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Chapter Text

The year was drawing to a close. Finals week, when everyone crams as much information as they can down their throats and sleep-deprived students can be found fighting over books in the library,

Dolores Umbridge may have... resigned as headmistress a week ago, but the long-term consequences and ministry rules remained. Exams would be a great deal harder due to her no-magic rule. It hadn’t entirely gone away, and magic in the classroom was highly regulated. Charms would be one of the worst classes under this rule.

“How are we supposed to identify high-level cursed objects if they’re banned in Hogwarts!” Hermione exclaimed in frustration.

“A magical user is able to ‘feel’ the darkness,” Harry quoted from the article, “but having a bad feeling doesn’t tell you which spells are used, or how dangerous it is.”

“Bollocks.” Ron spat, “We’ve encountered plenty of cursed objects. At least we’ll have an edge on everyone else; maybe Flitwick will curve our O.W.L.S. if everyone does terribly.”

“The ministry is grading them, not him.” She sighed.

Ron was right. How many cursed, dangerous items had they just stumbled upon? They all should at least be able to pick out the cursed items—the most important task in the exam—and might be able to tell the level of danger. Although most had been deadly, as opposed to minor maiming. He had almost died because of the cursed diary in their second year.

“Guys!” Harry yelled, receiving glares from the other students in the common room, “I think I know how we can get our hands on something cursed."

“What?” They lowered their heads as Harry beckoned them.

“What dangerous, cursed object did we find in our second year?” He said it teasingly.

“The diary!” Ron answered immediately.

“Dumbledore should still have it.”

“What are we waiting for?” Hermione threw her notes and books in her bag and said, “Let’s go!”

The trio trekked to Dumbledore’s office. Even with the delayed curfews, they needed to be back in the common room in an hour. The familiar eagle statue opened as soon as they turned the corner. Odd.

Up the set of stairs, the wooden door was already ajar. Inside, Dumbledore was scribbling on parchment with Fawks perched at his side. He looked up through half-moon glasses at them and summoned three chairs in front of his desk.

“Hello, what do you need at this time of night?” His voice was tired but still held an optimistic tone.

“Professor Dumbledore, you know the diary Harry murdered in our second year?” They filed in, lounging on the chairs.

“Ah, yes. The memory of Tom Riddle. Why do you ask?” He sat down his quill and folded his hands.

"Well, Professor," Ron stood up straight, "our Charms exam has a unit on cursed objects, and we can't find any to research." We were asking if we could borrow it to know how these objects ‘feel’.”

Dumbledore smiled, “But of course. I may say, I thought cursed objects were under your Defence Against the Dark Arts exam.” He rummaged through a desk drawer.

“The ministry decided that since it wasn’t over neutralising nor destroying cursed objects, only detection and identification, that it would fit better.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“My apologies, the content of your ministry-approved exams has passed me by.”

He took out the diary, the hole in the middle as mangled as the day he sank the fang into it, and the pages warped from water damage. Just sitting on the desk, they could feel the wave of dark, sickly magic over them.

“The diary is a soul-leech. Although neutralised, it still has residual magic on it. Investigate this thoroughly, and if you need any lesser cursed objects, do not be afraid to ask. Try to keep these under close guard and do not let anyone see them.” The headmaster seemed to be looking straight at Harry as he spoke.

“We’ll keep it a secret,” Harry reassured. “Say, would it be that bad to use the Chamber of Secrets?”

Hermione shot him a look and elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Harry! You want to go back to the place you both nearly died at?” She stared at him as if he were insane.

“Er, no. But it is a secret place. There may be more cursed objects there, and we’d be alone. Plus, the dark magic residue might still be down there.” He double-backed. On second thought, it wasn’t the brightest idea to voice.

“It may prove useful to investigate the Chamber. But try to avoid anything deadly, and tell me if you find anything. Voldemort, “ Ron shivered at Dumbledore’s words, “may have hidden something down there.”

“Got it.”

Harry was the one tasked with keeping the item until tomorrow. The girl had hounded them, saying that their brains needed sleep to function, and it was already past the time she normally slept.

Once in their respective dorms, Ron collapsed into his bed and instantly passed out. Everyone else was already asleep in the dorm, or it was Neville, who had probably fallen asleep in the herbology greenhouses again.

The curtains over his bed were drawn shut. Without his friends to distract him, his mind wandered.

He laid down, tossing and turning. But every time he shut his eyes, he saw Sirius. With the red bolt hitting him in the chest, sending him tumbling into the veil… Rumours say that the ministry was doing a post-mortem pardon for him.

Like that will do any good.

They were just covering their asses. Having Voldemort show up in person at the Department of Mysteries, one of the most guarded sections of the ministry, Azkaban escapees, and many nobles proven to be Death Eaters, on top of imprisoning a man for 12 years, was more than their share of controversy to cover. Yet they choose to proclaim a man innocent after he died.

Sirius never got the chance to live. He went from the dictatorship of his parents, to Hogwarts over the school year, straight into Auror training during a war, wrongfully imprisoned, and then a fugitive on the run. His life began at the end.

A flame burned within him. Turning all his sadness, sorrow, and anger, into apathetic ashes. Tired, but sleepless. He sniffed, wiping away the tears and snot he didn’t know he was leaking. His head peeked out of the curtains. Everyone was asleep. He needed something, anything, to get his mind off of this.

Harry unravelled the book from his invisibility cloak and placed it on his bed. It looked innocuous, but something drew him to it. The diary, although from 50 years ago, had very few blemishes on its black cover and gold-plated edges. Besides the giant hole in the middle. Even the gilded name, ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’, was still in place.

Had the diary been purposely bought, just to be made into a memory? It seemed like a waste, Dumbledore had said that the Slytherin line was destitute and Tom Riddle was an orphan. It didn’t seem like a resourceful move to just waste it.

He flicked open the front cover. Before, it was a completely blank page. Now, there were words, blurred and faint, but in that same swirling, perfect handwriting.

S pteme 1 t, 194

September, 1st, 1942? He squinted at the text; the top and bottom of the page were more damaged than the middle. The boy dug in his bag for parchment, waterproof ink, and a quill. He’d pieced together this diary entry to get his mind off of things. He might even gain knowledge about his enemy.

September 1st, 1942

The start of term was as insufferable as always.

At least they related.

Abraxas has shown himself to be useful again. He was right. Heir Slytherin, I was the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin. I should have known; Marvolo sounded like a magical name, and magical children’s middle names are normally from their ancestry. Marvolo Gaunt was my connection. My mother's name was Merope.

I tracked down the last property of the Slytherin line, in Little Hangleton. I planned to visit the last member of my line, Morfin Gaunt, my uncle. But the air raid sirens were going off every other day, too dangerous. If my digging proves right, my biological father should be in town too.

The Gringotts' records are dreadful. How can an ancient line of powerful wixen make such poor financial decisions? Absolutely nothing lies within the vaults, and the few deposits are spent within days.

Nonetheless, I pervade. I plan to visit over the summer and get to know them. I’ve never had a family before I will have answers about my heritage.

I cannot wait to prove I am Heir Slytherin.

They will regret their actions.

The entry was followed by doodles on the rest of the page. Snakes, mostly, with the Slytherin crests drawn with practised accuracy. At the corner of the page, protected with some type of clear varnish, was a small drawing of a light-haired boy that looked eerily similar to Draco. Abraxas was the name, with an arrow pointing to it.

The juxtaposition of the serious writing and the doodles jarred him. His finger lightly traced the ink marks. He hummed to himself and turned the page.

They know. The horror on their faces—regret, terror—were all satisfying. It soothed my inner rage. Tonight, I made it through unpacking, showering, and just existing in the dorms without a single insult or glare being sent my way. It was refreshing, to say the least.

They want to talk to Abraxas to try to get close to me. Assholes, all of them. As if I could stand in the presence of people who had called me a Mudblood and demeaned me for the previous five years.

Orion and Thaddeus have recognised my greatness before; their respect was shown in private, but now they are open about their admiration. Especially Orion.

Doodles of the Orion constellation followed.

September 18th, 1942

Time has passed. My finances are stable for now. Those who have shunned me have sought to buy my favour. It will not work. However, exploiting the filthy rich is satisfying. Food for the soul. They’re practically throwing galleons at me. Parents, too.

For now, I have told them that my mother, Merope, fell pregnant after marrying my foreign father, Thomas. After the news of my conception, he died of dragon pox. My mother died giving birth to me in the muggle world, and that is how I ended up being muggle-raised.

That way, I can appear as a pure-blood. I can’t handle knowing I can pretend my father is dead. They do not question the strictness of my pure-blood; the knowledge that both my parents are magical has been enough.

I can start working on my main project, searching the Chamber of Secrets. I tried last year, and the year before, but I plan on finally finding it. I hope I find I will obtain more knowledge of my parseltongue. Specifically, parselmagic.

There was a schematic of the second floor, with x’s all over the place.

November 12th, 1942

I found it.

November 14th, 1942

There is a hidden chamber. On the right side of the central statue, a bearded man with his mouth agape, a “handle” is on the underside of one of the bricks. I pulled it and, Merlin, it’s everything I’ve ever needed. Library, private quarters, duelling rooms, potions lab, a greenhouse, and the basilisk, who calls herself Amaranth, has a nest.

She has one egg, which will hatch only when the right person touches it. Half-dragon, Hungarian Horntail, and I'm not sure how they got a dragon in to copulate.

It needs more discovery. There should be something in here that’s useful that I can use publicly. There is an undying yearning within me I want to share some of this with my closest friends followers. But not all, just enough for them to get ahead of the others. I worry they will grow stronger than I.

There was a realistic rendition of the statue, covered by the same varnish.

January 21st, 1943

My power grows each day. The library has been a wonderful resource. I stayed for the holidays so I could learn about the Chamber’s knowledge.

However, Amaranth has been wanting to explore the halls more. I wanted to test her petrifying ability. We stumbled across a Muggleborn second-year, and through the reflection on the window, he was petrified in an instant.

A basilisk was circling the entire page, ending at a nest with a large egg.

February 10th, 1943

Amaranth petrified another person today. She didn’t mean to. We were just walking around, and a girl with glasses was struck. I fear she is becoming a safety risk. The prophet will be in an uproar, and I am sure something will be done about this. They can’t find the Chamber. It’s all I have.

February 18th, 1943

I asked Professor Slughorn about a Horcrux. I saw it in one of the books in the Chamber, but it was in the wrong section, and I did not know where to look for more. Horcrux: a vessel for a piece of a person’s soul, made by killing someone. I believe it splits the soul in half each time, but I will have to research more. Soul magic—that’s where I needed to look. It said it was the key to immortality.

The object needs to have some importance to the user, a sentimental object or an heirloom. I have neither. Perhaps that isn’t as solid as it seems. An item that holds a piece of soul will gain importance once it’s made, I will then solidify the bond.

March 31st, 1943

Two more petrifyings happened. Aurors are swarming the castle daily. I can no longer walk Amaranth, much to her dismay. I need to play this carefully.

I also need to keep this thing in mind more often.

April 17th

More Aurors. They came close to discovering the Chamber. I can’t have them do this. They need to go away.

May 2nd

Aurors. Everywhere. One more petrifying incident happened. I thought that outside was the better option, and I was trying to release her into the Forbidden Forest. But some idiotic Gryffindor was out there. He tried to kill her with a bombarda.

The water that was flown up in the blast was just enough to petrify him, not kill him. I left him there and returned her to her nest. I don’t know what to do.

June 13th, 1943

I have made a fatal error

Myrtle Warren is dead.

I killed her.

They’re shutting down Hogwarts for good.

I’m scared

I just made a horcrux.

June 14th, 1943

The half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid, has taken the fall for it. He held an Acromatula in his trunk, I said he did it. I’m Head Boy, and they believed me. He got his wand snapped, and expelled. I feel so dirty.

I needed to do this.

Harry frowned at the words on the next page. They were even worse than the others, but some of the water stains that scattered the page were different. They pooled with the ink, mixing with it when it was still wet. It took him longer to make it out. There was no date listed.

I met my uncle. He lived in squalor. He couldn’t understand me when I spoke. When he processed I was there, he started throwing junk around the room. His magic was weak, little more than a squib. He was yelling about not wanting a muggle in his house.

I told him I was Merope’s son. This made him angrier. I left after he mentioned the muggle on the hill that looked like me. There was an incredibly large, white-brick mansion. A baron’s mansion.

The man who answered the door looked exactly like me. I wanted answers. He tried to slam the door on me and yelled, but I am stronger than him. He tried to hit me when I got in.

Compulsion charms got him to spit out my answers. He told me he knew my mother was a witch who had used her powers on him. She stopped charming him once she was pregnant, and then he ran off.

He wanted me to leave. To never contact him again. Two older people, my grandparents, were there too. They were more reactive and screamed at me to go away. To leave their family alone, that I had already caused enough damage. My grandfather had a shotgun.

I panicked.

I adjusted Morfin’s memory and his wand. He thinks he killed them and proudly proclaimed himself to have done so when the Aurors arrived. He fought with them, and they murdered him.

I killed my family.

I made another Horcrux.

The next page was blank.

Harry stared down at the pages. The diary was an accident? Then how was he writing in it? Unless, of course, the diary was later charmed. He wouldn’t want to just hand over the diary to Lucius, or leave it anywhere, for anyone to stumble across it. After destroying it, the charms must have disappeared.

He traced over the words, pangs of sympathy bleeding in. It was surprisingly human. So different from the cruelty he'd encountered in the chambers, but also a far cry from the charismatic boy he remembered. Had both masks been fake? Or was he looking at another false personality?

Who was the real Tom Riddle?

And were there other Horcruxes? The diary must have been one, and he mentioned another one. He must have more. But how much of his soul could he split? Surely it wasn’t much, not like the thing that crawled out of the cauldron looked like it had much of a soul.

The boy aggressively flipped through the other pages. There must be something, anything else, to explain all of this. But the rest were blank. He hissed and felt a burn on his fingers. Blood trickled down his hand.

A thin but deep paper cut ran from the tip of his pinky to the middle of his index. He shook off the excess blood, using his wand to cast a healing charm on them. Perhaps this was a sign that he should rest for the night.

The diary and translated parchment were wrapped into his invisibility cloak and placed under his pillow. He could investigate more tomorrow. Deep sleep followed him into the night.

______

A splash of icy water awoke him. Harry gasped, squirming off the bed as his muscles contracted violently. Above him, an annoyed Ron stood.

“Finally!” He loudly huffed.

“What?” Harry groaned.

His legs felt like jelly. All the blood left his head as he stood. A faintness almost overtook him, but he managed to stay upright. He fumbled as he put on his glasses, wiping away the water on them.

“I’ve been trying to wake you up for the past five minutes!”

“Sorry, I went to bed late.” He yawned, “What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty. We only have half an hour to get dressed and eat breakfast!” Ron tugged on his sleeve.

“Go without me, I’ll be down eventually.” He needed to shower.

“If you say so,”

Ron left the room. Harry sighed, knowing that Ron would be agitated today. He had at least woken him up for breakfast, but he was still half asleep as he rummaged through his sidedresser for his clothes.

The boiling shower woke him up enough, but the grogginess lingered in his mind. He moved his bed around, sorting the damp patches from the dry ones. As he lifted his pillow, panic ran through him.

The diary.

After a momentary check behind him, he tore his invisibility cloak open. The diary was soaking wet. His parchment wasn’t spared, but the ink was waterproof enough to still be legible.

Each page was unreadable. Little more than light smears across the page. At least he had transcribed the entries. It had even washed away the little drops of blood; nothing was left of it. It was just a more damaged version of the trapped diary.

A drying spell evaporated the water around him. His notes were still warped but were overall unharmed. He stuffed them into his trunk, balled up the diary in his cloak, shoved it into his bag, and took off for the Great Hall.

Hermione and Ron were at the end of the table, eating. Well, Ron was eating. The girl seemed to have only eaten half a bowl of oatmeal before plunging back into her books. He plopped down next to Ron, his legs falling out from under him before he could adjust himself.

“Oi, mate,” Ron said when Harry came crashing into his side.

"Sorry, tired," Harry said weakly.

“I told you to go to bed earlier!”

“I know, I know.” Harry sighed, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, hurry up, both of you. "I've planned our day out," Ron groaned, "Transfiguration, she said she'd give us another study guide and we'll study that; lunch, Herbology is cancelled, but we still need to go to the greenhouse to identify plants; we'll take a break to study charms; then dinner; we'll touch up on Potions; then we'll do the cursed objects -- Harry, do you have our book?"

Harry blinked, having zoned out her entire speech: “Er, yeah, I have our book.”

Hermione didn't seem to notice him zone out again and started talking about studying. His head travelled to other places. Mainly, to the diary.

How would Tom Riddle act while he was alone? Would the persona stay on, or would it fall away the moment everyone left the room? Was he truly presenting a facade every waking second of every day for decades? He shuddered at the thought. Sure, he acted differently in public, but not that differently!

He wondered if Voldemort remembered what his past self thought. How he felt. But he pushed the thought away; Voldemort was filled with malice and rage, as evidenced by the pain in his scar. But it doesn’t always burn. What did he feel between the bouts of fury?

“Harry?” Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“Sorry, I spaced.” He scarfed down a croissant, even though he didn’t feel hungry.

The day stretched on. His tiredness only progressed; he fell asleep twice during Transfiguration (minus 10 points for each) and completely slept through one of their study sessions. By that time, his friends had grown more concerned.

He was flowing in and out of dreams. They felt more real than normal, the colours were more intense, and the smells were accurate to a T.

Standing in a room, he scribbled on parchment. But his hands were different, pale and thin with perfectly filed nails. Swirling writing covered the page. A transfiguration essay, and a damn brilliant one at that. He could hear a humming and a deep rumbling in his chest that soothed him on an instinctual level.

It changed into another dream.

The Slytherin Common Room was empty. A dim fire burned, barely lighting it enough to see. He lounged on a chair with gilded accents on the arms, plush by the way he sank into the fabric. Footsteps approached, and a person entered the room.

Platinum blond with long hair spilling over his shoulders, he looked almost exactly like Draco, but his features were softer, despite looking at least a year or two older, with deep blue eyes. He held a book in his hands, old and worn with red leather.

The blond kneeled, “My lord,”

“Rise, Abraxas,” That voice, so familiar but he couldn’t remember, “Do you have what I require?”

“Yes, but, my lord - “ His eyes were pleading

“I know your concerns. This is merely for knowledge.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Soul Magic was scrawled across the front cover with no author listed. He thumbed through the pages, and he felt a faint smile light on his face. In front of him, Abraxas leaned in, less to see the book and more to see his reaction.

“This will prove useful for my studies. I will have it returned to you in two weeks, and it will not leave the dorm.” He reassured Abraxas. The blond nodded. “Now,”

He stood, practically looming over the other boy. They were close, their chests almost touching, and the heat between them felt intoxicating. Abraxas raised his head to meet his eyes; a new fire burned within them.

“I have a request,” He gently brushed a lock of blond hair away from his face.

“A request?”

“Yes,” His hand cupped a red cheek, “You need not follow if you wish not to.”

“Who am I to deny a request?” By his tone, he knew exactly what it was. Almost teasing. Full of wanting.

“Is that a yes?” His arm snaked around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Of course it is,” A smirk lit his lips.

The world fluttered out. Each second he stirred, the dream was growing more distant. But the feeling of it stayed. A warm, almost drunken stupor that made his thoughts wander to obscene places.

“Mr Potter?”

Light flooded over him, burning his half-lidded eyes. He yelped at the sensation, and his arm flew to his face. There was a huff from next to him, along with the clanging of metal. His eye protection was taken from him, and he was met with Madam Pomphrey staring down at him in disappointment.

“Mr Potter, you gave your friends a scare back there. Are you feeling well?” She removed a damp towel from his head.

“Better.” The headache and most of the tiredness were gone, though he still felt sluggish.

“You need to get more sleep. I know it’s exam time, but do not forsake your health! Your magical reserves were drained just by keeping you up!” She chided him with a waggle of her finger.

“Sorry,” He yawned, “What time is it?”

“Dinner just ended, but I’ll get you a plate. After you’re done eating, you can go find your friends.” She snapped her fingers, and a house elf popped up with a tray of food.

“Thank you,” Harry said to the elf as Madam Pomphrey held out seven vials to him.

“Three Dreamless Sleep and four Pepper-ups. This should get you through your last two days of exams and the day before you leave. Remember, pepper-ups need to be at least four hours apart.” She placed them on the side table.

Harry ate his dinner of mashed potatoes, green beans, and a chicken breast. The house elf popped back in to give him a treacle tart and pumpkin juice on his request. He was surprised at himself when he finished everything.

He was marching to the library within the hour.

Chapter Text

“Harry!” Ron exclaimed when he saw him peeking out from behind a bookcase. Multiple "shhs” and "shut ups" were called out, while many students just glared.

“Sorry about that,” He whispered sheepishly, plopping down beside Hermione.

“We,” Hermione began, but it was obviously targeted at Harry, “are turning in early tonight. We are going to be in bed by ten at the latest.”

The potion study session lasted an hour. Honestly, Harry didn’t even know the Shrinking Potion and the Shrinking Solution were two different things. The brewing process was almost completely different, too. It would be a miracle if he passed.

They trekked to the Chamber of Secrets after the two boys had worn Hermione’s last ounce of potion teaching. Moaning Myrtle screamed at them when they entered and only went away after Harry started to hiss in parseltongue.

“Do we have to slide down?” Hermione peered down the pipe, which was covered in slime and rust.

“Er,” What would Tom Riddle do? “Stairs?”

The screeching grinding of pipes and stones made them cover their ears. The awful sound only lasted for a minute, but his head was still ringing. Hermione peered down the pipe, and just past the entrance was a set of stone stairs. She said something that Harry couldn’t hear.

Countless flights passed until they were finally at the bottom. He groaned at the thought of climbing up them; it had to be as far down as Hogwarts was tall. At the bottom, the pile of animal bones was much the same, besides being covered by a thick layer of dust.

With a joint Wingardium leviosa, they all worked together to clear the entrance of the heavy boulders. Past the door with the hydra on it, the Chamber of Secrets lay.

Besides more grime, the Chamber was just like it was when he was there in his second year. Snake statues dotted the walls of the arched ceiling, which had a large rectangular floor that stretched to the statue of a screaming bearded man.

The basilisk's skeleton lay in the centre. All the flesh was gone, eaten away by the corrosive venom or the rodents that scurried around the maze of tunnels. It was much bigger than he remembered. He thought it was around 15 metres (~50 feet), but it surely was at least 20 metres (~66 feet).

“I thought you were exaggerating about how big the basilisk was!” Hermione exclaimed with wide eyes.

“I think I was underestimating it...” Harry stepped forward, only for ankle-deep, algae-laced water to pour into his socks.

“Well, we can test out our scourgify.” Ron pointed out, already drawing his wand.

The cleaning went quickly. They admittedly only cleared out the water and a spot near the entrance to sit. Underneath all the growth, the black floor shone like obsidian under the dull light of the torches they lit.

Harry threw his bag on the floor next to Ron. They sat, parchment at the ready, as he withdrew the diary. Now, in the chamber, it felt more powerful than it had in Dumbledore’s office. At least it wasn’t as strong as it had been when Ginny almost died.

“It’s hard to believe that this caused so much terror.” Hermione nudged the diary with the tip of her wand like it was an animal she wasn’t sure was dead.

“Yeah, it feels dangerous, but it’s just a book.” Ron agreed. He flipped open a page and frowned at the ink smears. “It had writing in it? Harry, did it have this before?”

Yes, it did. “No, it was just blank. Probably just the leftovers of when I stabbed it; it bled black ink.”

“Shame, I would love to see whatever a sixth-year You-Know-Who wrote about.” Ron closed the book with a disappointed sigh.

Hermione let out a snort. “Could you imagine? ‘Dear Diary, a girl asked me out today. I told her to go away because I was cramming for exams.’ It would be hilarious!”

“No, no, this is You-Know-Who we’re talking about. It’d be more like, ‘Today, a muggleborn stepped on the back of my shoe. This only confirms that they are a blight on the world and must be vanquished.’” He said in a haughty, raspy voice. Both of them broke out in laughter.

“You’re right as if anyone would ask him out.” Hermione shook her head

“Hermione, you didn’t see him! Top of the class and Head Boy too; people would throw themselves at him.” Harry scoffed. Tom Riddle, as evil as he was, was undeniably attractive.

“Wow, Harry, I didn’t know your type was young Dark Lords.” Ron teased. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have a young Dark Lord type; I just have eyes.”

Their laughter continued into the late hours. The diary was a good resource, as always. Harry transfigured two normal books into lookalikes for their testing. Dark magic radiated so intensely from it that it was difficult to tell which one was the cursed one when placed side by side.

After almost three hours of work, they were able to tell which one was the real diary by about a cat’s length apart. It needed more practice, but identification was worth most of the points in the exam. They could at least pass if they nailed that section.

“Guys, uh, how are we getting out?” Ron asked when their session drew to a close.

“We have the stairs,” Hermione pointed out. Both of them cringed.

“Hermione, I—we love you, but we don’t trek up to the library all the time. That’s at least ten flights of stairs, actually, maybe twenty.”

Firmus Nebula

The spell left his lips before he could process that his wand had been drawn. In the middle of their circle, a dark, almost black, cloud formed. He reached out, and beneath a wispy layer of smoke he felt a cold, solid surface. Curious, he stepped onto it.

“Mate, where’d you learn that?” Ron inquired, nudging the cloud with his foot.

“I think I read it in a prank book.” He lied.

He could roughly steer it by leaning and shifting his weight. Stepping back would cause him to fall, while stepping forward would cause him to rise. He summoned two more for his friends, who each hopped on with some minor scepticism.

“It’s a little hard to move,“ Hermione almost fell, but Ron caught her arm.

“It’s this or a million flights of stairs.”

Besides a few blunders by the non-quidditch player, they made it back to the bathroom within a few minutes. Myrtle screamed at them again, but they were gone before she could accost them any more.

Harry knocked back a Dreamless Sleep potion as he lay in bed. He kept the diary-wrapped cloak under his pillow again, along with his wand. A strong buzz and chime would go off at seven to wake him up. Hopefully, it would work; soaking in cold water was not how he wanted to start the day of his Transfiguration exam.

The grogginess still carried on into his morning, but was quenched by a Pepper-Up potion. By eight, everyone in the Great Hall was kicked out while the O.W.L.S. writing portion was set up.

Nervous fifth-years gathered at the closed doors. Somehow, Harry didn’t feel any of it. There was an odd calmness to him, detached in the way one would daydream.

His thoughts wandered throughout the exam. It wasn’t like he wasn’t paying attention; his work was just as good as it would be if he had been fully focused, but the stress evaded him. The two hours of questions and short essays breezed past him.

“How are you not breaking at the seams, Harry?” Ron asked in a hushed whisper as they left the Great Hall, sitting around the entrance while they waited to be called for the individual practical exam.

“I’m not sure.” He admitted, “I did get a lot of sleep yesterday.”

His nerves (or lack thereof) remained the same regardless of the explosions or other noises on the other side of the door. By the time it was his turn, most of the people around him were in shambles.

This year it was mostly on vanishing and inanimate objects to animate creatures. He flew through transfiguring a cauldron into a badger and completely vanished his iguana. Professor McGonagall looked at him proudly from behind the ministry officials as each one of his spells was perfect.

“Well done, Mr Potter. Your exam is finished, expect results within four-to-eight business days.” One of the officials, whom he recognised as an Auror, said.

He wandered back to his dorm after wishing Ron good luck. It would be another four hours until his herbology exam, and he could use a long nap. This calmness that settled in his mind would not last forever, and any scrap of sleep he could get in these times was of the utmost importance.

Nobody was in the fifth-year dorm when he arrived. He kicked off his shoes before crawling into bed, still in his robes. Under his pillow, he adjusted his cloak-wrapped diary to a more comfortable position.

Harry fell asleep almost instantly, the lingering touches of exhaustion lulling him into a peaceful slumber.

He sat cross-legged in the middle of the room. The wallpaper was all but gone—little more than scraps of beige paper on a brick wall. Floorboards were splintered and discoloured, as if they were replaced only after being broken beyond repair and switched out for scrap pallet wood.

There was a sheetless metal-framed bed with a yellowed pillow and a thin blanket folded neatly at the end. A dresser that was marred with tick marks and rusted handles was adjacent to a chipped school desk.

Despite the run-down place, he felt joyful.

Pale, scuffed knuckles knocked lightly on the floor. A whisper of a hiss came from under the bed. A small garden snake darted out from it, crawling onto his threadbare trousers. He reached out a finger, and the snake touched the tip of its nose to it.

“Was that fast enough?” She hissed, letting him pet the scales on her head.

“Yes,” The voice from his throat was higher-pitched than the last time: “Remember, you must hide when I do this.”

“Yes, yes, I will do that.” She momentarily coiled up and hopped into his sleeve.

The snake slithered up until she poked around the collar of his shirt. She curled her head into the hollow of his throat. He could feel her heartbeat as faintly as she could hear his. He idly played with the end of her tail.

The pounding of footsteps shook the hall. He manoeuvred the snake so it was concealed under his neckline. In one movement, he hopped onto the bed and pulled out a book from the crevice between the mattress and the wall.

He barely managed to get it to open to a random page before the creaking door slammed open.

“Harry!”

A shield was out in front of him before the water could hit his bed. A yelp came from the other side of it, and a soaking Ron glared at him. Harry smiled sheepishly. Ron cocked a grin and shook his head, droplets of water spraying across Harry.

“Yes?”

Ron handed him a letter, “Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to give this to you.”

“Thanks, what time is it?’” He yawned.

“About noon. They’re having dinner on the quidditch pitch, something about a picnic?” Ron shook his head, “Anyways, I’ll see you there.”

Another yawn escaped his lips. He wanted to curl up and stay in bed. It was so warm—warmer than usual. Still stuffed under the covers, he broke the seal of the letter.

‘Harry,

I have heard news that is of the utmost importance that requires your presence. Please visit me in my office today when you have at least one hour to spare.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,

P.S. I enjoy ice mice’

Noon; his herbology exam would be at two. But he hadn’t eaten, and running down to the pitch, eating lunch, and going to his office would take at least an hour. Decisions, decisions.

“Dobby!” He called after a moment of thought.

A "pop"’ later, and the wrinkly house elf appeared beside him. Someone must have given him more clothes, as he now sported an additional five socks and a small, handknit Ravenclaw scarf.

“Is Master Harry Potter sick?” Concerned, Dobby visually started to panic.

“No!” He reassured quickly, “I’m just tired. Dobby, would you mind grabbing me a light lunch? They’re serving it on the pitch today,, and I’m on a time crunch. I have a meeting with Dumbledore.”

“A meeting with Headmaster? Dobby wishes Master Harry Potter good luck! And Dobby will bring him a lunch!” He popped away without another word.

He begrudgingly sat up from his heated cocoon. At least he was already dressed. He ate his lunch silently as his thoughts went back to the dream.

A snake, he hadn't considered it much before, but it would make a great pet. He was a parselmouth, as far as he knew he could at least communicate with it, if not outright control it.

Tom Riddle had full control over the basilisk. Even if it was because he was the heir of Slytherin, a snake must be interested in talking to the only other person in the United Kingdom that could understand them.

The corridors on his way to the office were desolate. From a passing glance at the pitch, everyone appeared to be there. Even the studious Ravenclaws had departed from their stacks of books to have a picnic. He sighed.

“Ice mice.” The eagle statue rolled out of his way.

There was a murmur behind the door, obscured by privacy wards. He hesitantly knocked on the door, and the conversation stopped for a moment. Harry stepped back at the sound of pounding footsteps.

“Potter,” Snape sneered as he opened the door, “Out of my way.”

The professor clipped his shoulder as he marched past him. A snarky comment almost escaped him, but he held it back.

“Harry, my boy, come in,” Dumbledore called.

As he entered, he saw Dumbledore repairing some broken knick-knacks on the floor. He smiled at him, a twinkle in his eyes. After stopping to stroke Fawks, Harry awkwardly stood by his desk while he worked. Dumbledore led him to a side room with a pensive in the middle of it.

“What teenage Voldemort are we looking at today?” It was a bit odd for him to say this was urgent.

“We are viewing a different memory today. The time has come that you are old enough to know this.” He patted him on the back, “If it is too much for you, I will excuse you from your exams for today.”

Harry gulped.

Dumbledore didn’t reach for the locked cabinets containing the memory vials. Instead, he pressed the end of his wand against his temple and withdrew a silvery string. It was dropped into the pensive’s bowl, and it swirled around the clear liquid until it held a shimmery surface.

He was in a private room in the Hog’s Head. Nothing more than a grimy room with a wooden table and chairs. In front of him looked like Professor Trelawney. Her hair wasn’t grey, and she fidgeted more.

“Thank you for your patience, Ms Trelawney. I’m afraid that my office has been compromised.” He passed her a pint of butterbeer.

“It - It is no problem, Headmaster Dumbledore! I know we’re in troubling times, and I am very flexible with these things!” Drops of liquid split over the edge when she picked it up.

“Yes, yes, these are dark times. Have you been fairing well?” Dumbledore drank from a flask.

“It has been tough. My great-grandmother is Cassandra Trelawney, and I - “ Her eyes glazed over.

“Ms Trelawney?”

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...

And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…”

She spoke in a voice that wasn’t her own. It was deeper, not feminine but not masculine either, and its cadence was jerky and unnatural. As soon as she finished her speech, her eyes were unglazed. The woman blinked, a little confused.

The world faded.

A hand was placed on his back. “This is why Voldemort targeted your family. You, Harry, were one of two wizard children that fulfilled these requirements. But he chose you, marked you." He tapped his lightning bolt scar.

“I have to kill him before he kills me.”

He clutched the rim of the pensive. His stomach twisted, and acidic bile ran up his throat. The world swayed around him; he couldn’t tell top from bottom.

This. This is why everything happened. Because of a damn prophecy. Four lines were barely sentences. His parents, Cedric, and Sirius, had to die because of it. How many others had fallen prey to it? Hundreds? Thousands?

Five years of constant deadly situations. The reason he had to live with the Dursleys. Brought to the point of breaking and only scraping by the skin of his teeth. And Dumbledore had kept it from him for years.

“Harry, I know you may be distressed by this, but I have one more request.” He guided Harry’s hands away from the pensive. He dropped something cold in it.

It momentarily snapped Harry out of his reverie. He glanced down at his hand. It was a gold-banded ring with an octahedron stone. It had odd carvings on it that, when looked at from the top point, made a symbol of a circle within a triangle divided by a straight line.

The residue on it was tenfold stronger than the diary. It was distinctly Voldemort and made his scar tingle.

“This is another cursed object. I would also like you to study this while you are home. You, more than anyone else, need to know how to recognise this. Do not worry about Voldemort, I have placed stronger wards around the property.” He prodded at the ring.

“Okay.” Harry numbly responded.

“I needed to see you before you left.” Dumbledore guided him into the main office. “Next term, you will learn more about these cursed objects.”

“Okay.”

“Now off to your exams,” He opened the door with a flick of his wand. “If you feel well enough?”

“I’m fine.”

His head was empty as he wrote down his short answer on the effects of gillyweed. Words left the tip of his quill, but it was like he wasn’t the one writing them.

His destiny was to kill or be killed. Doomed for blood to be spilt. Not that it hadn’t already happened. How many injuries had he - Merlin, his friends too - sustained over the years? Hospitalised, petrified, and nearly drained of life by a cursed diary.

And that would continue until he or Voldemort died.

Ink splattered over his parchment. He picked up another anti-cheating quill and asked a supervisor to remove the excess ink.

“Harry, is something bothering you?” Ron asked, pausing his stride to let Harry catch up to him.

“I—Dumbledore showed me another memory.” He turned away as he said it.

"Oh, sorry, mate. Going to need a Dreamless Sleep tonight?”

“Yeah.”

Ron didn’t inquire further.

____

The common room was a wretched place. Only he and Dean Thomas had packed the night before, it seemed. Ron was chucking clothes and school supplies into his trunk while Neville was sitting on his, trying to get it to shut enough to latch it.

Part of Harry wanted to apply an expansion charm to Neville’s trunk, but he stayed in his place instead.

It gave him some much-needed amusement. Last night he woke up with a searing pain in his scar that lasted for hours, and he couldn’t go back to sleep. A smell of burnt flesh permeated him for three showers until he got it off.

Harry didn’t even remember where the days went. His exams were hazy; he knew they were completed, but when he tried to remember anything, it was all just blank.

He stayed with Ron up until the last minute, when both of them had to run to the station. Hermione looked at them disappointedly when they finally arrived.

Her chastising and nit-picking on them kept his thoughts away from his end destination. The Dursleys. Had they known about the prophecy? He shook his head. No, they would have let it slip in some way. Looking back, they accidentally hinted at him being magical several times, even if they despised him for it.

They would have leveraged it against him. Or at least made sure he stayed safer. Countless times he had nearly died, and Petunia must have at least known about a dark wizard that wanted to purge muggles from his mother. Hagrid had mentioned that, although strained, their relationship lasted until their parents’ deaths.

A low stir sat in his stomach. Eating three chocolate frogs and a box of Bertie Bot’s Beans on a panicked stomach wasn’t the brightest decision. He dismissed himself to the bathroom.

After dry-heaving into the toilet for a few minutes, he was feeling a modicum better. Harry caught himself in one of the several floor-length mirrors. He looked green, tired, with a layer of sweat over him.

He was splashing water on his face when he heard the door swing open.

“Busy crying, Potter?” Just his fucking luck.

Harry flicked his hand, drying his face with a bit of magic, “Can’t I piss in peace, Malfoy?”

“It’s a public bathroom. Do you think you own this too? Strutting around like you own the whole castle.” The blond walked behind him, they held eye contact through the mirror.

"I don't strut," Harry said sternly, "But if anyone does, it's you."

“Oh, I strut, of course. But I, unlike you, deserve it.” He stopped in his tracks.

He tried to step away, but Draco’s arm shot out and blocked him from moving.

“I must say,” Draco leaned closer, his voice almost a whisper, “My condolences for your godfather’s death. It must have been so tragic.”

Shatter. He held the blond up by the throat against the mirror. His magic blasted out of him, paralyzing Draco in fear and cracking the mirror even further. It was thick in the air, almost too much to breathe, and looked like a fog.

“Don’t,” Harry growled. He wanted to snap more, but he was already struggling to regain his composure. It was something he always pressed down but now it seemed almost impossible to do.

They stared each other down for what felt like hours. The burn within him slowly dissipated enough for him to wrangle it back into place. With a final hiss, he dropped the pompous brat to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He left the room without a glance back.

Otherwise, the rest of the journey was uneventful. Ron spent half the time trying to teach him chess strategies, but he was lost after the first ten minutes. The train screeched to a stop far too soon for Harry’s liking.

Mad-Eye Moody (the real one, he hoped) and a woman with striking blue hair were conversing with his relatives on the other side of platform 9 3/4. By the looks on their faces, it wasn’t a pleasant one. He gulped.

The two Aurors left when he arrived, the other one wishing a nice summer, while Moody just tugged her along. Vernon was glaring down at him silently. The man stayed silent throughout the entire drive home and didn’t even complain when Harry needed help putting his trunk in the back of the car. Silence from Vernon was never a good sign.

“Boy.” His stomach dropped when the front door clicked.

“Yes, sir?” What had the Aurors told them?

“Your freakish people said your murderous godfather is dead.” Petunia’s shrill voice made his ears ring, “And that those, ‘Death Eaters’ will go after you. Unfortunately, some freakishness is over our house, and as long as you stay within our property, it protects us as well.”

“You are not allowed to step a foot past the lawn, you hear me? And take your freak things upstairs; if anyone attacks, run far away from us. Don’t need you mucking about grabbing your things when you could be leaving.” Vernon bristled and practically pushed him to the stairs.

“I understand.”

“Good. Now out of my sight.” Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He got off easy this time.

He sighed as he flopped onto the cot in the second bedroom. Like in his second year, he was confined to his room. At least he had his magical things this time. And this time, he could get his summer homework done now, not the day he got back to Hogwarts. He thought that they would ease up after his O.W.L.S., but it only got worse.

At least Hermione had given him her spare parchment.

The silvery cloak revealed a golden corner. Harry laid down on his bed, running his fingers along the cover of the book. Hard to believe that this caused so much destruction. The magic that emanated from it, which was once threatening, now almost comforted him.

His muggle house had nothing magical besides the wards, and those could only be felt when you were about to touch them. And his other items, besides the invisibility cloak, didn’t flow with energy. It was his one scrap of magic in the otherwise desolate house.

Hours later, he awoke to a crack outside. Several cracks. Bleary-eyed, he left the diary on his bed as he walked to the window. There wasn’t much to see outside, but the moon illuminated enough of it to see dark shadows running around.

He sighed at the alarm clock. Midnight. Whatever was going on outside would wait until the morning. If they were magical, they shouldn’t be able to get in; if not, then why was it his problem that people were in his neighbour’s backyard?

Three days later, the gardens were finally done. Petunia barely kept up with the work for it over the school year. Somehow, a mint plant had gotten into the garden and was syphoning the nutrients and water from the flowers. The lines on his hands burned and were swollen from the small cuts.

Each hour stretched longer and longer, but after the first week, most of his catching up was done. Instead, he was banished to the room most of the time. Besides cleaning and making food, and the occasional mowing of the lawn, he wasn’t needed.

In short, he was restless. There was so much to do: Voldemort was making moves, the Order of the Phoenix was combating those plans, and then there was Harry.

How was he supposed to defeat the Dark Lord? Voldemort was over fifty years older than him, and even when they considered the decade of haunting as a spirit, he had been training for almost three times longer than Harry had been alive.

Harry knew he wasn’t the strongest student, either. His instincts were good, but his spell library was poor at best. Why wasn’t he being trained? Seeing the memories of Tom Riddle didn’t really give him much insight. He already knew the man was cold and calculated.

Why was he left defenceless?

Angry tears flowed down his cheeks. He wiped them away with a growl. The boy wanted to punch a wall or throw something. But Vernon would know. And he didn’t want to upset him more than he already had. The throbbing ache in his back was a reminder enough.

More cracks came from outside. Every damn night, they snuck around and caused a small ruckus. Infuriated, he yanked out a scroll of parchment and ink. He dipped his fingers into the inkwell. In large letters, he wrote his plea.

‘Please stop making noise at midnight. I need to sleep.’

It sounded reasonable enough. He wedged it in the corner of his window. In the morning, he’d remove it. They should see it by then; he’d even leave his lamp on to help illuminate the note. The boy stuffed his spare cloak against the crack in the door and manoeuvred the rest of them around it. Best that no one inside saw that his light was on.

The noises didn’t stop that night. The next morning, he stared deeply at his neighbour’s backyard. There was no trace of people except for a broken branch. He took his note down, bitterly, he’d try again tonight.

The lack of sleep followed him into his chores. He burnt a piece of bacon, spilt soapy water onto the floor, and hovered the ends of the curtains, causing small tears in them. Each time, he was barely able to cover up his mistakes before anyone saw them.

At noon, Petunia demanded he clear out the gardens. Stacks of leaves and sticks from the neighbour’s trees had blown into the rose bushes. He pricked his fingers on the thorns more times than he could count. When he blindly reached into the bush to pull out another leaf, he felt something different.

He pulled out a scrap of parchment.

‘No.’

He recognised the writing from the diary.

Chapter Text

Harry tried to encourage Hedwig to go. He had the note; Dumbledore needed to know that Death Eaters and Voldemort himself were outside his house every night. Just staking out all around the house on the daily.

Hedwig bit his finger hard enough to draw blood. She flew to the edge of the property and let out a small shriek when she tried to pass the wardline. When she landed, he noticed some of her feathers were browned and hot to the touch.

“I’m sorry, girl,” He gently petted her head and fed her a few treats.

She hooted at him sadly. No letters. He assumed it worked in both directions, so there was nothing in and nothing out. Dammit! He was trapped, whether by Dumbledore or Voldemort. It wasn’t safe to leave either. Who knows how many Death Eaters were waiting for him to exit the protection of the wards?

So Harry did the one thing he’s never done. He observed. In his mostly unused spiral-bound history notebook (wixen should use these more, honestly), he wrote everything that he could. Whenever they’d wake him up, he would pay close attention to just about everything.

July 10th

Cracks (Apparation?) - 10

Figures Spotted - 4 in east neighbours backyard, 2 in the south backyard.

They looked at the corners the most. There isn’t much to see, all of them wore Death Eater uniforms. Two had ash wands was all I could tell.

He almost scrapped the paper. How was observational stuff supposed to go? He groaned. But then he had a thought. He shuffled through his trunk until he found the copied notes from the diary.

They were more analytical and detached than his. More complexity to go with that. He needed to take this seriously and put effort into it. Something that he could look at years later and still know what they meant. If he survived that long.

July 10th, 1996

Apparations: 8

Confirmed Individuals: 4 in the east yard, 2 in the south yard, 6 in total

Observations: Inspections occurred at the corner of the yard, with an assumed investigation on the other corner. Assumed to be the boundaries of the wards. Each one wore Death Eater uniforms—a black hooded robe with a silver mask—with off-coloured black trousers and shoes.

Two of the wands were made of ash wood, one medium and two dark in colour. The rest either did not carry wands or wands were not identified. Three of the six were tall, two were medium-height, and one was short. Four had heavier builds and two were of average builds. From murmurs, at least one was a woman and two were men.

Noises lasted from 11:59 to 01:30.

Yes, that was better.

Who was he kidding? He didn’t have the commitment to do this nightly. Unless he only changed a word or two, there was no way he was going to write a report like this each sleep-deprived night.

While he was awake, he decided to write another note. He used his pinky to write, attempting to make it a little smaller with the limited room on the parchment. If anything, all they could say was no.

‘Can you at least begin at 11 or earlier? This is affecting my chores and I’ll have worse punishments if I make any more mistakes.’

Again, while tending the garden, he received his response.

‘No.’

It was worth a shot.

_______

The ring looked inconspicuous, just like the diary. It was surprisingly simplistic—just a symbol on an eight-sided black shiny stone and a golden band with small vines carved into it. But the radiation of dark magic that poured from it proved the contrary.

On closer inspection, the stone had a crack in it. It was barely noticeable, but it was there, across the symbol. He frowned; it took away from its beauty. A yawn escaped him. He’d study it more tomorrow.

Harry hid it under his pillow, swapping it out for the diary. He curled his fingers over the corners and pulled them close to his chest. It was crazy, and he knew it, but the dark magic comforted him. If he ignored the sinister undertones, it reminded him of his invisibility cloak. Safe, warm, and protected by magic.

Crack

Crack

Crack

Crack

Crack

He groaned. Haphazardly, he jotted down the time, 11:50, and tried to get some more sleep. They always made noise when they left.

Just as he slipped into the edge of dreamland, a loud thump resonated from outside. That was new. A sigh left him. Still wrapped in his thin blanket, he lumbered to the window. He peered out of it, only to freeze.

On his neighbour’s roof, staring directly at him, was Voldemort.

It would be comical if it wasn’t for the struggling muggle teen in his grasp. But his anger died down when he realised who it was. Billroy Hills, resident scumbag who somehow managed to bribe his way out of imprisonment.

Mockingly, Voldemort held up a scrap of parchment. ‘Surrender yourself, or the muggle perishes.’

Harry ducked away from the glass and got his writing supplies out. He held the parchment to the wall as he wrote, with a quill this time.

‘I don’t negotiate with terrorists. I’m going back to bed.’

He wiggled it into the corner and left the sight of the window. There was a strangled scream he tried to block out. In bed, he piled his blanket over his ears. Bottom of the line, he needed sleep.

And who was he to intervene? Every damned time he did, the person ended up dead or injured. Cedric, Sirius, and countless other friends had suffered under his supervision. The debacle with Dumbledore’s Army was more than enough for him.

Harry was done playing saviour.

_____________

‘Your reaction was unexpected. How would your mentor react?’

This time, the note was neatly folded and clearly visible. He thought it was a piece of trash that got caught in the irises at first. He pocketed the note and threw it in with the others. A hum escaped his lips.

Honestly, this back-and-forth was the most entertaining part of his summer. It would probably be his only connection to the outside world for the next two months. Might as well drag it out until the end of the break. Hopefully, he’d have some sort of escort out of there, like last year with the Order of the Phoenix members.

‘I was told not to run into danger. It’s not like this is the first person to be hurt because of me. If he wanted me to save people, he should have asked.’

He ignored the three cracks that night, making only a quick scribble to note the time (11:45). The used parchment was put to the side for use later. At the amount he had left over after all his homework was done, he would barely have enough to last the rest of the summer if he used both sides.

‘At least you are learning self-preservation, sixteen years too late. Your headmaster does expect people to act on his whims without direction. Beware of the consequences if you stray too far from his will.’

“Beware of the consequences?” Harry muttered to himself, as he wiped the sweat from his face.

The words were at the forethought of his mind throughout the day. He shook his head, Voldemort was just trying to get in his head. Psyche him out or something. It was obvious. But it didn’t stop it from leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

“Shit,” He hissed under his breath. One of the plates broke in his hand, probably from a spike of accidental magic. He clenched his forehead in pain, Voldemort was angry again.

Harry pushed the shards to the back of the sink and filled it with more soapy bubbles. Hopefully, he could dispose of it before they noticed. Put the pieces in the bottom of the trash can or something.

He managed to do exactly that right before Petunia walked in. The evidence would be gone by the end of the week. Harry surprised himself when he almost snapped at the woman for chastising his work ethic. The gnawing headache continued throughout the day and into the night.

If the almost sleepless nights wouldn’t get him, that would. A quip marked his lips; he knew what he was going to write tonight. There was a slight decrease in the burn.

‘Can you get some anger management? Every time you throw a fit, it makes my scar hurt. It probably isn’t good to be bursting a blood vessel almost daily.’

He felt a gentle breeze from the gap in the frame as he taped it to the window. Harry pushed the window open and leaned out of the window. He breathed in the air, crisp and cool with a dash of oncoming rain.

It was left ajar, and for once, Harry wasn’t able to sleep. Even as he lingered at the edge of conciseness,, with the warm arms and soft whispers of slumber coaxing him deeper into darkness, a spark of energy lingered within him. A large part of him yearned for any type of interaction, and he’d take it from anyone at this point. Even a dark lord.

Crack

Bingo.

He peered from the corner of the window. On the rooftop, Voldemort stood, his deep green robes blowing in the wind. As soon as he was oriented, his maroon eyes were drawn to the window.

Voldemort appeared surprised to see Harry. Or as surprised as the lipless, hairless, and noseless being could be. Harry nodded to the note, choosing to swing his leg over the sill of the window. He watched as Voldemort read his writing.

The man’s head cocked to the side. Voldemort withdrew a short roll of parchment from an inner pocket of his robe along with a dark blue self-inking quill. He scribbled down a few words, the parchment floating in the air as if placed upon an invisible desk. Harry had to squint to read the words.

‘Your scar hurts when I am angry?’ It was a simple question.

Harry flipped the parchment on the window. ‘Yeah, or at least I think so. It feels angry. Kinda burns, and it lasts for a long time, and no painkiller, muggle or magical, makes it better. Maybe a stress ball will do you good.’

Voldemort’s forehead creased, and his eyes narrowed. With a wave of his hand, the ink on his parchment disappeared.

‘I have my own form of stress relief—the cruciatas curse on incompetent Death Eaters. Have you had any medical inspection on your scar? Specific scans or spells?’ It took Harry a minute to read it because of the darkness.

He grabbed a long scroll from his trunk. ‘No? I’m not sure. I always just assumed you put some evil magic in me. And what did they do to piss you off today? You’re angrier than normal.’

Voldemort glared. Harry’s scar flared up, and he clutched his forehead. The snake-face paused and took a deep breath before writing again, the pain only mildly dissipating.

‘Botching a raid, three captured and one killed. You should read the Daily Prophet, even if it is lowly drama, it occasionally reports on important events.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I can’t get the prophet here. No owls in, no owls out. Haven’t heard anything from anyone since I got here. Can’t leave this shit-pit either.’

The man patted his pockets. Out of another pocket (did they make expandable pockets? It made sense—if they could do that to trunks, why not do it to pockets?) was a twine-bonded roll of the prophet.

He stepped back, aimed, and threw it. Harry watched as it arched through the air and landed on the roof just above his window with a soft thap. It rolled, and Harry snatched it from the air.

Sure enough, plastered on the front page, was a person in Death Eater garb, shouting as Aurors hauled him into the Ministry courtroom. The article went on to describe that, after a failed raid in the Department of Mysteries again, five Aurors were injured and three death eaters were captured, one dead, and one death eater run free.

‘Damn. Did the free one seriously run back to you? Why?’ While Voldemort scribbled his answer, he flipped through the rest of the paper.

It was mostly articles about the captured death eaters and a recap of some of the events of the last war. There were a few that made him laugh, like "How to Defend Yourself Against a Death Eater"—half because the advice was nonsense and half because the author was a death eater he’d seen in the graveyard.

‘Their mark burns if I call them. The distance does not matter. It is either return to me, receive their punishment, and get another assignment, or defect and have their forearm on fire for the rest of their miserable existence after being persecuted for aligning themselves with me.’ He rolled his eyes. Harry was surprised by the human gesture, even more, when he heard a disappointed sigh.

Voldemort paused, ‘Why are you doing this?’

He froze. Why was he doing this? The notes, the back and forth, would be insignificant if it were anyone other than Voldemort. Harry bit his lip. Tell the truth or a white lie?

‘I’m bored.’

Voldemort’s mouth gaped for a second. He shook his head. ‘Do you not room with your muggle relatives?’ It was an open-ended question that demanded an explanation.

It took a minute for him to respond. ‘They aren’t the nicest muggles. You could probably win this war thing politically if you just let them wander around Diagon for a few days. Everyone would want the extermination of muggles.’

He scowled, ‘Perhaps I should borrow them, once we get past these wards.’

Voldemort raised his wand and flicked it. The time, 1:05, glowed in the air. ‘ I have a meeting now. I will be back tomorrow.’

Something within Harry frowned. ‘Fine by me. Do think about getting a better stress relief, as much as it hurts me, it isn’t good for you either. Stress ages you, causing wrinkles and all that. And you're already struggling with your looks. At least you don’t have to worry about grey hair.’

Voldemort stepped back and stared up at him. A smirk lit his lips. Lips. His skin shifted from a bluish-bone white to a healthy pale porcelain. Sharp, claw-like fingers into thinly manicured hands. Lastly, a crop of wavy black hair grew from his head, brushed towards the back with the top longer than the sides, with not even a hint of a receding hairline.

He looked like diary Tom Riddle, only in his late thirties or early forties. That devilish smirk disappeared, apparating away into the night.

Bastard.

_______

Gentle touches caressed his skin. Unnaturally soft, like the petals of a flower. One trailed up his side, lingering for a second before wrapping around his waist. Another traced the length of his jaw to the curve of his lips. Up it went to ghost over his eyelashes before settling on slowly running through his hair.

In all of his life, he hadn’t felt more content. Happy. Safe. He wanted to stay like that, coddled in a cocoon of protection. Harry sank deeper into the warmth.

In an instant, it was gone.

Vanished.

He groaned. Dammit! All he wanted was to enjoy it a little longer. At this point, he didn’t even care to question what had happened. It didn’t matter if it was real or not. It felt real enough for him.

Although the warm fuzziness persisted throughout the day, the bitterness of losing it so quickly burdened his mind. Sour. He was angry enough to have some bursts of accidental magic.

A few roses wilted, some splotches of grass were dead, and burn marks appeared on the handle of his rake. With a quick mix of paint from Dudley’s discarded school supplies, he was able to fix it quickly.

Again, the night could not come soon enough. He sneaked in a short nap right beforehand. Somehow, each day drained more of his energy. Sucking it from his soul—a side effect of just being around the Dursleys for so long.

It was taxing to stay up late last night, but it felt like it was worth it. Any positive interaction was a godsend to him, no matter who it came from. He paced back and forth from the window to his bed to make sure that he caught the sounds of Voldemort arriving. His body almost gave out—he was more tired than he had thought.

His desk and chair were moved in front of the window. He perched on top of his desk and leaned against the window sill, letting the soft breeze sweep over him. The chill danced against his skin with a gossamer touch.

A sharp prick struck his face. Harry flung himself back and toppled off of his desk. Startled, but now awake, he stumbled to his feet. He looked down, scouring the dark bushes below him for the source of his awakening.

Pinecones?

Another blur of brown hit his face. He stared up. Not-snake-faced Voldemort perched on his neighbour’s roof with a small stack of pinecones at his side. Voldemort tossed one up and down in his hand threateningly. A surprised laugh left Harry’s mouth.

‘Your survival instincts need work.’ Was written on Voldemort’s parchment.

Harry stalked to his trunk and rummaged around. It slipped his mind that he needed them. Parchment (he was running much lower than he thought), ink (also low), a quill, and a textbook to write on.

His door slammed open.

“You!” Petunia’s shrill voice echoed in his ear.

“Yes?” Harry slowly turned around. Petunia stood there in her floral nightgown and curlers, finger-pointing accusingly at him.

"You -- you're -- stop making such a racket!" Can’t even use the bathroom in peace!” She narrowed her eyes at the book in his hand.

The woman marched over to him and yanked his wrist painfully. It popped with a resonating echo. Petunia scanned the new leather book, “A Guide to Rare Poison”’, and dropped him from her grasp. She stared down at her hand like she had touched something tainted.

“What is this? What do you think you’re doing?” Petunia demanded. The whole neighbourhood could probably hear her at this point.

“A book. I need it for homework.” Harry replied flatly, even if his mind was racing faster with each passing tick of the clock.

“They’re teaching you how to poison people? Of course, of course, your kind would do that. Hope you test some on yourself first. Now, stop making so much ruckus! Else you’ll be without lunch or dinner for a week!” A hard slap streaked across his face; her nails caught on his cheek and left small cuts on his skin.

Petunia swiftly walked out of his room, slamming the door behind her. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure. Sure, Petunia yelled at him a lot and berated him often, but she never really hit him. Something like a firm pat, yes, but not like that.

He slowly rose from the ground. There were clicks from his locked door. At least he’d have a warning if they intruded on him again. Harry climbed onto his desk after carefully placing his ink and quill.

Voldemort looked at him, bemused. As Harry positioned himself, he took a pause.

‘Is she always like that?’ Voldemort asked when Harry looked up at him.

‘Kinda. Vernon is worse, but her screaming makes my ears ring.’ He absentmindedly rubbed his cheek.

‘I can see how they could influence the public’s impression of muggles. I may borrow them one day.’ There was a smirk on his face as he wrote it.

Harry grinned, a sting in his face, ‘Be my guest. There’s no love lost if they disappeared. But please try to do so after next summer. I don’t know where I will be placed if they’re gone before that.’

‘I will keep note of that.’ Voldemort reached into his robes and withdrew another roll of the Daily Prophet.

He raised it above his head, was about to throw it, then stopped. The parchment rose in the air again.

‘Can your owl catch items?’

Harry cocked his head, ‘Like something that’s thrown in the air?’

Voldemort nodded.

‘I’m not sure. Why are you asking?’ It was peculiar.

‘Your owl needs exercise, and this morning’s prophet may interest you.’ It was reasonable enough.

Harry hopped off his desk and opened the door to Hedwig’s cage. She opened her beak to squawk at him, but he gently shut it with his fingers, giving her a knowing glance. The avian understood him and ruffled her feathers instead.

“Okay, girl,” Harry spoke in a whisper and walked to the window, “He’s going to throw the newspaper at you, and you’re going to catch it. Do you think you can do that?”

Hedwig slowly blinked at him.

“Good, good, out you go.”

He stuck his arm out of the window. Hedwig leapt from him and fluttered in the air. White-peppered feathers flew up and up until she reached the dome of the wards. She dropped from the sky, almost reaching the ground before she held out her wings.

The bird swung upward, right in front of Voldemort. She circled the air, claws extended and waiting to catch anything. Voldemort raised an eyebrow at her. Nonetheless, he tossed the newspaper past the wardline.

Nails sunk into the paper, poking small holes into the print. She fumbled in the air for a second, teetering worryingly, but then regained her balance. Hedwig was perched on his shoulder within seconds.

Plastered across the front page, in bold black letters, was —

Harry Potter: Accomplice or Whistleblower?

As we now know, dear reader, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named made an appearance in the Department of Mysteries in late June. It is hard to believe this momentous event happened just three weeks ago. But, as we reported last year, this isn’t the first time we’ve heard of His return.

Last year, Harry Potter came out of the Tri-Wizard Tournament carrying the corpse of Cedric Diggory. He was adamant that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named had returned and murdered Heir Diggory. Many of us had doubts about the accusation, as it is well known that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named died on October 31st, 1981.

Now that He has made His reveal, we must now ask the question. This was a call to action, but to whom? The ministry is prepared for an attack at all times (as seen in the two successive defeats of the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries).

Who would the warning be for?

Death Eaters are the only ones who would need the warning. They would need that crucial time to organise and plot. Isn’t it suspicious that Cedric Diggory, a boy three years Potter’s senior, died in the ‘attack’, but Potter was able to return after witnessing He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named’s revival, duelling him, and running from Death Eaters?

Cedric Diggory's only major injury was the killing curse. The point of impact was on the boy’s right trapezius muscle. Would you, dear reader, turn your back on He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? Or, would you instead, turn your back on a fourth year Hogwarts student?

Very suspicious.

We will be looking into this more, as this can be one of the most important pieces of news in these early times of war. Follow more at the Daily Prophet, for stories every day for the everyday person.

Rita Skeeter

Head of the Daily Prophet Press Department

July 15th

Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both were the right answer. Despite Cedric’s death being a year ago, it still weighed on his mind. Harry had actively pressured him to take the cup. If Harry had gone alone, then Cedric wouldn’t have been killed by Pettigrew.

Cedric was honestly one of the best people he’d ever met. Hermione and Ron were great, but their growing pains in their relationship were far from perfect. The older Hufflepuff just radiated positivity and kindness, from his tall frame to his charming smile.He was among the first to suspect that Harry had not placed his name in the Goblet of Fire..

And she was implying that he had killed Cedric? As an attempt to rally Death Eaters? He scoffed. The woman was just as crazy as she was influential. Perhaps a reminder of her blackmail will do. Either a complete backtrack or just stop writing about him disparagingly.

‘I’m going to hear about this so much next semester.’ Harry sighed.

‘Even I was surprised she would stoop so low. You, a Death Eater?’ Voldemort coughed.

Harry shook his head, ‘Right? I honestly wish I could see how other people reacted to this.’ He could imagine his friends reading it, outraged. And Seamus nodding his head while believing every word.

‘There was chatter in the Death Eater circles. Most of them were ridiculing it.’

They chatted into the night, far longer than any of the other conversations. At some point, Voldemort stopped writing with his hand and used a self-writing quill to write his words. He lounged on the roof with his legs crossed at the ankles, only reminding Harry just how tall he actually was.

In the morning, Harry found himself asleep at the desk, face pressed into the Daily Prophet. He brushed the blanket off of his shoulders and found a folded paper plane beside him.

‘I will be gone for the next three nights. - LV

He huffed. All good things must come to an end, or in this case, pause.

__________

Humming. Deep, but soft, rocking back and forth in his brain like a ship on calm waters. A hand combed through his hair, playing with it like sand on the beach. Warm breath batted down on his face.

Harry lay relaxed in his bed—not that he had to pretend. Something about being preened was oddly calming to him. He pressed against someone’s chest. It wasn’t quite solid, like a cloud or the petals of a flower.

A woody scent flittered in the air, with undertones of spice. He was pulled tighter than normal—not enough to suffocate him, but enough to make him feel like he couldn’t escape. Not that he wanted to.

Their magical cores intertwined, spiraling around each other. So familiar, yet so strange at the same time. The ever-present pounding in his head nor the exhaustion could reach him at the moment as if he was taken from his body and put into a new one.

“Soon,” A voice breathed longingly.

Chapter Text

The small cuts on his cheek were now inflamed and leaking all colours of yellow. For the first time since he was a toddler, he had a proper infection. Most of the time, his magic just healed these scrapes easily on his own.

Petunia had banished him into his room until it healed. Harry didn’t want to think about what would happen if it never did.

He flicked through the pages of his books, only to squint at the pages. Night already? How? Harry tried to mark down the day on his little self-made calendar.

Was it - no, he talked to Voldemort two days ago. It would be the 18th. Was it today or tomorrow that he would come back? Nights, did he count the night he left as one?

Damp cotton was stuffed in his brain. Was it his sickness getting to him? Or were the gripping claws of isolation maiming his brain?

Some days he swore that the shadows danced at the edge of his vision, always moving until he laid sights on them. Footsteps tapped lightly against the creaking wooden floors when he wasn’t paying attention.

And then, of course, his calming visits in the morning.

People talked about, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Was that it? The self-soothing words were muttered until unconsciousness manifested into a semi-corporal form.

He was having outbursts of strong accidental magic.

That must be it.

He needed it to be.

______________

Mermaids swam above him, swishing at schools of fish that fled from them. The sun above was a pinprick that cast a blurry haze of light that didn’t touch him. He lay down under the protection of a bubble of air.

From the depths of the darkness, a small dark-scaled mermaid approached him. They spoke in a language he didn’t understand, but he felt like they were making some type of deal.

A pale hand - himself - reached out and handed the creature a bag of something. The mermaid opened it and then gave him a seaweed-binded bag in return.

Inside was something shiny and some blue crystals. He felt his mouth move, but the memory was already becoming distant. The last thing he saw was the rays of light being blocked out by something large.

___________

His fingers tapped on the ring. Admittedly, he hadn’t gathered much information about it. The dark magic radiating from it was more than the power of the diary, if only barely. Otherwise?

Nothing

He slipped it on his index finger. The magic within him sung with it. It felt powerful, dark and mysterious like the bottom of the ocean. Most of him enjoyed it, but a microscopic part of him knew he needed to take it off.

“Ouch!” He hissed.

There was a small sliver of gold in the band that made a small cut on his finger. It was purposeful, with a small indentation to put the needle-like prick away. When he pressed it into it, the gold melted together and left no indication of its presence.

Odd.

A half-crumpled paper plane flew through his window and landed in front of him. Voldemort was staring down at him with a downright vicious look. It ran across to his forehead, a burn resounding in the scar.

‘Where did you get those?’ If Harry wasn’t mentally wincing in pain, it would be funny to see Voldemort angrily writing on paper. He noticed that the ink glowed slightly, enough for him to easily read it in the dark.

‘Dumbledore gave it to me to study.’ Harry maintained a poker face as he thumbbed the ring in a circle. That only made the man more alarmed.

‘He gave it to you? The diary too?’ For the first time, he felt genuine panic stir through his scar.

‘Actually, Lucius Malfoy dropped the diary into Ginny Weasley’s cauldron in my second year, past-you possessed her and petrified a few students, people blamed me because I’m a parseltongue, and he tried to murder me with the basilisk. I shoved the sword of Gryffindor through its skull and used a basilisk fang to stab the diary.’ He held up the gaping hole in the book.

A snarl escaped Voldemort’s mouth. ‘I told Lucius to guard it with his life.’

Then, a pause, ‘How are you a parseltongue?’

Harry shrugged, ‘Dunno. I thought you’d focus more on the whole murdering the basilisk thing.’

‘You just stabbed a basilisk through the skull? No twelve-year-old has the strength to stab through a skull that thick.’

Voldemort was doubting him? How dare he!

‘Actually,’ Harry wrote too quickly and droplets of ink streaked across the page, ‘The basilisk went to bite me and I used its own force to stab it through the roof of its mouth. It did manage to leave a tooth in my arm, I used that to stab the book, then Fawks cried in my arm and healed me.’

There was a long wait after Harry held up his parchment. Voldemort’s eyes scanned his note once, twice, thrice. A prickling was brewing in his scar. He could barely see him, but the man breathed deeply, and his shoulders sunk. Then he picked up his quill again.

‘Phoenix tears do not heal basilisk venom. It only fights it off until there isn’t any left. If you have not yet succumbed to the venom it is currently making you weaker. Have you been feeling unwell lately?’

Harry’s hand trembled as he wrote, ‘My cheek is infected and I’ve been tired lately. My accidental magic has been going haywire.’ What else? What else had he been experiencing?

Voldemort clapped his hands in front of his face, his entire upper body sunk in a sigh.

‘And this is why yearly medical scans should have never been discontinued from Hogwarts.’ The writing paused, ‘I will be back.’

Before Harry was able to ‘say’ anything, Voldemort popped out of existence.

Panic brewed deeply within him. Was he actually dying? No, it can’t be. He was just tired. The 19 days of interrupted sleep was the answer. If he rose at 6 in the morning every day, then he was maybe getting 5 hours of sleep a night.

The isolation too. All he had to talk to was Voldemort. And for these past few days, no one. With all of that, it was only natural that he’d get sick. That he’d be weak. He just needed to rest and have company.

It was only 42 days until he was back at Hogwarts. He was 31% done with his summer. Not even halfway… Dammit! By the time he returned to his friends, he’d be as mad as Bellatrix.

Crack.

Blurry-eyed, Harry looked up. The man was holding a box wrapped in a dark green cloth. Parchment and a quill rose in the air, scribbling down some words.

‘Send the owl.’

Hedwig hooted at him angrily when he practically chucked her out the window. Voldemort said something to the owl and threw the package with a tense expression. She caught it, sinking down a little, but carried it back to him.

He looked up at Voldemort, who nodded at him and then started to scribble down a note. Harry untied the cloth and opened the flat black lid. Inside, a tin and three potion vials lay, all an off-red. He unscrewed the tin, and a floral-smelling blue paste was within.

‘The tin has a salve called Brigid’s Tears. Apply it to your infection once in the morning and once at night. The vials are a combination of a Pepper-Up potion and an immune booster, take it with food. I don’t keep any Phoenix tears on hand, but the extra immunity should slow the venom’s progression.’ Voldemort wrote.

Harry’s eyes flickered from the box to Voldemort. Then again. Then again. He picked up his quill and began to write.

‘Why are you helping me?’

Voldemort blinked, his face crossed with confusion. He bit his lip and looked away. It took him a while to write back.

‘You will die on my permission alone. Not because of an infection or your Headmaster’s incompetence.’

Ah, so that was the reason. Voldemort was a control freak, not a shocker. Though it should disturb him that it was said that directly after sending potions that he wasn’t completely sure weren’t poisoned.

However, hadn’t Voldemort given him the chance to duel him before? The man knew Harry couldn’t win, but he still offered. Perhaps attacking an infant had led him to have some honour. That he wished to murder Harry alone, without the intervention of others.

Harry had been stupid. Was stupid, still. But he was going to try to use this to his advantage as much as possible. Or, at the very least, make his time at the Dursleys more comfortable.

‘Can you send me food? If I can’t take the potion without it, then I can’t have the boosted immunity.’

It wasn’t a lie. Petunia would feed him once a day through the cat flap on his door at noon, but he never had any spare. He’d already eaten through his snacks; the fogginess in his head and the multiple bombshells thrown at him made him forget to food prep for longer than two weeks.

‘Are you asking me to play delivery boy? Do they not feed you here?’ Voldemort’s face was fixed in a disgusted snarl.

‘Please?’

Ten minutes later, Harry knocked back a potion and was happily munching on a sausage with a side of tomato soup and two croissants. Voldemort sent him glares, but Harry was in too good of a mood to be bothered.

_______

Each day, Harry would awake to see a small package on his desk. Inside would be an occasional potion or salve along with three meals for the day. How Voldemort managed to call Hedwig in the night without him knowing was beyond him.

As much as it begrudged him, he had to admit Voldemort’s help greatly improved his health. He was less tired, more focused, and in a generally better mood.

The calming visits had only gotten more frequent, too.

No longer was it bound to the early dawns, he could feel the presence lingering at all times. After Vernon had hit him again, when he was cooling off a burn, weeding the gardens, even showering at one point.

To his glee, it was always there when he was falling asleep. Including on this night.

That same calm coaxed into him, covering his brain in a blanket of comfort. Ghostly touches of arms draped over his shoulders, He snuggled up to it. It had also become more physical, emitting a comforting heat that warmed his soul.

Circles rubbed into his back, working out the tight knots in his muscles. He hummed contently into its chest.

“Patronus,” He wasn’t even aware it had slipped from his mind to his lips.

A sharp chuckle filled the air. Harry wiggled closer, his face burrowed in the crick of its neck. If he strained hard enough, he could hear a faint pulse just under the skin.

“Patronus,” The voice repeated.

_______

Delightfully, Voldemort appeared early on July 27th, at 10:00 at night. The Prophet had printed a run on the newest creature-restriction bill by Umbridge, to both of their ires. Her attack on non-wixen was bolstered by the scare with the centars.

Voldemort had also given him a second dinner of a lamb chop and fancy mashed potatoes with wine. Even if it was non-alcoholic, he still felt an odd stir in his stomach.

‘And then she imprisoned her in a jar for the rest of the semester. Unfortunately, Hermione released her after the three-star Aurors got involved.’ Harry smiled at the memory. Hermione was a force to be reckoned with - he wouldn’t be surprised if she was on Rita’s ass right now.

Voldemort concealed a laugh unsuccessfully, tossing his head back, the crests of his wavy hair shining like gold under the moonlight. ‘Your muggleborn is tactical.’

‘Brightest witch in our age, as Professor McGonagall says. She used to worship authority figures, but after the ministry and Umbridge, she’s almost gone the other way. Like, “Authority should be respected but this authority is corrupt and I will not respect that,” if that makes any sense.’ Harry wiped his mouth.

‘I too had many troubles with authority. The matron was awful to anyone different. Your current officials range from spineless to corrupt. The spares remaining are powerless.’ Voldemort’s scoff managed to be louder than the whining crickets.

Harry slid his empty plate into the expanded box. He threw it in his trunk with the rest of the goodies, along with packing away the used parchment. ‘I’m aware. I would say there were good people in the ministry still, but someone just had to murder Amelia Bones.’

Voldemort’s lips quipped, ‘She’s not dead. Bellatrix kidnapped her and Rodolphus removed one of her bones to turn it into ash then splattered her blood around the room. Then lit the house on fire, of course. Amelia hasn’t broken nor revealed any information. If she had told us what we need, I’d consider letting her go.’

‘Oh, yes, because kidnapping and torture are so much better!’ Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Is anyone else alive that is supposed to be dead?’

‘I will leave you to discover them,’ Voldemort wore a mischievous smirk.

And then, footsteps marched up the stairs. Harry whipped the spent parchment off of his desk, shuffling them into his trunk in one fell swoop. He scrambled to pull out a book with an essay slapped between the pages.

Just as he had sat down with his quill hovering above the paper and his book opened, his door slammed open. He tried, unsuccessfully, not to flinch.

“What. Is. This.” Vernon spat venomously. Harry slowly turned to see a fistful of curtains with small holes in the edges.

“The curtains in the living room,” Harry answered evasively.

“And what are these?” He waved the edges in his face, batting the glasses off of his face.

“Holes.” Harry cringed. There was no way out of this.

“Don’t play smart with me, freak. You did this! These holes are all in lines! You did this on purpose! And why is there a missing dish in the cabinets? And Dudley’s disks were all broken in half!” His face was practically purple now, bubbling with rage.

What? He didn’t do the last one!

“I - “

“Save it! We are done with you! We’ve given you a roof over your head and food for fifteen years! And you have done nothing in return! I don’t care what that crackpot old fool says, when you leave for your freakish school, never come back! We will call the police if you dare set foot in Privet Drive again!”

The man was spitting in his face.

“Okay,” Harry answered flatly. He didn’t know where he’d go - he wouldn’t even be an adult in the wizarding world by then - but he’d figure out something. Maybe Hermione or Ron would let him stay with them.

That one word sent Vernon over the edge. He lunged for Harry, faster than he had ever seen the man move. The boy scrambled to avoid him, but Vernon was too big to get around.

Vernon's fist collided with his face, crunching his cracked glasses against his face. Harry yelped, but a kick to the chest silenced him. He hit the floor, hard, and curled up as much as he could.

A strike of pain blossomed across his back. He bit his lip, but couldn’t stop the pathetic whimpers from escaping his mouth. Sharp stinging whips hit his back, arcing from his side to his spine over and over again.

The stings turned into blunt stomps. He could feel the blood pooling under his skin and the pain reached down into his bones. There was a crack in his arm, and two in his ribs.

Blinding white pain filled his every thought. He choked out a cry, but he couldn’t get even a breath without forcing air out of his lungs.

Vernon took a fistful of his hair and yanked him up. He could feel a chunk of hair being pulled out, along with some scalp. Harry struggled to get away, but his legs weren’t working. Vernon screamed something, but he couldn’t hear him.

His head was slammed down on the desk, and everything went black.

________

Humming. Soft and sweet, deep but light.

Harry would think he was dead if not for the aches that covered his entire body. Even the gentle touches that rubbed circles into his arm sent a dull throb to the area.

He finally found his orientation. He was curled up in the Patronus’s lap, head against the chest, at a slight angle. Not quite sitting up, but not laying down either. The figure was completely solid, an entire person with a heartbeat and all.

“Are you awake?”

Harry hummed, not finding the energy the vocalize anything.

“I have some potions to give you. Can you drink them on your own?” There was a shift to sit more straight.

“Hmmm,”

“The first one is an extreme energy booster. It is salty and runny.” He felt glass being pressed against his lips.

With an affirmative hum, the contents were poured into his mouth. The taste wasn’t terrible, but the hot trails from his mouth to his stomach made him twitch.

Bit by bit, he felt more in control of himself. But he didn’t move, too content to want to get away. But as the full force of the pains was finally able to worm their way into his perception, he couldn’t help but squirm in discomfort.

“Does it hurt?”

“Ye-es.” He muttered into the cotton collar.

“I will get you a pain reliever.”

Harry clung to the button-up as it tried to pull away. Every time Patronus was gone, things turned sour. It grew darker.

Long fingers wrapped around his wrists, removing them from the shirt. He whined as he was deposited onto his mattress, the comforting aura fleeting from him. Rustling from the corner of the room could be heard.

He heard Patronus stop before him, with the light wisps of breath blowing in his face.

With all the Gryffindor courage he could muster, he opened his eyes.

And found the face of a young Tom Riddle, creased peculiarly with worry.

The every-longing ache in his chest fluttered away like a swarm of butterflies. Knowing the identity of who calmed him was infinitely gratifying and was enough to overwhelm the startling revelation of who it was.

But a gnawing question weighed on his psyche.

“Why?” It was all he needed to know. Afterwards, nothing else mattered.

“Take your potion.” Tom got up from his knees and handed him the corked vial of green potion.

Harry drank it without question. A wave of chill pulsed through him, and with each wave, the pain within him dulled until it was non-existent. He wasn’t even aware of how much his ribs hurt until the shooting needles disappeared.

“Do you feel better?” His hand lingered on his when he grabbed the vial from them.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed without wincing.

“There is only so much potions could do without the aid of spells. We’ll have to think about a different solution than what we have - it will work for now but not for the rest of the summer.” Tom muttered, and with each passing word, he delved further into his mind.

“Okay,” Harry stretched his arms above his head and cracked his spine with a series of pops.

“Is there anything else you need right now?” Tom glanced back to Harry’s trunk.

Embolden by his newfound energy, he reached up and grasped the edges of his Slytherin robes. With one move, he pulled Tom onto the bed and vaulted him to the other side of the bed, effectively pinning him between the wall and him.

While Tom was still stunned, Harry wrapped his arms around him and embraced him tightly, burying his face in the button-up.

“Oh,” Tom sputtered out after a second, “You don’t… mind?”

“Mmmhhh, it could have been anyone. I feel good, and that is all I care about. What’s your excuse?” He spoke into the fabric.

Harry could feel him swallow, hard.

“When you stabbed me with the basilisk fang and released the venom, which wasn’t more than a drop after it had bitten you, it merely destroyed my corporeal form. Think of removing the shell from an egg. The yolk, the soul, is still there. I didn’t die, but I wasn’t alive either.”

“You cut your finger on the page and I absorbed some of your magic from it, and used it to further my new ‘shell’.”

“Of course, I cannot be physical form from just that alone. The easiest way to syphon magic for me is to elicit an emotional response. Fear, joy, anger, the openness of a person’s magical core is the greatest at that point.”

“But you didn’t write in the book, so I had to strike at night when you’d have dreams. One time, a spider landed on your face at night and I brushed it off… you just relaxed. Completely at ease. So I touched you again, and the same thing happened.”

Harry snorted, “And so you decided to start cuddling me.”

“I require magical sustenance to stay corporeal.” Tom defended himself.

“Whatever helps you ‘syphon’ at night.” Harry laughed.

“Brat.” Tom hissed, “I still need to feed you. Two potions without any food will not sit well with you.”

“Mhh, fine.”

___________

Harry sat upon his desk, excitement bubbling under his skin. It hadn’t processed to him just how long he had been in recovery until the date on his calendar reached July 30th.

And even better, the Dursleys had left him alone for the entire time. Once a day, Petunia would shove some bread and two water bottles through the cat-flap in his door, but that was all! No chores, no yelling, and no hits.

He was all prepared to talk to Voldemort again. Unfortunately, he had slept through the time he normally visited last night (though he left a note that said, ‘Alive’, in the window), so it would be the first time he’d seen him since the Vernon incident.

“Tom?” Harry called, tapping on the diary in his lap.

The cover pulsed, and when Harry lifted his hands, there was writing on the front page.

‘Yes?’

Harry frowned, wanting the boy to come out of the diary, but picked up his quill instead.

‘Does Voldemort know about you?’ It had been three days, and Voldemort must be able to see the things in his room shifting around.

‘No, I stayed hidden and made sure your lamp was off from ten PM to three AM just in case.’ Tom explained.

‘Why?’ There wasn’t really a reason not to. His existence was something that Voldemort already knew; he just thought that Tom was murdered.

‘I wanted to.’

The cover tapped against his hand, and Harry sighed as it closed shut.

Harry inhaled the air. Thick, slightly foggy, with hints of yesterday’s rain. High in the sky, the moon’s light fluttered down in hazy streaks. Like a lamplight on a dark street.

It didn’t take long before a crack broke through the light thumps of rain. Harry almost toppled over the window sill at the sound. He never would have thought he’d miss it.

Voldemort’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Harry. Frantically, he scribbled some parchment, using his thigh to do so.

‘Have you recovered?’ Splatters of ink streaked across the page. Droplets smeared the ink down, but it was still readable.

An odd flutter pitted itself in Harry’s stomach. ‘I’m better. Thanks for the potions and everything else.’

‘Are you having any rashes or frequent vomiting? Those are some of the only signs of an adverse reaction.’ After he floated the letter, he wrote down another long list of other possible symptoms ranging from ‘needing imminent action’ to ‘slight concern’.

Harry grinned as the list grew longer. Tom had already cleared him of any ailments related to the potions. But he still double-checked the list in case either of them missed anything.

‘No, none of those. I’ve been healthier than I have been in ages.’ It wasn’t a lie, either.

Everything that had happened over the years had built on him, but he felt like a weight had been lifted from him. Not all of it, but enough.

‘Make sure to check for these at least twice a day. The recommended dosage is once a day or less, and you are taking at least double the amount.’ He emphasised.

‘Okay, I will.’ A soft smile appeared on his face.

Voldemort fished out a medium-sized, emerald-green box that was tied together with a golden bow. He pursed his lips and whistled—so high-pitched it barely registered to Harry—into the air.

Hedwig ruffled her wings and flew over his shoulder. So that’s how he summoned her. Was it a Hedwig thing, or did all owls respond to that? Not that he could whistle, but Ron could help him with that.

The box landed on his desk with a soft thud. He looked up to see Voldemort at the end of the roof, looking intently at him.

Harry pulled at the ends of the ribbon and opened the lid.

A small, circular cake with a chocolate top that drizzled down the maroon side. Atop the chocolate were flakes of gold foil that glimmered in the moonlight. Beside it were a white porcelain plate, a fork, and a knife.

On the back of the lid, a simple note was pinned in swirling green ink.

Happy Birthday

Harry looked up to see Voldemort teetering on the edge of the roof, intently staring at him. His face lit up at the sight of him.

And then Voldemort lost the battle with gravity.

Chapter Text

Time moved slow as Voldemort fell from the roof. Harry watched, helpless, as his legs clipped the fence. Voldemort twisted, falling past the wards, and into the grass of the Dursley’s backyard with a squelch.

He waited for something to happen. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he fully expected Voldemort to burst into flames like a demon to holy water.

But it never came.

Voldemort slowly rose from the ground, wiping away the mud from the side of his face. He looked from side to side, also expecting some sort of repercussion, and relaxed after a few painful seconds.

He made a ‘wait’ sign with his hand to Harry. Meandering to the fence gate, he disappeared to the front yard. What on earth was he doing?

There was some rustling, the fainting mutterings of spells, and then still silence. Not being able to see infuriated him just as much as it sent chills down his spine.

But Voldemort returned and walked up to the bottom of the window.

“I can get past the wards.”

His voice was so unlike that of the snake-faced man that has crawled out of the cauldron. The rasp was still there, yes, but it just barely broke through the deep smoothness. The fluctuations were lesser than before too. It leaned on monotone rather than dramatics.

“I can see that,” Harry replied, leaning out of the window.

“What are you waiting for? Come down.” Voldemort beckoned him with a wave of his hands.

“What?”

“Do you want to stay here?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, do you think I can throw my trunk down?” He had most of his things packed, didn’t he?

“Yes. Move quickly, because the wards have detected that someone has passed through them. They don’t show who, but someone will be here soon.”

Excitement bubbled up under his skin as Harry threw the last remaining items into his trunk. He took special notice of the diary and the ring, carefully wrapping them in the invisibility cloak, but otherwise haphazardly packed everything else.

But what would the Order think when they arrived?

Harry turned over his mattress, scattered bits of parchment around, and left some drawers open. He wasn’t exactly sure how to stage a kidnapping, but it seemed good enough.

Hedwig hooted at him sadly.

"I'm sorry, girl," Harry said, pausing to pet Hedwig, "but please find me as soon as possible, okay? If anything, I’ll be at Hogwarts, it’s one month; can you do that for me?”

Another hoot of despair.

“Sorry,”

He quickly opened the top of the bird food bag and emptied his water bottles into one of the bowls from a previous meal. Harry dropped the trunk onto the rose bushes below. It crushed them with a satisfying crunch. To hell with Petunia; he was the one who cared for them, and she wouldn’t benefit from his hard work any longer.

“Ah, how will I get down?” Not that Harry hadn't fallen further, but at least he'd landed on the ground rather than in a tangle of thorny bushes.

Voldemort moved his trunk over and stepped over the broken branches. “Jump, I’ll catch you.”

“Are you sure? You just fell off of that roof - “

“Yes, hurry.” Voldemort peered back as he raised his arms.

Harry bit his lip. This wasn’t how he imagined his first trustfall to go. But there really wasn’t anything else he could do.

With bated breath, he rolled himself out of the window.

In the moment of free fall, he wondered if he should have used his broom to fly down instead.

Electricity rippled through his skin as he made contact with Voldemort’s arms. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the wave of pain that happened the last time Voldemort touched him.

But it didn’t happen.

Voldemort gently placed him on the ground but maintained a firm grip on his wrist. He scooped up the trunk with his other hand, and together they hurried to the end of the wards.

A shiver passed over him as he left. Voldemort’s eyes widened.

“It alerted them that you are no longer here. Hold tight; I’m apparating us.”

Harry could only clench his arm as the world spun around him. He still clung close as they landed, his stomach flexing and threatening to spew out his potions. An arm steadied him, gently guiding him into something plush.

“Inhale to the count of three. Hold your breath and count to five. Breathe out and count to three.” Voldemort instructed.

Harry slowly breathed in and out. It made him a little lightheaded at first, but he settled into a calm rhythm in no time.

“That - “ Harry gasped, “ - was the worst side-along I’ve ever experienced.”

“We need to get you to a healer. Narcissa should answer a fire call at any hour - “ Voldemort had already stood up and was walking to the limestone fireplace.

“Wait!” Harry exclaimed.

Voldemort stopped and turned with a questioning look.

“Can - Can we wait? At least until morning? I’m a little - this is a little much.” To be frank, so many bombshells had been dropped on him over the last few days that he was dizzy just thinking about it.

Voldemort’s mouth formed a thin line. “When you go to bed, I will administer a sleeping potion. Then I will call her, and you will be properly treated. The phoenix tears should be in within the month.” He spoke slowly.

“Fine,” Harry said, finally looking around the room.

It looked like a standard living room, albeit much larger. He was sitting on a dark blue sofa across from the fireplace. One large window sat to his side, overlooking rolling hills thick with woods. Small lights of houses dotted the area.

The walls were a muted green, more on the side of grey than anything. An armchair sat next to a bookcase that was completely filled with books. But overall, the room was so bare.

It reminded him of that one time he helped Ms Figg clean out her cat room and only left the essential furniture inside. Barren.

He kneeled next to his trunk and dug around under the curious eye of Voldemort. Finally, he found the green package and tucked it under his arm, upright.

"The dining room is connected," Voldemort said, motioning to the back wall, where a door had appeared.

“How’d you do that?” Harry asked, getting up and stroking the wood.

“Fidelus charm, each room a different phrase, with me being the secret keeper. I occasionally have company in here and in my office, which is by the bookcase.” As he spoke, a door materialised by the bookcase.

“I love magic,” Harry muttered.

The corners of Voldemort’s mouth twitched. “The manor’s wings are less segmented in their restrictions. I only use two, one for hosting visitors and the other for only personal use.”

The two went into the dining room. It was similarly bare. A dark wooden table with eight chairs sat upon a large green rug. The wallpaper matched the sitting room, but at least there were decorative candelabras that held white candles to make it look less blank. Harry thought it could use some more decoration. Maybe he could convince him to add a tapestry.

“Pipskey,” Voldemort called.

This house-elf was larger than Dobby. But she was fitted with a grey dress and white apron with the Slytherin crest on it, not a pillowcase. Pipskey's large blue eyes looked up at him as if he were Merlin incarnate.

“Yes, sir?” Her speech held Dobby’s nervous sway but was more structured.

“Prepare a dinner for both of us and work on the adjacent room in the Lord’s wing.” He said without looking down.

“We will work on it, sir. Dinner will be served before 11:30. The room will be ready by midnight. Is that all, sir?” She bowed.

“You are dismissed.”

She popped out of existence without another word.

“How’d you teach the house elves to be like that? Dobby can’t seem to form a proper sentence no matter how hard we try.” They had given up a while ago, but at least his vocabulary had been better.

“Much like with dogs, those who were selectively bred have their problems. And I do not induce nearly as much brain damage as other families. Certain house-elves may be faster than mine, but I cannot stand the terrible stuttering nor the constant nervousness of a standard house-elf.”

“So you get the half-bloods of the house-elves. Get the half-baking half-cleaning elf.” Harry cracked a grin.

Voldemort twitched, “Yes. If they retain their mind, they can work independently. For instance, if they were the normal house-elf, I would have to instruct them on how to specifically arrange your room. But since they are not, they will arrange it based on the context of the rest of the manor.”

“Is there any fixing the selectively bred, brain-damaged house-elves?” Sure, Dobby was great, but he often hurt himself because he was scrambled. Kreacher too; he was worse for wear.

“I have not studied that. Phoenix tears fix almost everything if you wish to investigate.” He caught the look on Harry’s face, “But do not get your hopes up. Phoenix tears are also incredibly hard to acquire.”

They sat down at the table, an awkward silence passing. Harry wasn’t exactly sure what to talk about from there. He honestly never thought that this would get that far.

Voldemort pulled a slip of parchment from somewhere in his robes. How many pockets did one man need? “Tonight we will be having mushroom risotto.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond, but he managed a small, “Okay.”

Voldemort stared at him long and hard. He hummed, then snapped his fingers. A long scroll appeared in his hands.

“This has every meal for the rest of the summer written on it. Small, in-between meals will be at your discretion.” He slid the parchment over.

Harry gazed at it blankly. The meals were quite… fanciful. A lot of it was in other languages, and Harry wasn’t quite sure what they were.

“There’s a lot of Asian food,” Harry commented. There wasn’t much to comment on that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot.

“Yes. Do you dislike it?”

“N-No, I’m just - I thought you’d be someone with more European taste.” Harry cringed at his words.

“I travelled the world. There is better food than just Europe.” Voldemort stated.

Harry sighed to himself. Why couldn’t they go back to just writing again? It was far less awkward.

Voldemort cleared his throat and gestured to the table, “Sit.”

Well, nothing better to do.

Harry patted the box in his lap awkwardly. He flinched. The expression on Voldemort’s face drew serious and still. It made the back of Harry’s neck stand on end. Voldemort tilted his head at him.

“What exactly do you know about horcruxes?” He slid into the chair across from him and folded his arms.

“Well, I don’t know much. I know it’s a home for a piece of someone's soul. You have to kill someone to do it.” Perhaps running away with Voldemort wasn’t the best decision.

“And how do you know that?” He furrowed his brows.

“Uh - “ He couldn’t reveal the diary, “I overheard Dumbledore talking about it. In reference to the diary.”

Voldemort’s face twitched at the mention of the soul piece. “What does he know about my horcruxes?”

Plural.

He had a feeling it didn’t stop at two. Harry tilted his head. “Well, he - “

The ring.

“—he seemed to know the diary was one, and I saw him with the ring, so I assume he’s tracking them down. "Make you moral and everything."

Voldemort sneered, “I will never be mortal. My horcruxes are under the utmost protection.”

“Hence why two of them were found, right?”

A downright murderous glance was thrown at Harry.

Perhaps, perhaps it was a bad idea to say that.

“It will be handled.”

A tense silence covered them. Harry examined the grain of the table. The silence only seemed to aggravate Voldemort. A long sigh left him.

Luckily for him, dinner arrived.

Silver platters of food covered the table. Not only was a fresh, steaming mushroom risotto in front of him, but more food of all kinds littered the table. From vegetable platters to stews, from bacon to chunks of cheese, a little bit of everything was laid out.

Harry practically salivated at the aroma. He looked at Voldemort.

“Should you have dietary preferences or restrictions, inform any house-elf.” Voldemort stabbed his fork into a nearby baked potato.

Harry let out a sigh of relief as he bit into a forkful of risotto. He practically jumped when he saw a jug of pumpkin juice next to him.

He ate to his heart’s content. Though he was almost certain he couldn't be denied food, he had no idea how long he'd be dormant from the sleeping potion. The pangs of pain when he would wake up three days later were something he never wanted to repeat.

Even the dinner seemed to be coated with magic, like the manor. He would only have to tap his glass to refill it, and sometimes, if he thought hard enough, the platters would float towards him without so much as a command.

“Do you need anything before you sleep?” Voldemort broke the silence.

"No," Harry said, wiping his mouth. “Do you want cake?”

“Cake?” He furrowed his brows in confusion, glancing across the table.

“Cake,”

Harry placed his box on the table and opened the lid. His cake was perfectly intact, even if it shouldn't have been.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “You want to… share it with me?”

“Yep!”

Harry grabbed a sharp steak knife and plunged it into the cake, splitting it down the middle. It wasn’t a large cake, and half would do each of them nicely.

He snatched a spare side plate and plopped the cake onto it. Arm outstretched, he offered it to Voldemort.

“... thanks.” Voldemort muttered after a long pause.

Harry grinned. Well, he must have grinned a lot brighter than he should have.

“What are you smiling about?” Voldemort narrowed his eyes as he sat his plate down.

Oh. What had got him so sour? “Just thinking about how Rita Skeeter would write about this.” Harry laughed lightly.

Voldemort actually snorted, “That woman would make it five pages long and describe everything down to your cake as ‘bleak and oozing with dark magic’.”

"Yes, yes, she would," Harry chuckled.

His own cake plated, Harry tapped his glass of pumpkin juice. But this time, it refilled with a white-yellowish bubbling liquid.

"Champagne," Voldemort replied, sipping his own glass, "non-alcoholic."

“Aw, couldn't you break one law for me?” Harry teased, testing the drink. Bubbly with a nutty flavour of white grape juice.

“I do not have the patience to drag you to your room drunk.” Voldemort rolled his eyes.

“Cheers, nonetheless.” Harry raised his glass.

Voldemort raised his glass in the air, but didn’t move to clink.

The cake was a nice, moist, tasty red velvet with chocolate. A strange combination, but it tasted like heaven on earth. He voraciously ate the slice, his sweet tooth finally satisfied.

Voldemort looked pleased as well and he ate his piece rather quickly.

It was odd, for a moment, he could forget he was sitting next to Voldemort.

For a moment, he was just another person.

But his reality came sooner rather than later.

“How fast do you fall asleep under sleeping potions?” Voldemort patted his mouth with a napkin.

“Almost instantly.” Harry admitted. They worked so well on him. “Lasts for a bit longer as well.”

Voldemort contemplated his response for a moment.

“We will take your items to a spare room, and you’ll take it while lying in bed. I have not the patience to catch you.” Harry was about to point out he already caught him today, but he chose not to point that out.

Harry simply nodded along. All things considered; it was a successful day. A part of him was worried he wouldn’t wake up from the sleeping potion, but a larger part was telling him to trust the situation.

“The Lord’s wing is this way,” Voldemort stated.

As he said it, an ornate, dark wooden door appeared on the opposite wall. Voldemort guided him through it, and the vast hall before him was nothing but extravagant.

Carvings of ivory stone adorned the dark green walls. Embroidered grey curtains cascaded over large waist-to-ceiling windows with wooden rails across them. A long black rug with cream borders ran atop mahogany floors.

“Wow,” Harry muttered under his breath.

The man appeared to hear it and bustled with pride. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Voldemort didn’t need his ego stroked more.

They walked almost completely down the hall, then stopped directly across from a window.

"Here," Voldemort said, motioning to a dark-brown door with a small fox engraved in the centre. “It should be prepared.”

Wordlessly, Voldemort flicked his hand and opened the door. Such a show-off.

A large four-poster bed with dark-green bedding and cream pillows lay in the top centre of the wall. Beside it, a writing desk with a shelf above it and two long-necked candles lay.

Two doors were opposite to the bed, right by the maroon sofa with a small bookcase next to it. A plush black circular rug sat in the centre of the room.

Fancy curtains were draped across the tops of the walls all around the room, connecting to a sizable window with a dark-green cushioned area to sit on that overlooked a vast garden.

His trunk was at the foot of the bed. It stood out in the room, with its painted-on Gryffindor emblem (courtesy of Luna) and semi-busted gold edges that no longer glistened.

Perhaps he should get a new trunk. He had the funds to do so.

“Familiarise yourself with this room; I suspect you’ll be spending your time here. I’ll retrieve your potion.” In an instant, Voldemort was gone, and the door was shut.

A cold feeling crept into his bones. How long would he be staying here? Weeks? Months? Would he even be allowed to go back to school?

Would he ever be allowed to leave?

The idea made him freeze. Horrifying, yes, but there was a small part of him, a little shadow in his light, that was relaxed.

No more deathly adventures, horrible education, or going back to being harassed all the time.

But he’d miss it. He knew it. His friends, those who are left, would miss him as much as he missed them. A sigh escaped him.

There you go again, doing before thinking.

It was too good to be true. Mostly because it was.

His fate uncertain, he sat on the end of the bed. The sheets were silken, and the mattress was just soft enough to sink into but firm enough to hold its shape.

Why was he doing this?

Harry shook his head. He could fret when he was healthy.

Restlessness burned under his skin. He paced around the room and took interest in the bookshelf.

The books were much like the ones he expected to read for school. The word “age appropriate” entered his mind. It annoyed him. Even if he wouldn’t have picked them up, he would have appreciated something that challenged him.

The Dark Arts: Defensive and Offensive interested him. He’d never learned about many offensive spells that didn’t involve maiming someone else. If any existed.

Thumbing through the pages, his interest only peaked. There was a page on how to use Protego as an offensive weapon (bashing it against your opponent or using it to deflect spells onto others). It made sense, even if he didn’t think about it.

Voldemort entered without knocking. He held an off-blue potion in his hands.

The potion was familiar to him—a dreamless sleep mixed with a long-rest potion. It was one he drank frequently.

“Sit down.” Voldemort commanded, nodding to the bed.

“Alright, alright.” Something about him was a little off, something sharper about the way he spoke.

Harry uncorked the vial and sniffed it. Like fresh spring air and peppermint. Voldemort raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Harry was knocked out cold before he could even hand over the empty vial.

_________

He was hungry and it was dark. That’s all he knew. That’s all he could sense. Wait, no, he was also cold. The air was musty, like mold and dirt. And he was only wearing a long t-shirt.

“You will stay in there, devil child, until you repent.” A muffled voice said. Harry couldn’t even tell where it was coming from.

“B-Burn alive, you n-nutcase.” He retorted back through chattering teeth.

“Guess you don’t want dinner either. You have two days to repent.” A loud bang sounded, and Harry flinched violently.

The hours of stilliness were enough to make him go mad.

_________

Voldemort was never a man to involve himself with the feelings of others. Sure, he was aware of how he affected people; one must always be, but he never did more than intellectualise them.

But recently, there was a change.

He didn’t know when it started, but around a month ago he felt it. Losing his edge, growing to notice the happiness in others rather than their fear.

It infuriated him.

What made it worse was the back-and-forth with Potter. It was meant to insult him, remind him of his imprisonment by the manipulative bastard Dumbledore, but he seemed to flourish under the attention.

It only doubled after he dropped his glamour.

He didn’t even know why he did it, but the insult against his looks bruised his pride when it came from Potter. He never planned on revealing himself to anyone. He was to be feared above all and needed a fitting exterior for that.

But the constant talks at night while he was exposed, with no one else watching, were enough to make Potter significant to him—more than just a prophecy.

And when he saw him get hit, there was a possiveness over the boy. When he was beaten half-to-death, there was something that burned.

It was just because a muggle would have killed him. That a muggle would do what he couldn’t.

But if his suspicions were correct, the boy would have a much bigger part of his life than he would like.

Voldemort took a moment to breathe. His glamour encased him again, hiding his hair and flattening his face. His hands changed into claws, and his skin turned paper-white.

“Pipskey.” Voldemort called.

“Yes, Master Slytherin?” She asked, bowing lowly.

“Give this to Lady Narcissa Malfoy, the healer. Make sure you are as discreet as possible and do not reveal my identity. Am I clear?” Voldemort handed her a pre-written letter with the Slytherin crest as a seal.

“Yes, very clear. Discrete and no identity.” She repeated.

“Leave.”

Voldemort paced outside the room as he awaited Narcissa’s arrival. The letter worked as a portkey—one of the few he’d ever made to the manor—and would send her directly to him.

The wait wasn’t long. She was dressed as pristine as ever, even at this time of night, with the only thing amiss being dark undereyes.

“Narcissa,” He greeted. That was a new addition as well. The inner circle was referred to by their first names.

“My Lord,” She stepped away from his personal space and gave a modest bow. The fact that she did not grovel at his feet both enraged him and earned her respect.

“I have acquired Harry Potter,” Her eyes grew wide, “And I require a full health scan on him before I proceed with any action.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Her tone didn’t tremble, and she regained her composure.

Narcissa didn’t react to seeing Harry knocked out on the bed, nor did she when she cast the scan. The parchment stretched to the floor with previous injuries and current ailments. She didn’t hesitate to pass it to Voldemort.

Again, the burning feeling. Those muggles would die.

“I will need a visual soul spell as well.” It would confirm or deny -his fears.

Narcissa blinked but nodded.

It was no laughing matter to see someone's soul. The visualisation of souls revealed their very magic, the way they've been shaped by the world and the individual's hearts.

Narcissa began the chant. Voldemort had never performed the spell, and he knew the dangers of doing it wrong. One could damage the soul beyond repair, strip away the magic, and make the user bleed from the inside out.

Before long, a whisp appeared above Potter’s chest. It was greenish-grey, morphing into an amorphous blob as it increased in opacity. But when she was almost done, Voldemort’s stomach dropped.

Imbedded, buried deep in the middle of his soul, was a small scrap of dark maroon.

A piece of Voldemort’s soul was attached to Harry’s.

A horcrux.

Chapter Text

Narcissa stirred his thoughts.

“My Lord, is there anything else you require?” She paused, uncertainty in her voice.

“Yes,” He began to pace—an awful habit he would not have revealed if not for the stress of the situation. “I am summoning an inner circle meeting.”

“Shall I proceed with anything else?”

“Begin drafting a full healing regimen. Nothing is off limits.” Voldemort fought the urge to command her to start imminently, but he knew better than to rush a healer.

“Of course, my Lord.” Narcissa waved her wand and began to write on fresh parchment while consulting the other.

Within minutes, all the members of his inner circle stood in the meeting hall of his manor. He didn’t use it often; the Malfoy manor was preferred, but this cemented the seriousness of the situation.

Severus Snape, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange, Barty Crouch Jr, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Carban Yaxley, and Tiberius Nott all stood before him. The eleven members of his inner circle.

“Everyone is here, my Lord.” Barty, his apprentice, said.

Voldemort focused on his body language. Proud, menacing, and powerful.

“I have acquired Harry Potter.”

A few gasped, while others like Bellatrix laughed with glee.

"However," Voldemort paused, waiting for them to calm down. “I have discovered a fact that prevents me from killing him.”

“What is it, my Lord?” Bellatrix’s voice was begging. Any scrap of attention, good or bad, from him was all she desired.

“The night I attacked the Potters,” Voldemort didn’t like mentioning that, “The killing curse rebounded onto me. In that moment, a shard of my soul broke off. And that piece of soul attached itself to Harry Potter’s soul.”

"While he lives, I have another step in preserving my immortality," Voldemort laughed evilly. "Should he die, I will forever lose that piece of my soul.”

“Is there a way to remove it, my Lord?” Corban asked. Voldemort threw a crucio at him for a few seconds.

“If there was a way,” Voldemort growled, “I would have done it already. This means that any harm done to him may damage my soul.”

Bellatrix screamed in anger, “What is it we can do, my Lord?”

“There is no solution. Harm will not befall him. I am keeping him until I form a better plan. Severus, have you been informed about this by Dumbledore?”

All eyes turned to the potion’s master.

Severus swallowed, “I was unaware of this situation.”

“We will operate under the idea that Dumbledore knows. Why else would he send the child of prophecy into deadly situations? He desired that I destroy my own soul." The pieces were slowly connecting for him.

Voldemort struggled to keep his composure. “You all will take another oath to not reveal this to anyone. You will tell the other Death Eaters under your control that Harry Potter is not to be harmed by my orders. No questions asked.”

They all agreed quickly.

____

A week later, Voldemort found himself in a bad position.

He wanted to tell Potter.

There wasn’t a why to the reason. There was just an overwhelming urge to say it.

A part of him clawed at his reasoning. It screamed at him to tell him, to keep no secrets from the boy. That it would be better to tell him now. That it was the only option.

Voldemort had to agree. Potter would find out. That would break what little trust Potter has in him. He’d shut him out and start making his own decisions. He may even run back to Dumbledore and spill all his secrets.

But now, he didn’t feel like he would do that if he told him. That would establish a clear relationship between them. Potter was his horcrux, and thus he had no reason to fear him because Voldemort would be protecting him.

He could just use it as an excuse to train him.

Potter, despite his lack of experience and lesser power, had brilliant duelling instincts. He held out for longer than Voldemort thought possible against him in the graveyard.

What would happen if he sharpened those raw skills?

He would need to be a great dueler if he was to protect the soul shard. Voldemort does not die as long as he lives. Protecting him was of the utmost priority, along with the other horcruxes.

Two were already destroyed.

Mathematically, there should be half as much Voldemort in Potter as there was Voldemort in Voldemort. There should be something in Potter that would make him want to be more like him.

He could have another apprentice.

Potter might agree. As long as he trusted him not to murder him, Potter would agree. As much as he didn’t make the smartest of decisions, he always made the right ones. Potter’s intentions had changed, and Voldemort knew that. He didn’t want to be a saviour any longer. But was not being a saviour enough?

Changing him more, would that be so hard?

Voldemort had already earned some of his trust. The boy had jumped out of the window and run away with him without so much as a second glance. The lack of murderous intent from anyone affiliated with him would also serve him well.

Potter would never be a true apprentice.

No, his will was too strong for that. But as long as his soul was protected, Potter could hate him all he wanted.

Yes, it was decided.

He would train him.

_________

Time was an enigma. It flowed without reason; seconds could feel like hours while years could pass in the blink of an eye.

_________

He was standing over a cowering elderly woman. She pleaded with him, begging him to stop. He raised his bone-white wand and struck her in the chest with a red beam. She struggled, a strangled scream echoing from her throat.

Another spell hit her, and she lay still.

_________

A snake, huge with yellow eyes, rose up before him. It tilted his head and flicked out its tongue. He offered a hand. The creature licked him.

“Blood of Slytherin.” It hissed.

“Creature of Greatness.” He replied in parseltongue.

“You seek my loyalty.” It slithered around him, cutting off any exit he could have had.

“I seek your compliance.” He said this while tracking its head with his eyes.

It hissed again and butted its nose against Tom. Tom fell to the floor, and the creature rested its head on his body. Its breath stank, and his air was knocked out of him. The creature licked him again, this time in the face.

"Whom shall I destroy?" It asked with some mischief in its voice.

_________

His tiny hands flew over his face. But it didn’t stop the water from being dumped over his head. It was murky, and splatters of mud dirtied his clothes. The older kids jeered, laughing at him as he tried desperately to get it off his cream-white shirt.

He fought back tears as a mean-looking older woman screamed at him for getting dirty. She spanked him and sent him up to a decrypted room. Slowly and carefully, he scraped off the dried mud, then dabbed a little bit of water on it from a can he had stashed in his closet. The stains were still visible, but they were much lighter.

__________

Harry didn’t know how long he had been asleep for, but he knew one thing for sure:

He felt amazing, but he was damn hungry.

Awaking in the bed he fell asleep in, surprise graced his features as he saw Narcissa Malfoy bandaging his midsection. They locked eyes, and she gently sat down the roll of gauze.

“Pipskey,” The house elf appeared, “please inform My Lord that Potter is awake.”

Why would he want to be there?

Unease ate at his mind.

“I will finish wrapping your midsection. I assume I will be outside of the room while the Dark Lord talks to you.”

Harry hummed. He allowed her to continue treating him with foul-smelling salves and concealing his wounds under thick bandages. It was almost nice to be cared for like that, but it was a Malfoy who was treating him.

He noted the lack of a dark mark on her forearm.

Snake-faced Voldemort strode into the room not too long after. Even under glamour, Harry could feel the tension brewing under his skin. This furthered his unease.

“Narcissa, you are dismissed. Await my summons; it will not take long.” Voldemort nodded toward the door.

She gracefully left, placing the gauze and salves on a silver platter on a rolling cart. He notices a lot of bloody cotton balls and sponges as well.

“Did she cut me open?” Harry was dead serious.

“Yes. She extracted some blood that was most contaminated with basilisk venom for further research.” Voldemort’s glamours dropped as he sat at the end of the bed.

Uh oh.

Harry was well aware of that look. The look of an adult about to give devastating news. The tension in their shoulders, their unwillingness to meet their eyes, and their heavy brows. Always with the furrowed brow.

“When Narcissa performed the scan on you,” Starting with a story was never good. “I noticed a certain mark under your ailments. Dark Magic Mark.”

“I don’t have the dark mark.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Listen. I know that. But it wasn’t just physical; no, it listed it as a soul ailment as well. There was a bit of blackness in your otherwise grey core when we did a visual soul spell on you."

“Wait —you can see a soul—“

“Silence.” Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose. “Harry,” Oh no, not the first name.

“You know what a horcrux is.”

Harry felt his blood turn to ice. He couldn't—no— he wasn’t a Horcux. It wouldn’t be a Horcux. No, it had to be something else. Something else made him a parseltongue. Something else had to be the reason he could see through Voldemort’s eyes. Something— anything.

But it would all make sense, wouldn’t it?

“I’m - “ Harry’s throat closed up. He couldn’t say it.

“You are.” Voldemort sighed. “And as such, I must train you to protect my horcrux.”

“What!” Harry exclaimed. He tried to jump up, but he found his limbs were limp and useless.

Voldemort looked him in the eyes. Dead in the eyes, the deep maroon locking with emerald green. “You possess a piece of my soul. I have protections on my other Horcuxes, and as you are a living being, you need to be able to defend yourself.”

“No - I “

He couldn’t deny the fact. He was a horcrux. He possessed a piece of Voldemort’s soul within him.

While he lives, Voldemort can’t die.

“But —But the prophecy.” It was done for. His fate had been sealed.

“What about the prophecy?” Voldemort’s mood turned in an instant. Gone was the tension, and it was replaced with hunger.

“I - “ There was no use in hiding it.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.

And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.”

Voldemort froze. He was caught in a state, panic bubbling to the surface of his eyes. He shook his head, not succeeding in regaining his mask.

Harry swallowed, hard. Was this a wise decision? Or would Voldemort kill him now, making the prophecy complete, and just lose the small fraction of his soul? Dammit, doing without thinking again.

“The prophecy is null as long as you contain my horcrux, which there is no way to remove. You cannot kill me. I will not kill you. It will be forever incomplete.” Voldemort enunciated slowly.

Tears bubbled up to the surface of Harry’s eyes. He tried to wipe them away, but his limbs were still useless.

He was a horcrux.

“This can’t be—“

“The more you deny it, the harder the realisation will be. You are, and you will always be, my horcrux. You can either accept it now and train with me, or you will never see the light of day again.”

“I do not need to be nice here. I would have no qualms with it, but I am giving you the chance to have some freedom.”

Voldemort was right.

He couldn’t escape, even if he wanted to. For Godric's sake, he was bed-bound! How was he supposed to leave? He’d be weighed down with this for the rest of his life.

“Okay.” Harry breathed. “I’ll do it.”

The words were bitter on his lips.

“Good.” Voldemort averted his gaze. “We will begin when you are cleared to. I will start to train you, but I expect you to duel at least one Death Eater before the summer’s end.”

“Why the summer’s end?” He asked. Would he be let go?

“I do not want to interfere with your education,” Harry snorted, “—anymore." You will not do well in life if you are not educated. I will retrieve you once your year is over.”

“And once I’m out of Hogwarts?”

“We will talk. Depending on how the war is going, I would most likely conseal you.” He'd be imprisoned until the damned thing was over.

“If you win?”

“When I win, I will employ you in a stimulating and low-threat level of work.” Voldemort scoffed at the notion of losing.

“The Defence Against the Dark Arts position is mine.” Harry demanded.

“Deal, I cannot handle schoolchildren.” Voldemort waved him off.

“Didn’t you apply to be the Defense professor?” Sure, he had alternative motives, but were they just bad? After all, he was offering to train him.

“That—was a long time ago. I will remove the curse once you acquire the position.”

Harry smiled.

“Now, I will let Narcissa continue your healing journey. Would you like to be conscious for that?” Voldemort held up another vial.

“Give me some food before, but no.”

———

The days passed with boredom. The only entertainment was the book Harry had found. Voldemort had been a bit short with him after he asked him to retrieve it, but the satisfaction of making him get it was enough to cover him.

There were so many ways to use “normal” spells in violent matters. A scroungify, for example, could remove an entire layer of skin. You could detach a limb if a windardium levosa was strong enough.

Voldemort seemed pleased with the development. He’d visit occasionally and talk. Just talking.

“Then BAM, Hermione punches him in the face.” Harry laughed.

“I would not take that disrespect either. She is ranked higher than him, no?” Voldemort signed the bottom of some documents.

“Yep. Brightest witch of our age. Dumbledore gave her a time-turner in our third year to take more classes.” That seemed to draw Voldemort’s attention.

“A time-turner? To a child?” He blinked, glancing up from his stack of papers.

“Yep.” Harry didn’t want to mention Sirius. “She’s nuts. I hope she’s doing well.”

He could distract himself all he wanted, but he still longed for his friends. But they’d never agree to be there. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to be there either, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

“If she is as close of a friend as you say, she will likely be fretting over you.” Voldemort rolled his eyes. The man was under the impression that Hermione was madly in love with him.

“Hush.” Harry waved a hand, “The Order is probably losing their minds right now. Serves them right, leaving me there.”

“There wasn’t much of a watch team either. They were easily avoidable.” Voldemort tilted his head to the side, then shook it. “How much do you know about occlumency?”

“Not much.” Harry admitted, “Bunch of purebloods talk about it.”

“Because it is often taught to children. I will teach you. If you are not successful with me, I will hand you over to Narcissa. I have been told you do not get along with Severus.” He got up from his chair and snapped his fingers, and the papers vanished.

“Yeah, I’d punch him if I could.” Harry didn’t hide his disdain for the man. “But he’s just too quick. Draco’s a lot slower, so I settle for him.”

Voldemort hummed. Another snap of his fingers, and a thick red book appeared in his hands.

“Read this, it should give you insight to occlumency. I have a meeting, so do read at least the introduction before I am back.” He lightly placed the book on his lap.

“Gotcha.” Not that Harry had anything better to do. Voldemort swept out of the room without another word.

Now alone, with no Narcissa and no Voldemort for the first time, Harry sprung into action.

He swung his wobbly legs over the bed and dove for his trunk. Shuffling through the messes of parchment, boxes, and clothes, he finally found it.

“Tom, please get out of there.” He called.

An inky blackness spilled over the pages. Harry staggered back as it spilled into his lap. It formed into a human-like shape, and Tom was finally visible.

"Wow, I didn’t know it looked like that.”

“Where are we?” Tom looked around the room sceptically.

“Ah, promise you won’t react badly?” Harry wasn’t sure what he’d think. It wasn’t as if they had many conversations; it was mostly just cuddling.

“Where. Are. We.” He spoke slowly.

“Erm, I kinda got willingly kidnapped—“

“What?”

"Shhhh," Harry said, his hand clamped over his enraged face. “So Voldemort kinda took me away from the Dursleys and, uh… something was revealed, and now he doesn’t want me dead.”

“What.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda… weird but nice?”

Tom looked at him as if he were crazy (he was). He gently cupped his cheeks and drew him closer.

“What ‘something’ was revealed?” He inquired once more, slowly.

“Erm, I’m a horcrux?” Harry smiled.

“What!”

Tom’s eyes searched him quickly. He scoured him, until his eyes snapped up to his scar.

A strong tingle ran through his whole body as they made contact. Harry shivered. It wasn’t unpleasant, just different. But he leaned into the touch on instinct.

“So this is… good for you?” Tom hesitated as he asked.

“Maybe? I have been threatened with confinement without seeing the light of day if I don’t participate in training, and I’ll be walled up after I finish school until the war is over. Don’t worry, he promised me the Defence Against the Dark Arts position after it’s over.”

Harry didn’t know if he was trying to reassure Tom or himself.

“And you’re... okay with that?” Tom placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders.

The floodgates opened.

Harry sobbed like he had never sobbed before. Lean arms enveloped his body, wrapping him into a warm hug. Hands gently rubbed circles into his back.

Waves upon waves of sorrow overcame him. Why was this happening to him? Was it something he did wrong, or was the universe punishing him for something he didn't realise he had done? Forced to be tied to the murder of his parents for the rest of his life?

Was Tom even a comfort to him? Or was it the horcrux in his head telling him to be? Was his one solace a lie?

Did it even matter if it was all true?

Tom guided him to the bed. He carefully set him down and crawled in next to him. Harry immediately clung on to Tom, digging his nails into his shirt.

He poured all his stress out as he banged his head against Tom’s chest. All the frustration of the dawning months collapsed in on him. His chest burned, and his heart palpitated.

Cicles rubbed into his back. He tried to focus on that, on anything besides the raw emotion flooding over him.

Slowly, very, very, slowly, he cried until his tears ran dry. The exhaustion settled deep into his bones, and he was out like a light.

_________

“What is the first principle of occlumency?” Voldemort asked as he slid onto the other side of the table.

“Walls.”

“Wrong.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Okay, it’s guarding.”

“It is making sure you are aware of yourself.” Voldemort sighed, “Awareness of yourself will make yourself notice a difference faster.”

“Okay, got it.” Harry nodded. He didn’t get it.

“First, you’re going to feel what an attack is like. I will move more obviously than normal, and you should feel it. Act on instinct.”

Voldemort stared him dead in the eye. It was a bit unnerving seeing his slitted pupils narrow into thin needles against a crimson-red background.

There was a niggling feeling just behind his eye. It further protruded into his brain, coasting until it hit the middle.

Harry was curled up in his cupboard as he listened to the sound of the early morning news. His hand was pressed against his mouth, a bubbling heat radiating from it.

He had burned his hand again.

Withdrawing it, he saw the skin was puffy and pink, with fluid running under the blister. He winced as the heat didn’t die down.

Harry pushed the memory away. But as soon as he got away from it, another one replaced it.

In the library, Harry laboured over a book. There is nothing useful on the sea life. He already failed the bubble-head charm, and he wanted something more concrete.

“Harry!” Neville called quietly from another shelf.

“What?” Harry snapped. After seeing the blond's skittish reaction, he gave an apologetic smile.

“I think I know how you can win this!”

Though not unpleasant, Harry pushed it away. It wasn’t anything important.

Adreline coursed through his veins as he dodged another attack from the basilisk. This time, she ran her head into the stone, and blood poured from her wounds.

Harry raised the sword as she came barreling down. Trapped between the stones, fire coursed through his veins.

The sword had gone directly through the basilisk’s skull with her own force.

He withdrew the sword and found a large fang buried deep in his forearm.

Again, he pushed away the memory.

The world came back to him. He found himself staring back into crimson eyes again, Voldemort’s pupils dilating until his eyes looked black.

It was terrifying.

Harry averted his gaze.

“You did not try to make me leave your mind, but instead redirected me.” Voldemort sounded like he was saying it more to himself than Harry.

“Okay, what does that mean?”

“It means it will be easier to teach you. The most basic way of avoiding attacks is through redirection. It's to keep your attacker from knowing you're aware they're attacking. Subtly is key.” Voldemort jotted down some notes on parchment.

“Neat.” Maybe Harry’s wasn’t a lost cause after all.

“You know how it feels to the unprotected mind; now we must put up barriers to prevent surface-level attacks.”

__________

The process was long and tedious, and it frequently led Harry into memories he'd rather not revisit. But Voldemort didn’t say a word about them, something he was entirely grateful for.

He now had a "mindscape,” as it was called. His visualisation skills were fairly good, and he was able to construct it easily.

He needed somewhere to store his memories. So, he chose a castle—Hogwarts, to be specific. There were traps around every corner, mostly prank-inspired, and a roaming Ceberus that tried to chase even Harry.

The issue was deciding where to lay the memories. He and Voldemort argued on and on (“Don’t store them in an obvious place.” “Then how will I find them?”) but they settled on a half-and-half approach.

His important memories were closely guarded not only in the Chamber of Secrets, but also in the kitchen behind the fruit painting. Down in the Chamber, the basilisk was there along with Fawks, who got along in his mindscape.

Less important, mundane memories were wrapped around those, but they also littered the library and common rooms. Certain bricks would also activate memories, and more distant, blurry ones, were in the Forbidden Forest.

“That’s fine for the first lesson.” Voldemort tapped his stack of papers together and aligned them in a neat pile.

“My brain hurts.” Harry complained, warm sweat dripping from his brow. The mental work was more taxing than Quidditch practice.

“You are advancing slower than I would prefer. We will meet daily until you’re at an acceptable level.”

Harry banged his head against the table.

“Stop that. It does not aid you.” Voldemort hit him with the stack of papers like a misbehaving dog.

“It makes me feel better.”

“Find a better way to cope, or retreat to your mindscape.” Voldemort stood, casting a long shadow over him.

Harry was left to his own devices for the rest of the day. Being a Dark Lord was apparently a busy task.

Fortunately for Harry, he was able to explore the rest of the manor. Voldemort put a tracking spell on him, much to his annoyance, but it was better than being cooped up in his room all day.

He strolled through the garden on a weary, cloudy day. The overcast had fog rolling through the bushes and obscuring anything more than a few meters ahead of him.

But it was peaceful.

Past a row of flowers that looked like blue butterflies was a bench in front of a fountain. A cold mist covered him, but it was reassuring in a way.

Lean arms wrapped around his waist. Harry jumped, thrashing for a second, but relaxed as soon as he heard a light chuckle.

“How did you get here?” Harry asked, leaning back into Tom’s chest.

“I can walk, you know.” He nuzzled Harry’s hair. “And it’s easy to track your magical signature.”

“Okay,” He replied, basking in the attention.

They didn’t wait long to take the bench. Harry rested his head in Tom’s lap, eyes closed. They were in a peaceful silence as Tom traced Harry’s facial features.

No matter how hard the day was, Harry rested easily, knowing that he’d always have someone to return to.

Chapter Text

Severus’s form shook.

Harry Potter was abducted by the Dark Lord.

He tried to push down the whirlwind of emotions. They only came back stronger. He groaned, throwing himself onto his sofa.

The Dark Lord has stopped his crusade against Harry Potter.

That was good, on the surface. Severus had sworn a vow on his magic and life that he would protect Potter at any cost. He no longer had to dance the edge between complying with the Dark Lord and saving Potter’s life.

A piece of the Dark Lord’s soul was within Potter’s.

Albus had told him about the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. Severus was the man that contained the ring’s curse to Albus’s hand. Besides the curse, a horcrux was a dangerous piece of dark magic to even touch. And it had been living in Potter for almost his entire life.

The Dark Lord cannot die without Potter dying first.

That was the flaw in his perfect world. He could not kill Potter nor be involded in his death. His tough teaching in class was toeing the line as it is. The war could not be won without Potter being dead.

What would Albus say?

He wouldn’t - couldn’t - reveal that piece of information. Albus would do everything in his power to kill the boy for the greater good of the wixen world. And Severus would have to fight against him.

The Dark Lord would win the war.

He didn’t lose when he attacked the Potters. In fact, he had sealed the fate of the war at that point. Everything Severus had been working for - all the healing their world had done - was futile. The Dark Lord would continue to come back even after death.

The Death Eaters wouldn’t give up if the Dark Lord died.

The man proclaimed he wasn’t mortal time and time again. When he came back, he proved it. Anyone would give their hand to prevent the agonsing tortue they endured their first meeting. Severus wasn’t exempt from that either, he was only a little lighter on him because he still worked under Albus.

He was stuck.

Side with the Dark Lord, become a second-class citizen due to his blood status. Have his students taken away because they weren’t fortunate enough to be born into an all-magical family. His world would crumble, dying until it’s reduced to ashes.

Side with Albus, and Potter dies. If he knew - the sinking feeling in his gut told him Albus knew - then he would want Potter dead. Severus would have to either be left out or fight against the plans.

And Potter’s death didn’t guarantee that the Light would win.

Severus sighed, pulling himself from his sofa. He swept over to his room, to his nightstand. In a drawer, he pulled out an old, yellowed photo.

“Lily,” He touched the red-headed girl, who smiled and laughed in the photo, “I have failed you. I can’t succeed.”

__________

Harry took an awkward stance in front of Voldemort.

“Feet further apart,” Voldemort commanded, prodding his hip with the tip of his wand.

“Ow!” Harry complained. But he moved his feet.

“No, more to the centre. You’re too far inward.”

They had been correcting his stance for close to an hour, and frankly, Harry was about to take “not seeing the light of day” over this. He thought they’d be duelling on day one, only to learn that was maybe in a week or two.

“Perfect,” Voldemort said after another ten minutes. “Memorise that; engrain it in your memory.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

A hard prod was sent to his ribs. Harry tumbled to the floor, groaning and trying to regain his breath. He glared at Voldemort, who looked quite smug. Bastard, messing up all his work.

But he couldn’t ignore the racing electricity that filled him when they touched.

He bit his lip, “Did you feel that?” He asked, standing back up.

“Be more specific.”

“The… electricity? Give me your hand.” Harry raised his hand, palm facing Voldemort.

Voldemort looked skeptical, but pressed their palms together.

Again, there was a steady hum of electricity. But he couldn’t help but notice how abnormally cold Voldemort was. It reminded him more of a corpse than a person.

“I… see.” Voldemort’s eyebrows furrowed. “I assume it’s due to the horcrux. Does it pain you?”

“No, but it’s growing stronger.” The hum inched toward his brain.

The moment he felt it go over his eyes, an unholy pain overtook him. He dropped to his knees and rested his head against the cool floor. Sticky blood leaked from his scar, dripping into his eyes.

He was acutely aware that Voldemort was watching him. When the pain had dissipated enough, he staggered to his feet.

Then, Voldemort reached out and directly touched his scar.

The pain blinded his vision. He hit the ground and retched onto the floor. The acidic taste in his mouth made him want to vomit again. He spat, trying to regain his composure.

“Interesting.” Voldemort vanished his puke.

“Interesting,” Harry mocked back.

“Perhaps, hm, I will need to look closer at the horcrux embedded in your soul.” Voldemort pressed a glass of water into Harry’s hands. “I believe it’s because the bond wasn’t solidified. The pain, theoretically, should go away. Or at least your reaction won’t be as violent.”

“What - What do you have to do?” Did he have to murder someone again?

“Hm, I will not disclose the specifics, but it involves splashing the object with my blood. I assume it is the same, however, you may have to drink it.” Voldemort looked like he was about to say more, but stopped.

Harry cringed.

He was no stranger to tasting blood. He'd swallowed his own blood several times before, but swallowing someone else's was a whole different ballgame. Particularly Voldemort's blood. He wasn’t even sure the man had any.

“I will research more. We simply will not touch for extended periods of time. I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself while I look for books on the subject.” Voldemort turned on his heel and stalked off.

Harry limped to his bag. He needed some type of reassurance. His hands found the cold diary in an instant and flipped open the pages. The diary sensed his distress, and and an inky blackness spilt out.

“What ires you?” Tom asked, gently wiping away the sweat on Harry’s forehead with his sleeve. The tingle returned, but it was warm, like stepping into a hot bath.

“I found out if I touch Voldemort for long enough - or he touches my scar - it basically crucio’s me for a few seconds.” He complained. Harry flopped on the floor and rested his head on Tom’s lap.

“That’s odd. It doesn’t hurt when I touch it, does it?” He hesitated to put his hand down.

“No, quite the opposite.” Harry placed Tom’s hand on his head, demanding to be pet. “He said that it’s because the horcrux isn’t solidified. I might have to drink his blood or something.”

Tom’s nose crinkled. “Hopefully not. Do you need any pain relief?”

“It’s fine; I can deal with it.” Harry tossed and turned in Tom’s lap. He curled up into a tighter ball and buried his face into Tom’s stomach. Tom let out a sigh but continued to stroke his hair.

“If you say so.”

They stayed that way for a while. Just content in each other’s presence, happy to simply exist.

But a thought brewed in Harry’s mind.

“Do you feel anything?”

“Hm? Well, it feels nice. I can feel your heat. I can’t feel temperature, and my sense of touch, hearing, and smell is much duller. But with you... there isn’t any of that.” He admitted, stroking his cheek.

What about taste?

Harry blushed at the thought.

“Hm?” Tom asked. “You got warm. Are you feverish?”

Harry wanted to curl up and die. "Um, no, just ah, nothing."

“If you’re sure.”

Harry snuggled closer, trying to conceal his burning cheeks. He could forget everything when they were like this. It was nice to just bask in another’s presence.

But all good things must come to an end. The moment he heard footsteps, he quickly hid Tom. It saddened him to see him go, but he knew that he’d get a visit that night.

Voldemort came into the room with eight books in his arms. Five were thick, large tomes that looked ancient, while three were thin and almost more like pamphlets than actual books. He sat the stacks on a table that was pushed against the wall.

With a flick of his hand, he summoned a chair and began flipping through pages of the large ones. Harry hmphed; did Voldemort even remember he was there?

“Stop acting like I neglect you. Get into a duelling stance and put up a shield. I will send spells to you, and you will block them.” Voldemort flicked his wand from his holster.

Harry perked up. Finally! Some sort of action!

He hopped to his feet and stood in position.

“Further to your left,” Voldemort said, “and put your right foot back a bit.”

Harry groaned. They spent five minutes perfecting his pose, and at that point, Harry felt stiff and unnatural. Voldemort rolled his eyes and propped up his book as soon as Harry was perfect.

“Stupefy.” Voldemort flicked at him before Harry had a chance to summon his shield.

He barely managed a weak Protego in time before another spell shot at him, this time an off-orange colour. His shield broke, and Harry forced more magic into the next one. This one was stronger, larger, and it could cover most of his body.

“Focus on having a smaller shield.” Voldemort sent a nasty hex to him.

“Why? Isn’t it better to have a bigger one?” Harry asked as small white cracks formed in his shield.

“Only if you are being attacked from multiple angles. Small shields work best, as they use less magic, and are quicker to manoeuvre than a larger shield. You just need more accuracy.” He lazily flicked off another spell.

Doubtful, but knowing he was probably correct, Harry cancelled the spell and started to cast another one when needles pricked his left leg. He staggered, hissing curses, as he saw the fabric had been ripped open and tiny abrasions were on his skin.

“We will work on changing the power in a spell without recasting it. Again.” Voldemort paused for a second to give him time to recuperate.

Another twenty spells later, and Harry was tired. He could hardly move the shield on time before another one came at him. And Voldemort wasn’t even trying! He was just haphazardly flicking spells at him while calmly reading his books.

An idea struck him. Harry forced more magic into his shield and made the shield push out against the next spell instead of absorbing it. The red spell bounced off his shield and ran directly to Voldemort.

The man, not paying attention, took the full brunt of the spell. A short slash cut across his face and the corner of the little pamphlet-book was knicked. Harry smirked.

Voldemort closed his book slowly and ran his finger over the cuts.

A yellow spell shot out of Voldemort’s wand. It blasted through Harry’s shield and struck his hip.

Harry crumpled. Little shards of his hip bone were shaving off and impaling his joint. He whimpered, biting down hard on his lip as he just hoped for the pain to stop. But it didn’t.

The whimpers morphed into small sobs as he could feel the ball of his bone slowly dissolving, like a jawbreaker. He banged his head against the ground to try to distract himself.

“Is it still going?” Voldemort asked in surprise.

Harry couldn’t say anything as he was trying to stop himself from screaming. The bone had run out and was now shredding his muscle. His hand was clamped against the area, and he could already feel a soft, squishy spot forming.

“No, no, it should have ended a long time ago…” Voldemort loomed over him.

Harry shied away as Voldemort kneeled down. He curled into a tighter ball, trying his best to make himself as small as possible.

“Here, let me see it.” Voldemort raised his hand.

Harry shielded his face with his arms. The spell had progressed, ripping apart the thin layer of fat and moving on to the underside of his skin. Voldemort hesitated, but placed his hand on his hip.

“Shit.” Voldemort cursed.

He mumbled a few words in parseltongue, and the spell stopped. Harry choked in a breath, then kept his mouth shut. It burned, like molten iron being poured into his socket.

Voldemort muttered more words in parseltongue, and his entire leg went numb. Harry sighed, his lungs cramping from holding his breath for so long. The tingles were starting up as well.

“I’m bringing you back to your room. I know a potion that will fix this within the hour.” Voldemort scooped him up and Harry’s bag was magically lifted into his lap.

“Be quick.” Harry hissed, wrapping a hand around the bag’s strap. “The electricity is moving.”

Voldemort nodded and speed-walked out of the room. He just barely made it to his room in time, depositing Harry on his bed as soon as possible.

The man was in and out of his room within minutes. Harry laid there, diary clutched against his chest. It calmed him.

"Here," Voldemort said as he handed him two vials. “The purple one will fix the damages, and the other is a pain reliever. Take both.”

Harry downed the two foul potions. The aftertaste combination was even worse. Voldemort barked for Pipskey to get him some pumpkin juice to sip on. Even then, it didn’t help too much.

“I am - “Voldemort hesitated, glancing at his wand, whose tip started to glow grey, and then he looked relieved. “I need to leave. A Death Eater is calling me. Rest and heal.”

Harry let out a long sigh as the door slammed shut. He summoned Tom, needing some relaxation before he fell asleep.

______

Voldemort’s glamours went up the moment he exited the room. Another meeting was required of him. This time, it was Severus who asked for him. It was almost never good when Severus called; most of the time it was news of the Order planning a new, effective way to derail his plans.

TThe man in question stood in the entrance hall, pacing. Voldemort sighed. Not a good sign either. But delaying the inevitable never ended well.

“Severus, what is it?” The first name still felt foreign on his tongue. Had he ever called them by their names, even at the beginning? He couldn’t remember.

“My Lord!” Severus’s voice was practically quaking. “Dumbledore has figured out that Potter has been kidnapped instead of running away. He has managed to convince the Aurors to raid Malfoy Manor to try to find him. It’s happening in two hours.”

“What.” Voldemort hissed. Most of the Azkaban prisoners lived there. Hell, most of their everything was there.

“What will we do, my Lord?” Severus appeared just as distressed as he was.

Voldemort didn’t hesitate, he yanked Severus’s arm and pressed his bone-white wand onto the dark mark. He called for everyone. They needed as much help as they could get, especially at this time of night.

“You will start moving everything here. Work for efficiency, not organisation. Scrub every piece of our existence from there. My followers will stay here.” Voldemort grabbed Severus' arm and apparated them into Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa was, as always, already up. She was less dressed, in a nightgown, but she looked as alert as ever. Behind her, yawning and rubbing his eyes, was Lucius. His eyes widened as he looked at the Dark Lord.

“There will be a raid here in two hours. Gather everything and bring it to my manor. Only the inner circle is allowed to transport; however, I may extend the offer to the middle circle. Relay this to everyone.” Voldemort didn’t stop to make sure they understood and instead rushed to the guest wing.

Approximately 93 Death Eaters were staying at Malfoy Manor. Others had been welcomed to hide in their ancestral homes, but the rest were not so lucky. Voldemort summoned firecrackers from his wand and lit them ablaze.

Loud bangs rang out in the hall. Moments later, the convicts were peering out from their doors, second-hand wands raised. Voldemort cast a sonours on his voice.

“You need to evacuate. Do not leave a trace of your existence. When you are ready, report to the entrance of the hall. You have one hour.” There was much more than just the Death Eaters to worry about.

“My Lord, I will make sure the rooms are cleared, as will my family.” Bellatrix reported a deathly serious expression on her face.

“You all have heard of this possibility; use your emergency kits.” Voldemort rushed to Bellatrix’s room first.

“Come, Bellatrix. You need to be prepared first. I will have Narcissa check instead.”

Voldemort and Bellatrix rushed to pack everything. Part of their emergency kit contained a bottomless, feather-light bag that could fit everything. It was painfully hard to enchant them, but they were vital in situations like this.

He found a disturbing amount of Daily Prophet cutouts of him and mentions of him, but he was too stressed to care. Within minutes, Bellatrix was ready. Leaving her room, Rodolphus and Rabastan were packed as well.

He apparted them all to his manor and instructed them to guide the Death Eaters to the guest wing. He’d have to host at least a few in the family wing, but he’d reserve those for his inner circle.

“Don’t settle yourselves. Anyone in the inner circle or upper-middle circle is to wait. I may have to host the family wing.” At times like this, he was glad he had extended Riddle Manor to twice its original size.

Bellatrix’s eyes gleamed at the thought.

Time was drawing close. And everyone was exhausted. Anyone, including Voldemont, would be after more than 30 apparitions. Again, he thanked himself for opening his wards to his inner circle.

Ten minutes.

That was all the time they had to spare. They had barely gotten the last of the dark artefacts out of there. Voldemort sent off Narcissa with strict instructions to sip a dreamless sleep to make it look like she’d been sleeping the entire time. She thanked him profusely and went off.

In the end, all eight of the Azkaban escapees from his inner circle needed to be moved into the family wing. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Barty Crouch Jr., Amycus and Alecto Carrow, and Tiberius Nott all needed to be hosted.

“Need I remind you that Harry Potter is not to be harmed. Antagonising him, though tempting, will result in a fight you will not win because you will not harm him. Understood?”He spoke more to Bellatrix than to the others..

There were some tentative agreements, but they were still agreements. He settled them in the rooms furthest from Harry’s, which put them at the entrance of the wing.

“Do not pass the garden door unless specifically instructed.” He pointed to the door in the middle of the hall.

“The lounge, kitchen, and library are on this side.” He gestured opposite their rooms.

“Thank you so much, My Lord.” Bellatrix giggled. She acted like he had offered her his bed!

“Sleep. Your bodies are still healing.”

Voldemort watched as they each entered their rooms (Bellatrix has asked for one separate from her husband's) before casting a detection ward. It would alert him whenever someone entered or left the rooms. Another one was placed a few metres away from the garden door.

He hesitated at Harry’s door. He’d be awake by now, but he wasn’t sure how he’d take the news.

Since when did he care?

He shook his head.

Voldemort opened the door.

“What?” He muttered.

On the bed, wrapped up in sheets, was a younger version of himself. He was cuddling Potter. Running his hands through Potter’s hair as the boy softly snored. And looking so happy while doing so.

His younger self looked up from Potter. A flicker of fear crossed his face, then amusement.

“Merlin, you’re ugly.”

Voldemort stepped back. How dare he—how dare his younger self insult him like that! He dropped his glamours with a glare on his face.

“Oh, that’s what he meant by that.” Young Voldemort laughed. Laughed.

“How are you here?" Voldemort asked.

How on earth had he returned? In physical form, he could interact with the environment. But there was something different about his magic. Like it had twisted slightly. Young Voldemort looked apprehensive, but answered.

“Horcrux, obviously.”

“Which one?” He tried to remember how old he could have been, but the memory evaded him.

“Diary.”

“Potter said he killed you.” At that, Young Voldemort laughed again.

“My death was greatly exaggerated. There wasn’t enough basilisk venom to completely destroy me, but it took up all my magical reserves to keep myself from dying. Then Potter got a hold of me and cut himself on the page. I absorbed his magic.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “And what about... this?” He nodded to them.

“I siphon magic through an emotional response. This,” He gestured to them, “elicits a very happy response.”

“Does he know?”

“Of course he does. He knew of me, but he only gained my identity after Vernon nearly beat him to death.” Voldemort scowled.

“And why didn’t he tell me?” Anger sparked within him—something he hadn’t felt towards Potter in a while.

Potter groaned in his sleep. He shifted, burying his face in Young Voldemort’s chest and gripping at his shirt. Young Voldemort glared at him.

“Calm down. Do you think I want to be trapped under dozens of enchantments again? Do you think I want to be forced back into the diary again? Do you think I want to be treated like he is?” He hissed venomously.

“I didn’t think you were fully sentient.” True, he knew it contained his thoughts at the time, but to be fully corporeal and able to think on his own accord? Never.

Young Voldemort tched. “Of course you didn’t.”

They stood there in silence.

Potter, as always, had impeccable timing.

He snuggles closer, bumping against Young Voldemort’s chin. His leg swung over Young Voldemort’s hips, and Potter shivered pleasantly.

“Patronus,” He muttered sleepily.

Voldemort’s jaw tightened.

“When he wakes up, call for Pipskey and use her to send for me. He is not to leave the room until we talk.” He backed away and shut the door before hearing the answer.

He didn’t know whether to be disgusted or glad. His horcrux wasn’t destroyed - the one that had 50% of his soul - and he was able to be corporeal now. But he didn't know what to think about the other.

The idea of Potter cuddling up to his 16-year-old Horcux was never a possibility. Never a thought. Potter even called him a Patronus. A beacon of pure happiness and light. The polar opposite of him.

He wasn’t even sure what to think - by all means, his horcrux’s reactions should be the same as they would have been back then. And he wouldn’t have done any of that, even to Abraxas. Nothing so intimate.

Perhaps 50 years trapped in a diary did harm to the psyche.

Isolation would be a motive for any type of physical contact. Even if he was repulsed by it, he still interacted with or bumped into people. Professors would literally pat him on the back all the time.

Yes, that’s what it must be.

Voldemort didn’t get much sleep that night.

______

He saw himself from another perspective. Harry was leaning over himself, his hand hovering over his chest. In his sleep, Dream-Harry rolled onto his side. A spider crawled onto him. Harry brushed away the spider, his hand pale.

Dream-Harry leaned into the touch, and a wave of power rushed through Harry. He pulled his hand back, and Dream-Harry let out a short sigh. Harry hesitantly reapplied his hand to him. He recognised another wave of power—magic, he recognised.

He gently patted himself for hours.

__________

Harry awoke reluctantly. It felt amazing just to cuddle up to someone, and he knew they’d part when he woke.

However, he was the only one awake.

Tom was sleeping, his chest moving slowly up and down. He appeared to be at ease just lying there. His slight furrow to the brow and slightly downturned lips were gone, instead resting neutrally.

With a gossomer's touch, Harry coasted his thumb over his cheek. Tom twitched, leaning into his touch. Butterflies bubbled in Harry’s stomach. He reached out again, this time cupping his face. Tom breathed out, almost a sigh, and shuffled closer to him.

A smile stretched itself across Harry’s face. He shuffled himself until he reached eye level. There, he carded his hands through his hair as softly as he could. A part of him melted as Tom snuggled up to him.

Tom’s hands, which were wrapped around his waist, gripped him closer, clawing at the fabric of his shirt. It brought his face nearer. Pale-pink lips were parted slightly. Soft, warm, breath blew in his face.

Taste.

The word repeated itself in his head. He banished the thought and chose to focus on other matters.

But Harry could not imagine anything better.

For a while, he continues to preen him.

Tom’s eyes slowly cracked open. Brown, Harry noted. A warm, dark chocolate brown. He had thought they were red for the longest time. His pupils were wide and trained on him.

“Morning.” He said.

“Morning. Sleep well?” Harry asked, still brushing through his hair. He hadn’t even encountered a knot yet.

“Very,” He yawned, “You?”

“Spectacular .” It was the best sleep of his life.

“Mhh,” Tom hummed in agreement. His eyes scanned Harry’s face. “Have you always looked this bright?”

"Um," Harry's face was flushed. “I think?”

Tom laughed, thumbing his cheek. “You are just such a bright light. How fortunate I am to have encountered you.”

Tom drew their faces a little closer, their noses almost touching. He leaned up and placed a soft kiss against Harry’s forehead. Electricity thrummed through his veins, warm and relaxing like a hot bath.

His thumb traced Harry’s facial features. Around his under-eye, to his cheekbones, down across his jawline - Tom stopped at his lips. He paused, brushing against Harry’s bottom lip with a contemplative look in his eyes. His hand withdrew.

A frown crossed his handsome face. “Pipskey?”

A pop later, and a house elf appeared.

“Tell Voldemort we’re up.” Tom sighed.

“Young Master will inform Master.” Pipskey bowed and popped away.

“Hm?” Harry asked, perplexed.

Tom sighed. “Voldemort decided to intrude on us when you had just fallen asleep. He asked some questions, didn’t like the answers, and told me to alert the house elf when you were awake. He needs to talk to you or something.”

Harry couldn’t help but blush.

“Maybe he’ll stop intruding. He needs to learn how to knock.” Harry huffed. He walked in on him changing twice.

“Mh, yes. That would be great, wouldn’t it, love?” Harry’s face turned to fire.

Tom reluctantly drew away. Harry already missed his touch. The warmth, the gentle caresses, even just the presence. But he’d have to suck it up if Voldemort was coming. But he knew he’d always have him at night.

A knock sounded from the door. Harry and Tom looked at each other, smirking. They separated further, sitting criss-crossed in front of each other.

“Come in! I’m decent!” Harry smiled as he yelled.

Voldemort reluctantly entered the chamber. His eyes flickered from Harry to Tom, then back again.

“Leave,” He commanded Tom.

“No. Whatever you say will just get back to me anyway.” Tom rolled his eyes.

“Leave.” He said again.

Tom groaned, but complied. He turned into a floating liquid of black ink and hopped back into the diary on the nightstand. Harry looked at Voldemort questioningly.

“Yesterday, there was a raid on Malfoy Manor. The rest of the Death Eaters are housed in the Manor. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rasbatin Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Barty Crouch Jr., Amycus and Alecto Carrow, and Tiberius Nott are in the family wing, where we are.”

“They are under strict instructions not to harm you; however, tread carefully. I do not want you in the main manor. You have access to the kitchen, lounge, library, garden, training room, and spare room. If you ever leave the confines of this manor, it will be when I accompany you. Understood?”

Harry nodded.

“Wait, Barty Crouch Jr. is alive?” Harry exclaimed. Great, someone who tried to murder him was alive.

“Yes.” Voldemort answered. “Lucius swapped him out for a muggle when he was getting the dementor’s kiss.”

There was fear within him. He’d encountered all of those Death Eaters. Vicious, foul people, who’d sooner kill him than anyone else. He swallowed hard. Hopefully, they’d heed the warning.

“Kitchen?” He asked. He didn’t know there was one.

“Yes, there is a separate kitchen for the family-specific house elves. If you are ever hungry and Pipskey is busy, walk down and ask for food.” Harry bounced at his words.

“Can I cook there?” Voldemort looked at him sceptically.

“I assume so? I have never tried.” Voldemort shrugged.

“Is anyone there right now?” Harry jumped out of bed.

“I do not know. Be careful.” Voldemort stared at him with a knowing look on his face. It wasn’t as if Harry looked for trouble; trouble seemed to find him.

“I’ll try.”

Chapter Text

The kitchen countertops were massive marble tiles. Fire-baked ovens and enchanted ice boxes were lining the back wall, with huge pantries on the other two. The countertop opened up into a small dining area, but the table was currently filled with meals for breakfast.

Soft music filtered through the room at Harry’s request. Harry scooted past the house elves as he gathered ingredients. They prepared the window counter for him to cook whatever he was making.

And today, he was feeling brownies for breakfast.

Hips swished around as he hummed, mixing the bowl of chocolate batter. Tom hopped down from the counter and walked behind Harry.

“What are you thinking?” Harry asked. Tom wrapped his hands around his waist.

“I’m thinking about how good these brownies are going to taste.” Tom rested his chin on Harry’s head.

“You can taste in this form?” Harry asked, scooping a small spoonful of batter with an extra spoon.

“Yes, dull, but yes.”

Harry offered the scoop of batter above his head. Tom lunged for it.

“Mhh, tastiest thing I’ve had so far, love.”

A smile stretched across Harry’s face. He continued to cook, adding some chocolate chips here and some flour there, until he was satisfied with the batter. Tom helped him until they had four large pans of batter.

“Perhaps I made too much.” Harry stated. Tom laughed.

“Maybe present it as a peace offering? Death Eaters would really like some brownies.” Tom said sarcastically, though Harry did seriously consider it.

“Maybe.”

Fresh from the oven, Harry and Tom munched on the soft brownies. They were still so soft, practically falling apart in their hands, but they were more than happy to continue eating them. Tom cast a glance at him.

“You got a little something there.” Tom reached out and wiped away a streak of chocolate from Harry’s mouth with his thumb.

Then he licked it.

Thoughts swirled in Harry’s brain.

“Tasty.” Tom moved closer to him. “Wonder what else tastes good?”

A fire blossomed across Harry’s face. He could feel Tom almost on top of him now. The warmth from him was intoxicating, ushering him in like a moth to a flame. Tom leaned in closer, his gaze fixed on Harry's.

Harry’s mind whirled. It was a bit sudden, no? Or, or did Tom feel the same way the entire time and only now was acting? Did he enjoy his presence just as much? Or was Harry just misinterpreting the situation? Tom placed a finger under Harry’s chin and tilted his face up.

“Mind if I try a taste, love?” He asked softly, a crooked smile on his face.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Harry tried to tease, but it came off as an odd stutter.

Tom leaned in, his hot breath on Harry's face. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed, unable to keep themselves open. He could just barely feel Tom’s lips brushing against his own. So soft.

The entrance door to the kitchen slammed open.

Harry yanked away in alarm. Tom looked up, hurt, but followed his gaze.

Standing in the doorway was, a very much alive, Barty Crouch Jr. It took him a few moments of surveying the room to find Harry and Tom, but his eyes narrowed as he looked at them.

“Harry Potter,” Barty Crouch spat.

“Barty Crouch Jr.,” Harry hissed. How dare he, of all people, interrupt them?

Tom nodded to Harry, then to the brownies.

Harry sighed.

“Want a brownie?” Harry offered one of the plates.

Barty stared at the plate sceptically. He glanced at Tom, who had taken another brownie from the plate.

"All right," Barty said, hesitantly walking forward.

He snatched a brownie and nibbled on it. A surprised expression lit his face, and a questioning expression crossed his face.

“Which house elf made these?” Barty asked, taking a full bite.

"This house elf," Harry said, motioning to himself.

“Really?” Barty asked, reaching for another brownie.

“Obviously.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I enjoy baking.”

Barty didn’t reply and chose to eat more of Harry’s brownies. Tom gently slid one of the other plates to a house elf, and they pressed a finger against their lips and popped away.

“Such a common thing to do.” The man commented.

“Do you enjoy being a foul person, or is it just a hobby?” Tom asked, throwing the last piece of brownie into his mouth. Harry snorted.

Barty drew his head back, a snarl on his face. “And who may you be?”

Harry stared at Barty. Was Voldemort always Snake-Face to the Death-Eaters, or was he handsome at some point while he commanded them? He’d have to ask at some point.

Tom cackled manically. “Who am I? I am a shard of Voldemort’s soul. I split from him when he was sixteen. We are one in the same person; we share the same past, the same memories, and the same ambitions.” He monologued. Harry thought it could have a little more malicious glee.

Barty’s eyes went wide. He threw himself to his knees and stared at the floor.

“Pardon me My Lord, I was unaware of your presence. How may I atone for my transgressions?” He pleaded, not daring to stare at them.

Tom raised an eyebrow at Harry. Harry shrugged.

“For now, I’ll just give you a warning. Any other transgressions will be met with punishment.” Tom commanded with just a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“Of course, My Lord. Is there anything else I may do?” Barty stayed on the floor.

“He trains them well.” Tom hissed, sending a glance at Harry.

“As much as I hate to agree, I do.” Harry hissed and nodded.

“When you pass them, warn the others that there will be consequences to your rudeness.” Tom crossed his legs, glaring down at Barty.

“Of course, My Lord. Is there anything else I may do?” Barty repeated.

“No,” Tom waved him off.

Barty stood, stared at them for a second, and walked off stiffly. Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Sure, he knew that living with Death-Eaters would have their problems, he just didn’t know they’d be easily solved. Tom was an amazing deterrent.

Harry gave Tom an appreciative look. Tom smirked and shifted closer to him. He snaked his arm around his waist and pulled him in.

“Now, where were we?” Tom asked, tracing Harry’s jawline with his index finger.

Harry opened his mouth to tease, but the door slammed open again. Harry hmped as Tom drew away with an angry expression across his face. A moment of fear passed through Harry as he remembered that same look on his face as it had been in the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom growled, snatching Harry’s wand off the table.

“Stupefy!” He growled.

A bright red light streaked through the room. A short scream belted from Bellatrix’s mouth as it made contact with her, blasting her to the floor. Harry smirked. It was always a good time to see Bellatrix hurt.

“Who are you, and why does no one here know how to knock on doors?” Tom spat at them. Harry leaned over and saw two other men he didn’t recognise, though they looked similar. Behind them, he saw more shadows dart away.

“It is true,” Bellatrix said through laboured breathing. “It feels like the Dark Lord’s magic.”

“Reveal your names!” Tom shouted. His irritation was only growing.

“Lady Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black.” Bellatrix rose to her feet and bowed.

“Lord Rodolphus Lestrange.” The man with the middle part said

“Rabastan Lestrange.” The man with the side-part said.

“Lestrange? By whom your parents?” Tom jabbed his wand at them.

“Corvus the sixth and Berleta Lestrange.” Rabastan and Rodolphus answered at the same time.

“Cygnus Black the third, and Druella Black nee Rosier.” Bellatrix answered, not taking her eyes away from Tom. Harry bristled.

Tom’s nose crinkled at Rabastan and Rodolphus’s answer. Harry sent him a questioning look. There was a moment of silence, then Tom relented.

“Berleta and Covus were first cousins.” Tom explained. “They resented each other and nearly killed each other when they found out they were betrothed. I assume they were glad when the heir and the spare were born at once.”

Harry felt a cold shiver take over his body at the heir and the spare comment.

“That’s super gross.” Harry commented, trying to sound lighthearted.

Tom picked up on his discomfort, but didn’t say anything. Tom twirled Harry’s wand, contemplating.

“Continue with your business.” Tom instructed them, keeping Harry’s wand on him.

The three of them snatched a few trays of breakfast and scampered away. Bellatrix lingered, but Rodolphus pulled her away.

Tom grabbed Harry by his wrist and guided him back to their room. He locked the door with a quick spell and hoisted Harry into bed.

He knitted a hand through Harry’s hair and used his other arm as a pillow for Harry’s head. Harry blushed into his shirt collar, not quite sure where things were going but excited nonetheless. Harry wrapped his arms around Tom’s waist and snuggled deeper. Tom's muscles were tense, and irritation was deeply embedded in his bones.

Slowly, Tom relaxed. It took a while, but he finally stopped clenching his jaw and lost the stiffness in his biceps.

Tom cupped Harry’s face and pulled him close. Harry could see every inky-black eyelash on Tom’s face and every speck of gold in his chocolate-coloured eyes. He breathed, smelling like fresh brownies, and parted his mouth.

“Now, can we finally continue?” He asked, wetting his lips.

“Finally,” Harry inched closer.

Tom closed the gap. Their lips pressed together firmly. But their kiss still remained soft, enough to stir the butterflies in Harry’s stomach. Electricity filled his body, racing up and down his spine. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he could feel heat beating down on his face.

It was short. But sweet. Tom drew away, still cupping his face.

“Would you like more of this?” Tom asked, lingering close to his face.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry reached up and pecked his lips.

Tom took hold of his face and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. There was more force behind it—more emotion that sent tingles throughout Harry’s body. He tried to push through all of his enjoyment, all of the healing nights, and all of the wonderful touches, into it. Harry carded his hands through Tom’s hair, desperate to have any hold on him.

They drew away for a breath, a thin trail of spit breaking from their lips. Harry wiped his mouth; his face was surely on fire. Tom himself had a peachy streak across his cheeks.

“You know,” Tom pulled him into his chest and coasted his hands along his side until they reached Harry’s waist. “I thought this would make these... feelings stop.”

At that moment, a small piece of Harry broke.

“But,” Tom continued. “I think it only solidified them.”

“I mean,” Harry fidgeted, “I’m okay with it if you are.”

“You seem very forgiving of someone who tried to murder you.” He rubbed circles into Harry’s back.

Harry laughed. “I mean, it’s a regular occurrence for me.” Harry held Tom closer. “Join the club.”

Tom tensed. “It shouldn’t be.”

“Well, it should happen less now. Voldemort doesn’t want to kill me. Death Eaters shouldn’t try to kill me. You would have killed me by now. I don’t have much to worry about.” Harry stopped for a second to think. “Okay, Dolorus Umbridge may want to kill me. I have the Ministry to worry about.”

“Who’s Dolorus Umbridge, love?” Fingers dug into Harry’s waist.

“Oh, where do I start?” Harry said exasperatedly.

________

Harry stared into crimson eyes. Another occlumency lesson.

“So, what did you do during your fifth year?” Voldemort said, setting down his teacup.

There was a small itch in his eyes. The memory of a Dumbledore’s Army meeting appeared in his head. He changed the path, re-directing it to a memory of Snape berating him in Potions.

Voldemort nodded. He reached over and grabbed a biscuit. He dipped it in his tea and nibbled a bite.

“These are good. When did you learn how to cook?” He took a larger bite. Another itch, this time deeper and deeper into his brain.

The memory of Vernon pressing his small hand into a hot pan, still on the gas stove, bubbled up in his mind. Harry shoved it away, trying to think of something else. Him and Tom in the kitchen, Harry still making the batter while Tom held him close.

He shoved it away before it could play for longer. Harry brought forth a memory of him in Grimmauld Place helping Mrs. Weasley cook a pie.

Voldemort broke eye contact. He hummed to himself, jotting down a few notes on a piece of parchment. Harry sighed. He didn’t know what he would have done if the baking memory went on for longer. Did it speak more to Tom’s character that he came onto him, or to Harry’s that he complied?

He would never attend another occlumency lesson if it did happen. Hell, he’d ask for life imprisonment at that point.

“You did okay today. You stumbled four out of ten times and only failed once. It is better than I would have thought for your elementary level of shields. Next time, I expect you to be perfect, then I will increase the difficulty.” Voldemort crossed off a few lines on his list.

Harry sighed. “Got it.”

It wasn’t that he hated occlumency lessons; it was just that they made his brain hurt. And his body—he was constantly tense during the sessions, fearing that he might stumble across a more personal memory.

Voldemort would uncover those memories eventually; he knew that, but he wanted to prolong the unknown era until then. He focused back on the present, only to see Voldemort staring at him, but not meeting his eyes.

“I will say, I may have been a bit…harsh last duelling session. I will try not to be as reactive in the future.” He breathed.

Was this an apology? It was the closest thing he'd heard from him so far. Frankly, Harry was taking it. He never expected an “I’m sorry” and was glad there was at least a little acknowledgement. Not that it made up for it, but it eased his paranoia for the next session.

Voldemort finished his tea and biscuits.

“What did you put in these?” Voldemort snatched another biscuit.

Harry thought for a moment. “The usual. I added more butter and cinnamon. I changed the ratios, and I cooked them for a shorter amount of time. I also used duck eggs; I’m not sure how that could have changed the chemistry of it.” He rubbed his chin, thinking again.

“Why duck eggs?” Voldemort asked.

“Oh, I saw green eggs, and I thought they looked nice, so I added them.” Harry admitted being a little embarrassed at his childish explanation.

Voldemort paused. “Would you mind giving the recipe to the house elves?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “If you want more, just ask. I cook far more than I can eat.”

Voldemort furrowed his brow. “Are you certain? I would ask for these at least every other day.”

Wow, he really liked them that much.

“Do I have anything better to do? I’ll ask the elves to keep the ingredients stocked.” Harry shrugged.

But a thought brewed in his mind. If Tom’s senses were dulled, were Voldemort’s? It would explain why he was so cold; if he couldn’t sense the temperature, he wouldn’t know to dress warmer.

Tom really liked his cooking as well. Did the fact that Harry baked it make it better for them? He’d have to investigate.

He ruminated on his thoughts as Voldemort escorted him to his room. Voldemort opened the door for him, but Harry froze in his place.

There was not one Tom in his room, but two.

The second was taller; his hair a bit longer, his skin quite a bit paler, and he wasn’t wearing a Slytherin cloak. He wore a dark green wool sweater vest with a grey button-up rolled up to his forearms instead. There was a little blood splatter at the end of his vest, just barely visible.

He leaned against Harry’s desk, his arms crossed. Tom sat on his bed, and they both seemed to be in the middle of chatting. Harry’s eyes narrowed. Tom looked duller than before.

“Why hello,” Other-Tom spoke, a smirk on his face. “You must be Harry Potter. He’s told me loads about you.”

His voice was deeper, smoother, and had a more confident undertone. Like he knew he was a handsome, intelligent bastard and was going to make the most of it.

Harry could already feel the light blush on his face.

Voldemort sighed hard. “How?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Hm, same as him. Got some blood, took some magic. He gave me some of the siphoned magic once he knew I was sentient. Now, I’m physical. Mostly corporeal would be the better term.” Other-Tom explained.

Voldemort groaned. A spike of pain hit Harry’s scar.

“Just don’t cause any trouble.” Voldemort practically pushed Harry into the room and closed the door.

Harry was still in shock as Other-Tom approached him. He stalked up to him, lacing their hands together. He smirked down at him.

“I do know we’ll be getting along quite well. He—you call him Tom, right? Hm, you can call me Riddle, yes? I’ve heard you're quite close.” He winked and brought Harry’s hand up to his mouth. He kissed the back of Harry’s hand. “We will get acquainted as well, I presume.”

“Uh, um, of course.” Harry stuttered. Riddle was very direct—much more than he would have thought.

Riddle tugged him over to the bed and pushed him on it. He laid down next to Harry and positioned him on his chest. A hand was placed on Harry’s hip, gripping at his trousers.

"Tell me more about yourself now," Riddle stroked his cheek.

____

Harry’s morning began better than ever before. He was at complete peace, but there was a hint of happiness peeking within him. Feeling well, but some tiredness persisted in his veins.

Tom had tucked Harry under his chin, his arms wrapped around his chest. Meanwhile, Riddle was curled against his shoulder, arms belted around his waist, his breath tickling his neck.

Harry couldn’t imagine a better morning.

Well, his arms were trapped under both of them, but otherwise, perfect. He basked in their presence, loving every second of it just as much as the first. The brief thought of how the two managed to work this out ruminated in his mind.

He glanced down at Riddle. He, like Tom, looked more peaceful while he slept. Less bosterling with confidence, gone the manipulative smirk on his face, and the way he cocked his smirk.

Harry wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

A knock sounded from his door. Harry tried to move his limbs but found himself stuck. He didn’t want to wake either of them. They were both sandwiched too close for him to shimmy out of his tight situation.

“Uh,” Harry called out, “I’m a bit stuck at the moment.”

“What?” Voldemort saidspoke from outside the door.

“I’m - “

The door opened. Dammit, if he could only lock his door.

Voldemort stared at him in the doorway. His crimson eyes flickered from Harry, to Tom, to Riddle. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again as his forehead creased.

“Get up,” Voldemort said in a commanding tone.

“I can’t.” Harry tried to wiggle free again, but he found himself unsuccessful.

In fact, it only made it worse. Both of them clung to him tighter, drawing him close enough to feel their heartbeats. If Harry could have stayed like that, he would have blown off their session. Voldemort’s anger be damned.

“Aculeus.” Voldemort spat, pointing his wand at the group of them.

The spell split in half as it reached closer. It struck Tom and Riddle simultaneously. They instantly awoke, yelping in pain. They rolled off of the bed, landing in a pose ready to strike. Even once they realised that Voldemort was the one to attack them, they stayed in position.

“Now you are not stuck.” Voldemort said, putting away his wand, “Duelling practice in five minutes.”

Harry groaned. He was too tired for duelling practice. But he got up anyway. The staicy tingles ran up and down his arms as he shook the sleep from his arms.

Digging around in his wardrobe, he plucked out a white button-up and dark brown trousers. He had just finished dressing when he felt a presence behind him. Riddle gently grabbed his wrists.

“Arms up,” Riddle said.

Harry complied, and he felt something slip over his head. Riddle’s dark green wool sweater vest was on him, reaching down to his mid-thigh. A smooth laugh came from Riddle’s mouth.

“I think it looks great. Maybe…” Riddle took Harry’s wand from the side table and waved it over him. “There.”

The vest shrank, fitting him as it should. The bloodstain still maintained its size, stretching to his midsection. But Harry found that he didn’t mind it. In fact, it complemented the ensemble. Though he still wondered whose blood it was.

“Who bled on this?” Harry asked, pulling at the stain.

“Ah, Morfin Gaunt’s. He was my uncle. Do not worry, he wasn’t a good man.” Riddle reassured him.

He killed a member of his family.

Would Harry have it in him to murder his uncle?

He searched inside himself for the answer, but he couldn’t find one.

“Okay,” Harry answered, a bit perturbed.

“Let’s go. I want to see what your duelling practice looks like. Perhaps we could duel in our free time, no? I’d need to acquire a wand, but I’m sure I could find one.” Riddle lightly placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders.

“Alright. Tom? Do you want to come with us?” Harry glanced over to Tom, who looked lost in thought.

“Hm? Yes, I will.” He shook his head and joined the two as they walked down the hall.

Voldemort’s jaw clenched when they all walked in. He took interest—or disgust, he couldn’t really tell—in Harry wearing Riddle’s vest. He jabbed his wand at the nearby couch, which both of the horcruxes took.

"Today," Voldemort circled him, "we will put your shield charm to the test." "How fast you draw it, how strong it is, and how well you direct it."

A light stinging spell hit Harry in his stomach the moment Voldemort ended his sentence.

Harry groaned; he was already exhausted, and they hadn’t even started.

_____

Voldemort was tired.

He was tired of having to control his Death Eaters every moment of the day.

He was tired of having to reorganise every single day because of the incompetence of his followers.

But most of all, he was tired of Harry Potter.

The boy never seemed to be out of trouble. Correction: Everything seemed to circle back to Potter.

A raid on Malfoy Manor?

Well, it was because Potter was missing.

His inner circle pestering him with questions about his corporeal horcrux?

Well, it was because he was seen baking with Potter.

Two of his Horcuxes came to life?

Well, it was because Potter bled on them.

But Voldemort couldn’t be mad at Potter. The boy mostly stumbled into these situations and would fight tooth and nail to get out of them. This new trouble must be some form of karma for him.

How many times had Voldemort interfered with Potter’s life?

Too many to count, he concluded. He tried at least once a year, and countless other attempts failed throughout. How stressful it would be to fear for your life every day of your existence! Himself aside, Potter had many, many foes.

Voldemort was immortal; Potter was not.

He sighed.

Was this what Dumbledore dealt with? Was that why he tried to kill him all the time?

Voldemort had certainly done his fair share of harm to Harry. He’s tried to murder him constantly and has maimed him frequently. Hell, he’d even ripped apart his hip recently. Occlumency and general training wore hard on Potter’s body. The boy frequently collapsed in bed after the sessions.

And every time he thought back to that, a feeling overtook him. It wasn’t the burning that happened when Potter’s uncle attacked him, and it wasn’t the sting when he discovered his young horcrux and Potter cuddling, but it was a sinking lowness whenever he looked at him after those incidents. Like he was pushed into water and weighed down by stones.

Voldemort rubbed his temples.

He needed to think of a better plan while he ignored those feelings.

Maybe he should work opposite of Dumbledore.

The man obviously concealed a lot from Harry, only revealing information when it was dire. Even then, sometimes not. Would exposing Potter to more information and more plans lessen this blowback?

Potter wasn’t the most academic. But his instincts were in the right place. They were correct most of the time, and even when they were wrong, they had some basis in truth. His gut feelings were better than almost all of his Death Eaters', even if they’d been through war.

Yes, Voldemort concluded.

Potter would be knowledgeable of his actions. He could stay out of harm's way that way. Voldemort didn’t want him on a stroll through Diagon Alley the day they’d attack. And, knowing him, he would fight back against the Death Eaters.

It would raise suspicion when the Death Eaters wouldn’t attack him.

Potter would leverage that to his advantage. He still hated the Death Eaters with a passion, and with good reason.

A smirk lit Voldemort’s face as he stared at the parchment in front of him. Another meeting with all of the Death Eaters would be due in two days time. There, Potter would make an appearance.

Bad idea.

Potter would be there, just not visible. Voldemort shook his head. He’d figure it out; he always did in the end.

Chapter Text

“Are you kidding me?” Harry threw himself onto his bed.

“No, you need to know what’s happening.” Voldemort said, pacing in front of him.

“Ah, yes, because it will be perfectly fine and perfectly safe for me to appear in front of a bunch of Death Eaters. You know most of them want me dead, right? Not just because of your orders.” Harry complained into the sheets. Tom patted his back.

“You won’t be visible - “

“How?”

Voldemort sighed. He withdrew a black cloak from his expandable pocket and a golden mask. It looked similar to a Death Eater mask, but with more swirls and dark lining around the eyes.

"I'll try it on," Harry said, extending his finger, "but if I don't like it, I'm not going."

Harry, unfortunately, did like it. The cloak's hood was enchanted to cast darker shadows, to the point where he couldn’t see his neck or hair. It bent down over his face more, almost cutting off his peripherals. The rest of it extended down to his ankles, and it was flowy too.

“Dammit.” Harry cursed.

“Wear something nondescript underneath it, just in case.” Voldemort advised, removing his mask.

“Fine. When is it anyway?” Harry removed his robe and laid it on his bed.

“Midnight. I’ll collect you at 11:30. Today, after duelling, I will teach you how Death Eater meetings work.” Voldemort contemplated for a moment, “Do… prepare yourself mentally for it.”

Right, he was still Voldemort. Crucio-slinging Voldemort.

“Will I talk at all during the meeting?” Harry plopped back down on his bed.

“Not directly to my followers. I will cast a spell on you that will allow me to hear you.”

Of course, Voldemort thought everything through. Harry huffed, but agreed.

________

With his golden mask and cloak on, Harry was ready for the meeting. Well, ready wasn’t the right word, but he was going either way. He wasn’t sure he’d be prepared to see so many crucios. The second-hand pain might too to much for him.

“Here, angel.” Riddle lifted his mask, a yellow vial in hand. “Calming drought, asked the elves for one.”

“Thank you,” Harry was about to take it, but Riddle pressed it against his lips instead. He lightly poured the potion into Harry’s mouth and patted his lips dry with a handkerchief.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, quickly shutting down his mask to conceal his red face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Tom, his cheeks bitten in.

A snake-faced Voldemort escorted him to a large ballroom. Instead of a vast open space, it was filled with tables and chairs across the entire room. Dread sat deep in Harry’s stomach.

The Order of the Phoenix would not stand a chance if it had even half as many members.

But was his priority really the success of the Order?

They abandoned him in that hell pit and left him to rot. Cut off all his connections to his friends and the outside world. They didn’t even check up on him for an entire month. On top of that, he was Voldemort’s horcrux. He, Tom, and Riddle would have to die for Voldemort to be defeated.

But Hermione would be hurt by Voldemort’s policies. At the very least, his followers hated muggleborns and muggles with a passion. There had been a few raids on muggle villages, and crimes against muggleborns had gone up.

A thought stirred in his mind.

Maybe he couldn’t change the decades of ingrained hatred toward muggleborns. He didn’t need to change them.

He needed to change Voldemort.

It might work to start from the top. He could send him some subtle (or not) signals. He already had a neutral or positive view of Hermione, so maybe he could prove that muggleborns shouldn’t be hated. That they were magical, just like everyone else.

At the end of the day, if muggles were truly dangerous to their world, they were in the same pot pureblood to muggleborn.

He ruminated on his plans as Voldemort sat Harry to his left at the head table. There, they waited as Death Eaters trickled in. Harry recognised more people than he should, but he tried to keep his head straight forward and not glance around.

A wave of magic passed over him.

“If you speak now, only I will hear. Try to keep your comments short. I can choose whether to talk to you or to them, so I will be able to respond.” Voldemort said, though his mouth didn’t move.

“Cool spell.” It seemed useful for these types of situations.

“Thank you, I invented it myself.” Voldemort smirked.

Bastard.

Harry really needed to stop stroking his ego.

“I also have someone I would like you to meet afterwards. I have finally convinced her not to kill you.” A ghost of a smile appeared on his snake face.

“That’s reassuring.” Harry said sarcastically.

The Death Eaters looked at him warily as they entered the room. Correction, looked at both of them warily. Harry huffed, but he should have known better.

“Sit up straight.” Voldemort reminded him.

Harry adjusted his posture, popping a few bones in the process. It hurt a little, and these meetings could last hours. Maybe he could transfigure a back brace to keep him steady.

His nails dug into the fabric of his slacks as Bellatrix sat in front of him. He further tensed as Barty Crouch Jr. filled in beside him. He could practically feel the anger radiating off of him.

Harry had stolen his seat.

A smirk lit his face. He’d have revenge on the Death Eaters, even if it was just petty. But seeing the rest of the seating, it appeared that it mattered a lot more than he originally thought.

All of the inner circle was at the first table, with Voldemort. Then the rest stretched out, with the most apprehensive looking at the outermost tables.

There were so many Death Eaters.

Harry felt his blood roar in his ears. Nevermind the non-violence order by Voldemort - everyone here wanted to hurt him. He was sure that there wouldn’t be enough for him nor Voldemort to protect him if they found out.

He stayed deathly still.

“You are tense.” Voldemort commented, side-eyeing him.

“I have good reasons.” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“No, you do not. I am here, you will not be hurt.” Voldemort explained to him.

“That doesn’t ease my subconscious.” Harry would have been at better ease if he had his wand. Voldemort confiscated it for “the Death Eater’s sake”.

“Occlumency.” Voldemort looked away from him.

Harry sighed. He rose his shields and hid away his tenseness and fear deep within the castle walls. He felt his senses dull, but his feelings were locked away. He wasn’t at peace, but he wasn’t shaking either.

“Better?” Voldemort asked.

“Better.” Harry nodded curtly.

Barty looked at him oddly.

He watched as the last of the Death Eaters filed in. The last of the inner circle, an old man with short brown hair, sat at the farthest end of the table. At that, Voldemort raised his wand.

A red light flashed once over the room. All heads turned to them, and Harry had to push down his feelings yet again.

“Today, we gather to discuss the plans against the Order of the Phoenix and the Light’s recent moves. Is there any proclamations before we begin?” Voldemort twirled his wand.

Silence.

“Severus,” Voldemort addressed Snape. “Status on the Order.”

“They have not found a trace of Potter. They still believe him to be kidnapped by us. They found a scrap of parchment that said, “I don’t negotiate with terrorists. I am going to bed.” They believe that to be the last contact with us before he was kidnapped.” Snape paused.

Harry laughed. The corners of Voldemort’s mouth twitched.

“The Order has made moves in Wizengamot. To get their bills passed, they are introducing them through neutral to on-paper dark people. Snape bowed his head.

“Continue with your mission. The moment anything of substance comes up, report it to me immediately. Wizengamont members, those bills should not be passing. Do your duty more thoroughly or there will be consequences.” Voldemort thumbed his wand in thought.

“Yes, My Lord.” They rang out from around the hall. So many people.

“Amycus, Alecto, news on magical artefacts recovered in muggle raids?” Voldemort stared down at two black-haired twins near him.

“Yes, My Lord.” Amycus answered, “We recovered two time-turners, multiple potions and magical herbs, three wands, and a portait in the last three days. We have planned another one tomorrow in a larger town.”

“Good work.” They looked shocked. “Remember to either obliviate or kill those who see you using magic. Discard the offenders.”

“Yes, My Lord.” They both answered.

“Bellatrix, Barty, Rodolphus, and Rasbatin, you two will work on breaking the prisoners. We intend to apprehend at least two more ministry officials as well as other Dark defectors. You need to keep the mind intact.” Voldemort pointed to them, particularly at the two twins he saw in the kitchen and Bellatrix.

Harry felt shivers down his spine at the words. Sometimes he forgot they tortured people to that extent. How native he must be. The Dark was, well, dark.

Though he found himself wanting to know more about what they did. Were all of the muggle raids to recover the magical artefacts, or was that just an excuse to attack them? Muggleborns were everywhere. They would have had supplies for school or work and would have brought them back home.

But a time-turner?

That went a bit far. Hell, they were in the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort even had a reaction to Hermione having one in her third year. Was there a reason for these attacks?

Maybe. But that didn’t mean that they had to torture them. Kill them. They could just be oblivated.

But they’d go mad if they oblivated them to much.

Was being left insane a worse fate than death?

Harry shook the thoughts out of his head. He could talk to Tom; he was smart (although not against murder), but he could help him. He was less sure of Riddle’s morals, but maybe he’d give some insight.

The rest of the meeting, Harry found fairly basic. They went over a lot more politics than he would have thought possible. Gossip from all around them. He would not have considered planning for future generations the moment a marriage proposal was made.

But it made sense at the end of the day.

He liked being there. As the meeting went on, he found himself easing into it. Listening, taking an interest in the conversation rather than just passively hearing them. It sparked a small fire within him.

At the end, most of the free Death Eaters were escorted by the inner circle out of the manor. They apparated, used the floo, and disapeared in puffs of black smoke.

The inner circle reported back to the hall after everyone else left.

“You all will be tasked with abducting two ministry officals. You may acquire more, but you will come back with at least these two. You will be taking Kingsley Shacklebolt and John Dawlish.” Voldemort passed out scrolls from his robe pocket.

Harry shuffled in his seat.

“Do you know either of them?” Voldemort spoke softly to him.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt is a part of the Order of the Phoenix. I overheard him talking to the Order about Auror raids a few times. He’s nice, has a wife, no kids.” Harry answered honestly.

Voldemort tiled his head.

“Severus, would or would not Kingsley Shacklebolt be a part of the Order of the Phoenix?” Voldemort glared down at Snape.

Snape visibaly swallowed.

“I cannot confirm nor deny.” Snape winced.

“Dumbledore made you swear an oath.” Voldemort caught on to him.

“I cannot confirm nor deny.”

Voldemort jabbed his wand at Snape. “Crucio.”

Snape fell to the floor. He contored and twisted, a high-pitched scream eminating from his throat. He scratched at his skin, blood disapearing into his black clothes. After a few seconds, Voldemort lifted the curse.

Harry felt nothing.

It scared him. It scared him to feel nothing at all. He should - he should at least feel something about it. Feel for someone who was undergoing torture.

But nothing came.

Harry shivered, a slimy feeling covering his skin. He needed a shower.

“Shacklebolt will be dealt with like Amelia Bones.” Voldemort tapped his wand against the table.

“Yes, My Lord.” Chorused from them.

__________

Voldemort led Harry through a door in the family wing which was always locked when he checked. Harry was more than nervous. Who was living with them that wanted to kill him? That it took so long to convince her not to kill him?

Inside was… not expected. It looked like a forest, with an expansion charm on the room making it look huge. Tall, thick trees surrounded him, with long grass as well. It was hot and humid, to the point where it was harder to breathe.

“Come, she should be here somewhere.” Voldemort walked down a thin path that was through more trees.

Harry winded his way through the path. They winded their way until they got to an area with large, flat stones.

Atop one stone was a huge dark green snake. It was wider around than Harry and about as long as half a schoolbus. It’s head raised, looking at them with black eyes.

“Food?” It hissed.

“No, no, this is who I was talking about.” Voldemort grabbed Harry by the wrist, tight.

It slithered over to them, faster than Harry would have thought possible. It went straight up to him, tongue flickering out.

“Harry Potter. You killed my master.” The snake hissed, rearing up to look him face-to-face.

“This is Nagini. She is also a horcrux.” Voldemort inched forward.

Nagini butted her nose against Harry’s scar. Her tongue flickered out, licking him.

“Hm, you would not be very tasty. To thin. Not enough fat. Not enough muscle. Though I haven’t had anyone tanned yet.” She contemplated. Harry could smell her rancid breath.

“He is not for eating.” Voldemort sighed. It must have been a constant conversation.

“Hm…” Nagini lowered herself to the floor. “Join me on the sunning rock. Good for soul.”

Voldemort nodded to Harry. They all sat themselves on the big rocks, Harry trying his best to avoid Nagini, but she insisted on placing her head on his lap.

“Scratch me, morsel.” She commanded.

Voldemort gave him an encouraging look.

He lightly scratched her scales until she let him go.

__________

Harry was sandwiched between Tom and Riddle. He enjoyed their little tangle of limbs and the warmth that came from it. Both the inner warmth and the physical.

But Harry’s thoughts, for once, are not peaceful. They were stuck at the same question over and over again, circling back no matter what.

Was it wrong to not feel anything when someone was hurt?

He knew it was wrong to feel enjoyment. He was not going to fall into the likes of Bellatrix. But nothing, was no reaction bad? Inaction was an action in itself.

“Is it wrong to not feel anything when someone gets hurt?” Harry asked aloud.

Tom raised his head and stared down at him. He laid back down and breathed out hard.

“Depends.” Tom answered.

“No.” Riddle replied.

“Depends on what?” Harry bit his lip.

“Who, I’d say. An enemy, no. An ally, most likely.” Tom wrapped his arms tighter around his chest, almost suffocating.

“He wasn’t an ally.” Snape was, and will always be, his enemy. “Far from it.”

“You should rejoice over the downfall of your enemies.” Riddle said, reaching up and stroking his cheek. Harry leaned into his touch.

“But he didn’t have a downfall, he just was tortured.” Even Harry cringed at his words. It sounded so unsympathetic.

Riddle chuckled lowly. “Then plan his downfall, angel.”

Harry considered it for a moment, then cleared his thoughts.

“You’re rubbing off on me.” Harry complained.

Both of them laughed.

“I’m afraid you are as well.” Riddle said, snuggled into his neck.

______

Voldemort paced in his study.

What was he to do with his corporeal horcruxes?

He couldn’t force them back into their containers, it would make Potter angry and it would royally piss off his horcruxes.

They obviously had some type of affection towards Potter that Voldemort did not want to think more about. The mere act of physical affection disgusted him.

They did seem rather protective of him as well. Bellatrix got a rough stupifey to the chest for entering the same room as him. They never left his side, even though he gave them permission to wander the halls with the same restrictions as Potter.

The library should have tempted them.

But they only went when Potter would borrow the occasional book on Defence Against the Dark Arts or Transfiguration. Voldemort needed to fix that, he needed Potter to have a balanced education.

No thanks to him.

Voldemort shook his head. Horcruxes. What to do with them?

Was there anything to do with them? They weren’t particularly bothering anyone. They just existed in the same space as Potter.

Their inaction was Voldemort’s problem.

They are the younger versions of himself. Ambitious, smart, and cunning. They had all the spare time in the world and they wasted it cuddled up to Potter. He needed to task them with something.

Smart…

He had always wanted to be a teacher. They could indulge in their need for physical affection as they tutored him. This would also help with his protection.

But they needed wands.

Voldemort knew more than his fairfare share of second-hand wand shops. He had owned several in the past; he’d just have to find them again and give them to his horcruxes. At least one of them will fit well enough.

Yes, he’d give them this task.

________

He was reading an ancient-looking book. The words weren’t quite processing for him, but he knew he was searching for something. The rest of the world was duller to him, as if the book were the only thing that was important.

That’s when he picked up on a re-occuring word. Horcrux. Every fibre of his being wanted to throw the book, but he continued to read.

Eventually, he found what he wanted.

‘A horcrux has never been studied in more than one pairing. It is unknown if making more than one horcux is possible; however, it is ill-advised to create more. A person could transform into a shell of their former self. Even with re-aborbtion of the horcux, the person is forever changed.’

He chuckled lowly and shut the book.

__________

Alone.

Harry hadn’t been alone since he came to the manor. But as he sat in the training room, he was left to his own devices. Voldemort had been pulling Tom or Riddle out every now and then, but today he pulled both of them away.

He missed their presence. When they weren't there, he felt like a gaping hole was left in his chest.

Was he really that dependent on them? It only got worse when Riddle joined them. He never wanted them to leave his side again.

Harry flipped a page in his book. Voldemort had practically thrown it at him and told him to learn it by heart. It was a handwritten book on the theory of spellcasting. Something he learned a bit of during his first year but had tapered off as the years progressed.

It was boring.

Why know why the spell works when he can just make it work?

He groaned. He lost his place and would have to re-read the page again. The long page had neat, small writing. It was hard to understand, like he was missing part of a train of thought. Like an inside joke, but with education.

He rearranged himself on the sofa, tilting upside down with his feet in the air. He felt much better, as if the blood to his head was making him smarter. It was probably false, but he’d like to believe it anyway.

An hour later, the door finally creaked open.

Harry bolted upright and then immediately fell down. His head was dizzy, and his face was flushed. He stood on jelly legs that threatened to buckle underneath him.

Arms hooked under him. He squeaked as he was steadied, his vision still blurred.

“Do you feel okay, love?” Tom asked, helping Riddle haul him to the sofa.

“Just a bit dizzy.” Harry squeaked as Riddle pulled him into his lap. Hands wrapped securely around his waist.

Tom put the back of his hand on Harry’s forehead and paused. “You aren’t feverish.”

Harry didn’t want to admit he had done this to himself.

“So, what were you talking about with Voldemort?” He redirected the conversation.

Tom and Riddle glanced at each other.

Riddle spoke first. “He was complaining about your lack of academic prowess.”

“And your lack of drive to further your education.” Tom continued.

“So we all came to the conclusion that we would tutor you in your subjects that you aren’t an expert in.” Riddle rested his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Oh.”

He let go of the weight he didn’t know he was holding. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but a part of him was worried for them. Harry was glad to spend more time with them, even if it was just tutoring.

“And we got second-hand wands for teaching you.” Tom waved a light-coloured wooden wand. Riddle flicked out his from his holster on his forearm, a darker-coloured one.

“What would you like to learn first, love?” Tom leaned over and kissed Harry on the cheek.

Harry blushed.

“Charms?”

Riddle hummed. “Perhaps we can throw in wandless magic as well.”

______

Five ministry officials sat in dingy cells. The cell-block was special, small, with copious amounts of enchantments on the doors. Only the inner circle was allowed to pass, though.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt.” Rodolphus leaned against the wrought-iron bars. “Miss me?”

“You will always be a lowlife.” Kingsley spat at him.

“Tch. Rude.” Rasbatin rolled his eyes and meandered to the centre of the room, where a table with muggle and magical surgical instruments stood, with a chair next to it.

Bellatrix, meanwhile, was on top of a man, yanking chunks out of his hair and screaming.

“Ittle John is a fickle man. John can’t do it right, can’t he? Can’t defend himself, can’t defend his wife, and can’t defend his children. Dying, dead, dead.” She cackled directly into his ear.

Rodolphus sighed.

“Barty?” Rodolphus asked, nodding to a man in another cell.

“I’ll handle him.” Barty said, picking up a long scalpel.

Barty meandered to the cell. He used his wand to put up a barricade behind him as he entered the man’s personal space.

“Dorian Fungbury,” Barty laughed his name, “How lucky we are to have got you. The Dark Lord will be very pleased with this. Though, you aren’t a gift to him, no, that pleasure goes to your large pink friend over there,”

“I am undersecretary Dolorus Umbridge, and you will free me at once!” The pink woman yelled at him from the adjacent cell.

“Dolorus, shut your fucking mouth.” Amelia Bones rasped out.

“It’s a party in here, yes!” Bellatrix screamed.

“The Dark Lord wanted you, Dolorus. For a gift, yes. I should be jealous; he said that at least four people, including himself, will have a go at you. You must have done something to royally piss him off.” Rabastan chuckled slowly.

“I have done nothing of the sort!” She shouted.

Bellatrix screeched, throwing John across the cell with strength she shouldn’t have possessed. “I would have a go at you, you fickle lard, but we are under orders not to.”

“Anyways, Dorian, tell me about what’s going on in the Statue of Secrecy department, and I won’t cut out your eye. Okay? Deal?” Barty smiled down at him maliciously, with no hint of mercy in his eyes.

Dorian spat in Barty’s face. “Never.”

“Dori, bad decision. You know what? I’m feeling nice. Today, I’ll do something different. You only have two eyes, after all. I should take something else.”

Screams of men echoed through the block in harmony with shrill cackles and maniacal laughter.

The Death Eaters never minded these days of work.

______

Music drifted softly from the lounge. Inside, Riddle was trying to coax Harry off the couch. Tom tried to help, but found that he couldn’t pry Harry’s hands off of him. Harry clung to him like a newborn kowala.

“I’m not.” Harry objected again.

Riddle once again pulled on his shoulders.

“Come on, it’s not that hard.” He insisted.

“For you!” Harry buried his face into Tom’s chest.

“Just try it once? You’ll be following; it’s different. Come on.” Riddle snaked his arms around his waist and pulled. Harry didn’t budge.

“Just once?” Harry asked, his hold on Tom slowly breaking away.

“Just once. One song.” Riddle pleaded with him.

Harry let go.

Riddle stumbled back, having still been pulling, but managed to steady both of them without falling. Recovering quickly, he dragged Harry into the clear space by the phonograph.

Hands gripped at Harry’s waist, another one catching his hand. Harry hesitantly placed a hand on Riddle’s shoulder, a bit unsure of where to go from there. Behind them, Tom flicked his wand, and the record switched out for another one.

“Okay, we’ll go simple. You move two steps forward, then one to the right. We’ll go in a circle, eventually. Remember, wait for me to start my step before following.” Riddle explained.

Harry fumbled on the first step, waiting a bit too long and having to almost be dragged to the second step. He knew it was pointless.

“Again,” Riddle said as they moved right, this time in sync.

“One,” Riddle pulled him along, a bit cleaner.

“Two,” He stepped on Riddle’s foot.

“Three.” He managed to only lag behind a little bit.

They repeated it four more times until Harry was only stumbling and not stepping or butting into Riddle. But Riddle never grew frustrated; he only repeated the steps to him and gave a few encouraging words.

Riddle paused after they finished a step. Harry took a moment too late to react and slammed into his chest.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered.

“Perhaps… try not to fight me. You’re following; it is up to me to set the pace. Let’s go slower this time.” Riddle once again started to pull him along.

Harry let him.

He let his feet fall in line, not thinking at all about the steps and just about following Riddle.

“Good,” Riddle said, already starting again.

He was a bit early on the transition step but fell back in line. They swept across the room, carefully turning to avoid furniture and walls. The music was teetering out, signalling the ending of the song.

Riddle stepped back again, then quickly released his hand. He stepped forward, and Harry stepped away, leaning backward. Riddle pushed him back, and when Harry was sure he was going to fall, he was caught.

“It’s called a dip.” Riddle said with a smirk.

“Could have told me.” Harry snapped back, trying to stop his racing heart.

“What’s life without a bit of surprise?” Riddle still kept him in the dip, but leaned closer. “Could I give you another surprise?”

“Yes.” Harry wasn’t sure where he was going, but he was excited nonetheless.

Riddle placed a chaste kiss on Harry’s lips. It was soft and quick, but filled with longing. Electricity waved through him. Harry let out a small laugh and kept a dumb smile on his face as Riddle stood him back up.

The music came to a stop.

“Would you like to go again? I know I said just once, but...” Riddle trailed off, keeping his hand on Harry’s waist.

Harry bit his lip. “I mean, I don’t mind.”

“Good. Let’s add two more steps and a dip. Then you can switch us out.” Riddle nodded to Tom, who nodded back.

Harry smiled.

Chapter Text

Harry stared at a bloodied Bellatrix. Her hands were plated on the counter as she smiled at him. Harry glared and gripped his wand with white knuckles.

Between them was a platter of two brownies.

“Eat it,” Harry commanded through gritted teeth. He could feel Tom’s gaze burning holes into him from the corner of the kitchen.

“No.” Bellatrix said.

“Just do it,” Harry growled.

After three physical confrontations that were ramping up in seriousness, Tom forced them into the room. He spelt the door to not let them out until they could share a meal without trying to kill each other.

“Do it.”

“No.”

It had been three hours.

Harry’s brain was aching. He hoped that Voldemort would call a meeting, find Bellatrix not there, and then take her away, but Harry knew better. He was occupied for the entire day on a secret mission.

He didn’t know what game Bellatrix was playing. She hated his very presence. And it was just one brownie. Frankly, Harry was getting hungry enough just to eat his.

“Just please eat it.” Harry banged his head on the table.

Bellatrix paused. “You eat half of each first.”

Harry wanted to scream.

Three hours, and that was the solution.

“Tom, can I have a bread cutter?” He wouldn’t allow him to have a knife.

“Yes.”

After being handed the cutter, he divided the brownies in half. He picked up each half and quickly ate them. Of all the times Tom picked to shove them in a room, it was right before dinner.

Bellatrix stared at him for fifteen minutes.

She picked up the other halves and slowly ate them. Bellatrix stood up the instant she finished swallowing.

“Can I leave?” She asked Tom.

“Fine.”

Tom flicked his wand, and the double doors opened. Bellatrix practically sprinted out of the room. Harry glared at Tom and crossed his arms.

“Love,” Tom shook his head. “I don’t ask that you like her. I ask that you don’t attack her.”

“She starts it.” Almost every time, she mentions Sirius. Or the number of muggles she’s slaughtered.

“Then find another way. Master a sleeping spell or a silencing spell. Don’t hit her with a shovel next time. I’ve heard Narcissa’s angry mutters from Bellatrix’s room. And she’s the only healer you’ll get here. Don’t make her mad. For your own sake.” Tom sighed.

“Fine.”

__________

‘Come to my office in the family wing at noon. -LV’

Harry brushed the note off his forehead. A small spark of joy filled him as he read the note. But he was more excited for whatever mysterious surprise was awaiting him.

Was it someone he knew, captured? Would he be adding a weapon to his arsenal? Or did Voldemort finally decide to keep him here forever?

The last idea didn’t scare him as much as it should have.

Harry waited for Tom and Riddle to wake up before beginning his day. His warm cocoon was tempting to stay in all morning, but he had more wandless magic training to do before Voldemort tested him tomorrow.

He was coming dangerously close to finding out about his romantic relationship with his horcruxes. They were never to overly affectionate to him when others were around so they obviously wanted to hide it as well.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Voldemort found those memories.

Never look him in the eye again, most likely. He’d hide and avoid him as much as possible. Tom told him Voldemort’s reaction to cuddling with him was less than receptive. Harry figured that, as much as Voldemort had changed towards him, he was still a Dark Lord at the end of the day.

It pained him to pry Riddle off of him. However, Harry was hungry, and he needed breakfast. The three travelled down to the kitchen with haste.

But they were not alone in the kitchen.

Inside was a grizzled older man in his seventies, sitting at the small dining table, tall with dark brown hair. His composure was guarded, but his face rested neutrally. He sipped from a mug of coffee, a half-empty jug next to him. Harry recognised him as a strategist from the Death Eater meetings. He turned to them, and confusion lit his face.

“Tom?” The man called hesitantly. Both of the horcruxes stiffened.

“Tiberius?” Both exclaimed at the same time.

"You've aged well,” Tom commented, walking towards him.

“Eh, you could use some moisturiser." Riddle joked.

Harry was more than bemused.

“Harry, come on, you have to meet Tiberius.” Riddle dragged him by his sleeve.

“What?” Harry managed to ask.

Tom sat next to Tiberius. He immediately started to grill him on his life and asked question after question. Harry sat across from him, still a bit sceptical of Tiberius. If they seemed familiar with him, he assumed they wouldn’t be horrible to him.

“And after that?” Tom asked.

“We got married, finally. Took ages to convince her father to accept the contract. Had to get a blood test ten generations back to prove that I was pure enough.” Tiberius answered with a nostalgic chuckle.

“Harry, this is Tiberius Nott. He’s a friend from my school years.” Tom gestured to him. Tiberius’s mouth twitched at the word "friend."

“Nice to meet you.” Harry offered his hand across the table. Tiberius shook it, his hands rough.

“He’s great, amazing at Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Wards.” Riddle went on to explain.

“You flatter me,” Tiebrius said flatly.

“Are any of the others alive?” Tom’s voice had some hope in it.

“Not of the orginals. Malfoy from Dragon Pox, Greengrass from heart failure, and Crabbe offed himself. The rest died in raids or in Azkaban. Then again, he killed Black about twenty years ago.” Tiberius sipped his coffee.

“Oh.” Tom stated.

“Wait, we killed Black?” Riddle exclaimed, with a horrified expression on his face. “But he was a Knight!”

Tiberius scoffed, spoke harshly, and gravely. “You made so many horcruxes. Made you mad. Lost your touch. People bowed out of fear more than loyalty.”

Tom and Riddle shivered.

“He’s gotten a lot better over the last two months. Don’t know what he’s done, but it’s working.” Tiberius hummed.

Harry, Tom, and Riddle all looked at each other.

A house elf popped up and gave them their breakfast. Harry ate while listening to them go back and forth with stories and other tangents. Tiberius seemed to be more level-headed than the other Death Eaters, never getting angry as he broke the news of just how many people were tortured, had died, or went insane because of Voldemort.

Harry wondered if this was what Death Eaters were supposed to be. He referred to himself and others as Knights, so he assumed they were the original inner circle. That it was how the dark used to be before Voldemort turned so cruel.

“But yes. I had to miss the birth of my grandson.” Tiberius sighed sadly.

Tom and Riddle ranted, outraged.

“Theodore?” Harry muttered after he connected the dots.

“Yes,” Tiberius answered, “Do you know him?”

Harry thought back to everything he knew about Theodore Nott. All those times in potions class where he’d steal coveted glances. Then all the rest of the classes he’d share were flying, astronomy, divination, and a few others.

“He’s great at potions; he’s in the NEWT level course. He was pretty good at flying, was a chaser, and was a star student in astronomy. Terrible at divination though. Though, most of us were terrible.” Harry tried to remember more. “Plenty of people find him attractive; he has lots of proposed marriage contracts.”

People often thought Harry wasn’t listening. He always was.

Tiberus let out a hearty laugh while Tom snickered. Riddle just smiled.

“Do you have any marriage contracts?” Tiberius asked, straight-faced.

Harry choked on his bacon.

“Uh,” He coughed, “I haven’t accepted any. Most of them came when I was eleven. I’ve lost a lot of popularity since then. Still get the odd few every year.”

“You should accept one soon. You’re an heir to a Most Ancient and Noble House. Most people of your calibre sign contracts at your age. Married by twenty-five, at most.” Tiberius almost seemed to chastise him.

“Well, I don’t know what it means to be an heir, so I don’t really care.” Harry shrugged.

Tiberius actually gasped, his hand over his heart. Tom had a similar reaction, with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. Riddle just smacked his forehead and muttered under his breath.

“What?” Harry asked.

"All right, let's begin with a simple question. How many Wizengamont seats do you have?” Tiberius folded his hands on the table.

Harry was familiar with Wizengamont. It was their government, with the most pure-bloods on the voting seats. He knew you could earn a seat through a ministry job if you were the head of a department. But that question…

“Don’t know. Normally they have, what, three?” Harry furrowed his brow.

Tiberius dropped his head and sighed. “You have six seats, as all Most Ancient and Noble houses do.”

“Harry,” Tom admonished him.

“Tom,” Harry repeated in the same tone.

Tiberius rubbed his temples. “Would you like me to teach you about your duties as an heir? I know a little bit about the Potters specifically. Henry and I were civil.”

“I’d like that. Voldemort’s tutoring me, so are Tom and Riddle,” He gestured to each one, “so I may have to learn at odd times.”

Tiberius seemed to take a bit to process it, but nodded.

“Could you get me a list of times? I can work around almost anything; it's not like I have much to do outside of planning raids. We’ll have to work differently than I would like to. I’d bring you to Gringotts myself to find your family grimore and heir-training books if I wasn’t a wanted escapee.”

“I have a family grimore?” Harry knew grimores—books of self-created spells. Draco bragged all the time about his. Was that one a family one?

“Yes, every family should have one. I know the Potters do.” Tiberius nodded.

“I’m meeting with Voldemort at noon; can you tell me some basic stuff until then?”

“Sure. Firstly, let’s go over how Wizengamont runs. The seats, the voting...”

Harry’s brain was hurting by the end of it. He should really invest in some migraine potions.

__________

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with?” Tom paced as he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

Tom and Riddle looked reluctant to let him leave. But as the clock ran out at 12, Riddle let him leave the safety of his lap. Tom pulled him back by his shirt and kissed him on the cheek before he left.

Harry sauntered down the hall. Surprises were nice, but Tom and Riddle’s caution made him think twice. The note was as vague as can be, but that didn’t mean that it was something bad. It could be something good, or at least neutral.

But he found himself hesitant to knock on Voldemort’s door.

An inner flame of Gryffindor courage lit within him. He knocked on the door, harder than necessary. It opened instantly, and he hadn’t even lowered his hand.

Inside with a behimouth of a man. Just as tall as Voldemort, but wide with a mixture of fat and large muscles. He had a black bushy beard that matched his long, fluffy hair. And he was only wearing a leather jacket and cargo shorts, no shirt.

“Potter, sit.” Voldemort gestured to a chair in front of his mahogany desk.

Harry sat stiff in his seat. The man looked down at him, as if sizing up Harry's small frame. Finally, he nodded, then glanced at Voldemort.

“Potter, this is Fenrir Greyback. He’ll be the person I will send you to if I am not available to watch you. You’ll most likely have to go with him at least once before I finish the war.” He gestured to the man.

Harry felt ice in his veins.

“I smell fear, a bit of anger.” Fenrir stated.

“Remus Lupin.” Harry thought that was enough explanation.

"Ah, him," Fenrir said as he stroked his beard. “How is he? I’ve been trying to catch him for a few years but he’s sneaky. He needs a pack.”

“He’s awful every full moon. He looks like a corpse.” Harry bristled.

Fenrir hummed in thought. “That’s why he needs a pack. Packs help each other during the moon, and the non-werewolves always make sure they are rested. Isolation isn’t good either.”

“Maybe he just shouldn’t have been bitten.” Harry hissed.

Fenrir growled.

“Both of you, be civil.” Voldemort chastised Harry as he looked at him.

Fenrir and Harry glared at each other. But Fenrir looked away and back to Voldemort.

“Potter, this is the time to add add anything to the list of things you do not want to see or do under Fenrir’s care. We have already started one that I assumed, but I want you to add anything else.” Voldemort passed him a long scroll and a self-inking quill.

The list had basically everything that Harry could think of, from “Becoming a werewolf” to “Seeing a murder”. Harry jotted down a few more things, mostly small but possible events, and handed it back to Voldemort.

Both him and Fenrir looked over it.

“Ha!” Fenrir roared with laughter. “Marriage?”

“Tiberius said most people sign marriage contracts around my age, and I don’t want to sign one.” Harry defended himself.

Voldemort sighed.

“Okay,” Fenrir wheezed, “No marriage contracts, no marriage in general. Got it.”

Voldemort copied the scroll and rolled both of them up. He handed one to Fenrir and stashed the other one in his desk drawer.

“One more thing to clear up before I let you leave. You need a name for when you’re in the golden mask and cloak.” Voldemort slid a parchment in front of him.

“I will not anagram your name as you are a well-known figure. But here are Latin words and their meanings for you to choose from.” He pointed down the long list.

Harry skimmed through the list. Getting a name means that he’d be appearing in more than the weekly meeting.

Viridis: green

Deminutivum: diminutive

Celeritas: speed, swiftness

Harry raised his eyebrows as he scrolled down the list, most of it referring to his physical attributes. But then he got closer to the bottom and liked the words more. They were broader and spoke more to his personality.

Ignis: fire, light

He thought back to what Tom called him. Bright light. Harry wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment, but he did feel a connection to fire. It described him well.

“This. Ignis.” He pointed to the name.

Voldemort’s brow creased, and he muttered something about a bastard.

“Very well. You will be Ignis while you wear the mask. I will be charming your mask to give you an ambivalent voice. This week, there will be a party to celebrate our current success - don't look at me like that. I would like you to attend so you can recognise the outer circle easier.” Voldemort took the parchment and circled Ignis.

“Deal. Will there be food?” Harry was practically bouncing with excitement. A party!

“Yes. I will alter your mask to be a half mask. You can eat and drink some alcohol. You should not get drunk because I will not tolerate you making a fool of yourself.”

Harry grinned wide.

“Begone.” Voldemort rubbed his temples. “Go take your energy somewhere else.”

He slid a daily prophet paper over to him as he said it. Excitement flooded his veins; as much as he could read the prophet, Voldemort almost never gave him the paper directly. It must be an important one. He scooped up the paper.

Harry happily skipped out of the office.

“I’m alive!” Harry exclaimed as he entered their room.

Tom gave him a hug and ruffled his hair. Riddle snatched Harry as he passed by and pulled him into his lap.

“Unfortunately, I get Fenrir Greyback as my babysitter when Voldemort is too occupied.” Harry hmphed, “But…”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“I get to go to a Death Eater party in disguise, and I get to drink a little bit! There’s food too.” Harry wiggled, too enthused to contain himself.

“That’s good. What will they call you?” Tom asked, leaning back on the sofa and crossing his legs.

“Ignis. It means fire and light.” Harry answered. Riddle wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist to try to control the wiggling.

Tom smiled like he knew something Harry didn’t. “Oh, that’s nice.”

_________

MISSING: Harry James Potter

You read that right, dear readers. Harry James Potter was reported missing by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore on August 19th at 3:15 AM. The censored report is as follows:

Harry J. Potter was last seen on July 29th at 10:15 AM. On August 6th, at 6:00 PM, Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore treated the disappearance as a runaway case. The evidence collected by the [REDACTED] wards, on the other hand, would indicate that another magical being entered the [REDACTED] wards.

Albus P.W.B. Dumbldedore personally investigated the [REDACTED] disappearance case and the runaway kidnapping on August 12th. Upon finding no evidence as to where Harry J. Potter went, he was reported missing.

Why, dear readers, was someone reported missing 22 days after his last appearance? Must I remind and educate you that there is no time limitation for reporting someone as missing. The first 48 hours are crucial to finding the missing person.

This case is a question of why. Why didn't Albus Dumbledore report Harry Potter missing as soon as he found out? What types of wards are around Harry Potter’s residence?

Where is Harry Potter?

Follow more at the Daily Prophet, for stories every day for the everyday person.

Rita Skeeter

Head of the Daily Prophet Press Department

August 19th

__________

Harry stared.

Voldemort stared back.

“What is your name?” He asked.

An itch—no, a stab—was in the back of his brain.

“Neville Longbottom.” Harry answered without missing a beat.

“And your occupation?” Another stab, sharper this time.

“Potions apprentice.” Harry’s nails dug into his trousers. He’d do his palms, but they were already slick with blood from his puncture marks.

“Your mother?” This one was excruciating. It was like a bunch of needles were poking around in his skull, puncturing his brain.

“A-Amelia Bones.” Harry bit his lip. Warm blood flooded his mouth.

“Stop.” Voldemort broke eye contact.

Harry panted as his head dropped to the table. Everything in his brain hurt, and frankly, he felt scrambled. Just a mush of ground beef in his skull.

“I have a potion for you.” Voldemort offered.

Harry stayed down on the table. The world was too overwhelming for him. The window light was too bright, the birds' chirping too loud, and the blood in his mouth was iron-y. He didn’t care if Voldemort got angry. It was just another headache to add.

“Potter,” He heard footsteps creeping toward him.

The collar of his shirt was pulled up. Harry’s head dangled as Voldemort sat him upright. Harry’s eyes squeezed. Too bright.

A hand gently cupped under his chin and raised his head. There was a sigh, a curse, and then stillness.

“Open your mouth.” Voldemort commanded.

Harry was too tired to fight him. A cold vial pressed against his lips, and a potion that tasted like peppermint pooled in his mouth. Harry weakly swallowed.

“Hm, next session should be shorter. You’re getting better at lying. I’ll have Narcissa attack you to see how you hold up. You should fare okay.” His hand tried to leave Harry, but when Harry couldn’t lift his head, it returned.

“Shit!” Voldemort cursed again. “Back to your room. I’ll visit before lunch to see how you feel.”

Voldemort curled Harry up in his chair and lifted him up. He cradled Harry’s head against his chest and began to walk.

Harry’s entire body was buzzing and aching. His lids were heavy, and he felt himself drifting.

__________

He was standing in a shack. Everything was covered in grime, from the shattered windows to the rotten floorboards. He kicked aside a snake skin and continued into the house. His polished shoes were kicking up dust with every step.

A crash sounded from the back room. A skeletal man stumbled out, crooked wand in hand. It took him almost a full minute to realise Harry was there. He waved it at him, hollering nonsensical words. Harry’s mouth twisted in disgust.

“Are you Morfin Gaunt?” He asked, shifting away from a pidgin that was perched on what used to be a kitchen counter.

“Out! Muggle! Out!” He slurred.

“I am not a muggle. I am Merope’s son.” He spoke evenly, though his jaw was quite clenched.

“Merope?” His voice was almost clear, but there was an angered twinkle in his eyes. “Merope… son…”

He straightened, staring straight at Harry. Harry gestured to his bone-white wand. The man looked at him, the wand, and his wand.

“Filithly Half-Blood!” He screached. “Muggle on the hill! Look like muggle on hill!”

Morfin started to tear at the walls, screaming as he ripped off the boards on the wall and threw broken pieces of vases to the floor. A table flipped, breaking with ease. Morfin threw his wand at Harry. Harry caught it in the air. He used it to cast a cutting curse Morfin’s direction, his blood streaking across the room. The man simply got back up and threw a bigger tantrum.

Harry turned his heel and walked out, thumbing the wood of the wand. It was less grimy than the rest of the house; only a few dirt specs were on him. The wand was hesitant to accept him, but he forced it to comply with his magic.

Muggle on the hill...

He was at the bottom of a hill. Harry meandered to the top, where he found a huge white-brick manor with extensive gardens. He raised his eyebrows, impressed, but anger burned within him.

His heart was beating fast as he knocked on a double-wide door. He could hear footsteps approaching the door. Blood roared in his ears.

The man who answered the door looked almost exactly like an older Tom. Bar the eyes, which were blue. He froze.

The man’s face turned into a snarl. Harry incarcerated him with Morfin's wand before he could say anything. Harry opened the door further to be met with an opulent interior that rivalled the Malfoys. He stepped over the man and shut the door.

“Would you be Tom Riddle?” He inquired, crouched beside him.

“Fuck you.” The man spat at him. Harry wiped the spit off of his cheek.

“No, that won’t do.” Harry muttered a few words under his breath, and the man’s eyes widened.

“Let’s try again. Would you be Tom Riddle?” Harry twirled Morfin’s wand.

“Yes.” Tom squirmed, trying to undo the bindings of rope that covered him.

“Would you have known Merope Gaunt?”

At that, his face twisted again. Regret, anger, disgust—a flurry of emotions that he couldn’t quite place.

“A she-devil. An ugly witch who could never amount to nothing.” He spat.

Harry dug Morfin’s wand into Tom’s throat.

“Yet you got with her.” He growled, brows furrowed.

“I didn’t want to!” Tom glared at him. “Evil woman. Gave me her witchy drinks that forced me to think I cared about her. The moment she stopped, I ran. And it looks like I left a bastard in my wake.”

Harry’s hand froze. His wandhand trembled. Something inside of him broke. He looked down at Tom. Nothing but hatred blared in his eyes.

He stood. Just as he was about to turn around, he heard footsteps.

An old version of Tom and an older woman that shared his hair stepped out from the staircase. The old man held a shotgun pointed straight at him.

“You!” The woman screamed.

“Get away from my son, you hellspawn. Go back to whatever satanic pit you crawled out of. Your kind has already caused enough damage to my family.” The gun was trained on him throughout his speech, not even trembling.

“Get rid of the spawn.” The woman spoke. “He’s a stain on our family. What will Anne say when she finds out? We’ll be ruined! One of those things, an heir to our estate?”

Harry didn’t give them a second longer. A beam of green light extended from the tip of Morfin’s wand and made contact with the man a split second before he pulled the trigger. The man dropped to the floor, lifeless.

“What have you done?” Tom thrashed in his binds. “Just leave us! Don’t you ever come around here again! We don’t want you!”

Another part of Harry broke.

This time, he was calm as he raised Morfin's wand again. Another beam of green light. Lifeless.

Harry loomed over Tom. He tilted his head.

“What was Merope like?” He asked softly.

“Terrible. That filthy little - “

Green light. Lifeless.

Harry walked back to the shack at the bottom of the hill. He entered the house, and saw a passed-out Morfin on the floor, surrounded by even more broken pieces of junk.

He noticed a shiny ring on his finger. Harry transfigured a cloth and used it to pick up Morfin’s hand. It was an eight-sided black gem captured by a golden band, a triangle with a circle and a line running through it on one of the sides.

As many cleaning spells as he knew were cast on the ring. Once satisfied, he looked at Morfin. He muttered a few memory-alteration spells and placed his wand next to him. He began to recite a chant.

Magic swirled around him, and he used his wand to slash a cut in his arm, bleeding on the ring. More magic. A scream clawed its way out of his throat as pain coursed through his veins. Everything was on fire.

He collapsed to his knees after he finished chanting. Then everything went dark.

Chapter Text

Hot tears streamed down Harry’s face. Riddle was shaking his shoulders, and Tom rubbed circles into his back.

“Shh, shh, what’s wrong?” Tom asked him, lightly patting him.

“Did you have a nightmare, angel?” Riddle brushed away his tears.

Harry buried his face into Riddle’s chest. He clung to him, digging his nails into his shirt until they ached. Riddle brushed his hands through his hair. Tom hugged him tight around the waist.

“I - I saw - “ Harry tried to get out, but his chest was tight.

“What did you see, love?” Tom hummed in his ear.

“Sometimes,” Harry managed to catch a breath, “I can see your memories as if they were my own.”

Silence. They froze, daring not even to breathe.

“Which one was it? You don’t have to say if you don’t want to.” Riddle spoke softly.

“The… “ Harry wasn’t sure what to say. “The Morfin memory.”

Riddle’s hands knitted into his hair. He gripped him hard, not letting Harry move at all. Harry could feel his breath hitch, his breathing abnormal. A flicker of fear sat deep within Harry. He never thought Riddle would hurt him, but would that memory fuel a hidden hatred? Harry felt wetness on the top of his head. Pressed against his chest, Harry strained to listen for anything. The faintest gasps for air could be heard, a little tremble of a whimper, but they were basically inaudible. He recognised it as practised breathing.

A melting feeling filled him. It burned at his chest like his organs had caught fire. He sobbed into Riddle’s shirt, the new feeling overwhelming his every sense.

They stayed there, with Harry’s crying the sombre song of the night.

_________

“Potter,” Voldemort entered the room after his knocks weren’t answered

He took a step back as he noticed Potter still snuggled up with his horcruxes. Snuggled up may not be the best word—more like clinging.

Curled together, the older one pulled Potter into his chest. Potter's side was used as a pillow by the younger, his arms belted around his waist. All of their legs were tangled together. Voldemort could hardly see Potter at all.

He sighed.

If time was on his side, he'd leave and pretend he never saw anything. But time was not and he needed him within the hour.

He raised his wand.

Why was this so difficult this time around?

He decided to use a gentle awakening spell on them. It roused them from their slumber, their movements slow and clumsy. The older horcrux stayed wrapped around him even as his eyes blinked open. The younger one raised his head, yawned, and then lowered it.

Voldemort cleared his throat loudly.

Three sets of eyes turned to stare at him. All of them had redness in their eyes. Voldemort stiffened.

“What do you need?” Harry yawned, stretching as the horcruxes released him.

“I’ve finally set up the ritual to solidify the horcrux within you. The ritual is time-sensitive, and I need you there as soon as possible.” Voldemort tried not to look at his horcruxes.

“Okay, okay, do I need to do or wear anything?” Harry shimmied himself out of their grasps.

Voldemort nodded. “I will provide everything. Just come with me.”

Harry crawled out of bed while the two horcruxes hesitantly fled into their containers on the desk, disappearing. Harry was led past Voldemort’s personal office and bedroom to another room with a white door.

Entering the room, there was a bathtub in the centre of a circle with runes running around the inside and outside, with lines connecting some of them. The white walls were covered top-to-bottom with more runes. Voldemort reached over to a hook behind the door and pulled off a white silk robe.

“Undress and wear this. Preferredably, I’d have you naked, but I presume you would object.” He handed it over to Potter.

The boy’s cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. Voldemort dismissed himself from the room to let him get dressed. When he finally opened the door, clothes folded in his arms, Voldemort couldn’t help but think how small Harry was.

Too thin, even after the month of constant meals.

“I will have Narcissa check you over again so you can get to an average weight. We may need to induce more exercise as well.” Voldemort stared at the visible sternum bone that crept through the V-shaped neckline.

“Anything else you find disgusting about my body?” Potter snapped at him. Voldemort was almost surprised at the hostility.

“I did not say it was disgusting. I am merely… concerned for your health.” He replied, reaching out and taking his clothes, placing them outside the door.

Potter didn’t say anything.

“Now that you are dressed, you will lay in that bathtub. Make sure to get the solution all over you, from toes to hair, and stay as low as possible in it. When there comes a blue flash, you need to go under the solution and hold your breath. It should only last ten seconds.”

Voldemort needed him to do exactly that. Without his complete compliance, the ritual would fail. Voldemort didn’t know what would happen if it did. He banished the thoughts that intruded.

“I don’t have to drink any blood, right?” Harry expressed his optimism.

Voldemort handed him a vial. It was a light orange, slightly pearlescent.

“It only contains a few drops.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. There were much more than a few drops, but he wanted to ease Potter’s mind. He didn’t want him to be distressed.

“Great.” Potter rolled his eyes, taking the vial.

“You can drink it now, it just makes sure the ritual has more success.” Voldemort wasn’t sure if he actually needed to, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Potter downed it in one gulp. He bent down and gagged at the floor, but managed to keep the potion down. He looked up, a bit of spit spilling past his lips.

“That was the foulest thing I ever drank.” He hissed.

“You can have whatever you want—no alcohol—after." You can choose a reward as well.” Voldemort wiped away the spittle with his sleeve.

Voldemort had deliberated for some time on what he should do for Potter's cooperation. The ritual may cause him pain, even if Voldemort did everything in his power to redirect it onto himself. Potter needed something as a treat.

“Get in the tub; I will start the ritual. If anything goes wrong, no matter what you hear, what you see, or what you feel, you must stay in there.” Voldemort imposed the gravity. “While you are in there, you are safe.”

Potter’s face paled. “I understand.”

"Good," Voldemort said, nodding. “You can get out once there is a yellow flash and the runes turn blue.”

Potter precariously stepped through the maze of runes until he made it to the bathtub. Voldemort sat himself at the main rune on the outer circle. He placed his hands on the red sand that formed the lines and breathed out.

Hope was a fickle thing. Voldemort never hoped for anything. He simply did it, or he failed. There was nothing to hope for because he knew exactly what he could achieve. But this was an act of hope. He didn’t know what would happen when he finished the ritual. He hoped it would be the right decision. He hoped.

“Why is the red stuff warm?” Potter asked, lowering himself into the bath tub.

“For your comfort, I assumed that you didn’t want it cold?” Voldemort kept control of his breathing. The first line was long, and he needed all the air he could get.

Potter didn’t respond, and Voldemort watched as he lowered himself into the bathtub. He disappeared and reappeared with red liquid running down his face.

“What even is this?” Potter asked, examining his hands.

“I will tell you afterwards. Stay quiet. Be still.”

Harry Potter was the source of many of his headaches.

Potter stayed silent as Voldemort breathed in a large breath. The words flowed out of him like a river. He practised for hours and hours until he attained perfection. His lungs burned by the time he ended the first line.

Aches covered his body at the second line.

Cold, stabbing pains pricked at his brain at the third line.

Fire courses through his veins as he stated the fourth line.

Blood leaked from slashes in his skin at the fifth line.

Acid burned down his throat at the sixth line.

Ripping, scratching pain plucked at his soul on the seventh.

A strangled scream came from his mouth as his soul reached out. Panic flew through his mind, but pain was all he could think of. He tried to hide it under occlumency shields, but he could feel them buckle under the power of the magic.

The pain slowly dissipated. He collapsed onto the ground as soon as his blurry eyes could see the runes turn blue—the ritual was complete. His breath came out shallow, and he could still feel the fire progressing through his body. No longer contained in his blood, it bubbled to the surface of his skin.

“Voldemort?” Called Potter. Voldemort’s ears rang.

“Voldemort?” Steps.

Potter turned him onto his back. He still dripped red, some of the droplets getting onto Voldemort’s face. Voldemort didn’t even flinch.

“Voldemort? What do I do?” Potter waved his hand in front of Voldemort’s face.

Voldemort found his mouth unable to form the words. He just groaned, flipping onto his side and curling up into a ball of misery. Potter shook his shoulder. Voldemort could hear the constant repetition of his name but couldn’t respond.

He laid there for a minute while Potter simply fretted over him. He heard his house-elf being called, but she similarly didn’t know what to do.

“I’m going to get you to your room. Can you try to walk? I can help. I can. With a bit of magic I can.” Potter’s voice grew in pitch and speed as he talked.

Voldemort muttered a short, “Yes.”

His ego took a massive blow as he had to be hauled up and swing an arm around Potter’s shoulders. Voldemort leaned on Potter, almost crushing him. Potter hissed a spell, and Voldemort could feel himself become lighter.

Wandless, Voldemort noted.

They slowly crept to Voldemort’s room. Potter tried to hurry them along, but at one point he paused and continued at a more reasonable pace. He tried to open Voldemort’s door, but it was locked.

“Amaranth.” Voldemort hissed.

The door clicked.

Potter struggled to open the door. He staggered into the room, his strength likely diminishing. Voldemort surveyed his room to make sure nothing was moved as Harry dragged him to his four-poster bed.

He was laid on silken green sheets. Voldemort fought the urge to curl up again but instead clenched his hands. Not that it did much; he could barely muster the energy to do anything.

Potter paced around, constantly glancing back at him. He called for Pipskey once again.

“Here, you’re a bit hot right now.” Potter placed a cold cloth over Voldemort’s forehead. It did soothe the fire inside him, just a bit. He could think a little clearer now.

“Pain reliver. Fever reducer. Energizer.” Voldemort managed to get out.

Pipskey retrieved the potions. Potter had to help him sit up in order to take them. The combination of all of them was vile, but the energy slowly started to seep back into his bones, and everything became clearer.

A fretting type of emotion that tore at his chest and made his heart race consumed him.

That’s what he felt. No, it wasn’t him feeling it. It was different. Like it was coming from the outside. Voldemort glanced at Potter’s contorted face, and it clicked.

Voldemort could sense Potter’s emotions.

The idea made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t manage his newfound emotions; how was he going to manage another person’s? Anytime Potter felt something, it would bounce back to him.

What if he was in pain?

Voldemort didn’t want to think about the random bouts of second-hand pain that could appear at any time. It would be disastrous to start writhing during a raid or a meeting. Potter needed to be guarded at all times.

But Potter would hate that.

And that hatred would return to him. Voldemort almost wanted to scoff. Now he had to manage someone’s emotional wellbeing. Potter’s happiness—whether he liked it or not—would be his top priority.

He was good at manipulating someone’s emotions. But Potter’s would have to be long-term, which he hadn’t done before. The longest had been his Hogwarts years, and a little after that, while he worked in retail.

Voldemort would have to genuinely try to make him happy.

“Do you feel better?” Potter’s voice cracked.

“Yes,” He responded. Harry sighed, and the tightness in their connection faded.

“Do you need anything else? Food? Water? Do you need to be moved? Ah, you have cuts. Would you like a potion? A salve? Bandages?” Potter rambled on, pacing again.

"There is a shelf in the bathroom. Grab a set of clothes. They are pyjamas, and I would like to change into clean clothes before I sleep.” Voldemort gestured to the door opposite the bed. “I can bandage my arms on my own.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll do that.” Potter assured him.

It was an awkward matter getting dressed.

Voldemort shook too much to button his shirt and needed Potter to do it for him. It was humiliating to need help with such a simple task. But Potter did not feel anything in that moment aside from a tightness in his chest that Voldemort couldn’t place.

He tried to bandage himself, but his arms were shaking and too weak to pull them tight. Potter took over without another word, carefully applying salve over the clean cuts, then wrapping them tightly.

Potter even had to help him with his shirt. Voldemort was unable to properly shove his arms through the shirt holes and needed Potter to tug them through. Though he felt nothing but tightness in his chest. He wouldn’t know what to do if Potter pitied him.

He had to muster all his strength to put on his bottoms by himself.

“Thank you,” Voldemort said through clenched teeth.

“No problem, did you need anything else?” Potter knelt down to his level, green eyes glistening.

“No,” Voldemort sighed. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay, I’ll check up on you in a few hours and see if you’re still hot.” Potter rose from his position and walked out of the room, looking back once more before leaving.

__________

Harry attended to Voldemort for the next few days. The man was feverish, practically burning from the inside out, and had a plethora of pain relievers shoved down his throat. But he gradually became better under Harry’s constant supervision.

It was odd to see the Dark Lord in such a weakened state. Riddle assured him that making a horocrux made him sick for a short period of time. The degree of his sickness was higher, but they theorized that it was the re-opening of the wound on the soul to establish the connection that did it in.

There was the bonus that it no longer hurt when they were in contact for a long period of time. Harry tested it out one day by holding Voldemort’s hand while he slept. The electricity travelled past his scar, but instead of the agonising pain, there was warmth that calmed him to his core.

Tom and Riddle provided great support during that time. They showered him with plenty of cuddles and kisses. In the meantime, Harry received training lessons from Tiberus. Though the lessons were often interrupted by Harry’s anxiety surrounding Voldemort,

He entertained him during the day and watched over him at night. The other horcruxes grew concerned for both of them, but Harry insisted he had it covered.

Harry needed to return the favour, after all.

“ Amaranth the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, right?” Harry asked one day.

Voldemort glanced over at him, the cloth falling from his forehead. “Yes, she was.” Voldemort answered.

Harry replaced the wet cloth on Voldemort with a new one. Voldemort shivered, his relief flooding over their connection. Harry smiled at him, his touch lingering.

“I’m sorry about her. Kinda stabbed her in the face.” Harry apologised.

“It’s nothing. I understand she was trying to kill you.” Voldemort waved him off. He paused, then looked in him directly in the eye. “How did you and the diary… make up?”

Harry’s face grew red.

“Well, uh, he extended the olive branch first. I’m not sure what changed with him, but he was a lot nicer after I murdered him. Tom comforted me, even if I couldn’t see him, at night at the Dursleys. He was the one that administered the potions to me and helped me heal.” Harry tried to avoid directly talking about how Tom comforted him.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “He allows you to call him Tom?”

“Yeah,” Harry looked away, “He didn’t mind, and the ring horcrux asks that I call him Riddle, so we don’t get confused.”

“How did… that happen?” Voldemort, too, seemed to be avoiding what he wanted to say.

“Well…” Harry tried to think of a way to say it: “Tom put in a good word for me, and Riddle thought that the siphoning method was effective and joined us.”

Harry was aware that his situation was unusual, but he chose to accept it as such.

“Do you view them as separate people?” Voldemort turned to his side, facing Harry.

Harry answered immediately, “Yeah. I mean, I know they share most of the same memories and all, but they’re different. Riddle’s a lot more forward and will directly ask me to do something, while Tom will ask me in a roundabout way or will be softer while asking.”

Voldemort held a pensive expression. “I see.”

Silence.

“Do you want to know what happened when I blew up Aunt Marge?” Harry asked, trying to break the stillness.

"Yes," Voldemort replied, pulling the covers up to his chin and listening intently.

__________

The day Voldemort was strong enough to use magic again, he asked the question.

“What do you want as a reward?” Voldemort stabbed his eggs.

Harry bit his lip.

“I - it I can - I would like to go out.” Voldemort opened his mouth, his expression disappointed. “It doesn’t need to be anywhere magical.”

Voldemort closed his mouth, and had a pensive look about him.

“Would you be okay with muggle London?” He inquired, his gaze fixed on him.

“Yeah. I would be.” Harry let out a sigh of relief.

Sure, he was happy to have Tom and Riddle, and even Tiberius and Voldemort, but he wanted to walk around. To wander around in an area.

“I will accompany you. I know just the place, if you don’t have a certain place in mind.” Voldemort had an almost fond smile on his face.

“I’d love to go.” Harry was about to request that they go somewhere with a food court, but he couldn't turn off Voldemort's small light.

“Brilliant, let’s go tomorrow.”

__________

Both under heavy glamours, they apparated to muggle London. Harry heaved at the floor but regained his composure quickly.

Tall, old buildings were all around them. The streets were narrow, and shops were peppered between people’s homes. Even with everything depressingly grey, he could feel the bustling energy in the area. Harry looked to Voldemort expentantly.

“I discovered this little hole-in-the-wall when I was a teenager. It’s still active and alive, even now. I still visit occasionally.” Voldemort gestured to the alley.

“It reminds me of Diagon.” Harry said as they began to walk. “I feel the same.”

Harry could feel the nostalgia that dripped from their connection. He could no longer just feel Voldemort’s anger but also his small scraps of joy. It wasn’t too often, but he could sense it.

“We can go shopping, eat, or just walk around. Whatever you want, we can do.” Voldemort flashed him a thick stack of paper notes. Harry’s eyes grew wide; he had never seen that much muggle money in one place before.

“Shopping first.” Harry was already pulling Voldemort into a store.

Amusement bled through their connection.

Harry bounded around the clothing shop. It was small but filled with hand-printed shirts, coats, jeans, purses, and so many other little items. Harry found a knitted red scarf with grey stripes running through it and tassels at the end and decided it would be his.

A stylish beige overcoat made its way into the cart. As well as a green shirt that had mountains on it and a red flannel. He excitedly made his way to the checkout.

The next shop was a charity shop. It had many odds and ends, but Harry scavenged for something to get. He found a mostly new black leather messenger bag with many pockets on the front and inside. With some enchantments, it should be perfect.

Voldemort had an extra spring in his step as he entered the next store. An ancient-looking stationary store with many different journaling supplies. The wallpaper was extremely outdated and faded, but the supplies looked new.

Harry was left to his own devices as Voldemort toured the shop as well. Harry went a bit overboard and filled his basket with sticky notes, binders, gel pens, and whatever else he couldn’t get at Hogwarts. Honestly, they needed to have more organisation materials, even if he wouldn’t have used them. But this time he would.

“P - Harry?” Voldemort glanced around the shop.

“Yeah?” Harry bounded to him.

In his hands was a familiar black journal with golden edges. The front was bare; there was no name. But a sign by the other piles of multi-coloured books said, “Personalised Journals”. Voldemort looked down at the book, almost fondly.

“I got my diary from this shop. I am surprised to find that they still sell them.” He touched the cover fondly.

“Do you think your, uh, other halves would want one? I kind of destroyed one.” Harry cringed, not knowing how to refer to Tom and Riddle without saying "horcrux."

“Perhaps. What would they write in them?” Voldemort reluctantly sat down the journal.

“Their feelings?” Harry shrugged. Voldemort scoffed.

Harry ignored him and grabbed a green and grey journal. He paused, then grabbed a red one. He stepped away, but stopped.

“Y’know, you also lost a diary. I don’t think he’d feel betrayed if you got another one.” Harry walked away, letting Voldemort ruminate on his thoughts.

Harry tossed a rainbow of coloured and scented inks into his basket. Combing around the store, he finally rediscovered Voldemort, still staring at the journals. The man picked up a brown one and nodded to himself.

“Hey!” Harry almost said Voldemort’s name, but stopped himself. “I’m done if you are.”

Voldemort sighed. “I am finished.”

The young woman behind the counter scanned their items. “Would you like to personalise these journals?”

Harry looked at Voldemort. Voldemort nodded.

“Er, yes.” Harry’s mind flew.

“One moment, let me gather my supplies.” The salesperson disappeared behind a door.

Voldemort hissed lowly, “You can put your name on them. There are no magicals around; I just checked.”

“Thanks.”

Harry J Potter was foiled with gold on the red journal, Tom on the grey one, Riddle on the green one, and Voldemort on the brown one. Harry’s eyes bulged at the total for all of them, but Voldemort didn’t flinch as he forked over the notes. Stationary was expensive.

“Let’s get food.” Harry tugged Voldemort along as he gathered shopping bags.

"Hm," Voldemort observed, "there's a diner there, ice cream down the road...

They ate quickly as they were both hungry and stopped to get ice cream. They toured more stores but didn’t get much else.

“Have you done what you wanted to do?” Voldemort asked, guiding him to the back of the alley.

“Yeah. Does that mean we’re leaving?” Though he wanted to run back and give Tom and Riddle their gifts, he also liked the bustle of the city.

“No. I want to go to one more place before we go.” Voldemort spoke softer this time.

They wound their way until they reached almost the end of the alley. They took an abrupt turn into what looked like a first-floor apartment. A bell rang as Voldemort opened the door for him.

Before him was a nail salon. There were seats for pedicures with a soaking basin and three desks with lights for manicures. Bottles of nail polish covered the walls on clear shelves. An ancient-looking old woman sat by the check-out.

“Hello, Tom. Back again?” She got up from her chair and hobbled over to them.

“Yes, I brought… another person.” Voldemort gestured to Harry.

“Ah. A son? A son-in-law? A spouse? Someone else?” She interrogated them, waving them over to the manicure stations.

“Hm, an acquaintance.” Voldemort settled on.

Harry hummed, content with his answer.

“I see, I see. Do you want a colour? Something blue? Red?” She waved at the shelves.

Voldemort looked at Harry expectantly.

“Erm,” Harry really didn’t want any colours. “Something light? I’m not looking for anything bold.”

Voldemort cracked a smile. “I normally do a milky white, number 002, Adeline.”

“Ah, can’t convince you to make a statement?” Adeline laughed, pulling out a mostly unused bottle of a white polish.

“Um, I’ll do the same?” Harry honestly didn’t know what he was talking about.

Voldemort nodded and sat in one of the chairs. Harry hesitantly sat in the one next to him. She busted out many different sharp tools that looked more like torture devices than something to use on nails. Nail files, some with pointed ends, were also placed on the desk.

Adeline flipped on the light. “The usual? Nothing special?”

Voldemort thought about it for a second. “The usual.”

Adeline shook her head and grinned. She began to sort her tools and started by wiping a wet cotton ball over his fingers.

“When I was young,” Voldemort began, “My nailbeds were half-crushed in an…incident. No potions were working, and it happened just as I got back from Hogwarts. They grew to crack, peel, and bleed.”

“Adeline saw me and offered to fix them, free of charge. She carefully filed down and removed the dead pieces, then placed a layer of nail enamel over them to protect them while they healed. I’ve been seeing her ever since.” He finished, hissing.

Harry pondered his story for a second. The comfortable silence sat still in the air.

“Does she know you’re…” Harry hissed back.

“No. She believes me to be a demon. I will continue to let her think that.” He hissed lowly. “She will most likely think you are as well.”

“Why is she so nice then?” Harry watched, in horror, as she clipped away the stray skin around his cuticle.

“Would you be cruel to a demon?” Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Maybe she believes in karma. I do not care enough to investigate.”

Harry nodded; it made sense. He watched as Adeline clipped, filed, and then painted a layer of nail polish on Voldemort. It hardly looked like polish, only making the nail look a little cleaner, and it reflected a little bit of light.

“Now you.” She rolled her chair over to Harry.

Harry watched, helpless, as she brought her sharp instruments over to him.

Adeline quickly wiped his hand with a strange liquid and waited only a second before moving again. She brought a curved spatula closer to his nails, and he drew back ever so slightly. Adeline forcefully pulled his hand back and began to scrape at his nailbed. He couldn’t escape.

Voldemort lightly nudged his shoulder with his shoulder. He gave an encouraging look. Harry stayed pressed against Voldemort, letting the warm electricity overcome him.

Adeline was over sooner than he realised. Another coat of paint was added to both of them. Just when Harry thought it was over, Voldemort spoke.

“Pedicure time!” Voldemort said it excitedly.

Harry sighed.

The pedicure went better than the manicure. They began by soaking their feet in warm water, which was relaxing, to say the least. She rubbed a rough scrub on their legs that left Harry feeling clean.

When she brought out the sharp tools again, Voldemort held his hand to further calm him. Again, she coated them with the milky-white polish.

They stayed after their pedicure. Voldemort let Adeline gossip with him, and Voldemort, in turn, gossiped back. He altered some of the details and names, as well as the lack of magic. But Harry could connect the dots nonetheless.

As soon as another customer entered the room, she shooed them out. Voldemort maintained a slight smile on his face as they left.

Voldemort offered his arm.

“Do you have a swimsuit?” Voldemort asked as Harry took his hand.

“Yeah. Why?” Harry asked.

A sly smile stretched across Voldemort’s face.

“No reason.”

Soon after landing back at the manor, Harry returned to his room with Voldemort trailing behind him. Harry had to “wake up” both of them.

Harry handed both of them their wrapped presents. He wasn’t sure if they would like them, but if they had gotten them once, surely they’d like them again? He hoped. Voldemort sat his bags on the floor and watched the group with interest.

Tom and Riddle unwrapped their gifts carefully. They smirked at the names on the front.

“I kind of damaged yours, so take it as a gift of redemption?” Harry said it awkwardly.

Tom merely patted him on the head. “No hard feelings.”

“None at all.” Riddle continued.

“Oh! And these as well!” Harry dug around until he found the other packages.

They were both slow with undoing the twine around the packages. They lit up at the sight, and they had a nostalgic expressions on their faces.

“I envied these when I was younger.” Tom held up the scented, multi-coloured inks.

“By the time I could afford it, it was too childish to use.” Riddle complained, miffed. He examined the calligraphy pens.

Harry smiled. “Well, now you have it. And it’s not childish.”

Tom drew closer to Harry and kissed him on the cheek. Riddle was more forceful, tilting Harry’s face up and firmly pressing their lips together. Harry waited a moment, savouring it, before stepping away.

The door loudly shut behind them.

“Whoops.”

Chapter Text

Harry fidgeted with his cloak. Voldemort caught his hand and placed it back at his side.

“You’ll be fine.” He reassured.

“You don’t know that.” Harry muttered.

“I’ve trained you. If anything happens, just find me.” Voldemort squeezed his hand, then released it.

“It’s still…scary.” Harry complained, the hair on his neck on end.

“Aren’t you a Gryffindor?”

Voldemort was right. He was a Gryffindor. A lion in a snake’s nest. He could do this. He has pretended before, and he can pretend again. He psyched himself up for it.

“Do you like your mask?” Voldemort detoured the conversation.

“Yeah.” It was a fanciful masquerade mask, with added glitter (courtesy of Tom).

“It’s rather distinctive. I do hope they realise you are not someone to toy with.” Voldemort straightened his dark green robes.

“Gold, opposite of silver; it stands out. And I will fight your Death Eaters. Until you come to save me, of course.” Harry smiled wide, staring up at Voldemort.

"Of course," Voldemort replied with a similar smile. It was a bit unnerving with his snake-face appearance.

They walked into the ballroom together, slipping through without anyone noticing them.

The hall itself was impressive. Huge, with limestone walls and dark wooden floors. The ceiling was carved with designs and swirls, with a large crystal chandelier in the middle. Other crystals littered the air and walls, with light emanating from them.

The room was packed. The Death Eaters filled the hall, decked out in their finest robes. No masks graced their faces.

Harry’s eyes grew larger as he was able to see more people. He’d wager that most of the members of Wizengamont were there, along with a lot of ministry officials and even more normal citizens. Many faces were similar to those he saw at Hogwarts.

The Order stood no chance.

There was more there than in the meetings. His numbers had only grown in the short time he was there, and Tiberius had said that in the last two months, they had gone up by 20%.

“Have you heard? The Dark Lord had stopped his hunting of Harry Potter.” One Death Eater whispered to another.

“I thought that was just a rumor,” Another replied. Three more Death Eaters joined their gossip circle, Harry listening in.

“Has he really?”

“Yes, he has! I’m glad to have more focus on the important matters.” The other shook his wine glass.

Harry left the conversation. Right now, he wanted the vast buffet that lay on one side of the hall. It was decked out in every sweet or snack he could imagine. Even some more obscure wizard delicacies were there.

Harry took his plate and snacked on a layered chocolate cake. He grabbed some odd blue drink that tasted sweet and sipped on it next to the table.

People created a barrier around him, with traffic flowing directly around him. Harry would have been almost amused if it hadn't been for his urge to interact with them. What was the average Death Eater like? Ones who weren’t in the meetings.

He observed a group in particular. One was an Auror, two were Wizengamont members, and the other three he couldn't place. The group seemed to notice his intense stare, with their gazes constantly returning to him.

Harry merely stared more intensely.

One of the braver ones approached him. She was an Auror, stout and confident in her stride. She had a crest displayed on her chest and a long yellow cloak trailing behind her.

“Hello, who may you be?” She asked boldly.

Harry smiled. “You may call me Ignis.”

“And your position? I am in the middle circle, second degree.” She extended a hand.

Harry blinked. He knew what the middle circle was, but the second degree? “It’s… complicated. I’m not a Death Eater. "If it helps, I stay in the Lord's family wing with the inner circle members.

Her face paled. Tiberius had told him about pureblood manners. You never, ever, extended a greeting first if the person had a higher rank than you.

Harry cleared his throat and shook her hand. “Pleasure to meet you…”

“Rachel Savage. Most people just call me Savage.” She withdrew quickly.

“Okay, Savage. Have you found the party okay?” He meandered toward the group, Savage following behind him.

“Oh, yes, very nice.” She answered, not meeting his eyes.

The circle of people adjusted to the new addition. They regarded him with suspicion, analyzing his every move and appearance like vultures. To see if he was something to eat or something to fear.

"This is Ignis," Savage said as he introduced him to the group, "and this... person is much higher ranked than I."

Harry blinked. He forgot about the voice distortion spell. If her reactions were anything to go by, his voice was most likely androgenous. It made him giggle inside. How different would their reactions be?

They shifted uncomfortably.

“Nice to meet you,” The chorused.

“The pleasure is mine.”

They chatted on about the current state of the world. The others were great insights on Wizengamont. Tiberius informed him of some things about it, but he was otherwise blind when it came to the current workings and bills.

It infuriated him.

The bills they were submitting were less aggressive than the previous proposed ones he had heard of, but they were still regressive. Some were still outrageous. Taking muggleborns as soon as their names appeared on the Hogwarts roster?

Barbaric.

Some of the bills he did favour. Dark creatures, like werewolves, able to work in Diagon Alley? Good. People like Remus would be able to make a living.

Remus.

Had he been compliant with the Order’s disregard for him? He didn’t know him too well, but Sirius adored him, so he must be someone who would vouch for him. Then again, he did fold to Sirius multiple times, and he ran under enough pressure.

Would he defend him if he knew about his ties to Voldemort?

“Are you Ignis?” Called someone from behind him.

“Tiberius!” Harry bounded to him, the group abandoned.

“How are you faring?” Tiberius asked, offering his arm, a bit bemused.

“Brilliant.” Harry swiped a cupcake from the table, “Food is good.”

Tiberius chuckled, his voice gravelly. “Glad you enjoy it. The Dark Lord asked me to collect you; he wants you to interact with our allies.”

“Sound good.” Harry banished the wrapper with a flick of his hand. Joy filled him as it succeeded. He’d have to tell Riddle that his lessons paid off.

Tiberius smiled as he looked over at him. He whispered with an almost inaudible voice. “Have you finally managed a wordless, wandless spell, Harry?”

Harry grinned. Of course, Tiberius would figure it out first. “Yeah! Riddle said that I should try banishment first because I tend to throw away things that displease me.” They were subject to his angry tearing of paper when his ink drawings didn’t turn out how he wanted them to.

“It sounds accurate.” Tiberius shook his head, a chuckle low in his voice.

They slowly swept through the large hall. The crowd parted before them. Again, those untrustworthy yet curious glances followed their steps. Harry was more than used to it—the debacle with the Triwizard Tournament was enough for him—but Tiberius felt tense.

On the other side of the hall, Voldemort was talking with three people. Well, they looked close enough to people.

The first man was bulky, with long black hair flowing down his back with sunset coloured eyes. Another man was lean and dark-skinned, with pointed ears and a pointed face. The tall woman was exceptionally hairy, with fluffy bark-brown hair and yellow eyes.

They approached, with Tiberius growing tenser. But his face showed nothing but neutrality. Harry tried to maintain a moderate smile—after all, he didn’t know enough to fear these people.

Voldemort nodded as he saw the pair.

“Come, Ignis, Tiberius; I wish for you to meet our allies.” Voldemort beckoned them closer. Harry was about to object to "our," but he figured it was smarter to hold his tongue.

“Dimitry, president of the Northern Vampire Coven,” The man with the sunset eyes extended his hand, sharp claws at the ends of his hands.

“Ignis. I don’t quite have a title yet.” Harry shook his hand, finding it colder than ice.

Dimitry looked him up and down, then smiled, sharp fangs poking at the corners of his mouth.

“Aquilian,” The dark-skinned man said, swirling a goblet of blue liquid, “Prince of the United Fae Alliance in Europe.”

Harry’s eyes widened. In all of Europe? All of the Fae? How many people did he command? Why was he agreeing to meet with Voldemort, someone who lost the last war? And for someone who looked so young, Fae did age differently…

“Nice to meet you,” Harry shook his hand, trying not to be intimidated.

“Wulstride.” The fluffy woman purred, curtly nodding. “Monarch of the non-wolf Were-pack of the British Isles.”

“Pleasure to have your acquaintance.”

Her hand was absurdly hot.

Harry’s heart was beating through his chest. These were all very important people, and Voldemort wanted him to meet them? Why?

“Tiberius, may you watch Amycus and Alecto? They appear to have drank too much wine.” Voldemort waved to the other pair of twins, who were trying to conceal their stumbling.

“Of course, my Lord. I will make sure they do not get into trouble.” Tiberius bowed and disappeared into the crowd.

The nearby Death Eaters who were overhearing the conversation quickly fled the area. Their once-mild barrier around them turned into a huge gap. Harry wished he could call on Tom or Riddle in times like this. Or both

Aquillian didn’t waste time interrogating him. “So, Ignis, what purpose do you serve for the Dark Lord’s cause?” He sipped his drink.

Harry looked at Voldemort, panic blaring in his eyes.

“Hm,” Voldemort mused. “Ignis provides highly sensitive information on the other side. He serves personal purposes as well.”

“Personal purposes?” Dimitry repeated lowly, glancing at Wulstride.

Voldemort either didn’t hear him or ignored him.

“He has given me insight that has redirected my plans. This new direction has increased my numbers and people’s trust in my cause.” Voldemort continued smoothly.

It had?

Harry tried to think back on everything he told Voldemort. Was it the prophecy? What information do you have about the Order of the Phoenix? His amusing school-related stories?

It was probably the prophecy.

The prophecy seemed to consume Voldemort. With that out of the way, it opened his attention to other matters. Like increasing his numbers or planning better raids. That, combined with the tidbits of information, would lead him to move leaps and bounds further than he would have, had he continued on the prophecy crusade.

“So I’ve heard,” Dimirty replied.

Wulstride cleared her throat. “Have you passed the bills, as promised?”

Voldemort withdrew a long scroll from his inner pocket. “Yes. Over 70% agreeance, with the only opposition some members of the dark and most of the New-Age party. New-Age would be most of the Light side.”

New-Age. Tiberius explained the three parties to him. The light is the New Age, the neutral is the Preservation, and the dark is the Regress. Though not concrete in their lines (there were about four Light members who were Regress), the divide was sufficient to call it what it is.

“I see. I would like to talk privately about the effects this bill could have and what it could mean for our future alliance.” Wulstride nodded toward one of the balconies.

“That is reasonable. Ignis, stay here. Please refrain from treating our guests like Bellatrix.” Voldemort and Wulstride slide out of the group.

The instant they were out of earshot, Aquillian and Dimirty turned to him, their eyes cold. Harry felt his palms grow sweaty and his heart jumped to his throat.

“So, Ignis.” Dimirty began, “What can you tell us about Voldemort?”

Harry’s mouth moved before he could say, “He’s quite the asshole, but he has his moments of compassion.”

Aquillian snorted, his drink spilling from his nose. He coughed hard and frantically moved his hands to cover his mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry reached to his breast pocket and grabbed his green handkerchief. “Here, have this.”

Aquillian took his handkerchief and blotted at his face. He opened his mouth to talk, but Harry moved first.

“I can get you a new drink, if you wish?” Harry offered.

Aquillian nodded, still coughing into the handkerchief. Harry rushed to grab more of the drink apologising and a few napkins as well.

“Are you okay? I can summon a healer if necessary." Harry gave Aquillian the new drink.

“No, no,” Aquillian reassured, “You just said something I did not expect.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that.” Harry didn’t know if he should be, but he was anyway.

“My apologies about your handkerchief, it’s rather soaked.” Aquillian held up the dripping fabric.

“No problem; I can vanish it.” Harry waved his hand, and it disappeared.

Aquillian looked at him oddly. “You are capable of wandless magic?”

“Yeah. I’ve been in training for the past two weeks, and I’ve been improving on my magic.” It was a place of pride for him. Tom and Riddle said he was progressing well, but he was just now believing it.

“You learned wandless magic in two weeks?” Dimitry asked and was impressed.

“Well… For the time being, I can only vanish things and perform a featherlight charm. He said it’s because I discard things that displease me and because I want to ease the weight of my burdens.” He felt a blush on his cheeks, thankful that his mask would mostly cover it.

“Is that why he told you not to treat us like Bellatrix?” Aquillian asked, hesitantly sipping his drink.

“What? No, it’s because I like to hit her with a shovel.”

Aquillian snorted again, spilling some of his drink on the floor and inhaling more of it.

“I - “ Aquillian coughed again, “should not drink around you.”

“Sorry!” Harry blushed hard.

“Here, Aquillian,” Dimirty offered his handkerchief.

“I’m an embarrassment to the Fae,” Aquillian muttered, glaring at the few people who looked at him.

The tension between the three had subsided. Aquillian kept his promise of not drinking around Harry, which was a brilliant choice as Harry kept on making him snort even if he didn’t intend to. Dimitry similarly chuckled at him.

“Voldemort,” Aquillian laughed his name, holding his sides. “Ignis has made quite the impression on us.”

“Indeed,” Dimitry agreed.

“You have got a good man here,” Aquillian slowly regained his composure.

“I do.” Voldemort nodded curtly, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry’s face went on fire again.

Voldemort didn’t give praise often, but Harry knew that when he did, it was when he did something extraordinary. He just hoped he gave them the correct impression. That it would help Voldemort.

Since when did he care if Voldemort succeeded?

Harry pushed those thoughts away.

Dimirty cleared his throat and said, “He gave us insight on you as a person. I will admit, I did not hold your morals in the highest of places. It is a main falter to your cause. But I’ve found those views challenged as I hear more about you.”

Aquillian nodded, “Yes, especially after the story about a “mandatory shopping trip” in the muggle world. Where no one was harmed.”

Voldemort arched his brow, well, where his brow would be. Harry smiled back. He may have embellished the story a bit.

“Yes, there has been one. I have been planning another one in the magical world. Under glamours, of course.” Voldemort answered earnestly.

Harry smirked. Another shopping trip!

Aquillian nodded. “If you need a place to shop, you are welcome in the Western-Willwood markets. I do not need to fear you attacking any civilians anymore.”

Voldemort blinked, but he was able to slip back into a neutral mask quickly. “Ah, we may fulfill that offer. "I'm not sure when we'll have time because Ignis will be busy gathering intelligence for the next few months."

Smart.

Voldemort wasn’t willing to tell them that he was a Hogwarts student. Which Harry hadn't mentioned, but it was something worth noting. It made sense. Voldemort’s secret, masked person, a student? Preposterous.

“Big mission, eh?” Wulstride growled, but it didn’t seem malicious.

“Yes, it will occupy me for at least until Yule, at most until June.” Harry knew how to slip away from Hogwarts. He could show his golden face to avoid suspicion.

“The school year?” Dimitry asked. His gaze turned suspicious.

Harry agreed with a hum. “Yes, Dumbledore has many tasks during the school year, and it is easier for him to slip up during that time. His actions are delayed as well, which gives us more time to take our own actions. It is the most opportune moment to make a move against the Light as a whole. Dumbledore may be safe in Hogwarts, but that is all he gains.”

Voldemort looked surprised at his words. Frankly, Harry was as well. They flowed out of him like water into a river.

“A tacticion as well,” Aquillian stroked his chin, “A packaged deal, Voldemort.”

“I have stumbled upon someone great, Aquillian. I do not plan on letting him go anytime.” There wasn’t even a soon tacked on. Anytime.

Aquillian and Dimirty laughed. “Neither would I.”

At that moment, Harry saw a man meandering towards them, holding a tray of wine glasses. He approached them confidently, much moreso than he should have.

“Wine, my Lord?” The man’s voice was somewhat slurred, his face missing the usual pureblood mask.

“Red, Macnair.”

Macnair handed him a glass of red wine. He then swayed his way to Harry.

“And for my Lord’s consort?”

The room grew deathly silent.

Harry looked at the tray, trying not to let the silence disturb him. He wasn’t sure what a consort was, but he knew it was directed towards him.

“Hm, white.” Harry was handed a glass of white wine.

Voldemort sent him a murderous look out of the corner of his eye. A headache brewed in his head. Didn’t he say Harry was able to drink? If he backtracked on the promise, Harry wasn’t going to abide. A promise was a promise.

He sipped his glass, a smile stretching itself across his face. It was more tart than he would have thought. Overall, he enjoyed the taste.

The five chatted for a while. Voldemort remained tense but hid it well. People slowly trickled out, and Harry enjoyed another glass of wine—red this time. By the time the conversation died down, there were only a couple dozen people milling about, mostly at the snack table.

“I’m headed to bed.” Harry yawned. Today had been a long day.

He turned on his heel to move, but the bottom of his cloak caught on his heels, making him almost fall to the floor. Voldemort’s arm shot out and caught him. He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re drunk.” He accused.

“I’m not drunk, I’m clumsy.” Harry tried to remove Voldemort’s arm from him, but the arm only stayed fixed.

“I’ll escort you to your room.” Voldemort glanced at the three allies and said, “Pardon me.”

“Ah, we all must take care of our consort at one point or another.” Wulstride chuckled. “We’ll see ourselves out; do not worry.”

Again, the murderous look was directed Harry’s way.

“I’m not drunk.” Harry insisted as Voldemort took his arm.

They reached the set of doors, and Harry stumbled on the entranceway, his cloak catching on a wood splinter. This time, Voldemort caught him almost instantly.

"Sure, you aren’t drunk.” Voldemort turned to him.

“I’m nOT - “ Harry’s voice got louder as Voldemort scooped him up.

“It is not safe for you to walk back on your own.” Voldemort insisted, adjusting his grip.

A bigger headache gripped Harry’s head. “Let me down, asshole. I can walk.” Harry pounded on Voldemort’s chest.

“Sure you can. We will talk in the morning.”

__________

There was tension in Harry’s shoulders. Voldemort was angry, and he could feel it in his scar. It didn’t burn like it normally did, but it gave him a splitting migraine instead. Like ice instead of fire. He didn’t know which was worse. He curled up on the sofa and buried his face in Tom’s stomach. Riddle rubbed circles into his back.

The door to the room slammed open. Harry abruptly turned back, but wished he hadn’t. The furious expression made him want to squirm. He drew back. Tom rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder, Riddle on his hip.

“Sit up.” Voldemort hissed.

Harry did as he was told. The light made his headache worse, but he figured that he shouldn’t complain. He hadn’t seen Voldemort this pissed off yet.

“Why,” Voldemort spat, “did you ever answer to the title of ‘Dark Lord’s consort’?”

“I don’t know what consort means.” Harry admitted.

Voldemort sighed, beginning to pace. Tom let out a cackle and clenched his chest.

“You—pfff—you answered to consort?” He laughed.

“This is a serious matter!” Voldemort hissed.

“Consort,” Riddle lightly patted Harry on the back. “Basically, means spouse. When they called you ‘Dark Lord’s consort’, they called you Voldemort’s spouse.”

Oh.

Harry laughed hysterically. His face was red, and tears pooled in his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether to cry or continue laughing. It was equal parts embarrassing and hilarious. He wasn’t sure which one to choose.

“You’re laughing? You’re laughing? I’ve been interrogated on my consort all day! My inner circle is asking many questions about my consort, as are my allies. Do you know what it’s like to have to lie about a fake love life?” Voldemort screeched.

Harry tried to breathe.

“This is not a joke!” Voldemort growled, stepping aggressively towards him.

Tom and Riddle both flicked out their wands. Voldemort eyed them but held his ground.

“We’ll have to add manner training and other trainings as well. If you claim to be my consort, act like it.” He hissed.

That only sent Harry into another fit of hysterics. The two horcruxes similarly giggled. Voldemort looked like he was going to blow a gasket. It sent another headache to Harry, who finally gave into the feeling.

He gasped, gripping his forehead. Harry curled in on himself and panted, trying to focus on anything other than the splitting in his head. But his thoughts were muddled by aching.

Hands encircled him and drew him into a chest. They rubbed circles into his shoulder and back, holding him tight. There was yelling, but his brain couldn’t process what was being said. He could feel his mouth moving, with nothing but pathetic whimpers leaving it.

The fall was just as abrupt as the rise. The pain filtered away, but the ache still stayed in his brain. A thumb stroked his scar. Hands patted his thigh. Wait - to many hands -

Harry’s eyes creaked open.

Red eyes stared back, full of regret.

Voldemort’s hand didn’t leave his face. He continued to lightly brush over his scar, even as Harry stared back. Voldemort dug in his pockets and offered Harry a potion vial. Harry hesitantly took it and drank it.

His headache disappeared the moment he finished swallowing. He stayed leaning into Tom’s chest and didn’t move as Riddle continued to stroke his thigh. It was comforting, and the blatant display of affection sparked joy within Harry.

Riddle glared at Voldemort.

Voldemort withdrew from Harry with a conflicted look on his face. Riddle and Voldemort locked eyes again. Their expressions spoke louder than words.

“I’m,” Voldemort glanced back at Riddle, then back at him, “sorry. I should not have gotten so angry.”

Harry blinked. An apology, from Voldemort?

Harry sighed, sinking further into Tom’s embrace. “It’s fine. You’re fine. I shouldn’t have taken a title without knowing what it meant.”

Voldemort curtly nodded.

“We will have—let’s call it ‘Consort training’—before occlumency. We’ll move occlumency back by half an hour to better account for my schedule.” Voldemort rose to his feet.

“Training me to be a consort? Count me in.” Harry joked.

A tremor of anger slipped through the connection, but only for a second.

Voldemort cracked a smile. “Be prepared. I don’t expect your personality to change, but I do expect you to know the rules before you stomp over them.”

Harry nodded, and Voldemort left the room, glancing back once before closing the door. Tom loosened his grip. His legs were yanked out of their scrunched position, and he sat down.

Riddle rested his head on Harry’s thighs, a tired smirk on his face.

“I’m sleepy; do you mind being my pillow?” He asked, summoning a blanket for himself.

“I don’t mind.” Riddle hadn’t let him finish before snuggling up in his fluffy blanket.

Harry carded his hands through Riddle's hair as he slept. He simply adored seeing the cockiness leave his features and turn to peaceful tranquility.

Chapter Text

There was another minor conflict in the manor one day with Barty. Maybe not a confrontation, but definitely a conversation.

“So, Mr. Potter, how are you walking around right now? I assume My Lord would want a piece of his soul to be highly guarded.” Barty said, taking a bite of the omelette Harry had made him.

“Mr. Potter?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I still have professor instincts drilled into me.” Barty’s mouth twitched. “And…”

“... and I am closely guarded.” Harry waved to both Tom and Riddle, who glared at Barty. “I’m more guarded than you.”

“Ah, of course.” Barty quickly said, glancing at the two. “Are you allowed to finish your education, or will you be schooled here?”

“I’m going back to Hogwarts for my sixth and seventh years. Voldemort said that I’d be back here until the war is over. Then I’ll be the defence professor.” Harry cut into his eggs as he spoke.

Barty flinched. “You speak my Lord’s name so flippantly.”

Harry shrugged. “Not scared of him, I guess. "There are worse things to call him.”

“Could you refrain from using it?” Barty looked down. “His name evokes pain in my mark.”

Harry dropped his fork but picked it back up again. “Sorry about that, I didn’t know.”

Had that been the case for all Death Eaters? Was that why Snape was always so aggressive toward him every time he talked about Voldemort?

Did Dumbledore know, yet still, use his name around Snape?

Barty cleared his throat, trying to derail the conversation. “That gives us two years to win the war before you’re here for the foreseeable future. We’ve already made bigger moves now that my Lord is not distracted by you. More political than physical as well.”

Harry cringed. He knew Voldemort had changed, but he didn’t know if that extended to all his politics. Someone could be a close friend but a secret tyrant. And, well, Voldemort was a tyrant. The question was whether or not he was still one.

“What, specifically, about his politics?” Harry asked him

Barty smirked. “You see yourself getting into politics?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “No. Yes? I want to know if my best friend will lose rights because she’s a muggleborn.”

Barty looked at him, then looked away. “Y’know, even as a pureblood, I was concerned too. The Dark started to head in that direction with half-bloods born from muggleborns as well, and that was my only moment of weakness. But now it’s stronger than ever.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Barty sighed. “Look, we haven’t made any moves against muggleborns or half-bloods, if that’s what you want to know. Part of our allyship with the creatures is supporting their bills and giving them more rights. I expect the rights of muggleborns to remain unchanged. They will have restrictions with their muggle families regarding the information they’re allowed to reveal.”

“Like what?” Harry sipped his pumpkin juice.

“Like not telling them where Hogwarts is, not divulging where the Diagon is located; designated people would bring the students. Not allowed to bring home certain magical items. Things like that.” Barty ate the last of his beans and toast. “Really, the less they know, the better.”

“But - “

Harry thought back to the Dursleys. How cruel they were because they knew about the magical world! But he also thought about all the threats he made because their knowledge was limited. But didn’t that only sow fear in them? That other families would not react as well to the threat?

“I mean,” Harry went on, “it makes a bit of sense. It feels a little wrong, but I can understand. Muggles would be able to do so much with that information, turning it against the magical world."

Barty’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Harry stared at Barty, completely convinced he had been joking or stupid. “Muggles weaponize things.”

“Like what?”

“Like what?!” Harry repeated.

“What?”

Harry banged his head against the table. Barty stared, alarmed, as Tom and Riddle rushed to his side. Was Barty honestly that stupid? That ignorant of muggle technology? Or was this just the average pureblood? "Barty," Harry grumbled. “I could go on and on about muggle atrocities. Sure, magicals have committed their fair share of atrocities, but muggles are more... lethal and inventive.

“I still don’t understand.” Barty cocked his head.

“Dobby.” Harry called.

A pop sounded next to him. A pang of guilt ran through him as he stared at Dobby. He hadn’t been keeping in contact with him recently and he knew how lonely the house elf could get.

“Master Harry Potter! Master Harry Potter is safe! Dobby be looking for Master Harry Potter all month!” Dobby threw himself at Harry’s feet.

“Dobby, Dobby, I’m fine. I’m okay.” Harry lifted him from the ground and set him back on his feet.

“What be Master Harry Potter asking for Dobby?” Dobby asked, shaking with excitement.

“I’m not your master, Dobby. And, er, I’m not sure if you’re able to, and it’s fine if you can’t, but I’m looking for a few books. Can you find me some on World Wars One and Two, wars in Asia, and muggle methods of torture? I need to teach someone about muggle history.” Harry clarified at the end, trying not to make himself sound like a sociopath.

“Yes! Would there be anything else Harry Potter needs?” Dobby snapped his fingers, revealing a list in his hands.

“Just don’t tell anyone where I am. And if you succeed, I’ll give you a Gryffindor scarf to go with your Ravenclaw one.” Harry lightly tapped on Dobby’s blue and bronze scarf.

Dobby gasped. “Harry Potter is too kind for Dobby!”

He burst with joy until he popped away. Barty looked at him oddly.

“I wish I still had my Winky.” Barty shook his head. “She was very kind to me.”

“Really?”

Harry hadn’t expected Barty to care about his house elf. Most purebloods look at them like dirt under their feet, only useful if they are following the orders of their masters. Even Wixen at large, bar Hermione, thought of them like insects.

“Of course. She practically raised me. Took care of me while my father had me under the imperious. Even took my fall after I cast the dark mark at the Quidditch World Cup.” Barty shook his head.

“She is employed at Hogwarts now.” Harry said after a pause.

“She is?” Barty had a small smile on his face. “I’m glad she’s looked after. Father always threatened to free her whenever she didn’t do something perfectly.”

Barty scowled after he finished. Harry couldn’t blame him. Winky seemed to be everything to him. He wondered if she followed him as he worked for Voldemort. Was she more loyal to Barty or his father? He wanted to ask, but it felt too personal.

A pop stirred him from his thoughts. Dobby sat there with a large stack of books in his hands. The house elf was beaming.

“Dobby has retrieved books for the Great Harry Potter.” Dobby held out his arms.

“Thank you, Dobby.” Harry raised his wand. “Accio, Gryffindor scarf.”

A red and gold scarf wedged itself under the door. Harry snatched it from the air and presented it to Dobby.

“Harry Potter is too kind to Dobby!” Dobby exclaimed. He wrapped the scarf on top of his Ravenclaw one, pulling at them until they both showed.

“You did an amazing job,” Harry praised as he flicked through the book. These versions of books were more advanced than he thought, at least at the university level.

“Dobby did an amazing job!” Dobby repeated, doing a little dance. “Does Harry Potter need Dobby?”

Harry smiled down at him. “No, not right now.”

“It has been a great honour to serve Harry Potter. Dobby will see him again!”

With a pop, Dobby disappeared.

Harry slid the books over to Barty. His eyes grew at the size of them. A challenge gleamed in his grin.

“This is a list of some of the muggle methods of inhumanity. This isn’t all, and this doesn’t represent every muggle, but it represents enough. Read them. Ask me questions. I’ll answer to the best of my abilities.” He tapped the books with his index finger.

"All right," Barty said, flicking through the stack and settling on Inquisitional Torture Methods, Volume 1.

Barty would continue reading, occasionally asking Harry what a word meant or where something was located, until Harry had to do heir lessons with Tiberius. When Harry glanced over in their session, the man was pale with a green tinge to his face.

__________

Harry’s back was straight as Voldemort seated himself in front of him. Voldemort’s gaze swept over him critically.

“You’re too stiff. Relax your shoulders; it gives you confidence. Stop crossing your legs; your pants are too baggy, and the creases draw too much attention to them. Focus on your face. Traditionally, you’d wear a neutral expression; however, I scowl, so do as you wish.”

Voldemort mimed his actions as he spoke. He placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, forcing them down, lightly touching his knee to uncoil his legs, and gesturing to his face.

“Got it.” Harry tried to get himself into the more natural state that was described while still being somewhat proper.

Voldemort contemplated for a moment. “Let us start with what some subtle body languages and simple phrases mean. Knowing the subtext is just as important as what they are saying at face value.”

“Got it.” Harry needed a notepad or something.

“Firstly, do you have the biscuits?” Voldemort asked as he waved his hand.

Porcealin tea set on a silver platter levitated over to them. They sat down with a tink. Voldemort looked at him expectantly as he poured both of them a cup of tea.

“Yeah.” Harry reached behind him and brought out the bag of freshly baked biscuits.

“Excellent. Now, we can start.” Voldemort had a small smile on his face as he swiped a biscuit.

__________

Voldemort paced as he waited for the youngest horcrux—Tom, as they call him—to arrive. He needed to talk to him before anything happened. Before anything bad happened,

The boy entered the room with a pitiful expression on his face. Voldemort tched. He always looked that way when he pulled the horcruxes away from Potter. They were so emotional when it came to him.

“What did you call me in for?” Tom snapped at him.

Voldemort wanted to rip his hair out. His own soul hated him, as did he. What had he done to him to encourage this amount of wrath?

He did imprison him for fifty years. But it wasn’t like he knew that.

Or was it Potter?

Did he truly care for him that much that the feelings transferred? Potter didn’t seem to hold it against him; why would his horcrux? It wasn’t like he did the same things to him as he did to Potter.

He scowled as he could see a light blush quickly fading on Tom’s cheeks.

“I wanted to check again.” Voldemort averted his gaze.

He could hardly look at his horcruxes anymore. Their faces were almost always ignited with emotion, often with enchanted, gleeful expressions. Each of them acted like any air they breathed around Potter was a pleasure to have.

It sickened him.

“Yes.” Tom shook his head. “I am almost sure.”

“Almost?” Voldemort inquired.

“This is a test.” Tom looked to the ceiling. “If he reacts positively, we can move on in our training. If he doesn’t, then we take a step back.”

Voldemort shook his head. “And the end goal?”

“To unlock his potential.” Tom strode over to Voldemort’s desk and inspected the grain of the wood. “He’s been contained for far too long.”

“And if this isn’t his potential? If he reacts negatively?" Voldemort demanded to know the answer.

“Then we stop. He doesn’t have to like his gift.” Tom stated. “You almost act protective over him.”

Voldemort drew back. “You are asking a child to engage in a group torture session.”

“I am the same age as that ‘child’.” Tom pointed out. “Though I guess I didn’t turn out fine after all.”

“Why are you gifting her to him?” Voldemort evaded. Nothing the two did ever made any sense.

Tom laughed lowly. “He deserves to have a birthday gift, even if it is late. You gave him one, why shouldn’t I?”

Voldemort ground his teeth. The gift was a moment of weakness.

“Why her, specifically? She was a nasty woman in his memories, but this seems more… personal.” He didn’t know a better word for it.

Tom’s jaw clenched. “She hurt him. She hurt everyone. She turned Hogwarts into a place of fear and pain.”

Voldemort hummed. “Very well. She is ready; you just need to work out the timing.”

“I will.”

__________

Tom, Riddle, and Harry were sitting in a circle. In the middle, there was a wooden sphere and a flower. Harry focused on the flower first.

“So, we’re working on combustion first. The size and content of water both matter. Size more than water. Try to set fire to the flower, then the wood.” Tom gestured to the two.

His focus intensified on the flower. He raised his hand and held it over the flower. Fingers curled in and smoke rose from the petals. But it didn’t combust.

Next was the sphere. Try as he might, he couldn’t even make smoke. There was a small black smudge but no other evidence. He groaned in frustration.

“See how the size made it harder, even if there was less water? That’s why it is incredibly hard to make a wandless explosion. In the olde days, when mages focused on one area of magic, fire control was one of the hardest to master. You need control, focus, power, and the right conditions.” Riddle continued.

Harry nodded.

“Let’s try something intermediate - “

A loud THUMP followed the door creaking open. They whipped around to see Nagini falling from the door handle and slithering towards them. Harry’s instincts were on high alert. Voldemort was not present to prevent her from devouring him.

“Whose that?” Tom asked, offering the back of his hand for the snake to smell.

“I am Nagini. I am like that one.” Nagini rolled her eyes at Harry. “You smell like Master.”

“Like that one?” Riddle repeated. “Oh, like a living horcrux? I’m a horcrux, and so is Tom.”

“Tom? But you’re Tom?” Nagini slithered next to Riddle and crawled across his lap.

“We call each other different names to avoid confusion. I am Tom, he is Riddle, and the other is Voldemort.” Tom explained it to her.

Nagini came to crawl over Harry’s lap. Harry tensed as she reared up to face him. She butted her head against his glasses.

“You still don’t look tasty yet.” Nagini hissed. “Make yourself tastier.”

“What does she mean?” Tom inquired as Nagini completed the circle by slithering over his lap as well.

“She wants to eat me.” There wasn’t a simpler way to say it.

“You are not special. I want to eat everyone but Master. You killed Master. I want to eat you more.” Nagini explained.

“Well, sometimes we can forgive a little murder. I did.” Tom smiled down at her and scratched her scales.

“I do not forget.” Nagini practically purred under his scratches. “Make yourself useful and give me warmth.”

Tom quirked his lips. He looked at Harry. “Let’s try to make a small fire out of straw.”

They summoned a stack of straw for him. Harry hovered his hand above the straw and forced all of his magic into the spell. The straw smoked, and he could see the beginning forms of embers. Sweat beaded on his brow and flowed down his face.

A small fire started.

“That took you more than I would have thought, but you still did well.” Tom patted his shoulder.

Riddle threw small sticks into the fire and did something to stop it from smoking. The floor seemed to be flame-retardant enough, so they continued to grow the fire.

“Why are you not using all of you magic?” Nagini asked him.

“I am?” Harry replied, confused.

“But you aren’t using the last part of your core.” She yawned, displaying her fangs. “Unless you’re already using it on something else.”

Harry was still confused but decided to think about other things. He averted his focus to try to keep the fire under control. The tips of his fingers were burned at one point, but nothing Harry couldn’t fix.

“Feed me.” Nagini turned to Harry. Harry began to sweat again.

“What do you want to eat?” Tom asked, “Not Harry.”

Nagini released something similar to a whine. “People, then.”

Harry was hesitant to enact her wishes.

“Where’s Voldemort?” Riddle asked with a sigh.

“Mission.”

Tom groaned. “Does anyone else know who you’re allowed to eat?”

“Inner circle.” Nagini answered, rolling on her back and displaying her belly. “I am simply starved.”

Nagini didn’t look starved.

"All right," Harry sighed, "the inner circle is usually in the kitchen or the lounge."

The four walked to the lougue. Inside, an older man was talking to Tiberius while Amycus and Alecto Carrow ate food at the table. The four men froze when they saw them enter. Harry, even if he was a little unnerved, broke the pause.

“Does anyone know which people Nagini is allowed to eat?” Harry asked the group. Their faces turned white.

Tiberius shook his head. “Nagini isn’t allowed to eat people unless she is making an example for the rest of the Death Eaters.”

They raised an eyebrow at Nagini.

“The man lies.” She hissed.

“She says you’re lying.” Harry translated for Tiberius. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Did you - Did you understand the snake?” One of the Carrow twins asked. Harry didn’t know which one they were, but there weren’t any distinguishing features between the two.

“Yeah? I’m a parseltongue? Has something to do with why Vol—your Lord is keeping me alive." Harry rolled his eyes.

“You - you can - what else do you relate to my Lord?” The other twin asked.

Harry shrugged. “I’m an asshole.”

The man next to Tiberius sputtered and whipped around. “You - “ He just looked flabbergasted.

"Look," Harry sighed, "if you're going to be shocked every time I disrespect your Lord, you're in for a rough summer and the foreseeable future."

The door opened again.

Harry scowled.

“Lucius. Whatever the fuck your middle name is. Malfoy.” Harry stated, crossing his arms.

“Harry James Potter.” Lucius growled. “How odd it is to see you here. Perfectly well. For now.”

Tom stepped in between them while Riddle picked Harry up by the waist.

“Both of you, stop. I have no want to pry a shovel from Harry’s hands right now.” Tom rubbed his temples.

“Nagini,” Harry hissed, “are you allowed to eat him?”

Nagini nodded, “Yes, yes. Of course. Of course. I will eat him.”

The snake slithered treacherously toward Lucius. Lucius jumped back in alarm, tripping himself and crawling back to the door.

“Nagini!” Riddle hissed. “Eat someone else. Voldemort, “ All of the Death Eaters sucked in a breath and clenched their forearms in pain, “will be angry at you.”

Nagini hissed violently and rolled onto her back, spasming like she was throwing a tantrum.

“And you! Stop telling Nagini she can eat people!” Tom chastised.

Lucius crossed his legs, and the smell of ammonia permeated the room. Harry was confused for a moment, then he started to giggle. Then laugh. Then cackle.

"You—you pissed yourself?" Harry wheezed.

The other Death Eaters sighed and looked away from Lucius. The man grabbed his wand and pointed it to his crotch, spelling himself clear of piss. Harry, meanwhile, still cackled.

Lucius lurched forward and rolled as the door behind him opened. The blond’s face grew white as he stared up at Voldemort. He scrambled to his feet and bowed.

“Lucius.” Voldemort curtly nodded, scanning the room.

“Hey, Snake-Face.” Harry waved from the safety of Riddle’s arms.

The room went deadly silent.

Voldemort’s jaw tightened, but Harry could feel the amusement bleeding through their connection. He glared at Harry, his eyes betraying his lack of hatred.

“You.” He pointed at Harry with a clawed hand. “I have arrived early. Your duelling training starts in five minutes.”

“Cool, cool. Nagini is hungry, and she needs people she can eat.” Harry pointed to the snake, who was still eyeing Lucius with a hungry glance.

“Nagini,” Voldemort sighed, “You’re only allowed one person a week.”

Nagini tantrumed again, curling up like she was dying.

“Fine. You can have one more.” Voldemort gave in easily.

Nagini stopped rolling and happily slithered to Voldemort’s feet. She wore a satisfied smirk on her face and wiggled in joy. More amusement bled through.

“I will give her food. You - three - go to the training room. Occlumencey will follow. Today, you need improvement.” Voldemort waved them off and left the room, with Nagini at his heels.

Riddle threw Harry over his shoulder.

“I can walk, asshole.” Harry used the side of his fist to lightly pound Riddle’s back.

“I know.”

__________

Severus hated Order meetings. It was insufferable to him in every way possible. The way they glared at him like he had committed an offence. The way he was demanded to reveal information that would later get him tortured.

“Today, we will be discussing Voldemort’s current moves on the political spectrum.”

Severus winced. Another reason to hate it. Albus insisted on saying the Dark Lord’s name, even if it caused him pain. Something about not fearing a name. Bullshit.

At least this time he could report on something big without it involving the plans of the Death Eaters.

“Severus, do you have anything to report?” Albus asked as Severus sat down in a wooden chair that was just a bit too small for a grown man.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to tell them. He was just a bit hesitant about telling them about this obviously important person. Don’t tell them, be admonished for it, and possibly lose his immunity. Tell them, possibly be tortured for revealing the information.

It was a double-edged sword.

“I do.”

Severus took a breath. Everyone’s eyes were on him. Some in anger, most in indifference.

“There has been another person added to the inner circle. One I am not privy to the identity of.” Severus spoke with bated breath.

The seconds passed as he waited for the information to sink in.

“Do you know the name of this person?” Albus asked. Next to him, Alastor jotted down notes.

“The Dark Lord has pulled us aside for another meeting. Whoever this person is, his name is Ignis. We have not been disclosed an age.” Severus tried to be as even as possible. “He even sat in the Dark Lord’s right-hand seat, replacing Barty.”

This information stuck with them. Whispers broke out amongst the group. Severus was inclined to agree with some of them. It was worrying that another important person was added around the time that Potter went missing.

Did Ignis kidnap Potter?

Albus seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Look out for any information that Ignis was involved in the kidnapping of Harry Potter. Is there anything else you know about this person?”

Severus swallowed.

“It has been… rumoured that this person is the Dark Lord’s consort.” Severus swallowed hard.

He didn’t want to admit it. The Dark Lord was not someone who was capable of love. If he needed someone to host his heir - he would have picked a woman. Or he would have found a ritual that would allow him to have an heir without copulation.

Even if he had physical urges, he wouldn’t need to have someone consistent. He would just pay or pull whoever he needed to fulfil them. There was no reason for him to be permanently attached to him.

There was no logical reason for the Dark Lord to take on a consort.

“A consort?” Albus stroked his beard. “Are you sure he’s not a concubine?”

Severus shook his head. “I’ve heard he answered to highly, consort. I cannot confirm. The Dark Lord has instructed us to treat Ignis highly, but not to take orders from him without checking first. He has a higher rank than any of us.”

“A consort? Preposterous! You-Know-Who is a cruel creature who cannot love.” Alastor muttered under his breath.

“Rumours.” Severus clarified.

“Could this Ignis have asked for the position by virtue of kidnapping Harry Potter?” Albus hummed. “Voldemort does reward his most loyal.”

They were all whispering to one another.

“Perhaps.”

Severus completely disagreed. Bellatrix had repeatedly demonstrated her loyalty. She hadn’t even been awarded the position of concubine. In fact, she often complained about the lack of sexual reciprocation on his part.

“What does Ignis look like?” Alastor asked after a pause.

Severus consulted his memories. “Small, short, in a white cloak and a golden mask. There’s an enchantment that conceals his hair, but he has a medium skin tone.”

“Watch out for any signs. And all of you, look for any signs of him anywhere.” Albus sighed. “We need every bit of information we can have.”

“Yes, Albus.” Echoed through the room.

Severus went on to hate the rest of the meeting. It was hard to see how useless their meetings had become. With the increase of the people to the dark -

They would never stand a chance.

Chapter Text

Sadness encased Harry as he looked at the calendar. He hadn’t realised how much time had flown by, and the beginning of term was only three days away.

There was a spark of hope that Voldemort would abide by his word and let him go back to Hogwarts. But he also found himself unbothered by the idea of having to stay. He was pleased here.

He had two loving… what were they to him? The word ‘consort’ intruded into his mind. But he had two of those, a Bellatrix to shovel his anger into, a Voldemort to mentor him in his studies, and a Tiberius to heir-train and talk to. His sparse run-ins with the other Death Eaters hadn’t gone terribly either.

But he missed having friends.

Everyone around him didn’t have a social life. They could exchange past stories all they wanted, but their current lives were contained. Voldemort only talked about schemes and gossiped about the allies.

He needed someone who existed in the outside world.

“I have plans for today,” Voldemort said as he entered the small dining room.

“We do?” Harry asked, passing a plate to Riddle.

The pair had recently joined them in their occasional dinners together. Safe to say that Harry enjoyed their presence, and it lifted the atmosphere of the room. Harry and Voldemort's conversations just tended to veer into story-telling, but with Tom and Riddle, they bounced back feedback and judgement. It was catty at best. Nonetheless, he enjoyed their presence.

“Yes, we do. You two may come along if you wish.” Voldemort gestured to the horcruxes.

“Ooooo, where are we going?” Tom asked, practically jumping up and down.

“Russia. We’re school shopping for Harry.” Voldemort seated himself and began to pile breakfast on his plate.

“Can we get everything in Russia?” Harry asked.

Riddle poked him and offered him a cut of sausage. Harry let Riddle feed him.

“... yes. We’ll be going to an english alley for your supplies. I will cast a spell on you that will temporally let you understand other languages in case we run into anyone. I will not be in my Voldemort glamours either, for obvious reasons.” Voldemort said as he watched Harry and Riddle’s interaction.

“When are we leaving?” Tom inquired, refilling Harry’s glass with a jug of pumpkin juice.

Voldemort watched them. “A bit after breakfast. I need to look through two short documents before we leave. Perhaps, hm, twenty minutes?”

__________

Harry emerged in his dressier clothes, dishevelled hair flying everywhere. Tom tried to brush through it to make it neat. It defied him, fluffing up the moment his hands left his hair.

Tom and Riddle both had Pipskey give them new clothes. Tom had a silk green dress shirt, brown trousers, and a black robe with a flowing cloak behind him. Meanwhile, Riddle merely replaced his blood-stained sweater vest with a not-blood-stained sweater vest.

“I’ll have you under some glamour. Just your scar, hair, and eyes.” Voldemort pointed a wand in his face.

He could feel his features change. Not as much as before, but well enough to know he was unrecognisable. Some of his hair blew in his face, revealing a dark red colour. Voldemort further glamoured Tom and Riddle, then himself. They all looked similar, their hair chestnut brown instead of black, eyes blue instead of brown and red, and their features softer.

Harry didn’t like it.

But he smiled at them nonetheless. Voldemort placed a long baton, decorated with silver and green, on the table.

“This is a portkey to the english Alley, rationally called, The English Alley.” Voldemort pointed to the stick.

“Naming isn’t that good in the wizarding world, is it?” Harry muttered, grasping the baton.

“No.”

When all four of them were handling the baton, Voldemort said something under his breath. The world spun around him, and Harry felt his stomach drop. There was air rushing past them, changing from warm to chilled.

As soon as they landed, Harry tried to fall to his knees. Tom and Riddle wouldn’t let him, each having grasped his arm sometime in the travelling. They hoisted him up to his unsteady feet.

“Are you okay, love?” Tom asked, brushing his hair to the side.

“I’m fine, just a bit unstable.” Harry stated as he leaned in on Tom.

Voldemort sent them a look but didn’t say anything else.

“We will get you new robes and books, then your stationery; visit the apothecary…” Voldemort muttered.

“Let’s go!” Harry tugged along Tom and Riddle, not entirely sure where he was going.

Voldemort overtook the group and navigated them through the bustling crowd. The wixen were different than in Diagon, with more subdued colours of robes and shorter capes that only reached their elbows. There was also more than Wixen.

Humanoid creatures littered the alley. Some have delicate dragonfly wings, while others have long spiked tails. He even saw a mermaid with a bubble charm around their entire body, floating along.

It felt… more magical than Diagon. Less chaos, more flow.

“Why is it so different? Is it just cultural?” Harry asked as they passed someone with sunset eyes and fangs.

“Yes and no. There are no laws governing creature limitation in wixen spaces in this jurisdiction. More creatures, more creature influence, more creature magical shedding.” Voldemort seemed inspired by his own words.

“Magical shedding?” Harry questioned.

“Magical shedding,” Riddle began, “is, well, magical shedding.”

“You shed your magical aura like hair. You can’t see it, but you can feel it and trace it. That’s a magical signature. You leave a light, almost nonexistent trail wherever you walk. When you cast a spell, you leave more of it behind. It’s like a magical fingerprint. It’s used in Auror investigations.” Voldemort glanced down at the list in his hands.

“So someone can trace me no matter what I do?” Harry whispered, slightly terrified.

“No. Your shed fades; the lighter the shed, the faster it fades. You can also remove it with a spell; think of it as a vacuum. Or, like I do, you have an enchanted, runic item that removes your shed wherever you go. It can work on less-intensive spells as well.” Voldemort explained evenly.

“You can also use a second-hand wand to distort your signature.” Tom pointed out.

Harry took a moment to process the information. “How do I get an enchanted, runic, item that removes my shed?”

Voldemort paused but continued to walk. “I can make one for you. Let’s find an item for you. I have mine on a pendant on a necklace that I keep concealed under glamours.”

“Oooo, more shopping!” Harry found that he enjoyed spending Voldemort’s money.

Voldemort’s mouth twitched.

They stopped by a store with a sleek, dark blue-bricked exterior. Inside followed the same cool-blue colour scheme, from the dark curtains to the light walls. The floors and various mirror frames that dotted around were a dark, reddish wood.

A beautiful woman with long, flowing blonde hair and light brown eyes stood at the wooden reception desk. She smiled, teeth white, and hummed.

“Hello, my name is Lada, how may I help you today?”” Her voice was soft, like summer rain.

“Seven new robes for him,” Voldemort answered curtly. “School, I have the style-cut list, two dress robes, and at least two weeks of casual clothes as well.”

Harry was about to object, but figured that he might actually need it. Being in the manor gave him a finer taste than he would normally prefer. Not something fancy, but enough not to make him look like a trainwreck.

“Yes, all is well,” She took the list Voldemort handed her: “These are Hogwarts’ cut, correct? We don’t get many here, but I am familiar with them.”

Voldemort’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

“Let’s get you up on the podium,” Lada gestured to Harry, then a circular platform in an adjacent room.

Harry hopped on the platform, and a floating measuring tape wrapped around him. A floating paper, notably not parchment, and pen wrote down the numbers. On the side, Lada flipped through a booklet of colour swatches.

“Would you mind removing your glamours? I can close off the windows and doors. Everything here is confidential.” She looked up from her book, flicking her wand from a leather holster. The curtains drew closed, as did the sliding door to the room.

Voldemort huffed, then looked at Harry. Harry nodded.

He felt a wash go over him as Voldemort removed his glamours.

There was no recognition in her eyes as she stared at him. She positioned herself in front of him and began to pull out different swatch cards. There was an array of greens, some blues, lots of browns and blacks, and a few reds.

“Hm, how much personal input would you like on the colour selection?” She clapped the book closed.

“Erm, I know nothing about colours. I’m partial to reds, but if you think better, than that’s fine.” It really wasn’t that fine, but he didn’t want to discredit an expert.

“Hm, I can work with reds. I can throw in some greens and maybe a blue or two. Complimentary browns and blacks, maybe some creams? Yes, yes.” She was lost in thought.

He looked at Voldemort with a smirk on his face.

“Can I get robes for Ignis?” Harry's tone wasn't one of inquiry, but of informing Voldemort that he would be obtaining them.

“We want another set of semi-formal robes.” Voldemort said.

“I want them as white or light as fashionably possible.” Harry smiled.

“That is doable. It takes more time to coordinate, so we will do that first.”

She had Harry try a variety of robes, vests, button-ups, and other various outfits. When they settled on a nice combination, they worked on the colours. After a bit of back-and-forth, he ended up with a white robe and hood with a long, billowing cape. His undershirt was grey, and his vest was red. They also fit white pants and off-white, dragon-skinned boots.

His casual clothes were darker, with a bias toward reds and browns. She said something about “bringing out the green” in his eyes, and he had to agree. His dress robes went slowly, with her, Voldemort, Tom, and Riddle constantly readjusting the tiny details Harry didn’t think mattered; he got a black and red set and a green and cream set.

“2,561 d’aires,” She said.

Voldemort passed her a stack of different coloured bills with shiny, reflected leaves on them. She counted them carefully, smiled, and then handed him the bag.

“If any of the extra enchantments fail within two months, you can get a replacement set for free.” She hummed, waving them off.

The bookshop was impressive. While Florish and Blotts was one story, this one was three. Harry, Tom, and Riddle swept through the floors to find his schoolbooks while Voldemort shopped for his extracurricular books.

“Woo!” Harry whisper-yelled as Tom pushed him on a rolling ladder.

Voldemort bought two more bags full of books.

“Hm, let’s get your stationery.” Voldemort paused. “You already have some, but let’s buy extra.”

Surprisingly, there was an array of different stationery. Notebooks, pens, binders—so much muggle stationery! Some catered to creatures, such as writing tools with adjustable grips. water-proof paper, and oddly shaped twistable caps.

He got more black ink, parchment, paper (damned be his professors, he was writing his notes in a notebook this semester. With a pencil as well), and different colours quills. All were water-proof and fire-proof as well.

Harry wasn’t going to have his assignments sabotaged this year.

“What if I run out?” Harry asked, handing his bag to Voldemort.

“Then you owl Narcissa with a snake in the bottom right corner of your letter. She knows to give those to me.” He hissed.

“Then I just ask for more paper?”

“Yes. Do not hesitate to ask me for anything.”

Tom spotted something and wandered off. Voldemort sighed and redirected them away from the apothecary and to the other shop.

Animals filled the huge, double-story limestone shop. Birds, dogs, cats, magical animals, and many more littered the floor. Tom disappeared behind a shelf of rodents. Voldemort growled in irritation.

“Divide and conquer. Find him.” Riddle joked, taking to the left aisle.

“Can’t they just behave for one day?” Voldemort huffed, taking the right aisle.

Harry hummed to himself as he walked down the middle aisle.

He meandered through the maze of animals, passing everything from mice to birds that looked like they were made from slime.

He thumbed through the cages, scratching the fur and feathers of any animal that would let him stick his fingers through it. There was a blue cat that enjoyed his petting, and he was tempted to take her out of the cage.

Unsurprisingly, Tom was with the snakes. The surprise was him and Riddle pressing their hands against the aquarium like children. Harry knelt next to them.

“Look at her!” Tom exclaimed, gripping Harry by the back of his head and shoving him towards the glass.

The snake inside was completely black. Its scales were glistening, and it looked like it was dripping oil; it shone a rainbow colour. There were little fins on its side, and the end of its tail was like a goldfish. Harry looked at the sign posted on the front.

Species: Oil Sea-Serpent

Sex: Female, able to change to Male

Size: Small

Temperament: Shy, prone to biting

Venomous: Yes

Ideal environment: Saltwater tank at least three times the full length of the serpent, plant with oceanic flora. Needs an above-water resting place.

Diet: insects, fish, and small amphibians

Harry peeked at the snake again. She yawned, her mouth entirely black with a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. It was cute. She wiggled around, hopping to the moss patch on the surface.

“She’s adorable.” Riddle cooed.

“She is.” Harry agreed, placing his hand on the glass.

She was so pretty. Harry had never desired any animal more. Even if it was a snake.

“Hello, little one,” Harry called to the snake.

She stopped her movement and looked at him.

"You speak to me, but there is no snake in your bloodline." Her voice was sharp but low.

“Parseltongue, from wixen,” Riddle answered her.

"I haven't heard many wixen parseltongues in this part of the world." She curled up into a ball, her tail swirling circles in the water.

“How pretty you are.” Tom stroked the glass.

She shimmied. “Why thank you. You’re so kind.”

They all let out a giggle.

They felt someone looming over them. Turning around, they saw Voldemort standing there with his arms crossed. Harry had the urge to hang his head like a child caught stealing, but he maintained his dignity.

“What are you doing?” Voldemort sighed.

Harry smiled. “Look at the snake!”

Voldemort looked both ways before kneeling next to Harry.

“That is indeed a snake. Let’s go.”

“But you didn’t even look at her!” Tom complained, still pressed against the glass.

Voldemort sighed and leaned in closer. His head tilted, and he hummed to himself.

“It is a snake.” He stated.

“A pretty one,” Riddle said.

“Can we get it?” Tom asked.

“Good idea.”

“Hm.” Voldemort muttered.

All three puppy-dog faces turned to him. Harry tried his best to look as cute as possible. He wanted the snake; Tom did, Riddle did; so Voldemort was the only one who needed to be convinced.

Voldemort sighed.

“Fine.” He broke under the pressure.

“Yay!” The three cheered.

Tom leaned closer to the tank. “We’re taking you home, serpent.”

Voldemort twitched.

“I would like to go home with speakers.” She yawned, dipping back into the water.

“Stay here; I’ll get an employee.” Before any of them could say anything, Tom was dashing off into the aisles.

Harry smiled.

“How long can you be out of water?” Harry was concerned about hauling around a shrunken tank into the stores.

“As long as I am damp, I can live on land. Some of my species live in mud, and others can survive in highly humid environments.” Her voice was a little muffled underwater, though still clear.

Tom was wearing the serpent (they couldn’t agree on a name yet) around his neck and the bags of supplies on his arms. He happily hopped along, chatting aimlessly with her. Harry and Riddle grinned at Tom’s excitement.

The apothecary was a rather short visit. Voldemort was already irritated and held them on a tight leash as they gathered his needed supplies. They were in and out in less than five minutes, hardly enough time for Harry to get distracted by the ingredients.

“We need your item to enchant.” Voldemort guided them towards a shop.

“Is there anything specific for me to look for?” Harry swung his arms, with Riddle and Tom holding one hand each.

“Perhaps not something too small. That’s easier to lose and a little harder to put the runes on. Nothing I can’t work around, though.” A bell chimed as they entered the store.

All sorts of accessories were hung on the walls in wooden boxes with glass windows. Voldemort let them loose in the shop to find whatever they wanted. The three slowly toured everything, having Harry try on some of them.

They ruled out anything cloth or head accessories (though Harry thought he looked amazing in a laurel; Tom and Riddle agreed). Harry gravitated toward necklaces and bracelets but found most of them too flashy for him.

A charm bracelet was close, but Harry found he could not deal with it getting caught on everything.

Just as he was about to settle on an emerald necklace of a cat, Harry found it. It was a simple jade bangle bracelet. There wasn’t anything specific about it that stood out to him, but maybe that was why he wanted it.

“Do you think this would be good?” Voldemort, who was following them, was questioned by Harry.

“Hm, yes. I can place the runes on the inside so others will not see them.” Voldemort peered into the glass.

Harry considered it for a moment.

“Maybe not the best idea for it to be visible.” They’d question where he got it from. “But Ignis could.”

Voldemort nodded.

“Gifting jewelry is part of the courting process, so it would make the story sound believable.” Voldemort waved down an employee.

“You really want them to believe it?” Harry furrowed his brow.

“If we’re going to lie, make it believable.” Voldemort rolled his eyes.

Another bag was added to Voldemort’s collection on his arms, and they left the store.

“Is there anything else you need?” Voldemort glared at the list in his hands.

“I wouldn’t know; I never got my letter.” Harry shrugged.

“Anything non-school related?” Voldemort rephrased his question.

“No, don’t think so.”

Voldemort lost some of his tension. “Good. Grab the batton.”

After arriving at the manor, Tom and Riddle carried his things back to their room. Voldemort rejected the mere notion of following them back. They all found it comedic, if not a little embarrassing.

“You two do whatever. I’m playing with the snake.” Tom practically ran to the corner of the room and began to set up the serpent’s aquarium.

Riddle pulled him close. “Mhh, I finally get you all to myself, angel.”

He was thrown to the bed, and Riddle encircled him, pulling him into his chest and petting him. His other hand travelled down his side and grasped his hip, rubbing slow circles into him.

Harry hummed, sinking deeper into his embrace.

___________

He could see himself again. He was laying down next to himself, glaring at Dream-Harry. But he wasn’t aware; he was sleeping with a furrowed brow. The sheets underneath him were irritating, the air was a touch too cold, and the burning lantern in the middle of the room shined a notch too bright.

His head reached out, touching Dream-Harry on the cheek. Dream-Harry sighed, leaning into his hand. There was a little thrum of power in his veins. He stroked him for a while before boredom began to creep in.

Harry’s hand moved down. It coasted along his shoulders, down his arms, and settled on his waist. More power. But it wasn’t enough for him.

Dream-Harry began to move. He drew back, ready to flee at any second. Dream-Harry wiggled closer to him and butted his head against Harry’s chest. He hesitantly placed his hand back on his waist.

He could feel the power just past his fingertips. He adjusted himself, carefully moving his other arm under the pillow. With reluctance, he pulled Dream-Harry closer.

Dream-Harry nuzzled his chest; one of his arms was thrown over Harry’s waist. A pleasurable wave of power overtook him, strong and intoxicating. He lowered his gaze to Dream-Harry. His face rested peacefully.

Harry curled up around Dream-Harry, finally giving in to the pleasant feeling.

__________

The golden mask was placed over Harry’s face. Voldemort withdrew, inspecting his cloak. He slashed his wand at any stray dust or fibre that was out of place.

“Do you want me to do a little twirl too?” Harry joked, kicking his foot out.

“Yes.”

Harry spun slowly, taken aback.

“Perfect. Now give me your non-wand arm.” Voldemort held his hand expectantly.

Harry hesitantly placed his hand in Voldemort’s. Voldemort withdrew the jade bangle from his pocket and enlarged it. He slipped it on Harry’s wrist and shrank it to size. Harry raised his hand, still unused to its weight of it.

“Hm, would you like it feather-light?” Voldemort snatched his hand once more.

“Yes, please.”

They walked down to the ballroom, seeing rows of tables. Another full meeting. Or, mostly complete? Harry saw a lot more people at the celebration party than he normally saw in meetings. The memory stirred a question.

“What does ‘Middle Circle, Second Degree’ mean?” He asked as he sat down on the right-hand seat.

“Hm. Each circle has three degrees, or three ranks, with the first being the highest. The members of the inner, middle, and outer circles are all assigned a degree. You see the first degree of each circle in these meetings. The first circle takes instruction from me, the second from the first, and the third from the second.”

Harry sat on that information while the people trickled in. So that wasn’t all the Death Eaters; that was just some of them. No doubt the second and third degrees were larger than the first.

But it also explained why the Death Eaters fell after he sort-of-not-really killed Voldemort. All the instructions came from the top. They were all hanging from the thread that was Voldemort.

“So that’s why everything went to shit when you left.” Harry said after a few minutes. Barty flinched, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Perhaps it’s not an ideal structure, but it works. Problems would arise if the Minister of Magic died.” Voldemort hissed back.

Harry looked at Barty, who was trying his best to stare straight ahead. “I assume they can hear me?”

“I thought you would have a looser tongue. Do try to speak in parseltongue.” Voldemort replied.

Even more concerned faces stared at them. Harry didn’t blame them; if he associated parseltongue with evil and torture, he’d be scared too. However, speaking in parseltongue did initially frighten him because he didn't realize he was hearing another language.

Voldemort tilted his head. Harry could feel the air turn tense. He wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew that they had good reason to be so tense. Voldemort might have been nice to him, but he knew the kindness didn’t extend to other people.

Voldemort watched as the last member sat down.

“Everyone is here, my Lord.” Barty bowed his head as he spoke.

“Severus,” Voldemort started, “report on the Order.”

“Yes, my Lord. The Order has exhausted most of its resources trying to find Potter. Albus is completely occupied trying to clear his name, and it is not working. The Aurors, both Death Eater and not, are getting close to following an Order member back to headquarters. As far as I’m aware, they are no closer to finding Potter. They have also not made any moves in Wizengamont.”

Harry felt a sense of satisfaction in his veins.

“Good,” Voldemort said, to many side-eyes. “Tiberius, what is the best way to use this opportunity?”

Tiberius' brow furrowed. “We can make a move against the Order in a raid on Nymphodora Tonks. Based upon reports, she has weekly dinners with Alastor Moody and Dedalus Diggle. We will attack. Alastor Moody is to go first; he has had a recent altercation with us and has been injured. I recommend having a team of at least twenty, with four proficient dullers.”

“If possible, an Auror should attack Alastor to catch him off guard. Another way would be to hold Nymphodora hostage and attack while he is distracted, as he has a close bond with her. She is easy to catch compared to most Aurors.” Tiberius ended after a long breath.

“My Lord!” Bellatrix interrupted. “May I be the one to kill Nymphodora? She is a stain on the family.”

Voldemort turned to him. “What do you think of Nymphodora Tonks?”

"She's nice," Harry thought for a moment. She has the potential to do good, but she’s so clumsy and hard-headed.”

Was Voldemort asking him to decide if she would die?

“I think she has potential in research. I mean, she is a metamorphmagus. Analyzing her genes and such.”

If he couldn’t appeal to her personality, he could appeal to her use.

“No, you may not. The metamorphmagus is to be studied.” Voldemort issued the final verdict.

The room grew stiller. He could feel most of their eyes on him.

From the other side of the table, Bellatrix glared at him. Harry brushed away a stray piece of hair, displaying his jade bangle. Her eyes grew wide, and her face went dark.

That’s right, there’s a shield between you and me. And his name is Voldemort.

"Lucius, what's the best way to use this in Wizengamont?”

Lucius cowered under Voldemort’s gaze. “Well, uh, I would recommend, if possible, proposing the more controversial bills. They are less likely to read them or to show up if they are scrambling as much as Severus said. A creature or dark magic bill is what I would suggest.”

Harry wanted to laugh. Lucius sounded like a quaking dog.

It filled him with joy.

“We will abide by both plans. Lucius, I expect you to have plans ready to distribute by this weekend. Tiberius, make the final adjustments to the plan by tomorrow. We will attack at mealtime.” Voldemort glared at them.

Tiberius and Lucius nodded.

He tuned out most of the rest of the meeting. But each time he heard another person report on the Order or someone he knew, a whirlwind of emotions flashed through him.

Where did he lie?

He didn’t want to side with the Order. They abandoned him, kept him away from everything, and dictated his every moment without his knowledge. He didn’t want them to die, but he didn’t want them to succeed either.

He’d have to die for them to win.

He didn't want to be associated with the Dark. They tortured people for Godric’s sake! How many people had died because of them? They demeaned people of his blood status.

But they wanted him to live.

Harry bit his lip. Could he allow himself to be selfish at this moment? Why throw away the fate of his world so that he could survive? Die for the chance of overthrowing the Dark? The Dark, who had the upper hand.

Would his death even matter?

He couldn’t say.

Chapter Text

Yawning from his morning awakening, Voldemort dragged Harry through the halls. Harry followed as fast as he could, but he found that Voldemort’s long legs walked significantly faster than his. He stumbled when they got past a corner, past the window with the rising sun.

The man huffed, stopping. He easily scooped Harry up in his arms and continued on his fast pace. It was like Harry didn’t weigh anything to him.

But he had to admit, he did like not having to jog to keep up with Voldemort. He curled up on himself to get through a doorframe, hugging close to Voldemort’s chest. Voldemort twitched.

Harry was finally deposited on a sofa in a small room with a floo. Voldemort watched the fire intently.

“What are we waiting for?” Harry curled up on the sofa, still sleepy.

“Your phoenix tears.” Voldemort answered, staring into the fire.

“Oh.” Harry had forgotten about that. “They’re coming in now?”

“Yes. My original contact fell through, but I was able to find another. I was concerned that they wouldn’t come in time. You still have that nasty venom running through your veins from your basilisk bite.” Voldemort fidgeted with his wand.

"Oh, right." Harry grinned. Voldemort was worried. He didn’t think the man was capable of something like that.

The fire blared to life. Inside the flames lay a red box, wrapped securely in twine. Voldemort snatched it instantly. He lifted his knee, using it as a makeshift desk, and tore away the twine. After that, he lifted a box from the box.

The box-within-a-box continued until he was left with a small black box. From there, he lifted a large syringe with a clear liquid in it. He withdrew a blue strip of paper from his pocket. Dabbing the the tiniest of drops onto it, the paper turned white.

“This is genuine phoenix tears.” Voldemort confirmed.

“Where am I getting stabbed?” He hoped it wasn’t like that one shot he had to get that went into his ass cheek.

“You are not getting stabbed.” Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Where were you bitten?”

Harry held out his forearm and pointed to the dark scar that was halfway down. Voldemort hummed. He patted the area around it until he found a good vein.

“On the count of three.” Voldemort took their spare hands and laced them together.

Harry’s lip quipped.

“One, two,” Voldemort furrowed his brow, “three.”

It was a little scary to see such a big needle go into him. It felt pinched, and the pressure from the needle in his veins made him a bit queasy. An iced chill like fresh frost entered his body, quickly warming. Voldemort withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball against the injection site. He secured the cotton with a wrapping of gauze.

“You should rest. The phoenix tears will work their way through your body in the next hour.” Voldemort patted his arm.

“Got it. I can walk back on my own.” Harry teased.

Voldemort looked away from him. Harry could feel embarrassment leaking through the connection, but Voldemort had a conflicted look on his face. He tilted his head, trying to figure out why the two weren’t matching.

A sudden wave of exhaustion and peace overtook him. He flopped onto the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. He felt incredibly light, like he’d float away if he wasn’t tied down. It was like flowers were growing in his brain, blossoming with their petals blocking out his thoughts.

He let out a little giggle.

“... an unintended side effect.” Voldemort cocked his head, trying to get parallel with Harry.

Voldemort tried to haul him to his feet, but his legs were like strawberry jelly and quaked under his weight. A smirk graced Voldemort’s face, and he lightly sat Harry back on the sofa. Harry leaned to the side and fell to the cushions.

Arms reached under him and raised him. His head lolled to the side, one of his arms reaching for the floor.

“Sure, you can walk back on your own.” Voldemort mocked. “Can you at least try to cooperate?”

Harry slowly raised his arm and crossed it over his midsection. He turned his head into Voldemort’s chest, letting out a sigh of relief as the electricity travelled through him. It was truly calming.

They exited the room, walking down the hall. But Harry’s mouth moved before he could stop himself.

“Were you always Snake-Face to the Death Eaters or were you hot before?” Harry slurred.

Voldemort stopped in his tracks. He looked down at Harry, confusion and another emotion Harry couldn’t place flooded over him. He started to walk again.

“I’ve always worn glamours. At times, it was so ingrained that I could hardly take them off. It's why I looked that way at my resurrection; my glamours were stuck until I could do a ritual to take them off.” He thought for a moment. “I did have a nose. That was the only difference.”

“Mhh, I think they’d like the hot version better.” Harry curled up to his chest.

Voldemort stopped again.

“I need to be feared.” He explained.

“But you could be adored.” Harry countered. His eyelids felt like they were weighed down by heavy rocks.

Voldemort sighed.

“You shouldn’t talk about me like that.” Voldemort huffed. More embarrassment bled through their connection, along with the other strange one.

“You not, hmm, like hot hot, you just kind of look like them.” Harry slurred, giggling as he remembered his times with Tom and Riddle.

“I am - “ Voldemort sighed. “Stop talking.

Harry stayed curled. It was nice to be carried, the swaying back and forth as Voldemort walked lulled him into a sense of peace. Like slowly drifting on a boat at sea. Harry listened deeply to Voldemort’s heartbeat.

He watched as the door to his room opened. Inside, Tom and Riddle sat on the floor, books strewn about, while they pointed at a roll of parchment with diagrams on it. They both looked up, their faces lighting up. But they darkened quickly

“What did you do to him?” Tom exclaimed in an accusatory tone.

Voldemort tched. “Injected him with phoenix tears. It had unintended side effects, but I do not believe he is harmed. Just…” He lifted him up a bit.

“TTTTooommm.” Harry slurred, reaching out to him.

His movement was overpowered and he nearly rolled out of Voldemort’s arms. The man scrambled to keep him from falling.

“Get him before he hurts himself,” Voldemort commanded the two.

Tom stepped forward and shimmied his arms under him. He sank when the full weight was put upon him, but he still held him. He carried him over to their bed. Harry playfully flipped Tom’s black hair from his dark brown eyes, both like gold in the candlelight of his room.

“How many phoenix tears did you give him?” Riddle asked, approaching Voldemort.

“10 millimetres.”

“You gave him five times the recommended dose?” Riddle shouted.

“That’s for normal injuries. He has basilisk venom in him, he needs more. It will also heal any injuries that he hasn’t healed yet.”

Harry tuned out their bickering. He turned to Tom and pulled on his tie. Tom got lower and gave him a curious expression. With all his pitiful strength, he leaned up and locked their lips. Tom leaned in, planting his arm on the bed. Harry twirled the tie in his hands playfully, tugging it down to deepen their kiss.

“... you should leave.” Riddle said.

“I sorrily wish I never saw that.” Voldemort sighed. "Keep in mind that this is a partial medication side effect."

Riddle put his hands up. “Relax. We wouldn’t hurt him.”

Tom pulled away from Harry, lightly cupping his face. He was blushing an intense shade of red from the tips of his ears down to the apples of his cheeks. A smile plastered itself across Harry’s face, he tugged on his tie again.

But Tom withdrew instead of drawing closer.

“You need to sleep.” He said, running his hand through Harry’s hair; his greatest weakness.

The door slammed, and Riddle soon joined them, doing his best to take advantage of Harry’s hyper-affectionate cuddles.

__________

Voldemort faced another conflict within him.

He could deny it no longer.

Potter’s relationship with his horcruxes was not platonic; it was romantic.

The mere idea of his younger selves becoming friends with Potter initially made him scoff. He was, is, and will forever be Voldemort. A creature that pulled the strings, did not have anything attached to him. Even those closest to him, he would not hesitate to discard if the moment needed it.

With isolation, he supposed friendship was a possibility. The horcruxes were feeding off of Potter’s emotions, and Potter enjoyed having them wrapped around him. He didn’t know if those emotions transferred or if the magic they siphoned was different depending on what feelings the person they were feeding on had.

Friends, he concluded, friends he could be okay with.

But boyfriends?

He’d only looked the possibility of romance in the face once. It had taken years for him to work his way past Voldemort’s defences, and once Voldemort figured it out, he cast him aside like he was nothing. Voldemort did not desire him in any way but physical.

Abraxas became cold to him after that.

Voldemort was someone who could infer connections easily. This person liked that one, someone hated another, and those two were dating. He could see that romantic attraction in his horcruxes eyes every time they looked near Harry. Or every time he was mentioned.

He could see their love etched into their souls.

Voldemort could not love. It was something he accepted long ago. When he was friendless in the orphanage, when he rejected the notion of romance, and when he grew into an adult with no one close to him. Romantic or platonic, he was not capable.

So what made the horcruxes so sweet?

They doted on him day and night. Potter never seemed to be able to sit or lay down without one - or both - touching him. They were patient with him, never yelling, never angry, never annoyed. And they were willing to share him between the two of them.

Voldemort did not share.

Though he did show some minor favoritism to the youngest, Tom, as they called him, He was a little more outspoken than the other and showed a little more time. But it was sort of logical; everyone held their first love differently than others.

Voldemort shook his head. He should not be thinking of them like that. But he could not deny the facts. They were lovers. Partners. Boyfriends. And they cared for Potter just as much as he appeared to care for them.

He had heard the story and seen it in occlumency lessons. Tom tried to kill the sister of his best friend, then threw a basilisk at him. Tried to murder him. Yet they carried on as if nothing had happened.

Then again, Potter carried on with him with little caution.

How had murder been such a part of Potter’s life that he was willing to forgive them?

Oh, right, Voldemort.

Voldemort stared himself down in the mirror.

Potter fought for his life on all occasions. But when it came to everything else, he didn’t fight. He didn’t fight Voldemort. Not when he arrived at the border of his house, not when he informed him he was going to train or be locked up forever, and not when the countless other spells he cast on Potter harmed him.

Voldemort reached out his hand and punched the mirror. The charms broke and the mirror shattered. Blood ran down Voldemort’s hand and into the sink, with small reflected shards peaking out.

Why didn’t he fight back?

He wanted Potter to fight. He’d seen it before in the graveyard; hell, he even saw it in his first year. So why was he not? Why wasn’t he fighting with his horcruxes, fighting with him, fighting with even Tiberius?

He did fight against Bellatrix.

Sure, he was going to do it on his own, but now he figured that he’d introduce Potter to the gorier parts of the Dark Arts.

Perhaps Tom was right. Maybe he was ready

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why do we have a bunny here?” Harry asked, staring at the cute, fluffy white rabbit.

“We are going to use some spells on her.” Voldemort stated with a sinister smile on his face.

“What? No!” Harry leapt back, staring at Voldemort incredulously.

“No?” Voldemort looked surprised.

“No, you psychopath. It’s so cute! How could you harm an innocent little bunny?” He replied, outraged.

Voldemort hummed. “Is the problem that she is cute? I can make her ugly.”

Harry shook his head furiously, “No! She hasn’t done anything wrong!”

Tom and Riddle both looked on in a mixture of irritation and amusement. Harry desperately looked at them for agreement but was met with a look of hesitance from Tom and indifference from Riddle.

They’re still Voldemort. Harry had to remind himself.

“So you would be okay testing spells on people who have done wrong?” Voldemort pondered his words.

“Well…” If it was bad people… “depends on what we’re doing.”

“Just the stinging spell. Perhaps a few hexes? Nothing serious.” He reassured him, an odd look crossing his face.

“If it’s just that, then maybe?”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure he had it in him to practice on people. But if it was bad people or the bunny, he’d pick people. Surely if they were picking torture from Death Eaters or him practicing low-level curses, they would pick him too?

“Lovely,” It was weird to hear Voldemort say something like that, “We will go to the dungeons. Don’t worry, I’ll take you to someone who's obviously wrong.”

Harry nodded, a bit reluctant. Tom and Riddle were luckily invited to come along, which relieved him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Voldemort to a degree; it was just that when they were past the family wing, he acted like a different person.

That, and Harry had the tendency to get hurt under Voldemort’s care.

Voldemort had him become Ignis in order to leave the family wing, with Tom and Riddle in cloaks that concealed their faces. They passed the Carrow twins on the way out, their expressions alarmed. Harry wanted to smirk. Any type of fear from the inner circle was good.

They caught the eyes of many Death Eaters who were milling about the manor. He had to agree that the Voldemort persona was kind of scary, but to the point of scattering? They had ended up in Azkaban for their loyalty; which had given them some grace. Or were these the ones that had rebuked him? Punished for their crimes?

He’s still Voldemort.

They walked into the basement of the manor, whose interior had been gutted and replaced with dingy cells. People shied away into their corners as they passed, fear drifting through the air.

Harry stared straight ahead, unsure of what he would do if he saw anyone he recognised. He would rather not think about it. They finally reached the end, where a blank wall lay.

“There’s nothing here.” Harry said.

Voldemort shook his head. “Reveal.” He hissed.

Just like that, a wide metal door materialised in front of them. Harry was about to praise that piece of magic but kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to stoke Voldemort’s ego any more. They entered, the door creaking.

Inside were ten cells, with five of them filled. He recognised Kingsley, Amelia Bones, and -

“You unhand me at once!”

Dolores Umbridge.

“See? Someone is undeniably wrong.” Voldemort patted him on the back.

“Consider it a gift, I never got you anything for your birthday.” Tom purred in his ear. Harry blushed, but anger quickly filled him as he looked at Umbridge.

Harry balled up the fabric of his cape in his fists. She had wronged him so many times. Not just him, his friends, and the rest of Hogwarts. Evil. There was a sick pleasure she smiled with every time one of his peers got hurt.

At least Voldemort didn’t torture children. He only tried to kill them.

“Dolores Umbridge.” Harry said slowly,

“Who are you?” She exclaimed.

“Dolores, will you fucking stop your damn mouth?” From another cell, Amelia Bones groaned.

Harry’s mouth quipped. He always heard of Amelia Bones, the head of her department. She helped clean up the corruption in the field. And she was one of the people to vote for his innocence.

He focused his attention back on Umbridge.

“What are we doing?” Harry would set aside his normal morals for this.

“Hm, let’s start with something simple. Stinging, for now; then we’ll do a little darker things. Nothing to dark, I do not expect you to do that.” Voldemort offered a dark-coloured wand. “It’s second-hand; it fit me, so it should fit you.”

Fists unclenched. Harry grabbed the wand. It felt off in his hand—not exactly wrong, but not suited for him like his holly wand. He twirled it around, his magic slowly seeping into the wand.

“It feels fine,” He announced after a minute.

“Good, now, try the stinging charm. Try to cast it normally at first, then we’ll work on overpowering it.” Voldemort gestured to Umbridge. “Watch me.”

Voldemort withdrew his wand and slowly drew out the wand movements. “Acuelo.”

A beam of light fled from the tip of his wand and struck Umbridge. She let out a pained yelp, squirming on the floor. She otherwise did not look hurt.

Harry swallowed hard. “Acuelo.”

Umbridge mearly flinched.

“Put your anger into it. It is a dark spell. Dark spells,“ Riddle began.

“ - are often fuelled by emotions.” Harry finished for him.

Voldemort smirked. “Correct. Funnel your emotions into it.”

Harry breathed out again. Funnel. He thought about all the detentions he had served. All the scarred hands with words inscribed on them. Harry looked down at his own. It was glamoured under his disguise, and he often concealed it with long sleeves. The familiar fire of anger ripped through him.

“Acuelo!” He screeched.

Umbridge screamed, rolling on the floor as she twitched. Her spasms made her almost appear to bounce on the ground. Harry saw that and cut off the spell. He shouldn’t put all of his energy into his first spell.

“Good,” Voldemort praised him. “That one was a bit overpowered. Perhaps the next one we’ll try to be normally powered?”

“Okay.” Maybe once more wouldn’t hurt.

“Acuelo.” He tried to express himself evenly, with the anger flowing out rather than exploding.

This time, she yelped only once while jumping.

“Good, good, you are catching on quickly. Let us do this again, and then we’ll move on to other spells.” Riddle laid a hand lightly on his back.

“Got it. Acuelo.”

She spasmed again.

“You are learning this very fast. Let’s move on to one you may not know: Operto.” As Tom said it, a purple light left his wand.

From her neck, where it made contact, a large, palm-sized bruise was starting to form. The air left her lungs, and she groaned as she hovered her hand over the bruised area.

“Bruise?” Harry observed.

“Trample if you want to be more literal. I underpowered it. It won’t kill anyone if you overpower it, but it can break bones.” Tom informed. He nudged him again.

“Operto.” Harry channelled his hatred into the spell.

There was a loud crack, and Umbridge let out a gurgle, holding her chest. She gasped for air, coughing. Blood speckled her lips.

“Oh!” Harry covered his mouth. He didn’t intend to do that.

“Hm, you have more anger than I thought. Do you wish to continue? I will not make you do anything you do not want. Within reason.” Voldemort said, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Did he? He didn’t necessarily feel wrong for doing this. Sure, he knew it should be wrong, but he just didn’t feel like it was. If anything, he felt justified in his actions. Umbridge tortured children, so it was only logical that she would also be punished for it.

“Do you want to try something else? I do pre-warn that we all will also attack her, so do what you wish, she may not be all there if you want to do more later.” Voldemort patted him on the back, pushing him a bit closer to the bars.

Harry bit his lip. “Do you have anything… more?” He didn’t quite know how to phrase it.”

“Something more…” Riddle muttered, looking off into the distance.

“How about you try channeling your anger on its own? Spells work as a nice path to guide your magic to do certain things, but if you just fuel it with emotion… you can do what you never thought you could.” Tom practically purred.

Harry readied his wand. “Just… push the emotion through?”

“Yes.” Riddle replied.

Riddle placed his warm hand over Harry’s and pointed it at Umbridge, who tried her best to crawl away. He psyched himself up for it. Remembering all of the pain she inflicted on him and other students.

The magic didn’t burst out of his wand, but instead was an erratic flow. He tried to gain control over it, but it was harder to handle.

“Relax.” Tom laced their fingers. “Don’t fight it.”

Harry closed his eyes. He still channelled his emotions into his wand, but he also focused on relaxing his muscles. On how the relaxing warmth from Tom and Riddle eased his soul.

Screams echoed from all around him. He continued to push his feelings out. Sinking into Riddle’s touch, he could feel himself become lighter.

When his energy drew dry, he opened his eyes.

Umbridge was more red than she was pink. Her skin appears flayed, with the layers flipped open like a can lid. Some of her skin had blackened circles that reminded him of cigarette burns.

One of her eyes was little more than jelly running down her face.

She sniffled, groaning in pain as her vocal cords became ripped. Her hands tried desperately to put her skin back onto her exposed muscle, only for it to slide off of it.

“Good.” Voldemort praised, casting a spell onto Umbridge. “You left her interior almost perfect. She did do her own vocal chord damage.”

“Are you satisfied?” Tom asked, thumbing the back of Harry’s hand.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “She looks like she got what she deserved.”

A dark laugh left Riddle’s mouth. “Well, I’m not. Crucio.”

Umbridge’s form contorted and spasmed. Her cracked screams filled Harry’s ears and made them ring. Riddle held the spell for ten seconds before releasing her. Riddle lightly kissed Harry on the cheek.

“And for you?” Riddle asked Tom.

“Hm.” Tom thought for a moment. “Can we do the stretching thing? You get the hand, I’ll get the elbow?”

“But of course,” Riddle smirked.

They raised their wands to Umbridge. A red circle enveloped her wrist and her elbow. Her arm raised to her side, almost pulling her to it. But then her arm began to stretch. She whimpered, and a disgusting ripping sound filled the air.

Blood leaked from her elbow, and she began to pull away from her arm. But she stayed put. Harry could see her skin start to rip open in long, vertical lines. Before long, those lines connected, and he could see the stringy muscle underneath snap little by little.

The hand popped off.

The forearm followed.

“I’ll cauterize it, wouldn’t want her bleeding out, do we?” Riddle smirked.

Fire erupted at her side. She tried to crawl away. But the inferno followed her and leaped onto her arm. Black and dark brown marks chased up to her shoulder before it finally stopped. The smell of burned flesh and fat filled the air. It reminded Harry of steak.

“Hm, I think that’s enough for me.” Riddle spoke after a moment of silence.

Harry knew he was lying. But his breath was a bit quicker, and he could see his colouration become duller. Was he losing his magic? Did Harry need to let him siphon more?

Tom was similar, but he only looked a bit dull.

Voldemort looked disappointed in them. But he covered it up.

“Crucio.” Voldemort cursed her.

Voldemort held her under it for a full thirty seconds. What little energy was left in her dissipated as she twisted and turned in place. Not even a scream left her mouth.

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked as Voldemort raised his wand again.

Voldemort tilted his head. “I was thinking Death by a Thousand Cuts.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Could you make it nine hundred and nine then?”

Voldemort looked at him oddly. But he nodded. “You want to keep her alive?”

“Yeah. Death is to merciful.” Harry said it coldly.

Tom, Riddle, and Voldemort looked at him with the same wide, approving smile.

“I do agree.” Voldemort jabbed his wand at Umbridge, a red spell leaving the tip.

Harry watched as a new cut appeared on Umbridge every second. She would twitch on occasion, but otherwise stayed as still as a corpse. A flood of blood leaked from her, much more than Harry would have thought possible.

Puddles of liquid pooled around her, glinting in the candlelight. Harry would occasionally see a thick layer of yellow fat before it was covered by red.

He knew it should disgust him.

But inside, he didn’t feel anything.

That was a lie.

He felt great.

The rush of power when he forced all of his anger out, pouring out years of frustration and pent-up aggression into a few moments, was like nothing he had ever encountered. And after all of it, a calmness overtook him.

Like all the weight had been lifted from him.

Maybe Voldemort had been right when he said that the cruiatus curse on Death Eaters was a great form of stress relief.

Harry shook those thoughts from his head. He never wanted to be Voldemort - casting curses at everyone who displeased him. But maybe…

“Is it wrong to not feel anything when someone gets hurt?” Harry asked aloud.

Tom raised his head and stared down at him. He laid back down and breathed out hard.

“Depends.” Tom answered.

“No.” Riddle replied.

“Depends on what?” Harry bit his lip.

“Who, I’d say. An enemy, no. An ally, most likely.” Tom wrapped his arms tighter around his chest, almost suffocating.

The memory replayed for him.

Yes, if it was an enemy, it was fine.

“May the other Death Eaters have a go at her?” Voldemort twirled his wand. “And may I disclose what she did to the students?”

“Yeah. Just make sure she doesn’t die.” Harry nodded.

“Very well. Let us depart.”

Voldemort guided them through the manor. More people stared at them, quickly averting their gaze. Harry looked down and saw blood splattered on his robes, stark against the white fabric.

“Dammit.” He cursed.

“There are ways to remove blood. Change out and give me your clothes.” Voldemort stared at the other two. “You two as well.”

“Got it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Harry was in a perfect duelling stance. His wand was raised at the correct angle, and his grip practised and precise.

At the other end of the room, Corbin Yaxley stood. He was already sweating, with anxiety rising in his eyes. A snake-faced Voldemort surveilled the two, standing off to the side.

“We will be following the standard rules of duelling.” Voldemort announced. “No unforgivables; no lethal spells. Additionally, I will add not long-term torture spells.”

They both nodded.

“We begin at the count of five.” Voldemort raised his wand in the air.

A blue number 5 rose in the air.

4

Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest.

3

Corbin stared down at him, his face hardening.

2

He took a final breath.

1

Corbin threw the first curse. It was orange in colour, Harry momentarily thought of a mild jinx.

“Combustio.” He spat.

The yellow curse streaked across the room. Harry dodged the spell, while Corbin merely used a shield to absorb it. He sent a high-level stinging spell his way.

Blood roared in his ears as he barely managed to move in time. He yelled out two more spells, trying to regain his balance. A sting filled his arm as a cutting curse made small but deep knicks across his left.

“Bombarda!” He pointed to the area to Corbin’s right.

The floor exploded, sending shrapnel all over the room. One piece cut across his cheek, and another bruised his leg. Corbin took the brunt of it, with his robes in tatters and blood running down his face.

Harry didn’t let up and cast water on the ground. Corbin either ignored it or didn’t see it, but he ran over the water. He slipped, casting a spell Harry didn’t recognise toward him.

In a moment of panic, he forced as much magic as he could into the shield, pushing it forward. The spell hit the shield, ricocheted off of it, and barreled toward Corbin.

Corbin screeched as it struck him. He writhed, back arcing, and spasmed on the ground. It was a terrifying few seconds.

Corbin stayed on the ground, groaning in pain.

“Do you surrender, Corbin?” Harry asked in a mocking tone.

“Yes.” He huffed, curling into a ball.

Voldemort strode over to Harry. He placed a hand on his head and awkwardly ruffled his hair. “You did well, and quickly as well. You used your environment to your advantage, creating your own field. Next summer, I expect you to be able to duel one of the Carrow twins. Then, either Tiberius or Bellatrix. You learn fast.”

Harry smiled as he felt warmth enter him. “I’m looking forward to it!”

Chapter Text

The last day came before Harry wanted it to. He awoke reluctantly like if he stayed asleep he’d have more time. The thought occurred to him that Voldemort would want to keep his horcruxes protected and would have them stay at the manor.

Harry didn’t want to leave them.

Over the mere month that they had known each other, each had carved their separately shaped hole into Harry’s heart. It ached not to have them around and he adored their presence.

He was more at peace and security than at any other point in his life.

Harry’s thoughts continued as he took a moment to bask in the presence of the two. Tom liked tucking him under his chin while Riddle preferred to bury his face in Harry’s neck. He enjoyed how he could hear Tom’s heartbeat and feel Riddle’s hair tickling him. It was a constant reminder that it wasn’t just all a dream.

That they were as real as he was.

The only problem he ever had with their arrangement is they often trapped his arms, eliminating his ability to hold hands. Currently, Riddle was wrapping around his arm and his other was under Tom’s waist.

If only he had more arms.

Riddle shifted, nuzzling him sleepily. A soft yawn came from him. He lifted his head, his hair fluffy and sticking out in all directions. He released Harry’s arm and walked his hand from Harry’s waist to his jawline. Riddle tilted his head.

Their lips locked firmly. It was more intense than their normal kisses, having more force from both of them. Riddle propped himself up on his elbow, not leaving him for a second. They drew away for a quick breath and kissed again.

Harry’s head was light - whether from his fluttering love or lack of air was debatable. Riddle cupped Harry’s face with his hand, lightly thumbing the cheek. Harry grasped at Riddle’s button-up, clinging to him.

They finally drew away.

Harry breathed in. He blushed, still not used to that type of attention.

Beside him, Tom stirred.

Riddle rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb anything. He shuffled to the door and left without a sound. Confusion bubbled up in his brain, but he shook his head. Riddle worked in mysterious ways.

Tom finally awoke. He hugged Harry tight then let him go. Harry flopped to face him, wiggling up to be face-to-face. He needed affection from both of them today. He leaned forward, connecting their lips.

It appeared that Tom was just as antsy that day. The boy pulled him in, moving his lips aggressively against Harry’s. Harry matched his pace, kissing his back just as hard.

Tom’s tongue flickered out. Harry knew exactly what he wanted. He parted his lips with eager anticipation. There was a moment of hesitation before Tom took action.

A tongue invaded his mouth. He was gentle with him, less forceful than needed, and he lightly cupped Harry’s cheek, drawing in him. There was the soft taste of mint.

Their tongues brushed against each other. There was a light chuckle from Tom. He drew back but kept his lips parted.

Harry took the chance and similarly tongued Tom’s mouth, him not being one to completely submit to Tom. Tom toyed with him, pushing back against him then letting him move freely in short bursts. They would take a short breath, then go back to each other.

After another minute, they drew back for the final time. Tom lightly patted his wetted lips dry. Harry panted, now surely oxygen deprived. Tom leaned forward and softly kissed his forehead. A hand brushed through his hair.

“Tom?” Harry asked, finally brave enough to ask the question that was brewing in his mind.

“Yes, love?” Tom’s hand went through his fringe and traced his jawline.

“Do you ever get jealous of Riddle?” Harry asked, biting his lip.

They really hadn’t discussed it at all. Both of them just fell into line with cuddling, kissing, and overall loving him. It wasn’t conventional at all, and he knew it. Even if they were technically the same person, he viewed them separately.

“A little, more at the beginning,” Tom admitted after a breath. “But I figured that he makes you just as happy, and I really don’t mind almost all of the time.”

Tom laced their fingers. “Though I will admit, I was jealous he got to dance with you first.”

“Oh.” Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

He didn’t know what he would do if Tom said he was very jealous. He didn’t want to abandon either of them. If he had to choose, it would be Tom; he was his first, but he wouldn’t like that decision. It would hurt Riddle. And he didn’t like that either. But having both… was his ideal situation.

There was a knock at the door. Riddle entered after a “Come in!”, holding one tray and levitating two more beside him.

“I brought breakfast!” Riddle exclaimed.

Harry and Tom sat up, yawning. Riddle handed them each a tray, and they sat in a small circle on the bed. Harry had an array of pancakes, eggs, toast, and, of course, two treacle tarts with pumpkin juice on the side. Both Tom and Riddle had more reserved tastes for salads, eggs, and tea.

Riddle smirked at them, giving them a look that told them he knew what they did. Both looked away, with Riddle laughing lowly but not saying anything.

They chatted as they ate, avoiding the topic of Harry having to leave. They all knew of the real possibility of Voldemort forcing the horcruxes to stay in the manor. None of them liked the idea.

Another knock sounded at their door. Harry yelled for him to come in.

Voldemort entered, looking a bit disappointed. It quickly faded as his eyes found Harry.

“I could not find you anywhere,” Voldemort stated.

You didn’t come to breakfast.

“Will you join us?” Harry asked, moving a bit out of the way to accommodate another space.

Voldemort stared at him flatly. But he could see the idea weighing on his mind.

“Fine. I will be back.” Voldemort backed out of the room, closing the door gently.

Harry happily munched on his first treacle tart when Voldemort came back into the room. He carried a tray of salad, tea, eggs, and beans on toast. Harry hummed; his taste had hardly changed through the years.

Voldemort awkwardly crawled onto the bed. He sat cross-legged between Harry and Riddle. Harry hadn’t seen it before, but Voldemort was much taller than Riddle. They were just on another level of tall, and he just assumed they were similar heights.

“Why are you so tall?” Harry blurted out the words before he could stop himself.

“Genetics,” Voldemort answered without missing a beat.

“No, like you’re a lot taller than either of them.” Harry put his hands on top of each other and raised his top hand in the air.

Voldemort thought about it for a second. “I started puberty much later than my peers.”

Harry could sniff the omissionable lie but didn’t push further. If he wanted to keep secrets, he could. He could keep a whole chamber of them.

Voldemort broke the silence. “This is your last day.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “Really wish it wasn’t.”

Voldemort looked at him in surprise. “You -” He shook his head. “I thought we all could do something on the last day.”

“What?” The three asked at once.

Voldemort smiled. “We’re going swimming. It serves another task for me as well.”

“Where?” Tom asked, finishing the last of his tea.

“Dirus beach.”

Tom and Riddle’s faces went dark, with sinister smiles on their faces. But Harry found that he held no fear. He was, however, a bit suspicious about it.

Harry knew that they were not good people. That the change of heart was very, very recent. He wasn’t sure what they’d do to other people, but they hadn’t attacked any Death Eaters (besides that one time), and they hadn’t wanted to go away and torture someone (besides Umbridge). Harry knew they wouldn’t do anything to him.

But it unnerved him nonetheless.

Riddle cleared his throat, sensing Harry’s confliction. “It’s a white beach with rocky cliffs and caves. I assume you know how to swim?”

Harry thought. “I’m not a strong swimmer. Will I see a lot of fish?”

Tom nodded. “It’s fairly lively. Has a bunch of sharks, but they’re harmless. Seahorses, other small fish, and lots of vegetation. And we’ll stay in the shallows.”

“I will have Pipskey fit you two for swimwear. Potter, you said you already had some?” Voldemort inquired, cutting into his food.

“Yeah. They’re a little torn at the bottom, but it’s still good.” The merfolk were pretty accurate with their weapons.

“Hm.” Voldemort narrowed his eyes. “I will have all three of you fitted then.”

Harry was about to object but figured he needed new ones anyway.

He was a bit embarrassed being fitted, but in the end, he was left with dark red swim shorts that wrapped around him perfectly. He stood in the mirror, spinning around. He’d never had something that was snug without being uncomfortable.

“Though I’m sure we’d all like to admire your ass, we do need to get going.” Riddle called from the doorway, Tom beside him.

Harry jumped. “Don’t scare me like that!”

The fright was soon replaced by something else. Sure, he had seen quick glances of them when they got out of the shower, but no lingering gazes. Now, he had them on display.

Though not particularly muscular, he could see the beginning tones of muscles just under their skin. Tom was a bit thinner, just barely able to see the bottom of his ribs, but he looked lean. Riddle was much the same, but more filled out.

Harry didn't know which he preferred.

“Believe me, I can be more spooky.” Riddle laughed.

“Uh - “ Harry was at a loss for words.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” Tom smirked, walking over and patting his jaw.

Harry shut his mouth. Redness crept up his face. They both laughed, ruffling his hair. He was glad they were able to see some humour in it. He was frankly too distracted to think of any comeback.

“You three,” Voldemort entered the room, dressed in a full-body wetsuit that cut off at the neck.

Harry was glad there weren't more shirtless men around him.

He stared at Harry and his apple-red cheeks. Voldemort quickly turned away.

“We will be taking a portkey.” Voldemort held out a large, sky-blue crystal.

They all placed their hands on the portkey without another word. Voldemort muttered something, and the world twisted before them. Harry felt his arms being hooked under him.

The first thing he felt was cold. Next was dampness. Then, it was the feeling of hard rock under his feet. He felt himself being pulled back and turned face-to-face with sharp, jagged rocks.

“AH!” Harry scrambled backwards, only to hit something solid. He whipped around, only to see he had run into Voldemort.

“Calm, calm, you’re fine. We’re just in a cave next to the beach.” Tom reassured him.

Harry sighed in relief. He looked around to see more sharp, jagged rocks with some stalagmites and stalactites all over the black. The end of the cave opened up to a short section of beach, then water.

“Come on.” Tom pulled him along. “Let’s go swim. I want to find seahorses.”

Harry was walking behind him when he saw the pocket of Tom’s shorts wiggle. Harry raised an eyebrow but waited until he was out of earshot of Voldemort (who watched them leave) to speak.

“What did you smuggle?” Harry asked, shielding his face from the bright sun.

Tom looked back with a mischievous smirk. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the serpent they acquired in Russia. Which had remained unnamed.

“She wanted to come with us,” Tom said, averting his eyes.

“Filthy liar. I was yanked from my lovely tank.” The serpent hissed.

“I still think we should just call her Oil.” Harry reached over and scratched her head.

“Midnight,” Riddle retorted.

“Raven.” Tom quipped his lips.

They seemed to never conclude.

“You two do whatever; I’m looking for seahorses.” Tom waved them off and hoisted himself into the water down below carefully.

He edged to an area of long sea grass and waded through it as gently as he could.

“Wait, I want to see seahorses!” Harry was about to hop into the water, but hands wrapped around his waist.

Harry leaned his head back, and Riddle smiled down at him. Cold water brushed against his feet as he was slowly lowered into the water. Riddle slid in next to him, holding his hand.

“Gentle, you don’t want to crush them.” He warned Harry.

“Oh, right.” Harry stared down, afraid he’d see the pieces of seahorses rising to the surface.

Luckily, there was none.

Riddle and Harry slowly made their way to Tom. He was kneeling in the water, slowly sliding along despite the occasional sharp rock. The serpent was swimming nearby, dodging in and out of the seagrass.

“Over here, human.” She hissed, sticking her head above water. “The yellow thing.”

They all arrived to see Tom parting the grass. There, a small canary-yellow seahorse with a large belly had its tail wrapped around a blade. Lower down, a smaller seahorse was there, hardly bigger than Harry’s pinky.

“They’re so small,” Harry said, slowly crouching down beside Tom. They brushed shoulders.

“Very,” Riddle agreed.

He knelt next to him and snaked a hand around Harry’s waist. He was once again reminded that all of them were shirtless. Riddle chuckled lowly at Harry’s inflamed cheeks. He winced at his inability to keep his mind clean.

“I want to keep them,” Tom said, very lightly petting the larger seahorse with the back of his curled index finger.

“No.” Riddle sighed. “The serpent wouldn’t want to share her tank, and there wouldn’t be as much enrichment in there either. Plus, that seahorse is pregnant, and you do not want to take care of hundreds or even thousands of baby seahorses.”

“I could do it,” Tom reassured.

“Yeah, I mean, you could, but should you?” Harry said, catching a glance at an orange seahorse swaying in the grass further down.

Tom hmphed.

The serpent slithered over. She caught sight of the smaller seahorse and prodded it with the tip of her tail. The smaller seahorse released the blade and hooked onto her tail. She tried to shake it off, but its grip was stronger.

“I have been adopted as a mother.” She swished her tail. The seahorse stayed on.

“See? The seahorse chose her.” Tom gestured to the two.

Harry and Riddle looked at each other.

“Well… It’s small.” Riddle said.

“And it won’t give birth to hundreds of babies…” Harry pointed out.

“And she won’t eat the seahorse,” Tom said.

The two of them sighed.

“You’re really going to kidnap a baby?” Harry spoke in a judgmental tone.

“Apparently older me tried to murder one, so I think this is a step down.” Tom smiled. He gently stroked the smaller seahorse.

“What are you going to name it?” Harry asked.

“Hmm. Topaz, like the stone.” Tom said after contemplating for a second.

“I was going to say Banana,” Harry said.

Tom and Riddle looked at him, furrowing their eyebrows.

“You… have an imagination.” They settled on.

Harry rolled his eyes. They never thought that his names were good. “Can we let her watch Topaz while we swim?”

“I will care for my child.” The serpent hissed.

The three carefully waded through the water until they reached waist-deep water, a safe distance from the seagrass. Harry could smell the intense salt in the water. How unlike it was compared to the freshwater of the lake.

It was also clearer water. Not murky until he kicked up sand with his feet. Riddle took his hand and guided him deeper into the sea until he could tread water. The two of them, of course, could still stand.

Harry was deeply offended that he was so small. It was nice to be able to curl up in their arms, feeling completely protected as they shielded him, but at times like this, he wished he was taller.

“Are you fine moving further?” Riddle asked, helping Harry keep his head above water by lightly lifting him by the waist.

“I’d rather not drown,” Harry admitted.

“We could just put a bubblehead charm on you.” Tom pointed out.

Tom raised his hand and muttered a short phrase. Harry didn’t feel any different, but he looked down to see the water around his face being pushed down. He hesitantly wiggled away from Riddle’s grip and let himself sink.

The water around his head distorted, and he was able to breathe. He felt something take hold of his leg and he yelped in alarm.

Looking down, he saw Tom’s mischievous smirk as he released his ankle. He swam deeper into the sea, waving him along. Harry copied his movements and followed him as the water grew colder.

On the sandy floor, he could see an array of sea life. Small fish swam away from them in terror. Starfish littered the floor. Harry turned one over and was horrified to see the flailing little tubes of flesh that decorated the limbs.

He shuffled around in the sand and found a large spiral shell. Harry threw it as far as he could when he saw a little claw peek out. In the distance, he could see dark shapes moving against a blue background.

The ocean was both magnificent and horrifying.

Riddle stayed close to him while Tom explored further on. It was reassuring, especially as they slowly inched forward into the depths. Before long, his ears hurt, and they were so deep enough that the sunlight was starting to fade.

In the distance, he could see a small, dark shape quickly coming their way. Harry grabbed Riddle’s arm and pointed to the shadow. Riddle tensed and pulled Harry behind him. It grew a little bigger and quickly approached.

A shark.

A small shark, but a shark nonetheless. Its tail was long, the tip stretching on. Harry clung to Riddle. Meanwhile, Riddle relaxed.

Riddle opened his mouth, but he shook his head and then raised his hand. White letters began to form as he wrote in the air.

‘It’s a thresher shark. Harmless.’

Harry shook his head. That thing didn’t look harmless. His nails dug into Riddle’s arm.

The shark moved slower and approached them. Harry tried to pull Riddle away, but the immovable object stayed put. He buried his face into Riddle’s shoulder, his heart pounding in his chest. A shadow passed over him.

Riddle grabbed his hand and raised it. He could feel a rough, scaly surface under his fingertips. Harry took a peak.

Riddle was forcing Harry to pet the shark.

He thrashed, trying to pull away. The shark seemed to stare at him before slowly swimming away. The end of its tail travelled over Harry’s hand. Riddle smiled at him, releasing his hand. Harry pulled it back, clinging it to Riddle’s shoulders as he watched the shark disappear into the blue.

His stomach twisted as he stared at the other shadows in the depths. Riddle caught the fear in his face and grabbed Harry’s legs, wrapping them around his waist. Together, they treaked to the surface.

As soon as their heads were above water and the bubblehead charm was cancelled, Harry began to yell.

“You absolute asshole!” Harry pounded against Riddle, but he could tell his action didn’t bother him.

“Did anything happen?” Riddle asked him, lightly grasping Harry’s wrists.

“I nearly pissed on you,” Harry replied.

Riddle laughed. “But did anything happen?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “But that doesn’t mean that anything wouldn’t happen.”

But Harry stayed clinging to Riddle, resting his head on his shoulders, as Riddle walked around half-submerged. He would occasionally offer Harry a shell or a crustation to inspect. Harry’s heart began to return to normal.

“Hey! Look what I found!” Tom’s voice rang out from further down the beach.

He was dangling a shark by the tail.

Harry’s heart rate instantly shot up.

“Put that thing down; you’re air-drowning it!” Riddle yelled back.

Tom nodded and threw the shark far into the water with a resounding SPLASH.

Harry was about to admonish him for throwing the animal, but he felt… off.

A sudden headache overtook him. From their connection, he could feel the cold claws of rage. He gasped, clutching his forehead. He had never experienced anger like that; it consumed him and set a biting freeze inside of him. He collapsed into the water. It soothed him for a second, but another wave of anger struck him.

Salty water filled his mouth as he inhaled sharply. A panic struck deep within him as the water flowed down his airway. His throat closed, desperate to keep the liquid out.

Riddle yanked him from the water. Harry tried to spit out the water, but it felt like he couldn’t get it all out. He kept on hacking, his mouth feeling flooded yet dry at the same time.

Riddle hauled him over his shoulders and rushed to shore. The pressure on his chest made some of the saltwater leave his throat.

He was thrown onto the sand. Riddle hovered his shaking hand over Harry’s throat and closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed. From the corner of his splotchy vision, he could see Tom get onto the beach and run towards them.

“Evacuo.” Riddle spoke with a clear voice.

Harry felt the rest of the water leave his system. The dryness stayed, and his throat was still closed, his migraine only increasing.

“Pipskey!” Tom called, dropping down next to him.

A pop sounded. “Yes, Youngest Master - “

“I need a pain reliever, a relaxer, and anything else that can help with a drowning,” Tom commanded.

Harry could feel the pressure building up in his lungs. It cramped him, and he felt oddly warm. Tom lightly patted his cheeks.

“Stay with us. Try to breathe. Try to stay awake.” Tom asked of him.

Harry found that request increasingly challenging to achieve. He could hold his breath for a long time, but this time it felt different. He could hardly move his limbs and would have fallen backward if Riddle hadn’t caught him in his arms.

Pipskey arrived with the potion bottles. They tried to pour the pain reliever down his throat, but Harry could hardly swallow it. It mostly pooled in his mouth as it slowly dripped down his throat.

“Pipskey, are you able to spell the potions into his stomach?” Riddle asked the house elf.

“Yes, Young Master. Pipskey is trained.”

She took the remaining vials and snapped her fingers. The liquid disappeared as Harry felt a cold sensation in his abdomen. The coldness spread through his body, and he felt himself lose more control of his body.

But his throat was finally opened.

Harry gasped for air, trying to breathe in and out. He sputtered a bit, the pain reliever still in his mouth. The potion was spat into the sand.

But he managed to breathe.

His mind was still like a slushie, a mixture of oxygen deprivation and second-hand rage making him confused. He could feel Riddle lightly shaking him, but his vision was already swimming without it.

“Can you hear me?” Tom asked, lacing their hands. “Can you squeeze my hand if you can hear me?”

Harry weakly squeezed his hand with all his strength. Tom sighed, running his hand through Harry’s hair. His headache subsided from the action.

It only cemented the fact that everything got better with them by his side.

He wondered why this time it was different. Usually, he experienced more of a brain freeze than anything else. It was a bit better than the crippling pain that filled him before, but he could normally deal with it.

Voldemort was just so angry that it overwhelmed him. He could not comprehend that amount of rage within someone. It was an inferno of ice—and so quick too.

The answer would soon find him.

Riddle deposited Harry into Tom’s arms and stormed off to the cave entrance. Harry stared up at Tom, watching as the seawater rolled down his cheeks. He reached up with a shaking arm and wiped it away.

“You’re a bit wet.” He joked.

Before he could think, Tom’s lips were on his own. Salty. It was different from their other kisses. More desperate, grasping at him as if he might slip away into the sea.

Tom withdrew, his eyes reddened with salt. Harry shifted in Tom’s arms and curled up to his chest. He listened to Tom’s erratic heartbeat. His brow furrowed. Nonetheless, the fast beat of his heart still calmed him.

He could hear screaming. Not in pain, but arguing. He could recognise Riddle's and Voldemort’s voices. Their words were overlapping each other, stacking on top of each other to the point that Harry couldn’t filter out either of them.

The rage that flooded from Voldemort’s side only intensified. Harry groaned. He could not imagine being so angry. It was so intense that it hurt. But it was like ice that coursed through his brain. The most horrible brain freeze to exist.

Not even burrowing into Tom’s chest nor the bright sun warmed the chill.

“Are you… cold?” Tom asked, using his spare hand to stroke the goosebumps on Harry’s arms.

“Yeah.” Harry groaned. “Brain hurts.”

Tom’s grip on him intensified. “The ritual was supposed to stop that.”

“Mhh… Only the touch. Not the rage-aches. Doesn’t hurt as much. It’s cold, not fire.” Harry muttered.

“This is less pain?” Tom exclaimed incredulously. “I know it hurt, but I thought I saw the worst before.”

Harry nodded. “Has hurt more before. So angry.”

Tom brushed the hair away from Harry’s face. “Do you want anything for it?”

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s normal.”

Tom’s fingers could have left bruises on his skin. Harry shied away from his grip.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tom repeated, loosening his grip.

Harry heard the stomping of feet. He turned his head to the side and saw a furious Voldemort and an equally pissed-off Riddle walking towards them. A string of fear coursed through his veins. He cuddled up as close as possible to Tom.

“Why are you so angry?” Harry asked in a small voice.

Voldemort snarled his answer. “I was retrieving a horcrux and found that it was missing. Regulus Black betrayed me and stole it.”

Oh.

Chapter Text

Harry was able to perk up by lunchtime. Riddle and Tom were still worried for him, but Harry assured them he was fine. Voldemort was rather distant, and everyone was quite quiet as they ate.

“Harry,” Voldemort called.

“Yeah?” Harry muttered, munching on some steak.

“Before you go, I will enchant you with a charm that will prevent you from revealing any information about what happened here. Even under vertiserum.” Voldemort withdrew a piece of parchment and slid it over to him. “I’ve made these adjustments to the spell.”

The sheet depicted a drawing of a person’s throat with a thorned vine wrapped around it. There was writing to the side that told of a painful silencing charm, but the word “painful” was crossed out. The secrets could not be revealed to anyone, under any condition. The spell could only be taken off from the caster.

“What will that all entail?” He asked, a bit worried.

“Well, for first, the horcruxes,” Voldemort gestured to Tom and Riddle. “Then the more personal details. All you could possibly talk about is being kidnapped, seeing torture, and not being able to leave the manor.”

“We’re going with him to Hogwarts.” Riddle proclaimed.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. He tilted his head in thought, and Harry could feel intrigue from his end of the connection. He sighed and hung his head in defeat.

“Fine. I would tell you to be on guard with him, but I do not think I need to proclaim that.” Voldemort looked at the three, a slightly disgusted look on his face.

“Of course,” The two answered at once.

“I cannot handle both of your whining if you were apart from him. And you - “ Voldemort looked to Harry. “I will hold you personally accountable if anything happens to the horcruxes. Including the one in your scar.”

Harry felt a chill run up his spine because of the coldness coming from him.

“Got it.” He gulped.

“Good.”

“Ah, how am I leaving the manor?” He changed the subject. Harry honestly had no idea how they would do that.

“The plan is for Lucius to try to transport you to another location, but you’ll pull away while apparating and will land somewhere in muggle London. Then, you can find your way from there. Owl a friend, walk into Diagon, find someone’s house, whatever you wish.” Voldemort stirred his tea, eating the last of Harry’s biscuits. “It is a rather common way to lose a prisoner.”

The man sighed as well, “Amelia has also given us the needed information, so I need to discard her as well. I have yet to think of a reasonable excuse for that.”

Harry stood up, his chair scraping again the wooden floor. “Can I do it?” Harry asked.

“Can you… free her? And how do you want to do that? She doesn’t know you’re missing nor would there be a reason for you to be here alive.” Voldemort had a tone to him. As if he wanted Harry to challenge him.

“I have a plan.”

____

Fire burned through Amelia’s veins. She bit into her already raw and bloodied lip. Screaming will - and has - not free her from her binds nor cancel the spell. If anything, it only seemed to fuel her captors.

“Aw, even after all this time, resilient ittle Amelia has finally broken!” Bellatrix cackled.

Amelia remembered her. The two-year senior constantly talked or bribed her way out of trouble. But not her, not Amelia. The seventh year had stewed in fury after getting caught and sent to detention by Amelia in her fifth year. She had been Amelia's first person caught, the first of many.

“Y’know, most people,” Rodolphus leaned over and nodded at Dolores Umbridge, “Learn quickly that your struggle is futile and you’ll never be free. At least you could be useful before we dispose of you.”

“F - Fuck - k o - of - f.” Amelia snarled through clenched teeth.

“Ooh! Feisty!” From behind her, Barty Jr. shook her shoulders, “Do it again!”

Amelia threw her head back, colliding with Barty’s face. A scream followed a satisfying crunch. Barty stumbled around her while the other two death-eaters howled in laughter.

“Ha!” Bellatrix doubled over, “Pulled a fast one on you, didn’t she?”

A chime rang from Bellatrix’s wand. She frowned and sighed.

“Looks like our catch-up time is over. Don’t worry, Amelia, we’ll have loads of fun tomorrow! I have the entire day off! It is so hard to have a little girl time here.” She twirled her wand.

A strong force gripped her throat and hoisted her up, her bonds falling to the ground. She tried to find her footing, but Barty yanked her up by her hair before she could. Half-dragged and half-scrambled, they walked to the end of the room and threw her in her cell.

Dull pain throbbed in her body. The concrete scraped against her skin and opened small cuts on her skin. But she still held on to her dignity.

Amelia slowly, shakily, managed to get to her cot, and lay down on the straw-stuffed mattress. Her strength was failing each day, tomorrow she may not be able to walk.

“Bye, bye, Amelia! And Yaxley, make sure she’s taken care of. I want her to be extra excited for girl’s night.” Bellatrix’s voice rang through the cells.

Yaxley. She was so close to proving his involvement with Voldemort when she was captured. One of many, many others that would be in Azkaban right now. But instead, she was here. Along with four other high-ranking ministry officials.

The door to the cell block opened. A shorter, masked Death Eater entered, with gloved hands holding a slip of parchment.

“The Lord has requested you in the north quarters. Mask on.” The voice was male, spoken in a light tone. He passed Yaxley the paper.

“And I presume you are taking over my guard duties?” Yaxley scanned the paper and then slipped on his mask.

The man nodded.

Yaxley handed over the ring of keys to the man. He briskly walked out the door with the other staring him down. As soon as Yaxley’s footsteps could no longer be heard, the man sprung to his feet.

He jabbed keys into the lock on her cell, constantly glancing back and forth from shoving the wrong keys in the hole to the door of the block. Click. Amelia rolled her head to see him kneeling next to her with two potion vials in his hand.

“Drink these,” He insisted, ushering an off-red and a lime-green one to her.

“Fuck off,” She spat at him.

“Madam Bones, please.” He pleaded. That voice was familiar.

“No,”

He nudged the edge of his mask to the side, barely enough for her to see the lightning-shaped bolt on his forehead and emerald green eyes.

“Pott - “

“Shh, no time for questions. Drink these,” Harry Potter thrust the vials to her.

“Why?” She asked, then downed the sour potions.

A pounding beat took hold of her heart. Pepper-Up, but a different variety, and pain relief. She rolled her shoulders back, the muscles no longer tense and sore.

“Put this on.” Harry reached inside his robes and pulled out a long Death-Eater cloak and mask.

“What are you doing?” Amelia rolled the mask in her hands. It wasn’t an authentic one, the markings were a little shaky, and there was a single smear of silver paint on the temple.

“Breaking you out.” Harry answered. “Are you able to apparate us if I get you past the wards?”

“Yes. How are we - “

“Just follow my lead. When we get past the wards, you’ll apparate us. When we get out the other side, please, Madam Bones, for me, please, say this happened in reverse.” Harry paused, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Say that I freed you?” Amelia shook her head. “Why?”

“Who will believe me?” Harry sighed. “No one would. Me, get past the Death Eaters while Amelia Bones couldn’t? No, you will say you found me while escaping. You will tell them that I was being transported to the cell block when you broke out. You will tell them that you managed to pull me away. And you will not tell them I freed you in any way.”

“But you should - “

“No, Madam Bones. I won’t. I won’t tell you how I managed to escape, but no one would believe me if I told the truth. Let's go, quickly. I don’t know when Yaxley will realise he was put on a wild goose chase.” He turned, looking at the door in apprehension.

Amelia nodded. “Okay. But I don’t know - “ Harry seemed to love to interrupt her.

“I know how to get out. I’ll lead.” He thrust the mask and robe to her. “Please be quick.”

Amelia didn’t waste any time. She threw on the garb, wincing at the idea of looking like a Death Eater. But she packed away her pride and stood tall. The two of them fled from the room, trying to walk as inconspicuously as possible.

The unrobed Death Eaters didn’t even look their way as they passed through the foyer and into the front yard. Amelia tried to memorise everyone that she could. Disgust sat in her stomach as she recognised so many people. From co-workers to the average citizen, she saw countless faces.

And those were only the people there right now.

She shivered. How were they supposed to win? How were they supposed to stop all these people? Even if they were untrained, which she doubted, they could easily swarm the Aurors.

Leaving was surprisingly easy. Once they were past the wards, Harry took off his mask.

“Take off yours as well. Don’t need to be getting attacked. Where are we apparating to?” Harry threw the mask over his back. He also ripped off the robes, revealing a slightly ripped green T-shirt and jeans underneath.

“Straight to the Aurors office. Are you sure you don’t want credit?” Amelia frowned.

“Yeah. No credit.” Harry ended the conversation.

Amelia offered her hand and the world spun around them.

__________

The next hour was hell for Harry. The Aurors were miffed that he couldn’t tell them anything and overall hesitant towards him. Not thirty minutes after he and Madam Bones arrived, the Order of the Phoenix barged in.

Dumbledore tried to talk to him, but another Auror (a Death Eater) threatened to kick him out as he was “obviously not suitable to look after a child”. Harry was dragged from room to room while they tried to find someone to look after him.

The Dursleys, apparently, had moved to Spain.

Harry doubted their story. He wasn’t sure what had happened to them, but he couldn’t care less. They made life a living hell for him and harmed him more times than he could count. Neglected his needs. Forced him to be a servant.

Madam Bones was taken to Saint Mungos to treat her injuries. Eventually, after the fourth time he had moved rooms to be babysat by someone else, Harry had enough. He snuck out of the Aurors office and went to visit her. He didn’t have anything else to do.

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry asked as he snuck through the curtains.

“A lot. Not anything they can’t solve within a month. Mostly malnutrition. I’ll be left with a good chunk of scars.” She looked away from him. “And, you?”

Harry shook his head. “Can’t say. I’m not hurting and they tended to heal me after inflicting any harm.”

Amelia looked at him sadly. “What did they do to you?”

Harry bit his lip. It felt wrong to lie to someone like her. “Can’t say. They put some odd charm on me and now I can’t say what happened while I was there.”

“Oh, my apologies.” She stared blankly up at the ceiling. “You know, if you don’t think you can handle Hogwarts, you can homeschool and just take your N.E.W.T.S at the ministry when you come of age.”

Harry paused. Did he want to go back? “Um, no. At least not this year.”

Amelia nodded. “Just owl me if that changes.” She paused. “Do you know what happened to Susan after I… disappeared?”

Harry tried to think back to the gossip mills. “Well, I can’t be certain, but - “

The sound of quick footsteps approached the room. In an instant, the curtain was flung open and a distraught Susan Bones came rushing into the room. She froze when she saw Amelia, then launched herself at her.

“Aunty!” She cried, clinging to Amelia’s hospital gown.

“Susie,” Amelia patted her back. “Glad to have you back.”

Harry felt his heart ache at that moment. He wanted to have family that threw themselves at him the moment they found out he was safe. It wasn’t fair.

He pushed down those feelings, hiding them deep within his occlumency walls. He rose and quietly exited the room. It’s best not to disturb the moment between them.

He wanted to bring out Tom or Riddle at that moment. He needed someone. And they wouldn’t let anyone else in, so he couldn’t tell if Ron or Hermione would be on the other side.

Harry exhaled hard.

He was living in a fantasy for so long that he forgot what the real world was like. Swathed in his cocoon of his loving partners, protected from reality. But now, there was nothing to protect him.

An Auror entered Amelia’s room. Harry wandered off, sightseeing the hospital. He was steady, at two newborn babies through a window when the same Auror found him, now holding a cage. Harry knelt, smiling happily at Hedwig in the cage. He missed her dearly.

“Potter?” She spoke as she filed in next to him, also looking at the babies.

“Yes?”

“Amelia Bones has volunteered to take over guardianship until you reach your majority. She has paid for a room in the Leaky Cauldron for you to stay in, as you leave in the morning.” She briefly glanced at him.

“Okay, I’ll head over there.”

His walk to the Leaky Cauldron was met with stares. He figured, he had been plastered on the missing pages for weeks.

Blood boiled in his veins as he saw Rita Skeeter approach him, notepad and quill at the ready, with her cameraman trailing behind her. There was a flash of light as he had his picture taken. He blinked, momentarily blinded. Hegwig hooted in displeasure.

“Harry Potter,” She drawled, “how unexpected to see you here. I’m sure we’ve all been dying to know where you’ve been.”

Harry stayed silent, trying to speed up his walking. Nails dug into his fists as she hurried along next to him. If she continued on her way, he might do something to make him end up in Azkaban.

“Hm? Can’t talk? A side effect of your kidnapping? Did they take away your vocal cords?” Her quill scribbled on the paper.

Harry growled. “Not now, Skeeter.”

“Oh, so you can talk.” Her quill scribbled faster. “But can’t? The experience was too traumatising?”

Harry stayed silent, stalking to the Leaky Cauldron. Skeeter had a sour look on her face as the manager at the bed and breakfast shooed her away. Apparently, she had landed a lifetime ban from the place unless otherwise cleared with the staff.

He sighed as he collapsed into his bed. It had been a long day. It started out so fun as well. But a smile spread across his face as he took his shrunken trunk from his pocket and filtered through it.

“Who upset you, love?” Tom wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist.

“Rita Skeeter, then about everyone?” Harry sighed, lacing his and Riddle’s hand.

“Ah, the news reporter?” Tom ruffled his hair.

“Yeah. Such a bitch.” Harry rolled his eyes.

Tom noticed Hegwig and cooed. “And who is this?”

“Hedwig. My little birdie.” Harry answered. Tom stuck his fingers in the cage and let her nibble his fingers.

“Very cute, little chicken strips.” Riddle joked, lightly pulling Tom away from her.

“Can we lay down now?” Harry yawned.

“Anything you want, angel.” Riddle gently kissed his lips.

They all curled up in bed in their usual position, with Tom tucking him under his chin and Riddle resting on his shoulder. Both of his arms were caught under them.

Tom hummed lowly as Riddle rubbed circles on Harry’s hips. It eased him more than normal, and he fell asleep not long afterwards.

__________

Eyes bore into him as he walked onto the Hogwarts express. He glared back at them. It wasn’t their business where he was at. He was back and that was all their prying eyes and eavesdropping ears needed to know.

“Harry!” Yelled a voice. He almost crumbled as the weight was thrust onto his back.

He whipped around and drew his wand. Behind him was Hermione, a spooked look on her face. A ping of guilt ran through Harry, and he lowered his wand.

“Sorry.” He stated.

“Harry! Where have you been? We were - you just - “ Hermione rambled.

“I’m fine,” Harry answered, hugging her back.

Perhaps he didn’t need family to welcome him back.

She pulled him along and shoved people aside for them to get to their compartment. Inside, Ron was sitting, setting up a game of chess. He, too, had a worried expression on his face when he saw Harry.

“Mate, what’s with that look? You look like you crawled out of detention with Lockheart.” Ron tried to smile, but he didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Just tired,” Harry answered, collapsing in the seat.

“Ron! Be sensitive.” Hermione chastised.

Ron shrugged. “Want to play chess, Harry? Hermione’s been complaining about playing with me.”

Harry thought for a moment.

“Yeah, sure.”

Five games of chess later, the door to the compartment slammed open. Harry’s back was to the door, but he already knew who it was. No one else had the audacity to barge into a compartment without knocking.

“So it is true. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.” Draco sneered.

Rage roared under Harry’s skin. Of all the days to test him, today was not the day. He hardly had time to stay with Tom and Riddle that morning, and on top of everyone staring at him,- he was in a more than sour mood.

“Potter, I’m surprised to see you alive. We all thought you had been smeared across a courtyard somewhere.” He nudged Harry’s back with his shoe.

Harry spun around. He lunged for Draco, one hand reaching for his thin throat and the other flicking out his wand. Grabbed by the throat, Draco was thrown into the compartment and pinned against the wall. His feet scraped at the seat, trying desperately to escape by pushing off of it.

Harry slashed his wand, casting the jelly-legs jinx.

“Listen here, Malfoy.” Harry breathed, “This year is going to be different. This year, I’m fighting against you no matter what. You give the call, and I will do everything in my power to send you to the hospital wing. It doesn’t matter who watches, who stares, or who punishes me.”

Draco’s eyes widened. He tried to claw at Harry’s arm, making small scratches in his skin. But Harry didn’t react. He had it worse before.

“You don’t have the guts - “

Harry pointed his wand at Draco’s throat. He lightly hissed a string of curses that Riddle had taught him. He wasn’t entirely sure what they did, but he knew they were phrase activated. If the caster or the victim said certain words, they’d experience a side effect. Harry took great pleasure in listing the speech Draco could no longer say without punishment.

“See what happens.” Harry spat.

He threw Draco to the ground. The boy scrambled to get out of the compartment. Harry slammed the door closed, his hands planted on either side of it. His breath came out hard.

Harry, too, didn’t think he had it in him.

“...Harry?” Hermione called from behind him.

Harry pushed down his anger and hid his adrenaline behind his occlumency walls. “Yeah?”

“You were a bit … do you need to rest?” Hermione seemed to not know what she wanted to say.

“Yeah. I might ask Angela for the password and sleep after eating a bit. I’m just tense.” Harry sighed, taking to the empty seat and curling up.

He wanted to call for Tom. Riddle was good as well, but Tom connected better to him emotionally. Tom also advocated less for murder. Not completely, just enough.

Ron glanced at him oddly, then looked away the moment they locked eyes. Harry sighed. It was all him again. Harry had once again damaged their ties and now there was an awkward silence in the compartment.

Why did he have to attack Draco? He could have just taken it; he had many times before. But no, he had to lunge at him. Had to curse him in parseltongue.

“You’re rubbing off on me.”

Was that true? Tom and Riddle were friendly to him, but that didn’t mean they were to other people. Didn’t mean that they wouldn’t attack other people.

Harry rubbed his temples. He loved both of them so dearly, but had they influenced him? Not really certain how. Or was it Voldemort and his teachings?

The silence permeated through the compartment throughout the journey.

_________

Everyone stared at Harry at mealtime and he couldn’t have escaped faster. He stormed up to his dorm, ignoring anyone who looked at him. He unshrank his trunk and rifled through for his lovers.

Tom and Riddle both appeared in his bed, in a swirl of ink and a bit of smoke. They saw the concern on his face and drew him in.

“What’s wrong, angel?” Riddle asked, positioning Harry to lie on both of their laps.

“I - “ Harry knew that they wouldn’t judge him. “I attacked Draco Malfoy.”

“Good.” Riddle patted his thigh.

“Why?” Tom asked, brushing Harry’s bangs away from his scar.

“I - “ Harry thought for a good explanation, “He just - He - “

He existed.

Tom seemed to know what he was trying to say. “Sometimes we build up our emotions and they all come out at once. Did you hurt him?”

“You don’t need a reason.” Riddle reached over and brushed his hand through Harry’s hair.

Tom glared at Riddle.

“Not yet? I might have bruised him a bit? I did the phrase-curse-thing on him.” He honestly didn’t know what it was called.

Riddle had a smile on his face. “Good, good. What level did you do it at?”

“Medium, or at least I hope. He won’t end up in the hospital wing for saying something once. I tried to use multiple different words at different intensities. If he says my name, he will have some pain. Saying slurs… more punishments.” Harry explained.

Tom patted his cheek. “It is nice you are finally standing up for yourself.”

“I don’t usually strike before being struck, but I’ll make an exception.” Harry yawned.

“Why not?” Riddle said, “That’s what I started to do. And a lot more people respected me.”

“Feared you,” Harry corrected.

“Well, it still works, kind of.” Riddle waved him off.

Harry and Tom raised their eyebrows at each other but didn’t say anything.

Tom looked at the bed and frowned.

“Love, do you feel confident in casting a spacial expansion charm? Like we practised? We need a bigger bed.” Tom asked him.

“I think so? Would it be easier to tie it to the curtains? So it’s only bigger when all the curtains are drawn?” He didn’t want the others to think he got a bigger bed. They’d sight favouritism and then they’d get angry. Then, well then Harry would have to fight them.

Harry withdrew his wand and carefully wound the spell that he needed. He carved the small marks that contained the spell on the curtains, only connecting when they were fully closed.

“Good, good. Now, let’s ward them so that only you can open and close them.”

Together they all worked on warding the bed. Warding was more difficult and Harry only helped with it rather than casting it himself. It was something they would have to work on more.

“Would we like to lay down?” Riddle gestured to the bed.

“Of course,” Harry replied.

They quickly changed out into their silken green shirts (red, in Harry’s case) and crawled into bed. Harry had never needed their cuddles more than today. He knew tomorrow would be worse. All the staring. The professors looked at him.

He sighed, settling in as Tom lay above him and Riddle took his rightful place on his shoulder. Riddle rubbed soft circles on Harry’s thighs and Tom gently brushed through his hair. Little by little, his muscles lost their tension, and his jaw unclenched.

“Do you need anything else, love?” Tom asked after a long silence.

“Would you be able to summon Pipskey? I kind of want a dreamless sleep. I can’t deal with… anything tonight.” Harry bit his lip.

They both knew he was talking about their memories. He often woke up crying due to them, clinging to each of them for at least an hour. And Harry didn’t wake up early enough to deal with that.

Pipskey was, surprisingly, able to be summoned. She was only gone for a few minutes but came back with a full green box with a little bow. Surprised, Harry undid the shiny yellow ribbon.

‘Payback for last week. -LV’

Harry asked Pipskey to put the note in his trunk while he investigated the contents of the package.

Inside was an array of food, drinks, and potions. It expanded, larger on the inside than the outside. Each was clearly labelled as well. He could see wards carved into the side to keep the items cold and warm.

He withdrew a package that said “lambchop and mashed potatoes X3” and a bottle of non-alcoholic wine. Inside were three portioned plates of the meal, forks and knives included.

Each of them got a plate and began to munch their food. Harry wasn’t that hungry until he started to eat. Warding and casting spells must have drained his energy more than he thought.

Once they had their fill, they settled back into place. Harry knocked back a dreamless sleep and was unconscious before he could recork the bottle.

Chapter Text

Morning broke too soon. He never wanted to leave the cocoon of warmth and love and go into the cold and cruel world. Forever a caterpillar. But reality would yank him away sooner or later.

Tom was already awake, slowly petting Harry’s hair. Calmness enveloped him. Riddle was still slumbering peacefully. Harry gently roused him by thumbing his cheek.

Riddle leaned into his touch and opened his eyes. Every time he stared at them, it was like he was looking at them for the first time. The darkest of browns, with flecks of gold. Soft when he woke, growing hardened as the day went on.

“You have to go to class, love.” Tom lightly kissed Harry.

“Don’t want to.” Harry shook his head.

“You can’t be a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor without graduating.” Tom pointed out.

“I can take my N.E.W.T.s at the Ministry.” Harry rolled over and turned toward Riddle.

“But you’ve already come this far.” Riddle said, pressing his lips against Harry’s jawline. He shivered pleasantly.

Harry pried himself away from them. The two gave him a sympathetic glance. A hollow drilled in his heart as he saw them disappear into their containers. But as always, he must continue as if nothing bothered him.

He reluctantly opened his curtains and dug in his trunk for his invisibility cloak. He carefully wrapped the diary and the ring up in it and shoved it under his pillow. His trunk would be too obvious a place.

He changed and walked down to the Great Hall. Down there, even more eyes bore into his soul. A frown crossed his face as he saw the shady looks passed to him by other Gryffindors. Did they seriously believe the garbage that the prophet spewed?

Then again, they’d look at him worse if they knew the truth.

He sat next to Ron, with Hermione right across from him. His eggs were prodded without much care. Appetite evaded him.

“Harry, you should at least eat something.” Hermione lightly kicked him under the table.

“Fine, fine.” Harry forked his food into his mouth.

Hedwig flew over him and dropped off a letter. He stared at it as he fed her bacon.

‘Dear Harry,

Please meet me in my office after lessons.

P.S. I enjoy raspberry swirls

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’

Harry stared daggers into the letter. It combusted and fluttered to ashes in his eggs. He would simply not go.

His anger only grew during his lessons. The glances filled with pity his way from every professor, and the way they talked to him like he was a scared child. He didn’t need their pity. They could waste their emotions on someone else.

Potions proved different from the other classes by a long shot.

“Hello, students, I am Professor Slughorn. Previously, I was employed at Hogwarts, but I have come out of retirement to teach all of you. If you ask your parents or grandparents, they may have been taught by me.” He smiled widely at them, snapping at his green suspenders.

The class’s tension fizzled out the moment he ended his introduction. They had never associated potions class with a kind professor so they approached the unfamiliarity with hesitation.

“Does everyone have their books?” Professor Slughorn surveyed the class.

Harry raised his hand. “I don’t have my book.”

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know the man would accept people that made his grades into a N.E.W.T. level class. He only found out it was on his schedule that morning.

“Ah, no problem, my boy. Many other students did not have their books. Luckily for you, I have one spare left.” Professor Slughorn shuffled around in his desk and withdrew an old-looking potion’s book.

Harry flipped through the book in his hand. Notes were written in the margins; some of the words were crossed out and replaced with other words. Surprisingly, there were also yellow sticky notes in the book with writing and diagrams on them.

He hit the jackpot of books.

“Thank you, professor.” Harry bowed his head with a smug smile on his face.

“It’s nothing, my boy! Now, everyone get started! The person with the best Draught of Living Death will win a bottle of Liquid Luck!” Professor Slughorn held up a bottle filled with sparkling gold liquid.

Harry used his potion knowledge, which he gained from Tom and Riddle’s teachings along with the book’s teachings, to get through the potion. His potion shifted through colours that weren’t supposed to be there, but at each ending stage, it was the correct shade.

Next to him, Hermione looked at him as if he were insane. He merely shrugged. He really didn’t care if he passed potions; he was going to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, not an Auror.

His potion turned out perfect, while Hermione’s was more similar to sludge than a liquid. She glared at him—whether out of jealousy or something else, he couldn’t tell.

“A drop would kill us all.” Professor Slughorn declared. “For you, Mr Potter, a bottle of Felix Felicis.”

Harry was honestly surprised that he did well. Though as he shoved the bottle into his bag, he saw more than just Hermione with angry looks on their faces.

Confidence filled him as he walked into Defence Against the Dark Arts with Snape. His mood was a bit down, but he hoped that Snape would leave him alone now that he got the position he always wanted.

How would the curse take Snape out of this rotation?

Harry hoped it hurt.

And leave him alone he did.

Apart from the role call, he didn't even acknowledge his presence. No snobby digs or arduous insults. Snape acted like he didn’t exist.

Maybe Voldemort had told him something. Harry had often complained about Snape to him, just as much as Malfoy. Malfoy either didn’t get warned or didn’t heed his warnings. He just hoped that the boy would take his threats seriously.

Because Harry was serious about them.

How else would he use all those spells he was taught by Tom, Riddle, and Voldemort?

“Mate,” Ron whispered, “You have a really creepy smile right now.”

Harry snapped into a neutral mask. “Just thinking about spells to use on Malfoy.”

Ron nodded in approval. “Yeah, me too.”

“Will you both be quiet?” Hermione nudged Ron.

Snape whipped around and stared daggers into them. He strode over to them, arms crossed. Ron cowered, while Hermione just had an air of hesitation around her. Harry just wanted to punch him.

“What is so important that you are interrupting my class over?” Snape demanded to know.

Harry spoke for them. “We’re just discussing the spells we learned over the summer.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “I must suppress my surprise, seeing as you have been missing for the better part of the summer. And you came back just in time for school, unscathed, while Amelia Bones was almost dead.”

The class went silent.

Harry stared at him innocently. “Who said I came out unscathed? Someone can heal and hurt you at the same time. And the silver lining is learning different curses.”

His gaze only intensified. The rest of the class had sincere to doubtful looks on their faces, with the doubt mostly coming from the Slytherin house.

“Hm.” Snape turned his back to them. “Ten points from Gryffindor. Stay quiet.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all glanced at each other. They never got off that easy. It was always a higher deduction of points or detention. Whatever Voldemort had done was appreciated by Harry.

The rest of the lesson went on without much trouble. His teaching style remained stale, and Harry almost nodded off. He’d have to have more tutoring with Defence Against the Dark Arts again this year.

A part of him wanted to restart Dumbledore’s Army, but the idea made his mouth bitter.

Harry tried to retreat back to the dorms, but Ron yanked him back by his bag strap. Unease ate at Harry when his first instinct was to hex him. But his white-knuckle grip on his wand stayed in his pocket.

“Yeah?” Harry asked Ron, his heart still racing from adrenaline.

Ron frowned, as did an approaching Hermione. “Could you try to spend a little bit more time with us?”

He knew, deep down, he wanted to spend time with them, but he also just wanted to go back with Tom and Riddle.

“Sure,” Harry said after taking a breath. “I can do that.”

They all decided to go flying (with Hermione begrudgingly coming along). It was the one thing Harry sorely missed while at the manor. He forgot how good it felt to just let go and be free. Weightless in a way that he couldn’t describe.

How he barreled down to the ground below, the blades growing larger and larger. Until, at the last second, he drew up, his toes scraping against the grass tips. The rush filled him with just as much joy as it had the first time.

While Ron and Hermione landed, already tired, Harry flew as high as he possibly could. The spray of cloud mist filled his lungs. It was truly one of the best things in life.

As he flew high, he glanced at the Gryffindor tower. Inside, he could see Tom and Riddle leaning on the window sill. Emboldened by the attention, he dove to the ground.

He flew closer and closer to the ground and twirled around at the last moment. His hair brushed against the grass, and he glanced up at the tower. Though he couldn’t quite see them clearly, he knew a concerned yet relieved face when he saw one. He smirked at the window.

“What are you smiling at?” Hermione asked, cautiously hovering just above the ground with Ron holding her hand for stability.

“Oh, nothing.” Harry replied, tearing his gaze from the Gryffindor tower.

They didn’t seem to believe him, but they kept quiet. Together, they ate dinner and parted ways. Hermione to the library. Ron to his newly joined chess club, and Harry back to his dorm.

Warm arms wrapped around him as he flopped into bed and closed the curtains. Tom began to pepper kisses from his cheek down to the crook of his neck. He shivered pleasantly. Riddle similarly attacked him from the other side.

It made his thoughts grow dirty.

“You have a simply lovely look on your face, love.” Tom purred, planting a final kiss on his collarbone.

“If only we could see that more.” Riddle teased, casting a quick scroungify before snuggling into his neck.

Harry was on fire everywhere.

“We’re such a tease.” Tom stoked Harry’s cheek.

“Very.” Harry hissed.

Tom wrapped him up in his arms, as did Riddle.

Riddle sighed. “What happened today, angel?”

__________

Voldemort’s eyes stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t night, but he was lying in bed. There was a feeling gripping his body that he remembered. A feeling he hadn’t remembered in a long time.

It tied a knot in his abdomen and spread warmth throughout his entire body. It made him lurch on the inside. It turned his brain fuzzy, suppressing the rational side of himself.

He stumbled to the bathroom, desperate to eliminate those obscene feelings.

What on earth was Potter doing with his horcruxes?

__________

The next few days were better than the previous ones. Almost everyone left him alone, too wary to ask him questions. Colin Creevy was persistent as always, but he was more receptive to Harry’s request not to bother him than any of the other times he asked.

Guess that getting kidnapped (kind of) had its upsides.

But of course, his peace couldn’t last forever.

“Potter!” Draco yelled as he left Herbology. The boy winced as he said it.

“Malfoy!” Harry yelled back in the same tone that Draco always used with him.

Draco drew back like he had punched him. Which was very tempting to do. The blond’s face grew red with anger.

“Find me funny, do you? Think that it’s funny to mock me? You really shouldn’t talk back to your superiors.” Draco snarled at him.

“Operto.” He said coldly.

A smile stretched across his face as he saw Draco spasm, clutching his arm where Harry cast the curse. Harry strode over to him and raised his wand again, trying to get another spell in.

“Protego!” Draco shouted.

“Operto.” Harry simply repeated again.

It blasted through his shield and struck Draco in the chest. Draco was sent to the floor He coughed, wheezing as all the air was forced out of his lungs. He crawled back as Harry advanced on him.

“Operto - “ The spell shot out of Harry’s wand as a hand gripped his wrist and thrust it skyward.

“Harry, mate, we need to talk.” Ron spoke slowly as he tugged him along.

Miffed, Harry crossed his arms when he was pulled into an alcove. Hermione joined them moments later, an exasperated expression on her face. Now he was more than confused. He thought they hated Draco. Had they made up over the summer?

“Harry,” Hermione raised her hands in defense, "do you know what spell you used?”

“Operto. Means trample or something like that.” Harry shrugged.

“Do you know what type of spell it is?” Ron asked him with a worried expression.

Harry waved them off. “It’s a jinx or something.”

“No, no, it isn’t. It’s a borderline illegal dark spell because it can kill someone if they cast it hard enough.” Hermione lightly touched his arm.

“Yeah, tone it down. You just made me defend Malfoy; that’s embarrassing.” Ron mumbled.

“Did - Did anyone use it on you?” Hermione asked.

Harry’s mind rushed to process all of the information. “No. I saw it used on someone else.”

He was surprised the silencing spell Voldemort cast on him didn’t kick in. Then again, he hadn’t revealed anything important or useful to know. But that did seem to have a blaring loophole.

Unless Voldemort wanted Harry to be able to speak about some of his experiences.

“How terrible!” Hermione exclaimed, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry shook his head. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. They cast a weird spell on me that made it so that I can’t talk about what happened. I’m surprised I was able to tell you what I have.”

Hermione sighed, “I understand. Just try to take it easy?”

Guilt ate at Harry. Sure, he may have been pounded by countless spells in training, his hip shredded and nearly drowned on top of everything else… maybe he deserved some pity.

But not nearly as much as he was given.

“I’ll try.”

Dinner was another debacle. He still got stares, and he wasn’t sure why until Hermione subtly slid him the Daily Prophet.

Harry Potter: Found Without a Scratch?

Dear readers,

Harry Potter was found on August 31 at 11 p.m. Along with him, Amelia Bones was also found. Yes, dear readers, you heard that right! Amelia Bones is alive!

She was wounded within a hair of her life. The next month of her life will be spent in and out of Saint Mungo's. Amelia Bones is lucky to be alive.

Which begs the question: why wasn’t Harry Potter injured? Though his medical documents have not been disclosed, when I saw him in Diagon Alley that same day, he did not appear injured in any way.

If Amelia Bones, head of the Justice Department, was almost killed, why wasn’t Harry Potter? Harry Potter, who is the one who killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, perfectly healthy?

Very suspicious.

This isn’t the first time Harry Potter has come out unscathed. Cedric Diggory came back with Harry Potter. He was dead, while Harry Potter only had non-life-threatening injuries. Sirius Black, who has been post-mortem cleared of all charges, also died when Harry Potter entered the Department of Mysteries.

Why does Harry Potter consistently come back from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Death Eaters with dying people? And why is he coming out alive? Everyone else dies or is brutally injured.

Is Harry Potter a safe person to associate with?

Follow more at the Daily Prophet for stories every day for the everyday person.

Rita Skeeter

Head of the Daily Prophet Press Department

September 2nd

Rage bubbled up in his veins. How dare she. How dare she insinuate that he was the one to bring harm to them!

Harry didn’t eat dinner.

He ignored Ron and threw himself onto his bed, shutting his curtains. In an instant, Tom and Riddle encircled him.

“You’re so tense, love. What happened?” Tom laced Harry’s hand with his own and kissed the back.

“You so desperately need to relax.” Riddle rubbed circles into Harry’s thighs.

Harry threw the Daily Prophet at them.

They both opened the prophet and pulled it apart to read between them. Harry could practically feel the anger rolling off of them. He sunk deeper into Tom’s embrace.

“How on earth can you deal with her?” Riddle exclaimed.

“She love-hates me. So many articles—I'm sure I can ask Colin Creevy for all of them.” The kid was weirdly obsessed with him, to the point where Harry didn’t know if he should be concerned or not.

“Who is Colin Creevy?” Riddle’s fingers tensed. Tom gripped him tightly.

“Just someone that’s a stage 2 out of 5 stalker. He's a little creepy, but he's younger than me, so I'll give him some time to grow out of it. He's mostly receptive to being asked not to bother me." For a second, he was concerned that they’d attack him.

“Hm.” Riddle’s mouth drew thin, but there was a light nod. Tom was similar.

There was a little butterfly bursting out of its cocoon in his stomach at the notion of their jealousy. Harry knew they weren’t envious of each other, but for other people, the same rule didn’t apply.

He loved to see that spark of protection in them.

“Tell us about your day, angel.” Riddle shuffled them into their normal cuddling position.

Harry sighed as he melted into their arms. It was truly amazing to be with them. He could not imagine anyone else smothering him with this much affection.

Or someone who would share him like they did.

__________

Voldemort was livid.

But it wasn’t him who was livid.

It was Potter. Potter was so angry, so enraged, that it consumed him. He wanted to scratch at his skin or pull out his hair. It made his blood boil to the point where an ice-bath wouldn’t cool him down.

Was this what Potter felt whenever he was angry?

No, no. It was much worse.

He said it had pained him. It was evident enough when he saw him on the beach. So pained that he nearly downed, not even strong enough to sit up.

Voldemort gritted his teeth.

He could bear this.

If Potter bore this, plus the pain, Voldemort could as well.

He also screamed when those obscene feelings kicked in again.

Potter didn’t have to deal with that on his end.

__________

Harry was brewing in Professor Slughorn’s class when he could feel four sets of eyes burning into him.

The first was Ron, who was constantly looking at what Harry was doing and trying his best to copy it.

The second was Hermione, trying to glance at his book with a frustrated face.

The third was Draco, who had a sinister look on him.

The fourth was Professor Slughorn, happily staring at him while he brewed with a nostalgic look on his face

Paranoia stormed in his mind as he continued to put ingredients into his cauldron. Something told him in his mind that something was going to go wrong. He breathed, trying to relax himself.

He squished the beetle too hard, ruining it. A sigh escaped him. He just needed to step back for a minute. He cast a quick protection spell on the cauldron before stowing his potion's book in his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Professor, may I use the bathroom? I forgot to use it before class.” Harry hoped his excuse was good enough to get him out of the room. He just needed to get some air.

Professor Slughorn nodded. “Of course, my boy! And to you, students, you never need to ask. If nature calls, answer her!”

A smile wedged itself on Harry’s face. Professor Slughorn seemed like a good person, even if he wasn’t the best professor. He’d have to ask Tom and Riddle more about him.

The nearest bathroom was only down the hall, but Harry found his feet winding up. And up. And up.

Soon enough, he was in the 3rd floor girl’s bathroom. He set a timer on his wand for five minutes—enough time to act like he was just having an angry shit without being suspicious.

Moaning Mrytle screamed at him as he walked in. She floated over and touched his arms, giggling.

“You’ve gotten more muscular over the summer.” She laughed. “Wonder what you’re like further down?” Her hands traveled down his chest..

Harry felt slimy. He never liked Myrtle, but now she disgusted him. He was disgusted now that he knew what a man's soft touch could feel like.

“Mrytle, I’m just trying to wash up. Tough class.” He tried to shoo her away, but she stayed.

“Oh, come on, you’re - “

Harry didn’t waste any time. “Open.”

Myrtle shrieked and hid in a toilet with a splash. Harry sighed. Might as well.

The slide down was more fun than he remembered. He landed and walked into the Chamber, crunching on bones with every step. The second door to the chamber opened without him saying anything.

It was just as he remembered, except it was a little dirtier. Harry twirled his wand and began casting cleaning spells. The walls that were covered in moss weren’t exactly sparkling, but they were free of vegetation. The floor was a little damp, but cleaner than before. He left most of the effigies alone. They looked like those hedge carvings that Harry adored. But with moss instead.

He thought back to Tom’s description in the diary.

“On the right side of the central statue, a bearded man with his mouth agape, a “handle” is on the underside of one of the bricks.”

Hands scoured the wall. There was a line of jutting stones, so he had to search along all of them. After a twice-over, he found it. It was barely enough to shove his fingertips in. He pulled the handle.

It opened surprisingly easily.

Within, there was a long red carpet that led into a long hallway. Tapestries that depicted historical events lined the dark-green walls. Flames flickered onto the candles on the walls the moment he stepped inside.

He was just about to explore when his wand buzzed.

Harry groaned and walked back to potions. He’d have to investigate later.

But when he came back, Madam Pompnrey was rushing from student to student to fix agregious injuries that covered their bodies. Professor McGonnagall dashed out of the classroom, while Professor Snape was led through the smoke billowing from the door. Dumbldedore watched the chaos next to Professor Slughorn, who looked far too hopeless for a man his age.

“What happened?” Harry asked as he strode to the scene.

Professor Slughorn sighed. "A pixie wing was thrown into your cauldron, but it bounced off your shield and landed in Mr Wenby's instead." It caused an explosion that sent his ingredients into every cauldron.”

Harry blinked.

Draco had an increasingly guilty look on his face as Madam Pomphrey bandaged the entirety of the right side of his face. Small white marks peppered parts of the left side, looking more similar to an acid burn than anything else.

“I’m afraid some of this will scar you, dear. You may need to owl your mother if you do not wish to go to Saint Mungo's for further treatment.” Madam Pomphrey cut away the strings of fabric that barely held onto Draco’s bloody shoulder.

Multiple healers dressed in white robes descended from the stairs. They were quick in wrapping them and spelled them until the gushing blood stopped.

“Where are Ron and Hermione?” Harry asked.

Professor Slughorn didn’t meet his eyes. “They were transported to Saint Mungos minutes after the explosion. They encountered the brunt of it.”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

“Harry,“ Dumbledore motioned for him to come closer. “Do you happen to know anything about this?”

Harry shook. “Considering Malfoy’s ruined my potions since first year, I’d assume it was him.”

All heads shot to the blond. Draco hung his head in a silent admission of guilt.

“Mr Malfoy will be dealt with if it’s proven he did this. Would you happen to know anything else?” Dumbledore inquired again.

“Why would I?” Harry shrugged. His nails dug into his palms.

Dumbledore waved him off. “There was a protection spell on your cauldron. I was asking if you knew someone was going to try to sabotage your potion.”

Harry was about to shake his head, but thought for a moment. “Well, it happens a lot, and I just learned there was a spell for it. And, well, I left the room, so of course I thought someone would mess with my potion.”

Why was he having to defend himself over and over again? Was this something to do with the Daily Prophet? No, Dumbledore never believed in the paper. Then, it needed to be something else.

“Ah, a bright idea, my boy, but I almost wish you hadn’t! Your potion would have been ruined, but not exploded! I'm not sure how you do it, but your potion was unlike anyone else's while also being nearly perfect!" Professor Slughorn smiled at him.

Harry felt all eyes on him again, glaring.

As if it were his fault that the incident had happened. Draco threw the wing into the cauldron; it wasn’t his fault that it landed in Ron’s cauldron. And all the suspicious glances at him made him want to throw up.

“What should I do now, Professor?” They wouldn’t have class, that was for sure.

“Ah. Go about your day. No class for today, and I would say no class until the majority of the students are well enough. However, if you want more potion tutoring or just to brew, just stop by my office at the same time.” Professor Slughorn patted him on the back.

Harry nodded. “I may do that.”

He needed Tom and Riddle’s cuddles that day. Harry skipped dinner, choosing to eat the meals prepared by Voldemort instead. He laid down on Riddle’s lap, sipping his pumpkin juice through a silly straw that Tom transfigured.

“And they think I am the problem, not Draco!” Harry angrily complained.

“Shh,” Tom brushed his hands through Harry’s hair. “You did nothing wrong.”

Harry tched. “Tell that to everyone. There’s going to be a prophet article about it, I just know it.”

“Ignore them.” Riddle leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

“If anything, they ignore me.” Harry stated. “Like, it’s not that I don’t like it, don’t get me wrong, but I also don’t want their judgment.”

He groaned and put his hands over his face. “It’s like I’m in second year again, only worse.”

Tom patted his cheek. “Is there anything else that would make you happy?”

Harry thought for a second. A grin stretched itself across his face.

“Do you want to go back to the Chamber of Secrets?”

Chapter Text

The three stood before the statue of Salazar Slytherin. Tom and Riddle were spelling it cleaner while Harry worked on the floors and walls. Though he wasn’t the best at the cleaning spells, he gradually got better by the time he reached the front of the chamber.

If this was what they had seen when they first entered the chamber, he could see why they fell in love with it. It only made their separation even more tragic.

Harry stared from ass to ass as they impatiently cleaned the statue free of any dirt. After he averted his attention, he noticed their colouration. Even after all the spells they used, they had barely lost any vibrancy.

“You both look well, even after all that spellwork,” Harry commented, having changed his gaze back to Tom’s ass.

It was often concealed by his cloak, something that had beem thrown off, and his pants were so well-fitted -

“Love? Love? I know my ass is great. But I’m trying to talk to you.” Tom snapped his fingers.

Fire erupted over Harry’s face. “Er, yeah?”

“I have a theory.” Tom smiled at him. “The less physical we are, the less magic we use. Thus, we can use more magic later if we just save time. I don’t think it takes too much magic to keep form - obviously, it took more initially to form us physically - but I’ll have to research more.”

“We talked and decided to stay physical the least amount possible. We don’t want to drain you any more than we already are.” Riddle leaned forward and ruffled Harry’s hair.

It had been stirring in Harry’s thoughts for a while. How much did they take? Emotions are magic - love being the strongest. Was that why he seemed to be tired randomly? He banished those thoughts. He’d give anything to keep them around.

“Come on! Let’s explore!” Harry tugged Tom and Riddle along.

They grinned wide as they let him guide them through the chamber.

Inside was a long, stretching ash-coloured hallway with silver accents beside the candelabras. Flames flickered on the moment he stepped foot in. The air was semi-musty as if the walls had been made from dirt instead of wallpaper and wood.

It felt right.

He burst through the first blackened door without any hesitation.

Inside was a vast room with an arched ceiling. Fabric dummies lined the walls, wooden wands were drawn at the ready. At the back were weapons of all sorts of shapes and sizes. Along the entirety of the training room were mirrors.

Tom squeezed his hand.

“I used to go here all the time.” He reminisced. “Almost every day. I fought until I was about to drop. I rested just enough to defend myself and went to bed. Class, training, bed, I followed that cycle from when I discovered this place to when I was barred from it due to Myrtle's death.”

Riddle hummed in agreement.

“Yeah! And then you found that one basilisk-dragon egg.” Harry happily commented.

Tom grew still.

“I never told you that.” He stated, his tone indiscernible.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, well, it was in the diary.”

Tom let go of his hand. “You read my diary?”

“Well… yeah. I saw there was writing in it and I - “

“You don’t just read someone’s diary!” He exclaimed. He stepped away from Harry. Away.

Harry scrambled to think of any sort of excuse. “Well - I - I wanted some insight - “

Tom turned away from him. He was standing straight ahead, if not veering away from him. Harry tried to reach out, but he evaded his touch. Something inside Harry broke.

“Tom…”

“No.”

Beside him, Riddle’s muscles were tensed.

“Let’s go to another room.” Riddle said, lightly pulling Harry along.

Tom trailed behind them as they entered the potion’s room. There was everything pickled and juiced, bottles of rainbow-coloured liquids covering shelves. Cinnamon sticks to dried roses decorated the ceiling above the countless sparkling cauldrons.

Next room was the library. It smelled of old books and crusty ink. He toured the rows of books, pulling a few of the old ones out to inspect them. Some were from the very beginning of magic’s birth. Others were as recent as the 1900s.

Herbology labs, empty rooms, offices, more training rooms, an Astronomy room, a kitchen, and other multi-purpose rooms. There was even a nursery with stuffed snakes in a toy chest.

But Tom always lingered behind them.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Tom had never acted this distant before, and it hurt. It hurt that he felt like he needed to step away. Or was this a punishment for Harry doing something wrong?

He knew he shouldn’t have read someone’s diary. But he wasn’t thinking. He didn’t know the diary was still sentient, nor did he ever expect to face any consequence for it. All he wanted to do was have insight into who Voldemort was.

Who Tom was.

Harry leaned into Riddle as they walked. He needed someone to hold him. Arms wrapped around him, and he stood in the doorway of a massive bedroom.

The bed must have been larger than a king, able to hold a whole family in its circular frame. Its silken green sheets flowed to the floor, and a charcoal-grey duvet rolled up at the end. Plush pillows in colours ranging from light green to dark green and grey to black lined the back half of the circle.

Harry threw himself on the bed. He stared up at the arched canopy of black chiffon that hung from the ceiling. Riddle jumped in as well, straddling him.

Riddle ran his hands through Harry’s hair. The back of his head was gripped, and Riddle pulled him into a kiss. Harry slid his arms over his shoulders, which drew them closer.

His tongue darted into Harry’s mouth. Harry opened up further. All he wanted was to be touched everywhere. He groaned as Riddle’s hands travelled down to his hips.

A fire lit in his chest. He had felt Riddle’s love before, but this was different. It made his heart long for more and his body hot to the touch.

They drew apart.

“Hmm, yes. Perfect.” Riddle hissed lowly in his ear.

“Care to indulge in me another time?” Harry whispered back.

RIddle chuckled. “But of course, angel.”

Harry yawned and stretched. It had been a long day.

“I want to sleep here tonight.” Harry proclaimed, snuggling into the soft sheets.

Riddle hummed. They both kicked off their shoes. Riddle yanked off his sweater vest and Harry his robes. Both crawled into bed. Harry looked back to Tom, who was rummaging around in the closet and looking at the dress robes that were inside.

He needed them to be around them tonight. Both of them. But he’d respect it if Tom wanted to be away from him. Even if it hurt.

Hair brushed against Harry’s neck as Riddle snuggled close to him. His hot breath blew on his collarbone, warming him from the outside in. Harry was about to turn into him as well but instead kept his normal position. He wanted Tom to have the option to join them.

__________

Butterflies rose in his stomach as he saw Tom next to him when he woke up. Tom wasn’t cuddling him, but he was still sleeping next to him. Still close to him. But Harry was nonetheless happy.

It was sad to depart from them for class. Harry wanted to hug Tom goodbye (or, if possible, kiss him), but he thought he may be pushing it. But he still gave him a wave.

How long would Tom be mad at him? Admittedly, he had never been in a relationship before. Ron always stayed mad at him for months on end, but Hermione forgave him in weeks, if not days.

He hoped Tom wouldn’t stay mad for long. He needed him. Should Harry apologise? More importantly, how should he apologise? Did he need flowers? Food? Something else?

He never had to apologise to someone he was romantically involved with before. Was it different from apologising to a friend? He thought it would be; they were more involved with each other than friends.

They shared parts of a soul as well.

It's not like he could ask anyone.

Maybe there was a book about it? There was a romance section in the library. Someone must have written a book about it.

He skipped Herbology to look for books. He was too tired to even focus.

Romance… Romance… Romance…

“Potter!” He heard a voice whisper-yell at him.

He looked across to see Draco Malfoy staring at him with a sneer on his face. He was on the other side of the book wall, able to see him through the gaps in the book. The right side of his face was still bandaged, but the burns around it looked leagues better. Harry looked away quickly.

“What are you doing here?” Draco whispered, glancing back at the librarian who was sorting through books.

“Looking for a book,” Harry answered. He slid some books to the side to block his view of Draco.

Harry's eyes scanned the rose-coloured cover, and his head snapped up.

“Romance: What is it? Potter, are you getting into a relationship?” Draco gasped at him.

Harry snatched the book back, frantically flipping through the pages. “Why do you need to know?”

Draco paused. “Look, when I went to my mother's, I was told by my Lor - Father to be nicer to you. So I’m trying. Tell me what you need.”

Harry blinked. Could he really trust Draco?

Fuck it. He could deal with the rumours.

“I accidentally read one of my… partner’s diary and now he’s mad at me. I need to know how to apologise.” His words spilt out of his mouth like flooding water.

“One of? One of? You have more than one? How on earth can more than one person like you?” Draco’s jaw dropped.

Harry blushed. But anger still pricked him. He’d just make sure to hit him extra hard next time. “Shut up! Will you help me or not?”

Draco breathed out hard. “Fine. Fine. What is your partner like? How serious are you? What level of argument are you at?”

Harry breathed. “He’s - He’s rather cold to everyone, but he’s sweet to me. He loves snakes, cuddles, and he is super smart. He has a rather basic but refined taste in everything. He likes walking around in gardens - “

“Shhh. Okay, stop swooning. How serious are you?” Draco waved him off.

Harry thought for a moment. “I - I don’t know? Like we’re close; we’ve only been… around each other for two months, but we were around each other all the time. We shared so many moments and tell each other all of our stories - “

“Potter, please, stop swooning - wait, two months? Before, during, and after your kidnapping? Were you even kidnapped - you know. I don’t care. You're, like, moderately serious. You're not looking for something short-term, but you’re still in the honeymoon phase. How did he respond to you reading his diary?”

Harry blushed again. “He let go of my hand and didn’t talk to me for an hour. He waited until we were asleep before joining us in bed. Nothing normally bothers him like that. He’s never treated me like that.”

“How can more than one person fit in a Hogwarts bed? Ugh, okay, I’m going to stop asking. So he seems pretty upset by it, but he still likes you. What’s his love language?” Draco rubbed his temple.

“Love language?” Harry inquired.

“You know, gifts, touch, personal time, poetic words, acts of love?” Draco looked back and forth past the isles.

Harry thought. “I’d guess touch, personal time, and gifts. He kissed me in front of… uh… family for the first time when I gave him a gift.”

“You were with his family while you were kidnapped? I’ll stop, I swear. Okay, so try to give him something after spending some time with him. Or give him a gift and then spend time with him. If he likes gardens, try flowers. If he’s smart, try books. What type of books does he like?” Draco pressed his forehead against the wood of the shelves.

Harry thought. “He’d probably like something about the Dark Arts.”

Draco stared at him. “Were you fucking kidnapped by your Slytherin boyfriends? Because that’s what it’s sounding like.”

“Look, kind of. Don’t get into the specifics.” Harry waved him off. “Help me!”

Draco groaned. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop judging. Does he have limits on legality?”

Harry shook his head. “No, not at all.”

His judgment was blatant in his eye. “Okay, I have an idea. I can get a Dark Arts book, an… illegal one, about poisons and venoms by dinner time. It’s super new, like last month new, and it's called Liquid Death.”

Harry nodded. “Is there anywhere I can get flowers?”

Draco looked at him like he was stupid. “Are you a wizard or not?”

Harry sighed and banged his head against the shelves. “I am.”

“I can show you some books about summoning the different types of flowers.” Draco paused. “Wait here, and I’ll get them.”

Harry was about to say something when Draco darted away. He ground his teeth. Help from Draco? He never could have thought of it. Even more, so that he could get romance advice.

Then again, if the rumours were true, he had been around the block plenty of times.

Minutes later, Draco came panting, carrying three thick books. He moved the books to the side to pass them through one by one. They weighed heavily in his arms, almost as much as his transgression weighed on his heart.

“Look in there. I need to leave. Don’t ask me for anything publicly. I can assist in private.” Draco muttered lowly.

Again, before he could speak, Draco darted away.

Harry sighed as he looked through the stack of books. He’d skip Defence Against the Dark Arts, just to make sure he got everything right.

__________

Harry sighed at his slip-up again, but still rushed off to the Chamber as fast as he could. Myrtle didn’t even have time to harass him before he was spitting in parseltongue. She fled, and he jumped down the creaking metal slide.

A smile lit his face as he felt a cushioning charm beneath his feet once he landed. That hadn’t been there before. He practically bounced with both anxiety and excitement as he entered the chamber.

To his surprise, Tom and Riddle were in the chamber, wands out, duelling each other. They spat spells back and forth, dodging and blocking as brightly coloured lights breezed past them.

Riddle shot a blinding white spell at Tom. Tom ducked and stepped to the side, a blue spell leaving his wand as he dodged. It breezed past Riddle, almost as if he hadn’t even aimed. A yellow light filled the air.

Tom summoned a shield, but it blasted through it. He hissed in pain as it ripped through his shirt and made a deep slash on his bicep. Riddle didn’t let up and flung a multitude of curses in his direction.

An explosion at his feet sent Tom flying against the wall. He yelped as he hit it, groaning as he slid down.

Like a bastard, Riddle wore a smirk on his face.

“You did better than normal.” Riddle spoke as he sauntered over to Tom.

“Fuck off.” He spat, holding his arm that was bent at an odd angle. Harry rushed over to them.

Riddle’s brow furrowed. “I put a little too much power into that. Whoops.”

Harry knelt next to Tom and cradled his arm. Tom hissed curses in parseltongue, but his voice was almost inaudible. Concern crossed Harry’s face as he stared at Riddle, searching for any hint of guidance.

“Well, this is a great opportunity to practice your healing spells. Now, let's start with some simple ones.” Riddle crouched next to him.

Riddle coaxed him through a few healing spells. He closed off the wounds, but they weren’t the best. It was still a bit pinkish, looking like it might scar, but Tom didn’t say anything. The broken arm, however, Riddle had to fix. It seemed like he had done it a hundred times based on how easily he cast the spell.

A fire ate at him every time he saw Tom wince in pain. It was almost as if Harry was also in pain. It killed him even more when Tom walked away from them. Riddle nodded to him, encouraging him to continue.

Harry chased after Tom. Tom sped up ever so slightly. Harry sped up as well.

He chased him down until he had to practically tackle Tom. Tom stumbled and gently pushed Harry off of him. Harry could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

“I brought you flowers.” He rummaged through his bag and brought out a bouquet of flowers that looked like blue butterflies.

Tom stared at him.

He took those flowers, their fingers brushing against each other. Tom’s fingers were frigid, as if they had been put into ice water. Tom pressed the flowers against his nose, sniffing.

He didn’t say anything.

“And I brought you a book.” Harry shoved the wrapped gift into Tom’s other hand.

The wrapping slowly fell to the ground. With bated breath, he scoured Tom’s face for any emotion or reaction at all. All he got was a long breath out.

He flicked through the pages without any particular need for speed. After a few minutes, Tom closed the book. He stared at Harry. Just staring.

Harry broke down.

“P - Please.” Harry collapsed to his knees. “Please just talk to me.”

It shattered him not to hear his voice.

Tom knelt next to him. “Don’t grovel.”

Harry tried to lean into him. He just needed to feel his arms around him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Harry rambled on, lightly banging his head against Tom’s chest.

“Don’t do that.” Tom chastised him, pulling him back by his collar. “It’s not healthy for you.”

“Please - “ Harry pleaded with him.

Tom wiped away his pouring tears. “Don’t do that.”

“Then what should I do?” Harry whispered. What was he supposed to do? Nothing he did was good enough.

“Just - “ Tom paused. He took a deep breath. “Just stop.”

“Stop?”

“Give me time. You can’t buy my trust.” He lightly brushed his hand through his hair. “I need time.”

“How much?” Harry leaned into his touch. It was so soft.

Tom bit his lip. “A bit? I’m not angry anymore. I’m just…shocked. I don’t know what to think about this. I don’t know how to react.”

“Okay, I’ll… give you space.” Harry’s heart broke a bit, but he knew deep down that he needed to accept it. Deep down, he could never force him to trust.

“Thank you.” Tom’s touch lingered for just a second before he withdrew.

___________

Everyone around Harry was subjected to his sour mood. He snapped at everyone who looked his way. Colin Creevy, terrified, bolted from his path.

“I bet he’s scrambled from his kidnapping.”

“You really believe that? I think he just ran.”

“Yeah, ran away with some Death Eaters.”

Harry subtly flicked a wandless stinging hex at them. They whipped around, trying to find the perpetrator, but Harry had already melted into the crowd. He kept his head down, trying his best to look like an average Hogwarts student and not a sorrowful, pitiful boy.

He hid in the library the entire day. He was in a cramped area with a small circular table, sandwiched between two thick bookcases that were angling him into a triangle. He tried to hide his anger and sorrow. How he wishes he could have Hermione or Ron here to talk.

Hermoine had actually been in a good relationship.

And Ron’s in a clingy one.

Harry thought his relationship with Tom was both.

They’d have, at least, some sort of advice. Even if it were just a copy and paste of Draco’s words.

Speaking of…

Draco practically ran into the little area. He glanced back and sighed in relief. His eyebrow raised as he saw Harry sitting there, but it didn’t stop him from plopping his bag in one of the few available seats.

“Why are you here?” Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from his Transfiguration essay.

“I should be the one asking you that. This is my normal hiding space.” Draco dug into his bag and flipped open a potion book.

“What are you hiding from?” Harry glanced behind him but could find nothing.

Draco sighed exasperatedly. “Pansy Parkinson.” He whispered, as if saying her name too loudly would summon her.

“Oh. The pug-faced girl?” Harry asked innocently, trying to get a rise out of Draco. He wanted to fight someone.

Draco stared at him oddly. “Glad I wasn’t the only one. She’s so — she wants me to sign her marriage contract, and she’s far too obsessed for me.”

Disappointment flooded his veins as Draco didn’t take the bait. “That sounds terrible. Do you have to sign one?”

Draco looked at him as if he was stupid. “Potter… you need to sign one to get married. It’s part of your marriage certificate.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. What even is a marriage contract?” Harry wanted to talk about anything else, but he was glad to be talking to someone. Even if it was Draco.

“A marriage contract is a document that outlines the obligations of your marriage. It can be as restrictive as the two agree to or as loose as they wish. You can give, take, or keep about anything in one. My pre-arranged one includes a fidelity clause, a standard amount I'll give to my partner if I continue to be the breadwinner, and a clause stating that I will act as proxy in their Wizengamont seats unless they are more active in the political scene than I am. Among other things.”

Draco’s tone changed, like he was an authority on the subject matter. Which, to be fair, he was.

“Do you need to have a bunch of stuff? Is it like a will or something?” It was sounded almost like a will.

“A marriage contract will come over a will. Say I said I will give my partner one of my properties. If there is no clause that they lose it after a divorce, then that is theirs forever. And, no, it doesn’t need to be long. But I’d recommend seeing a good marriage contract lawyer before signing one.” Draco shrugged.

“Okay, got it.” He didn’t get it.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes.

Draco pulled out one of their assignments, turning a wooden box into a decorated box, but he furrowed his brows as he brought out the plain box.

“Do you know what she meant when she gave the assignment? Does it need to be bigger or just fancy?” Draco asked him, turning the small box around in his hand.

“Not sure; I’m just making a fancy jewellery box.” Harry rummaged through his bag and pulled out his.

It was all black with green gems and silver accents. It was curvy, the bottom bigger than the top, with a latching lid, but still roughly the same size as the original.

“Wow.” Draco was awed by it. He quickly changed his facial expression as he heard his voice. “You really do think about your boyfriends a lot. It’s very Slytherin.”

“Shut it,” Harry growled.

“Oh, come on, just give me some hints. I know everything about Slytherin house, and none of them seems like the type to date you.” Draco nudged him with his foot. “I’ll find out eventually. You can’t hide forever.”

You can’t hide forever.

What would happen to them in the future? He wasn’t content to hide forever, but he didn’t know what they’d do once all the tensions fell. What would happen when the wrong person found out about them and spread it everywhere? Told everyone he was dating two young Voldemort's.

Harry banished those thoughts, horrified at what his brain had conjured up.

“You look like you saw a gorgon. Didn’t mean to scare you that much.” Draco hummed. “Anyways, show me how you did that curvy thing. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how to do it.”

Harry’s brain was radio static as he helped Draco with his transfiguration assignment.

Chapter Text

One week. It had been one week. Seven days without Tom speaking to him. He slowly was around him more, still joining him for bedtime when he was down in the Chamber, but not when he was in his dorm bed. Always hanging around while he was doing homework or when Riddle was teaching him.

It hurt worse that he was there but not on speaking terms.

It was almost teasing. Teasing him of the potential to talk to him. For a moment, he could pretend they were on good terms, just like they had always been. But then the illusion would shatter.

“You’re being depressing, stop it.” Draco chastised him as he watched Harry press his face into the book on the desk.

“He hasn’t spoken to me for a week!” Harry exclaimed into the pages.

“That’s literally normal. Okay, well a bit longer than normal, but that’s normal. It’s fine. Stop being so dramatic.” Draco pulled him up by his collar.

“But it hurts!” Harry rolled his head to the side, staring at Draco.

Draco groaned. “Yes, it hurts. Yes, you’ll live.”

Harry hmphed and went back to breathing into his book.

Draco would never understand.

Classes were similarly low. Gone was the anger that made him snap at everyone and was replaced with sorrow. Professors noticed but didn’t say anything to him, besides avoiding him in class. Even Snape didn’t comment on him.

Thinking about it, the Slytherins didn’t either.

He shrugged off the odd behaviour. All his thoughts and feelings were filled with the lack of Tom. He was just glad that Riddle stayed with him. For the second day, he was a little distant, but he recovered quickly.

What would he do if both of them pushed him away?

Harry shivered at the thought.

“My boy!” Professor Slughorn lightly patted his back. “Why such the sad face?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s nothing.” It wasn’t nothing.

“Come on, my boy, I won’t tell a soul.” Professor Slughorn smiled and plucked at his suspenders.

Harry looked back and forth, finding no one else in the classroom but them two. He honestly thought more people would take advantage of the private tutoring.

“Well… I'm just having some issues with one of my partners and he hasn’t been talking to me and I know I should give him space and he’s asked for it but it’s really hard because he hasn’t given me the silent treatment before and it’s been a week and I’m not sure how mad he is because we’ve never had a fight before.” Harry rambled on.

Professor Slughorn took a few moments to process what he had said.

“Well, my boy, I will say, relationships aren’t all sunshine and daisies. There are ups and downs, and keeping a good balance between the good and the bad. And yes, sometimes they needed space. Space is good, it lets you grow and become independent from each other. Then, you can come back to each other stronger than before.” Professor Slughorn patted him on the back.

Harry supposed it was true. But it still hurt to acknowledge it. Still hurt for it to be true. It clawed at him like a perpetually open wound, burning at the sting of air. He hated being apart. Hated not being in his arms.

It made the world feel cold.

“I know.” Harry sighed. “I know.”

“Just keep on going through it, my boy. Be safe, and know your boundaries. Of course, it’s important to know your boyfriends’ boundaries as well. Find a space that occupies both of your boundaries. You can compromise on some but don’t do it on all. Know what you like, know what you don’t like.” Professor Slughorn patted him again before taking his hand off to point at his potion.

“My boy, this is excellent. You use old-fashioned techniques very well!”

Harry bustled with pride. He and Professor Slughorn bottled up his potions; the quality was good enough to send to the hospital wing. They brewed another potion, going past the class time to finish.

__________

Voldemort clenched his jaw as he surveyed his paperwork.

Potter was feeling. It was a sinking feeling, but drifting at the same time. As if he was doing both, with a cold undertone. It lowered his mood, and he found it hard to get out of bed in the morning.

It was debilitating for him.

Even his practice duelling had been harder to do. And that was the highlight of his days. He sighed and rested his head on the desk. All he wanted to do was retreat back to his room and curl up in his blankets, doing nothing else.

But life would continue regardless of how he or Potter felt.

Voldemort groaned as a stronger wave of the feeling overtook him. He could take a break, at least for a while.

An hour later, he still felt like shit.

He tracked down Barty and ordered him to tell everyone that the meeting that day was cancelled. Afterwards, he curled up in his bed and just laid there, knocking down a dreamless sleep to avoid any odd dreams. The world could continue another day.

For now, Voldemort would just wallow in this feeling.

__________

Harry slowly walked down to the Chamber of Secrets. He just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep. Or die. Either one sounded nice at that moment. But when he entered the bedroom, he saw Tom already sitting on the bed.

He was so dull. His hair wasn’t in its perfect wavy form, seemingly more frizzy than anything. His eyes were wide, seeming to stare aimlessly into the floorboards beneath him. His hands were curved on the edge of the bed, his knuckles bone-white.

“Tom?” Harry asked.

“Sit down.” Tom patted the area next to him.

Harry hesitantly sat next to him. Although it was great to hear his voice again, he couldn’t decipher a tone. Neither angry nor happy, perfectly neutral.

“I’m still a bit weary of you,” Tom spoke, facing straight ahead.

Harry wanted to say something. Anything. But no words came to him.

“But.” Tom glanced at him. “I can’t stand being disappointed in you forever.”

Tom wrapped an arm around him. Harry didn’t know whether he was supposed to lean into his touch or not, so he stayed still.

“I’m over it.” Tom flapped his hand. “It’s fine. Well, it wasn’t fine, but I’m fine.”

Harry inched his arm around Tom. When Tom didn’t react, he followed through, keeping his arm around his waist.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked after a tense moment. He needed to make sure he was completely fine before moving on. It would do them no good to harbor hidden spite.

“Yes.” Tom nodded.

Harry bit his lip. As much as he desired to move on, he needed to be honest. It would hurt Tom later if he kept it a secret.

“I haven’t told you everything.” Harry pulled himself away from his grasp and walked over to the trunk he commandeered, every step filled with anxiety.

“Hm?” Tom asked, confused.

Harry dug to the deepest depths of his trunk. He found the stack of papers, wrapped carefully with twine. He shakenly offered them to Tom.

“It was hard to read the letters, so I transcribed them and filled in the blanks. This is all of them.” Harry waited for Tom to take them.

Tom’s face was stone-cold as he stared at the papers. He grabbed them lightly and continued to stare down at them.

Flames licked at the edges of the papers. They ate away at the fibers, creeping towards the centre. Harry watched as the ashes fell onto Tom’s trousers and onto his palms.

“Tom!” Harry exclaimed once the fire was done.

Blisters covered his hands. Redness as bright as a rose flooded over his palms and dripped to the sides of his fingers. Embers still burned where there was ash.

Harry blew the embers out and flicked his wand. He cleaned them as best he could before moving on to heal them. All of the minor healing spells he knew were thrown at his hands.

Cooling spells he learned while caring for Voldemort were cast. There was still some redness, still dry, with a little bit of scarring around the edges, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a trained hand.

Tom’s hands moved and placed themselves on Harry’s cheeks. His hands, once smooth, were rough to the touch. They pulled him up until their faces were almost touching.

“It feels like ages since we’ve been like this.” Tom’s voice was soft.

“It has.” Harry’s face began to grow in temperature.

Tom closed the gap. Their kiss was light, little more than a few seconds of contact with some movement. He drew back, seeing dark brown eyes with blown pupils staring back at him.

“Can we sleep?” Harry asked with a yawn.

“Of course, love.”

Harry melted into Tom’s touch. It was just like when they had first started, with a gossamer’s touch running along his side and a faint heart beating in his ear. Harry buried himself into Tom’s chest, snuggling as close as he could.

Tom leaned down and kissed him on the top of the head. He slowly petted him, trying to tame the unruly black hair with little success. It was only minutes before Harry felt himself drifting.

“Patronous,” The words left his mouth.

Tom chuckled. “Patronous.”

__________

“Someone’s happy.” Seamus snapped at him. “Your supposed ‘friends’ are in Saint Mungos, and you’re bouncing around.”

Harry glanced over at him, seeing a bandaged arm still in a sling. “They continued when I was in the wing; I will do the same.”

Seamus raised his lip. “Sure, you would carry on. Bet you knew it was going to explode.”

Now he was grinding on Harry’s nerves. “Says the boy who explodes every potion he’s ever made. Who's to say you didn’t know, Mr Pyro.”

Seamus drew back as if he had punched him.

“You’re such an asshole,” Seamus muttered, flinging his bag over his shoulder, and stomping off.

Harry sighed. He couldn’t be happy without an explanation.

The Gryffindors had been colder to him - scratch that, everyone had been colder to him since the incident. Some actually blamed Draco; most of them were the victims of the explosion. But Draco was beloved by them; Harry, not so much.

Harry was just the perfect scapegoat. Someone who was slandered in the papers for years and who never seemed to be out of scandal or rumour.

He lost his appetite.

He needed to do something. No part of him wanted Tom or Riddle to see him this angry, so he tried to go somewhere else. His legs made him travel up and up.

Luckily for him, he stumbled into the room of requirements.

The door opened up for him. Inside was a whimsical place, with purple wisteria trees and falling baby-blue leaves, magenta grass, and a flowing river that was bubble-gum pink. He cautiously stepped inside. This was not the place he imagined.

“Hello, Harry.” He heard it from deeper in the forest. “The swings are quite lovely here.”

Harry cautiously stepped inside. He nearly face-planted; the ground was squishy like jello. An experimental hop later, he shot into the air. Yet when he landed, he felt nothing from the collision.

He bounded along, jumping high into the air and rolling. He could hear a girl giggling and followed the noise. His feet met a branch high up in a tree, and he glanced down.

“Hello.” Luna waved to him, swinging along with her feet dipping into the water.

A smile quirked his lips. In an instant, the tree branch he was standing on extended over the water, and a swing appeared a little bit below it. Harry unsteadily hoisted himself down the swing and yelped when it lowered him. He frantically kicked off his shoes and rolled up his trousers to his knees.

Just as he was about to reach the water, it stopped extending. The water was cool, running over his feet. Luna gave him a playful splash.

“What are you doing here?” Luna’s voice travelled around him as she swung back and forth, slowing down when her legs dragged in the water.

Harry breathed, and his swing began to move on its own. “I was going to blow up a few dummies, but this is fine.”

Luna giggled. “I’m glad you enjoy my little world. It gets lonely sometimes.”

Harry frowned. “Well… that’s not good.”

“How long will you be staying?” She inquired. Harry’s swing was now in time with hers.

“I don’t know, maybe an hour?” He still yearned for them.

“That’s nice. Do you want to see everything else? There’s a small castle here, a little downstream.” Their swings slowed down.

“Yeah! Let’s go!”

Luna dove into the water, and Harry followed after a shrug. He could dry his clothes later.

__________

Harry’s arms were filled with pillows. He threw them on the floor next to the fireplace. Tom was behind him, arms filled with blankets. Further on, Riddle held a small stack of wooden chairs. They all deposited them on the floor.

“Okay, now we stack the chairs side-by-side in a tunnel formation,” Harry commanded, grabbing one of the chairs.

“We could just use magic.” Riddle pointed this out. He still picked up a chair regardless.

“But that ruins the fun.” Tom retorted.

“Come on!” Harry exclaimed, “Make it three chairs wide! Give them a little bit of space in between.”

Riddle smiled at him as he scooted the chairs around on both sides, leaving a large gap between them. Tom joined him, shifting the chairs until they were equal on both sides of the tunnel. Harry and Riddle threw a large blanket over the tops, weighing it down with pillows.

They rummaged around underneath the blanket in the space between the chairs. Pillows were smoothed out until they were mostly even. Sets of blankets were further distributed on top.

Each of them crawled in, with Harry in between Tom and Riddle. He could just smell a whiff of their lavender-scented body wash. They stared directly into the fire, feeling the warmth circulating in the tent-like structure.

“So this is a pillow fort?” Riddle said, looking around them. “I thought there would be more pillows.”

“Well, we could make it out of pillows, but this is the traditional way of doing it.” Harry hummed, “Or, at least, from what I’ve heard.”

“I think it’s amazing.” Tom snuggled up to Harry.

“I can see why children enjoy it so much,” Riddle remarked. He, too, cuddled up to Harry.

They sat there, listening to the crackle of the fireplace. Everything was so warm; he had his partners next to him, and the pillows beneath him were softer than any mattress. Tom stirred when he was about to fall asleep.

“I know I can’t really feel the temperature, but it’s too hot here.” He proclaimed.

He rose to his knees and pulled his pyjama top over his head. Harry couldn’t help but stare at his shirtless form.

“I thought I was the only one.” Riddle similarly kneeled and ripped off his shirt.

He wasn't feeling particularly hot, but he, too, took off his shirt.

Harry's face exploded in heat. They were snuggled up to him, shirtless. He could feel their bodies next to him, both the softness of their skin and the raised bits of scars. Feeling the thrum of their racing heartbeats.

“Mhh, I like this,” Tom muttered, pulling Harry further into his chest. So soft, but with little muscle or fat between skin and bone.

“I do have to agree.” Riddle nuzzled into Harry's neck, wrapping his arms around his waist. The stubble on his jawline scratched at Harry in a relieving way.

“Y-Yeah.” Harry squeaked. Tom’s touch had lingered over his chest when he went to pull him in tighter.

“Hmm.” Riddle hummed, a laugh leaving his mouth.

Harry basked in their presence. And for once, there was a little bit of irritation that there was fabric keeping their legs from skin-to-skin touching. But it may be too soon to ask them to take off their pants.

There was also a headache brewing from Voldemort’s rage in the background of his mind.

Despite that, it was heaven. The crackle of the fire, the warmth, the smokiness mixed with their lavender body wash, their shirtless bodies pressed together, Again, that overwhelming emotion overtook him made his body feel like fire and his thoughts grow dirty.

Tom was the first to fall asleep. Harry was still wide awake, as was Riddle. When he was sure that Tom was asleep, he cleared his throat.

“Riddle?” He whispered as quietly as he could.

“Yes, angel?” Riddle paused his rubbing circles into Harry’s thigh.

“Don’t be mad.” Harry preferenced.

“I will try not to be.” Riddle reached up and kissed his jawline.

“Why - Why weren’t you as upset as Tom when you found out I had read the diary?” Harry asked nervously. He hated to ruin a nice moment, but it had plagued his mind for too long. Additionally, he hardly ever was one-on-one with Riddle to ask this.

“I - “ Riddle sighed, “Because someone already read mine in the time between Tom and me.”

“Who, if I may ask?” Harry inquired.

Riddle sighed again. “Abraxas. He broke through all of my curses in my diary and read it. I backed him into a corner and forced Vertiserum on him. He said he wanted to see if I loved him.”

“Did you?”

“No. We were just sexual partners, but Abraxas caught feelings for me. We stopped seeing each other after that.” Riddle cuddled close to him.

“Are you - are you upset we haven’t been sexual yet?” Harry shifted.

“No,” Riddle quelled his fears. “We can go slow. Seeing as you nearly combusted over us just getting shirtless, I assume it will be a while.”

“Are you mad about that?” Harry blurted out.

“Who told you I would be? I’ve been content with just masturbating. Take as much time as you need. And please, go to sleep. You’re worrying over nothing.” Riddle peppered kisses on his neck.

“Okay, thank you.” Harry sighed.

Riddle hugged him tighter. Harry leaned into his embrace, trying his best to think about anything other than his fears. Harry chose to focus on the sounds of their breathing instead.

It wasn’t long before he sank into darkness.

__________

Voldemort screamed into his pillow. He huffed, chucking it across the room.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it.” He groaned, pacing in his room.

“Stop defiling my horcruxes.” He hissed.

The overwhelming second-hand feeling was inconvenient at best, and… he didn’t know what his worst situation would be. He only knew that it would increase from there, not just with frequency but with intensity as well.

After all, there were two of them.

But it didn’t stop him from exploding every time that feeling returned.

What was he going to do?

__________

The smell of potions and sterility filled Harry’s every sense. He sat in one of the waiting chairs, waiting. Any minute now.

The back doors to the hospital wing opened up to reveal four people. Two healers flanked Ron and Hermione. They were covered in bandages, and Hermione’s mane of hair was cut to just below her ears, with stray burned strands sticking out. Ron’s was shorn shorter as well, looking like an overgrown buzzcut.

Light marks flickered in splashed patterns across their exposed skin. Ron had the brunt of it, plastered over his face with the focal point just under his chin.

Regardless, they retained both eyes, both ears, and all their fingers. Scarred as they may be, they were still whole. He stood, unsure of how to welcome them.

“You’re back!” Harry exclaimed, hesitantly walking towards them.

“We are.” Hermione smiled at him, holding out her arms.

Harry side-hugged Hermione, being careful not to rub against her bandages too hard. He was going in for a hug from Ron as well, but he stepped back.

“Everything hurts to touch right now.” He quickly explained.

“Oh, alright.” Disappointment crept through his veins, but he shrugged it off.

“Are you going to stay in the hospital wing or…” They really didn’t seem well enough to be in class, but he wasn’t a healer.

“We’ll be in the hospital wing for another week. Then we’ll be fine.” Hermione answered for them.

“I’ll make sure to visit!” Harry patted one of the few areas of her arm that weren’t covered in bandages.

“Shoo.” One of the healers flapped their hands. “We need to make sure we have the correct setup.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later!” Harry waved as he scampered off.

Harry wore a bright smile on his face as he exited the wing. He couldn’t wait to come back. After all this time without them, he really needed them back.

__________

Draco was up to something.

Harry watched as Draco whispered between a group of Slytherins, shaking and nodding heads. Harry gripped his wand tightly. He may be in a good mood, but he has been itching to pummel Draco since the beginning of the term.

Ron and Hermione weren’t there to stop him; they were still in the hospital wing.

But Harry acted like he didn’t notice the Slytherins. He chose to look like he was reading his book instead. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to tell Tom and Riddle how he fought Draco. Even if the other Slytherins jumped to his defense, Harry would get a good few blows in.

“Potter!” While normally aggravating, Draco’s voice was like music to his ears.

“Yes, Malfoy?” Harry drawled without any emotion.

Draco hesitated. “How are your friends doing? I see they got rather marked up. Those haircuts look horrible on them; haven’t they ever heard of a regrowth potion? Or can they not afford one?”

Harry thought his insults were weak, but he took the bait.

“Do you know what’s also not a good look? Acid burns. Looks like you’ve been splattered with light pink paint, but it is hard to tell, seeing that you’re so pale.” Although Draco’s wounds had mostly healed, the faintest discolouration still lay there, more prominent around the edges.

Draco drew back. “Think you’re funny, don’t you? I bet Rita Skeeter is having a blast writing about you. How you escape such tragedy? I wonder how she’ll twist that.”

Harry’s blood boiled at her name.

“You act like Rita wouldn’t jump at the chance to attack you as well, Death Eater spawn.” If Draco cast the first spell, maybe he wouldn’t get into as much trouble.

Draco had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh, Potter, Rita would, I bet. But I come from a well-off family that can be very persuasive. You—well, Rita would need much more than that to be persuaded by you.”

Bastard. So they paid Rita off. It looks like Narcissa was on his list as well. Shame, she wasn’t as toxic as the rest of her family. Then again, her competition was not hard to beat.

“Wow, paying people to clean up your dirty work how original. What are you going to do next? Lobby the Regress against me? Gerrymander something? Send in your mommy to duel me?” Harry rolled his eyes.

Draco withdrew his wand.

“Inlido!” He spat at him.

Harry let the first hit get him, a dull pain hitting his cheek. But it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Disseco.” He made sure not to put too much power into the spell.

Draco screamed as the spell blasted through his shield. It collided with his shoulder; his robes instantly ripped, and blood gushed out of the cut. Whoops, it looked like it was still too overpowered.

Harry took advantage of his moment of weakness and pounced on him. He tackled Draco to the ground and raised his wand.

“Operto.” He aimed for his chest.

Draco wheezed as the breath was snuffed out of him. He struggled to get a breath as Harry repeatedly cast the spell in the same spot. Draco tried to force him off, but Harry stayed on top of him. A blueness tinged Draco’s lips, and a redness covered his face.

A crack resounded in the air, and Draco used what little breath he had left to yelp. Flecks of blood left his mouth, staining his teeth orange. Harry lifted his wand and used his spell to cut into his shirt. Draco’s chest resembled more spilled wine than skin, growing in purpleness as the seconds passed.

Draco struggled to gasp for air.

Harry pointed his wand at Draco’s face, just below his eye.

“Scalpo.”

Harry dragged his wand down his cheek and continued down his neck. Blood seeped from the wound. He was about to slice it horizontally when someone physically yanked him back.

“Mr Potter! What on earth do you think you’re doing!” Professor McGonagall’s voice rang in his ears.

Harry glared as Snape appeared behind Draco. The grease bat crouched down and began to cast healing spells on Draco.

“Detention, Mr Potter, for the rest of the year. I will see that you receive other punishments.” Snape drawled, his jaw clenched.

“I’ll just not attend. What are you going to do? Give me more detentions?” Harry spat at him.

“Mr Potter, my office. Now.” Professor McGonagall didn’t let up on him as she dragged him to her office.

Harry shrugged. If they did anything bad to him, he’d just leave.

__________

Harry Potter Escapes Injury, Again

Dear Reader, we encounter yet another story about Harry Potter.

In an incident at Hogwarts, in the potion class. During the class, a student’s cauldron, Ron Weasley, exploded. This caused a chain reaction of other cauldrons combusting due to the material falling into their potions as well.

Due to the incident, two students, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, were sent to Saint Mungo's. Every student in the classroom sustained enough injuries to need a day trip to the hospital wing. Each of them will likely be left with scars.

Only one student escaped unscathed: Harry Potter. And where was Harry Potter during this? He left the classroom mere minutes before the incident. One student describes his absence as “Abornally long for a bathroom visit. I mean, we’re right next to them!”.

There is evidence that Harry Potter’s cauldron had a protection charm over it. Do note that this spell is not in the Hogwarts curriculum. The incident, where another ingredient was thrown in, would have affected Harry Potter’s cauldron, but it appeared to have bounced off of the shield and into Ron Weasley’s cauldron instead.

What more incidents will befall Hogwarts this year? Last year ended with multiple students forming a group against the High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge, led by Harry Potter. The year before had Cedric Diggory was dead and brought back by Harry Potter. And even more incidents year-round.

I ask again, what will this year entail?

Follow more at the Daily Prophet, for stories every day for the everyday person.

Rita Skeeter

Head of the Daily Prophet Press Department

September 20th

__________

“It started again.” Harry groaned as he collapsed into bed.

“Skeeter, again?” Tom asked, combing his hands through his hair.

“Yes!” Harry yelled into his pillow.

“How does she ire you?” Tom leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“She - she just construes the stories so much! Like anything I do is suspicious, and she turns it into a huge deal! And anything I say right, well, I was actually wrong about the whole time!” He huffed.

“Is there anything you can do legally? I’m sorry we cannot be of more help; we are unaware of the recent laws.” Riddle asked from across the room.

“No? Yes? I’m not sure. I don’t know if it’s even possible. I don’t know where to start. Not that anyone would want to work with me. They think I’m evil and working for Voldemort.”

Harry shifted and curled up on Tom’s lap. He listened to his heart beating.

“Well,” Harry continued. “Not that I’m not working with Voldemort. But that’s not the point. She’s making the wrong connections. She’s making my unsuspicious actions look like intentional harm.”

“Perhaps… you could ask for something to be done to her?” Riddle offered, twirling the serpent in his hands as he worked on an aquarium. She had asked to be moved into the bedroom to better talk to them.

Harry thought for a moment. “No.”

“No?”

“I want to do it,” Harry growled, flipping onto his back.

The two horcruxes chuckled lowly.

Tom gently kissed his forehead. “You do that, love. You do that.”

A smile stretched itself across Harry’s face. “Will you teach me more spells? Like the ones we used on Umbridge?”

Another laugh escaped the two of them.

“Of course, my love.”

“We will, angel.”

__________

“That Skeeter woman is absurd!” Hermione complained when Harry handed her the prophet (he had stolen it from Dean, but who was watching?).

“Yeah,” Ron commented from the other bed.

“I’ll do something about it. I just need to find a way.” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Ease up, mate. Don’t act so rash.” Ron laughed nervously.

“She’s going too far.” Harry defended himself.

“I mean, Hermione’s already locked her in a jar for a while. There's not much more we can do, right?” Ron looked away from him.

Harry stayed silent.

Harry, there's not much we can do, right?” Hermione insisted.

Harry hummed. “Well, there is technically more we could do.”

He saw the horrified looks on their faces.

Harry quickly sought to recover. “Whether or not we should is the real question.”

Hermione shook her head. “Harry, no. We just need to ignore her. Don’t let her get to you.”

Harry nodded reluctantly. Rita Skeeter deserved to be punished for her actions. Even Voldemort was incensed by her articles. He wanted to tear her apart. She made his life even more of a living hell for years.

“Mr Potter, I must ask you to leave for dinner.” Madam Pomphrey spoke behind the curtains.

Harry strode down the halls. There were more sneers his way, but most of the victims of the explosion were too busy glaring daggers at Draco to notice. He ground his teeth during dinner, with everyone avoiding him like the plague.

He dragged himself to the library.

Draco was in his corner again, and he largely ignored Harry as he was writing his essays. Harry was frankly grateful for it. He just needed to think for a while.

Had he really changed that much? Enough that Ron and Hermione would be scared of him? Their reactions were not what he expected. He thought they’d be thirsty for at least a bit of revenge.

It looks like he was alone.

Then again, it wasn’t they who were slandered. Besides the Triwizard Tournament thing, Hermione largely stayed out of the papers, and Ron was almost unheard of. It seemed that, year-round, there’d be some Potter-centric story.

But shouldn’t they want what’s best for him? What would make him happy? They’d never seen this development in him; maybe they just needed time to acclimate to him. He had changed a lot over the summer.

“Draco,” Harry called out after an hour.

“Yes, Potter?” Draco looked up from his parchment.

“Is it wrong to hurt people who have wronged you?” He needed a second opinion. One that wasn’t a future dark lord.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “I mean - uh - a little?”

“How much?” Was the average person just more moral than he was?

“Um, more than it should be.” Draco’s eyes darted around the room. “I gotta go.”

Draco sprinted out of the room.

Harry hummed.

Maybe he was wrong.

And, maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Chapter Text

Voldemort paced as he held the letter in his hand. He was hesitant to send it. It seemed wrong to do so. Who was he to dictate Potter’s life, even more? But, frankly, he couldn’t deal with the constant flecks of teenage hormones that leaked into his connection.

He could hardly contain his rage during one of the meetings. He cast far too many crucios that day.

Using one of their nondescript barn owls, he sent the bird fluttering away into the vast sky.

_________

Harry shovelled a piece of omelette into his mouth. He was just about to leave when the caws of birds came from overhead.

A letter from a small barn owl landed in front of him, not even staying for a treat before retreating. Harry thought for a moment, thinking it was another hate letter, but figured that he might as well read it.

‘Please stop defiling my other halves during the day. It disturbs me. - LV’

Harry stifled a laugh. But then a blush consumed him.

He knew every time Harry’s thoughts grew dirty or when he was making out with Tom and Riddle. Each second he cuddled them, Voldemort got a secondhand feeling from it. He grew even redder with embarrassment.

“Who is that from?” Hermione leaned over to look, but Harry hid the note.

“Um, er, it’s from Amelia Bones. She was wondering how I was holding up.” Harry quickly lied.

Hermione gave him a look that told him she didn’t believe him, but she acquiesced. “If you say so.”

Harry took out his wand and burned the note before anyone else could glance at it. Hermione raised an eyebrow, meanwhile Ron appeared angry. He just shrugged. It wasn’t their business.

In fact, it would be better if they didn’t know. They’d be safer that way.

Or would they be safer away from him?

No one else seemed to suffer more than those around him.

Harry shook his head. His friends knew that it was hazardous to be his friend, and he’d never begrudge them if they left him. Their health and safety were always at risk.

And Voldemort’s no-harm order did not extend to his friends.

Harry shook his head again.

A smirk lit his face as he penned his response and ran up to the owlery. He hoped that Voldemort would either remember or catch his smart-assness.

__________

Near nightfall, an owl tapped on Voldemort’s window. He rushed to the bird, quickly untying the small scroll on his leg. He flattened it against the windowsill. And read one word.

‘No.’

His scream echoed through the halls.

__________

Harry was dragged through the countless halls of the Chamber of Secrets. Down, they twisted through the tunnels as if it were a second home for Tom and Riddle. Which, to be fair, it probably was.

“I can’t believe we hadn’t thought about it before!” Tom commented as they almost slammed into a tight curve.

“I mean, it makes sense!” Riddle agreed.

“Can either of you tell me what you’re talking about?” Just when he thought he understood them, they always did something to prove the opposite.

“You’ll see.” They said it in unison.

A smile crossed his face at their excitement. It was normal to see Tom excited - he had finally allowed himself to let loose - but Riddle was a bit more reserved. But they were both practically bouncing off the walls.

More bones crunched underfoot than before. Moss and lichen stuck to the walls. Humidity was hot in the air. Harry gasped as he saw large, jutting crystals from all over. They had to dodge all the crystals on the floor, weaving around.

Finally, they entered a large room with huge ceilings. In the middle, sitting upon a mossen-boned hill, was a huge, bronze-scaled egg. Tom and Riddle pulled him up off the mound and looked at him expectantly.

“Touch it,” They commanded.

“The egg?” Harry cocked his head.

“Yes.”

Harry hesitated. Sure, the sparkles of gold on the edges of the scales and the way it glimmered in the light were alluring, but it seemed to be perfect. Like it was a trap. Shining thing in the middle of the room.

“Are you sure - “

“Touch it, touch it, touch it.” Tom chanted.

Harry relented.

The egg was cold to the touch, like it was made from iced metal. But a certain power rushed into him. It was invigorating, sweet like chocolate but cold like mint.

A crack resounded in the room.

Harry abruptly jumped back. Tom giggled loudly, clapping his hands together. Riddle laughed and slapped him on the back.

“Knew it would be you.” Riddle pulled him in for a hug.

“What is this?” He didn’t want to bring up the fact that he already knew by virtue of reading the diary. It might make Tom upset again.

“Hungarian Horntail and Basilisk hybrid,” Tom answered. “Hatches by the touch of the right person. When you told us about fighting one, we went back here to make sure it wasn’t gone.”

“When does it become a dragon-basilisk?”

Harry inspected the crack. It didn’t run deep, and it only stretched the length of his hand, splitting into a Y shape at the end.

“Hm, looks like we’ll have to research. I know that dragon eggs can take upwards of a month to hatch,” Riddle hummed.

“I’ll check every hour.” Tom breathed, squatting to eye-level with the egg.

“Okay, got it.” Harry nodded along with them.

Riddle drew him in for a tight hug. He leaned down and spoke into his ear. “May we borrow you until then? We’re simply starving for you.”

Harry’s face went red.

“Uh, yeah.” He agreed.

They both smirked.

__________

Voldemort swept through a meeting. It was an inner-circle-only meeting, only a debriefing on raids that would happen in a few weeks. He sat down at the table, watching as the room filled with tension. He wanted to smile.

The power he held over these people was simply delicious.

“Severus, report on the Order.” He announced after a minute of stillness.

“The Order has regained some of its strength. But with each Rita Skeeter article talking about Potter, they lose some support. They have pushed one creature bill. Otherwise, the Order has also been more focused on Potter. As they and I have noticed, Potter is missing the majority of the day with no one able to find him. They are growing concerned that he is talking to unsavoury sources.”

Voldemort’s jaw clenched. So he was spending most of his day with his horcruxes. It sickened him to know that. If they couldn’t find him, they were most likely in the Room of Requirements or in the Chamber of Secrets.

They were constantly alone and uninterrupted with each other.

“Have they been following him for information on his source?” His horcruxes were to go undiscovered.

“Not yet. They are monitoring the wards to try to catch whoever it is when they’re leaving the castle. If they can’t, they plan on following him within the next month.” Severus answered evenly.

Voldemort contemplated how to reply. He didn’t want to tell Severus to watch Potter; that would lead to Severus figuring out the relationship with Potter and his horcruxes. Don’t tell him, and Dumbledore might figure it out before him.

He shivered at the idea of what that man might do to all three of them.

“This matter, while important, does not require your full attention. However, inform me of any hint of information. Do not actively seek it on your own unless told otherwise.” It seemed like a medium solution. “In addition, you will bring me a month’s supply of dreamless sleep.

He had tried to go a night without, but he ended up with a dream in which he was enveloped in darkness and sitting on a lumpy surface, feeling so small.

“Yes, my Lord.” Severus bowed his head.

The rest of the meeting went as was suspected. Retouching the different plans until they were at a needle-like precision. But Voldemort wove his own biases carefully.

Potter was often upset about the number of deaths left behind in their raids. Muggle or magical. Though Voldemort could hardly see the sense in that, as they were never related to him nor did he know those affected, he relented.

He carefully adjusted the plans for a lower death rate. It would never be zero, but it decreased from dozens to a single-digit figure. He explained it off as the Dark being quiet so that they could take the Ministry by surprise.

When he finally returned to his room, he sighed.

Keeping up with Potter’s happiness was difficult. Even more when he was not there to help control it. At least his horcruxes were helping him, no matter how disgusting Voldemort found it.

He was hardly ever subjected to his terrible moods anymore. There was an entire week where he was angry and sad, which soured Voldemort’s temper and plans during that time.

Frankly, he’d prefer the disgusting affection to the bad mood.

__________

A sigh escaped Harry as he watched Ron and Hermione talk in the library. They had been released a week ago and they had been rather hesitant to be around him.

He would say it wasn’t his fault, but it was.

His thoughts, as he was told, had grown darker. When he accidentally tried to murder Draco, even Ron thought he had gone a little too far. And he loathed Draco to the core.

Hermione was similarly concerned, more so when he talked about Rita Skeeter. Like she had a high horse to stand on, she imprisoned her in a jar. She looked at him, bewildered, when he said he wanted to tear her limb from limb.

When he started to voice his inner thoughts, they grew distant.

He couldn’t really blame them. If they had started talking that way, even he would have been concerned.

But why did they blame him? They had wronged him in so many ways. He deserved some retribution for their transgressions.

Harry ground his teeth. They could think whatever they wanted. As long as they didn’t act and didn’t stop him, he was fine. The two had stuck by his side this long; surely they wouldn’t leave because of a few dark comments?

Surely?

Harry turned around and stalked off. He needed someone else to talk to. Tom and Riddle were biased. Ron and Hermione were too. Someone else…

Luna!

Where would one find a small, blonde Ravenclaw at a time like this?

He checked the Room of Requirements; nothing. Only one last place.

Harry rushed to the Forbidden Forest. He watched carefully for anything else coming at him before he reached a familiar clearing. And, to his relief, he found Luna sitting down with a small threstral in her lap.

“Luna!” Harry exclaimed, causing every skull-head to turn his way. It was a little creepy.

“Hello, Harry.” Luna smiled softly. She patted the ground next to her.

Harry slowly approached her. The threstral sniffed him, then laid its head back down.

“Luna, I have a question,” Harry said.

He awed as another small threstral approached him. It sat next to him and blew cold air on him. Harry reached out a hesitant hand and petted it.

“I love questions,” Luna answered airily.

She pulled an apple out of her satchel and split it in half with her bare hands. Harry, surprised, took the other half. He fed it to the threstral, careful not to get his fingers bitten.

“Is it wrong to hurt people who’ve wronged you?” He asked as the threstral finished the apple.

Luna thought for a moment. “Yes and no. It is not wrong to want to do it, but to actually do it is another question. Retribution is just a form of revenge, but so is justice. Punishment should be up to an unbiased source. Then again, all morality is relative, not objective.”

Harry ruminated on those thoughts.

“Guess you’re right.”

He could live with what he’s doing, is wrong. He wasn’t a perfect person, and this could be another nail in his coffin. If he was fine everywhere else, he deserved a bit of moral decline in other places.

They hurt him. He hurts them.

They have every right to retaliate, and he does as well.

“If you say so,” Luna replied with a smile. “Do you want to feed the big ones too?”

Luna shook her bag out. The entire bag emptied dozens of apples onto the floor. Harry smiled at her. No matter what, Luna’s inconsistent, odd ways were always entertaining.

__________

Hermione was following him.

He couldn’t deny it anymore. Every time he snuck out to go to the Chamber of Secrets, she trailed behind him. It was only his knowledge of the secret passageways that made him able to sneak away, but even so, there were some close calls.

And then there was the incident.

Harry stormed off the moment he was finished with dinner. Unfortunately, Hermione rushed after him.

“Harry! Harry!” Hermione pushed away a first-year Hufflepuff to gain on him.

“What?” Harry yelled back, trying to use his two brain cells to remember where the secret passages were.

“Stop! Stop!” Hermione was gaining on him, using her ‘the library is only a few more flights’ legs to speed up to a sprint.

“Hermione!“ Harry rounded a corner.

Hermione grasped the strap of his bag and pulled him back. A yelp escaped his mouth, and he crashed to the floor. His bag spilled, sending the bouquets of flowers crashing to the floor.

“Harry? What are these?” Hermione asked.

“Flowers.” Harry answered, scrabbling to try to get them all in his bag before anyone else saw.

“Flowers, for whom? Harry, do you have a girlfriend?” Hermione looked around and helped him collect the delicate flowers.

Harry bit his cheek. “No.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Harry couldn’t help the blush that clawed at his face. He always went red when anyone mentioned them.

“Dear Merlin! You have a boyfriend! Who is he? What house is he in? How old is he? What does he look like?” Hermione pestered him, inadvertently breaking a few stems.

A sigh escaped his mouth. “I - well, he’s… sweet. He was . . . He looked back and forth through the hall. “He was a Slytherin - “

“A Slytherin? Was? Oh, you’re dating someone older, I see, I see. Why do you have so many flowers?” She latched his bag once they managed to push all of them in.

“Because he wants flowers.” Not entirely true, but the ones he had used to apologise to Tom were completely dead, and the bedroom needed some sprucing up.

“That’s where you’ve been running off to! Are you sneaking him in? Are you using protection?” Hermione kept up with him as he was trying to escape her.

“Hermione!” Harry’s face was on fire. “We’re not there yet!”

Sure, his thoughts had grown to be less pure, but he was happy to hold hands and kiss at the moment. He wasn’t sure when they would reach that phase - they had only just started to make out - but he would be patient.

“Oh, okay, okay. Just make sure to have protection when that comes. You might both be men, but you have to think about STDs and just general clean-up. Condoms - “

Harry cast a silencing spell on her.

She pouted at him but shut her mouth.

“Look, Hermione, I just want to get back to them.” Harry cast a sticking charm on her shoes and sped off.

“Them?” Hermione mouthed.

Harry’s face was on fire as he ran through the halls. He had let it slip. He knew it was risky to let Draco know, but at least Draco wouldn’t obsess over their relationship.

His legs carried him off to Chamber of Secrets. Myrtle had figured out that every time he came down, it was for the Chamber, so she stopped bothering him.

Harry slid down the pipes and landed, still running. When he entered the main chamber, he finally calmed down.

Tom and Riddle seemed to sense his distress.

“What is it, love?” Tom appeared by his side, lightly patting his back.

“Do we need to do anything, angel?” Asked Riddle, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Uh - it’s nothing. Well, it’s . . .arry shuffled around in his bag.

He poured dozens of bouquets of flowers onto the floor.

“I brought flowers.” He spoke, blushing. “And Hermione found out, and she asked me if I was dating anyone, and I blushed, and… she knows.”

“Aw, does she know about your two boyfriends?” Tom cooed, lightly stroking his cheek.

“How cute.” Riddle agreed.

Boyfriends.

Hearing them say that was like music to his ears. He had known for a long time, but hearing it out loud was different from saying it in his head. Different coming from his mouth.

“Y-yeah.” Harry muttered, blushing harder as they both laced their hands.

“Do you want to help us put them in vases? You can transfigure them; remember what we taught you about permanent transfiguration?” Riddle kissed his neck.

“Uh, yeah.”

The bedroom was laid out in decadent flowers. They decorated anything with a flat surface, from shelves to desks. Even the walls had some on display.

But the grand piece was the canopy. They made it out of the flowers, weaving them together into a hanging canopy over the bed. They crawled inside, placing more flowers on the inside.

All of them flopped on the bed, thoroughly exhausted. Harry huffed, a dumb smile on his face as the two curled into him.

“You’re so good to us, angel.” Riddle muttered into his neck.

“Such a bright light.” Tom agreed, snuggling close to him.

Their hands gripped at him, clinging as if he were their only anchor to the claws of gravity.

_________

The smells of potion brewing filled his nose. He huffed, inhaling the disgusting concoction. Slughorn was across from him, making potions for the hospital wing. It was fairly quiet, with the soft sounds of bubbles popping in the room.

That, and Harry’s incessant questions.

“But how is fae blood acquired?” He asked once he added some to the cauldron.

“Well…” Professor Slughorn didn’t meet his eyes. “We try to get it humanely, but sometimes they acquire it through rather… dubious means.”

“Oh.”

Maybe the reason Aquillian was so hesitant was not because Voldemort was Voldemort. Maybe it was because he was a wizard. Or it could be both. It was probably both.

“Yes, it’s a sad state, the potion’s world. It used to be better when I was young. But as the ties between nations thinned and became strained, we started to take the ingredients forcibly. It’s now very hard to tell ‘willingly given’ from ‘forcibly given’.”

Was that another reason why the others seemed so surprised at him and Voldemort?

“That’s too bad. What happened when you were young?” Harry asked as he cut another mint leaf.

Is that another reason why Voldemort wanted to partner with them? Because he would have willing access to their resources?

“We used to pay five galleons for every lire of blood. About, hm, ten galleons for every lock of hair, they are very protective of their hair. The subsections of fae, those with wings, tails, or horns, cost significantly more. Wings are worth twice as much as dragon hide. Horns and teeth were only a little less.”

“And that’s just for the fae. Not to mention werewolves, vampires, merfolk, sirens, veela, centaurs, and other rarer creatures. My boy, there was once a blue-blood ice-nymph’s wings for sale. They fetched over a million galleons, and that’s for when they were legally acquired.”

Professor Slughorn sighed as he reminisced. “You know, I wish for those days back. Back when we weren’t at war with each other. Back when we could see them freely roaming Diagon. I wish you could have seen it, but that was far before your time.”

Harry took a few seconds to digest the information.

“Is there a way to get it back? Safely, I mean?” Harry needed to press him for more information.

Professor Slughorn thought for a moment. “Well, Wizengamont has been passing more laws lately that protect creatures. That has loosened some tensions. But, my boy, you must know that even with the laws passed, it’s the people that need to regain their trust. That trust that has been lost. I only wish it wasn’t the Regress that were passing these.”

Why did Aquillian seem so relaxed around him?

Harry felt the urge to defend the Regress. “Why not the Regress?”

“Well… the Regress has been known to contain a lot of suspected Death Eaters. Though I know it was a net good, I wish it was a party with a less unsavoury background. I fear what will happen when they take over. Will they continue to pass more rights? Or was it just a ruse?” Slughorn shook his head sadly.

“And what if they did continue?”

Professor Slughorn tilted his head. “I guess, I guess that means that change is possible, even for the most deplorable people.”

Change is possible.

Harry couldn’t help but agree.

He then perked up, if not sadly. “You know, you remind me of a bright student I used to teach in the 40s.”

“Who?”

“Tom Riddle. He was such a bright student who constantly asked smart questions. But you’re quite different. He was a Slytherin; you are a Gryffindor. And he… it wasn’t his fault, but he was quite cold, no matter how much he tried not to be. You are warm, and I don’t think you could hide it.” Slughorn reached across and patted his shoulder. “I only wish you don’t fall down his dark path.”

Harry smiled. He couldn’t wait to tell Tom and Riddle what Professor Slughorn had said. And for that matter, Voldemort as well.

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry concealed a laugh.

“Ah, while I’m at it, I plan on starting up an old club again. It was originally called Professional Potioneers, but my students renamed it to Slug Club. It’s a potions club with some social activities. Do you wish to be the first member of this newly restarted club? I will add new students as they return to class.” Professor Slughorn extended his hand.

Harry grinned widely and shook his hand. “Of course, Professor.”

__________

Penning a letter, Harry jumped in surprise as Tom sat on his desk.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked him.

“Asking Amelia to sign my Hogsmeade permission slip. We go on December 1st, but I want to get ahead on it. It’s almost October, and we have until November to submit it.” Harry replied, scribbling down the last of his requests. “I just hope she hasn’t heard about me attacking Draco.”

“Aw, and you didn’t even think to ask us first?” Riddle replied, his breath hot on his neck. Harry jumped again, straight into Riddle’s arms.

“I . . .asn’t sure if you were interested. Plus, there are the technicalities involved in bringing you…”

Harry dreamed of them having a date at Hogsmeade. Something cute, with hot butterbeer and snow. Shopping around in the district without a care in the world. Collapsing into the snow and making angels.

“Love, we’ll figure it out.” Tom grasped his hand and kissed it. “We always do.”

“Sorry,” Harry ducked his head. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Riddle chuckled. “You don’t have to.”.

Harry hummed. “I have something else to tell you.”

“What?” Tom and Riddle asked in unison.

“Professor Slughorn said I reminded him of a student. A bright student. A bright Slytherin student. A Slytherin student from the 1940s.” Harry smiled at them.

Tom laughed, holding his stomach. “So he said you remind him of us?” Riddle similarly snickered.

“Yeah. He hoped I didn’t go on such a ‘dark path’. Oh! And he also invited me to the Slug Club.” Harry reached up and pecked Riddle on his jawline. Riddle shivered.

“Slug Club? That was honestly really fun. I enjoyed it a lot.” Tom spoke, receiving his kiss as well.

“I hope it’s fun. I hope no one, like, I don’t know, poisons me or something.” Harry shrugged.

Riddle’s grip on him tightened. “We can’t have that. Let’s teach you how to tell the difference between a safe drink and an altered one.”

Tom nodded.

They whisked him away to one of the potion’s labs. There, using the Liquid Death book, they brewed a variety of potions and safe potions. Harry was fascinated with all the ways that poisons could be made. They hardly had any similar ingredients and mostly were innocuous until two ingredients were added.

In the end, he was able to identify three out of the five poisons in the drinks. They congratulated him for his first-try success with plenty of kisses and a later make-out session to top it off.

Chapter Text

Severus clenched his jaw as he sat down for another Order meeting. It ground on his nerves how often they were. The Dark Lord didn’t even have them at this rate, and he commanded more people.

So many people.

Was it wrong to choose the winning side for the sake of winning? Pettigrew was a coward; he did the same. But his vow still sat on his mind. The Dark Lord wanted Potter alive. And, to his credit, he has been moving away from blood purity. It eased his mind to know that his rights might not be taken away.

If he doesn’t go insane again.

“What are we going to do with him?” Albus sighed, rubbing his temples.

“I’ve grounded him from quidditch. He’s still on the team, but he cannot fly.” Minerva shook her head.

Severus wanted to scream at her. He nearly killed his beloved godson, and he gets grounded from a sport. He wasn’t going to attend detentions either, and he couldn’t force him to do anything. The Dark Lord had commanded him to leave Potter unbothered, and he didn’t know what he’d do if the Dark Lord found out he did anything.

“Is there anything we can do besides expel him? He rejects everything we try to do.” Severus grumbled.

“I would recommend a counsellor, but we do not have the right to assign one to him. Amelia is busy, and I do not want to involve her lest he end up in Azkaban. We are unable to force him either.” Albus shook his head. “Amelia believes the prophet to be farse, which is all we have on our side. I do not know what will happen when Susan Bones returns to tell her the truth.”

“Like a counsellor could fix him.” Severus spat.

“Mr Potter hasn’t been sleeping in the dorms.” Minerva switched the subject.

“He hasn’t?” Molly pondered.

Minerva nodded. “He hardly enters the dorm now. I had the house elves check his trunk, and it only has last year’s supplies.”

“This is worrying.” Albus stroked his beard.

There was a hum of agreement. Potter wasn’t sleeping in the dorms. Of course, he wasn’t; he was too good for that. He was probably wandering off somewhere in the castle with a full bedroom just for himself.

“Severus, what has Voldemort been planning?” Albus asked.

Severus stifled a gasp as his mark burned. “We were ordered not to harm Potter now that he is free. There is another raid on October 15th that will be in a small village in Wales. I will be brewing potions the entire week before.”

“He is rather insistent that Potter not be harmed suddenly,” Albus muttered.

There was a dawning horror in Albus’s eyes. But he hid it well. Did he realise that Potter held a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul?

Or had he already known?

Was he only releasing now that the Dark Lord knew?

“Watch Harry carefully. Everyone. It is possible that whoever he’s seeing is connected to the dark. Start to watch where he goes. Make note of it. And, Severus, do not let your mission get in the way.” Albus’s eyes had that damned twinkle in them.

Albus knew that he knew.

His vow was being compromised by the man he looked up to the most. By the man who made him swear the vow. He tried to stay as calm as possible and hid beneath occlumency shields.

Albus would want Potter slaughtered one of these days.

__________

Tom and Riddle’s hands darted all over him. They lingered on his chest, his hips, and his waist. His body felt hot. The hesitance left him as he explored Riddle’s torso, his touches more wanting than the others. Tom, standing behind him, teasingly brushed just above his groin, but never went down. A groan escaped him, silenced by Riddle’s lips.

He fought back a yelp as a hand combed through his hair, catching on a small knot.

“Sorry, angel.” Riddle said in a hushed voice, peppering kisses against his jawline.

“I’m going to be late,” Harry complained. But he truly wanted to stay.

“Mmh, there are more exits to the chamber. You can stay a little longer.” Tom hummed.

“I have to clean up, thanks to you two.” Harry tried to sound angry but failed miserably.

“You have a point.” Riddle withdrew from him.

“Make sure you come back afterwards.” Tom lastly placed a playful bite on his neck before drawing away.

Harry hummed, longing for their touch again. But he needed to be somewhere.

They pulled out their wands and got him into a more reasonable state of dress. It was his first Slug Club meeting, and he wanted to look nice for it. It wasn’t dress robes, but it was more than his school robes.

“You look absolutely ravishing,” Tom said as he turned him around to face the mirror.

He did look nicer. His hair, while still wild, was more tamed than usual. His cream button-up was one of the ones Voldemort bought him, with long black slacks to go with it. Harry jumped when his vision was concealed by dark green fabric.

“I just think you look amazing in this.” Riddle purred as he slipped his sweater over his head.

Harry blushed. “Erm, yeah.”

“Let’s show you a shortcut.” He whispered in his ear.

“Okay,” Harry muttered a response, letting himself be taken by the hands.

They led him through the maze—he knew he would never figure it out—and into another series of wide pipes twice as big as them. They abruptly stopped and turned around to look at him.

“It’s up here.” They pointed to the completely vertical pipe.

“Firmus Nebula,” Harry repeated that familiar phrase.

A cloud formed beneath their feet and lifted them.

His boyfriends smiled at him. “Familiar spell. Did you see it in your dreams?” Riddle hummed as he twirled Harry around.

“No? I just kind of knew.” Harry shrugged. “Maybe the horcrux connection is more than just that. You siphon; who's to say I don’t siphon something else back?”

It had crossed his mind once or twice. But he never gave it much thought.

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Well, that can make a little sense.”

“You did learn wandless magic, oh so fast,” Riddle commented.

“And you did learn darker spells quite easily, for someone who's never practiced them.” Tom hummed, taking his turn to spin Harry.

“Though, we could have just flown you.” Tom pointed it out.

“You can fly?” Harry said incredulously.

“Yes, it’s Slytherin family magic. Passed down through generations. Though it wasn’t used often.” Riddle ruffled his hair.

“Is it because you’re scared of heights?” Harry teased.

Tom and Riddle stayed silent.

They arrived far too soon for Harry’s liking. They stepped out into a curve in a pipe that was flat at the bottom. Each gave him a lingering hug before sending him off, the stone in front of them shifting to let him free.

Harry found himself just a hallway away from the potion’s classroom. He followed Theodore Nott, dressed in a sea-green button-up, through another hall and to the meeting room.

Inside was a gothic-looking room, with pillars lining the walls and ornate carving in the ceilings. An oval table was made of dark, glossy wood, with long-backed chairs circling it. Everyone but him and Theodore were there, sitting awkwardly as floating instruments lightly played classical music.

“Ah! Everyone is here!” Professor Slughorn clapped his hands. “Do sit.”

Harry counted off the students he recognised as he passed. Blaise Zabini, Cormac McLaggen, Flora Carrow, and Hestia Carrow. The last two seats were flanking Hermione, which Harry filed into, sitting between her and Ginny. Theodore took the last space without so much as a second glance.

“Welcome! I started this club many years ago while I was a professor here. While you’re here, you will get personalised lessons—I know of a far larger range of subjects besides potions—as well as access to the forbidden sections of the library without a slip.”

An array of glasses appeared in front of them with some fruity drinks inside.

“As well as that, I implore you to make connections with your fellow students. Connections at this age can be vital later in life.” He stared at every one of them.

Making connections… Harry looked at the people around him. Instantly, he ruled out McLaggen. From then… he supposed Blaise wasn’t too bad of a person. He lingered around Theodore. The Carrow twins were the perfect image of a pureblooded woman, so they might not relate well.

But…

He told Tiberus about Theodore, and he could tell he wanted to know more. So, perhaps he could befriend Theodore through Blaise. It wouldn’t be too bad to be civil with the Carrows either. Their dad or mother (whoever they came from) were civil with him.

“Now, let’s go around getting to know each other.” Professor Slughorn shimmied a little. “I have been a professor for so many years, I taught your grandparents if they attended here.”

And Voldemort. But that would be a weird fun fact.

The next person to speak was Blaise. “I’m Blaise, and I’m in the top levels of Divination. My mother is also on her seventh husband.”

Theodore smiled.

“I’m Flora, this is my sister Hestia, and we’re at the top of our class in History of Magic. We live with our grandparents.” Harry tried his best to tell them apart and landed on their hair parts and eyeshadow being different.

“I’m Hestia. My twin is Flora. I’m second in my class for Herbology. I play the violin.” She spoke short and to the point.

McLaggen practically stared Hermione down as he introduced himself. “I’m Cormac; I’m second in Armithacy, and I enjoy spending my summers touring the world with my parents.”

What a gloat.

“Ginny, I have an excellent Bat-Bogey hex, and I have the fastest scores of chasers in Gryffindor. I’m the youngest of all my siblings and cousins.” Ginny waved.

It was Harry’s turn.

“Hello, I’m Harry,” This was so stupid. “I have the highest scores in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, and I don’t do anything with my family because they are all dead.” He tried to joke at the end.

Blaise snickered, though not maliciously. The Carrow twins fought back a smile. Theodore concealed his mouth with his hand. Meanwhile, Ginny and Hermione looked at him, horrified.

“Harry, your aunt, uncle, and cousin are just in Spain,” Hermione whispered, but the silence made everyone hear it.

“Oh, the dude who stole me said he’d kill them, so I thought they were dead.” Voldemort frequently told him how much he’d like to kill them.

“And you thought we were lying to you?” An exasperated Hermione sighed.

“Yeah.”

Harry cleared his throat. “And apparently I have a living aunt, uncle, and cousin. Yippee.” He said sarcastically.

Professor Slughorn gave him a worried expression.

Hermione followed. “I’m Hermione; I am first in Charms and overall in my year. My parents are dentists.”

“What’s a dentist?” Professor Slughorn asked with a confused face.

“They work on teeth. They get bitten a lot.” She shied away from the conversation. It didn’t feel good to be reminded of your muggle relatives in a room filled with purebloods. And Harry.

“Oh, I see.” Professor Slughorn summoned a quill and parchment and jotted down a note.

“I am Theodore. I have top scores in Astronomy. I live with my father.” He seemed a little off-put during the conversation.

Professor Slughorn nodded, surveying the room. “Excellent, all of you. Now, let us eat!”

He clapped his hands together. In front of each of them was silence, as a sundae in a wide, green-glass dish. Gold flakes graced the top, next to a large cherry.

“Blaise,” Harry called out after a bit of silence, as people chowed down on their food. “How does one get good at Divination? I can’t seem to grasp it properly.”

And with that, Harry began the chatting.

They started reserved but loosened up as the night continued. They were able to share stories, share laughs, and even empathise with one another. He found that he enjoyed it greatly.

He even got a crack of a smile out of the Carrows and Theodore. Their masks didn’t fall, but they did slip. There was a drive within Harry to continue to break them down until he could know the real them.

“Ah! I almost forgot to mention,” Professor Slughorn spoke after a lull in the conversation. “I always have a Yule party before the annual Winter Dance. It’s just a little gathering; you can bring a person,” Professor Slughorn caught Harry out of the corner of his eye. “Or two.”

Harry was glad he was already red from laughing so hard; otherwise, he’d be embarrassed.

“Is it formal, semi-formal, or casual?” Hermione asked, taking the last bite of her sundae.

“Hm, semi-formal. I don’t expect you all to own dress robes, but try to come in something other than your school robes.” Professor Slughorn advised.

Ginny ducked her head; she was the only one in her school robes.

There was a murmur of agreement.

“Now, does anyone have any questions?” Professor Slughorn dabbed a napkin at his mouth.

They all shook their heads.

“Alright, you can be free now. Study hard, but don’t forget to have fun!”

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands as he ushered them out. He breathed a sigh of relief. He could get back to his boyfriends now. But fate seemed to be against him, and Hermione yanked him back.

“What?” Harry snapped. They had left him wanting, and he just needed to get back.

“Don’t you look at me like that.” Hermione dragged him into an empty room.

“Sorry, sorry, okay.” Harry held up his hands. He wasn’t completely sorry.

Hermione put her hands on her hips. “Why are you not coming back to the dorms? You’re rarely around.”

A pang of guilt went through him. He didn’t mean to neglect his friends; he just thought they were a bit distant from him. He never thought he was contributing to the distance.

“I’m - I’m seeing them.” Harry finally admitted.

“Harry! You can’t just live your life in your boyfriends’ arms! You need to get out.” Hermione tugged on his arms. “Even your Quidditch team is suffering! Ginny has basically taken over your job.”

Another pang of guilt.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get out. Just not tonight. I’ll start tomorrow.” Harry promised her.

Hermione glared. “You better. If I find you running off again, so help me, I’ll put a leash on you.”

“Fine. I got it.” Harry fought back a roll of his eyes. Who was she to tell him what to do?

Hermione sighed. “Honestly, spending so much time with them, and I don’t even get to meet them!”

A lightbulb went off in her head.

“Wait, could you invite them to the party?” Hermione’s eyebrows raised.

“Well…” Ginny would be there, as would Professor Slughorn. “Maybe? They are quite… reclusive and don’t really like people.”

“Oh.” Hermione deflated a bit. “Okay. Well, maybe another time.”

Maybe.

Would they ever meet his boyfriends?

Tom and Riddle would find a way. They always did.

__________

Another meeting. Voldemort tilted his head as he gazed upon his inner circle. They had grown less tense than before, more adapted to his presence. It both infuriated and made him feel… someway. Like a weight was taken off of him.

He was impatient as Corbin, the last one, sat down. The man braced himself for the expected crucio, but Voldemort thought it wasn’t worth his energy. Potter must have been around his horcruxes over the night because Voldemort woke up with that repulsive feeling again. He was simply tired.

“Severus, report on the Order.” Voldemort spoke as he fought the urge to slouch in his chair.

Severus paused. “Of course, my Lord. The Order has made little to no progress on tracking down whoever Potter has been seeing. They have started to follow him. They see him take frequent trips to the Room of Requirement and the girl's bathroom on the third floor. When we asked the ghost in the bathroom, she was scared to talk about him and didn’t divulge what ruckus he participated in while in there.”

So they either didn’t know where the Chamber of Secrets was or they kept the information from Severus.

“Keep careful watch on this. Any information you acquire is to go through me first.” He needed to know if anyone knew about his horcruxes. Dumbledore would stop at nothing to destroy them.

And that would hurt Potter as well.

“Understood, my lord.” Severus bowed his head. “I have more information.”

“Speak.”

“The Order plans on forcing Potter to stay at the Order headquarters during the summer. They will take him while he is still on school grounds.” He ended.

“They plan on kidnapping him to avoid him being kidnapped.” Voldemort thought out loud. “Hm, Lucius?”

“Yes, my Lord?” Lucius answered nervously.

“Your son is working on his mission, correct?” Voldemort tapped his claws against the table.

“He is partially done. It is only the first month.” Lucius didn’t meet his eyes.

Voldemort hummed. “Inform him it will be finished before the end of the year. Should he succeed, Potter will be able to get to Malfoy Manor before the school year ends.”

“Understood, my Lord.” Lucius and Narcissa met each other’s eyes, emotions blaring.

__________

Unease ate at Harry. He stared down at the note in his hand.

‘Dear Harry,

Please come to my office at 6 PM today.

P.S. I enjoy strawberry twists

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’

Had he found out? Did he know about his boyfriends? Or was he going to try to break his silence spell and force him to spew out everything that happened? Would he do anything to him once he found out about the friendship between him and Voldemort? By proxy, his boyfriends?

It gnawed on his mind the entire day. Hermione and Ron noticed his unease and tried to ask him what was wrong, but he brushed it off. He could tell Hermione thought it was his boyfriends, and Ron either had general stress or exams.

“And he wants me to meet with him!” Harry exclaimed, shimmying around to be comfortable lying down in both of his boyfriends’ laps.

“Has he ever done anything before?” Riddle rubbed circles into his thigh.

“No, normally this is where he shows me a memory of you guys so I can see how evil you are.” Harry shrugged, leaning into Tom’s touch as he carded his hands through his hair.

“We are so evil.” Riddle hummed.

“The evilest!” Tom exclaimed.

Their hands crawled over his body, tickling him everywhere. He laughed, tumbling to the ground. They pounced on him and jabbed their fingers at his sides. Harry rolled around on the floor, trying desperately to get away from their prying hands. But they followed him no matter where he went.

“Evil!” He cried out.

“We are so evil,” Riddle repeated.

“Downright cruel.” Tom laughed, planting a quick kiss on Harry’s lips before attacking him again.

They chased him down the hall, through the pipes, and into the maze of tunnels, giggling into the evening.

__________

He stood outside Dumbledore’s office. There was a feeling of dread within him. He knew what to expect. But he was almost scared. Tom didn’t like him knowing about his past feelings; how would he react to other memories being revealed?

They seemed fine with him knowing, but how far did that extend? The last thing he wanted to do was upset either of them.

Well… they shouldn’t hold it against him. He wasn’t willingly watching it.

“Strawberry twists.” He called to the statue.

The statue slid aside and revealed a set of spiral stone stairs. He ascended the stairs, and with each passing step, a deeper pit in his stomach was dug. Swallowing his fears and doubts, he entered through the light wooden door.

The room was just as he remembered it. Knickkaces lined cream-coloured shelves along the walls, a one-step-tall platform that held Dumbledore’s desk and chairs, and columns from the ceiling.

“Ah, my boy, you are here.” Dumbledore waved him over, this time sitting at his desk.

“I am.” Harry nodded, taking the seat in front of the desk.

Dumbledore cleared his voice. “Today we’re going to do two things. First, we will view another memory of Tom Riddle. Then, we will talk about what happened this summer. Now, come, we have a memory to see.”

Harry followed him into the off-shoot room, where a pensive lay. He watched as Dumbledore scrolled through the shelves of memories, sometimes taking one out and then placing it back. But then he nodded to himself when he found the correct one.

“Today,” Dumbledore poured out the memory into the basin. “We will look at the memory of an older Tom Riddle. This was him when he arrived at a teaching interview. He would be twenty-five in his memory.”

They were plunged into another memory.

Dumbledore’s office hadn’t changed in the time that passed. Different items lined the walls, but most were still the same. Harry let his eyes wander to the desk, where a short-bearded Dumbledore sat with a twenty-five-year-old Tom Riddle approaching him.

And, fuck, was Tom Riddle hot!

He was more filled out, leaner, and bulkier at his wide shoulders. He was in a long black cloak with a deep green button-up and a black and grey striped vest; a silver tie ran down his chest. His black pants fit perfectly, hugging his muscular thighs and probably his ass as well.

His hair was styled back and pushed away from his face. His glamoured eyes shone brightly in the candlelight looked even more alluring. Harry bet they were red underneath the magic. A ghost of a smirk sat on his face; he had an intelligent look to him.

“Dumbledore,” He regarded Dumbledore, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other confidently. His satchel thumped to the floor; something sparkling peeked through the top.

“Tom Riddle.” Dumbledore nodded, folding his hands. “You’re here for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?”

“Yes, I am.” Tom leaned back in his chair.

Dumbledore sighed. “Why do you want this position, Tom?”

Tom had the slightest twitch. “To teach students, of course. As my scores show, I am quite knowledgeable on the subject.”

“You would like to influence future generations?” Dumbledore pressed.

Tom smiled brilliantly. “Yes, I would. I do have perfect records, and I performed well as Head-Boy.”

“You did, as I have heard.” Dumbledore sighed again. “What do you wish to teach the students?”

“To defend themselves. Many people would like to take advantage of them. They need to know how to prevent themselves from succumbing.” Tom tilted his head as he spoke.

“That sounds more offensive than defensive.” Pointed out Dumbledore.

Tom hummed. “Well, what is a defence if not offence? They are very similar.”

“I disagree.”

Tom twitched again.

“Tom, I will be honest. I am looking for an older person with more years of experience. You are quite young, and your only work experience is in retail in Knockturn Alley and personal research. While I know you have a vast knowledge of the Dark Arts, I would recommend starting smaller than here first. Maybe tutoring or working at a small institution?” Fawks cawed as Dumbledore spoke, landing on his desk.

Tom reached out a hand to the bird. “I believe Hogwarts has hired people with less experience. Professor Binns was only a little older than me when he took the position.”

Fawks lightly pecked his fingers. Dumbledore shook his head. “That was Headmaster Dippet. I will be running this school differently.”

Tom opened his mouth to speak again, but Dumbledore cut him off. “I believe we are done here, Tom.”

Tom twitched again. “I see. May I take a loop around the castle? This may be the last time I am here.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Try to make it quick. I will only be here for another hour while I do interviews.”

Tom stood up, shook his hand, and turned to leave. As he stalked off to the door, cloak flowing behind him, his smile fell from his face and his eyebrows lowered. A snarl sat on his handsome features as he shut the door behind him.

Harry was spat out of the memory.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I always knew Tom would turn dark. Ever since I met him in the orphanage. But this cemented my aversion to him. He wanted to influence children in his ways.”

“He was shopping for future Death Eaters,” Harry concluded.

He knew Tom Riddle wasn’t a good person. Sometimes, he even saw peeks of it through Tom and Riddle. It wasn’t a good idea to hire him, but he could tell it stung for him. And that hurt.

“Certainly. He cursed the position, and we haven’t been able to hold down a teacher ever since.” Dumbledore made a shaky motion with his head.

“Are there any other memories of this time in his life?” He was hot as hell, and Harry wanted to see even more of him.

“No, I’m afraid. That was the last time I saw him before he came back under the name Voldemort.”

Harry frowned.

“I may be able to get other people’s memories, however.”

“And for the other thing?” Harry wanted to get it over with. He felt the need to be with his boyfriends when he was reminded of their hotness.

“Ah, yes, sit.” Dumbledore led him back to his desk, where they sat down.

Dumbledore cleared his throat again. “Before the summer, I placed wards on your home that prevented wixen who wanted to hurt you from entering. But someone still took you. I know there is a spell on you, but can you confirm that? That you were taken by someone who did not want to hurt you?”

Voldemort didn’t want to hurt him?

Sure, he was fairly sure of it now, but back then? He didn’t want to hurt him. He knew that he was more indifferent when he arrived at the manor, but he also wanted to see him safe. The horcrux bit was just an additive.

“I don’t think he wanted to hurt me,” Harry admitted. There wasn’t much he could say, and he believed in the spell’s ability to keep him safe from revealing anything important.

“It seems like he did not.” Dumbledore rubbed his temples. “Can you say what he looked like?”

“No.” Harry’s mouth moved before he could process it. He put a hand up to his face in shock.

“Are you familiar with the name Ignis?” Dumbledore asked a new question.

Harry fought back against the quick response, failing. “I haven’t heard of that name.”

Dumbledore stared at him. “I will think of more questions to ask. By getting closer to what you can’t say, we get closer to the truth.”

Harry began to sweat. “Got it.”

Dumbledore seemed hesitant to speak the next words. “And Harry, is there anything happening? Your attack on Mr Malfoy was vicious, and I was considering suspending or expelling you.”

“He’s been at this since the first year. It just all built up.” Harry admitted. It was also because he wanted to try out his new spells.

“I would implore you not to attack Mr Malfoy. You are fortunate that Lady Malfoy did not want to press any charges, which is abnormal for her. You may be a minor, but the law still applies to you.” Dumbledore emphasized its importance to him.

“Fine, I’ll try not to.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“I believe you should be getting to bed.” Dumbledore shooed him off. “Have a good night.”

“Good night,” Harry called as he walked out.

As soon as the door shut, his face relaxed, and he sprinted back to the chamber.

“ - and you were so hot. Like really, really hot.” Harry smiled as they lay down next to his boyfriends.

“Aw, are you going to leave us for him?” Tom teased, but there was a tinge of worry in his voice.

“No, more like add him to my collection of Tom Riddles.” Harry smiled, kissing him on the cheek.

“You have grown your collection; what’s one more?” Riddle joked, snuggling into him.

“Exactly!” Harry laughed.

“What else happened?” Tom kissed him back on the cheek.

Harry shifted to better accommodate the two. “He talked about the wards, how they kept out wixen who wanted to hurt me. So Voldemort didn’t want to hurt me when he rescued me.”

Tom and Riddle glanced at each other.

“Say that again?” Tom asked.

“Voldemort didn’t want to - “

“No, no, the first part.” Riddle clarified for him.

“Oh,” Harry tried to shrug, but they weighed him down. “That the wards kept out all wixen who wanted to hurt me.”

Tom propped himself up by the elbows. “Harry, wixen.”

“What?” Harry raised a brow.

“Harry, angel, wixen. Not everyone, specifically wixen.” Riddle slowly wrapped him in a hug.

It took a few moments for the information to sink in.

“He knew,” Harry spoke softly. “He knew this entire time.”

Tom laid back down and stroked his hair.

“He knew,” Harry repeated, trying desperately to fight reality.

“Shh, shh, it’ll be okay.” Cooed Tom, kissing the top of his head.

Harry broke down crying. He pulled them closer to him, trying to disbelieve what he had said. But the dots connected perfectly. He knew, and he still sent him back to the Dursleys every year.

“It’s okay; we’ll make it okay.” Riddle hummed, snuggling into him.

Chapter Text

Harry shook with anticipation. It was time.

The egg shivered. Tom was at eye-level with the egg, watching intently as it moved. Harry used his wand to place a barrier around it. Tom glared at him.

“Dragon eggs are a bit explosive when they hatch. I don’t want you covered in its fluids.” Harry explained, holding the shield.

Tom huffed but stayed still. “Fine.”

Another shudder.

“Come on! We’ve been watching for an hour!” Tom cried impatiently.

"Patience, - it might - “

Splat. Tom yelped as afterbirth and mucus covered the shield. A yellow, white, and red mush of colours fell to the ground as Harry cancelled the spell. He was feeling rather ill, looking at it all, but he turned his eyes to the podium.

Covered in disgusting fluids, a small emerald-green snake with large wings and tiny legs lay curled up. Its snout was more pronounced, like that of a dragon, but its eyes sat like a snake’s. Its scales looked thicker, but in a snake-like pattern. Its wings extended from its front little arms and were big enough to cover most of its body. Small legs poked out as well, sharp talons at the ends.

It raised its head and looked Harry directly in the eyes. Harry shied away, burying his face into Riddle’s chest.

“Angel, it’s not going to kill you with its eyes. They can’t for parselmouths and you’ve bonded with it as well.” Riddle patted his head.

Harry raised his eyes. “But Tom said - “

“I was bluffing,” Tom spoke, embarrassed. “I was trying to get her to eat you more than anything.”

Harry glared. “Filthy liar.”

“Guilty.” Tom shrugged.

“Hello?” The hybrid hissed, staring directly at him.

“Hello!” Tom hissed back.

“Hi.” Harry kneeled down to the hybrid’s level.

“Master?” The hybrid stared up at Harry.

Riddle nodded. “He hatched you.”

“Rather small for a mighty beast as I. But perhaps the strength lies on the inside.” It wiggled, yawning, with large, pointed teeth jutting out. Two longer ones were the most noticeable, poking out on the sides of its mouth.

“I am not that small.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m just skinny.”

“Sure.”

“Right.”

Harry glared at them.

“Are you a girl basilisk-dragon or a boy basilisk-dragon?” Tom asked, trying to peek under its tail.

“I am a girl dragonisk.” She puffed out her chest. “And I can mate with either species or sub-species. Whenever we stumble upon either.”

“You’re very knowledgeable.” Harry tried to compliment her. She didn’t seem to like him that much.

“Of course I am. Basilisks pass down their knowledge through genetics. I know everything my mother before me knew up until I was laid.” She yawned again, standing on her legs with her arms connected to her wings.

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know what else to say.

“Someone, clean me off. Or else I will shake and splatter this all over you.” She readied herself to shake.

“No, no, no.” Harry waved his hand, vanishing the liquids off of her.

“Good, good. Now take me and let me explore. It's been ages, and I want to stretch my wings.” She tried to fly over to him, but her wings faltered.

Harry scrambled and caught her in his arms. She narrowed her eyes at him. Her wings and scales felt soft, unexpectedly.

“Carry me. It appears my wings have not hardened yet.” She flapped again.

“Okay,” He carried her in his arms, letting her curl up.

They all walked out to the centre of the chamber when an idea struck Harry. He smiled and passed her to Tom. He bustled with excitement as he held her.

“I’ll get my broom, that way she can fly without needing her wings.” Harry rushed out, sprinting to his trunk.

He came back quickly, panting. Tom reluctantly let her go and allowed Harry to take her. They cast a sticking spell on her feet to keep her on the broom, and Harry slowly took off.

Harry breezed around the chamber, not going too fast but letting her feel the air around her. She splayed out her wings and lifted her head, basking in the air.

“Perhaps you are redeemable.” She batted her wings as if she were flying.

Harry smiled. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Harry landed and scooped her up in his arms. She squeaked at him in displeasure but calmed down once he just tenderly petted her scales. His boyfriends followed him as he went into the chamber’s living space.

She commented on paintings and wallpaper as they went, talking about the things that had changed and the things that had stayed the exact same. Finally, they entered the bedroom.

“You could fit more of those things in the bed.” She pointed at the bed, then at Tom and Riddle.

“Those ‘things’ are my boyfriends.” Harry hissed back.

“They don’t smell like people. They do smell a little like Salazar.” She clawed her way to his shoulder, leaving light cuts in his skin.

“We’re horcruxes, mostly physical.” Riddle explained, reaching out and petting her.

“Horcruxes? What did the Slytherin blood come to?” She shook her head. “Evil.”

“In my defense, I was born out of opportunity.” Tom raised his hands in defense.

“I wasn’t; I have no excuse.” Riddle laughed.

Harry removed her claws from him and presented her to the serpent. The other snake tilted her head and stared at the dragonisk.

“Hello.” The serpent called, slithering onto her patch of moss on the surface.

“Hello, serpent. You look like a black onyx.” She reached her wing out and lightly tapped her on the head.

“You look like an emerald. Is that your name?” She asked, curling up.

“I do not have a name. But I like Emerald.” She tilted her head.

“And I like Onyx.”

Harry, Tom, and Riddle locked eyes. It looks like their naming problem has been solved by the two.

“This is my child, Topaz. He does not look like me, but that is okay.” Onyx waved her tail to Topaz, who was looped around a tall blade of sea grass.

“Very cute.” Emerald hopped onto the shelf next to her, pushing over a few books to give her some space.

The three watched as they exchanged pleasantries that devolved into conversation. They chose, instead of listening, to make another pillow fort in the lounge, next to the fire.

Harry’s face was as red as the flames as they all took off their shirts and cuddled up close.

__________

Time flew by on the wings of a bird. Before he could blink, it was the end of November. His days were often filled with classes, meetings with Hermione and Ron for studying, and spending his nights with his boyfriends.

It was then that he saw them.

There was always someone just out of the corner of his eye. Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and even Snape. Constantly. He was growing paranoid about them discovering his boyfriends. As such, his trips to them were more limited. The only bright side is that he spent longer down there when he was able to sneak down.

Hermione slid next to him in the library. She looked around, finding no one, and leaned in close to him.

“Are sure you can’t invite your boyfriends to the Slug Club party?” She whispered to him, shuffling her parchment to conceal the sound.

Harry bit his lip. “They said that they have it covered. I’m a bit hesitant, but I think they’re going.”

They had said they got it covered, and he needed to believe them.

“It’s next week. You better get ready. Do you have everything ready?” She whispered back, the scratching of a quill filling her head.

“I think.” Harry furrowed his brows. “I think I’m a bit overdressed, but I like that.”

“Ooo, they have you dressing nicer?” Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You do have a better wardrobe than you did last year.”

Harry breathed out, trying to stay steady. He had forgotten that detail. His eyes scanned the room. Ron was slowly walking over to them.

“Hey.” He said flatly.

He was now free of bandages, with only some light scarring. Hard to see unless you were up close, and the splatters blended in with his heavy freckles. At least his were pale; Hermione’s scars were dark and extremely visible.

Among that, his hair had grown back slightly. Not to the fullness it was, but long enough that he didn’t see the skin of his scalp anymore. For Hermione, it was a little above her shoulders and started to curl at the ends of it.

“Hey, how are you holding up?”

Harry asked, getting out another assignment to complete. He’d have Hermione look over this. Professors were starting to get suspicious of his recently well-done essays (looked over by his boyfriends), and he wanted them off of him.

“Just brilliant.” He replied sarcastically.

“Is something bothering you?” Harry blurred out.

He was rather cold of him as of late. He didn’t notice it until lately, thinking that Ron was just recovering, but now it was different. Like he brushed him off more.

“Where do you go?” Ron asked, glaring at him.

“What do you mean?” Harry tried to evade.

Ron narrowed his eyes further. “When you run away after meals and classes? When you don’t return to the dorm? When you appear out of thin air when there was only one entrance to the hall?”

Harry began to sweat. “Well . . . uh.”

Hermione looked at him and nodded encouragingly.

Harry wandlessly cast a silencing spell. No one else was supposed to know of his boyfriends, and he was hesitant to even tell Ron. But if he was going to get this mad over it, he was going to say something.

“Ron,” Harry whispered, even if he was under the spell. “I have two boyfriends that I’m seeing.”

Ron’s face twisted in disgust. “You shouldn’t be cheating, Harry.”

Harry waved his hands across his chest, “No, no, they know about each other and they’re fine. We’re fine.”

He cocked his head. “So… you’re seeing both of them? And that’s why you keep running off? So that you can see them? When did you meet them?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I met them somewhat recently, and we get along really well. I just - they don’t come here anymore, so I have to sneak off.”

“Where are you sneaking them in?” He inquired.

Harry had a feeling he wasn’t going to let up until he had all his answers.

“I - I’m sneaking them in in the Chamber of Secrets. They’re parseltongues as well, and that’s how I visit.” Harry hoped that that was enough information.

“Parseltongues?” Hermione whispered.

Her face turned white. “Harry, Harry, please tell me you are not dating Voldemort’s sons.”

Harry turned away from her. That was probably the easiest way to describe them.

“Harry!” Hermione slapped his arm with her book over and over again. ”You can’t just do that!”

“Why not?” Harry yanked the book from her grasp.

“Harry! They’re dangerous! That’s - Voldemort’s sons! How could you be thinking about that? Why were you thinking about romance while you were kidnapped? That’s Stockholm Syndrome at best!”

Harry blushed. “Well - they’re really nice. They’re so kind and they love me very much - “

“Mate,” Ron shook his head. “You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?” Harry demanded. He knew why, but he felt the need to defend his boyfriends.

“Why can’t you just take a can’t?” Hermione sighed. “They are - “

“You don’t know a damned thing about them!” Harry spoke lowly.

“They’re Voldemort’s - “

“I know!” His voice raised ever so slightly. “I know! They’re kind to me! They love me! They caring to me!”

“How do they treat other people, Harry? How do they?” Hermione demanded.

Harry stayed silent.

"Harry, - “

“I’m going.”

Harry shoved his items back into his black leather bag and stalked off. Hermione and Ron tried to follow him, but he cast a sticking charm on their shoes. Once he was at the end of the library, he could hear a shoeless Hermione stomping off towards him.

“No running in the library!” Madam Pince warned them, but Harry was already out.

“Open, open, open.” Harry hissed, trying to find another entrance through one of the pipes. If they opened through the chamber, they must have opened from the outside, right?

Harry turned a corner and saw a wall opening up. He dodged into a sprint and hopped into it, almost toppling down the hole that dropped off with no visible bottom.

“Close, close, close!” Hermoine’s footsteps were growing closer.

Just as he heard her rounding the corner, the last grey brick snapped back into place. He allowed himself a breath of relief. He could hear Hermione yelling for him, pacing around, and cursing.

“Firmus Nebula.” He whispered as soundlessly as he could.

The cloud appeared, darker than normal, and Harry placed a shaking step onto it. It held, and Harry slowly levitated himself down the pipe. He constantly forgot how far down it was, and it took him a few minutes to get all the way down.

“Tom?” Harry called out as he reached the bottom. “Riddle?”

Nothing.

“Emerald? Onyx?”

Nothing.

Harry groaned as he placed his hand on the rightmost wall. Looks like he would be finding his way back on his own.

__________

A smug look was on Harry’s face as he passed Snape to join the group going to Hogsmeade. This would be the first year he went with a permission slip.

They waited as carriages, thestrals pulling them, to arrive. Waiting with him were Hermione and Ron, who were yet again a bit distant.

“Needing to buy anything, Harry?” Hermione asked with a wink.

“Um, a few things. You guys go on without me, and I’ll catch up eventually.” Harry waved them off, trying to contain his smile.

“Are you sure?” Ron asked.

His tone was odd. Like he was asking a more important question than it was.

“Yeah?” Harry answered, confused.

Ron turned his head and hmphed. Harry shrugged him off and reached his hand into his satchel. He patted the ring and the diary with a smile on his face, knowing they were safe.

They loaded into the carriages, and before long, they were landing in Hogsmeade.

Hermione and Ron waved him off as they walked to the Three Broomsticks. He smiled up to the sky, watch hung as the light flakes of snow slowly defended upon the town.

Harry ran as fast as he could. He needed to find something, a shady alleyway. Behind a shop, somewhere. Luck would find him, and he smushed himself into a little gap between two buildings.

“You can come out, be careful.” He hissed in a whisper.

Smoke and ink flooded out of his satchel, appearing in front of him. Harry was pressed against Riddle, barely enough room to breathe.

“Let us depart, yes?” Riddle laced their hands. “You’ve said that Hogsmeade has changed a lot since our time, let’s see it.”

“Y-Yeah. Harry blushed.

They’d never been out in public before. The fact made him tense, excited, and feeling like he was about to throw up.

Both of them threw on, with difficulty, cloaks that concealed their faces. The ones they used with Voldemort when they went to torture Umbridge.

Ah, good memories. He might get a patronus out of it.

They laced hands and sauntered out of there. The air felt crisp in his lungs and there was the faintest of winds. It felt right.

“Let’s stop by Honey Dukes first.” Harry took them both by the hand and dragged them over to the shop.

The bell chimed as they entered the shop. Harry showed them all the sweets he enjoyed, and they pointed out their own. He was surprised that they enjoyed strawberry-cream stuffed puffs, but not all of their tastes could be bland.

Harry was freely blowing through his money as he paid for countless sweets for them. He was just glad he was able to know more about them. Sure, he knew about their murders and emotional turmoil, but their favourite sweets? Nothing!

They each gathered their bags with wide smiles on their faces.

“Let’s shop around. There are a ton of stores that I want to hit!”

Harry bounced with happiness as they toured through the shops. He practically showered them with gifts.

“Look at this!” Riddle pressed his hands against the glass. “A chess set, but they are dragons instead of people.”

Harry bought it before Riddle could even protest.

“Harry! You don’t have to do this.” Tom insisted as they exited the another store with two bags in hand.

“No, no, I insist - is that a stationery shop?” Harry averted their attention.

“Stationery?” Tom and Riddle spoke in unison.

Harry smiled. Attention averted.

They scoured the store for anything their hearts desired. There was a rainbow of colours, along with more monotone sets of items. Excitement brewed in Harry’s veins as he watched them explore.

“Ooooo.” Tom picked up a set of transparent charmed-sticky notes. “Convenient.”

Harry added it to the basket.

“Have you two ever taken up journaling? Or scrap-journaling? Scrap-booking? I feel like you would like it.” Harry asked the two, picking up a pile of scrapbook paper.

Riddle scrunched his nose. “That’s for old ladies.”

“I mean, you are old, you meet 50% of the requirements.” Harry pointed out.

Riddle elbowed him in the ribs. “Maybe we can try it.”

That caused another sweep of the store. They piled in different prints of paper, sticky notes, and other little items. He was a bit disappointed that they didn’t sell stickers or colourful tape, but they’d take a trip to the muggle world for that.

It was cheaper than the muggle world, though still a bit pricy.

“I liked that.” Tom hummed as they left the store.

“Yeah, it was nice.” Riddle agreed, lacing his and Harry’s hands.

Harry shivered in the cold. “We need to get scarves. It’s cold.”

“We could just use a heating ch . . . " Riddle began, but Tom shushed him.

They swung by a clothing shop to grab a few scarves. Harry needed another Gryffindor one, while Tom and Riddle opted for Slytherin scarves. They were much warmer after that, even more so after Harry tucked their laced hands in his robe pockets.

“What else to do?” Harry pondered.

“We could just walk around.” Riddle offered, staring off into the twist of stores.

They agreed and wandered around the town. They’d stop into a few shops, and Harry would buy a thing or two for them. Bags were weighing heavily on them, and Harry finally found a shop that sold featherlight, nearly bottomless bags.

“I like this one.” Tom held up a black one with gold trim.

“This one is better. “ Riddle offered a dark green one, silver trim.

Harry bought both of them.

Excitement was pumping in his veins as they entered a jewellery shop. This was the place he secondly wanted to visit.

All the walls were grayish-white, with glass cases littering the room. Beachwood shelves lined two walls and displayed everything from laurels to ankle bracelets. Everything was so shiny it made his brain hurt to focus on anything.

His boyfriends found themselves gravitating toward the bracelets. Most of them were flashy, having diamonds and gemstones over the entirety of them, but there were a few that weren’t as in-your-face.

Tom and Riddle’s eyes lingered on three particular bracelets.

The first had obsidian beads with a leather cord tying them all together. Tiny runes were engraved on every other bead. He didn’t recongise all of them, but he recognised some for protection.

The second was a bangle like Harry's, but it was made from a type of black marble. Again, small runes were inscribed on the outside of it. Harry knew most of them - one for protection and one for poison detection.

The third was a thick leather strap with emeralds on the edges. There was nothing written, but a note at the bottom said it could be engraved.

“What do you like?” Harry asked as they looked.

“Well, we are partial to all of them; no, don’t buy them all.” Riddle held out his hand.

“Choose, then.” Harry shrugged.

Tom and Riddle hummed as they glanced at them. From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see a shopkeeper coming towards them. He mentally prepared himself for whatever conversation would happen.

“Hello, are you three looking for something specific?” She asked, parking herself on the other side of the case.

“We’re looking at these three.” Harry pointed to each of them, “Could you tell us more about them?”

“Of course. The beaded bracelet has protection spells, love potion detection, and poison detection; the beads will turn blue, red, and yellow accordingly if it catches one of them. The bangle has protection and poison detection. It will change to a white marble when a rune is activated. The strap has basic charms for the item, but is meant to be customised.” She pointed to each bracelet as she spoke.

Tom and Riddle looked at each other, contemplating.

“Do you have more than one of each?” Harry asked. He didn’t want them to fight or have to settle if they both liked the same one.

“We have seven of the first, five of the second, and eight of the third.” She smiled at them.

Tom spoke up first. “We’d like three of the beaded if that’s okay?” He looked back at Harry.

“Of course it is!” Harry exclaimed, a bit offended.

The woman nodded, “I will get those three ready for you.”

She disappeared past a door in the back. Tom and Riddle laced their hands with Harry’s and lightly swung them as they walked to the register. The three of them stood as she brought out the bracelets.

The beads were cold to the touch as they wrapped around their wrists. He smiled as he felt a wash of protective magic over him. It wasn’t near as much as when Voldemort gave him the jade bangle, but it still felt relieving.

They walked out, hand in hand, through the town. On and on they went, stopping through shops to warm up, until they eventually came to a more secluded spot that oversaw the Shrieking Shack.

“This is quite an enjoyable place.” Tom hummed as he leaned on the fence that oversaw the shack. “Sure, in our time, it was a more… refined place.”

Riddle snorted. “If you count refined as the resident make-out and shag central,”

Harry laughed. “Shame it’s so run-down, then?”

Tom and Riddle’s cheeks darkened.

Another giggle escaped Harry.

Riddle grabbed Harry and twirled him around. Just as Harry thought he was done spinning, Tom took over and twirled him as well. They stood there afterwards, just enjoying the cold and the sound of the wind blowing through the snowy landscape.

A streak of mischief ran through Harry as he laid eyes on Riddle. There was hardly time to react when Harry tackled him into the snow. Riddle let out a breath and stared at him questingly.

“Snow angles,” Harry explained.

“Fine.” Riddle smiled as he pushed him off. “Tom, get in here too, I’m not being alone in this.”

“It's bold to assume I wasn’t going to join anyway,” Tom replied as he hopped in next to Harry.

Tom and Riddle awkwardly moved their arms and legs, lifting their heads constantly to check if they were doing it right.

“Have you guys made snow angels before?” Harry asked as he shifted around.

“No.”

“No.”

“Well, I’ve only done it once. I got yelled at for messing up the snow in the yard.” Harry said with a laugh. Tom and Riddle passed a look.

They lay there for a few minutes, watching the snow fall as the claws of winter ripped the warmth from them. Harry sighed, taking it all in.

“Hey,” Harry called, “Do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks?”

His boyfriends looked at each other. “Are you sure? You’re not in disguise.”

“Yet.” Harry pointed out. “Are either of you strong enough to apply glamours? I can do it myself, but you two are magical gods.”

They laughed and ruffled his hair. “We can guide you through it. Glamours are draining, and we’d hate to disappear mid-butterbeer.”

“Okay.”

They slowly coaxed him through changing his appearance. His hair was longer and more tame, his eyes were now dark brown, and his scar was covered. He ditched the glasses, using a temporary eye-enhancing spell. Honestly, he should have asked Voldemort to help him fix his eyesight, but that was for next summer.

Or, more importantly, start off the day with glamours on.

Thinking wasn’t Harry’s strong suit. And his boyfriends were probably too excited to think too. Or being around him just made them dumber.

A grin stretched across Harry’s face as he walked into the Three Broomsticks. He was literally bouncing as he asked for a booth for three. The waitress seated them, with Tom and Riddle flanking either side rather than sitting apart from him. He hummed as their legs touched, warming him from the cold.

“Three butterbeers, anything else you two?” Harry proclaimed.

“No.”

“No.”

The waitress nodded to them, writing on a scrap of parchment. “Those will be out in a minute.”

Tom and Riddle’s hands found themselves resting on Harry’s thighs. He blushed but countered by sliding his hands to their upper, inner thighs. They shivered a bit but relaxed after a few circle-rubs with his thumbs.

“Such a tease,” Tom muttered under his breath.

“Teasing us like that, so crude.” Riddle rested his elbow on the table and covered his mouth.

“Revenge.” Harry simply stated, smirking.

The butterbeers arrived at the table. The liquid flowed down Harry’s throat, giving him a small smile on his face. His boyfriends had similar smiles on their faces, and he could see the memories pass over their eyes.

There was a bit of lowness from Voldemort’s side of the connection, but he ignored it. He was in too good of a mood to be irritated. At least there wasn’t to much pain with it. Harry hummed, drinking more to quell his headache.

What could he do to help stop them?

A smirk appeared on his face.

They sipped on their butterbeers and even got another round of them. The rest of the visit was spent people-watching, with low comments in parseltongue about them. Gossip, mostly.

Harry was sad to leave, but the butterflies in his stomach satisfied him until he could run down to the chamber.

Chapter Text

Severus strolled down the hall in Riddle Manor. It wasn’t quite a Death Eater meeting—not an official one—but all of the inner circle was gathering to go over a large, stealthy raid in London. It was difficult, and the deaths were to be under a dozen to keep suspicions low.

The Dark Lord allowed him into the family wing to go over plans. It was odd; he expected a more dreary place, but it was rather classy instead. The Dark Lord had great taste in decor, if a little barren.

“Sevy!” Barty swung an arm around his shoulders.

“Off, Barty.” Severus gently pushed him off.

“Sour man. Anyway, Tibby, let’s go over everything. Bells, Dolphy, Ras, Ally, Amy, and Lucy, it’s crunch time. Lucy, tell Cissy that she needs to attend the next meeting; we’ll go over the other group during that.” Barty pulled Severus’ arm and rushed to the large table where a map was.

They sighed, gathering around the parchment. Tiberius traced the markings on it with a quill as he explained the different waves of attack and how each group would maneuver through the apartments.

“ - and Lucius, this is important; you have to hold off the Aurors there. You will be backed into a corner, and you need to stand your ground until we arrive.” Tiberius stabbed a quill in Lucius' direction.

"Yes, ittle blondie, don’t piss yourself if you get too scared.” Bellatrix cackled, holding her stomach.

“Who told you?” Lucius demanded, with redness on his face.

“The twins,” Bellatrix smiled at Amycus and Alecto Carrow.

“You pissed yourself? Why?” Severus inquired, the ghost of a smile on his face.

Tiberius laughed, his voice rough. “We were sitting in the lounge when Harry walked in with Nagini and the two spirits. He asked us if there was anyone Nagini was allowed to eat. They spoke in parseltongue, and Nagini lunged at Lucius. I assume Lucius was scared because he urinated on himself.”

Severus’s mind broke.

“Harry Potter… lived here?”

He just assumed the Dark Lord had him under some form of sedation or imprisonment. He never considered that he would allow Potter to roam around his family wing. With the inner circle as well.

“Yeah,” Barty shrugged. “Had a few encounters, he gave me some muggle books to read. Sevy, they are significantly worse than we thought. I would never stand in the same room as some of them.”

Tiberius nodded. “Harry told me as well. We had heir training as well with him and the spirits. He didn’t know a thing about heirships or courtships.”

“We didn’t really interact with him.” The sets of twins said in unison.

“The ittle brat hit me with a shovel.” Bellatrix seethed.

Rodolphus patted her on the back. “Multiple times.”

Severus’s brain was even more wracked.

“What do you mean, spirits?” An awful weight sat in his stomach.

Tiberius sighed. “They are a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul. One was chipped off when he was sixteen, another when he was seventeen. They are very close to Harry, and act as some sort of guard when they’re not teaching him to dance or training him.”

Soul pieces.

Potter was interacting with the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. And the horcruxes were influencing him.

He sighed. He’d just keep it under wraps until he could find a way to explain it to Dumbledore. If anything, he could play the fool and say that he was trying to figure out what they were.

“They’re close to him?” Severus needed to probe for more information.

Tiberius nodded. “Like he said. They are very physically affectionate with him and treat him very gently. I daresay they were his guardian angels, if I didn’t know. Our Lord was not like that when we were younger. They are completely different.”

It only barely reassured Severus.

“Yeah, “ Barty interjected. “I don’t think they have it in them to hurt him. Which isn’t very Dark Lord of them. Though I can’t say it extends to others. I’ve seen them hurt Bellatrix before when they managed to get away from Potter once.”

Bellatrix nodded, biting her lip in frustration. “I taunted Potter, and they wanted revenge.”

Again, his tension rose.

Was it a play? An act of manipulation to keep them close to Potter until they could strike? Or was it genuine affection? Both horrified him, the latter more so. He allowed himself a shiver, concealing it by shuffling in his chair.

Severus was completely numb as they refreshed the plans. He had to tell Dumbledore. But what all should he tell? A headache splintered through his mind. He just needed to pick a damned side.

The side that wanted to kill Potter or the side that didn’t.

This was bad.

This was very bad.

__________

A sigh sat deep in Voldemort’s lungs as he ate at his dinner table. Without anyone. Once annoyed by their presence, it was replaced with a tingle of warmth. Now that they were gone, he felt the cold claws of feelings seeping into his bones. Something within him ached at the loss. Something he thought he left behind in the orphanage. Even the loss of his horcruxes ached, much less than Potter.

He hated the hole that hurt within him when he thought about him. He was so bright, a little sliver of warmth in his desolate tundra of a world. But he didn’t even have the strength within him to throw a fit about it. It was like he was drifting off into the sea without any land in sight.

Voldemort sighed, dropping his knife and fork. He had lost his appetite.

He replaced his glamours and strolled to his office. But on his way there, he saw a white owl trying to peck out the windows, keeping pace with his walking. His legs moved on their own accord, opening the garden door to let the owl inside.

Its white wings were covered in frost, and as he brushed away the ice and snow, it revealed black spots. It was then that he recognised it as Potter’s owl. He took the owl in his arms and continued to his office.

He let her perch on one of the spare perches he had for his eagles. Untying the small red package from her ankles, he sat it on his desk. There was a golden ribbon tied around it with a big bow in the centre.

The ribbon fell away, and he flipped over the top. Inside was a brown package with a note on top of it. He slit open the lion-stamped seal and read.

‘Dearest Nemesis,’

Voldemort smirked.

‘It has come to my attention that you have been irritated and low, lately. As the person who is most affected by your bad moods, I will do whatever I can (within reason) to circumvent them. Inside, you will find three dozen biscuits and other small treats. You will also find sheets that are called “Wheel of Emotions”. I think it will help you stop being so constipated and confused about your inner workings.

Feel free to owl me when you run out. I’m not sure how frequently we can do this, but every once in a while shouldn’t hurt.

Farewell,

Your Detested’

The smile grew on Voldemort’s face as he read the letter. He ripped open the package and saw biscuits, eclairs, scones, and a variety of other pastries. Warmth flooded over him as he took a bite out of a biscuit.

There, he promised himself he’d only take one item a day to ration his supply.

Starting tomorrow.

__________

Warmth enveloped Harry as they laid down to cuddle. They had built another pillow fort and laid down next to each other. With a quick kiss each, they settled into their usual positions, gripping him less tightly and allowing them to melt together rather than fit like puzzle pieces.

The soft sounds of instrumental music flittered through the air. Calmness filled his every sense, and he began to relax from the stressful testing day. There was an older air to it; their newer cuddles seemed to be charged with an odd tension, but this reminded him of their beginning days.

Something soft, simple, and sweet.

Tender circles rubbed onto his shoulder and hip, calming him even further. He let out a breath of relief and felt himself slipping into sleep, despite not being that tired.

And in the corner of his mind, there was a tremor of pure happiness from Voldemort’s side of their connection.

__________

Harry Potter: Mysterious Connections?

‘Dear readers,

Yesterday evening, at Hogsmeade, Harry Potter was spotted with two mysterious figures. As the picture depicts, they were wearing long black cloaks with enchantments that consealed their faces. The two are tall, pale men who accompanied Harry Potter the entire time he was in Hogsmeade.

It is noted that Harry Potter has never been seen with these figures before. The recent development is suspicious as it is nearing Yule Break, where the likelihood of him leaving is high.

The shop attendants that chose to speak with the Daily Prophet told us that they bought “Normal, everyday things. [Harry] Potter bought everything for them, mostly in sets of two.” It appears that the treatment of the two people are equal to Harry Potter.

Is this another dark connection? Are these two figures Death Eaters in disguise? Hence the hidden identity? Or are these two less nefarious? Someone that Harry Potter has trusted and is now revealing to the public? Is this a strategic ploy to force attention on him again?

There are many questions that need to be answered.

Follow more at the Daily Prophet, for stories every day for the everyday person.

Rita Skeeter

Head of the Daily Prophet Press Department

December 2nd

__________

All eyes were intruding on him as he strolled down the packed hallways. They turned and chatted with malicious intent behind closeted glances. Harry glowered, his mood dampened already by their hostility.

Even more glares followed him when he entered the sweet aroma of the Great Hall. He ignored them, holding his head high as he seated himself at the Gryffindor table. Hermione glanced at him with pity on her face and slid him the Daily Prophet.

Rage built up inside of him as he read the article. How dare they slander his boyfriends. He gritted his teeth and tried to consume his breakfast. He barely got any food in before Hedwig dropped off a letter for him. She bit at his fingers as he tried to take off the letter, only being distracted when he threw her a piece of bacon.

‘Dear Harry,

Please meet me in my office after classes today.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I enjoy liquorice swirls’

He wanted to snarl at the letter. His day was just getting worse and worse. He banged his head on the table and stayed down. Hermione patted his back, but he still rested.

The side-eyes followed him throughout the day. Even professors were looking at him skeptically, which infuriated him even more. He didn’t even do anything wrong. He dared to hang out with someone nobody knew. That was his crime.

The steps up to Dumbledore’s office never felt so long. Harry knocked at the door aggressively. The door opened, and Dumbledore waved him in, still sitting at his desk. Harry walked in and sat down across from him, his nails digging into his palms.

“Harry, I have a few questions before we go into another memory of Tom Riddle.”

Dumbledore sat with the Daily Prophet in front of him.

“Who are these people?” He asked, pointing at the picture.

Thin trails of blood flowed on his fingers where his nails dug in.

“That’s none of your business.” Harry growled.

“My boy, I only wish to keep you safe - “

“Oh, like in the Triwizard Tournament? Or with any of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers? Or with the wards around the Dursley’s house that let in - “Harry’s mouth was forced closed.

Dumbledore sighed. “Harry, we are trying to protect you. You have nearly been caught in many other plots that we have been stopped.”

Harry teeth could have been shattered by how hard he was crunching down. “Then tell me.”

“We’re trying to protect you; the more you know - “

“The worse danger I’m in. Yeah. I get it. But has that stopped anyone from trying to murder or capture me? No.” Harry shook his head. It didn’t matter that Dumbledore was unaware that Voldemort wanted to keep him alive.

Dumbledore’s mouth was in a thin line. “I believe we are done here, Harry. We will be moving on to the memory now.”

Still stewing in his annoyance, Harry followed him to the pensive room.

“This memory would be from a magical citizen from when they were young and witnessed this atrocity. This is Voldemort attacking a woman for information.” Dumbledore scrolled through his memories and picked up a short, silvery vial.

Harry sank into the memory.

The sound of distant explosions met his ears. He covered them, only barely muffling the sound. The house around him was dilapidated; like it was a second from falling apart. Harry stepped over a chunk of wall to see around.

“Now, now, we don’t have to do this.” Tom Riddle’s voice was rough, like he was one breath away from coughing his lungs out.

“Fuck off, you sociopath!” A woman screamed.

“Oh, no, no, this will simply not do.” Tom stalked around her.

“I don’t - “

“Crucio.” Tom cast the spell flatly, sighing as her screams ripped through the air.

Harry stumbled over more wreckage to fully see him. A child hid in the corner, peeking out from the rubble. And by the door was a woman he was attacking. She was young, in her mid-twenties, while Tom was a little older, in his early thirties. And, fuck, was he still hot.

The fact that he was covered in blood added to the appeal.

“Will you yield?” Tom asked, boredom seeping into his tone. His breath heaved ever so slightly.

“I already told you, I don’t know anything . . ." She cowered as a spell hit her, crying out in pain.

“I do not believe you. You must know something.” Tom raised his wand, about to cast another spell.

“F-Fine!” She raised her hands into the air, “I’ll - I’ll yield! She’s in muggle London, hiding in a hotel by Diagon.”

Tom hummed, a smirk on his face. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

She scrambled to the collapsed hallway. But Tom cast another spell that blocked her, sending an electric shock through her body. She spasmed on the floor, looking up at Tom with tears streaming down her face.

“Let me go.” She cried pitifully.

Tom tilted his head.

“Avada Kedavera.” He simply stated.

A bright green light later, she was on the floor, tear-filled eyes staring at the ceiling without another thought. Tom waltzed over to her and checked over her body. He pulled out a magical coin pouch and a wand, pocketing both. The child in the corner scrambled to not be seen as he passed.

Harry was spat out of the memory.

“Amber was a kind woman who was at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Dumbledore sighed. “The woman he was searching for was the leader of the Muggleborn Representation Department at the time, a section in Wizengamont that has since been dissolved as tensions have lessened.”

A coldness covered Harry.

You knew he was a bad person.

Harry bit back a retort. He wanted to defend Tom—no, he was concretely Voldemort at this time. He wanted to defend Voldemort, but there was nothing to defend. He was in the wrong, hunting down a person who had sinned by merely representing muggleborns.

“I see,” Was all he could muster.

“You see now why you need to kill Voldemort. If he did it once, he will do it again.” Dumbledore sighed as he looked over the rows upon rows of bottled memories.

Change is possible.

“Now, you can see why you need to be the one to kill him.” Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know it is a large task, but we will help you every step of the way.”

He wanted to protest again. Wanted to tell him that Voldemort could change, that he has moved his positions since he’s talked to him. But Dumbledore’s mind was cemented. He thought Voldemort was evil as a small child, and he’ll continue to think that he’s a force of pure evil for the rest of his life.

Especially after all of the acts of horror he has committed.

“I know.” And he did. Harry knew they’d stop at nothing to help him kill Voldemort.

And for that matter, his horcruxes as well.

Himself included.

“Think on that, Harry. We are here for you.” Dumbledore patted him again.

Harry left the office feeling numb. His thoughts were on repeat like a record. He needed… someone. Tom and Riddle would bring up the memories of Voldemort, while Hermione and Ron would make him think of his duties as the-boy-who-needs-to-murder-Voldemort.

A small smile was on his face.

Hopefully, Luna would be in the room of requirements again.

__________

Severus hated Order meetings.

Today, they were arguing on the scene in the Daily Prophet. Though he knows he should be more concerned about it, he couldn’t bring himself to care. If they were in dark robes and disguised, they were Death Eaters. And the Death Eaters would not harm him. But their friendliness was something odd.

Perhaps one of the sets of twins was sent to watch over Potter? They did look similar to each other. They must be twins, or maybe brothers?

Severus shook his head. He was thinking too much. Potter was safe with them, and that’s all he wanted to know.

What was weighing on his mind were the two horcruxes. He tried not to pry, but he knew they were physical -

The two people flanking him were the horcruxes.

A swirl of unease ate at his stomach. Potter knew they were the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. He knew what they were. Yet he still decided to be with them. He certainly looked like he was there willingly.

As the others had said, they were courteous and kind to him. Did he think he was an outlier, or did he think they were truly capable of change?

His brain hurt. Too many questions and not enough answers for him. He needed answer, now.

“Severus, anything else to report on with Voldemort?” Albus asked him.

Severus winced as fire engulfed his forearm.

“Yes.” He would tell a little bit of the truth. “Apparently, Potter was in the family wing with the rest of the inner circle while he was captured by the Dark Lord. He had numerous occasions of contact with them while he was there.”

“What?” Alastor snarled. “Bullshit. They would have ripped him to shreds.”

“He wouldn’t have dared!”

“You-Know-Who wouldn’t have allowed that!”

Severus felt indignant at their disbelief. “Tiberius had the most contact, and he’s the sanest of the inner circle. He said he gave him heir-training. The Dark Lord also apparently gave him lessons.”

He’d just omit the details about the sentient horcruxes.

“This won’t do.” Dumbledore shook his head. “Those were Death Eaters he was with. I would not doubt if they were there to train or pass on information. We need to watch closely before they get their claws into him.”

“If they haven’t already,” Alastor muttered.

“Harry wouldn’t do such a thing!” Molly defended the boy.

Severus snarled. “He was there for an entire month. We don’t know how easily he’d crack under long-term pressure.”

But was that such a bad thing?

If Potter defected, then that would mean that he wouldn’t have to fight for both sides. Potter would just passively watch as their world was conquered by the Dark Lord. And he’d be safe, not breaking Severus’ vow to him.

Severus sighed.

So many questions.

Not enough answers.

__________

A bubble popped on Harry’s potion as he turned the heat to a rolling boil. He hummed to himself in the empty classroom. Well, empty except for Professor Slughorn.

“ - and it is hard, sometimes, to hide those who you love the most.” Professor Slughorn sighed, scooping some beetles into his cauldron.

“It’s sucks. I can’t be open about them, and it would be worse if I was.” Harry groaned.

He had gotten to disclose more and more of his relationship with Professor Slughorn. The man was just so easy to trust and to pour his thoughts and feelings into. And he gave good advice, too.

“Are you sure about that?” Professor Slughorn pressed again.

Harry shook his head. “Yeah. They’re a bit… controversial.”

That was not to say it lightly. How would their world react to him dating the horcruxes of Voldemort? They’d label him a terrorist. Say he’s gone dark and that he should be lynched or something like that.

“That happens when you date someone in the dark. Just remember to be safe. From what you’ve said, I have no need to doubt them, but always be careful. Graveyards are filled with people who thought their partner would never do such a thing.” Professor Slughorn sighed, staring listlessly into his cauldron.

His tone made Harry think he spoke from experience.

“I know, I know. But they are very sweet. We’ve only had one big fight, and that was entirely on me.” He still got a bit shaken up when he thought about it. It was an awful week for the both of them.

“Forgive my memory, but was that One or Two?” Professor Slughorn looked up at Harry’s cauldron and gave him a thumbs-up on his potion.

That was their code. Tom was One, Riddle was Two. It was their way of communicating that had it, so Harry kept their names a secret. Professor Slughorn, of all people, would know who Tom and Riddle were.

“One,” Harry stirred his potion. “He’s more guarded about the diary I gave him. Can’t blame him. Two is as well, but he hides it better.”

Professor Slughorn nodded. “Yes, yes, it will take time to restore all trust. And maybe they will be guarded. It is something you’ll have to learn to live with.”

“I know.” Harry shook his head. “Doesn’t stop me from feeling like shit.”

“Language, Mr Potter.” Professor Slughorn chastised him, but his tone wasn’t serious. “Perhaps you can try to desensitize yourself to it or give yourself reminders that all is fine when you see them. Or overall, avoid the areas where their diaries are located.”

“That’s a good idea.” He’d try all three. “Say, if I added a mermaid scale, sliced, to this, couldn’t I make it 1.5 times as effective?”

Professor Slughorn looked at his notes. “Yes, but it needs to be sliced thin enough. It’s an upper-level potion, and you’d need to add more mint and lichen. I’ll watch your potion while you check the excess supply; I prefer not to dig into the class supply.”

Harry rummaged through the potion’s closet. A small smile tinged his face as he did so. He’d never been caught dead here last year, yet he’d been here over and over again this year. He bet that he’d be there more next year, especially to study.

“We have about, hm, two handfuls of lichen and three of mint.” Harry may have been making potions for a while, but he still didn’t know how to measure ingredients.

“Hm, you can make the potion if you promise to help me harvest more ingredients." Professor Slughorn thought for a moment. “Take half a handful of both for safe measures.”

Harry came back with his hands filled with mint and lichen.

“Pardon my terrible memory, but will your boyfriends be attending the Slug Club party? And if I may, the annual Winter Dance?” He asked, passing him a clean knife.

Harry bit his cheeks. “They said they’d have it covered so they could attend at least the Slug Club. They were discussing how we’d do the Winter Dance, and if we can’t figure something out, I may just eat and leave early to spend more time with them.”

Professor Slughorn chuckled. “Do as you wish. The heart wants what the heart wants.”

The heart wants.

And Harry wanted him and his boyfriends to be able to walk around in public without fear or judgment.

The heart will want.

But the heart will not receive.

Chapter Text

Voldemort was agitated. He stared down at the Daily Prophet, his blood boiling in his veins.

Why were they so public?

He saw them holding hands, Potter laughing, as they walked down the streets of Hogsmeade. Carefree. Loving.

He threw the Daily Prophet off the table.

Why couldn’t he have that? Have someone to run around with in public, hand-in-hand? Someone to frolic in the snow with and go shopping with. To go about their day, holding each other and loving their presence.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about it like that. Voldemort should be someone who does not care about the presence of others. He is someone who should live alone and will always be alone.

Then why did his chest ache when he thought about it?

Begrudgingly, he dug around in his top drawer to find the idiotic parchment that Potter gave him. He looked at the shaded wheel. The inner circle said anger, sadness, happiness, disgust, fear, and love. The middle circle had double the adjectives, with the outermost circle having double the adjectives of the middle circle. So many words he recognised, but didn’t know what they felt like.

He flipped the page, seeing a few other circles with more adjectives. He scoured for one, trying his best to search for what he felt. He found one and followed the lines.

Jealousy.

Voldemort scoffed.

He wasn’t jealous. It must be something else. Something more imposing, a bigger battle to defeat.

A fire ignited in his fireplace. He chucked the prophet inside, watching with satisfaction as it combusted.

It wasn’t fair.

__________

Harry hummed as he readied himself for the Slug Club party. The hands of Tom and Riddle darted around him, adjusting everything from his maroon cloak to his cream button-up to his dark grey slacks.

“That tickles,” Harry squirmed as they were trying to tuck in his shirt better.

“I would tickle-attack you right now if we didn’t have anywhere to be.” Tom giggled menacingly.

“You all look somewhat presentable,” Emerald commented from her perch next to Onyx.

“A little.” Onyx hissed as well.

They finally finished, and then moved on to grooming themselves. Not that they needed much; they were already one step away from perfect. Tom smoothed out his light grey vest and plucked at his leaf-green button-up, while Riddle dusted off imperfections of his as well; their wardrobes were the same with the colours reversed.

“We need to be a bit early. It shows good character.” Riddle brushed a hand through his hair, making it a little more ruffled-looking than Tom’s.

“You both look amazing; let’s go!” Harry tugged them along.

“You can call us Thomas and Ridley for the night,” Tom laughed, giving him a wink.

“That’s brilliant,” Harry laughed back. “Did you figure out a way to conceal yourself yet?”

“Yes, we did.” Riddle looked at Tom.

“We thought we’d do a simple selective-glamours spell we found in the depths of the Chamber’s library. If you may, we’ll need to tie the magic to you, as we cannot support it because it takes more magic, but it applies glamours so that everyone else but the select people can see through it.” Tom explained, reaching for Harry’s wand.

“It won’t take too much, but we don’t want to accidentally disappear.” Riddle leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “We need to test our limits one of these days.”

“Okay, got it. Cast away!” Harry stretched his arms out.

Tom muttered a series of words, sounding more like he was casting a curse than a glamour spell. But he felt something prick at his chest, connecting him to Tom and Riddle.

Their faces appeared a bit glittery, as if they had sprayed themselves with sparkles, and if he squinted, he could see their distorted facial features. But it was hard to see what had changed as they meshed together.

“Do you feel fine?” Tom asked him, brushing his hand through his hair.

“It’s a bit prickly, but it’s fine.” Harry winced.

Tom and Riddle glanced at each other.

“Okay, then. Plan B: we walk in, cast a spell on Slughorn and Ginny so that they are the only ones who see us glamourized, and continue as normal.” Riddle rubbed his hands together.

Tom chanted again, and the prick disappeared. He sighed in relief and waited for either of them to take further action.

“Let’s go. I’ll go for Ginny, you for Slughorn.” Tom instructed Riddle.

“Angel, would you try to lure Slughorn out of the hall? Tom will slip in and spell Ginny. I don’t expect anyone else there to recognise a silent spell being cast.” Riddle laced Harry’s hand with his own and guided him forward.

“I can try. Lag behind me a bit in the hall, alright?” Harry bounced to catch up with them.

Them and their damned long legs and their fast walking.

They reached the piping and floated up until they were in the hall near the potion’s room. Tom and Riddle were behind him, at the end of the hall, while he was at the beginning. Harry, determined, saw the potion-themed decorations in a doorway.

Inside, people milled about, talking at the punch table. The ceilings were draped with muted green chiffon fabric with white and black roses on the columns that were against the walls. The large oval table was expanded, with a black satin tablecloth covering the wood underneath.

“Professor Slughorn? May we talk in private for a moment?” Harry asked as soon as the man was within his sights.

“Of course, my boy!” Professor Slughorn tipped the top hat he was wearing.

Harry lured him into the hallway. He could see Riddle lurking in the shadows by the bend in the hall while a disillusioned Tom brushed past him. He walked him about halfway down the hall before turning around.

“I . . .now that a lot of people were curious about the people who were with me in the prophet—my boyfriends, so if you could, please don’t tell anything about them that you learn to the other professors? Some of the other professors seemed a little too involved in my love life for someone who knows nothing about them.”

When Harry rambled on, he could hear the faint hissing of parseltongue behind him. Professor Slughorn was about to answer when he shifted, a glossy look going over his eyes for just a second. The parseltongue stopped.

“But of course, my boy! I would never do such a thing! Everything my students tell me stays under lock and key!” Professor Slughorn patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“Got it. Sorry, I was just a bit worried.” Harry laughed nervously.

He could hear shuffling behind him. A hand wrapped around his waist, and a brush of a cloak was at his side.

“Sorry, Angel, it was hard to find the restroom. Is Thomas in there yet?” Riddle hummed, staring at Professor Slughorn with just a hint of tension.

But Professor Slughorn gave no sign of remembering. Riddle relaxed.

“I think he slipped past me. I hope he’s socialising, you two are such shut-ins.” Harry leaned into Riddle’s side.

Looking past Slughorn, he could see Tom peeking out of the doorway and flashing them a thumbs-up before disappearing inside.

“Ah, and is this One or Two?” Professor Slughorn asked in a humorous tone.

“Two. Ridley, Professor Slughorn.” Harry smiled, taking the initiative and guiding them back inside. Professor Slughorn and Riddle shook hands.

“Ah, the passionate one.” Professor Slughorn gestured for them to enter the doorway first.

Riddle chuckled. “Aw, am I the passionate one? What does that make Thomas?”

“The sweet one.” Professor Slughorn answered with a wink.

Riddle and Professor Slughorn shared a laugh. Harry’s face was steadily growing red. Was this how the entire night would go?

Inside, Tom was socializing with Hermione, talking on and on about something academic. Harry hadn’t seen Hermione that enlightened in years. It’s like she managed to brew the polyjuice potion again.

Beside her, what he assumed was her date glowered. A smirk lit Harry’s face as he saw the scene. But he decided to leave them to it and try to find someone else to talk to. He scoured the room for someone.

Blaise and Theodore. A perfect pair.

Harry approached them, a smile on his face. “Hello, hello, you two.”

“Hello, Harry.” Theodore nodded at him before he processed that Riddle was looming over them.

“Merlin be damned, Harry. Is this your boyfriend?” Blaise whistled lowly, eyes raking over Riddle.

“Yes,” Riddle answered for him, “Ridley, and you?”

“Blaise Zabini.” Blaise shook his hand eagerly.

“Theodore Nott.” Theodore took his hand as well.

Riddle hummed as he listened to their names. “Ah, the divination and astronomy proteges. I’ve heard about you”

“All good things, I hope.” Theodore glanced at Harry. Blaise just shrugged.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Riddle stared down at Harry. “Angel, would you like any punch? And any snacks? Those brownies look simply divine.”

Harry nodded. “Punch, please. And I want the treacle tart.”

Riddle ruffled Harry’s hair before departing.

Blaise and Theodore’s gaze followed Riddle until he was out of earshot. They immediately turned to him.

“Angel,” Blaise swooned dramatically, leaning on Theodore.

“Shut it.” Harry blushed hard.

“No, no, it’s sweet.” Blaise tried to contain himself. “I just didn’t expect it. He seems dark and mysterious, not someone that would give out pet names.”

“I’m not a pet.” Harry grumbled.

“Sure.” Theodore rolled his eyes. “How have you been? We’ve just been talking about Blaise’s mother’s newest boyfriend.”

“Fiancee.” Blaise corrected.

Theodore waved him off.

Harry felt a presence behind him.

“A treacle tart, love.” Tom offered him the treat.

“Ah, thank you.” Harry’s face lit up again. His treacle tart.

Blaise and Theodore looked confused.

Riddle approached them. “Aw, you got to him first. I thought I was feeding him.” He chuckled.

A lightbulb went off for Blaise and Theodore.

“There’s two of them?” Blaise whispered under his breath. Theodore elbowed him.

Harry stacked his treacle tarts and bit into them. “No, I want both.”

Tom and Riddle shared a look.

“Where’d you find them, Harry?” From beside him, Hermione popped up.

“Well, uh - “

“By a restaurant in the muggle world.” Tom lied easily. “I may have spilt some of my drink on him when I was leaving, and I wanted to atone for my actions by getting him new clothes. We met up, chatted, and ended on good terms, promising to talk again. It didn’t take long to realise we both were wizards, and some attraction built.”

“Then I showed up.” Riddle wrapped an arm around his waist. “I needed to gather Thomas, and that’s when I met Harry.”

Blaise placed a hand on his heart. “How touching.”

Theodore elbowed Blaise.

“How did you handle Harry being kidnapped?” Hermione asked them, her prying tone obvious.

“Bold to assume we weren’t taken as well.” Tom continued.

The three faces fell.

“Was it bad?” Theodore broke the silence.

Riddle shook his head. “Harry had it much worse than either of us. We were left mostly alone.” A smile lit his face. “We had more time to bond there. One day, I saw the two lovebirds cuddling and insisted that I be included.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Harry mumbled. He hated it when any pity was thrown his way.

Tom’s brows furrowed. “Oh, then I’ll just have your hip carved out again if you think it’s fine.”

Harry glared at Tom.

The other three shivered. Hermione looked back and forth before clearing her voice.

“So you got together with him during his kidnapping?” Hermione exclaimed. She looked at Harry, a bit skeptical.

“Yes. Silver lining?” Riddle shrugged.

The six moved on to better topics. At one point, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise’s date, and Tracy Davis, Theodore’s date, joined them. They all chatted; no one seemed to be able to pry their eyes away from his boyfriends.

Which, if he had been in their shoes, he wouldn’t have either.

His boyfriends bustled with ego as they were oggled. Figures, they only had him to be utterly enchanted by him; now they had everyone with their eyes on him. They were basking in the attention.

He wondered if that was how others reacted to him when he was in school.

Probably.

Before long, everyone was gathered around them. There were a few streams of conversations in the different corners, some chatting about classes while others told stories of their past.

Tom and Riddle, of course, spun their fictitious tales. Harry butted in from time to time to tell his own little bits, but mostly left out the kidnapping chunk of time. The group seemed surprised that the two weren’t tortured, but they managed to lie enough to convince them.

“While I’m sure that we all would love to stand around and chat more, shall we take it to the table?” Professor Slughorn butted into their conversation and finished with the one he was having with Flora, Hestia, and their dates.

They all gravitated toward the table. Harry grinned as Tom escorted him, and Riddle pulled out his chair for him. They truly were such gentlemen at parties. But at the same time, he liked their crassness sometimes.

Tom and Riddle flanked him. Hermione sat next to Tom, enthralled in another academic conversation. Riddle, meanwhile, captured Theodore in a talk about astronomy.

A blush crossed his face as his boyfriends placed a hand on each leg, their fingertips brushing against the inner thigh. Harry tried to straighten up and ignore them. It was only semi-successful.

“Welcome all.” Professor Slughorn’s gaze swept across the members and guests. “Now, let’s cut the small talk; it’s time to eat!”

Piles of food on silver platters popped up everywhere, the amazing aroma wafting through the air. Platters of meat, finger sandwiches, pasta, soups, and all kinds of food were laid out for their eating.

“Rid-ley,” Harry almost said Riddle’s name, “would you pass a baguette? I only want like a third if you want any.”

Riddle glanced at Tom, “Thomas, you?”

“I’ll take a third if you do.” Tom made grabby hands at the baguette.

The three each got a third and started their first round with soup and pasta. Harry hummed as he ate; it truly was delicious. He indulged in little bits of steak fed to him by Tom. There was even this tasty thing called a crab rangoon that he definitely needed to get more of. Add it to the list of his favourite foods so Voldemort would know how to feed him when he went back.

“So are you two twins?” Hestia asked after a lul in the conversations.

Tom answered for them. “No, I’m a year younger.”

Blaise hitched an eyebrow. “Must have been a hassle for your parents. What do they do?”

His boyfriends paused. “Ah, they are dead.” Riddle settled on

The room went silent, only interrupted by Harry’s snicker.

“Yeah, us orphans got to flock together.” Harry joked, taking a bite of another crab rangoon.

Theodore gagged on his drink. Ginny coughed out her bread. And Professor Slughorn sharply intook his breath, hiding a smile behind his hand.

“Of course, we do, love.” Tom breathed, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Daphne Greengrass seemed to glare at Theodore as she watched Harry and his boyfriends interact. Theodore raised his hands in defence while Blaise giggled.

“Well then.” Slughorn clapped his hands. “This has been a successful party, right?”

A chorus of “Yes!” filled the air.

“Well good, well good. We will have another meeting, say, the week of Valentine's day, and perhaps at the end of the school year?” Professor Slughorn surveyed the people to gauge their reactions.

“Yeah.”

“Of course!”

“Yes!”

Other agreements rang out.

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands together. “Well then, we are officially dismissed. Don’t mind me if you choose to stay around while I clean up. And do take some of the food; it won’t eat itself.”

Harry made a dash to the remaining treacle tarts.

Tom and Riddle laughed at him, with Riddle stepping over to grab a few brownies and Tom some crab ragoons. Hermione rolled her eyes, but it didn’t stop her from swiping some biscuits. Before long, most of the food was stashed away in tiny bags Professor Slughorn passed out.

All of them stayed back (bar McLaggen) stayed behind to chat and help Professor Slughorn take down the decorations. It wasn’t long before everything was neatly packed away or vanished, and the room looked desolate once again.

“Off you go! Don’t stay up too late!” Professor Slughorn warned them as he waved them off.

Hermione gave Harry a wink and dragged Ginny back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry blushed. Together, the three sank into the darkness and disappeared into the Chamber.

“That was… so much fun.” Harry hummed as they entered the bedroom.

“A bit draining.” Riddle commented, “But yes, it's very fun.”

“I want another one!” Tom exclaimed.

“I’ll make sure you two can come.” Harry moved his hands to unbutton his shirt, but Tom stopped him.

Slowly, glancing down at Harry, Tom reached for Harry’s collar. He undid the first button and began to move onto the next one. Harry’s face felt like fire as Tom unbuttoned his shirt. As he was done with the final button, he carefully removed Harry’s cloak and shirt.

“Aw, you made him all red.” Riddle cooed, sliding his legs out of his slacks.

Harry looked over, only to turn a brighter shade of red as he saw Riddle in just his tight-fitting black boxers. Tom similarly took the initiative and quickly stripped.

“Shower or bed?” Tom asked, with some hesitancy in his voice.

“M’tired. Bed.” Harry answered with a yawn.

He kicked off the rest of his clothes and was down to his loose red boxers. He gently grasped both of their hands and led them to the bed. Of course, not before noticing that they also had a dusting of pink on their cheeks.

Hypocrites.

His stomach stirred as he watched them crawl on the bed towards him. Their desire leaked through their delicate touches that roamed over his body. The feeling made his heart yearn for them even more, even if they were right next to him.

A gossamer touch lingered on his waist, Tom’s fingertips sending goosebumps through him. Ghosting on his hips by Riddle gave him a warm feeling just below his belly button. He basked in their attention, shivering as the heat grew between them.

Tom turned Harry’s head with his index finger, slowly bringing their lips together. They moved against each other, Harry’s yearning and Tom’s wanting mixing into a beautiful concoction.

A groan left Harry as Riddle’s mouth wandered over his neck. Kissing, biting, from his jawline to his collarbone. He didn’t know why, but he pulled Riddle lower. He went down, down to his chest.

Tom moved lower as well, delicately peppering the crook of his neck with kisses. He placed a playful bite, then started to suck on his neck. Bruises were left in their wake, going up and down any exposed skin.

Riddle bit at him, teasing the area around his nipples with sharp bites. He groaned, running a hand through his hair. Riddle laughed darkly as he finally closed his mouth around Harry’s nipple. His tongue ran across it, and Harry’s back arched.

Harry couldn’t contain his hitched breaths. He could hardly stop himself from squirming as it was. His entire body felt warm, like everything else he’d ever experienced was cold.

“How do you like this?” Tom’s voice was huskier than normal.

“A . . .lot.” Managed to escape his mouth.

They continued to kiss and nip at him until hickies covered his skin. It all finally ended as they moved up his skin until they were back to curling around him.

“Hm, we did make a lot of marks.” Riddle hummed, any wetness magically disappearing as he whipped a thumb across each spot.

“Y - Yeah.” Harry was still shaken up by the whole experience. He was still tingling on the inside.

“Would you mind doing this more? I simply adore those lovely sounds you make.” Tom purred, snuggling close to him.

“I should hope so.” Harry hummed, tired, as he leaned into their touch.

“Hmm, but I want to hear them for longer. Could you handle that?” Riddle lightly stroked his cheek.

“Of course!” Harry was a bit indigent; they thought he was too weak to hold up to them. “Don’t hold back.” “Don’t hold back? We’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.” Riddle went back to rubbing circles on his hip.

“No mercy,” Tom hissed. Harry felt a jolt through him as he heard him speak.

“Ah, so you have a thing for parseltongue as well? Another thing to keep in mind.” Riddle teased.

“Shut it.” Embarrassed, Harry’s face lit up with fire again.

__________

Annoyance ate at Severus. It wasn’t an Order meeting, but perhaps worse, it was a staff meeting. Everyone gathered around a long rectangular table at an ungodly late hour. He huffed, scooting up in his chair more.

“- And with that, I propose we change the classes so the Herbology and Charms hours are flipped.” Fillius offered, pointing at a parchment that proved that it would be a good change.

“That works better for our planning periods.” Minerva nodded.

Severus tapped his fingers impatiently.

The door opened behind them.

“Ah, Horace, how nice of you to join us.” Albus said as Horace sat down between Severus and Fillius.

“Sorry, we stayed a bit longer than expected at the Slug Club party.” Horace apologised, waving off Albus.

“How was the party?” Albus asked with a certain look in his eyes.

Horace smiled. “Just swimmingly! Everyone had a good time, and they stayed to clean up. We planned another meeting before Valentine’s Day and at the end of the school year.”

“Anything to say about Harry Potter? He has been disappearing very often.” Albus inquired, his eyebrows furrowing.

Horace kept his lips tight. “Now you know, Albus, I cannot disclose any information I may have on a student.”

Albus sighed. “Horace, I only want what is best for my students. I worry he is not being safe.”

Horace looked taken aback. “I can only say that he is happy and doesn’t have a scratch on him. Anything else, I would say, is out of your field.”

Severus smirked. He always liked Horace - the name still felt weird to say in his head - because he never bent to Albus’s will. He stayed strong, whereas Severus often found himself buckling under the pressure. Like when he made the vow to protect Potter.

“Horace - “

“That is enough, Albus. You know, I never say anything that a student has or has not revealed to me. Let the boy be.” Horace insisted again.

Albus sighed heavily. He turned and continued, pointing to the board. They carried on until the clock chimed, with Albus dismissing them moments later. But Severus stayed behind because Albus always had some mission or something to say to him afterwards.

“Severus?” Albus called out to him once everyone had vacated the room.

“Yes, Albus?” Severus wasn’t in the mood for another conversation.

“Watch out for Harry. He’s been disappearing more, and Horace will not reveal anything about him. I think that means that Harry has confided in him, and Horace seems more hostile than normal.” Albus furrowed his brows and walked to the window that overlooked the castle grounds.

“I will try.” Severus would not, not for Albus. But his own curiosity was eating at him. Where did Potter go?

“I,” Albus sighed, “I fear the connections between him and Voldemort. When he was younger, there was some, but he aged out of it. Recently, he has only regressed. I can’t help but see the similarities.”

Severus blinked. Hearing about the Dark Lord was a rare occurrence. Albus mainly avoided talking about him, especially the younger him, and tried to talk about his other actions. The little scraps he did get were of him being evil: murdering Myrtle and framing Rubius, persuading students to do his bidding, or seeing the other Slytherins cower in fear of him. And that one memory of him in the orphanage that made Severus’s blood cold.

And Potter was similar to him?

“He has been acting differently. I will watch him during class and when I have the time.”

Potter was acting odd. Although he is never around and the librarian barely reported seeing him, his grades had increased exponentially. They had to come to the realisation that he wasn’t cheating after he got an O on an exam after being administered an anti-cheating quill.

“Report to me all of your findings. There are dots that are not connecting.” Albus instructed.

Severus nodded. He took his cue and swept out of the room.

Chapter Text

‘Potter,

Could you stop your defiling of my others on Sundays and Wednesdays from 10:00 PM to 2:00 AM? I have meetings and it’s rather distracting during that.’

The letter was short and to the point. Harry hummed as he tucked it in his pocket. It was a more reasonable request. Now that his and his boyfriend’s makeout session had gotten more heated - delightfully so - he assumed that the feelings that trickled through were stronger.

That would be distracting, to say the least.

It was a bit embarrassing to think about. Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself, knew exactly when and for how long he and his boyfriends were having relations. He shuddered to think of the reaction when they moved past making out.

Voldemort might implode.

But he shrugged it off. He could manage to keep his hands and lips to himself for four hours, two days a week. They could always just turn in early on those days. As revenge, however, he’d have to ask his boyfriends if they could be more intense for longer the next day. That would be Voldemort’s punishment for depriving him of his lovers.

“Harry? You’re smiling like an idiot again.” Hermione muttered to him, elbowing his side.

“Ah, right.” Harry’s face went neutral again.

“Another letter?” She winked.

“Yeah.”

He was going to ask Voldemort to send him letters through Pipskey, but he figured that Hedwig needed the exercise. They’d been chatting a little more lately. It was a simple little message, but it was nice to keep in contact with him.

‘Dearest Nemesis,

I suppose your request is agreeable. Expect the following days to be plagued by repercussions.’

Harry smiled as he rolled up the parchment paper and tied it to her leg. She nibbled on his fingers as he did, and he threw her some mysterious meat that was on the table.

His smile fell as another owl delivered him a letter. Dread sat in his stomach as he flipped open the flap.

‘Dear Harry,

Please come to my office at 6 PM today.

P.S. I enjoy strawberry twists

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’

He sighed.

Another meeting with Dumbledore. Was it to show him that his boyfriends were evil incarnate? Interrogate him about his love life? Ask him to kill Voldemort?

It was probably all of the above.

His day would be wrecked by his nerves. Hermione and Ron tried to calm him down, confused as to why he was so cagey, but he wasn’t budging.

Dumbledore was getting more insistent that he reveal the identities of the ‘mysterious figures’ he was with, and a tiny part of him was worried that he would use legilimency to get his answers. He hadn’t shown it before, but his boyfriends’ and Voldemort’s slanderous words about Dumbledore were echoing in his head.

He stepped up to Dumbledore’s office with more dread in his stomach. A breath escaped him, and he raised his occlumency walls higher. He just needed to breathe.

“Harry, come in.” Dumbledore’s voice came from the other side of the door.

How the fuck did he know he was there?

Harry shook his head and encroached into the room. Snape was there by Dumbledore’s desk, his face twisted in anger. His eyes narrowed at Harry, and he walked up to him. A flicker of uncertainty went through Snape’s eyes.

“Potter.” Snape sneered, brushing past him.

“Snape.” Harry mocked back in the same nasally voice.

“Harry,” Dumbledore warned. “Do not press Professor Snape. He has experienced a terrible day.”

What did Voldemort do?

So many questions.

“Fine. What are we going over today?” Harry asked as he stood by Dumbledore’s desk.

Dumbledore looked at him seriously. “Harry, Professor Slughorn has a memory that I require. You and he are close, and I expect no one else to be capable of retrieving it.”

“What memory is it?” He’d seen a lot of memories with Tom, Riddle, and Slughorn.

“I have reasons to believe that Voldemort, when he was young, told Professor Slughorn about horcruxes. A piece of someone’s soul placed inside an item, chipped away by murder. I need you to retrieve that for me.” Dumbledore’s words were carefully pronounced.

“What will that memory mean? Like, long-term?” Harry asked, panic brewing in his veins.

“Long-term,” Dumbledore stroked his beard, “If we destroy all the horcruxes, we can make Voldemort mortal. There, you will be able to end his existence.”

Destroy all the horcruxes.

Harry’s heart ached at the idea. He fought back tears.

“You have already destroyed one, and I destroyed another one. How many horcruxes there are is the question. I believe Professor Slughorn has that information.” Dumbledore pressed the issue further.

“So how do I get it?” Would he need to make him admit it during veritaserum?

“You would have to ask him to give the memory willingly. Or, have him show you the memory through legilimency.” Dumbledore let out another sigh. “I have not been successful in asking him for it; perhaps you will have a better chance at it.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll get it.” Harry would not even try. The horcruxes were to go undiscovered.

Dumbledore nodded. “And, Harry, we need to talk about you disappearing during the day.” Dumbledore reached into his drawer and pulled out some pages of parchment.

“What do you . . ." He really couldn’t deny it. “Why? I come back.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “You have been missing at least once a day since the beginning of the semester. Not to mention that you have only slept in your dorm twenty times as well. I have also heard rumors from the student body as well.”

Harry’s palms were sweaty.

“Harry, where do you go?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. Tell the truth or lie? Who was he kidding? They were following him and keeping track of him. He probably knew that he was sneaking off to the Chamber.

“Well, uh.” Harry looked down at the floor. “The Chamber of Secrets.”

Dumbledore sighed. “And what do you do in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I read or practice spells. And potions. It’s really quiet down there, and if I blow it up, it’s not like I’ve done it anywhere with people there. I dragged some things down there, and I’ve found it easier to sleep down there.” He slipped out. He hoped his lie was good enough.

Dumbledore paused.

“And is there anything at all you want to tell me, Harry? Anything at all?”

“No.” He didn’t need to know anything else.

Dumbledore had a pensive look on his face. “Very well. Try to be in your dorm at least twice a week, and we will not press any disciplinary actions.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheeks to prevent an outburst. “Fine.”

He stormed out of the room, his face growing furious as he exited the room. He saw a professor out of the corner of his eye and stalked off into the dungeons. He found an empty classroom, and he blasted the stone off the wall.

Rubble filled the classroom, and he blasted another wall. There were no spells, just anger. Harry breathed hard as he threw more magic into the room. Spare chairs and desks blew up, shattering into splinters.

A heavy breath left his mouth. He was surrounded by wreckage. Stinging peppered his body, leaving light streaks of blood on him from where the debris cut into him.

A knock sounded behind him.

Professor Slughorn stood where the door used to be and removed his hand from the doorframe.

“Mr Potter?” Professor Slughorn spoke with a calming voice. “Did you have a bad day?”

“Yeah.” Harry panted. “I had a conversation with Dumbledore.”

“Ah, it gets to the best of us.” Professor Slughorn laughed. “What was it about, if I may ask?”

Harry plopped himself down on the floor, brushing aside a chair leg. “In the Chamber of Secrets, there’s a personal quarters that’s hidden. I meet with my boyfriends there, and we sleep in one of the bedrooms at night. Dumbledore asked me to be in my dorm for two days a week.”

“I know he’s being more reasonable than most people would be, but I can’t help but be mad. I want to be around them. I want to be in the Chamber. I want to sleep in a nice bed with my boyfriends.” Harry rested his head on his hands with a pout on his face.

“You’ve been to the Chamber of Secrets?” Professor Slughorn’s tone was more curious than terrified, but it was a mix of both.

“Well,” Professor Slughorn glanced at the hallways, “sometimes there’s some good to being apart from them.”

“I know, but I don’t want to.” Harry complained.

Professor Slughorn entered the room. He withdrew his wand, fixed two chairs, and gestured for him to sit on one. He took the other and patted Harry on the back.

“Have you tried distracting yourself when you’re away? Hang out with friends, or make new ones?” He spoke the last bit with hesitancy.

Harry sighed. He knew he was growing distant from Ron and Hermione. But that was partially on them as well. They stepped back when he tried to speak his mind, and that hurt him. It hurt to know his inner thoughts disturbed them.

“I’ll try. I’ll try.” Harry shook his head.

“Well, how about you do something else to destress you?” Professor Slughorn asked him.

Harry thought for a moment. “Hm, I’ll go find Luna.”

He bid Professor Slughorn farewell and hopped along to the room of requirements. Hopefully, there, he’d find her.

__________

Nerves ate at Harry as he looked at the calendar. There was a big snowflake on the day, written with blue ink with glitter around it.

The night of the Winter Dance.

Tonight.

He yelped as he felt arms wrapped around his waist. A chuckle sounded behind him, and Tom kissed his cheek.

“Why so jumpy?” Tom swayed them back and forth.

“I’m just - I’m nervous.”

Harry hadn’t attended the Winter Dance last year. Umbridge had cancelled it, and he wasn’t old enough beforehand. He heard it wasn’t as grand as it was when the Tri-Wizard Tournament happened, but it was still a dance. At least it wasn’t mandatory.

“If you’re that nervous, we can just stay outside.” Riddle commented from the doorway. “We don’t have to be inside. Just go, get some snacks, and we can stick near the courtyard.”

“Really?” Harry asked, surprised.

They enjoyed the Slug-Club party, so why wouldn’t they enjoy the Winter Dancel?

“Love, we just want to dress fancy and dance with you.” Tom said, catching onto his train of thought.

“Plus!” Riddle strode over to them. “That means we don’t have to apply glamours.”

“We might get caught,” Harry pointed out.

“Then let us get caught. We’ll just have to be careful. If we do, we can just have to think something up if we do.” Tom reassured him.

“You have everything prepared?” Harry bit his lip.

“Of course, angel. We modified two of the old dress robes that were down here. There was a lot of lace, but we managed. It’s not a crime to have a little bit of ruffle.” Riddle ran his hand through Harry’s hair.

“Okay, okay. When are we getting ready?” Harry took fifteen minutes to get ready last time, but he wanted to put more effort in.

Riddle tapped his chin. “Well, I always took about an hour and a half. But if we pre-press and get everything laid out beforehand, I bet we can get ready in an hour.”

An hour?

Tom saw the shock on his face. “You don’t have to get ready for that long. We just… preferred our hair to be very tamed, our eyebrows plucked, and the rest of our face groomed”

Harry lightly patted Tom’s jaw. “Aw, you’re going to get rid of the scratchiness?”

“Scratchiness?” Tom repeated. He touched his jawline, then flung his hand back as if he had touched something hot.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked with a tilted head.

“It’s . . .Tom and Riddle looked at each other, then away. “How about we talk about it later, okay?”

Harry shrugged. They were probably just paranoid about something.

“Let’s do something in the meantime, shall we?” Riddle extended his hand, a smirk on his face.

“Something to pass the time.” Tom continued, whispering in Harry’s ear.

“How subtle. Come on, someone just stick their tongue down my throat.” Harry laughed, lightly kissing Tom.

“How romantic.”

__________

Harry fretted with his robes. The maroon didn’t quite seem the right colour, the sleeves were a little too short, and something about it just looked wrong. Was it his waistcoat? Or his tie -

“You look amazing, love.” He complimented him from the doorway.

“But I don’t feel it.” Harry plucked at his tie.

“What’s wrong?” Tom approached him from behind and stood, looking into the mirror.

“It’s the wrong colour. I think it needs to be darker. And a little longer. Something about my tie is wrong, and I think my waistcoat is just… wrong.” Harry rambled on.

“It needs to be the colour of my scales!” Emerald hissed from her position, sitting on top of the mirror.

“I think my child’s colour would be a nice accent.” Onyx swished her tail, Topaz swaying in the water.

“Hm.”

Tom’s hand moved down Harry’s side and snatched the wand from his waistband. He pointed it at Harry’s robes, the colour changing a shade darker and longer. The wand moved to his tie, changing it into a black bowtie. On his waistcoat, the once solid grey changed to a flannel-esque pattern that was just barely visible.

“Better?”

“Better.” Harry nodded. It did greatly improve his look.

“Someone looks stunning!” Riddle yelled as he entered the room.

“It’s you two.” Harry remarked.

They were quite stunning. Their black robes must have been made of velvet, shining in the candlelight, with little white ruffles at the sleeve by the wrist. Grey undershirts poked out beneath their dark green with silver swirles waistcoats. It hugged their sides, accentuating it. Their long legs looked even longer in their well-fitted black slacks.

The only difference was the lining of their robes. Tom’s was silver with dark green snakes embroidered on it, and Riddle’s was dark green with silver snakes.

“You’re missing… something.” Harry commented after another look. “I think you need a tie.”

Tom and Riddle hummed. Tom retreated, coming back a minute later with two white ties. Now, their outfits were complete.

“Will you pin our boutonnières?” Riddle held out two white roses with short stems and tiny white flowers tied around them.

“A what?” Harry asked, taking the flowers. They had a little pin stabbed through the back.

“It’s the flower things you wear on the side of your chest. A fancy thing.” Tom explained.

“Oh, okay.”

Harry’s hand shook as he pinned the boutonnières. They were on the left, on the opposite side of their Slytherin crests.

“And now for you.” Tom held up one that was similar but with two roses.

Tom gently pinned him, making sure that nothing would stab him.

“Gorgeous. We’ll be in the courtyard; take your time inside.” Riddle tried to tame Harry’s hair but failed.

“I’ll be out soon.” He promised.

“Onyx, I know you want to come along, but please stay behind.” Tom plucked the serpent from his pocket and deposited her in the tank. She hissed in displeasure.

Tom held out a camera and demanded they take a picture. How he got the camera was beyond him, but it looked suspiciously like one he had seen in Voldemort’s office. Little theif. They took photos together, apart, and then holding him. Harry laughed, each time being caught by the flashing lights.

“I will scrapbook each of these.” Tom placed the photos on the side table.

Together, they set off. They led him to a pipe, floating to the top. With a short kiss goodbye, they parted ways.

Harry’s palms sweated as he walked into the Great Hall. Gone were the long tables; instead, they were replaced with circular ones with white tablecloths. It had been decorated with a winter theme, with snow floating from the ceiling and disappearing just above people’s heads. Tables of food and drinks lined a wall, with a large area in the centre blank for dancing.

He strolled over to the snack table, searching for treacle tarts. He found them, cut down into small little cupcake shapes. He snatched some punch and chowed down. But his stomach couldn’t handle it; it was too busy fluttering like mad.

“Harry?”

Harry turned around. Hermione stood there in a tiered, light yellow dress.

“What are you doing here?” She asked. “What are your dates?”

“I could ask the same.” Harry smiled and gave her a hug.

“Well…” Hermione glanced over.

Harry saw Ron sitting at one of the tables.

“No way!” He exclaimed.

“Yes, way!” Hermione was bursting with excitement. “Now, answer my questions.”

Harry tried to think of a lie. “They are still a bit shy around big crowds. I’m meeting them in the courtyard.”

Hermione grinned at him. “Good! Don’t let me keep you waiting. Have fun!” She winked at the end.

Harry blushed.

Harry didn’t wait another moment before speeding off to the courtyard.

The crisp December air met his lungs. He smiled as he walked further into the courtyard. He looked to the sky, seeing the grey clouds part from the bright moon.

“My wonderful consorts, where are you?” Harry called out, seeing no one.

He felt a presence behind him. Two presences.

“Consort’s? That’s a new one.” Tom hummed from behind him.

“Mhh, I like it, though.” Riddle nuzzled him, kissing his neck.

Harry reached up and ruffled Riddle’s perfect hair.

“Hey, hey! I spent time on that!” Riddle drew away and tried to fix his hair.

“But you look so cute!” Harry reached up and pecked his cheek.

The sounds of an upbeat track played loudly from the Great Hall. Tom reached over and pulled Harry away from Riddle, twirling him around. A smirk sat on his face.

“We never taught you how to dance to a more energetic song, did we?” Tom grabbed his hands.

“What are we starting with?” Harry asked.

“We’ll start with something causal, then maybe a swing? It depends on the music they play. Or we could just dance like teenagers, nothing structured.” Riddle offered, grasping at his waist.

“We have all night.”

Tom took his first dance. It was something with less structure, letting him move with the flow of the song. It was a little awkward, with Harry stumbling, but once he learned to relax, it got marginally better.

Riddle took his second dance. There was a more structured flow that leaned toward swing dancing, but not quite. It ended better than the first, but not without some mistakes.

“I’ll never get the hang of his.” Harry sighed.

“Maybe not; we can’t all be perfect.” Tom hummed as Harry moved his way.

“Speak for yourself.” Riddle snorted.

Another song played. Faster, with a Spanish sound to it.

“Ah, perfect tango music. Are you ready to sweat?” Tom placed them in position.

Tango was, as he saw, incredibly difficult. Tom was twisting him and launching him in every direction, twirling him and making him twist in those weird positions. But he found it fun and was laughing the entire way around.

“That was,” Harry panted, “such a workoutwith.”

Another song of the same tempo started to play.

“It looks like you’ll have another workout.” Riddle smirked as he grabbed Harry’s hand.

Spin, twirl, back, forth - his head spun. By the end of it, he was more than dizzy. Tom and Riddle flanked his sides and set him down on a bench. He huffed, trying to get his vision better.

“A bit dizzy?” Tom asked, caressing his cheek.

“Yeah.” Harry’s vision was starting to level.

“How about we sit out until there’s a slow song? Then a trade-off?” Riddle offered the two of them.

“Sounds amazing,”

“Good for me!” Harry nodded along.

Three more songs passed, and Harry just leaned on them. They chatted on, gossiping about the professors and his boyfriends, revealing more information about Professor McGonagall. Apparently, she had been quite the flirt during her time.

The soft tunes of music ran through the air. Harry smiled as Riddle took his hand. They went to the centre of the courtyard. They could just barely see the glow from the Great Hall, which now cast more light onto them.

Riddle wrapped his hand around Harry’s waist and slowly walked around the courtyard with him. He danced the waltz he first taught him, bringing back the happy memories of them back in Voldemort’s manor.

But half-way through the waltz, Tom took his hand and twirled him away from Riddle. Their pace was a little slower, but closer as well.

The lights were flashing as Tom twirled him around, hugging him from chest to back. Harry looked up, giving him an upside-down kiss. Meanwhile, Riddle inched towards them and planted his lips on Harry’s neck. Flashes of light flickered over their shut eyes.

They broke, wide smiles on their faces.

Harry sighed in relief. It was the perfect moment. Rivaling close to their nightly cuddling. He could feel just the tip of exhaustion setting in his bones, and he knew the afterward cuddle session would be amazing.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Tom asked as he twirled him over to Riddle.

“Yeah!” Harry exclaimed, accidentally bumping into Riddle’s chest.

“Good because I am too.” Riddle kissed his cheek.

“As am I.” Tom ruffled Harry’s hair,

“Shall we have another dance?” Riddle asked him as another tango song started.

“Only if you promise to extra make-out with me tonight.” Harry teased him.

Riddle blushed.

“But of course.” Riddle took hold of his hands. “Let’s go!”

They danced again, at a faster pace and with more shimming around the courtyard. Harry laughed, loving every moment of it. He spun around and around until the stars streaked across his vision like shooting stars.

Riddle ended with a dip, locking him in a passionate kiss.

“Suce a romantic.” Harry hummed as he patted Riddle’s cheek.

They both laughed.

“Hide.” Tom whisper-yelled.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Hide!” Tom reiterated in parseltongue. He looked back and forth and hopped into the nearby bushes.

An awful weight sat in Harry’s stomach, and Riddle threw him in next to Tom. Riddle crouched down and slid into the ones on the other side of the courtyard.

Snape strode into the courtyard. He didn’t even have the decency to dress up for the Winter Dance, just dressed in his normal greasy black cloak. He glanced from side to side and glared.

“I know you are there. I heard you.” He called out vaguely.

Harry stayed silent.

Snape snarled. “You can come out now, or I can make you come out. I am well-equipped with person-detection spells.”

With his heart beating in his ears, Harry dared not take a breath.

Tom prodded him, gesturing for his wand. Harry handed it over, and he felt Tom cast a spell over the both of them. His eyebrows furrowed as he pointed the wand in Riddle’s direction. A colourless spell left the tip and struck the bush.

“Reperio persona.” Snape raised his wand.

A blue ring of light resounded from the tip of Snape’s wand. Harry cringed as it passed over them, but they weren’t detected. Snape snarled, flicking his wand back into the holster. He stormed off, glaring at everything in his path.

After a few minutes, Harry finally stood up. No one was there. He pulled Tom up and walked over to Riddle’s hiding place.

“I think we’re fine.” He whispered.

They gathered in a small circle near a pillar.

“That was close - ah, Tom!” Harry cupped Tom’s face.

Tom was very dull. His skin was more akin to grey than peach. His hair looked dead, like a dark grey instead of an intense black. Eyes, once a dark, golden brown, were desaturated and listless.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Tom reassured him. “Just a bit tired.”

“We need to get you back.” Harry tried to pull him away.

“No, you should enjoy - “

“I’m not letting you go alone! You look like you’re about to faint!” Harry fretted over him.

“Yes, you do look rather unwell.” Riddle agreed. “Do you need help walking?”

“No - No, I’m . . " Tom sighed. “Okay, I’m really exhausted. All the magic over the past few weeks has really worn on me. Today especially.”

“Have you not been siphoning?” Harry asked as he laced their hands, looking back and forth as Riddle led them away.

“I get a bit every night. But I haven’t consciously done so in a while.” Tom admitted it after taking a breath. “Anti-detection spells are a bit draining as well.”

“Tom,” Harry admonished. “I told you, take what you can.”

“You had exams, love. I didn’t want to take away what you could have been spending on schoolwork. I shouldn’t hold you down.” Tom shook his head.

“Nonsense. I have more than enough. I just get a bit tired.” Harry waved him off. “Siphon what you want tonight, okay? Tomorrow is when everyone leaves, so I’ll be fine if I need to sleep in.”

“Open,” Riddle hissed into a wall.

They slowly walked through the opening, and Harry escorted Tom through. They descended and wove through the twists and turns in the tunnels. Harry was constantly checking on Tom, no matter how many times he said he was fine.

They stopped when they reached the bedroom.

“I’m taking a shower. You two - do whatever you need.” Riddle ended with a wink.

“We will,” Harry said. “Don’t drown.”

“Maybe I will.” Riddle called back.

Harry laughed. He turned his attention back to Tom. He was looking a bit fainter now, as if he had been up all night. Harry gently kissed him and pushed him down onto the bed.

“Cuddles?” Harry asked, still looming over him.

“Yes.” Tom responded, his hands reaching up and gripping Harry’s thighs.

Redness crept across his face. He shuffled them around, curling up in Tom’s arms and resting his head on his chest. There was a slight pulling sensation in him that drew away his energy. It was nostalgic to have that again, Tom drawing from him while they cuddled. It reminded him of when they first met.

Then his mind went over the rest of their relationship. When Tom comforted him after being told he was a horcrux, Riddle joining them, both of them taking care of him, when they were shirtless around him, then when they ditched their pants to reveal their tight-fitting boxers…

“Are you feeling better?” Harry inquired after a few minutes.

“Yes.” Tom snuggled into him more. “I feel much better. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s no bother.” Harry sighed.

“Do you… feel anything?” Tom wiggled around.

“What do you mean?” Harry quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s just - you’re ah,“ Tom’s knee gently rubbed in between Harry’s legs.

Harry looked down, and fire consumed him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. . . ."

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Tom commented. “Do you want any help with it?”

Again, Harry got hotter. “Well - yeah, uh, are you sure?”

“I’m fine with this, Harry. Are you sure?” Tom persisted.

“Yes.” He replied with finality.

Tom’s hands roamed down his sides and to his stomach. Harry stared up, their eyes locking as his hand reached his waistband. There was a moment of hesitation before Tom reached further down.

“Tell me what you want.” Tom whispered to him.

“Ah - uh, just touch me. Please.”

Tom hummed, kissing him. “I will, love.”

Chapter Text

Harry felt every eye on him when he entered the hall. Even the professors were staring at him, Dumbledore in disappointment. There wasn’t that much attention on him since he came back from getting kidnapped.

He sat down, people whispering.

Hermione looked at him solemnly. She didn’t say a word and just slid over the Daily Prophet.

‘Harry Potter: Lovers Revealed?

Dear readers, there’s been a turn in the story of Harry Potter. Weeks ago, he was found in Hogsmeade with two mysterious strangers. This week, during the Winter Dance, we discovered their identities.

These two identical men, who are pictured to the side, were found dancing with Harry Potter. As you can see in the photo, they are far more than just strangers. It is vital to note that the cuts of their robes are old, dating back to the mid-17th century, with a modern twist to them. The Slytherin Crest is also a notable feature, as no Slytherin students match their description going to Hogwarts.

So who are these men? And why has Harry Potter chosen to have two partners, not one? Is one not enough for him? Does he need more to feel complete in himself, unlike everyone else?

More importantly, when did he meet these men? They are a new addition to his life. Sometime over the summer is our best estimate. Were they the ones who kidnapped him? Or were they captured with him?

So many questions, with no answers in sight.

Follow more at the Daily Prophet, for stories every day for the everyday person.

Rita Skeeter

Head of the Daily Prophet Press Department

December 26th

Beside the article was a picture of Harry, Tom, and Riddle dancing. It was the moment where he was kissing Tom and Riddle was on his neck, taken by the side view. It displayed both of their faces as well.

Harry’s face went white. A concoction of fear and rage coursed through him, creating a vortex of agony within him. How dare she.

She was a dead woman.

“Harry?” Hermione lightly patted his back but he could barely feel it.

Bile rose in his throat. Everyone - everyone now knew. What he had been fighting to hide all year was now out for everyone to see. The day they left as well. Where they’d go back and tell their families.

“Harry? It will be okay.” Hermione’s voice rang in his ears.

He was still able to hear the jeering behind him.

“So the rumours were true - Potter has some boyfriends!” Draco jeered.

Harry glared at him. There was a flicker of fear behind his steel-grey eyes, but he continued.

“Two - how could he get two boyfriends! They must have been so desperate!” Draco’s laugh was shrill in his ears.

“You don’t know a damned thing about them!” Harry yelled.

Before he could retort, Harry was moving. He yanked at Draco’s collar and forced him onto the floor. Pouncing on him, Harry’s fists rose in the air and went down on Draco’s face. He wailed at him, funnelling all of his anger into his hits. Draco screeched and tried to cover his face with his hands. Harry was about to hit him again, but his entire body froze.

“Mr Potter! What is the meaning of this!” Professor McGonagall yelled at him.

“I won’t take this fucking brat any longer!” Harry proclaimed, trying to fight against whatever spell he was put under.

Snape dragged Draco away from Harry, hauling him to his feet. Draco had blood running down his face from his nose and a busted lip. Bruises were already blossoming on the rest of his skin. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he shivered with fright.

“Language, Mr Potter.” Professor Slughorn’s disappointed voice rang out from behind him.

“Language? You’re worried about language?” Snape demanded. “He just attacked one of my students! You were head of house before; you should know what that’s like!”

“I - yes I do.” Professor Slughorn sighed. “Headmaster?”

“Help me get him to my office. And, Professor Snape, please call Lady Malfoy to pick him up. Madam Pomphrey is already almost all packed up, and it may be better for her to treat him.” Dumbledore instructed.

Harry felt the spell lift. With one last yearning for retribution, he sprang to his feet.

“Cut!” He hissed as he extended his hand.

Draco cried out in pain, and a long gash spanning from his temple to his jaw sliced open his face. He could see just a little bit of pink meat before the blood freely flowed out.

“Mr Potter!” Professor Slughorn called out in alarm.

Yet again, a spell restrained him. Harry snarled, trying to break it again. His arms were moved behind him, and he felt another spell go over him. He levitated just a little above the ground and was pushed out of the Great Hall.

He shimmied, barely able to break the spell enough to wiggle, until he was sitting in Dumbledore’s office. He glared at Dumbledore, something he had never done before. But anger and rage coursed through him so much that he just couldn’t contain himself.

“Harry,” Dumbledore sighed, “why did you attack Mr Malfoy?”

The spell on him loosened.

“He insulted my boyfriends. Called them desperate.”

Dumbledore sighed. “And that justified attacking him?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “He’s been at this for years, and this was the final straw.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Perhaps, perhaps you need better influences around you. During this break, you will spend your time with the Order of the Phoenix. Hopefully, you will learn to calm down.”

“I’m not spending my time with the Order.” Harry fought in his chair.

“Yes, you will. Harry, you need to learn to control yourself.” Dumbledore sighed.

Harry wiggled in displeasure.

“Professor McGonagall, would you please escort Harry to the Order’s headquarters?” Dumbledore asked.

“I will.”

Professor McGonagall gripped his arm and dragged him to the fireplace. She took a handful of powder, and they disappeared in a flock of flames. Before he could blink, he was being hauled upstairs to Grimauld Place. Walburga screamed at him. He’d break her later. Set her on fire or something.

They stopped in front of Sirius’s room before Professor McGonagall guided him to another room. This one was darker, with Slytherin-esque decorations and more bejewelled decor. Harry huffed as he sat on the bed, which was large with black silken sheets.

“Mr Potter, you will stay here until Dumbledore decides what we will do with you.” She sighed in disappointment.

She edged toward the door and quickly cancelled the spell as she shut the door. Harry sprang to his feet and darted there. But as he did, he felt numerous spells being placed on the door.

Harry banged at the door. “Stop acting like a mom!” He screamed.

He heard a gasp from the other side, but then footsteps walking away. Harry fumed and paced in the room. He wanted to break something but didn’t know what he could break. So he toured the room to see anything that looked like it would be satisfying to shatter. Glass would be nice, but it would make too much of a mess. Maybe some china? Or a clay vase? Something like that.

He ruffled around in the closet, finding fine robes, and sighed as he found nothing. Onward to the bedside tables, and besides a few books and spare scraps of parchment, he was left empty-handed.

Harry moved onto the desk, just finding a bunch of jewellery. He opened the little doors of a tiny jewellery shelf that almost seemed to draw him in with its dark aura. A necklace on a silver chain was inside. It was beautiful, a circular silver pendant with an S-shaped snake made from emeralds on the front. He could see a little latch at the side, something to open up. He went to grab it.

Dark magic consumed him.

He quickly let go, gasping as his scar burned. He let himself rest on the floor until he felt entirely safe. Slowly, he bounced back onto his feet and peered cautiously at the necklace. Another horcrux, he concluded. Something stirred within him. Should he bleed on it? Create someone else to have with him? Or should he let it stay sealed? This horcrux was who-knows-how old and could be any amount of evil Voldemort. But at the same time, he yearned for it. Maybe to have another form of connection?

He sighed. Nothing ever had a good answer. But he decided he needed to try.

“Hello, horcrux,” Harry called out, hovering his hand over the necklace.

There was a dark pulse of magic.

“I know you’re Voldemort’s; your magic feels the same,” Harry called out.

Another pulse of dark magic.

“And, if you want, I can make you corporeal. Only if you want. There are a few rules if you want to be corporeal. And if you follow them, you can get out.” Harry explained. He might as well give him a choice.

The horcrux let out another dark pulse.

“Okay, now, first, you have to not attack anyone. Well, without permission. I do hate a lot of people. No murder, yet. Just a warning, we are in the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. I don’t know if you know who they are, but they fought against your future self and murdered a lot of your followers.”

“Next, you will stay within my eyesight for now. This is for your safety, as we are in a place where people will want to kill you. Thirdly, no harm to me. I will not be easily persuaded by your devilish good looks and silver tongue, so try to keep that under wraps.”

“Finally, don’t try to latch onto anyone else for now. These are trained Aurors that know about you. They will kill you without any hesitation. Right now, I don’t have to do this. But I’ve been with the diary and ring horcrux, and they said that being in their container was like torture or imprisonment. And I empathise with that, and I’m only freeing you based upon empathy.”

“Oh, another thing. I know you aren’t the sunshine and roses kind of person, so you’ll have to think of a different way to siphon magic to stay corporeal. This will be important. The other horcruxes cuddle me, but I do not want to do that yet. I don’t know you. I wish to trust you, but I won’t until you’ve proven yourself trustworthy.” Harry breathed out.

He waited for a reaction from the horcrux. Nothing. He sighed again.

“I will check every day in the morning and at night. Do note that I do not want to keep you imprisoned, but I will if needed. If you completely reject my offer, then please tell me now. I may take you away from this place; I don’t want you to die, but nothing else.” Harry intently watched the necklace.

Nothing.

“Okay. Leaving now.” Harry sighed and retracted his hand.

He closed the doors and wandered back to the bed. His anger still brewed, but he found that he didn’t want to destroy anything. But that little interaction with the horcrux did drain him. Harry curled up under the soft covers and napped.

__________

Voldemort was tense. The anger within Potter was tearing his head apart. He’d never been this angry before. Pouring himself a headache reliever, he drank it with a fire-whiskey chaser. He waited for them to kick in, barely dulling them, and wandered down the hall. Tiberius was needed for more battle plans, and he wanted his input on some treaties.

As he entered the lounge, he found all of the inner circle clustered around the table. They were leaning over some paper, whispering.

“Can you believe it?” Amycus said in exasperation.

“No, I can’t believe it!” Rabatin followed up.

“Do you think he . . .” Bellatrix started.

“Of course, he didn’t. I thought about it, but I didn’t think they were capable. They are very different from him, however. Maybe they had a change of heart.” Tiberius imputed his opinion.

Voldemort wanted to hear more gossip, but he didn’t have the time for it. “Tiberius, a word.”

Everyone whipped around to see them. They had looks of terror and intrigue on their faces. Voldemort walked closer. If they were that enthralled by it, he wanted to see what it was.

“What are you . . .” Voldemort stopped in his tracks.

There his horcruxes were, plastered on the front page of the Prophet, kissing Potter. Not just that, but they were intimately kissing him. His lip curled in disgust. Then there was a flicker of fear within him.

Dumbledore knew what he looked like.

Some still remembered Tom Riddle, but only Tiberius and Dumbledore (and whoever Dumbledore showed) would know that he and Voldemort were one and the same. What will he do to his horcruxes now that they are out in the open? He would destroy them.

Was that the rage he felt from Potter?

Blood roared in his ears. But he kept his composure.

“Tiberius.” He ground his teeth. “I need you to review treaties in my office.”

Tiberius' lips quirked. “Of course, my Lord.”

Voldemort stomped out of the room with Tiberius at his tail. They strode down to his office. Tiberius opened his mouth when they sat down.

“What did you think of the prophet?” He asked boldly.

Voldemort flung out his wand and dug it into Tiberius’ neck. “One more word, and you are dead.”

“I just want to know what will happen when the summer begins. I want to know if I will come into a murder scene.”

“I can’t kill them; they are my horcruxes,” Voldemort growled. “I do not know what to do with them.”

“Could you do anything with them? They do not seem to care what you think nor do.” Tiberius pointed out.

Voldemort lowered his wand. “I . . . am unable to do anything.” He realised.

“If it helps, you are very different people. You weren’t like that back then.” Tiberius offered some ease of mind.

“That - does help a bit.” He hardly found a shadow of himself in the two boys. Three, if counting Potter.

Voldemort’s mood was still sour as they went over plans. Tiberius would occasionally smile, much to Voldemort’s infuriation. He was constantly distracted by the thought of his horcruxes. Were they alive? It was questionable at best. He only hoped that Potter and they had gotten out fine. That they were hidden away somewhere safe. But knowing Dumbledore, he’d get them somehow.

The Death Eaters milling around the manor would be subjected to many crucios later in the day.

__________

Snape was in a sour mood. He stomped his way to Albus’s office.

“Ah, Severus, we need to talk,” Albus said as he entered the room.

All of the Order members were there. Every last one of them. Severus internally sighed. What had he walked into?

“Severus, explain this!” Alastor demanded, throwing a copy of the Daily Prophet at him.

Severus wished he hadn’t seen the cover. Potter was snogging two young Dark Lord lookalikes. It was disturbing to look at. His brain raced to think of another explanation for it.

“These people look exactly like Voldemort,” Albus said. Severus’ forearm burned.

“They do,” Severus answered evasively. “Perhaps they are his sons?”

Alastor growled. “He does not have any sons! We investigated everyone close to him, and no one showed signs of a recent birth, nor did they have any children with them.”

Severus tried to think of an excuse. “Perhaps that’s what Ignis brought to the table.” He queried them.

“What do you mean?” Molly asked, white-faced.

“Use your brain. Someone who has two male heirs - something that none of the purebloods would give up - offered them to him in exchange for the consort status. He could have blood adopted them, making the Slytherin line have two male heirs.” Severus explained.

“Voldemort would have his line continue without them needing to do anything. And he wouldn’t care for the consort status to be taken because he doesn’t value it.” Minerva pondered.

“Exactly, Minerva. If anyone was offered two male heirs, already approaching or at their majority, he’d take it. Even more, considering they are at least half-bloods. The blood adoption would explain their appearance, but they may have the ability to care as they were raised without the Dark Lord’s presence.” Severus went on.

The group nodded, unhappy but agreeing to his answer.

“What is our next action?” Arthur asked Albus.

“Our next action is to have Harry reveal more information about the two sons. They are dating, obviously, and they would have information about Voldemort that we are not privy to.” Albus explained.

Severus just hoped that Potter would cooperate for once and agree with his lie.

__________

“Do you want to come out?” Harry asked the horcrux.

Nothing.

“Okay, I’ll check before I go to bed.” Harry withdrew his hand and walked back into the bathroom attached to the room.

He was glad it was there because they still hadn’t let him out yet. It reminded him of when he was trapped at the Dursleys. Left alone, locked up, with a horcrux. But he had no Voldemort to spend his nights with, nor did he have a good chance at an escape. Nor a cuddle-buddy.

Harry slipped into the bathroom with a huff. He lathered himself with suds and scraped out the grease from his hair. Sadness encased him as the lavender scent he acquired from his boyfriends washed away down the drain.

He had to throw on his dirty clothes because no one thought that he deserved his trunk yet. Harry was just glad he kept his boyfriends in the Chamber. If not, they would have discovered them and destroyed them.

But they would miss him over break. He said he would spend time with them, only for Dumbledore to kidnap him.

He explored the room a bit more. There was a hidden bookcase along one wall that only appeared when he accidentally pulled on a candelabra. Who has a hidden bookcase? Inside were many different books, but there were a lot of dark-magic books.

Picking one up, The Depth of the Dark, he flicked through it. The bookcase automatically closed behind him, nearly encasing his fingers as the wall moved in front of the case. He flopped on his new bed, snuggling under the covers, and propped it up on his legs.

‘Dark magic has many levels. Most spells worth your time will follow a rating system. The darker the spell, the lower the number. Most will follow a 1–5 scale. In this book, you will find all spells within the range. It is recommended master every level 5 spell before moving onto level four.’

He hummed as he passed through more pages. The spells… didn’t see that dark. Some of them were alterations of spells he already knew, while others were things he didn’t think were dark at all. How did you have a dark cleaning spell?

He shook his head.

There was a knock at his door. He threw the book under his pillows.

“Come in,” He called out.

In walked Remus Lupin. Harry didn’t know him the best, but he considered him a great person. The times they did interact were some of his highlights in the third year. The man entered and awkwardly stood near the bed. Harry inspected his gaze, searching for any clue.

There was this sadness within him, a mourning that had never disappeared since Sirius died.

“Dumbledore has asked me to gather you. It seems like an intervention of sorts. Snape, McGonagall, and Moody will be there. I wish you good luck.” Remus deflated as he spoke.

Moody was still with the order? Oh, Voldemort must have been pissed.

“Ah, shit.” Harry sighed.

Those people would know who his boyfriends were. Maybe he could lie and say they were Voldemort’s sons again? Maybe, maybe… He’d never admit they were his horcruxes. Never.

Remus led him down to the dining room. Inside, all of them were sitting at one side of the table. Harry sighed as he sat on the other end.

“Remus, you can choose to stay or not,” Dumbledore told him.

Remus didn’t hesitate and plopped himself down right beside Harry. Harry didn’t know if he was glad he was there or not. It depended on how much he judged him.

“Harry,” Dumbledore began. He slid the prophet over to him.

Harry blushed with embarrassment. Why did everyone have to shove pictures of him kissing his boyfriends in front of him?

“You know who these boys look like.” Dumbledore sighed. “Tell us why they look like Voldemort.”

“They are… related.” Harry wasn’t going to give up the information so willingly.

Moody shook his head. “These boys are dangerous, Potter! They can turn on you in at a moment’s notice and drag you back to Voldemort!”

“But they haven’t! They’re not like that! They are nothing like him!” Harry defended his lovers.

“You don’t know a thing about them.” Professor McGonagall spoke softly.

“More than you.” Harry snarled back.

“Have they been the ones you’ve been sneaking off to see?” Dumbledore asked, his tone far too controlled.

“Yeah, and what of it?” He crossed his arms.

“You’re missing all day, Mr Potter.” Professor McGonagall said. “You barely attend meals, you’re never in the library, and you aren’t sleeping in your dorm either. Where do you go?”

He fumed. “I still get all my work in, and I’m getting great scores. I go down to the Chamber of Secrets. I have some of my stuff down there.”

“Why would you go down to the Chamber of Secrets? Ms Weasley and you nearly died there!” Professor McGonagall placed a hand on her chest, aghast.

“Only we can access it,” Harry stated simply. He just wanted to get back to his room.

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry, how are they getting past the wards?”

Harry shrugged. “They find a way. Not entirely sure how.”

How did Hogwarts wards allow dark, magical artefacts inside anyway? There should be a ward that at least alerts them to it.

“You need to stop seeing them,” Moody grumbled.

“No,” Harry simply stated.

“Harry,” It was Remus who spoke, “at least play it safe. They might not be him, but who knows what’s influencing them when you’re not around?”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. At least Remus was soft about it.

“These boys are dangerous - “

“If they would have wanted to do anything, they would have already.” Harry pointed out.

“Harry - “

“I’m done with this conversation.” Harry gritted his teeth. “When do I get my trunk and wand back?”

He at least had some stuff in his trunk. Not everything, but enough.

“You will get your trunk back later. We are checking for any contraband, as we are within our rights to do. We’re keeping your wand until you calm down.” Dumbledore answered evenly.

Harry sucked in a breath. He was so, so glad he chose to relocate his boyfriends to the Chamber of Secrets. He didn’t know what he would have done if they had found them.

They’d kill his boyfriends.

“Harry, what do you know about your… partner’s heritage?” Remus asked him.

“Eh, not the best parentage.” Was all he could answer.

“We believe that they are the spawn of Ignis and blood-adopted by Voldemort,” Moody grumbled.

It took all the power within Harry to keep a straight face. He breathed in shakily and had to compose himself before he spoke.

“I do not know. They are close to Ignis. I know ye old Dark Lord goes from thinking they are fine to loathing their existence.” Harry tried to explain.

Voldemort never really liked his horcruxes. They were too emotional, too good, too… rebellious for him. He wanted them to get along, solely for his sake, but he had a feeling that if that happened, if at all, it would take a long, long time.

“That may confirm our theory.” Snape imputed.

“I believe it does,” Dumbledore sighed, “How are they, Harry?”

“They’re really kind, at least to me. They love animals and try to collect as many as they can. Courteous, but can be caught up in their own intelligence. They’re really proud of being related to the Slytherin line. They have their evil moments and some sinister looks, but they haven’t really acted on them. Well, once they attacked Bellatrix and some other person, but that’s Bellatrix we’re talking about.” Harry rambled on, trying to make them human but also giving them some ‘flaws’. Their attack on Bellatrix would be good for the Order’s side. Moody glared at him.

“What did they do, specifically?”

“Well, Thomas stunned Bellatrix with an overpowered stunning spell, and they both attacked some woman. They went away with Ignis and Voldemort, and they came back a bit bloody. But they didn’t act any different.” Harry tried to evade what really happened. Maybe they can think Ignis is also disturbed, like Voldemort. Blame their behaviour on both of them.

“Thomas? Is that one of their names?” Dumbledore pressed.

“Yeah, and Ridley, Ridley being a year older. I heard they are rather new names to them, so their birth names are different.” Harry hoped they wouldn’t see through the naming.

“That’s very close to Tom Riddle. Do you know if Ignis named them or Voldemort?” Dumbledore inquired.

Shit.

“Ignis. It seemed like a joke between them, so maybe it was an allusion to Voldemort’s birth name? I don’t think he’s happy about it if he connected the dots.” Harry answered.

“And what of Ignis?” Snape looked genuinely interested.

Harry tried not to laugh. “He’s quite improper. He is silent a lot of the time but is crude when he speaks. He talks with Tiberius a lot. He wears mostly white clothes. He’s close to Thomas and Ridley, but at the same time, he doesn’t interact with us that much.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore sighed, “I know you think they are nice people, but they are still related to Voldemort, and how you speak of them, they are around him and his consort quite often. We are concerned about you.”

“Be concerned; I don’t care. It won’t change what I do.” Harry shrugged.

“Harry . . ./p>

“Can we be done here? I’m hungry.” Harry cut him off.

Dumbledore shook his head. “Very well. I’ll ask if Molly can make something for you.”

“I can.” Remus offered. “She was trying to wrangle Fred and George last time I checked.”

“Very well. Dumbledore rose. “We will talk again, Harry.”

Harry didn’t acknowledge him.

They left the room, Snape giving him an odd look as he left. Harry was frankly drained emotionally and couldn’t bring himself to care. Remus cooked him a breakfast of sausage, eggs, bacon, and grilled cheese. There was no pumpkin juice, but there was butterbeer. Harry promised Remus that he wouldn’t tell Mrs Weasley that he drank that for breakfast.

Their conversation veered off topic, and Harry rambled on about school, occasionally swooning over his boyfriends. Remus smiled at him as he slowly sipped his coffee.

Chapter Text

Alone.

Harry woke up from a restless night of sleep alone.

How long has it been since he woke up to an empty bed? Months. And now there was no one. No warmth to greet him, the thrumming of a heart, nor the tickle of hair.

Just emptiness.

Harry tried not to let his tears fall as he shifted to lie on his side. It hurt not to be around them. Like a cut through the chest.

Maybe a shower would warm his soul.

It did not.

It only reminded him of what he lacked. The inner warmth that came with their presence. Heat that protected him from the cold of the world.

He wiped his eyes again.

Harry needed to find an escape here.

__________

“What is this?”

Professor McGonagall had found him in the corner of the library. She sat down a box.

“This contains a lot of meals. And this note, ‘Payback for last week, - LV’ what does this mean?” She placed the note in front of him.

Harry began to sweat. They’d find all of his notes. All of them.

“I cared for them when they got sick, so they gave me this to get even.” He explained.

“And, ‘LV’?” She inquired.

“LV- Love. He just spells it out short because he gets lazy sometimes.” Harry breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t signed his full name.

“Mr Potter, we also found a bundle of notes. Could you explain those for me?”

Did they send Professor McGonagall because she was an authority he respected or because she was good at getting people to answer questions?

“They… They weren’t allowed in the house. We met in the muggle world first. During this, they stood on the roof of my neighbour's house, and we wrote notes to communicate. Voldemort would sometimes pop up as well, so I mocked his inability to get to me sometimes.” He thought of the lie quickly.

She gave him a look that she didn’t quite believe him.

“And you kept them?”

“They’re special to me.” He implored.

They really were. It was like a letter to friends. He kept each and every one, hoarding them in his trunk. Even if he and Voldemort weren’t quite friends yet, maybe there was a middle ground between acquaintances and friends. Sure, they hung out a lot, but Voldemort was still cold to him a lot of the time.

“Who took you, Harry?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“I can’t say,” Harry said.

“Harry,” Professor McGonagall admonished him, “you can tell me.”

“No, like, I literally can’t. I’m spelt not to. I’m surprised every time I can talk about it.” Or lie. The spell really didn’t shelter his lies.

Professor McGonagall sighed. “Are you working on homework?”

“No. I’ve been looking into warding.” Harry gestured to his book. “And runes. But runes seem harder, and I want my boyfriends to help teach me runes.”

Learning was a lot harder without them. They talked about things in a way he could understand. He just felt stupid when he couldn’t understand the words inside.

“What else are they proficient in?” She asked, taking a seat next to him.

“Oh, just about everything. I’m a bit above them in natural talent with transfiguration and defensive spells, but they’re better than me overall. They’ve been teaching me spells, and warding, and runes, and magic…” Harry rambled on.

He knew that she was sent to get more information about him. But at that moment, he just wanted to wax poetically about his boyfriends. Everyone should know how great they were, and it's a shame that most didn’t. It was easy to see how they enraptured people.

“They seem very smart.” She imputed, “Have they taken their O.W.L.S or N.E.W.T.S?”

Harry shrugged. “Not sure. But I think they got perfect O’s, or the equivalent. They mentioned it at one point. Whether it’s official or not is the question.”

“Well, it’s good that they’re academic.” She tried to see the bright side of their relationship. “How far apart in age are they?”

“I think a year. Or about. Ridley’s at least seventeen; I should ask about their birthdays. I think it’s coming up, but I’m not sure of the exact date. And Thomas is sixteen.” Presumably forever. But they were cagey that one time about facial hair, so maybe they discovered something and didn’t tell him?

The idea of them keeping secrets made him a bit ill.

He knew they were entitled to their mysterious ways—some things he would have rather not known—but he was still a bit upset at something that big being kept from him.

“That’s a good question to ask. What will you do to celebrate?” She tried to peer over to see the contents of his book.

“I don’t know. Sneak out to Hogsmeade? Diagon? Maybe we can get our nails done in the muggle world? I should invite Voldemort along.” Harry ended with a scoff, but honestly considered it. It was all of their birthdays.

Professor McGonagall laughed, “That would be a sight to see. And a slaughter. But, Harry, still, be careful how much you taunt Voldemort. Your boyfriends may not act or be like him, but he still has access to them. He could imperio them and force them to do something to you.”

That sent chills up Harry’s spine. He never considered that before. Voldemort wouldn’t do that, but at the same time, knowing that he could was just as worrying. He sighed. Always worry about Voldemort.

“I know, I know. It’s still fun to do. Harry felt his mouth close by force. “Sorry, the spell.”

Professor McGonagall left after a few mindless minutes.

“Do you want to come out now?” Harry asked the locket once he came into his room.

Nothing.

“Well, I have no one else to talk to, so you’ll have to do. Okay, so the other two horcruxes are my boyfriends, and we ended up in the Daily Prophet, and we were kissing passionately. And they, you know, look like Tom Riddle, so Dumbledore is really angry at me. And now they want to know about—oh wait, you don’t know about the kidnapping. Okay, now we have to go back to when I cut my finger on the diary—“

There was a huge pulse of darkness from the locket.

“Is that a come-out signal? I’m not sure how long it will take, but both of them took a while. Maybe since it’s intentional, you’ll go faster?” Harry pestered the locket.

He had to face it—he was lonely. He had spent his summers alone or being harassed for years, and for the first time, he was constantly surrounded by people who loved him every day. Ron and Hermione were good to him as well, but they weren’t as… physical as he and his boyfriends. And now he had the option of get another friend. Or at least someone to talk to.

Another pulse of darkness.

“Okay, I’ll bleed on you if I can find something to cut myself with, and then you absorb magic or something. I’ll splash more blood on you, so more magic? I’m not sure how it works. I know I have a knife in my trunk if all else fails.” Harry smiled as he talked.

A pulse of darkness.

“I really hope we’re able to talk once you get out. I have a lot of stories to share about the other horcruxes and Voldemort. And I want to know how you went from a little cutie to a violent psychopath. Well, Tom is still a little unhinged, but he’s getting better. He loves animals a lot, and he no longer wants to kill them because he’s jealous.” Harry explained.

Darkness.

“Oh, I’ll wait until you’re out. I want to see you; if you can’t be physical, then spirit form is fine too.” Harry thought about what else to say. “And I’m not sure if you can sense it, but I’m also a horcrux. A living one, so don’t murder me. That just hurts everyone involved.”

A massive wave of darkness flew over Harry.

“Oh, that’s a shocker? I can’t really pick up on your emotions, so I guess you’re just shocked. Don’t worry, Voldemort was too.” Harry hummed. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone to think now. Goodnight, if I don’t talk to you again.”

Harry retracted his hand.

He threw himself onto the bed and pulled out the book from the nightstand. He was settling in well, and he enjoyed the books there. Reading, he found, filled the lonely hole in his heart. It made it so he could forget about the sadness and strife and just escape for a little bit.

“Lacero.” He spoke, waving his hand.

The sock didn’t even tremble.

“Lacero.” He repeated it, forcing more energy into it.

This time, a small rip appeared. He smiled, it worked a bit. But already he was feeling a bit drained.

“Lacero.” Harry said once more.

This time, his sock twitched. It exploded into a mess of fibres that landed in a heap. The shredding spell was a cool one. He’d have to put it to use later. Maybe he could use it to shred chicken better. Or to get his butter or mix it into a finer paste. He found that many of the dark spells were useful in cooking.

It astonished him that so much of this was hidden from him. A whole branch of useful, dark magic that, although it could harm others, could also make it so that he could do simple things better. It was a pity it wasn’t taught to everyone.

He yawned, exhausted after just a few spells. Figures, wandless magic was tiring. It wasn’t even solved with a quick nap, and he slept until the sun was down. But now that he was rested, he could try to find a knife.

Jiggling the handle, the door opened. He sighed, one less obstacle, stepping into the hall. The kitchen would have knives. Lots of knives. Harry jumped over the banister and stumbled down the stairs. But his quest would end shortly.

Almost every Order of the Phoenix member was gathered around the table, with Snape sulking in the corner. They were eating; Mrs Wealsey and Remus were at the stove stirring the last of the food when he entered.

“Oh, Harry, you’re here! We were just about to send Remus to fetch you.” Mrs Weasley smiled at him.

She reached over to the side of the stove and handed him a pre-prepared plate. He took it graciously, sniffing the delicious aroma. Steak, cheddar soup, potatoes, gravy, a bread roll, and a side of vegetables.

“Almost forgot!” Mrs Weasley handed him a glass of pumpkin juice.

“Thank you,” Harry did a mock curtsy.

Remus sat down and waved Harry over to him. He sat down next to him. Harry voraciously ate his food like he was a starving man. Remus smiled down at him and patted his back.

“Easy there, no one’s trying to steal your food. You’re like me before the full moon.” Remus laughed.

“Hungry,” Harry said through a mouthful of food.

He finished his plate quickly. Mrs Wealsey served him another portion, which he barely finished. By the time he was done, he felt bloated like a pufferfish yet satisfied.

“Harry.” He almost groaned when Dumbledore spoke. “Have you considered what we said?”

“Yes, and I still think you’re wrong. Stay out of my love life.” Harry angrily sipped his pumpkin juice.

“We just want you to be safe.” Mrs Weasley spoke in a worried tone. “You are putting yourself in a dangerous situation.”

“Have you ever stopped to think that they are putting themselves between me and Voldemort?” Harry snapped at her. Mrs Weasley looked hurt.

“But that’s not a lot of protection . . ."/p>

“I’m done here.” Harry flicked his hand, levitating the dishes to the sink. “Night.” He stomped off, his blood boiling.

How dare they bring it up again? His teeth gritted against each other. Walburga yelled at him again, and he snarled at her. He needed to ask his boyfriends if there was any way to remove her.

Inside the room, he let out a breath of relief. From his waistband, he withdrew the steak knife he had snuck. It cut into him a little bit, but that wasn’t important. He flicked off the residue on his skin and on the knife, vanishing it.

“Hello!” Harry called out as he was close to the locket.

A pulse of darkness.

“I’ll take that as a greeting. Now, I’ll put some blood on you, and you will have to tell me if you absorbed enough magic. Or at least enough to be a spirit that can feast on my magic.” Harry needed to impress upon her the importance of it.

A pulse of darkness.

“Okay, blood incoming.”

Teeth dug into his lip as he hovered the knife over his hand. He shook his head and moved to cut his finger instead of his palm. If Tom can function off of a paper cut, then a few drops of blood would be more than enough. He slicked his finger with the knife. Blood trickled down his finger but wouldn’t drip.

He lightly tapped his finger against the locket. But the wave of pain did not follow him. Maybe it was because he wasn’t trying to attack him anymore. Or it was like Voldemort, where it only hurt when he was angry.

He hummed, watching as the blood dripped down the silver and onto the emerald snake. Harry thought it looked quite nice with the new addition.

“Is that enough? I’ll give you a day or two to see if you fully absorb it.” Harry didn’t want to give more blood, but he would if he needed to.

A stronger pulse of darkness came.

“Okay, well, I know I’m tired after they feed off of me, so I’m going to bed now. I’ll see you sometime. Bye.” He paused, but there was no acknowledgement.

He sighed. The horcrux would not like him. But that was fine. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that all of the horcruxes would like him.

Horcruxes.

Horcruxes.

“Dobby?” Harry called out.

A pop sounded next to him.

“The Great Harry Potter has called Dobby! Whats will Dobby do for Harry Potter?” Dobby almost seemed to do a little dance.

“Dobby, remember where I called you when I went missing? Where I told you to never tell anyone where I was?” Harry asked him.

“Whats does Harry Potter mean?” Dobby said with an exaggerated wink.

Harry smiled. “Can you try to transport me there? With your house elf magic?”

Dobby shrugged. “Dobby does not know. Dobby will try!”

They held hands, and Dobby closed his eyes tightly. There was a pulling sensation in his stomach, but just when it felt like it was reaching its peak, it abruptly snapped back.

Dobby looked up, teary-eyed. “Dobby can’t! Dobby can’t!”

“It’s okay, Dobby; I have another option.” Harry tried to quell the house elf's nerves. “I will be writing a letter. From that room, there will be a hallway. Go down the hall and locate the office; it should be a few doors down. Either give the letter to the man who has black wavy hair and red eyes or slide it under the office door. Will you mind keeping me company while I write it?”

“Dobby would be honoured to do this for Harry Potter!” Dobby nodded with excitement.

“Okay, good. Now, another question. Would you be able to get into the Chamber of Secrets?” He needed to know. His boyfriends needed to know.

“If Harry Potter will give a memory of Chamber of Secrets, Dobby may get in.” Dobby nodded.

“Okay…” Harry scrunched his eyebrows. “If I used legilimency on you, would that work?”

Dobby nodded. “Dobby needs memory, no matter how.”

Harry looked Dobby in his large eyes. As he felt himself slip into Dobby’s excited mind, he pushed out the memory of him opening the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and walking into the Chamber.

“It’s located under the school if that helps.” Harry offered the information.

“Yes, Dobby will deliver Harry Potter letters,” Dobby promised.

“Thank you, Dobby.”

Harry strolled over to the desk in the corner. It was odd; it appeared like a slab of wood, but when tapped, it raised into a full, black-stained desk and chair. scoured the desk and the bed’s side table for parchment, quills, and ink.

Penning his letter, he found it difficult to write. He could feel the change in him—more of a draining effect. He shook his head. He needed to focus.

‘Dearest Nemesis,

Due to a scuffle with Draco Malfoy, I have been kidnapped by the Order of the Phoenix. I hate it here. It’s worse than being trapped in a room with Bellatrix. Anyway, I discovered something. Remember that missing thing from the beach? Yeah, I found it. There may be a more physical aspect to it too. Sorry, not sorry.

What do you want me to do? If I like it, I’m keeping it. But if I don’t, I can let it go. It depends on whether it likes me in return, I guess. And another thing: you saw the prophet, right? I can only imagine the reactions. They returned fine if you were wondering. We smuggled them to the Chamber and we did stuff.

Farewell,

Your Detested’

Harry grinned as he finished the last stroke. He wanted to keep it vague enough in case it got intercepted. Tiredness was seeping into his bones, but he needed to finish his letter.

‘My Loving Boyfriends,

Due to a scuffle with Draco Malfoy, I have been kidnapped by the Order of the Phoenix. It’s mostly boring, mixed with harassment. They are way too involved in our love lives. Asking far too many questions about your lookalike.

Also, I found something. You know that thing that was lost on the beach? Found it. I bled on the container; I don’t want another imprisonment case. I hope to have a meeting soon. What do you want to do? I’m not sure if we’ll get along. There’s more darkness in this one.