Chapter Text
"You realize," Harry said with the utmost calm once he could move again, nostrils flaring. "That I am going to kick your arse, right?"
The portrait grinned, exposing teeth just a bit too sharp to be fully human. "Ah, Harry, you are a delight. I am glad to finally get the chance to speak with you"
"You’re an idiot." Harry hissed, his previous temper returning with a vengeance. "Who the hell chops up their own soul, anyway?"
The grin did not fade, and Tom rearranged himself in the portrait to lean his cheek on one propped hand. He leaned forward until his face was filling the small space, eyeing Harry with amusement. "Now, Harry, do consider my choices. No, I did not necessarily know that there would be such far-reaching consequences, but it has allowed me to live until now, hasn’t it?"
Harry huffed and leaned back against his headboard, lips pursed as he arranged the locket to sit open on his bent knees. "How do you even know that? You can’t be more than twenty-five."
"Twenty-one, actually, when I laid this particular enchantment." Tom ran his fingers through his hair, causing an errant curl to fall across his forehead. Harry cursed himself for noticing. "And I hadn’t until you brought me out of that sad, dank little pit I was stuck in for so many years. But since you have taken to bringing me along with you wherever you go, I’ve learned much in the intervening months."
Harry’s eyes widened. "You’ve been watching everything?"
"How else would I know when you needed comfort, shpirt?" Tom’s voice was best described as a purr, one finger idly tracing his lips as his eyes tracked Harry’s every move.
"But that bag is warded!"
"Wards are meant to keep those outside from within; they do not stop me from observing all around us."
Harry hunched a bit, the usual magic of the locket still managing to soothe him even as he struggled to keep hold of his anger. Knowing it was a bit of Voldemort now, realizing it was a conscious act, made him want to shy away from the way it seemed to curl around him. "Stop that, you manipulative berk."
"I have no idea what you mean, my dear," he replied, smile easing into a sly smirk. "I know you do enjoy my magic surrounding you, there’s no use in pretending otherwise."
"How in the world did I not put this together sooner?" Harry scowled as he found he’d gone back to running his fingers along the locket’s craggy face. He liked to think he wasn’t a complete idiot, for all that he was a bit dense sometimes.
"Ah," said Tom, smile going a bit sheepish. The open, plain emotions he displayed – even if he suspected much of it was for show – made Harry want to squirm. "That would be my fault. While I have not used any of the more… poisonous of my abilities on you, I admit that I have ensured that you would not question things about me too readily."
Harry recalled all the times he’d chided himself for not casting diagnostic spells on the locket – for ever having picked up the locket in the first place. "You wanker! You’ve been spelling me? And what do you mean ‘poisonous’?"
Tom gave him a long look and propped his chin in one hand. "As if I would leave any of my soul fragments defenseless, shpirt. I am imbued with many abilities. Were an enemy to find me, I could influence their mind to rage or terror, poison them slowly both mentally and physically. But in the case of someone less objectionable having me in their possession, I can merely turn their thoughts of me aside, ensure they do not discover what I am or do me any harm. You merely have too much information for me to subtly stop you from realizing now… and besides, I am glad for the opportunity to speak to you properly."
"Are you going to let me keep that knowledge?" Harry didn’t doubt that Voldemort would give his horcrux a way to use Mind Arts on someone; he was a master after all. And Harry had no illusions that he would be able to fight back against a modification from even just a fragment of Voldemort.
"No need to worry. I am pleased that you know now, and I know you would not damage me. Voldemort, too, will agree once he knows I am in your possession."
Harry chewed at his lower lip, eyes flicking from Tom’s smug countenance to his bedhangings and back again. "He’s going to go completely spare over all this. Dumbledore knowing, me having had you all these months without mentioning."
"I admit, it is a serious problem that Dumbledore is aware of my horcruxes." Finally, the smug smirk dropped, leaving Tom with narrowed, dark eyes and rage slowly tightening his jaw. "We will need to plan carefully so that he does not realize that I know but still does not get his hands on any of them."
"And me having you?"
"Well now,"Tom said with a smaller but no less smug smirk. "That won’t be a problem. You’ve taken very good care of me, shpirt, and where is less likely to find a horcrux than in the hands of the Light’s supposed savior?"
"You say that, but I’m almost sure he’s going to explode once he realizes I’ve been hoarding a piece of his soul."
Something in Tom’s eyes darkened yet further, his smile taking on a sly cast that made Harry’s neck prickle. "As I said, you have taken exceptional care of me, and your lack of questioning what I was is through no fault of your own. I am positive he will not object to the time I’ve spent enjoying your bed with you."
Harry felt very young as he flushed hotly, out of his element and awkward. "We weren’t—you arse!"
"Ah, this is so much more enjoyable when I can see your expressions." He was purring again, leaning so close that his grin was nearly the only thing in the locket’s frame. "Worry not, my dear. I won’t let him separate us."
"Don’t say it like that," Harry said with a scowl. "And maybe you should go back to him now that I know what you are."
For a bare moment, something like upset flashed over the portrait’s face. Harry pretended he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt over that. "Mmm, you don’t mean that. Do you truly want to go back to sleeping alone?"
Again, the realization of all his time spent with the locket translating into time with a part of Voldemort was setting in, leaving Harry dizzy and out of sorts. He recalled whispered rants with his lips against the cool metal and even a few times he’d been so entranced with the locket’s magic, relaxed and buzzing with pleasure that he’d—
Harry snapped the locket shut and stuffed it into his pouch. He couldn’t deal with this now.
“My lord?”
Harry glanced over from where he stood indecisive in front of Voldemort’s office door, startled that he’d not noticed someone get so close. He’d been pointedly trying to train himself to be at least peripherally aware of beings around him at all times. He’d thought he was making progress. “Lucius,” he greeted distractedly, looking back at the wood grain before him and frowning. “Do you know who he’s in there with?”
Lucius didn’t answer right away, and after a moment Harry turned again to see the elder Malfoy staring at him with a furrowed brow. “Ah, I believe he is meeting with a few lower ranked Death Eaters being assigned to look into those ley line fluctuations near Cardiff. If I may, my lord, are you quite all right?”
Harry quirked a brow at him. “Not like you to inquire after anyone’s wellbeing, Lucius.”
“I only wonder since you’ve now referred to me by my proper name twice,” he said dryly, crossing his arms and cocking his head. “You know my lord would not begrudge you interrupting; you have done far worse.”
Harry felt his lips quirking into a smirk before he sobered, remembering why he was there. “Ah, I suppose you’re right. I should go in.”
“Is something the matter?”
Harry’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, blowing air out slowly and forcing his shoulders to relax. “You should go, Lucius. Come back tomorrow unless whatever you have to say is urgent; I’m quite sure Voldemort won’t be in any mood to deal with anything this evening.”
Worry was plain on the blond’s face now, and he took an aborted step towards Harry. “Is it bad news?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, Pretty,” he said with a shadow of a smirk. “Private business, but not anything Voldemort will be pleased about.”
Lucius stayed frowning and still for a long moment before stepping back, folding his arms behind his back. “Good luck, my lord.”
“I’m gonna need it,” Harry said under his breath as Lucius walked back down the hall to the stairs, leaving Harry to stand indecisive once more with his hand on the doorknob.
He forced himself steady and sucked in a deep, long breath, eyes closed. He could do this. He had to do this. Voldemort needed to know now that Dumbledore knew too much, that the very pieces of Voldemort’s existence could be in danger.
He didn’t bother trying to summon his usual smirk, instead forcing his expression into blankness as he opened the door and stepped inside. Voldemort was looking impatient and vaguely agitated, facing two lower-ranked Death Eaters who were trying and failing not to cower before him.
Voldemort’s eyes snapped to him as he closed the door behind himself, his expression showing surprise for a moment and his magic reaching out to curl around Harry seemingly automatically. Harry shivered and closed his eyes for a moment, summoning that famed Gryffindor stupidity that had got him this far. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said with a tense smile. “Got an important update for you.”
The Dark Lord didn’t even bother to look back towards the two Death Eaters kneeling before his desk, obviously sensing Harry’s tenseness as he sent them elsewhere with a flick of his wrist. “What is it?”
Harry approached but didn’t sit, too anxious to pretend nonchalance. He chewed at his lower lip hard enough that he made himself bleed as he kept his eyes on the desktop. What did he say? How did one break something like this gently?
Voldemort’s sigh was soft, and Harry was surprised when he stood and rounded the desk, manhandling Harry until he was facing him and looking up. “Well, Potter?” he said with an impatient scowl. “I assume this is serious.”
“Understatement,” Harry breathed, resisting the urge to look away again. Voldemort’s crimson eyes were close and steady, a pucker between his brows that he always got when he was troubled forming deeper by the moment. That Harry was so intimately aware of his expressions made something jolt in him, and he forced away the recollection that this was the first they’d seen one another since the kiss. He swallowed and forced himself to speak before his mind meandered too far down that line of thought. “I had another lesson with Dumbledore.”
Voldemort’s entire being stiffened: posture, expression, and magic. “And?”
Harry traced the frozen, angry lines of the reptilian face with his eyes. It was so familiar to him now, this monstrous amalgam of snake and man. Where he had once shuddered, he now only associated the familiar sight with comfort and reassurance. He rather dreaded the rage he knew would come. “He took me into another memory. It was badly modified, as the person who’d given it was ashamed of whatever they had actually done and said. So he’s setting my friends and I to research how to put the memory back to its natural state so he can confirm some ideas he has.”
Voldemort crossed his arms, leaning his hip against his desk and peering at Harry with narrow eyes. “You’re stalling, Harry.”
“I am,” Harry said plainly, chewing at his lip again. “I just want you to know that we’ll do whatever it takes to put him off. We can work together and make sure he never learns more than what he knows now. We’ll find a way to turn this in our favor—”
Something that, months ago, Harry never would have been able to distinguish as fear was creeping up in Voldemort’s expression, wild and mad. “Tell me.”
“He knows about your horcruxes, Tom.”
Harry hit his knees as Voldemort’s magic exploded out of him, icier than the darkest winter night and suffocating. Harry gasped and braced one palm against the floor to keep himself from falling over, his other hand raising to press against his chest. It felt like his lungs were being frozen solid, every breath harder to take than the one before. This was the first time Voldemort’s magic had not been surprisingly pleasing to him despite the underlying mood. It was nothing like his irritated rage, his frustration. This was— Harry could only describe it as primal, the terrified survival instincts of an apex predator being threatened. Harry gasped again, louder, feeling himself get light-headed at the lack of breath and pressure on his chest.
He looked up to see Voldemort immobile and wide-eyed, his magic just on the edge of visible roiling against his skin.
With a jerk, crimson eyes dropped down to lock with Harry’s collapsed form, and before he even had time to react Voldemort was gone with a deafening crack that shook the very foundations of the manor.
All Harry could think of as he fought to regain balance in both his body and mind once more was that he really hoped Voldemort hadn’t gone to do anything stupid.
Voldemort did not return that evening.
Harry had paced his office for hours, tense and jumping at every noise. Suddenly, their lack of a proper ability to communicate when separated was an appalling oversight, and Harry was already planning something to fix it.
In the meantime, though, he could only worry and pace and occasionally fiddle with paperwork in a vain attempt to do something that would please Voldemort when he returned. It was stupid; he knew Voldemort wasn’t going to notice the state of his paperwork right away, but the part of Harry that always fretted and wished to be useful to those he cared for was reaching.
When midnight came and went, Harry made his way to the slightly larger town of Greater Hangleton. He found a drunk muggle attempting to pin a struggling girl to an alley wall and drained him dry, leaving his transfigured corpse in a dumpster. Upon returning to the manor and still finding Voldemort absent, Harry hunted through the house until he found the small, warded room Voldemort kept his artefacts in. It took quite a bit of his attention and effort to get through the wards, and only then because of Parseltongue and his and Voldemort’s shared blood. It was little more than a closet, but it was well-organized and held a lot of fascinating devices. He’d managed to be distracted for a bit by the room’s contents, but ultimately his lack of ability to focus had driven him back out again with his originally-intended prize. With the Time-Turner, he could stay another twelve hours in hopes of Voldemort reappearing, since it was nearing dawn and he was still out.
Eventually, he’d given in to his emotional exhaustion and found himself self-consciously crawling back into Voldemort’s bed, only weeks after the last time but infinitely more self-aware than he had been. Even more so when he pulled out the locket, knowing he’d need to tell Voldemort about it anyway and wanting one last bit of peace before it was taken from him.
"Open," he said softly, lying on his side with the locket propped on his palm a few inches from his face.
Tom’s face was more serious this time, brows lowered and lips pursed. "Sleep, shpirt. He will return."
"He’s not mad at "me, right? Harry hated feeling so childish, but in his exhaustion he just couldn’t bring himself to care. "He knows I’m not going to, like, help the old coot, right?"
"He knows. Were he angry at you, he would not have left to avoid harming you. Our tempers are quite similar, my dear."Tom wore a wry smirk now, shaking his head."Until it is exhausted, it tends to blind us. Just as your own rage overtakes you completely until the explosion has finished, ours does the same. He left, obviously, to be sure you weren’t caught in the crossfire."
Harry thought that was far-fetched, but he liked the idea of it regardless. He smiled sleepily and pulled the locket closer, laying it against the pillow, curling around it as he tended to. "Wake me when he gets back, please."
"Sleep."
He did.
“My lord? My lord, I have news!”
Harry groaned and pressed his face deeper into the pillow, trying to block out the annoying, warbling cadence of Bellatrix’s voice. It was too bloody early for that bitch. He inhaled deeply and found the scent that had lulled him to sleep stronger here, fuzzing his mind temporarily. Sleep tugged at his mind once more.
Unfortunately it was not to be, as more insistent knocking sounded. “My lord?” Her voice was going darker now, speeding up with panic. “Are you well, my lord? The elves assured me you were within your rooms—”
Harry stomped to the door in his open shirt and unbuttoned trousers, throwing it open with a scowl. But there was no one on the threshold. He raised a brow.
“My lord?” Her voice was hopeful again. “I have news to report from the task you set me!”
“Would you shut the hell up, Bellatrix?” Harry snarled, staring at the bend in the stairs of which she apparently stood at the base of, calling up them with the aid of a spell. “Voldemort’s—on an errand.” Better not to say he had no idea where he’d gone, he thought.
Silence resounded for a moment, but it was broken with both an offended gasp and the heavy tread of her steps on the stairs. She was stopped at the bend’s landing, straining forward as she came upon what seemed to be a ward. She looked feral, eyes manically wide and teeth bared. “You dare enter my lord’s chambers?! None are allowed on the third floor, mongrel! The Dark Lord will feast on your entrails for your trespass—“
Harry yawned rudely, not bothering to cover his mouth as he leaned against the doorframe. “And yet the wards don’t stop me from coming up here like they do you.” He glanced back into the bedroom to check the time on the ornate, muggle clock that sat on the mantle. “Now would you shut up so I can sleep longer? It’s not even daybreak yet!”
The idea of him sleeping in Voldemort’s rooms – that she hadn’t gotten that by his state of undress made him want to roll his eyes – seemed to only infuriate her more. She was near to frothing at the mouth, vibrating in rage as she futilely tried to fight through Voldemort’s magical blockade. “You filthy halfbreed, how dare you sully—“
He turned and slammed the door closed behind him, going back to dig his wand from the blankets and put up wards of his own to return his peace and quiet. Thoughtfully, he didn’t set it to keep Voldemort away from his own room, pleased with himself for the foresight.
As he collapsed back onto the bed with a groan, a low chuckle caught his attention. The locket lay askew on the pillow he’d slept upon, and Tom’s face was amused within. "She seems… pleasant."
"Of course you’d like her, she’s "your crawler bitch.
Tom laughed again, farther away now so that Harry could see the way he was elegantly sprawled on some kind of settee, legs crossed and arms splayed. "Jealousy suits you, shpirt. You need not worry, however; I have eyes only for you."
Harry buried his face into the pillow to hide the way his cheeks flushed, scowling. "Stop trying to use your charm on me, Tom. I know you too well for that."
"Ah, you wound me. While I’m rarely very genuine, I assure you that I take you and all things related to you "very seriously.
The honesty in his voice made a shudder roll down Harry’s spine. That he was completely unashamed to admit his manipulativeness was both surprising and not; Harry would have thought he’d be more coy about it, but then Voldemort was a very straight-forward sort of man to Harry at least. "Stop trying to embarrass me, too. It isn’t cute, you psychopath."
"I am very cute," Tom hissed with mock offense. Harry turned enough to peek at the locket from the corner of his eye, face still smashed into the pillow. "And psychopath isn’t quite right. I’ve gone back and forth over whether I’m socio- or psychopathic over the years, but I don’t think either quite fits."
Harry turned more fully to eye the locket, brow raised. "I wasn’t being serious."
"I know, but I think honesty is important in a relationship such as ours, "he purred, grinning when Harry groaned again."Wouldn’t want any misconceptions creating problems where there need not be. In any case, I do feel emotion, contrary to popular belief about those with antisocial disorders, I am just more disposed to anger than any other. I certainly am lacking in empathy and am highly manipulative, but I have found myself deeply attached to other beings before in my life, even if less often than most. I do not know how others experience emotions, of course, but what is love if not the intense, visceral need to possess another? To keep them safe from harm? To strive for their happiness, being willing to do anything to ensure it? I am sure someone with more compunctions would describe it in more flowery terms, but I see little difference between what I feel and what others describe."
Harry’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "I’d never have accused you of not feeling emotions, Tom."
"Well, you know me rather better than most, don’t you? I have allowed few to know me as you do. "His raised brow and sly smirk made Harry feel a flush crawling up his neck once more. A surge of magic surrounded Harry in warmth, in affection, that had him melting back against the mattress. People were fools if they thought he was incapable of emotion; Harry had experienced the breadth of Voldemort’s emotions many times through his magic, negative and positive both. Tom chuckled again, low and quiet. "You need more rest; you were barely asleep an hour. None will disturb you now."
He wanted to argue, but he knew from experience how useless that was. Even if this wasn’t Voldemort – and it was obvious that the locket was not, so very young and nearly care-free as he was – he knew he’d lose if only by giving up. Instead, he yanked the duvet over his head and set the locket in his palm again, letting the magic roll over him in gentle waves. Part of him was petrified that he felt so content surrounded by this affection. But… they were friends, right? He’d come to accept that. It was strange, surely, but he could be friends with Voldemort and not be terrified.
That he found himself watching Tom’s smile as he drifted off again… well, the less said about that, the better.
Harry drifted awake knowing he was no longer alone in the room. In the back of his mind, he knew what that meant, but in the hazy space between sleep and waking he was merely content.
"I will need to collect the others immediately. There is no longer any safe place away from my side if that old goat has even an inkling."
From nearer to Harry, a hum. "Indeed. You will allow me to keep watch over this one, yes? It’s only fair."
"Fair?" Harry woke up a bit more at the snide tone to Voldemort’s voice.
"Well, yes. Not all of us have the benefit of a physical body, least you can do is allow me to keep him close."
Harry yawned and sat up, scooping up the locket and dropping it onto his chest as he usually did in the mornings. "I think you’ve got that backward, Tom. You’re the object, I keep you close."
Moments later, Harry recalled where he’d fallen asleep and the events that had preceded it. His eyes flew to the bedside where Voldemort stood, arms crossed and eyes narrow as he glared down. On his chest, Tom chuckled from within the locket. "Either way, shpirt. So long as I’m not denied our nightly cuddle—"
Harry slapped the locket shut with a scowl, trying to ignore the heat crawling up his neck. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair to attempt to tame it, biting at his lip. “Been back long?” A glance to the fireplace mantle told him it was nearing lunchtime.
“Not very,” Voldemort said shortly, long fingers tapping at his elbow. His gaze was dark and more closed off than he had been in months. It made Harry wary. “Why did you not tell me you had my locket?”
“Didn’t know it was yours, did I?” Harry had meant for his voice to be snarky, but instead it came out a bit morose. “I realized it used to be your mother’s after the last memory Dumbledore showed me, but the locket made sure I didn’t question what he was too deeply.”
Voldemort’s stare didn’t waver. “And if you’d known?”
“Well, obviously I came to tell you as soon as I did.” He felt a bit resentful that Voldemort was treating him with such suspicion and glared in response. “So don’t look at me like I’m about to stab you in the back.”
“Forgive me for being wary of the boy who has already destroyed one piece of my soul,” Voldemort hissed with agitation, lips drawn tight.
“I’ve been a hell of a lot more honest with you than you have been with me, Tom, so don’t give me that shit,” Harry snarled right back, sliding off the bed and into Voldemort’s space without a thought. “Maybe if you’d been less of a paranoid arse—“
Voldemort’s eyes flicked over him, something like amusement thawing his expression slightly. “Made yourself right at home, didn’t you?”
Harry flushed, recalling his state of undress. “What, did you expect me to wait in your office all night and morning? Figured I might as well get some rest before you got back.”
Crimson eyes were still flicking over him slowly; Harry resisted the urge to cover up under the scrutiny. “There was no reason to stay. You delivered the news.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to just plonk the locket down on your desk and leave, either, was I?” He took a small step back and crossed his arms. “Besides, you could have been doing anything. With my luck, you’d have gotten yourself in trouble and I’d have no way of knowing.”
The Dark Lord chuckled, posture easing yet more with the familiarity of their back-and-forth. “I’ve survived decades without a minder, Harry, but your concern amuses me.” Harry didn’t get a chance to respond before Voldemort was making his way towards the door. “Do get dressed and join me in my office, we have things to discuss.”
Harry sighed and stared at the open, empty doorway for a long moment before buttoning up his shirt and summoning his robes. A few spells had his hair tamed from the monstrosity it usually was first thing in the morning into a simple plait down his back, and he was on his way down the winding staircase only a minute or two after Voldemort.
He was already at his usual place at his desk when Harry entered, moving to his seat and sitting at the edge of it. “Ah, you should know that Bellatrix was here at a disgustingly awful hour of the morning screeching for you. Had news about whatever you’d set her on.”
“I assume she was respectful and informative?” The sarcasm in Voldemort’s voice was thick.
“Under the screaming and creative slurs against my person?” He rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t half pleased when she couldn’t get to me through the wards on the stairwell.”
“Did you answer her looking like you did this morning?” Crimson eyes flicked up and an amused smile curled his mouth as Harry shrugged. “I can only imagine the assumptions she’s made now.” Briefly, the look in Voldemort’s eyes heated, his smile going sly.
Harry looked down at his lap and fiddled with the locket’s chain. After a moment of regret, he held it out over the desk. “I assume you want this back.”
Voldemort took the locket and stared at it, thumb brushing over the emerald ess across the front the way that Harry always did. With a hiss, he let it pop open and seemed to have a conversation in facial expressions with the portrait inside, as neither said a thing but Voldemort’s face cycled through emotions rapidly. After a moment, he rolled his eyes skyward and set the locket before him, wand in hand. He threw spell after spell at it; despite knowing Voldemort was obviously not going to harm his own horcrux, Harry found himself tense as he watched the varying colors of spells sink into the metal.
He held his silence, but only barely. Eventually Voldemort picked up the locket and let it dangle from his elongated fingers, the open faces twirling. “I have added security to it. Without physical contact, there is now no way for its magic to be sensed, and the locket now has the ability to burn anyone who touches it that is not allowed. If the person touching it does not stop, the burn can be fatal.”
Harry raised a brow and forced himself not to reach for it. “You should probably do something more instantly fatal, hmm? So that, just in case someone gets to it wherever you plan to keep it, there’s no chance of them managing to destroy it before it hurts them too badly.”
“So long as you never remove it, I don’t foresee that being a problem.”
Breath caught in his throat, Harry stared. “What?”
Voldemort moved around the desk slowly, the locket’s chain in both hands. He was perfunctory as he bent and placed it over Harry’s head, fingers only lingering slightly as he pulled Harry’s hair out from the loop. “As the locket made clear, the last place Dumbledore would think to look for a horcrux is certainly with you. With the magic contained to touch only, you’ll no longer need to keep it in a bag that could be separated from your person. You will keep it safe.” It was a mandate as well as a statement of fact, and Harry swallowed hard. He felt unsteady with the trust implicit with such an act, and he reached up to grasp the locket to keep his hands from shaking. It clicked closed but he still felt the surge of warm, haughty affection radiating from it as he tucked it under his clothing. Merlin, but the smug git was going to be distracting him constantly now.
He hated how giddy and pleased that made him feel.
“I will,” he responded belatedly, forcing himself to meet Voldemort’s stare.
The man hummed and sat back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest once more. “I will need to be away for a few weeks. If Dumbledore is aware of my horcruxes, I need to collect them immediately.
“Weeks?” Harry said with consternation. “But our plans—“
“Are useless if I am distracted with concerns over my soul,” Voldemort hissed, eyes narrow. “Nothing is so urgent that it cannot wait until after Yule; that is when we had planned to step things up anyway.”
“I still can’t believe you are so stupid as to chop up your soul.” Remembering his anger, Harry sat up straight and scowled. “What kind of an idiot—“
“Silence, brat!” Voldemort’s lipless mouth was twisted as he snarled. “I have gone further down the path of immortality than any have dared; I would have died when you were but a babe if I had not had the wherewithal—“
“You probably wouldn’t have been barmy enough to try and kill an infant on half a prophecy if you hadn’t mutilated yourself, so there’d have been nothing to survive! You could have gone through the Change if you wanted to be immortal so badly—“
“Oh yes, being a vampire would have furthered my plans so well. Complete vulnerability when faced with sunlight, decades before there are any perks to speak of, a reliance on blood—“
“And turning yourself into a mad snake was a better choice? You know you were barmier than a—“
“It was the best option open to me!”
Harry realized they’d both stood at some point and were leaning over Voldemort’s desk, spitting at one another like enraged cats. The locket sent distinctly amused waves of magic over his skin as he startled back, noticing how close they were. He sat abruptly, frowning. “Well, now we need to fix it. It isn’t viable, having Merlin knows how much of your soul scattered about.”
Voldemort stood for another long moment before he too sat, tense and straight. “Precisely. So I will be journeying to recover the pieces I have hidden away, as well as to track down a means to repair some of the damage. I refuse to be rid of all of them, but contact with the ring has shown me that I should recover at least a few back.”
Harry didn’t like it. The idea of Voldemort being gone for weeks, of trying to manage their plans without him, of not seeing him weekly at the very least—he scowled and hunched, realizing he was near to pining and the man was right in front of him. “Right. When will you leave?”
“I will call my Death Eaters together this evening; you should be here. They will obey you in my absence or be killed by one of our hands. I will leave early in the week after and hope to be back by Yule.” Considering it was not quite December yet, that was a long window of time.
Harry fought to keep a scowl off his face and nodded.
“We will choose a task or two that may be completed without me alongside you. It would not do for Dumbledore to notice the sudden silence from our troops. We shall let the chaos focus on the Death Eaters themselves so that my absence at your side is less likely to be noticed.”
Harry tamped down the needy, pathetic parts of him that objected to Voldemort’s upcoming absence. He would be fine alone and his weird friendship with Voldemort was not so vital to him that he could not manage a few weeks on his own. It didn’t make sense for it to have such an effect on him. He would be fine.
She sat down blithely at his table in the library, nodding to him as if he hadn’t been isolated from nearly everyone for the majority of the last month. It had been nearly another week since the last time she had cornered him, and Harry was not fooled by her attempt at nonchalance. She stayed silent as she took out several Ancient Runes texts and some parchment, hardly looking at Harry after her greeting. Harry eyed Hermione warily but went back to the Transfiguration assignment he was finishing, glad she hadn’t approached him earlier when he’d been reading some borderline-illicit texts he’d snuck out of the Restricted Section.
He’d begun to loosen up after half an hour without any conversation, but he should have known better. As if sensing his relaxation, without looking away from the essay she appeared to be editing, Hermione’s quiet voice broke the standstill. “So I’ve narrowed it down. Either you’ve done something you feel guilty about or there’s something you’re embarrassed about. Or both. Just going by the years of data I have on your moods, I could be wrong.” She glanced up, brown eyes pinning him in place. “I doubt that, though.”
He tensed, nib of his quill breaking off from the unintended pressure he put on it. He swore and pulled out his wand to clean up the resultant splotchy mess, refusing to resume eye contact.
“Harry,” she said softly as he pulled a new quill from his bag. “You’re my best friend. I’m not going to look down on you for anything and not talking about it obviously isn’t working. It’s been weeks and you’re still strung tight as a bowstring. You snapped at a first year yesterday. Something is wrong.”
He hunched over his parchment, shoulders up near his ears. “Can you just leave it be? Please?”
“I tried that. But leaving it alone isn’t helping you, anyone can see that. People are starting to look at you like you’re a ticking time bomb.”
Like that was anything new. He sighed and dropped his quill, pulling off his glasses so he could scrub at his face with both hands. “What do you want from me?”
“Just… talk to me. What has you so completely out of sorts?”
He shook his head and looked away. “I can’t. It isn’t something you can help me with, okay?”
She rounded the table and sat precariously in the chair beside his, her rear on the very edge of the seat, and stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. “How can you know that if you won’t talk to me? Am I your best friend or not?”
“Guilt tripping me isn’t going to make me more likely to tell you something,” he said with a scowl, crossing his arms. “This isn’t anyone’s business but mine. I am allowed to keep things to myself, Hermione.”
“Of course you are,” she snapped, matching his scowl with her own. “But Harry—look, you’ve obviously not been sleeping well, you always look exhausted. You hardly eat at mealtimes. You’ve taken to scowling at anyone who even glances at you… you’re obviously not coping with whatever is happening. And with your track record, all I can think if that this problem of yours is going to get you hurt or worse! If this is because of the prophecy—”
“This has nothing to do with Voldemort!” he hissed, though he felt his eye twitch when he realized that, really, it had everything to do with Voldemort. He threaded his fingers through his hair and kept them there, staring down at the table. “It isn’t anything about the war and isn’t dangerous, so just leave it!”
“Then what is it, Harry?”
“It’s just—“ he clenched his teeth and bit back a snarl, frustrated. Yes, he was exhausted. Between his worry about horcruxes, Voldemort’s sudden absence, and his own traitorous fucking emotions he’d been twisting himself in knots the last few weeks. He couldn’t even use the locket to soothe himself as he had before; the knowledge that it was a piece of Voldemort rather defeated the purpose of keeping his mind off the man. Even when it wasn’t actively teasing him with emotions, his reactions to the locket version of Tom were a large chunk of his problem to begin with. He was tense, anxious, and on the last threads of his patience with his charade as he found himself rudderless and disgustingly, achingly confused.
He stood then, the scrape of his chair pushing back catching attention from all the students in the area. Madam Pince was glaring, but he ignored her.
Hermione tried to grab at his sleeve as he shouldered his bag but he danced back out of her grip. “Leave it alone, Hermione. Leave me alone.” He stalked away at a brisk clip, scowl thunderous. He didn’t dare look back to see the expression on her face.
Harry wrenched his invisibility cloak out of his warded pouch, stuffing the locket within right after. While he could keep it on all the time, he found himself tucking it away at night now rather than the opposite due to the revelations, and if the locket got too insistent with its meddling intrusions, he removed it to keep it from prodding at him with its magic. In this moment, he didn’t have the patience to deal with the waves of magic meant to soothe him; he didn’t want to be soothed. Harry was angry and didn’t need a chunk of Voldemort babying him. He’d go work off his current rage like any other Dark Lord – through violence.
He settled the cloak around his shoulders and made his way down the many flights of stairs to the ground level, pausing only when he heard Flitwick tittering ahead. Soon enough, the professor had moved on and Harry was outside making his way across the grounds.
The way that anger burbled in his gut told him he’d been cutting it too close with his feedings lately; while one could survive off the bare minimum of animal blood, it wasn’t recommended even for a hybrid. It certainly wasn’t helping his temper any. While he couldn’t fall into a true berserk bloodlust state like a full vampire would without enough blood, the lack was sure to strip away any chance of him being careful and methodical in selecting his prey. If he went long enough, he’d be so blinded by the hunger that he’d just drain the first living creature he came across.
Thankfully, that wasn’t an issue yet. He could feel the warning signs, but as it was he knew he could keep his head while he hunted. He couldn’t risk Reverting, perhaps; while he hated hunting in his scrawny, sixteen year old body due to his stunted physical capabilities – and that was ignoring the possibility of being recognized – he didn’t want to risk the pain from Reversion sending him off deeper into his temper. Instead he pocketed his useless glasses and used a spell to lengthen his hair, smoothing his fringe over his scar. It wasn’t much, but it was after dark and anyone was close enough to see his face that clearly was likely moments from death.
Hogsmeade was not quite quiet this early in the evening; if he focused, he could sense many people at the town’s center still in one of the pubs or restaurants, and there were plenty of homes still lit despite the hour. He stuck to the furthest outskirts of the town where the small farms were kept, not wishing to push his luck in more populated areas. Wizards tended to have very drastic reactions if they thought there was a predator hunting them; it wasn’t uncommon for vampire hunts to spring up if a single, magical victim was found. Muggles, being ignorant, were a much better choice for a meal, even if those of magical blood were so very much more satisfying.
He’d make sure the body of his prey would never be found, though. It was the best way to ensure he was not discovered. He was lucky that, unlike normal vampires, he was able to use his magic freely.
One house stuck out to him, its overgrown garden and ill-repaired fence speaking of neglect. He could sense a single being inside the home, though, with the steady heartbeat and aura that spoke of sleep. He crept closer in the wan light of the crescent moon. It took less than ten minutes before he was exiting silently, licking at a bit of blood staining his cuff as he exhaled long and hard. The house was free of any evidence that the old witch who’d lived there had done anything but get up and leave abruptly. He felt loads lighter now, no longer teetering on the brink of snapping at the wind for blowing, for all that feeding couldn’t cure him of his emotional turmoil. He’d been lazy about hunting lately, grabbing up rabbits and the like for a quick few mouthfuls rather than travelling further afield for a proper meal as he should. He knew better and would need to do better in the future.
“Oh,” a voice breathed, breaking the stillness of the night. “I’m not supposed to meet you yet. Who has sent you to walk amongst us, Angel?”
Harry spun and stared. The voice had been soft and high, breathy. What startled Harry, though, was that whatever had spoken had no presence at all. He could hear a steady, slow heartbeat now that he focused, but there was no aura around the being. No magic, not even the vague shimmer of… of spirit that even muggles gave off. Harry dropped a hand to one of his daggers and let his wand into his other hand, wary and narrow-eyed. “What are you?”
The moon was but a sliver and dim, but as the clouds shifted there was enough light to at least pinpoint the speaker. Its form was small and thin, gangly, and sitting with carelessly swinging feet upon a short garden wall. “You glow, Angel. I’ve never seen someone so bright in all the world. How do you shine so bright?”
Now that he was focused, the voice was decidedly childlike. Harry took a step forward and confirmed that, whatever the being was, it looked like a young boy, no older than seven or eight. His skin was dark as pitch in the shadows, his hair buzzed against his scalp. He wore shortpants and an airy, flowing shirt that was incongruous with the weather. “Answer me. What are you?”
“What are any of us?” The boy cocked his head and smiled, the white flash of his teeth bright in the dark. His voice was playful rather than mocking. “You’re so Dark, Angel. Darkness wrapped in Light with shadows at your beck and call. You shine beneath the moon; you are brighter than the sun. Who sent you, Angel? What will you bring to this world?”
Harry was getting rather tired of all the ridiculous riddles and cryptic bullshit that had been hounding him lately. He lunged forward to seize the boy, intent on forcing answers one way or another, but found nothing but shadow in the place the boy had been moments before. Harry had not even blinked. He snarled and spun, trying to find the faint heartbeat again.
“You don’t need to worry about me, Angel,” the boy crooned, his airy voice seeming to come from all around. Harry tensed and fought the urge to spin in place. “I mean you no harm. I’m glad I got to meet you before you came for me. It won’t be long now until you set me free. Thank you for letting me bask in your brilliance, Angel. Goodnight.”
And just like that, Harry was left standing in the dark, alone, tense, and bewildered.
As he made his way back through the darkness, drained of his earlier anger, he sighed. He was so tired of the ridiculous things that happened around him. He was a magnet for the impossible and absurd, it seemed. He would need to set aside some time tomorrow to research what in the world that boy-thing had been; he knew better than to think that the encounter would come to nothing. Too much in his life was ruled by supposed coincidence and strange happenings; he would be better off if he always expected significance and was just thankful when strange things were fleeting and without a deeper meaning.
As entered the wards, he groaned aloud as he recalled what had set him off that evening. Hermione would not be letting him off easily. After his show of temper, in fact, she was likely to be even more persistent than usual in trying to ‘solve’ his woes.
He’d need to tell her something after his earlier histrionics; being evasive was just making her plant her feet more firmly, and continuing it would make her nosier than ever. He just had to be sure he made it seem mundane. He’d need to give enough information to sate her, to explain why he’d been so cagey and contrary, but not so much that her famed curiosity took hold of her. No need to give her further tools towards her eventual unraveling of his secrets.
He reminded himself that, to Hermione, he was a teenage boy. Being hopeless in the face of a relationship was expected, and it had the bonus of being true, even if he wasn’t actually a spotty sixteen year old.
Another sigh left him, deeper this time, as he cut around the Black Lake’s shores towards the castle. Being a teenager – authentically or deceitfully – was unreasonably hard.
She was half asleep in the common room when he entered; it was half past three in the morning, he realized with an unwelcome churn of guilt, and she’d waited up even with classes the next day. Well, he supposed now was just as good as any time would be.
Her face was pale and distraught as she ran up to him, outstretched arms suddenly jerking back in like she’d wished to grab him but thought better of it. “Harry, I’m so sorry—“
“Don’t apologize,” he said with a sigh, slumping. “I shouldn’t have taken out my temper on you.”
She fidgeted in place, toying with the hem of her blouse and swaying towards and away from him like she couldn’t help herself. “I only want to help.”
“I know.” He gestured towards the couch she had been sitting on, flopping into the squashy cushions and staring up at the ceiling. “It really isn’t something you can help with, Hermione. I know you want to, but it’s one of those things I have to work through on my own.”
The hours seemed to have cooled her irritation as well, as she only eyed him with sadness. “Sometimes just talking about it helps.”
He closed his eyes and sighed, deeply. “There’s a guy. I really shouldn’t like him, but I do. I’d been doing pretty good denying I liked him at all, but then we kissed last week and now I can’t really think about anything else. That’s all it is, ‘Mione. Just stupid boy problems.”
“Well, there’s certainly a stupid boy involved,” she said after a drawn out pause, voice sardonic.
“Thanks.”
“Does he like you back?”
“What does it matter?” he said sharply, opening his eyes once more as he sat back up, throwing her a dark look. “Like I said, I shouldn’t like him in the first place. Even if he did, it can’t work.”
“Falling in love is never easy, Harry—“
He cut her off with a harsh bark of laughter. “No. For one thing, this is just a weird crush that I am having issues ignoring. For another, I’m serious about it not working. There’s a war on, Hermione. I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, expected to fight even before all this prophecy nonsense got out, and there are too many possible consequences even if it’s just me being distracted. This isn’t a problem for you to fix. I don’t need advice, I just need time to get over it.”
“Is it because it’s a Slytherin?”
He jolted, then cursed himself for such an obvious tell. He hunched in on himself and scowled. “Just stop, Hermione.”
“I can’t really imagine any other reason you’d be so torn up over something as mundane as a possible relationship, not with all the other things you’ve been through. You need to stop thinking of all the reasons it’s wrong. You’re human before you’re anything else. It’s never wrong to care about someone, okay? It doesn’t matter who it is – anyone you would love must be something special.” Spitefully, to protest the use of that dreaded word, he wanted to tell her it was Voldemort just to see the look on her face. He, of course, resisted.
No harm, huh? No harm until the relationship became too obviously lopsided, or one of them did something unforgivable, or Voldemort’s emotional constipation sent him running, or Harry’s fears of inadequacy sent him running… then the war effort was splintered and doomed due to a damned fling gone bad. Right. “It isn’t that easy. There are more important things at stake.”
She was obviously bursting with questions, but she seemed to sense that he wasn’t up to more. She did stand, though, and yanked him up into a hug despite his protests. “Just let yourself have something nice for once, won’t you Harry? You deserve good things, too.”
Again, the bitter part of him wanted to tell her just what she was advocating if only to see if she would faint at the mere idea. If she understood the gravity of what he was telling her, she’d be telling him to buckle down and nip these feelings in the bud as fast as possible, would be horrified at the mere idea that he’d developed this weird fascination with Voldemort of all people. He didn’t even have a pretty face as an excuse, the man was half-snake!
She stepped away and smoothed her robes, hands going to her hips. “Now, you need to stop angsting about something you can’t change. You’re not going to be able to turn off feelings for someone no matter what you do, so you need to suck it up and accept them. Is it worse to have these feelings or to make yourself non-functional wallowing in denial?”
She had a bit of a point, however much he wished she didn’t. He looked at his feet and shuffled them, feeling like the sixteen year old he pretended to be.
“I think we both should try to get some sleep now, even if it will only be a bit. All right?”
Harry sighed and stretched, walking with her to the dormitory stairs. “Yeah, all right.”
“Wait!” He’d barely put a foot on the first step before she called out, making Harry freeze and turn to see her face contorted with horror. “It’s not Malfoy, right?”
Harry couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, exhausted mentally and physically as he was. It felt a little like weight lifting off his shoulders.