had been searching for his wayward valet and despite the fact that they hadn’t been communicating through letters for over a week now.

After months of searching, he finally had found a lead, and he was beginning to consider simply intercepting his aggravating nemesis to verify the theory. If Draco Malfoy’s lead proved wrong, he could just use the encounter to finally get rid of the boy once and for all and if it was proven correct - well that opened an entire new universe of possibilities.

With Harry Potter on his side, he would not only be rid of the greatest threat to his goals, but also gain a second spy in the order. Nobody would suspect the golden boy either; the order, quite frankly, wouldn’t know what hit them.

He would also be able to focus all his energy on finally winning the war. No resources would have to be sacrificed in the attempt to capture the slippery boy-hero.

If only Hades would finally agree to a meeting. Voldemort was sure, whatever misconceptions were holding the boy back, they could be easily dealt with. However, nothing would be accomplished if Hades insisted on hiding.

Summoning a book, Voldemort turned around, intend on occupying his mind with something else for a change, and froze. There Harry Potter lay, tucked into the same corner his little valet had occupied during the weeks he had lived at the castle. If this wasn’t confirming his theory, Voldemort didn’t know what would be.

For a split second Voldemort considered he might be hallucinating, but there was no way that was actually the case as he was immune to all poisons and his mind shields were strong enough to block the Imperius and any other suggestive spell there was.

After all the searching, all the failed attempts to find information on the boy’s true identity, there he was, sleeping as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Truly, only Harry Potter would dare to be so brazen.

Placing his book down on the coffee table, Voldemort stepped closer and reached out until the tips of his fingers touched the boy’s messy mob of hair. He much preferred Hades black curls and purple eyes to this face that only reminded him of his countless failures.

To think that this wimp of a boy had beaten him time and time again. Had slipped through his fingers like smoke. Harry Potter had proven unusually resilient over the years, but with Peverell blood running through his veins, it was no wonder.

Quite frankly, it would explain even more than his talent of getting away. The Peverell blood had died out in the male line around 150 years ago and even in their last descendants, the Potters, it had diluted to the point where neither physical nor magical evidence of the connection was left.

The unspeakable that had contacted him, who must have been Lilly Potter, all things considered, ´had revived the ancient blood through magical means. To think she had been an unspeakable and not some secretary in the Ministry, as his intel had suggested back then.

Voldemort had only started to understand the connection that had formed between himself and Harry Potter that faithful Halloween night, however, Lily Potter’s notes would hopefully shed some light on the nature of their connection.

For now, first things first, which meant waking his infuriating boy.

________________________

“It is you after all.”

Harry’s eyes blinked open and for a moment, he was lost to where he was. Then his eyes fell on a set of opulent, black robes and his gaze wandered upwards.

Voldemort, he noted, didn’t look as well as the last time he had seen him. While he hadn’t reverted back to his snake-like self, his hair and eyebrows were gone, his skin seemed much more sallow and his nose was flatter. It seemed Death was right in this point as well. But then again, it didn’t surprise Harry that ripping once soul apart had effects on the body.

Then Voldemort’s exact words penetrated Harry’s mind and he sat up, rubbing the last remains of sleep from his eyes. “You knew? Since when?”

Voldemort shifted, a move that struck Harry like that of a predator who didn’t know if they should strike or not. Then, he turned and with a fluid motion sat down in his armchair and crossed his legs.
“I didn’t, not until now. However, Draco Malfoy uncovered the information, that three warnings for underaged sorcery had been delivered to the home of one Mr. and Mrs. Dursley for none other than my prophesied nemesis.”

“And Lord Voldemort doesn’t believe in coincidences,” Harry huffed, quoting one of the dark lord’s favourite statements.

Voldemort smirked and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Tell me one thing,” Voldemort interrupted the silence, “Am I speaking to Harry James Potter, my enemy, or my ally Hades Dursley. Although, Dursley certainly isn’t quite correct either.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s Peverell, actually,” he said, taking a deep intake of air and closing his eyes. There was really no reason to keep his glamour up any longer.

He hadn’t taken his glamour off for ten months and it was a strange feeling, doing so now, after such a long time. Objectively, Harry knew that he looked different than his mirror showed of course, but he had worn his face for so many years and the other he had properly seen only once. The night of his inheritance felt more like a dream and so did the glimpse of his new face he had caught on his way back up to Voldemort’s rooms. So many days had passed since then that knowing Harry Potter’s face wasn't his real face anymore, felt decidedly odd.

Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath and focused inward until the visualisation of his magical core rose inside of him. The glamour was a thin, steady thread that travelled outward from it. Instinctively he knew that all it would take to dissolve the spell was a tug on that thread. Suppressing his nervousness, Harry reached for the magic with decisiveness and pulled forcefully. Instantly it disconnected and a strong pulse of magic went through his body. It was as if he had been forced to wear too-small clothes and could finally take them off. This, Harry thought as waves of release coursed through his body melting any and all tension, must be how a butterfly felt when finally breaking out of its cocoon. His body and magic expanded and Harry opened his eyes with a feeling of elation. He hadn’t even realised how restrictive the glamour had been until now!

Raking his fingers through his once again black, curly hair, Harry reveled at its soft texture, then his eyes wandered lower.

Eyes still closed, Harry mused:
“It’s funny really; from the moment on I entered the wizarding world, everybody always told me how I was destined to defeat you, but it’s just wishful thinking on their part. I don’t know if my mum truly wanted peace so desperately, or if she wanted to spare me the fate of becoming a murderer.

Voldedemort hissed. Much as he disliked admitting it, the boy had a point. There was a reason why soul magic like what Lily Potter had performed on her son - and on him by extension as well - was only conducted in the department of mysteries, and even there only theoretically.

“This is certainly an issue we will need to address,” Voldemort mused. “Prophecies are a tricky business and in general it is only ever one true prophecy that applies to a single person which means that either the second one I tried to retrieve before the summer doesn’t truly apply to you, isn’t a true prophecy after all or is merely an extension of Walpurgis prophecy and has been gravely misinterpreted thus far.

At those words, Harry froze, a feeling of doom settling like lead in his stomach. “You mean my parents died in vain?”

Voldemort, who had been deep in thought, looked up, his ruby eyes focusing back on Harry “That is too quick an assumption. While it can be the case that their death was totally unnecessary, your mother dabbled in magic too unexplored and too dangerous to be understood. The most powerful magic usually requires a form of sacrifice and the greater and more complex the matter you wish to accomplish is, the greater the sacrifice needs to be. In addition - your parents were a thorn in my eye and opposing me openly at that time. Even without the prophecy I would have gotten rid of them given the chance.”

Harry flinched at the harshness of those words.

“Anyway, I should have known there was a catch when Death asked me to pick a new name and he said I had to ‘accept the ancient blessed blood that runs in my veins and give myself into his service’ Now not even my family wards recognize me anymore.”

Finally opening his eyes again, he met Voldemort’s curious stare.
The tiniest hint of a smirk tucked at those thin, pale lips. “Great magic always comes with a price.”

“Yes, yes, I know, they should really rework the Hogwarts syllabus,”

The smirk morphed into a truly wicked grin and Voldemort declined his head.

A beat of awkward silence followed, the strange truth seemingly teetering on the edge as Voldemort eyed him intently. Finally, the dark lord leaned back in his armchair, relaxing visibly.
“I must admit, I was quite surprised about your reservations.” the dark lord finally picked up their conversation again, “however, seeing who you are - or rather, who you once were - it makes more sense now. The outward pressure from family and friends certainly is bigger if one is the chosen one and not some indignant wizard. Especially, considering that anybody who has heard your name and followed your exploits in the Daily Prophet, probably feel as if they belong to the latter category.”

Something about that sentence rubbed Harry decidedly the wrong way. Not the bit about random people thinking they knew him and believed they had a right to have an opinion on every decision he made, he was used to that after all, but the part about outward pressure. He had never thought himself to be one who was easily influenced by other people’s opinions, but hearing Voldemort say it, Harry realised that was exactly what had happened.

These past months he had been worried about how Ron and Hermione would react if they found out what he was, never mind whom he wished to support. The same had happened with Sirius and his dad. Hell, he had even accepted a job he, deep down, had known was not the right one for him. He had butted heads with the Ministry often enough that he could have predicted that he wouldn’t fit in. Still, out of a misplaced sense of duty he had let himself be pushed into it and ever since had been miserable.

Harry reckoned he should have been honest with himself months ago.

“It also doesn’t answer why Harry Potter came to my castle and cared for his mortally wounded enemy in the first place.”

Having previously spent weeks in the company of Voldemort, Harry recognized the question in the statement.
“There were multiple reasons, actually.”

That hairless eyebrow rose again and the dark Lord gave Harry a look that questioned his capacity for such complex reasoning.

“I was… genuinely shocked about the spell Dumbledore used on you.”
“Oh?” Voldemort asked mockingly. “Did you believe in the light side above such blatantly lethal spells?”

Harry huffed. “Back then, actually, I did. I mean, my friends and I were always told that you are the bad guys. That you use dark spells and curses that are just inhumane. But the spell Dmbledore used that day in the Atrium, if we start to use such magic, what is the difference between the light side and the dark side then?”

The mocking expression on Voldemort’s face had morphed into a hungry predatory look and when he replied, his voice came out almost a purr. “Who would have guessed that I would one day find myself grateful to the old coot. But I certainly am; for delivering that eye-opener. What else drove you to leave the security of your safe house that night.”

Harry just scoffed at the thought of his aunt’s and uncle’s house being anything like a safe house, but he ignored the thought in favour of answering. “That evening, when I smashed the prophecy, I was able to hear the beginning of it. Not even a complete sentence; ‘The Time of Peace for all magical folks will be approaching, when the Lord of magical kin and the Lord of the Beyond….’ “

Voldemort’s eyes suddenly flashed. “Are you sure this are the words you overheard?”
Confused, Harry nodded. “Yes, why?”
Agitated, the dark lord rose to his feet and began pacing. “And the orb carried both of our names?”

Harry just nodded again, there wasn’t a single detail of that night that wasn’t burned into his mind forever. However, before he could ask what had Voldemort so agitated, the dark lord began to speak.

“Do you remember when we talked about Walpurgis prophecy?”

“You mean the one that foresaw peace for the wizarding world?” Harry asked, possibly even more confused by the seemingly unrelated turn their conversation had taken. “What about it?”
“The lines of the prophecy are well known as they have been the subject of many a study ever since they have been spoken. What you overheard,” Voldemort said, turning on his heel, his red eyes staring at Harry with an intensity that was almost frightening, “was the beginning of it. 'Lord of the Beyond' is a reference to you. It is an ancient term for the Master of Death."

Harry’s eyes widened in dawning horror as the realisation of Voldemort’s explanation hit him. “Are you saying Walpurgis prophecy -” he couldn’t even find the right words. If Harry had felt the burden of being the boy who lived had sometimes threatened to overwhelmhim, then it was nothing against the pressure of fate he currently felt.
“Indeed,” the dark lord inclined his head, an expression of triumph on his pale features. “After a millenia, Walpurgis prophecy has finally been claimed - how it could go unnoticed for nearly two decades proves once again what an useless institution our current Ministry is. Your mother -” he then added to Harry’s astonishment, “was truly an ingenious witch.”

Not knowing how to react to such praise for his muggle-born mother coming from Lord Voldemort, Harry just stared at his former enemy.
As if reading his mind, Voldemort smirked. “Credit where credit is due - your mother did not only invent a magical ritual to resurrect an ancient bloodline, she did so in a way that fulfilled enough requirements of a formally unclaimed prophecy that it now carries both of our names. On a slightly different note," the Dark Lord continued, his face turning contemplative, "the prophecy you overheard, while I do not doubt your words that it indeed carried our names, is not the one that was relaied to me 18 years ago." That news didn't really surprise Harry, not when he had been told an entirely different wording from Dumbledore as well. "Let me guess, the one you were told about went something like 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is approaching'? That was actually what I wanted to get at; because when I returned to Hogwarts that evening after our duel in the Ministry -" At the word 'duel' Voldemort scoffed and in retrospect Harry had to admit that he had a point; what he had been capable of back then could hardly have been called dueling. "- Dumbledore took me to his office and told me the prophecy after I admitted that I destroyed the reckording," he finished, before adding as an afterthought, "Do you think Dumbledore purposefully told my parents a wrong prophecy and set a trap so that one of your followers would overhear it as well?" "Possibly. The old fool certainly is conniving and patient enough to devise such a plan," Voldemort replied without a moment of hesitation. Harry had to agree. However, if that was truly what had happened, Harry would have to clall the headmaster even more insane than the Dark Lord across from him, for forging a plan that stretched over nearly two decades.

A beat of silence followed the dark lord’s excited outburst - and it was truly a strange thing to see the usually so composed and detached wizard acting in such a way. Voldemort sat back down, and as if somebody had flipped a switch, he sobered and turned his attention once more unto Harry. “However, I doubt that this revelation was what drove you to search me out, considering that until this summer, you didn’t even know about Walpurgis’ prophecy.”

Trying to rid himself of the feeling of whiplash, Harry shook his head, trying to remember what he had been talking about.
“No, it wasn’t,” he said once he had gathered his thoughts. “Back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore told me about the Prophecy that connects me to you. The one that says that ‘The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.’ “

“I see your point,” Voldemort hummed.

They felt silent for a moment, Harry contemplating if he should entrust Voldemort with the last and most pivotal reason for his unplanned travel to Regia Magicae. It was also the reason that felt the most personal, embarrassing almost, he added mentally as he remembered the almost pleasurable feeling. But considering that all this had started with their strange connection, it probably wasn’t a good idea to keep it to himself.

However, that didn’t mean that he had to look Voldemort into the eyes when he admitted to it. So with his eyes fixed on the luscious carpet beneath his feet, he said, “The crucial thing, however, was that feeling when you took possession of me.”

Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he had expected in return, some smug comment, most likely, but when no reply was forthcoming, he looked up in confusion.

Voldemort’s face once more had closed off, but when Harry’s searching gaze met his, he admitted, “I am unsure what you are referring to.”

Harry realised in an instant what was happening, and his heart sank. Voldemort’s soul was incomparably damaged, Death had said as much. But somehow, Hary never had imagined that said damage meant that Voldemort had not even been able to feel that all-consuming feeling Harry had felt. To him, it had been like coming home, like an outcry of his soul and the greatest pleasure imaginable at the same time. That Voldemort had sensed nothing of all this was somehow disappointing.

“Um,” Harry stammered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “Anyway, I think it’s probably not that important. Gryffindor sentiments, or something,” he tried to quickly play down his disappointment, remembering one of Snape’s favourite phrases to sling at all things Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, Voldemort didn’t seem to agree with his conclusion. “I don’t think so. Considering your mother dabbled in soul magic. One common consensus is that the soul and therefore soul magic has a strong influence on our emotions. Describe to me what exactly you felt.”

Feeling even more uncomfortable at that prospect, Harry just shrugged. “It felt good. Like coming home.” That was all he would confess to; after all, he and Voldemort had been enemies until recently and while he didn’t outright distrust the dark Lord anymore, his feelings towards him were too complicated to unbosom himself to the wizard in such a manner.

“Your mother’s notes will hopefully deliver an explanation,” Voldeort mused. “As I have never been very prone to any emotional stirrings, I expect you to inform me if you sense any shifts or changes.”

Harry just nodded, regardless of the commanding nature, the request was reasonable enough.

“Anyway,” the dark Lord finally changed the topic, “considering that you are here now, I take it that you have indeed accepted your ancient blood now and are ready to give your lineage a chance?”

Harry hesitated only a second before nodding. The time to hesitate had long since passed and truth to be told, he didn’t wish to return to how things had been lately. Besides, the previous conversation had proven how important it was that they worked together, at least to finally figure the nature of their connection out, if nothing else.

Voldemort, he noted, seemed pleased enough with his non-verbal reply, still, the next thing he said was, “I hope you realise, while making your motives more understandable, being who you are, will make finding a compromise harder.”

And that was the crux of the matter. Sighing, Harry combed a hand through his thick corkscrew curls. It was an odd feeling still.

“Originally, I intended to offer your family pardon as long as they promise to keep out of the war from now on,” Voldemort continued after a beat of silence. “I realise now how unlikely that is. However, I said would be willing to compromise, and I always keep my world.”

“So what?” Harry questioned, not quite understanding. “Am I to just say what I want?”
Voldemort inclined his head. “That would be a good point to start.”

Harry stared at the dark lord for a moment, then decided to start his conditions.

“I just don’t want my dad or my godfather to be killed. Or Ron and Hermione for that matter. I know you will probably have to take them out somehow at some point just order your death eaters to catch them alive or something.”

Voldemort inclined his head. “What else?”

Caught off guard, Harry blinked.

“This cannot be the only term you have,” Voldemort pointed out.

After a short moment of contemplation, Harry shook his head. “As I said, I agree with many of your goals,” he began slowly, “I agree that the Ministry is a corrupt, useless mess and that we should prioritise wizarding culture more. I will never agree that we should slaughter muggles and muggle borns, but we definitely shouldn’t ban our own holidays and unique family gifts because of them either.” Harry paused for a second and looked up from his bottle of butter beer at which he had stared in contemplation.

“If this alliance is to work, I want you to try to find a different solution than the senseless killing of muggles and muggle borns. That you stop the murdering,” Harry added the last part, just in case. He had spent enough time with the dark lord that he knew ‘trying to find a solution’ didn’t equate to having actually to implement any in the end.

Voldemort’s smirk grew shark-like.
“I am glad to see that I have managed to teach you some sense after all,” he stated. “Very well then. I have come to see that if I want to win this war, I must go a different route and avoid mistakes I previously made. The muggle issue, being as controversial as it is, was one of them,” he paused then and considered Harry for a long second.

“Also, I will not become your follower,” Harry continued squaring his shoulders. If he was truly to do this, then he would do it right and he could never see himself grovelling in front of the dark lord like his death eaters did. “I am a Lord in my own right and Death will not allow me to be subservient to another.

Voldemort inclined his head, “I agree; nonetheless, stipulations for our cooperation will have to be made. The most prudent course of action, I believe, we have already discussed” he said, picking the thread of an earlier topic back up. However, when Harry just gave him a confused look, Voldemort elaborated. To figure out the exact nature of our connection.”

Harry sighed quietly, relaxing at his words, and nodded. “Agreed. I brought my mother’s notes. Maybe something in them will help us understand. But I warn you, I read through all of them last night and understood very little.”

Voldemort wasn’t surprised. “Unspeakables deal with magical theory far beyond the snippets Hogwarts teaches their OWL and NEWT students. Any other stipulations you wish to add?”

Knowing this was not the time for any Gryffindor rashness, Harry took a moment to think about the question and realised that indeed, he had some more stipulations.”

“I actually have.”

“Then please, don’t keep me waiting,” Voldemort smirked.

“I need someone to teach me necromancy.”
“Obviously. That of course will be me.” Harry nodded, having expected as much, considering that Voldemort was probably the person who had gathered the most knowledge about the art.

“There is a boy I want to help. He is suffering from a bloodline curse. His mother thinks that a necromancer will be able to fix it. Apparently, back when the family first was cursed, one already changed it, transferring it from the heir to the spare.

“You are speaking of the Warringtons.” It wasn’t a question and it didn’t surprise Harry that Voldemort would know everything about his followers.

“Also, something went wrong with my mum’s resurrection. Death said, however, that there is a way to release -” he stopped not quite knowing what to call the husk that was his mother’s body.

“The homunculus in the form of your mother?”

Harry swallowed, a lumb having lodged in his throat. “Yeah.”

“Well, we need to retrieve your family’s library and notes anyway,” Voldemort stated, dismissively. “With the correct spell or ritual it should then be dealt with easily enough.”

Harry had guessed as much; creating and resolving bodies probably was part of basic fundamentals for any true necromancer. Not that he considered himself one at this point.

“Anything else?” Voldemort inquired and this time, Harry shook his head.

“Well then, I have some terms of my own.”

Harry should have expected as much.

“Firstly, no disappearing acts anymore.”

Harry huffed. “I can’t promise that I will never again need some space. But I can promise that I will tell you where I will be going beforehand.”

For a split second Voldemort looked as if he would argue the point, but then nodded curtly. This ally thing probably was even more for him than for Harry. Harry at least, was used to talking to and compromising with his friends.

“Secondly, I want you to share all the prevalent information you gather from the Order of the Phoenix. Or are you considering running away from your dad this time?”

“Nope, not really,” Harry replied just as mockingly as the last bit had been added, his thoughts going straight to his nasty Potions Professor, “Just that I understood this correctly; You want me to spy for you? Don’t you have one already?”

“Are we or are we not working towards the same goal?” Voldemort queried in return, making Harry flush. He had a point, though. “I will of course,” the dark lord continued nonchalantly, “return the same courtesy and inform you about the Dark Side’s movements and such. Besides, Severus Snape has always been a double-sided coin.”

Ignoring the last part, Harry replied, “replace the ‘inform you’ with ‘discuss beforehand’ and I will agree to be your little spy in the order,” making a face. Not that he had truly believed he would get out of those order meetings, he hadn’t even considered the possibility if he was honest, but the thought still was a nice one.

Voldemort sighed dramatically. “I guess that also is part of the ally business?”
Harry just nodded. “And you promised to give me a chance to influence your decision to the better. Or is Lord Voldemort considering breaking his word for the first time in his life?” he added cheekily.

That comment earned him a glare, but Harry was too used to the dark lord’s glares to be bothered much by it and finally, his new ally inclined his head in a rare move of admission, before he continued, “Lastly, I want us to renew our contract. There are some that would better suit the new dynamic of our partnership and it would give us both security.”

Glancing up at the dark lord, Harry shook his head. He didn’t think another contract was the best idea; they didn’t understand the connection Lily built and as Voldemort had pointed out earlier, dabbling in certain magic was dangerous. It sounded to him as if they had been lucky that no negative side effects had arisen during the summer. Besides, as allies, they should be able to trust each other even without magical bindings keeping them to their word. He at least wanted something more if they were to work closely together for an indeterminate amount of time. In addition, he doubted that Voldemort’s motive for this stipulation was quite as selfless as he made it out to be. Death, however, had made it clear that nothing but healing Voldemort’s soul would be the only solution in the long run.

Their strange connection, Voldemort’s horcruxes, his inheritance - was it just the fact that all fell under the category of soul magic or why did he get the feeling that all of this was far tighter intertwined than they were currently grasping? Maybe he was just paranoid, but so far, his gut feeling had never let him wrong.

A once-again hairless eyebrow rose and Harry jolted out of his internal musings. “I want us to be able to trust each other. You have never broken your word so far and you don’t intend to start with it now, right?”

A predatory grin appeared on Voldemort’s face. “Just when I thought you intelligent, Harry Potter. Trust, what an repulsively gryffindorish sentiment.”

Not really sure how to start this conversation best, Harry made a vague gesture towards Voldemort and with an inward prayer that this wouldn’t push the dark lord’s boundaries too much, he shook his head. “It’s not only that-” he hesitated another second, but then decided to go for it. “If your request is because of - you know - your um-”

“If this is your attempt at politely asking if my declining physical health is the reason for my demand,” Voldemort sneered, “then the answer is yes.”

“Actually, the reason for your physical -” and mental - Harry added mentally “decline is your splintered soul.” the gleam in those crimson eyes trend icy cold, but always the Gryffindor, Harry bravely trudged onwards. “But the good thing is that one of my ancestors invented a ritual to fix-” his sentence was forcefully cut off when a pale hand shot forwards, grasping him around his throat.

“Never,” Voldemort hissed anger and insanity warring in his eyes, “and I mean never mention my horcruxes or their destruction ever again.”

Harry’s eyes watered and his hands flew up to claw at the one choking him, however, in his sudden madness Voldemort didn’t even seem to realise what he was doing. Through his blurry vision he saw a black cloud forming in the far right corner of the room.

“You better let go of me. You are forgetting that I am a Lord in my own right,” he choked out.
As if struck by a curse, Voldemort let go of him. He as well, must have sensed something, if not by the extent Harry was now capable of, for his eyes began to dart around the parlour. Then, following Harry’s gaze that was still glued to the corner, he said, “Let us postpone the decision on how to stabilise my new body. It is likely that we will find something in your ancestors’ notes.”

Knowing that there was no point in pushing the subject, Harry nodded, rubbing his throat. It felt bruised. The shadow in the corner had vanished once more.

“If you don’t have any more stipulations,” Harry said, getting to his feet, “I will have to be at the office in a few hours.” He suddenly felt extremely exhausted, the excitement of the day finally catching up to him and he certainly had no strength left to deal with Voldemort’s volatile temper any more this evening.

Suddenly, Voldemort was in front of him. “You gave your word to not vanish again,” he said, his eyes gleaming ominously in the dim light of the fire.

Harry sighed inwardly, he was too tired for this; Death should have warned him that by returning, he would automatically become the Dark Lord’s shrink.
“I have and I am not disappearing again. I will be going to Potter Manor.”

“Will it change any if I admit that I might have overreacted?”

Surprised, Harry froze, glancing up at his former enemy turned ally. This was probably the closest he would ever get to getting an apology from Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately it didn’t change the current situation.

“I appreciate it, I really do, but I am just really exhausted. I promise I will return in the evening, once my dad has gone to bed and I can sneak out unnoticed.”

“Fine, but you realise that just coming over a few hours every evening will not be enough? We need to find and retrieve your family’s notes, you wish to be trained and there still is a war to win.”

Seeing Voldemort’s point, Harry just nodded. “I am sure we - or you, most likely - will come up with something, but please not today anymore. I promise I will come over as soon as possible tomorrow.”

It was a testament to how important this alliance must be to Voldemort that he merely nodded in agreement. “Very well, then I will be expecting you tomorrow.”

“Great.” , he walked towards the parlour doors, unsure if it would be considered impolite to just apparate out of the parlour, but just before he exited, Voldemort stopped him once more.

“Oh, and Hades,” he said with a smirk, waiting until Harry had turned to face him once more, “do me a favour and leave your old face at home? I find the new one much less aggravating.”

Returning the smirk, Harry just waved at his new ally and finally apparated out of Regia Magicae.

End of Part 1