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Chapter Text

Avarice -

Mammonism; excessive and aggressive greed.

Middle English from Old French, Latin avaritia and avarus 'greedy'

Harry James Potter, Golden Boy, Boy-Who-Lived, Star Seeker, Gryffindor Lion, doubted that he would ever understand why fate hated him so bloody much. Bad enough that he’d witnessed the death of Cedric in the graveyard, watched the Dark Lord return, nearly been killed by a crazed Death Eater in disguise, been all but crucified by the media and then been abandoned once more at the Dursley’s by the Headmaster, his Godfather and his so-called friends; he’d stewed in his own sweat and a thick miasma of spiteful teenaged angst for just over a week, occasionally taking his anger out on the latest issue of the Daily Prophet by ripping it into near microscopic pieces, and just when he thought that things couldn’t possibly get worse this had happened.

He sat there on his arse in bed, shirtless and covered in sweat on account of the record heatwave currently affecting Little Whinging, glasses positioned haphazardly on his face, in the one place on earth he was supposed to be “safe” from the Dark Lord staring at Voldemort-who, he noted sourly, was currently holding his wand-and unable to do much more than hold up his bedsheets as if they might somehow stand a snowflake’s chance in hell of saving him from the Killing Curse. The older wizard, for his part, seemed perfectly content to simply stand at the foot of his bed and stare right back at him in total silence, the soft glow of his horribly entrancing red eyes occasionally going out as he blinked.

Is this…a nightmare?

Voldemort’s sibilant laughter met this fleeting thought as answer, turning the raven’s blood to ice and sending his heart plummeting into his stomach like a stone. “No, Harry Potter. This is not a nightmare, but very real.”

Harry felt his eyes widen as his heart leaping back into his breast, beginning to beat a panicked tattoo against his ribs as a fresh jolt of terror flooded through him.

“You are afraid. Truly afraid for the first time while facing me. I can hear your racing heart and taste your fear. It affects you so much to know that no one is coming for you this time? That no one would even think you could possibly be in danger here, where your ‘Mother’s love’ is meant to keep you safe?”

Through his fear, the raven aimed a torching glare at the Dark Lord and could only imagine that the bastard smirked at him in return beneath the shadowed hood of his cloak.

“I’m sure that you’re wondering how it is that I could stand before you now, despite the wards set up by Albus Dumbledore meant to keep me at bay?” when Harry didn’t answer he snarled “I want to hear you ask me, boy!”

He flinched at the demand, a small disconnected portion of his mind making note of the fact that the snake-like man before him must have cast a Silencing Charm over his bedroom, and narrowed his eyes again. After a moment of struggling to find his voice he managed a raspy “how are you here?”

The Dark Lord made no comment about the disrespect in his tone, his smile growing larger; Harry could now see the ivory glint of sharp teeth through the gloom. “Though the fact that I now have your blood running through my veins gave me the ability to touch you, it did nothing to allow me to get through the wards surrounding this property.”

“You tore them down, then?”

“Attempting to tear down the wards would send Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix,” Harry twitched at the unfamiliar name, “running to the rescue of their precious hero. A typical rash Gryffindor like you, of course, would not understand such a thing and can thereby be forgiven for such a stupid statement I suppose.”

Lord Voldemort forgive anyone of anything? Harry doubted it.

“Tell me, Harry, what you know of the wards which surround this house? Surely Dumbledore has at least told his great weapon something?”

‘The wards will protect you there, that is why you must return to the Dursley’s each summer. Petunia’s blood is your Mother’s blood, as is yours, and so long as you live on that premises no one wishing harm upon you may enter.’

“But you must have done something! There’s no way that you could simply pass through the wards without them stopping you: you want me dead!”

“No, Harry, I do not want you dead. I wanted you dead. You’d do best to watch your tenses.” Still holding Harry’s wand, Voldemort reached out with one moon-white hand and wrapped taloned spidery fingers around the bed post. The pale hand clashed violently with the dark wood. “I wanted you dead because I once believed that you could kill me. That you were destined to. But now, having had time to review my contact with you in the graveyard and having thought back on my resulting…observations I have realized that the reality is quite the opposite. Because of my actions which led to you bearing that scar on your forehead, your life has become integral to mine.”

Harry’s head was already spinning from that revelation, but what he said next completely blew him away.

“And it’s for that reason that Albus Dumbledore will ultimately see you dead.”

What ? Voldemort no longer wanted to kill him? He was somehow now integral to the Dark Lord continuing to live? Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the man that he had come to consider as something of a grandfather, wanted him dead? His disbelief was palpable, and so poignant that he couldn’t even voice it.

Luckily for him, Voldemort didn’t require for him to demand further elaboration this time around and continued with his explanation.

“The great Leader of the Light would not act to kill you himself, of course. Unless he comes to realize that you know the truth of what you are. His intentions are actually quite a great deal more insidious than that. Worthy of a Dark Lord, in many ways.” The grin was definitely there now. Self-satisfied and gleaming like a sharpened blade as he watched the younger wizard flounder. “He’s been raising you, Harry Potter, like a pig for slaughter. He intends for you to ultimately meet me on the battle field and martyr yourself in a duel which would see us both fall.”

“N-No! You’re wrong!” Harry was aware that his voice had cracked and was trembling slightly. “You’re lying!”

“I have never lied to you, Harry. There is nothing to be gained from me doing so.”

“And what would he gain?”

“Advancement of the ‘Greater Good’.” The reply was cold and resolute. “What does the price of the life of a single child matter when it would purchase the lives of thousands more and secure the dominance of Light Magic over Dark once and for all? So tell me, Harry Potter, are you really willing to be their hero knowing that you’re expected to fall upon your sword in their name?”

He had never wanted a part in this war. Had never wanted to be a hero. Had certainly never wanted to be a martyr! Hadn’t wanted to go through trials and slay a Basilisk and battle with Dementors and compete with older and much more learned Witches and Wizards. He’d wanted a normal life as a normal boy with normal parents. And it was because of Voldemort that he didn’t have any of those things. But it was because of Dumbledore, it seemed, that he wouldn’t even be allowed the prize which he was fighting for in the first place: his life.

And that left Harry with a difficult question to answer. Which was worse: the venomous serpent which had murdered what could have been his future or the vulture waiting to feed off its corpse?

Hadn’t he been selfless enough already without being expected to die for a cause which he’d been dragged into fighting for?

“… …” Burning beneath both his own shame and the weight of the hungry sanguine gaze resting upon him, Harry bowed his head and mumbled “I want to live,” in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

Voldemort stepped closer, the sensation of his shadow falling across him enough to send the temperature of the room into a nosedive. “Louder, Potter. I didn’t hear you.”

“I want to live!” The Hat had been right.

Picking up on his thoughts, the Dark Lord purred “from one Slytherin to another, there is nothing to be ashamed of in self-preservation.”

His green eyes gleamed in the dim light of the street lamp filtering in from outside. “I am not a Slytherin!”

“You are a snake in a lion’s skin, Harry, and you’re not fooling anyone.”

Feeling annoyance beginning to crackle to life in the pit of his stomach and very much done with that particular thread of conversation, Harry searched desperately for a change of subject. Wanting to keep the Dark Lord talking, trusting that he wouldn’t kill him outright-Voldemort held both Harry’s wand and his own and, from the look of him when he’d woken up from yet another nightmare, had been watching him sleep for quite some time-but not willing to believe he wasn’t intending to try something else. He didn’t have to look far.

“What am I?” He demanded, refusing to allow himself to drop the Dark Lord’s wicked gaze. “What am I that’s so bloody important to your continued life? So critical to be destroyed?”

Rather than Hex him for his insolence, Voldemort seemed genuinely pleased to have him ask such a question. As if their conversation was going better than he’d hoped it would.

“A Proto-Horcrux.” He replied immediately, red eyes drinking in the slightest shift in expression. Relishing the play of his reactions. “Due to the nature of your creation-I didn’t intend to make more of them, and because of that I didn’t realize sooner what you were-you are not yet a full Horcrux and will need to be completed before your true potential can be reached. And just what that true potential is can only be speculated: you are the first Human Horcrux to ever exist. The only one of your kind.”

Harry felt a tug of anguish deep inside him that clawed through his flesh and twisted his guts into a painful knot. Surprisingly, perhaps horrifyingly, it was not the revelation that he’d been created, created by Voldemort, and turned into something which was no doubt evil in some capacity that affected him but rather the knowledge that the Dark Lord hadn’t meant for it to happen.

Petunia turning up her nose every time she saw him. Vernon chasing him, screaming, through the hallways. Dudley and his smelting stick and the sneering faces of his brutish friends. Monster! Orphan! Freak!

Harry had curled in on himself without a conscious thought. “I’m an accident.”

“No!” There was an unexpected fierceness to the declaration and Voldemort, seemingly on reflex, reached towards him. Remembering the searing pain brought by his touch while in the graveyard the raven flinched and recoiled; the taloned fingers paused before they reached him before dropping back to the Dark Lord’s side. “You are a boon. A blessing. Evidence that Fate truly does favor Lord Voldemort. You are mine, Harry Potter. My most treasured and sacred possession. And I treat my belongings with utmost care.”

Wounded pride at being addressed as if he were something which could be owned, and by his long time enemy no less, warred with the near ludicrous joy of being so desired by another even if it was for selfish reasons. Blessed. Fated. He’d never been called such things before and regardless of who’s lips the praise now fell from Harry couldn’t help but feel warm.

Still, he felt like he was being dragged away by a powerful riptide out into an endless sea of chaotic turmoil. Voldemort wanted him to join him. Dumbledore wanted him dead. He was, in some capacity, some manner of Dark object or creature called a Horcrux. It was three A.M after waking from a fitful sleep following a consecutive week of little rest and he was far too tired to properly process anything that he’d been told.

Rash Gryffindor or not, he knew that he didn’t want to make a decision that he’d later regret. And where he believed that he was indeed somehow needed by Voldemort-he’d hardly still be breathing otherwise-Harry wasn’t sure that everything he’d been told was the truth.

“I can’t.” It came out soft. Hesitant. “Not now. I need time.”

He expected to find blazing fury in those red eyes when he looked up again, expected the Dark Lord to simply stun him and drag him away, but all Voldemort did was reach into the pocket of his robes and pull out not a wand but a small book and a silver bracelet.

“I wish for your potential power to be lent to me willingly, so I will allow you that time.” The raven only just managed to catch the reluctance in the older wizard’s voice. “The book I shall leave you with is a Parselscript version of Secrets of the Darkest Arts which will explain to you in detail what, exactly, a Horcrux is. I expect you to have memorized it by the time that you arrive, Potter. The bracelet is a portkey which will take you to my residence; the phrase to activate it is Black Lion.”

Both the book and the portkey were set on the bedside table, as was his wand.

“Bear in mind, boy, that I have six others; should you betray me and determine you would rather remain as Dumbledore’s lap dog, the fact that you are my Horcrux will not stop me from destroying you.”

The street lamp outside flickered briefly, and between one blink and the next the Dark Lord disappeared.

The Boy-Who-Lived ought to have been appalled at the contents of the book that he had just finished reading, or at the very least have been mildly disturbed by the fact that he’d devoured it with a marked fervor that even his Defense Against the Dark Arts text books had never garnered. To call a Horcrux evil was understating things quite spectacularly.

Darkest Art indeed.

So why was it that, after the initial shock of realizing what it was and how it was made, Harry found himself almost completely unaffected by the new information aside from what was perhaps a bit of mild nausea?

I have a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside of me. That could, quite possibly, have something to do with it.

But what to do with that newfound information? Take up Voldemort’s offer of protection, securing his immortality-as he now understood, having read the book he’d been assigned-and presumably receive some manner of Dark power out of the deal? Betray his friends for no other reason than because Voldemort, who had a reputation of lying to tempt people into doing as he wanted, said so? Because Dumbledore purportedly wanted he and Voldemort to kill each other and, supposedly, would even go so far as to kill him himself if he learned that Harry knew what he was.

There was too much on the line for him to simply turn his back on all he knew based merely on conjecture and motivated solely by a blind grab into a mystery bag of powers. Even if power had been any sort of motivator for him, which it wasn’t, his friendships and bonds were still more valuable. Of course, that said nothing about how the people on the other end might value those bonds.

Not all that bloody much, if the complete radio silence is anything to go by! Harry thought sourly, watching the dying sunlight glint off of the curve of the bracelet portkey the Dark Lord had left him as he lay in the shade of the Dursley’s flowerbed, thinking over the events of that odd night the week before while attempting to listen to the Muggle news for any possible hints of Voldemort’s movements and sheltered from the blistering heat. The Gits all threw me to the sharks! Left me to be devoured by Fudge and his thrice damned porch dogs! Maybe they deserve to have me turn on them; would certainly teach them better! And at least I can expect Voldemort to ‘treat me right’…though I’ve some concerns about what that could potentially mean.

Harry shifted slightly to dislodge the pebble which had been digging into his left shoulder blade and slung his arm behind his head. Inside, the television cut to commercials.

He referred to me as if I were some manner of inanimate object, yet he kept looking at me like he wanted to eat me. I definitely don’t like the thought of being locked away in some glass case like a trophy! As for the vague possibility that that look could possibly have meant he wanted me for something…else...I’m not sure that I’d be comfortable with paying that price for safety. I’ve never had much of a chance to think about love or sex-not that I’d have to worry a damn bloody bit about love around Lord Voldemort-or whether or not I’m interested in men or women or both. Sure, there was Cho last year, but that was only really because she was pretty. Draco is pretty too, the damn Prat!

He twitched off a particularly large Horse Fly which had attempted to make itself at home on his knee.

It isn’t that I think he’s ugly either. Sure, he’s not drop dead gorgeous anymore and the lack of a nose is a little bit…off putting but the proper word for him certainly wouldn’t be ugly. Nor would it be grotesque. Terrifying, definitely. Nightmarish, perhaps. But striking would fit him too, though I suppose claws and scales would have to be an acquired taste.

The raven shook himself in an effort to throw off the topic of the Dark Lord’s questionable attractiveness and whether or not he’d be able to perform should he land in a situation where sex would be expected of him. Never mind the fact that he wouldn’t have the slightest clue what he was doing.

Treasured I suppose I understand, given that I am a Horcrux, but sacred? What does that mean, I wonder?

The resulting image of the Death Eaters collapsing before him and kissing the hem of his robes in much the same fashion as they did Voldemort’s was equal parts gratifying and disturbing.

I think I was less uncomfortable when I was thinking about needing to have sex with him. Harry realized, bemused, as he slipped the bracelet back over the wrist of his wand hand.

“Boy!” The raven jumped so badly that he cracked the top of his head on the bottom of the windowsill, coming dangerously close to being seized around the throat by one of Vernon’s meaty hands. “Lurking underneath the window! Plotting something, surely! If the neighbor’s see-!

Harry didn’t waited around for long enough to hear what would happen if the neighbors saw, bolting out of the yard and down the block along Privet Drive. Easily keeping a steady swift pace without breaking a sweat. Headed anywhere but there, though exactly where he’d wind up Harry didn’t know.

Maybe it’d be worth betraying the whole sodding lot of them just to be able to rest assured that I’ll never have to see number four again!

Leaving the sidewalk as he pulled level with the small playground where the Housewives of Privet Drive would commonly take their young children to run out their energy, though it was deserted at the moment on account of the crippling heat, Harry crossed the small field of wood-chips and settled on one of the swings. Gently swinging back and forth, the mildly rusted chains creaking against the pole above him. Turning the bracelet absently around and around the thin bones of his wrist, marveling at its impeccable craftsmanship and the fact that it remained ice cold despite the weather and nearly constant wear.

The bracelet portkey that Voldemort had given him was, undoubtedly, the finest thing he’d ever worn in his life. Solid silver and cold hammered into the shape of a Basilisk eating its own tail, a pair of small emeralds were set into where its eyes should have been and a delicate engraving of Runes had been etched along its spine. It was beautiful, if unquestionably Slytherin, and perhaps offered an insight into the Dark Lord’s taste in jewelry.

Harry had developed a bit of a nervous tick of fiddling with it.

“Look at the freak! Out here swinging all alone like an escapee from the Looney Bin, wearing jewelry like a Poof!”

Dudley’s voice issued from somewhere much too close for Harry’s liking. His head snapped up and he found himself confronted by the sight of his massive cousin and his entire gang of cronies. This was the last thing he wanted to have to deal with while wrestling with a potential shift in sides.

“What do you want, Dudley? Gotten sick of beating up helpless nine year olds who can’t fight back?”

“What’s the matter, Potter? Didn’t your Mum ever teach you manners?” his cronies cackled stupidly from behind him, reminding Harry a great deal of Crab and Goyle. “Is she dead?”

Harry saw red, leaping up from where he’d been sitting and charging towards the much larger boy. Tearing his wand from his back pocket and wedging the tip under his chin, causing the other boy to go whiter than death.

“Don’t you dare talk about my Mother ever again, Dursley!” He snarled, watching the other whimper and tremble before him as his friends looked on in confusion. “If you do you may just find yourself in a position you’ll regret, all things considered.”

Harry was too busy glaring and threatening to fully comprehend his cousins panicked blubbering until the slew of “Sorry, I’m sorry,” turned into “Stop, please! Just stop!”

Stop? Stop what? He wasn’t doing anything and, despite his anger, his magic was for the moment perfectly in control.

So why had everything suddenly gone so dark and cold? Rain clouds had rolled in seemingly from nowhere at terrifying speed and, in the middle of summer in the heart of a heat wave, his breath was rising before him in a silver puff of air. All of the hairs rose along his arms and the back of his neck as it dawned on him what that meant.

“Dudley.” He said sharply, stepping back from his Cousin and noting the fact that his mates had all booked it and disappeared. “Dudley, shut up! I’m not doing it!”

“Y-You’re not?”

“I’m not!”

“Then what is?”

“Dementors.”

“Dementors?”

“Yes.” He snapped, annoyed. Green eyes darting left and right in search of the first signs of cloaked figures. “Dementors. What they are is not important: they’re too dangerous to waste the time explaining!”

“W-Well, what do we do?”

Harry, clutching his wand tighter in his hand, silently prayed he wouldn’t have to use it as he set his gaze on his cousin. “Run.”

Chapter Text

They ran. Bolting out of the little playground and down the lane as fast as their legs could carry them through the pelting rain. Had he not been so focused on getting the bleeding hell out of there Harry might have registered the fact that Dudley, despite his considerable size, was keeping pace with him. Likely thanks to sheer adrenaline.

Panic flooding through him, soaked through and with his lungs burning, Harry veered off the road and into the dark tunnel of an overpass with his cousin just behind. Pounding down the concrete with their footsteps echoing around them, a sheet of ice in pursuit and the lights flickering out one by one.

A hooded figure swooped down before them, blocking their path, and Harry threw out his arm to stop Dudley from barreling into what he couldn’t see.

“Other way!”

They pivoted and ran back down the tunnel, only to have another figure materialize from out of nowhere.

Two Dementors. Two Dementors in the middle of Little Whinging.

Harry barely had the chance to process that fact before a cold decaying hand wrapped around his throat and yanked him off his feet, pinning him to the wall. The first thing that popped into his head was the fact that the Dementor was much too close to him, its hooded frame all but pressed against his body as it reached up with its other hand to pull back its hood.

No! Harry struggled wildly, the strength leaving him as the cold settled deep into his bones. The familiar horrible scream ringing in his ears. The kiss. It was going to give him the kiss. He was going to be left soulless to rot on the side of the road if something wasn’t done. If someone didn’t…what was he doing? He wasn’t helpless! He had a wand! He could get rid of them with a single spell!

He just needed a happy memory.

But there were none to be found. His conscious mind was fragmented. Memories scattering like small fish in a pond as he reached blindly into the nether. Fumbling for something. Anything.

Sirius. He barely knew the man he called his Godfather. The man who had thought revenge was more important than staying to care for him after his parents had died. Who never missed a chance to compare him to his father. The message was clear: he wanted James, not Harry.

His friends. Ron, who had turned on him along with most of the rest of the school after not-Moody had thrown his name into the Goblet of Fire. Who had abandoned him at Privet Drive, along with Hermione, all because Dumbledore had said so. Who were together, even now, likely at the Burrow. Enjoying life without him.

It was over. He was done for. About to be condemned to a fate far worse than death could ever be.

The bracelet constricted around his wrist, burning his skin, and his mind snapped into clarity again. A memory exploding before his eyes with such striking vividness that it was nearly unbelievable. The cloaked form of Voldemort standing over his bed with a possessive fire burning in his eyes. Reaching out as if to comfort him. Telling him that he was wanted. Blessed. Not an accident or a freak but something special.

“Expecto Patronum!” In a burst of blinding light the opalescent stag exploded from the tip of his wand. Impaling the Dementor which had been holding him on its broad antlers and flinging it away. Breathless, frozen through and barely able to keep his feet Harry turned to where the other Dementor was attacking his cousin and pointed his wand. “Get it!”

The Patronus lowered its head and charged down the tunnel, chasing the second Dementor away into the gathering night.

Unable to walk straight, Harry stumbled and tripped over himself towards where his cousin lay stunned on the ground on his back. Grabbing him by the arm and hauling him to his feet, very nearly being taken to the ground by his weight. They needed to get out of there. Needed to get out before someone-.

“Dementors! In Little Whinging! Merlin, what is this world coming to!”

Harry didn’t know if it was the voice, the pink petticoat or the handbag that was more surprising as the familiar hunched form of his neighbor, little trolley laden with tins of cat food trundling behind her, rushed toward them.

“Mrs. Figg?” he spluttered, shocked as the agitated bracelet slithered up along his forearm to his elbow before returning to his wrist and swallowing its tail again with a stilted hiss. “You’re a witch?”

“A witch?” she repeated, ushering Harry alongside her out of the tunnel and up Privet Drive. “Doesn’t Albus tell you anything, boy? I’m a Squib.”

“A Squib?”

“Yes. A Squib. Which is why I could see the Dementors: oh, he’s going to be furious when he hears that Mundungus abandoned his post in order to purchase Black Market Cauldrons!”

“You mean that I’ve been being watched?” he demanded, furious. Green eyes flashing as he struggled to shift the dead weight which Dudley was applying to his shoulder. “And no one told me?”

“Of course you’ve been being watched; he’s not about to leave you alone when You-Know-Who is back!” she told him. “As for why you didn’t know about it, I thought that you did. At least about me.” Stopping at the beginning of the driveway of number four, she hurriedly ushered them forwards. “Inside. Quickly. We don’t want anything else to come after you; and no more magic!”

With that said, Mrs. Figg turned and hurried away back down the road leaving Harry to drag Dudley’s shaking form the rest of the way inside on his own.

“Is that you, Diddy-kins?”

Harry barely had the time to prepare himself before his Aunt came around the corner and let out a high pitched shriek. Rushing up to him and yanking her son away from his grasp she demanded “What have you done to my Diddy Dudder-kins you freak!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Harry snapped back harshly just as Vernon came plodding into the hallway, his face an ugly shade of beet red. “It was the Dementors!”

“D-Demen-?” Petunia let out another shriek and began shaking Dudley violently as if hoping to hear his soul rattling around inside. “I-I’ve heard of them, Vernon. He was telling my sister about them! That horrible boy! They…they guard their prison!”

“Called one of them, did you? Summoned one of these…these Dementees to hurt my boy-!”

“I didn’t call anything! The Dementors attacked us! I used a Patronus Charm-!”

“So you did use your freakish magic!”

“To chase them off!”

With a low hoot an owl soared through the still open front door, dropped the letter it had been carrying on top of Harry’s head and then flew up the chimney. He barely had the time to take note of the fact that the letter was from the Ministry of Magic before it unfolded itself and began reading its own contents aloud.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you preformed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle.

The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.

As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at nine A.M. the twelfth of August.

Hoping you are well,

Yours Sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office, Ministry of Magic

Harry was up the stairs before the letter could even finish speaking. Expelled? Expelled! Because he’d defended himself and his cousin from an attack by Dementors which had to have been sent there by someone within the Ministry of Magic as there was no way Voldemort would risk his own Horcrux while he might still switch sides.

Not only that but his cat obsessed neighbor, Mrs. Figg, who had tortured him for years with stale cake and endless pictures of her damned pets was a Squib, Dumbledore was having him watched 24/7 ‘for his own protection’ not that that fact had stopped Lord bloody Voldemort from Apparating casually into his bedroom in the middle of the night and on top of that his quack of a guard had been off buying Black Market Cauldrons during the one moment in time that he’d actually needed him to be there.

And now, on top of all of that, he’d been expelled. They were going to snap his wand.

No. I’m not going to sit here and wait for them to destroy my wand and leave me helpless when I’ve done nothing wrong! He fumed, grabbing Hedwig and coaxing her into her cage before snatching a rucksack from the closet. Stuffing it with the few belongings he had which really mattered to him: his wand, his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder’s Map, and the photo album filled with pictures of his parents. It may not really be Dumbledore who wants me dead, but what’s happened here tonight proves that someone is definitely out to get me. And, having seen for myself what the Light’s idea of protection amounts to, I know I can’t afford to stay here.

Harry Potter had made is choice. The Wizarding World had turned on him. The few people he thought he could depend on had abandoned him. The Light had failed him.

And he was finished with forgiving.

“Black Lion!”

The bracelet constricted once more around his wrist and the smallest bedroom of number four Privet Drive vanished into a dizzying blur of color.

Chapter Text

Portkeys had never really been his thing, so Harry shouldn’t have been overly surprised when his feet came out from under him and he landed face first on a plush Venetian rug, glasses flying off of his face and skittering away across the fine wooden floor. A large fire crackled in the massive hearth which he had crash landed in front of, leaving the soft fibers of the rug currently pressed into his right cheek comfortably warm. Hedwig hooted indignantly from within her capsized cage, amber eyes wide and glaring at him from over the top of his rucksack which thankfully hadn’t torn open and spilled its contents across the room.

“Your landings are in dire need of work, brother.”

The voice was high and raspy but undeniably feminine and one which he recognized immediately. Hard to forget when, the last time he’d heard it, it had been anticipating eating him. Slowly, afraid that if he moved too quickly it would prompt the animal to strike, Harry raised his head and his eyes landed immediately on the blotchy blur of color which he assumed to be the coiled body of Voldemort’s massive snake, Nagini.

“Portkeys aren’t exactly found of me.” He said, squinting and still somewhat disoriented. Moments later it fully clicked in his mind what she had said. “Did you just call me…brother?”

“That is what you are, hatchling. My brother.”

“I…no. I’m Human. You’re a snake.”

“But we’re both Horcruxes.”

Pushing himself up onto all fours, Harry sat back on his haunches. “You’re a Horcrux? But I thought…he told me that he’d never created a living Horcrux before me!”

His thoughts raced so quickly that they blurred. Anger that he had, again, been lied to and resignation that he should have expected such a thing mixed with a bitter realization that he could hardly return to the Dursley’s even if he’d wanted to and the pointed observation that he didn’t. Everything ground to an immediate halt when the frozen shadow fell over him again, his glasses and the blue tinged talons which held them brought close enough to his face that he could see them clearly despite his abysmal vision.

“I told you, Harry, nothing but the truth.” The Dark Lord hissed as the raven carefully took the sight aid-avoiding touching the other’s hand as he did so-and replaced it back on his face. “If you remember, I said that I had never made a Human Horcrux. Not that I had never made a living one.”

Was that what he had said? It could have been. In all honesty, between the confusion, denial and lack of sleep the memories he’d formed of their last conversation were fuzzy at best.

“Can you stand?” Harry nodded and reached for his rucksack but Voldemort stopped him. “Leave your things. They will be taken to your rooms by one of the House Elves. You will accompany me to my private study: we’ve much to discuss.”

The Dark Lord swept from the room without a further word. Not wanting to be left behind to get lost in the labyrinth of halls which must accompany so large a room, Harry sent a final brief glance at his things before following him out of the room. Harry kept directly on the tails of the taller man’s flowing robes, so close he nearly stepped on them a handful of times, green eyes flickering from shadow to shadow expecting a Death Eater to appear at any moment.

“You needn’t fear my people, Harry. Though it is true they do not know about you, and will not learn of you until they must, this is not the floor of Slytherin Manor on which I conduct my Lordly business and it is thereby not a floor that my Death Eaters-even Wormtail-are permitted to set foot on.” The dark susurrus drifted back to him from over Voldemort’s pointed shoulder. “You may roam freely assured that the only other living creatures you will encounter here are House Elves, Nagini and myself.”

Roam freely? As in come and go as he wished from whatever room he wished at any time that he desired? No locks or charms to bar his way or curfews to keep him in bed? This place, Slytherin Manor, was already better than the Dursleys the Burrow and even Hogwarts, at least in that regard.

Voldemort pushed open a heavy oaken door and motioned him sharply through it. “In.” Harry passed by the looming form of the Darkest Wizard of all time and stepped into his private study.

The floor was made of the same dark wood as the desk, bookshelf and set of cabinets which lined the far right wall and a pair of small leather upholstered chairs had been situated astride an end table set before a large window looking out upon the manor’s grounds, draped in heavy curtains of emerald velvet. The walls were bare of portraits and a chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, its wide arms fashioned into tarnished silver snakes. Behind the handsome heavy desk rose a high-backed throne like chair and behind that chair, for the moment little more than a gaping square of empty darkness, stood a fireplace of black marble.

His eyes flickered between the no doubt Dark-object stuffed cabinets and the tome-swollen shelves with cautious curiosity as Voldemort swept passed him and collapsed elegantly behind the desk, a flick of his wand setting the hearth alight with verdant flames and dragging one of the chairs from beside the window to stand opposite his own.

“Sit.”

Finding himself uncharacteristically excited by the prospect of engaging his once nemesis in another conversation while he was awake enough to properly focus, a real conversation in which he was actually a player and was treated as such rather than as a child to be sheltered and patronized, starving for information on his plans and what would happen next and all but salivating at the prospect of receiving it, Harry obeyed. Striding across the room and lowering himself into the prepared seat. With the eldritch flames glittering in alert eyes he observed the older wizard intently, waiting for him to speak.

“You came to a decision regarding a change in our relationship more quickly than I had anticipated, Potter.” Voldemort finally said after what seemed to Harry to be an eternity of waiting. “I had been prepared to weather months without reply. All but expected that even the truth of your ultimate demise would not be enough to shake you from his hold. That you were Dumbledore’s man, through and through, and that would not change. So what has happened?”

“Dumbledore abandoned me!” He bit out. Simmering anger flaring once again, Harry aimed a bitter glare at the nearest leg of the desk. Looking at it as if, if he stared at it for long enough, it would combust. “They all abandoned me, and I’m sick of it! Tired of being used when I’m needed and thrown aside when I’m not! They tell me that I’m a ‘Hero’ and then they tell me that I’m an attention seeking brat who’s lost his mind! I’m sick of being nothing but a meaningless icon, sick of sacrificing for others who I know and who I’ve never met who could care less if I lived or died, and I figured that…that…” he was trembling, he realized almost detachedly, fists balled and shaking as the bottled up emotion of years gone by exploding from his person all at once and at last even without him having yet to fully recover from his earlier contact with the Dementors. “That, to you, I’d mean something. Because of what I am. Because of the Horcrux in my head. I don’t even care what that something is, just…stability would mean the world to me at this point.”

The large long fingered hand coming down on his shoulder made him jump. The rain-dampened fabric of his shirt preventing the contact, preventing the pain. The Dark Lord had moved with a swiftness and silence which was utterly unbelievable and once more stood over him, leaving the raven to stare up at him in shock. Voldemort’s infernal eyes were unreadable, but his grip was grounding. Almost shockingly so.

“What you mean to me, Harry, is victory. By activating that portkey, becoming my Black Lion, you have handed me the war on a silver platter. But you’ve not answered my question: allow me to word it differently in case it wasn’t clear enough. What changed to make you come to me tonight?”

The shivering intensified, a mixture of stress and the cold. “The Ministry of Magic. Someone in the Ministry of Magic sent Dementors after me. To shut me up because they didn’t like what I’ve been saying about your being back.” The night hunting slits constricted further, becoming so thin that they were very nearly swallowed by sanguine red and though he said nothing Harry could feel his rage begin to boil acutely through their connection. “They tried to give me the Kiss but I learned the Patronus Charm years ago and was able to chase them off. It was purely self-defense and more than justified, but they expelled me. They were coming to snap my wand. I wasn’t about to sit by and let them do that to me after everything I’ve already gone through!”

“They were going to snap your wand? Expel you? Without a trial?” Ophidian nostrils flared as a furious hiss which more than befitted his nightmarish form issued from beneath his hood. Voldemort released him, returning to his place behind the desk with a snap of black fabric. “Lucius will make use of his connections within the Ministry. You will have a trial. You will be absolved. You will return to Hogwarts and continue to act the part of the Golden Boy-Who-Lived until I have regained enough power to be absolutely certain that Dumbledore will not be able to bring you to harm when the fact that you have realized what you are is revealed. This is unnegotiable. Am I understood?”

Voldemort would order Lucius Malfoy to pull strings on his behalf? He would, without any shadow of a doubt, be returning to Hogwarts for another year? No relief came from that knowledge, and to realize that was almost surreal. Hairs rising and sensing danger in his tone, Harry bowed his head. “Yes…Sir?”

He didn’t know what he was now expected to refer to him as now. My Lord? Master? He certainly hoped not: that would take considerable getting used to.

“You may call me what you wish, Harry, so long as you do not abuse the privilege.” He removed his attention from the boy in front of him and barked. “Tilky!”

With a loud crack a House Elf, dressed in rags similar to what Dobby had been while under the ownership of the Malfoys and looking absolutely terrified, appeared in the room. At the moment Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel pity for the miserable creature. “W-What can Tilky d-do for Master?”

“A hot drink for my…honored guest. Honeyduke’s finest hot chocolate: he’s had a run-in with Dementors.”

The House Elf vanished once again with a loud crack. Silence reigned between them but for the popping of the fire in the hearth behind Voldemort’s chair until the House Elf reappeared, remaining only long enough to press the drink into his hands before leaving again. Harry immediately curled around the hot mug, the scalding chocolate chasing both the cold and the lingering effects of exposure to Dementors away at last. Little by little, the shivering calmed and stopped.

“As we discussed before, you are as of yet incomplete. A Proto-Horcrux and little else. We must undergo the Ritual to finish what was begun on Halloween night 1981, and the same protections which I have put upon Nagini must be placed on you as well. Preparations will take time. In the interim, you will acquaint yourself with your surroundings. I’m understood?”

Harry nodded mutely, too concerned with finishing the drink in his hands to bother with words. For the time being this seemed to suit Voldemort perfectly fine.

“After the Ritual has been completed you’ll be sure to notice…changes. We’ll spend the time between the end of the Ritual and the day of your trial adjusting you to your true nature and unlocking the basic secrets of the abilities which may manifest. You will learn such things as Dark Arts and Apparition at a later time. Is this understood?”

Again, Harry nodded as Nagini slithered in through the door which had been left slightly ajar.

“Good. Nagini will see you to your room, where I expect you to sleep. You will need to be rested if we are to be productive; one of the Elves will wake you in the morning for breakfast. I expect you showered and dressed: I believe I got your size correct when attending to the matter of your wardrobe. You are not to wear Muggle clothing in my presence, nor ever again if it can be avoided. You are a vessel of my soul and are thereby above such filth.”

“I understand.”

Voldemort had gone shopping for him? Voldemort had gone shopping at all? Harry had a hard time imagining the Dark Lord, glamoured or otherwise, walking down Diagon Alley or even Knockturn Alley. Let alone walking into Madam Malkins of Twilfit and Tattings.

Of course, given the visible extent of Voldemort’s fashion sense-black-he had to admit the prospect of potentially discovering his supposedly existent wardrobe to consist of nothing but sweeping hooded cloaks in a solid color scheme had him at least a little nervous.

“You’re dismissed. Leave the mug.”

Not wanting to risk inflaming his new benefactor’s temper until he had a better idea of exactly where he stood on shaky ground Harry rose from his chair and followed the snake out of the room.

“You’re worried.”

His green eyes swiveled downwards to look at her. “The Ministry has it out for me; I came here because I needed somewhere to hide. He said that he’ll fix things, rig the trial in my favor, but…I have a hard time believing that Lucius Malfoy has so much influence with Fudge to really get me off Scott-free.”

“What our Master says will be done will be done. You’ll be taken care of. Though, I suppose, with the history between you and our Master that knowledge will take some getting used to.”

“That’s putting it rather lightly, I think.”

Nagini hissed meaninglessly as she came to a stop outside another heavy wooden door. “Our Master spent much time preparing your room before he went to speak with you. Know it took great effort: he would often complain that he colors annoyed him.”

The colors? Reaching out to push open the door, Harry stepped into what was apparently his bedroom and froze. Twice the size of the dorms of Hogwarts and almost ten times the size of the smallest bedroom of number four, the walls and ceiling were painted dark gold and the floor was carpeted in plush fibers of the same color. A golden chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, its arms ending in heraldic lions clutching glowing pearls of light in their jaws and another hearth, marble like the one in Voldemort’s study but in a lighter shade of champagne instead of black, stood across from a four-poster bed.

Edged in dark walnut, the drapings and duvet-like the curtains which hung over the windows set into the far wall-were dyed a deep shade of heart’s blood crimson and the sheets and pillowcases were woven of golden silk.

Gryffindor colors.

Recovered from the initial shock, Harry couldn’t help but grin. “It’s brilliant.”

“He will be pleased to know that you’re satisfied with your room. House Elves will attend to your needs should you require something. It is unlikely you will see our Master again for a number of days as his foremost concern will be setting up the necessary components of the ritual; I suggest you acquaint yourself well with this floor of the manor and avoid disturbing him.”

Probably sound advice. Just because Voldemort wasn’t going to kill him didn’t mean he wouldn’t wind up tortured if he didn’t tread carefully especially given the Dark Lord’s love of the Cruciatus Curse.

“I’ll do that.” He told her somewhat distractedly. “Nagini?” the serpent’s slitted eyes fell on him questioningly. “I know that he likes to use the Torture Curse on the Death Eaters when they do things wrong, that he’s put me under the Curse before, but now that he knows what I am do you think he still would? Has he ever tortured you?”

“Humans like you may fear him, but the Heir of Slytherin is a good Master who has only ever taken care of me. Of course, I have never given him reason to do otherwise. As for whether or not he will turn his wand on you I cannot say for sure, but I find it unlikely unless you betray him or commit some other egregious infraction. You are the first and the only of your kind and are beyond valuable to him; I know vaguely of his plans for you, and you can be certain that you’ll want for nothing. I will leave you now.”

Well then, if that was the case. “Good night, Nagini.” As he shut the door behind her with a heavy click, Harry couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly her massive length managed to vanish back into the gloomy shadows of the hall. After staring at the wood rather dumbly for nearly a minute, he turned to face what was now his room.

It really was massive. So much so that it almost made him feel small. The bed, alone, dwarfed him. Harry’s green eyes roved over the contours of the fire place, the hidden door which likely led to a bathroom and the fluttering curtains covering the window revealing a chink in the darkness outside. It seemed as if it took him five minutes to cross from one side of the room to the other, and when he finally reached the window he looked outside.

The grounds of the manor stretched on and out of sight, much of it thick with trees. Perfect for pleasure flights on a broom.

With a brief stab of realization Harry remembered that he’d left the vast majority of his belongings-including his Firebolt-in the cupboard under the stairs at Private Drive. And he highly doubted that Voldemort was the type to keep extra brooms in one of the Manor’s many closets. Considering who he was, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to discover that the Dark Lord knew of an alternate much more ‘elegant’ method of flight.

Maybe he’d teach him, one day.

Thoughts of unaided flight and images of what lessons with Voldemort might be like scattered as, with a low hoot and a quiet rustle of wings, Hedwig alighted on his shoulder.

“Hey there, girl. I’m glad they let you out of their cage before I got in here.” He said, stroking the white feathers of his familiar as she nibbled affectionately on the shell of his ear. “You won’t have to worry about being shut up again. I’ll never put you back in that cage if I can help it.”

Hedwig swiveled her head to fix him in a worried amber gaze.

“I know that it seems…strange, to say the least, for us to be here. In the Dark Lord’s house. Under his protection. But you don’t need to worry for me, Hedwig. I’m safer here than I’ve ever been under Dumbledore’s watch, if what happened earlier is anything to go by.”

Another low hoot, this one rising in tone at the end as if in question.

“You don’t know if you can see me as a Dark Wizard?” Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. “I don’t know if I can either, honestly. He said that he’s going to teach me the Dark Arts, but just because I’ll know them doesn’t mean I’ll have to use them. Even though I’ve changed sides I think I’ll try and stay Light. At least for now.” His hand fell back to his side. Hedwig’s talons tightened briefly around his shoulder. “I just…don’t know, Hedwig. This isn't what I wanted, neither side is, but at least this way I get to live. I’ll take what I can at this point. Have you headed out yet? It looks like there’s great hunting to be had here.”

Hedwig hooted again and lifted off his shoulder, ignoring the open window behind the curtains and instead going to perch on the handsome bird stand where she’d been resting on before he walked in. The message was clear: she wouldn’t leave him until he’d gotten his head on straight and his emotions back under an at least tenuous control.

Harry couldn’t help but feel intensely grateful.

Not yet wanting to face the potentially dour mystery of what lurked within the beautiful ward robe and with the room more than warm enough-cooled by a pleasant breeze which filtered in from outside-he didn’t need to bother searching for sleep clothes. He simply pulled off his jeans and still damp shirt and, in only his boxers, curled up beneath the sheets to sleep.

Chapter Text

By the time Harry woke up from what was probably the best sleep he’d ever had in his life, pushed the blankets off of himself and got to his feet the Muggle clothing which he’d been wearing the night before had vanished, likely taken by one of the House Elves at some point while he’d been out cold and given his benefactor’s apparent view on Muggle clothing he highly suspected that they’d found their way into one of Slytherin Manor’s many fire places. Even if they hadn’t he couldn’t exactly go wearing them around: on top of not wanting to push too many of the Dark Lord’s buttons at the moment, Harry would prefer not to re-wear dirty clothing whenever such behavior could possibly be avoided.

The Boy-Who-Lived had made his way into the adjoining bathroom to take a shower and had lingered under the warm water for much longer than he needed to. But Harry knew that showers were not the place inside of which to hide from his problems even if they were, for the time being, as tame as a wardrobe containing clothing in a range of coloring which, quite possibly, stood to be as varied in color as a barrel of crude oil and eventually got out, dried himself off with a waiting towel which most decidedly had not been there before-the whole business of having House Elves was something he’d definitely have to get used to-and emerged from the smaller room into the larger one beyond.

There was no avoiding it now, provided he didn’t want to spend the rest of his time there parading around starkers. And he most decidedly didn’t; the mere thought was enough to set his face on fire.

Swallowing thickly, Harry stepped up to the handsome piece of furniture and reached out towards it. Fingers lingering on the ornately carved handles of the double doors, hair still dripping, for a small eternity before managing to pluck up enough of the courage that Gryffindors were known for to yank them open with the quiet click of a releasing latch.

He’d never seen so many colors in his life, though not a single one of them was even the slightest bit garish, and the fabric which made up even a single article was likely worth more than the entire contents of his vault at Gringotts. Silks. Velvets. Dragon hide. All in dark, vibrant, vivid hues. Indigo blue like threads of woven midnight. Black the color of the finest ink. Rich wine red. Vibrant emerald. Some in solid colors adorned with metallic buttons down their fronts, others with accents of gold or silver in every shape imaginable, some static and some moving. There were shirts and pants and robes, casual formal and dress.

Prior to that very moment Harry never would have been able to imagine himself ever winding up in a situation where he’d legitimately be concerned that he’d prove unable to competently dress himself but with so many options thrust into his face so suddenly putting on something that didn’t go together was now a stark and really quite likely reality. Hesitating each time he was about to grab something, desperately not wanting to wind up looking like a fool despite the fact that the only living soul he’d stand to risk running into that wasn’t an Elf or a snake was Voldemort himself, who he wasn’t particularly concerned with impressing. Would he care? Did he want to risk that he would care?

He’d really rather not be put under another Torture Curse for accidentally miss-coordinating colors or fabrics.

Ultimately Harry decided on a comparatively simple option and selected a black robe with numerous silver buckles down the front and managed, with only minor difficulty, to put it on over a pair of rather high-brow Dragon hide boots. The fitting of the robe was immaculate, loose where necessary and clinging in all the right places to make him look as if he weren’t describable as waifish, and the fabric-silk, probably, though he couldn’t be entirely sure-cascaded over his skin like water. Being clothed in something so fine was…a new experience and Harry couldn’t help but turn to face the mirror which had been set into one of the wardrobe’s doors. The robes were a mirror of his ever-wild hair. The silver buckles brought out the slightest flecks of the same color in his own eyes.

It looked like something that Draco Malfoy might wear.

Was this how he was going to live the rest of his life? Dressing like a Pure Blood Lord? Sleeping in the lap of luxury? Eating out of Voldemort’s hand? The hand of the man who had killed his parents. Oh Gods, his parents: his father, James, whose name he bore as his middle name, and his mother, Lily. His mother who hadn’t had to die that night. Who had sacrificed herself to save him. The whole reason he had the scar on his forehead-the Horcrux in his head-in the first place. Who had come to save him in the graveyard just weeks before.

How would he ever be able to face them in the afterlife if he went through with this? Would they scorn him for being ungrateful? Blame him for what Voldemort no doubt planned to use this mysterious ‘power’ he supposedly stood to gain to do? Hate him, even? Not want him as their son any longer, as the Dursleys had never wanted him as their nephew, for selling out to the Dark?

Harry didn’t realize that he’d begun to spiral into a tangled mire of panic and doubt until a familiar weight on his shoulder snapped him out of it. Hedwig hooted lowly, carding her curved beak through his hair and tugging gently on the strands. He was as white as her feathers and struggling to stop himself from hyperventilating.

“Hey, Hedwig.” Harry said softly, never feeling more grateful to the owl than he did in that moment. Her amber eyes scanned his reflection before the snowy owl emitted an approving whistle, succeeding in dragging a smile out of him. “Handsome, am I? I appreciate it, but I think you may be biased towards your Master.”

The hoot that she gave in reply seemed to be a firm insistence of the opposite.

“Remind me to give you a handful of owl nuts as soon as I get the chance.” Marveling at the almost preternatural intuitiveness of animals Harry closed the wardrobe doors, ran a hand quickly through his damp hair in a futile effort to tame it and left his bedroom intent on exploring as much of the manor as he was permitted to and committing the layout to memory as best he could. “Come with me exploring, or would you rather stay here?”

Hedwig rustled her feathers but made no effort to leave his shoulder, so Harry closed the door of his bedroom behind them both and started out down the hallway at a brusque pace. His footfalls were muffled by the thick carpet of the rugs which had been thrown across the manor’s wooden floors. Harry noticed that the strange trend of a total absence of portraits, Muggle and Magical alike, continued through the halls and every room he visited. Bedrooms, all unused and none quite so grand as his own. Two sitting rooms, the green and silver one naturally a great deal bigger than the other which was painted in more shades of white than he’d previously known existed. A cavernous dining hall with a polished table, luxurious chairs and a view through the windows which was nothing short of divine. A locked door which, Harry assumed, led to the Dark Lord’s own bedroom.

Though the curiosity was so strong that it made his wand hand itch he didn’t dare attempt to break in. That, he felt certain, would be a mistake he would most assuredly come to dearly regret. Likely quite quickly. Hedwig seemed to mirror this sentiment, shifting nervously on his shoulder.

Neither of them could get away from that door quite quickly enough.

Passing by another closed door which Harry knew led to Voldemort’s study at almost a run, he ducked through another pair of open doors into a sun-gilded room which smelled of old ink and even older parchment.

Merlin’s beard, if Hermione were to see this place she’d drop dead from the joy alone. Never mind that every one of these books likely has something to do with Dark Magic. With a renewed pang of painful guilt at the thought of one of his dearest friends which he hastily acted to push away, Harry allowed his green gaze to rove across the cavernous room that he had wandered into.

The entire wall opposite him was made of glass, providing a view even better than that of the dining room and drenching the room in copious amounts of natural light. The floor-swathed, as seemed to be the prevailing pattern throughout the manor, in fine rugs-shelving and ceiling were all comprised of the same dark polished wood and the seating-a variety of arm chairs, couches and daybeds in a distinctly Victorian style-were likewise upholstered in dark leather. The shelves on all sides of him were so full of books that it was a miracle of nature and magic that they didn’t simply collapse under the combined weight, and the two floors were connected by a single tight corkscrew staircase.

“Hoot!” Exclaimed Hedwig.

“You’re completely right.” Harry said, staring open mouthed at the myriad of ancient texts, bent spines baring titles in every language imaginable. “Even with as old as he is, it’s hard to believe that Voldemort has read all of these.”

“This is only a small fraction of what our Master has read over the course of his life time.” A sleepy sounding hiss issued from behind one of the couches. “And there may come a time where you have read them all as well, brother. Mortality will leave you behind once you’re completed: you won’t die unless you’re killed.”

Walking around the side of the couch revealed Nagini’s coiled form resting comfortably where the sunlight was most direct.

“Good afternoon: I’d begun to think you’d gone into hibernation with how late that you’ve slept.”

“I’ve actually been awake for a while, just wandering around.” Not to mention that unnecessarily long shower he’d taken to avoid facing his wardrobe for fear of what it might contain. “There’s so much on just this floor alone: this manor is huge! It’ll be near as difficult to learn to get around here as it was Hogwarts, especially since I’m not allowed downstairs.”

“You’re allowed downstairs, brother. Just not when our Master’s playthings are here, which none are at the current time. If you wish to see the bottom floor and the surrounding grounds on your own power before you’re introduced as one of us I would suggest that you take your chance and do it now.”

The sooner that he learned the complete lay of the land the better, he supposed.

“Thanks, Nagini. I think I’ll do that.”

“You’re welcome. Now go away, I want to sleep.”

Smiling at the massive serpent, Harry spun on his heel and swept-yes, he was actually in robes that would allow him to do that and it was so ridiculously Snape-like that he couldn’t help but snicker to himself like an idiot-out of the room. His upswing in mood ended abruptly when he rounded the first corner of the bottom floor and ran right into Wormtail who, despite looking absolutely terrified at the sight of him, reached for his wand.

But he never got the chance to use it.

“WORMTAIL!” Both Harry and the sniveling waste of a man jumped a mile at the sudden harsh shout. He looked up to find the Dark Lord glaring at the much smaller man, red eyes gleaming dangerously from where he leaned over the landing above. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I-I…M-M-My Lord, H-Harry P-P-Potter is-s-.”

“I know that Potter is here, you sniveling imbecile! I’m the one that brought him here, though my reasons for that are far beyond one of your worth. Not,” those menacing rubies landed on him like a one-ton weight, “that anyone else is supposed to know that he is here. I do believe I made it clear to you, boy, that you were not to reveal yourself!”

“I wasn’t trying to!” Harry protested, his familiar seconding his proclamation with an indignant hoot and shooting a glare which few would dare to at the Dark Lord. “I was exploring, like you told me to, and ran into Nagini in the library. She said that no one was here so that I should be alright to have a look around down here as well.” His own gaze returned to Wormtail with murder in his eyes. “I forgot about him!”

Voldemort continued to stare at him for another long moment, searching for any signs of untruth but finding none, and reluctantly relented. “Very well. But in the future, you are to speak to me before engaging in further…exploits. Wormtail!”

The rodent-man flinched and cringed, whimpering.

“You are not to speak of this to anyone. In fact, you never saw Potter. Should you see fit to believe otherwise, the Cruciatus Curse will be far too mild a punishment.”

“Y-Yes My L-L-Lord! I under-unders-stand, My Lord!” His beady, watering eyes fell on Harry and he gestured-one hand tipped in dirty yellow nails and the other solid silver-for Harry to pass him and continue down the hallway. When Voldemort made no attempt to stop him, Harry did just that.

The lower floor, he quickly realized, was much less interesting than the one above him had been. Containing a lot of meaningless rooms, a meeting room with a long table and a large brick fire-place-plainly utilitarian and not meant to provide any relief to the eye, unlike those upstairs-and the kitchen which was awash with House Elves, to which he was quick to explain that he was only looking.

“What do you say that we go outside now, Hedwig? I think I’ve seen everything that there is to see in here apart from the basement that probably a dungeon and I don’t want to go down there if it can be avoided, and you can have a chance to hunt since I know you were too busy making sure I was ok to go last night.”

Hedwig nipped affectionately at his fingers as he made his way back to the front doors and stepped out onto the manor’s porch. Slopping grassy lawns lush gardens and a forest of trees stretched before him as far as the eye could see. The summer air was warm but no longer oppressively hot-the manor, mercifully, was located somewhere away from the reach of the heat wave-and smelled of earth and trees and life. Birds chirped and insects buzzed and fluttered about amongst the flowers that either Wormtail or the many House Elves were tending to.

It was a Dark Eden, to him, and a new experience. To be able to set foot outside, alone and without his wand and be entirely free of even the slightest subconscious fear that there was something lurking in the shadows to kill him. It was liberating, but at the same time would take a great deal of adjusting to.

Hedwig lifted off his shoulder with a powerful down stroke of her large white wings and soared off towards the nearby trees. Smiling from ear to ear, Harry quickly trotted after her. Enjoying the soft breeze and dappled sunlight and the crunch of needles leaves and fallen branches underfoot as he walked, watching his owl-his last real friend and, perhaps, the only one he’d ever actually had-soar and swoop through the air in the same way as he so loved to do on a broom.

It were almost as if she were showing off for his benefit.

This is the right choice. He assured himself for what felt to be the millionth time, yet still his thoughts rang with an edge of doubt. Was it? Was it really? Was he sure? How could he be when he was only a child! A child and far from worldly, raised away from the society to which he really belonged. Neither of us will ever be caged again. We’ll die free, like we always should have been.

What was stopping the Dark Lord from locking him up like some priceless artifact the moment that this Ritual, whatever it entailed, was over with? He’d never promised that he wouldn’t. Never given any sort of oath, magical or otherwise.

Yet he was trusting him. He was trusting him, and God knew it was all but surely a mistake.

Yes, but if it is a mistake at least then it’s MY mistake! MY mistake caused by decisions which are entirely my own.

The voices of his doubt fell to a hiss which, with enough effort, Harry was able to ignore. Some hours passed. Hedwig caught a good-sized vole and he watched her eat it with a mixture of interest and disgust with himself, looking on as his owl stripped the flesh from the creature’s bones. That was what he would be doing, soon. Transforming from the Prey into the Predator: from the Stag into the Black Lion. Hunting for fun. Killing because he could.

To animals, nature. To man, murder.

It was near sunset that he found himself sitting against a boulder near a small shallow stream, listening to the play of water and the whispering of the wind through the trees. Harry had intended for his rest to be a short one, but he ended up accidentally falling asleep. And, unfortunately for him, as so often happened he spiraled down into a nightmare. Though this one was starkly different than usual.

Again, he stood in the graveyard lashed to the statue of the Angel of Death. Again, he was wandless and defenseless. But this time it wasn’t the Death Eaters who glared at him, closing in with hatred and betrayal in their glassy clouded eyes. The zombified forms of his former friends and loved ones, ravaged and in varying states of decay as they advanced. Reaching for him with ragged claws. Teeth bared in bleeding mouths.

“Monster!”

“Traitor!”

“You did this!”

Harry jerked awake when Hedwig landed on his knee, tipping over with his sudden movement and landing on his side in the leaves. Upended from her perch when he’d fallen, his familiar settled herself on his shoulder as soon as he’d righted himself and stood up with another hoot.

Jittering, eyes wide and with his skin flushed with goosebumps despite the warmth of summer Harry wasted no time in turning on his heel and setting off back towards the manor at almost a run.

Chapter Text

Harry had gotten approximately an hour’s worth of sleep in the last three days. Every time he closed his eyes, it seemed, he’d see some new variation of the same nightmare which had first tormented him while out on the grounds of Slytherin Manor. Each a bit more pointed. Each a bit more detailed and realistic. Each a bit worse. Maybe it was a manifestation of his own paranoid fear or maybe it was a byproduct of the ensuing lack of sleep but in recent hours Harry had all but become convinced that someone-perhaps Dumbledore, though he doubted that the Headmaster would have interpreted his disappearance from the Dursleys as anything other than a repeat of his antics from his third year-but someone had somehow figured out what he’d done and was somehow sending him these tormenting visions in an effort to guilt him into running back to the Light.

The small, semi-sensical part of his mind that had yet to completely fall asleep was aware that this was totally delusional on his part but by this point it was too bloody tired to bother with speaking up on the matter.

Solid blackness pressed its face against the windows of his grandiose room as if trying to invade it. A fire popped quietly as it burned low in the large hearth opposite the bed in which he sat, propped against a tower of pillows and curled up in the crimson duvet, stroking his owl’s feathers instead of getting the rest that his body all but screamed for. In fact, he was actively putting all of his remaining will and energy into fending off sleep for as long as possible though he doubted that he could last for very much longer unless he suddenly found himself with uninhibited access to caffeine.

He very much dreaded a return to the clutches of the nightmare he could very nearly feel as another presence in the room with him.

A House Elf appearing with a loud crack jerked him back to full awareness, nearly sending him spilling onto the floor in shock. Hedwig, hooting angrily at the sudden disturbance, took flight and sought refuge atop the bird stand in the corner of the room.

“I apologize for startling you, Master Potter Sir. I am Dakry, and Master has ordered me to collect you for the Ritual, Sir.” The little creature squeaked, staring up at him with large tennis ball eyes as it reached up with one small hand. “Master requested explicitly that you be brough to him immediately. It is best that we don’t make him angry, Sir.”

The House Elf had a point; he was in bad enough shape as it was without having to contend with an angry Voldemort on top of it all. Disentangling himself from the duvet and stepping out of bed Harry took the Elf’s hand and, with another crack, found himself standing in front of the door which led down into the basement.

Naturally.

“Master waits in the upper basement: everything that could be set up beforehand has been attended to, but you must join him before the final preparations can be made.”

Moments later the House elf was gone. Swallowing his hesitance and fear, Harry pulled open the basement door and headed down the stone staircase which lay on the other side.

The room below was dark and cold, entirely windowless and lit only by the dim glow of black candles. A ritual circle had been scratched onto the floor with a mix of salt and chalk, a wicked looking dagger driven into the floor at each of the cardinal points, in the center of which stood a stone table. The Dark Lord, blending in almost seamlessly with the surrounding gloom but for his smoldering scarlet eyes, stood within the circle holding what looked to be a small bowl in one hand. Watching him as he stood there, swaying in an almost drunken manner, fidgeting nervously.

“Second thoughts, Harry?” his voice was even colder than usual and held a taunting sting in its tail. “Something troubling your sleep? Perhaps…guilt?”

When the teen averted his eyes the older wizard laughed, the cruel sound echoing high and harsh off the stone walls surrounding them.

“Such things won’t trouble you for much longer. In fact, soon, you may find yourself less capable of guilt and such similar…weaknesses.” Extending one long spidery hand towards him, the appendage appearing even less natural in the jaundiced light of the candles, Voldemort made a come-hither motion which was strikingly disturbing. “Come in.”

Glancing down at the bold line of the ritual circle, he stepped over it cautiously and approached the much taller Dark Wizard. The white Yew wand flicked sharply through the gloom and his shirt fell open; sucking in a breath in surprise he reflexively reached for the two sides which now hung limply from his shoulders in an effort to redo the buttons which had held it together but was stopped cold by another sharp movement. Green eyes wide with shock and confusion, his gaze locked with that of the other man; the hunger now evident in the glowing eyes sent a chill of fear whizzing down his spine.

A third impatient movement made what was expected of him quite clear; reluctantly, he divested himself of the shirt and let it fall to the floor at his feet leaving him standing bare chested and shivering with a mixture of anticipation cold and terror, utterly vulnerable before the man who would once have gladly seen him dead.

“I will warn you that this experience will not be a pleasant one for you.” One of the long blue-tinged talons dipped into the bowl, coming out drenched in something thick and dark. Ink? Blood? In the low lighting he couldn’t tell. “Do not expect mercy from me. Your screams are meaningless.”

Harry barely had the chance to register what he’d said before the Dark Lord reached towards him, the ink drenched talon making only the slightest contact with his skin-little more than the tip of a quill to parchment-but it felt like a needle had been driven into his flesh.

“Hold still!”

Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists in an effort to control the almost overpowering urge to recoil he remained as still as he could despite the pain. Hot nettles raked across his skin with each pass of the talon, etching symbols that he didn’t recognize in patterns which were seemingly random across his skin. Maybe he should have followed Hermione’s example in their third year and dropped Divination for Ancient Runes. Maybe then, assuming that these symbols even were Runes, he’d be able to know what was being painted so precisely along the hills and valleys of his ribs.

It wasn’t the worst pain that he’d ever had to go through in his life, far from it, but it was still an immense relief when the other stopped touching him and stepped back. His entire torso was now covered in the black symbols, the ink chilling his skin even further as they dried. Harry wasn’t given the chance to ask what he was expected to do next, as another command came almost instantly.

“Strip!” Voldemort ordered as he turned to dispense with the remaining ink. “And lie down on the table.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

The shaking intensified even more as he fumbled with his remaining clothing, intensely grateful for the darkness and nearly falling as his legs became tangled in the fabric, and dropped them beside where his shirt had fallen before pulling himself up onto the table. Screwing his eyes tightly shut and focusing on his breathing and the way that the cold stone was prodding uncomfortably into his shoulder blades and back. Anything to keep his mind from running wild over what was about to happen and making what it shouldn’t about further sounds of rustling fabric. Trying not to think about the absolute agony which what he dreaded most would happen next was sure to inflict on him if the lightest touch of talons and the press of a single finger had caused so much pain in their own right.

He wished that he could remember, through the panic and the muddle of self-inflicted sleep deprivation, what the damned book had said about the full Ritual to prepare the vessel and seal it as a Horcrux, outside of merely murdering to rip the soul apart while at the same time numbly aware of the fact that it likely had no standing on his circumstances anyway.

World’s first Human Horcrux. An innovation in Dark Magic. A Trail blazer. Merlin, could his sense of humor get any more morbid?

The small laugh which had begun to bubble up at how ridiculous his life had become died in his throat as what felt like a white hot brand wrapped around his waist, pressing firmly into him above the swell of each hip. So painful that, he felt certain, his skin would blister and break and that at any moment the smell of burning flesh would begin to fill the room. So painful that it made his ears ring and struck him blind. So painful that it made him arch sharply off the table, back bending so severely that his spine threatened to snap in half at any moment.

The agony was moving, now. No longer confined to merely one place. It was surrounding him. Inside of him. He was on fire. Burning alive. At any moment, surely, his body would fall to ashes around him. He was only vaguely aware of the sound of hoarse screaming or of the taste of blood in his mouth, but didn’t register them as his own. When vice-like fingers closed around his throat to silence them, a scalding collar closing his airway with brutal abruptness, everything suddenly fell away into merciful unfeeling.

Looking back on it, he’d probably passed out at that point.

When he regained consciousness it was to discover several things: he was no longer at all bothered by the fact that he was entirely nude and had-presumably-just been violated and he suddenly no longer needed either his glasses nor much more than the barest trace of light to see perfectly.

Muscles stiff from abuse and what could easily have been hours of lying there unconscious on the stone table, Harry sat up with a soft groan and looked around. The candles had nearly burned down to nothing and quite a few of them had gone out. The daggers marking the cardinal directions were gone and the circle had been broken. Voldemort was gone.

Seems like I’ll have to track him down, then. I’ve some questions which still need answering: best to get as much information as I can from him before something else I don’t expect happens.

As he slid off the table and rose to his feet, Harry couldn’t help but be surprised by his own thoughts. It wasn’t something he could really put his finger on, nothing so overt as those that were not his own like what had sometimes happened when Voldemort’s thoughts had leaked over through their link, but more like his brain had been partially-if not completely-rewired. Things like morals empathy and certain emotions-love, happiness and regret-which he’d once put great stock in or, at least, felt strongly on differing occasions had been suppressed while other things-greed, wrath and lust most especially-had intensified in turn. He found himself suffering from what could only be described as a predatory compulsion-a furious itch to hunt and kill-and a powerful desire that he’d never once suffered from before: the desire to fight, maim and break.

But worst of all was the hunger; it were as if a bottomless pit had opened up inside of him, a yawning void which demanded to be filled. A violent craving for something outside the bounds of what would be considered food by the ‘sane’ of the world. Though what that something was he didn’t have the slightest clue.

So many changes. So many questions. And the hunger. The aching, hollow pain of it. Clouding his thoughts even further. Inflamming his already livid, feral temper. He needed to find Voldemort. Receive answers. Put himself to rights as best he could, given the changes that the Ritual had wrought.

Harry barely spared a glance to the clothing lying on the floor before determining that putting them on would take far too much time, he simply turned and proceeded up the stairs. Heading to the second floor and finding the other man in the very first place he looked: the study.

If Voldemort was surprised to see him walk into the room wearing nothing but the shadows of the doorframe he didn’t comment, instead taking the opportunity to rake his red eyes once again over the rune-inscribed body which had been writhing in agony beneath him only a few hours before. The flush of exertion and embarrassment was gone: the green eyed boy stared right back almost challengingly, the black pupils no longer quite as round as they should have been.

“What, Potter, have you done with your clothing?”

“I left it downstairs; I figured that the answers I’m after were too urgent and that you wouldn’t mind.” His tongue flicked out briefly to whet pink lips, head tilting slightly to the side to reveal a tantalizing view of the pale column of his throat. “Was I wrong?”

“Too much effort was expended on my part to acquire your clothing for you to decide that you’d rather run around without it.” There was equal parts seduction and annoyance in his hiss. Well aware that the Dark Lord had side-stepped the question, Harry allowed his lips to pull upwards into a sharp toothed smirk.

“You knew that I would change after you ‘completed me’.” A statement, not a question, made in a voice carefully kept from becoming accusatory.

“I suspected that you would no longer be the same. Even as small as the portion of my soul embedded in your scar is, it wouldn’t be compatible with the doe-eyed bleeding heart Dumbledore had so carefully cultivated you into becoming.” Voldemort paused for a moment before speaking again. “Though, no matter how thoroughly I may have theorized on the matter I ultimately had no way of knowing what, precisely, would emerge from the joining of my soul shard and the unblemished soul of the Boy-Who-Lived as a Human Horcrux. I did not even truly know if you would survive.”

“I see.” He continued watching, expression bordering on indifferent, as the older Wizard opened a leather-bound notebook which appeared rather similar to the Diary that he’d destroyed during his second year. “So I’m as much your Horcrux as your pet project. Your designer weapon. A lab rat.”

“You are neither a pet project nor a lab rat; your life is too precious to risk experimenting on you, but I must know the limits of what you're capable of in order to best deploy you against our enemies.” There was an edge, now, of burgeoning impatience to his voice. Harry couldn’t help but bare his teeth in a cheeky grin. “Inform me what you’ve noticed which would lead you to complain about not being forewarned of ‘changes’.”

“I didn’t say I was complaining.” Leaving the doorframe he’d been propped against Harry padded across the room and leaned, palms flat, against the desk. Aware of the other’s careful attention to the curve of his back and the fact that this new position left his arse lifted slightly into the air. “Not all of it, at least. For one thing, I can see. For another, you were right: the Guilty conscious I’ve been suffering from-along with any trace of modesty, it seems-is gone. I can sleep now. The only thing I’m really complaining about is the fact that I feel like I’ve been hollowed out and it hurts!”

“You merely need to feed. The discomfort that you’re feeling is my Horcrux sustaining itself on your magic in the absence of any other source of energy.”

“Feed? Sustaining…my magic?” confusion and a small spike of anger frizzled through him, back arching like an angry cat as his eyes narrowed. “What-?”

“It will be taken care of tomorrow: while you are here you will not need to worry about going without both food and the necessary…sustenance for my Horcrux but once you’ve left to return to Hogwarts it will be up to you.”

“I-.”

“Tomorrow.” It was clear that their conversation was over. Harry snarled but the Dark Lord, thoroughly unimpressed, simply stared back at him.

Realizing that his efforts at intimidation were getting him nowhere, he reluctantly relented. Moving on to another line of concerning questioning. “The other Horcruxes which are all inanimate objects are locked away and under protection somewhere, I’m sure. Nagini is a pet to you and little more, and she tells me that you have plans for me. What are they?” he demanded. “If not a lab rat and a weapon, what am I to you?”

“More than an inanimate object and more than a pet but none of that will prove of any concern until after you’re free of Albus Dumbledore.”

“That answer isn’t-!”

The spindly hand which wasn’t still holding the quill shot out at astonishing speed and wrapped around his throat; though the grip was gentle the underlying threat was clear, but that wasn’t what cut off the raven’s words. Rather than the splitting agony he’d long since grown to associate with the touch of the Dark Lord the long fingers now braceletting his windpipe set off waves of mind numbing pleasure so powerful that his knees buckled and he hit the floor with a dull thump.

“You are the closest thing to a double of myself now, Potter. The only Human bearer of my soul. As such I’ve a certain level of…affection for you and your place will be one which no other can fill.” With that cryptic answer he released his hold, leaving the teen staring after him with parted lips and blown pupils. “Be gone. I’ve things which need doing and your presence is an unwanted distraction.”

Shaking his head dazedly to clear it of at least a small portion of the warm silvery fog which had completely overtaken him Harry got shakily to his feet and, a few moments later, stumbled from the room.

Chapter Text

Harry tilted his head to the side and watched as his reflection in the mirror mimicked the motion, staring back at him with a detached interest. The low collar of the deep emerald shirt he wore revealed a generous portion of his clavicle and chest, pale skin still stained with the shadows of the Runes which he’d washed off late the night before, the long sleeves clinging to his arms and highlighting the lean muscle he’d gained from three years of playing Seeker and the silver Basilisk glittering from its position coiled around his wrist. The rich hue of the fabric was a great deal darker than that of his cat-slit eyes-blinking out from behind the now empty wire rims of his glasses-and matched well with the deep black pants he wore under it and the Dragonhide boots which had quickly become his favorite.

Hedwig, seated on his shoulder and watching him evaluate himself, let out an almost exasperated whistle before lifting her wing and beginning to preen.

“I’m aware I’m acting like a girl, thank you for pointing that out Hedwig.” He said dryly, briefly inspecting himself again from a different angle before finally reaching out and closing the door of the wardrobe with a quiet click. “But this is going to be the first meal which we actually share with our…host. I don’t want to attend it looking as if I’m not even capable of dressing myself: the last thing I need is to have him start treating me like a child, too.”

His owl hooted a rather smug response.

“Seems to you like I’m trying to catch his notice, does it? You’d be right. I am.” Pushing open the door of his room and stepping out into the hallway beyond, Harry began to make his way towards the grand dining room where his benefactor waited. “And can you blame me? This is the ‘great’ Lord Voldemort, Darkest Wizard of All Time, that we’re talking about. The ever-so-controlled Heir of Salazar Slytherin. The man who split his soul into eight pieces without so much as a thought spared to the crimes he was committing against man and nature and even his own sanity. Yet I can make him hot and bothered simply by walking into the room: how quickly he seems to have gone from wanting to kill me to wanting to bugger me until I can’t walk is, to say the least, entertaining.”

Hedwig shuffled about briefly on his shoulder before emitting a sound that made it rather clear she’d begun to question his sanity. Chuckling softly and lightly stroking his knuckles down her back, Harry pushed open the door and entered the dining room. The day outside was bright and clear, the sunlight turning the carpet of lush grass and the tops of the trees a verdant green and the cloudless sky a wide expanse of powdered cerulean. Far in the distance was the shape of what might have been a mountain.

The scenery held his attention for only a moment before it was drawn away by Voldemort’s sibilant voice.

“Harry,” it was odd to hear it free of malice or anger of some sort and uncolored by some undivulged intention. “You’re near to being late.”

The Dark Lord sat at the head of the table furthest from the door, watching him as intently as ever though his red eyes were disappointingly unreadable; not for much longer if Harry had his way. He was dressed not in his usual black cloak but rather a silk vest over a darkly colored shirt of similar fabric and what may very well have been a carbon copy of the pants that he himself was wearing.

“I’ve never had a habit of being timely, Voldemort.” He said, pulling out the nearest chair-the one at the opposite end of the table-but when he moved to sit down it slid out of reach.

“You will sit here.” He indicated the chair directly to his right. Harry’s smirk grew larger as he rounded the end of the table to sit down. “You find something amusing?”

“Amusing?” Harry echoed thoughtfully, leaning forward and resting his forearms against the table top, allowing the deep collar of his shirt to fall open and reveal more of his chest; the glowing eyes focused in on this fact almost immediately. “I’d say interesting would be a better word.”

“And just what, precisely, do you find so ‘interesting’?”

The raven shrugged, the cavalier motion nearly unseating his owl and earning him a disapproving hoot. “You’ve only ever worn the same thing when I’ve seen you, either in person or in the flashes I could get into your mind due to the incomplete Horcrux, so forgive my false impression that your wardrobe merely consisted of duplicates of the same black robe.”

To his endless amusement the Dark Lord’s slitted pupils rolled briefly toward the ceiling as if praying for patience before he spoke again. “A foolish assumption. The contents of my wardrobe are none of your concern, Potter.”

Harry made a small disappointed whine but the grin didn’t slip from his face.

“You still call me Voldemort.” The older Wizard said after another long moment. “Given that I allowed you free reign to call me what you wished, I would have expected you to have taken advantage of it by now.”

“Did you expect that one of the things which the Ritual would change would be the development of a sudden urge to call you ‘Master’?” Harry didn’t miss the slight dilation of the slitted pupils. “You’ll have to work for that. Or, perhaps, you expected me to ‘abuse the privilege’ by falling into the habit of calling you by your given name? Dumbledore calls you Tom: that, alone, is reason enough for me not to. I’ve always called you Voldemort.” He sat back in his chair. “I don’t see why that should change now.”

“Why indeed.” The Dark Lord hissed, sitting back as well as House Elves appeared around them bearing heavy platters of food which they quickly set out on the table. Voldemort spoke again only once they’d returned to their work in the kitchen below. “Despite your corrected vision you still wear your glasses?”

“I’m notorious for my terrible vision: potential attackers will think that they can render me defenseless by breaking or removing my glasses, and their mistake in underestimating me can be used to my advantage.” Harry replied, piling everything he could get his hands on onto his plate without sparing a thought to what any of it was. “Not to mention that, if I started walking around without glasses on, someone would notice: I’d rather not spend the rest of my sentence pretending to be on the side of the Light purposely running into everything in front of me and falling down staircases.”

“And you think that Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix-many of whom are well trained Aurors-won’t notice that you’re wearing frames without any lenses in them?”

“I haven’t put the non-prescription glass in yet; don’t have access to any, unless you’d have me carving circles out of the windows?”

“You’ll receive what you need from proper sources. Behave yourself!”

Rather than quail at the snap in the Dark Lord’s voice Harry smiled and kittenishly licked the bacon grease from his fingers. “Where are we?”

Voldemort blinked at him as if he’d just asked something that was profoundly stupid. “Surely you must know by now that you’ve been staying at Slytherin Manor.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” He set his fork down lightly beside his now clean plate and reached for seconds. “Privet Drive was in London, but the heat wave that’s been suffocating the area isn’t around here so I know we must not be in the region anymore. So where are we? Scotland? Wales?”

“The Isle of Man.”

The little raven perked up, quickly swallowing a mouthful of eggs; the motion of his throat was carefully observed. “Ooh, exotic. I’ve never been outside of England before, except to go to Hogwarts of course.” Breaking off a small piece of bacon, he held it up for Hedwig who gladly took it from him. “I’ll have to explore some of the towns and villages the next time I’m here. Even if they are only Muggle settlements, it’ll still be interesting.”

“You’ll find plenty of interesting things here without having to resort to exploring the simple dens of filthy Muggles!” The possessive snap was obvious now. “Don’t feed your owl off of your plate!”

“I’m not feeding Hedwig off of my plate,” he drawled, “I’m feeding her out of my hand.” The snark was quite clearly not appreciated. “I’ve another question.”

“Do you?”

Ah, there was the tone that he was used to.

“Secrets of the Darkest Arts mentioned that the vessel of a Horcrux is, merely by the nature of what it is, shrouded by certain protections. You said that you had cast additional protections on Nagini, and that you planned to cast them on me as well-.”

“I’ve already taken care of that, Harry.” Voldemort had reigned in his anger to a manageable point, but his voice quivered like a too-taught string. “I’ve cast every protection which Nagini has and more on you, Âme.”

The word was unfamiliar, possessed of a rolling quality which definitely wasn’t English. He’d heard it before and recently; from Fleur and the other students visiting from Beauxbatons for the Triwizard Tournament.

French.

Now it was his turn to flush and shudder, made only worse when Voldemort laid a large spidery hand against the side of his face. Harry sucked in a breath and leaned into the Dark Lord’s touch, a low purr beginning to rumble in the depths of his chest as his eyes fell to half-mast.

“My Lion. My sweet, precious soul. The Chamber’s Basilisk is dead-you saw to that-so the only thing you need fear is Fiendfyre, and there are few who could control so Dark a spell.”

The long taloned fingers gently clasping his jaw began to move, running down the column of his neck and over his chest. Stopping only once it rested over the raven’s heart, feeling it fluttering against his palm. Harry was panting now, pupils blown to the point where his eyes appeared black. Pink lips parted and wet.

“So easily you come undone, Harry. A prolonged touch all it takes to make you fall apart in my hands.” He removed his hand, prompting the raven to protest with a high-pitched whimper. Voldemort grinned wolfishly, putting rows of sharp teeth on full display. The Dark Lord was quite obviously pleased to have staked his claim to control of the remaining conversation. “You truly look beautiful broken and unwound. Though you lost consciousness before we finished last time: I look forward to the time when I can view the completed picture.”

“And I look forward to the time where you’ll go beyond teasing me, Voldemort.” Though still entirely breathless, Harry still managed to make his tone sour. Glaring at the Dark Lord as his pupils slowly shrank back down to their normal size.

“Soon, my Lion. By the end of this year I will have returned to my full power, with the help of your blood. We needn’t hide for much longer.” Switching back to English and rising to his feet abruptly he said “come.” The raven briefly glanced at the remaining food but before he could protest Voldemort cut him off. “You could consume twice your body weight in food and it would do nothing to assuage that hunger. I’ve already informed you of its cause. Now, come!”

This time the request was made with considerably more force. Sighing and leaving his familiar perched on the back of his chair with another strip of bacon, Harry rose from his seat and fell into step behind the Dark Lord. Voldemort led him to the lower floor and then down the stone staircase, passed the room where the Ritual had taken place and into a lower basement below.

A dungeon, Harry quickly realized. The walls made of damp stone and lined with bars of unforgiving iron. Most of the cells were empty but for the heavy manacles bolted to the walls and the occasional rat but the one at the far end of the row was occupied by a badly disheveled and nearly skeletal figure, shivering in the cold and looking out at them with frightened eyes.

“A Muggleborn,” he realized with no small amount of horror.

“One particularly weak of magic, unfortunately, though they will be enough for our purposes. For the time being.” A pass of his hand and the lock released with a heavy sounding clank; Voldemort pushed open the door with a shriek of rusted metal and motioned Harry in ahead of him.

As he stepped into the small and nearly freezing cell the prisoner’s eyes snapped onto him. Sizing up the tiny raven that now stood before them, looking even smaller than ever with the Dark Lord looming just behind. Gaze landing on the scar barely visible through the curtain of his dark bangs and their fear relenting to an unwilling hope; an open plea that the Boy-Who-Lived would save them.

Harry looked from Voldemort to the bound prisoner and back again in confusion, unsure of what it was that he was expected to do.

“I don’t…understand.” His wand was up in his room: he didn’t need to fear attack any longer and didn’t want to draw more of the Ministry’s attention while there lest he accidentally lead them straight to Slytherin Manor, not knowing if the Trace would still activate while under the heavy wards, so a Killing Curse or Torture Curse were out of the question. And he didn’t have any weapons on him. He supposed that he could strangle them to death if he really had to, but he was rather hoping that he wouldn’t.

Harry may well have changed quite drastically since the Ritual but the desire he now felt to kill frightened him with its intensity and he didn’t much fancy the thought of giving into it.

“What am I supposed to…why are we down here?”

“Do you not remember what you’ve read and what I told you?” The Dark Lord hissed, watching the raven flounder in confusion as the prisoner-seeming to realize that the supposed Hero would be offering no help-began to struggle again. Harry had to fight the urge to snap his attention back to them. “Horcruxes are parasitic entities: when not in contact with a host they go dormant and are, as a result, relatively inert, but once they find one they feed on the life force and magic of that often oblivious host until the soul fragment inside is strong enough to act on its own. You are experienced with this, I trust?”

Harry suddenly felt very cold, mouth going dry as the incessant predatory urge grew to boiling point beneath his skin, stoked by the clanking chains. “The Diary.”

“Yes. My boyhood Diary which I so unwisely entrusted into Lucius’ care. Which you destroyed like you destroyed my Basilisk. Your brother, whom you didn’t recognize though with you having yet to be completed I doubt it would have recognized you either.” A single talon came to rest on the back of his neck; a hum of warmth skittering along his spine. “You are no longer the good little hero. No longer the Golden Boy. Do not fight your instincts.”

No, he wasn’t. That was true. But he still didn’t want to bend to the unfamiliar urges.

“The hunger. The emptiness. The pain. All of it will go away once you do this, at least for a time. But you’ll continue to suffer if you don’t.”

As if spurred on by being mentioned the gnawing hunger gave a painful flare; nearly enough to make him double over around himself.

“It will be easier after the first time. After you’ve had your first taste of death.” The single talon was joined by the rest of his thin fingers; they stroked down his neck from his hairline to the top of his collar and back again. “Trust me, my Lion. Do it.”

Harry took a shaky step further forwards into the little room, and then another, well aware of both the calculating gaze of the Dark Lord and the fearful eyes of the prisoner which would become his prey as he stood there, somewhat weak in the knees, in the middle of the cell. No wand. No weapons. But the Diary had merely had to be in Ginny’s possession and use to be able to feed off of and possess her so maybe…could it really be that simple?

He reached towards the shackled figure with a quivering hand, placing his fingers lightly against the narrow wrist. A feeling quite similar to static electricity snapped through him, his grip constricting almost of its own accord as a roaring sound filled his ears drowning out his other senses. The thin bones grinding together as the prisoner thrashed violently in a desperate, short lived effort to escape him before falling limp.

Hairs standing on end and skin flushed with goosebumps, Harry stared at his hand for what could have been a small eternity before slowly releasing his hold and stepping back. Finally, finally, he felt whole again. All traces of that damned almost unplaceable hunger were gone. The predator instinct having silenced its growling. With a shock of surprise the former Golden Boy found that he very much liked the feeling of killing. The power that came with holding a life in his hands. He could see only one problem with the situation as it was.

It was boring when they were already tied up.

“Next time,” the raven turned to face the figure still looming in the doorway, “let them run. We could put all of the land the manor has to use: it’d be a lot more fun for me to have to hunt them down.”

The Dark Lord was looking at him with a brutal smirk on his serpentine face. “Perhaps some time soon,” Voldemort said. “For now, we focus on determining exactly what it is that you can do.”

Chapter Text

He’d only been working with the thing for little over a week, but he’d already decided that he hated the charged crystal he’d been given to practice with.

Learn to control whether you take magic or not, he said. Learn to control how much you take when you do, he said. It should be simple, he said! Naturally the bloody thing is locked against taking more than the smallest amount possible at a time and I can’t figure out how to do that!

Harry glared at the two foot column of cloudy quarts in front of him as if the hunk of inert rock had personally offended him in some way. He’d tried pushing it over a number of days before after his anger had gotten the better of him only to discover, with great disappointment, that his benefactor had conspired against him and spelled the damned thing to be unbreakable. The heavy thunk of it colliding with the floor had, however briefly, made him feel at least a bit vindicated for a short time though.

Now with the annoyance once more beginning to boil over, the raven found himself considering pushing it over again simply out of spite. Hissing under his breath, he glared harder. Green eyes narrowed at the badly distorted reflection in the crystal’s murky surface. He was so focused on giving his warped double the evil eye that he didn’t notice the other presence In the room until he spoke, causing him to whip his head around so quickly that he nearly snapped his neck.

“Harry,” Voldemort was-to the raven’s muted amusement-back in his usual robe, watching him from the doorway of the bedroom. “Leave the crystal for now and grab your cloak. Lucius has returned with news which I feel you need to hear, but I can’t have you seen.”

“Right.” Relieved to have an excuse to abandon beating himself against a hunk of rock which was a great deal more skilled at holding on to what it had been given than it had any right to be, Harry nodded and rose from his position seated cross-legged on the floor. Stiff joints popped and crackled as he stretched before heading over to where his still-packed rucksack hung from the back of the chair positioned in front of his desk. “I’ll be right down.”

But the Dark Lord had already moved out of the doorway and down the hall. Grabbing his cloak from within the rucksack and draping the silvery fabric over his arm he followed him out.

Voldemort hadn’t gone far: Harry found him waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

“Put it on. We don’t have the time to waste.” Harry obediently threw the cloak over his head and, after crouching down slightly to make sure that his feet were covered, descended the stairs on the black tails of the Dark Lord’s robes.

Lucius Malfoy awaited them in a smaller version of the study from upstairs: between its size and sparse decorations Harry assumed that this was merely a staging room of sorts which Voldemort could use to meet with smaller groups of his followers without the length of a massive table getting in the way. The moment that they entered the room, Harry quick to slip through the door before it could close so that he didn’t get hit by it, the Head of the Malfoy family fell to his knees and all but pressed his forehead against the floor.

It reminded him so much of Dobby that Harry practically had to shove his fist into his mouth to stop himself from laughing,

“My Lord!” The man simpered as Voldemort glided across the room to seat himself behind the desk. Harry carefully perched on the edge, provoking a quiet annoyed grumble from the Dark Lord. “I have good news in regards to your request that Potter’s expulsion be rescinded.”

When Voldemort didn’t speak the blonde continued with the news he’d come to the manor to deliver.

“Cornelius Fudge was stubborn on the issue, but a…campaign donation of near record size managed to swing his views on the matter in the end. Similar bribes have been extended to all susceptible officials. Where I cannot completely guarantee the outcome, we can be all but certain that things will be as you desire: the insufferable boy will return to Hogwarts for another year. Provided that he doesn’t remain on the lamb.”

“Dumbledore and his drooling sycophants haven’t found him, Lucius?” Voldemort hissed. “Albus Dumbledore, the Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, founder and leader of the Order of the Phoenix, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, falsely lauded as the only one I’ve ever feared, his pack of Light-zealots and the entire Ministry of Magic together are unable to find a 14 year old boy incapable of using his wand without triggering the Trace who has yet to even take his O.W.L.s?” sharp teeth were bared in a smile. “Our prospects are all but certain with their ‘hero’ flown away.”

“They are all looking for him, My Lord. Desperately. Should we join the search as well? Bring him to you before they can take him back into their protection?”

“No.” The Dark Wizard replied. “I know precisely where the Boy-Who-Lived is at right this very moment.” Sitting on top of the desk not three feet away from them. “Precisely where I want him. Precisely where you’ll leave him.”

“My Lord?”

Voldemort’s flourish as he stood up nearly sent the cloak flying off of Harry: he had to cling to it in order to avoid being revealed. “I have plans for the Little Gryffindor Lion: he will serve his purpose at Hogwarts and, at the end of the year, the Golden Boy will die.”

Publicly. Privately, he’d been dead for a while now. The raven smirked to himself as he watched the Dark Lord open the study door again in a clear expectation that the Malfoy Head would leave; getting the message, Lucius seemed all too glad to vacate the area.

Once certain that the Death Eater would not return, he removed the cloak from his shoulders and dropped it into his lap. Allowing the diaphanous fabric to pool across his legs.

“Serve a purpose, will I?” Harry was well aware of the suggestive tone in his voice, a smug smile curling on his pink lips. “Might I ask you what that purpose is?”

“The same one you’re serving now. You know what it is.”

“I don’t know all the details, though.”

“You’ve never required them to act before, Potter!”

The raven dipped his head and shrugged, allowing his legs to fall from their crossed position and dangle off the edge of the desk. “Got me there.” He permitted resignedly. “I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while now, but other things seem to keep stealing the spotlight of importance: what’s this ‘Order of the Phoenix’ that I keep hearing about? I’ve picked up that it’s founded and led by Dumbledore and that it’s apparently full of Aurors but that’s about it.”

Voldemort’s red eyes regarded him for a moment before the Dark Lord answered him. “It was, as you’ve said, founded by Albus Dumbledore in 1970 during the First War and though it isn’t entirely comprised of Aurors a fair number of its members either are or have been Dark Wizard Hunters.” He said. “The Order of the Phoenix is, essentially and in its most basic terms, a secret organization formed with the intention of protecting both the current establishment of Wizarding Britain and the Muggles from me.”

“And they’ve been looking for me?”

“Desperately. But why wouldn’t they be? You are their hero. Their shining beacon of hope.”

“The viper in the nest.” Harry’s green eyes gleamed brightly with anticipation. “That’s what your plans are for me are: to infiltrate the Order and-.”

“No!” Voldemort was across the small space in an instant, his hands curling around the shoulders of the smaller male. “You will do nothing of the sort. Will not act in any manner which would jeopardize your safety or give the truth of what you are away. I already have a spy within the Order of the Phoenix and do not need another.”

The raven pouted. “Who is it? Just so that I know who I can turn to for help in an absolute emergency.”

“You’re not to reveal yourself to Severus unless under the most dire of circumstances. Am I understood, Potter?”

“Snape? I knew it! Time and again I told the Headmaster that he was really your man and he wouldn’t hear it!” Harry’s pleased shock ended rather abruptly his eyes narrowing. “You know he hates me, right?”

“You will tolerate his behavior for the remainder of your stay at Hogwarts. It will be curbed, steeply, once you’ve taken my Mark and officially joined the Dark.”

The raven let out a disgruntled sounding snort.

“How are you progressing with your control, Harry?”

The teen blinked, then looked away. “…Horribly.”

“Continue to work at it; add meditation as well. You must fully embrace what you’ve become before I allow you to leave my protection. We cannot afford for you to lose control while you’re still under the watch of the Light.”

Harry sighed heavily, but nodded. “Alright.” Great. Exactly what he needed now was more work to bother with. His lack of enthusiasm was quite obviously noted, but the Dark Lord didn’t comment on the matter.

“You're at your own power for the remainder of the day; others will be arriving soon to report on matters which, for now, do not concern you.”

Recognizing the comment as the dismissal that it was, Harry rose from his perch on the desk and exited the room.

Chapter Text

He’d managed to best the crystal for the first time just the day before and, to his immense satisfaction, was able to continue doing so throughout the rest of the night prior and now had an almost 50/50 ratio of success to failure: an astounding improvement from his previous prospects. His efforts at meditation were far less fruitful, a fact which tempered the raven’s glee considerably and did nothing to improve his rather poor mood.

Dependent on who was asked he could be classified as either a true Lion or a true Snake but no matter who it was they’d be forced to admit that he definitely had a handful of traits which were quite troublesome and undeniably Gryffindor. Even the Ritual hadn’t been able to fully change that: in actuality the case could easily be made that completing the Horcrux and stabilizing his link with Voldemort had only exacerbated the issue. His impulsiveness was now melded with a Machiavellian edge which was distinctly Riddle in flavor and his already quick temper had been shortened yet further.

Harry Potter had never been a person capable of emptying out his mind and calming his thoughts, and now that he was pinned somewhere between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor his racing and still slightly unfamiliar mental processes had left him even less able to focus than usual. Still, mostly out of wanting to avoid the likely prospect of having even more work aimed at ‘finding himself’ being piled on his shoulders-or a desire to please the Dark Wizard that he didn’t want to admit to having developed-the raven had submitted himself to what he felt certain from the onset was a hopeless enterprise.

Hungry.

His wandering thoughts supplied him with an image of the treacle tart which was one of the things he loved so much about the daily meals at Hogwarts and his stomach gave a little grumble despite the fact that he’d eaten lunch-alone, once again, as the Dark Lord usual took his meals in his study so that he could continue to work-not even an hour before.

Feels warm.

At current he was sitting in the library on a cushion which belonged to one of the surrounding couches with his back facing the massive windows. Basking in the bright light of the Mid-July sun as he pretended to do his assigned meditation. He had little doubt that Nagini was in the room with him as well, undoubtedly not far away and curled up asleep in the warm rays. Speaking of sleep…

Tired.

The cushion underneath him was more than soft enough to allow him to still be comfortable despite his rather stiff position sitting on the floor, and the sun on his back and in his hair felt marvelous. Harry’s wandering mind gradually began to slow, becoming more and more sluggish until his posture slipped sideways his eyes fell closed and his glasses slid off of his face and onto the floor with a quiet click of wire on wood. The raven felt suddenly boneless and light as he began to drift away into the soft embrace of darkness. Floating downwards through a column of velvet black for what seemed like an eternity before coming to a stop.

Harry found himself lying on his back atop the uneven stone top of a jagged cliff, the sheer face of it descending with dizzying suddenness into a bottomless abyss of twitching shadows across which rose another cliff-face of death pale stone.

“Welcome to the shimmering expanse of the subconscious.” A warped and hissing voice sounded from behind him, prompting the raven to whirl around. The speaker lounged on a velvet daybed which seemed wildly out of place amidst the otherwise savage and sparse surroundings of black rock, grinning at him with a mouth filled with sharp teeth. “Do mind the gap.”

“Gap?” Harry repeated dumbly, staring as the speaker rose fluidly from his seat and began to walk towards him. Dripping with the Dark Lord’s grace and with Voldemort’s eyes set into his face, the stranger who was now languidly approaching him was otherwise a carbon copy of his own reflection clad in a robe of crimson silk. The warped tone was caused by the clashing timbres of Harry’s voice and that of Tom Riddle’s and the constant dry hissing which underlined each word issued from the living serpent which extended from the base of its spine like a tail, hood fanned out and emblazoned with what was unmistakably the Dark Mark.

The shadow stretching from its feet was, Harry noticed, far from Human.

A single finger-looking as if it would have been perfectly at home attached to his own hand but tipped in a familiar talon-extended outwards to indicate the death-drop behind him.

“That, there behind you. I’ve been here for quite a while now and, to my knowledge, that’s bottomless. I’m not sure what affect the main consciousness taking a tumble down that particular chasm would have: I don’t know about you, Harry, but I’d rather not die so getting too close to that is a bad idea. That,” he changed the direction of the finger to indicate the opposite direction, “would also be a bad idea to wander too close to. At the moment you’re here by my power, not yours, so there’s a real chance you could become lost forever within your own mind if you go wandering off like a hapless fool.”

“My own mind? Here by your power?”

At his evident surprise the grin stretched wider, flashing the figure’s shark teeth. “I noticed your artless floundering and decided to take pity on you, Harry. Protections placed upon us aside, I don’t much fancy being stuck in a living vessel which isn’t much better than an inanimate object.”

“So this is all about bettering your own position, is it?” the raven narrowed his green eyes but his twisted double, if anything, only become more amused.

“Of course it is. Don’t tell me you expected anything different?”

No, of course he hadn’t. It was a stupid thing for him to have said. “You’re the Horcrux. The one that’s inside of me?” the red raven answered him with an indulgent nod. “And this is, what, the edge of my mind?”

“Put simply, yes. I suppose that you could call this place that.”

“And that,” Harry pointed at the opposite cliff which swam out of the gloom like a pallid mood. “That’s the edge of Voldemort’s? This is where our link comes from?”

“The place from which thoughts and feelings arc between you like electricity and across which even full consciousness can travel. On his side, at least: our Lord can take full control of your body should he wish to, now. Just as he can the snake.”

“Your name?”

The Horcrux tilted his head to the side questioningly. “My name? I do not have one. I am, after all, a Horcrux and not my own independent being.” He said. “Surely you’ve realized this, so why ask me?”

A dull surge of pity from what remained of his former self flooded through him. “Because I need something to refer to you as out loud which wouldn’t give everything away.”

The serpent tail coiled around his double’s chest with an attention-seeking hiss as the other regarded him. “You may call me Nihil,” he finally said, “as without you, my host, that is what I am. Nothing.”

“…Rather grim.”

The smile became less smug. “Being a shade of what was once whole, utterly dependent upon one’s container for survival, does tend to lead one to become rather existential Harry.”

He had to admit that the Horcrux-Nihil-had a point. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like that?” the red raven idly stroked the serpent’s glossy scales, letting its tongue taste his pale skin. “You’ll have to elaborate.”

“Like me.”

“There are two reasons which I can think of, though I cannot be sure which if either is correct. The first being that I am little more than 1% of a soul; even though I’ve only been fully connected to you for a handful of weeks, I’ve lived within you-you, with a complete soul and quite a strong one at that-for almost 15 years now. Bleed over is to be expected, though I only appear in Human form because that is how you expect to see me. Well,” red eyes strayed almost self-consciously to the serpent tail, “mostly Human is a description which would, I suppose, be more accurate.”

“You mean the Diary could have-?”

“Taken another form? No. The Diary was the oldest of us and had 50% of a soul, enough-if only just-to retain an unquestionably human form. The rest of us are far less-25%, 12.5%, 6.25%, 3.12%, 1.5% and 0.78% respectively, leaving only about 0.39% of a soul actually inhabiting the main body though such matters and their consequence are of no concern to our current topic of conversation-and are there by considerably more amalgamous. My form is largely shaped by your perception of yourself. A Slytherin by rite, but a Gryffindor out of fear of your own nature.”

“What are you, then?” his eyes flicked down to the shadow again; Harry could make out only that the creature was four legged and big, but it didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen before.

“You want to know?” the evidentially spoiled snake tail let out a disgruntled rasp when Nihil ended his attentions. “Cast a Patronus. That will answer your question.”

“You’re a stag?”

“…No.”

“My Patronus is a stag.”

The red raven blinked owlishly at him before turning to go back to his daybed. “Now I see why you’re not getting much of anywhere.” He said, flopping down onto the piece of furniture with an artful effortlessness. “Your Patronus, Harry, was a stag but it isn’t anymore.”

“But they don’t-.”

“They do change but it is only rarely, and only in the wake of something profound. Like ‘falling deeply in love’” clearly Nihil shared his creator’s distaste for the notion if the face he pulled was any indication, “or, perhaps, undergoing dark rituals such as the one meant to transform a human into a living Horcrux.” He paused to rake his eyes over the other’s face before continuing “You’re not Harry Potter anymore. Not completely. Nor are you Lord Voldemort. You’re a new and different being forged from both and until you accept that you’ll continue to subconsciously resist your own efforts to master the power I can give you.”

“I’m not subconsciously-.”

“You are!” The other was off of his perch and in his face so quickly he blurred, red eyes sparking as what closely resembled black smoke gathered around him, swirling agitatedly about his tensed form. “That’s rather the point of my saying subconsciously: You don’t realize that you’re doing it you twit! If you want to move that blockage and gain full access to what being not just a living Horcrux but a living Horcrux with its own separate magical core allows you to do you need to embrace me.”

“What-?”

“Did I stutter? Were the words I used too big for you? Perhaps I’m speaking in a foreign language without realizing it, or maybe your comprehension of English isn’t as sound as would seem? Do you not know what ‘embrace’ means?” Nihil huffed when Harry just continued to stare at him blankly in what almost amounted to disbelief and extended his arms forwards. “This may well be a metaphor, but don’t make me do all the work.”

Not wanting to really think too much about the fact that he was about to do what amounted to hugging himself nor to remain in the strange off-kilter landscape any longer than he had to Harry closed the distance between them. He barely registered their contact before waking with a startled jolt to find himself staring into a pair of amber eyes.

“Nagini?” He questioned sleepily.

“You toppled over without warning and went to sleep, brother. Master wanted you working, not napping and it’s been almost an hour since it happened so I think I’ve let you doze for long enough.”

“I, uh, wasn’t sleeping.” Harry said, pushing himself up into a much more dignified position as the serpent began making her way back to her favorite sunbathing spot. At least he didn’t think that he had been. Then again, he could distinctly recall feeling quite drowsy just before finding himself face to face with Nihil. "Where is Voldemort?"

“Master had to step out around 20 minutes ago so he is no longer here, though I can send him to you when he returns. Why?”

“Because,” he said as he bolted for the door, “I think I’ve made progress.”

Harry was down the hall and back in his bedroom before she could respond, ripping open the doors of his wardrobe and posting himself in front of the mirror. It was probably better that Voldemort was out at the time, though he could return to the manor at any moment, as it gave Harry time to actually produce something before running to the Dark Wizard with news.

His own green eyes glared back at him from the mirror with a look of pointed determination as he reached back into himself. Searching out the faint wisps of shadow which marked where the Horcrux rested. Struggling to grasp at the power Nihil had dangled in front of him, blind and groping in the dark.

I am Lord Voldemort’s Horcrux, not the Golden Boy. I am the Black Lion, not the Light’s Savior. He leaned closer to the mirror until his nose was nearly touching the cool glass, gaze boring deep into his own eyes as if searching for something there though he wasn’t quite sure what he expected to find. I am not Harry Potter as he once was any longer, nor am I Tom Riddle or Voldemort; I am neither and I am both. Still nothing. I accept this.

A black haze had begun to gather across the glass in a faint veil, at first barely detectable but rapidly darkening to solid black. Then the glass shattered and tumbled to the floor. Harry, suddenly feeling completely drained, followed the mirror shards down and landed-hard-on his knees. He was shaking all over, violently, and felt as if he’d just run for miles and to his horror the gnawing hunger was back!

He felt the presence of the other man join him in the room before he spoke. “It would seem that the use of your abilities drains you of the magic you’ve absorbed from others.” A flick of the Dark Lord’s wand set the mirror back to rights. “Your powers will be of great use to us once you’ve learned to control them, though it will undoubtedly serve better to find you stronger cores to feed on and for you to feed more often. Can you stand?”

Unable to find the strength to speak, Harry highly doubted it but true to stubborn form he tried. His second tumble was more than answer enough for Voldemort, who hauled him upright by the scruff as if he weighed nothing at all and deposited him on the bed.

“There is much room for refinement in your abilities, though that can be done when you’re no longer under the watch of Dumbledore. You will rest for the remainder of the day; a House Elf will bring you food later and we will discuss your newfound abilities then. Are my instructions understood?”

He managed a stilted nod.

“Good. Recover yourself. You’re of no use to me like this.” Voldemort swept from the room in a whirl of black robes moments before Harry lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

“You know something, Nagini,” Harry said as he flopped carelessly down onto a leather couch and set the book he’d brought over from a nearby shelf down atop the small pile he’d gathered on the table in front of him, “I never thought that the Death Eaters held meetings in broad daylight. Voldemort always struck me as a Midnight to three AM type of guy; you know, the respective ‘Witching Hours’?”

“The Order of the Phoenix may well be no more than a thorn in our Master’s side, but even so he doesn’t have the luxury of following the typical stereotypes of moronic Light Wizards.”

Harry snorted in surprise and reclined against the couch, crossing one leg over the other and pulling the new book towards him. “I suppose that’s true.” He mused, turning his head and watching the fiery orange light of the setting sun mingle with the night’s encroaching shadows as they stretched themselves long across the manor’s grounds. “Their meetings sure are long; I’ve been in here for most of the day.” Flipping open the copy of Methods of Magical Tracking and thumbing through it in search of the topic that he wanted he mused “I wonder how many of those idiots he’s Crucioed.”

“Just over ten, by the time that I left to look for you. A number of them repeatedly.”

The raven grunted softly and turned the page, finally locating the information that he’d wanted to look into. “You sound like you’re not fond of being present for the meetings.”

“Our Master’s Humans are much too loud to be endured in any capacity where I won’t be getting a meal out of it.”

“They can’t be THAT loud: I’d imagine they lose their voices pretty quickly from all the screaming.”

“I’m not talking about the screaming, I’m talking about the stuttering and the squawking and the sycophantic laughter.”

“At least we know they’re too loyal to betray him, to save their own skins if nothing else.”

“Loyalty to a Master out of fear is not the same as loyalty to a Master of one’s own will. True loyalty. Like I have to him! Like you have to him!”

Removing his eyes from the small letters after having taken careful note of his place on the page Harry aimed a curious look at the massive, anger-inflated serpent coiled around the top of the couch which he was currently lounging on. “Out of simple curiosity and not meaning to suggest anything treasonous, how can you be sure that I’m loyal to him?”

“You aren’t loyal to the old fool! Not anymore, knowing what they’d use you for!”

“You’re right, Nagini, I’m not Dumbledore’s man any longer. But that doesn’t translate explicitly to me being loyal to Voldemort. I could simply be loyal to myself, not that that would really make much difference in the long run: as one of his Horcruxes the safest place for me, and the place with my best prospects, is in his shadow.”

“You are loyal to him.” The serpent replied insistently. “Humans like you would not pick up on the cues you give that show the fact, but those who know what to look for can clearly see it. Your body language. The way you speak to him. No one would speak that way to someone they fear, nor would they to someone they hoped to get something out of for themselves.”

“Got me all figured out, don’t you.” He grumbled, ignoring the amused hiss that he received in response.

“You do not seem like much of one for study.”

“I’m not, but these books are interesting. Besides, being able to track someone through the trace amounts of magic left behind sounds like it’d be extremely useful. I’d have to do more meditation to manage it, though.” He flipped the book closed and tossed it back onto the table; it landed with a quiet thump, slid a few inches across the polished surface of the table top and sent the small pile of books he’d erected tumbling to the ground. “Bugger!”

“Not fond of self-reflection, I see.”

“I don’t have an easy time ‘clearing my mind’.” Quickly gathering up the dropped books, Harry returned them to their former stacked position. “I’d rather avoid doing it if possible.”

“All the more reason to force yourself to: you cannot learn to do something without practicing it first.” The raven crinkled his nose distastefully in lee of response. “You were sorted into Lion House! I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be stubborn.”

“Selectively. Some things just aren’t worth the effort.”

“Well, it’s up to you to figure out if what the cost of meditating can get you is ‘worth the effort’.”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Nagini had a point. Harry settled for dropping the matter entirely. “Do you think that the meeting is going to be over soon?”

The serpent’s forked tongue flicked out at him. “You’ve not even read a fraction of the books in this library yet you need our Master to entertain you?”

“I’m not a bookish person.” That, he thought with a twinge of annoyed anger, was Hermione’s job. “I’m only reading because I’m looking for any information which could possibly relate to my new abilities: I had a bad temper to begin with and after the Ritual it only got worse and the last thing I need it to lose it and give everything away.”

“And this translates to your desperate need of the Master’s attention so urgently why?”

“Because I came across a term while reading that was only mentioned in passing and I want to know more about what it is.”

“It’s possible that the meeting is over now.” Nagini informed him after a brief moment of thought. “He wouldn’t come looking for us if he didn’t have need so he’d probably be shut up in his study if it has been concluded. I’d suggest that you check there.”

“May as well.” But first he had to put all of the books he’d removed back on the shelves lest he wind up scolded later. “Merlin, I wish I could use magic.”

“Master is capable of removing the Trace from your wand, brother. Though I’m surprised that he hasn’t done so already, I’m sure that he’d do so if you asked.”

“I’ve been told that my wand will be examined at the Ministry when I go there for my trial. The last thing I need is to wind up in trouble for not having the Trace still on me.” Managing to find a gap on one of the shelves which was large enough to fit all five of the books that he’d pulled down Harry pushed all of them into place with a sigh of relief.

“Humans and their pointless laws. Makes everything more complicated than it needs to be.”

Smirking to himself in silent agreement, the raven left the library and struck out down the hallway. The door of Voldemort’s study was tightly closed: as Harry had suspected, his benefactor wasn’t there and underneath the door was nothing but darkness. Annoyed that his question would continue to claw at him but deciding to take the opportunity to better examine the contents of one of the cabinets inside he pushed the door open but had barely managed to stick his head inside before a hand descended on his shoulder. Jumping reflexively and whirling around, he was met with a pair of now familiar red eyes.

“Do you need something, Potter, or were you merely looking for something to stick your nose into?” the Dark Lord demanded, steering him aside and sweeping into the study with his black robes lisping behind him. A flick of his wand sent light flaring to life.

“’Sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong’ wasn’t my initial intention.” Harry stepped into the room as well and gingerly closed the door behind him. “I was looking for you to ask if you could help me get a better understanding of a term I came across while reading to fill the time.”

Voldemort did not respond as he settled himself gracefully on the high-backed chair but Harry took the silent stare as permission to elaborate.

“What’s an Obscurial?”

The Dark Lord cocked his head slightly to one side but gave no other outward signs of reaction and answered in his usual icy drawl. “An Obscurial, or Obscurus, is a parasitic creature created by a young Witch or Wizard who suppresses their own magic out of fear of abuse and persecution by ignorant and wicked Muggles. A combination of trauma associated with using magic, internalized hatred of one’s own magic and a conscious effort to suppress it leads the magical core of the afflicted to turn Dark and ultimately tear them apart from within. Only the exceptionally powerful among them survive passed the age of eleven.”

Abuse and persecution to the point where someone would begin to hate their own magic? Magic, the thing that gave them power. That made them strong. Made them better. Harry couldn’t imagine what a child would have to go through to reach such a point. “That’s horrible.”

“The highest crime against us which the Muggles can commit. And they committed it often before they chased us into hiding but all of that will change soon. Once I’ve taken power and quashed all resistance the Statute of Secrecy will finally be done away with and the filth will pay.” The Dark Lord folded spidery fingers carefully in front of him on the desk. “From what I’ve seen of your abilities and the description of one Credence Barebone I discovered some decades ago in a journal which once belonged to Gellert Grindlewald the black haze my Horcrux allows you to produce and manipulate bares a startling resemblance to the full manifestation of an Obscurial’s true form. My expectation is that the Ministry, and through them the wizarding public at large, will mistakenly label you as one: we will allow them to think this. Not only does it provide to those few who might potentially guess at your true nature an alternate and more believable explanation, it will direct anger towards Dumbledore. Only the most extreme abuse results in the creation of an Obscurial and he was tasked with overseeing your wellbeing.”

At that thought Harry couldn’t help a bladed smirk from forming across his face.

“Do not misunderstand me Harry, I intend to see Albus Dumbledore dead by the time this war is over but I’m not opposed to seeing him utterly humiliated first. It’s the least punishment he deserves for defying me. For planning to destroy you.”

“I want to be there when it happens. I want to see it.”

Through the shadows of his cowl the raven caught the Dark Lord's smile. “I’ll see to it that you will be.” He promised. “Have patience, my lion. Our revenge will be a while yet.”

Chapter Text

Since arriving at Slytherin Manor Harry had slipped into a state of blissful unawareness of the date-preferring not to dwell on the reality that his time was ticking steadily downwards to when he’d have to leave and put on the best mask he could assemble from the remaining scraps of the Boy-Who-Lived-and because of this had been quite surprised when a small flood of owls had made their way in through the open window of his bedroom at intermittent intervals throughout the day. When the last owl-Pigwidgeon, the over-excitable Scops Owl belonging to Ron-had flown off with a series of loud twittering tweets Harry was left staring at the little pile of gifts and letters he’d assembled atop his bed.

“It seems like even Lord Voldemort can’t hide from owls.” Picking up a gift at random he aimed a questioning look at Hedwig. “How do you do it?”

Hedwig hooted smugly and started to preen.

Rolling his eyes, Harry began ripping open packages and unfolding letters. Honeydukes from both Hermione and Ron. A homemade rock cake from Hagrid. A miniature model of Godric’s Hollow from Sirius. All of these gifts came with the obligatory well wishes, though they were overshadowed by similar panicked pleas to get into contact with them and return to the Dursleys to await his trial: two things he had no intention of doing.

“Go back to Private Drive? Fat chance.” Even if Voldemort would have allowed him to set foot off the manor’s grounds before doing so became unavoidable he wouldn’t have. He’d gone from living like a House Elf under his relative’s thumb to living like a God in the Dark Lord’s lap and he wasn’t about to give that up.

“Can you believe this, Hedwig?” he snorted as his owl alighted gently on his knee. “All summer I don’t hear a damn bloody peep out of any of them, but now that it’s convenient they have the gall to ask me to return to the Dursleys. They want to put us back in our cages!”

Hedwig hooted indignantly and ruffled her feathers. Harry reached out and gently smoothed them back down.

“Don’t worry girl, I’m not going to listen. We’ll only have to stay with them for a little under a month before school starts back up again and it won’t be back at #4 if what word I’ve heard going around is true.”

If he had his way he wouldn’t see Privet Drive again until the day he burned the entire street to the ground.

His leisurely fantasizing was interrupted by the popping sound which heralded a House Elf’s arrival. Looking up, he was met with the sight of the Elf which-if he recalled correctly-was named Deeny who immediately bent at the waist in a deep bow.

“Master requests that you join him for dinner, Master Potter.”

Harry perked up slightly. So tonight just happened to be one of the rare few where Voldemort deemed enough progress in the Dark’s efforts to have been accomplished to leave his study and eat with him? A coincidence? He found that rather unlikely: mad as he was, the Dark Lord did nothing without reason.

“He ‘requests me at dinner’ does he?” he repeated with a smirk. Normally the delivered wording was a great deal more compulsory-you’re expected at dinner-and said dinner usually ended up being less of a shared meal and more of an exercise in staring for the older wizard while the raven made out with his fork; he’d never known how many lewd things one could do with otherwise innocent food before he’d really put his mind to it. “And how does he ‘request’ that I dress?”

“As you would for a formal outing Sir, though you will not be leaving the manor.”

Suspicions all but confirmed he smirked. “Let him know I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Of course, Sir.”

As the Elf popped off again Harry resumed stroking Hedwig’s feathers. “Would you look at that: the big scary Dark Lord remembered it’s my birthday. I don’t know whether to be touched or terrified.”

His owl hooted at him as if to say “oh hush, get dressed,” and fluttered off back to her stand.

Leaving his gifts and letters lying scattered atop his bed with a small shake of his head Harry got up and made his way over to the wardrobe, selecting a pair of pale pants and a black silk shirt with silver buttons.

“Come with me?” he asked his familiar after deeming his clothing presentable enough.

Hedwig hooted.

“Intruding?” he repeated with a snort. “Do you know something that I don’t? It’s not like he’s going to suddenly start snogging me and you’ll end up being forced to witness something scarring.”

How would that even work without lips? Not entirely sure he wanted to entertain that line of thought in too much detail he gave his reflection the side-eye. “And I’m sure he wouldn’t care. He takes Nagini everywhere, after all: wears her like a scarf.”

Hedwig hooted again and then soared out of the window.

“Have it your way, then.” Shrugging to himself and glancing into the mirror a final time Harry ran his fingers through his hair and made his way into the dining room.

As he always was on the nights that he demanded the raven’s presence Voldemort had arrived in the dining room before him. By now Harry had gotten used to the routine that came with such occurrences and settled himself into the chair beside him without having to be asked.

“So,” he said as it became clear that the Dark Lord would not be the first of them to speak, “this is unexpected. A birthday dinner prepared at the behest of the terrible Lord Voldemort. What brought this on?”

“Is it not in my best interest to keep you happy, Harry?”

He shrugged. “Suppose it is, but I don’t see how that equates to doing this.” He gestured at the as of yet empty table; he still couldn’t place what the necessity of the candles was. “I’ve lived for so long with my birthday going ignored that I forget about it myself until someone else reminds me.”

“That has changed now, my lion. As a keeper of my soul you will never be ignored again.” Long fingers carded through his hair and Harry arched into the touch, a quiet purr rumbling briefly in the depths of his chest. “Did you enjoy the petty offerings the Light would see fit to lay before you in hopes of currying back your favor?”

Well, that was one rather ostentatious way to describe what he’d received. “How did you know I got anything?”

“It was the likely conclusion that, if there were any day for them to break their silence, it would be today: the day of the birth of their ‘hero’.” The fingers slid down his neck before retreating from his person, prompting a disappointing mewl. “I lowered the anti-owl wards around the manor so that they could reach you.”

“The gifts were a joke. Not that I’m ever opposed to having a stash of chocolate.” He crinkled his nose. “They all sent letters with them, and not a single bloody one missed the chance to beg me to go back to the Dursleys.”

“I see.” Though his tone remained impassive Harry was well aware he wasn’t pleased. The possessive petting started up again and the raven’s eyes fell half-lidded as he basked in the attention. “Are you going to listen?”

“You aren’t going to let me leave, I’m aware of that.”

“If you’re incorrect?”

Harry snorted derisively. “You’d have to stun me and drag me away to make me go back there.”

The Dark Lord said nothing but sat back in his chair, a pleased aura rolling off him. The raven grinned, flashing white teeth as the manor’s House Elves appeared around them with platters of food which they quickly set on the table. Surrounded by the dishes he’d most frequently choose during the dinners at Hogwarts he couldn’t help but be surprised; after so long at the Dursleys he was happy to eat anything the House Elves saw fit to set in front of him and hadn’t so much as mentioned any of his favorite foods so how…?

“Barty’s reports were extremely thorough, so much so that much of what he presented to me amounted at the time to what was useless information. An unfortunate pity he was kissed: he was one of my most competent and loyal followers.”

“And now you’re stuck with Wormtail,” he snickered, eyes moving from platter to platter as he struggled to choose what he wanted to start with. As normally only happened when summer came to a close and he returned to Hogwarts and his yearly stint of forced fasting ended Harry had begun putting weight on again and though he was still thin, even for his small size, he no longer looked quite as diminished as he normally did at that time of year. “Though I can imagine the constant stuttering is a lot more bearable when he’s too terrified to speak most of the time.”

“Wormtail has his uses, pet, but they only extend so far. And once his use is ended he’ll be disposed of.”

“Let me.” The raven piped up eagerly, forgetting the spread of food in front of him entirely in favor of focusing entirely on the topic at hand. “I deserve that much, given that I saved his life and he turned around and betrayed me! Never mind that it’s his fault I’m an orphan in the first place!”

“Should that time come when such is possible I’ll allow you to do with him as you please, my lion. Your lust to kill is a virtue to be encouraged. Now eat before the food gets cold; you’re still thin, Harry, and I’ve yet to give you my own gift.”

Curiosity spiking but aware that he’d get himself no closer to solving the newly presented mystery by refusing to do as he’d been told Harry pulled the first dish towards him and filled his plate. Cleaning it quickly and then devouring seconds to boot, if nothing else than to prevent the older wizard from delaying him further by insisting he eat more, Harry tuned expectant green eyes onto the Dark Lord.

A small box was set before him. Harry blinked at it in shock and all that he could think to say was “…I don’t know much about this ‘relationship’ business but aren’t you supposed to go on at least one date with someone before proposing to them?”

Voldemort flashed his pointed teeth with a hiss of cold laughter. “You joke without knowing how close to correct you are.”

Surprise filtering through his mangled emotional perception the raven’s eyes widened. “I…I’m not legal.”

“But you’re not a child either.” The lid of the box opened with a low creak, revealing the object nestled inside. “Nor were you entirely correct. I am not proposing marriage-we are above institutions so heavily reliant on such foolish weaknesses as ‘love’-but merely presenting you with the mantle of your position. You remember what I said your place here was, don’t you Harry?”

Slowly he nodded, mouth dry. “A place which no other can fill.” Green eyes fell to the box again. “At your side.”

“This is a consort ring. Long ago, in the time where our people still occupied our rightful place in this world, Lords would claim their partners not with meaningless Muggle customs but a physical bond of metal stone and blood. The practice has since died out: yet another of our traditions that the weakness of the Ministry has seen fit to surrender to the Muggle-born incursion.” Pale fingers plucked the ring from the red satin lining of the box, standing out starkly against the ornate golden band and large black stone. “Your hand, Harry.”

Hesitating for the briefest moment, Harry lifted his hand from where it had been resting in his lap and held it out towards him. Voldemort’s spidery fingers wrapped around his hand and the by now familiar pleasant thrum of contact started up as it always did, only to be cut short by a sharp pain as the metal bit into him. Burrowing into his skin until his blood stained the inner band and the ring could no longer be removed. Not knowing what else to do he looked to the older wizard for confirmation that what had just happened was normal only to discover an expression which he’d never seen before on his serpentine face and caused an unfamiliar heat to settle in the pit of his stomach.

A surge of anticipation, though for what he had no idea, flooded through him when with no warning the Dark Lord reached for him and began tracing the pink bow of his lips with the pad of one pale finger. Without putting any thought to his actions before following the impulse he flicked out his tongue; the contact was brief but the taller of the two of them instantly froze. Already slitted pupils thinned to nearly nonexistent specks in a sea of glowing red and the finger which had formerly been lightly circling his lips slid between them, pressing down with slight pressure and running up and down the length of his tongue and back again. Cold as ice, slightly scaled and tasting faintly of blood the friction formed by the small scales and sharp nail was exquisite.

Unable to hold back an incredibly lewd sounding groan as the coil of heat tightened along with the front of his pants he let his head fall back, a thin trickle of drool making its way down from one corner of his lips as he surrendered himself to being orally fingered by his once enemy who watched his reactions with a lustful rapt attention. Looking at him as if Harry were some exotic creature he’d never seen before. The raven keened in disappointment and annoyance as his tormentor, abruptly having had his fill of teasing him and clearly not as affected by the situation as he was, pulled his hand back.

“I believe that is enough. After all,” the smirk that he sent him was vaguely pointed and reminded Harry of the expression the diary had worn in the Chamber of Secrets, “you’re not legal.”

“You’re the bloody Dark Lord!”

He was his Horcrux for God’s sake, yet the bastard was still bent on torturing him!

Chapter Text

The approaching sunset had stained the sky a vibrant orange color, and the soft lighting and lengthened shadows had drenched the flowers surrounding him in deeper luscious hues. Harry stood alone amidst the intricate flowerbed and hedgerows making up to manor’s gardens, the pleasantly warm air of early evening, perfumed by the mingling scents of countless flowers, gently brushing against his cheek. Directly in front of him was a massive well-groomed rose bush laden with enormous blood red blossoms. With a delicate touch he reached out and ran a single satin petal between his forefinger and thumb, the pale skin coming away stained a light shade of crimson.

Large hands with spindly fingers came to rest on his shoulders and the raven melted against the older man's black-robed chest. “You seem to have quite a fascination with my roses, Harry. Of all the flowers in the garden, why these?”

“Why roses?” the raven repeated, tilting his head to one side; Voldemort took the opportunity to begin stroking one long finger up and down the column of his throat. “I’ve always liked them. I like all flowers.” His expression crinkled up. “Well, not Petunias.”

“But why, Harry? Surely you’ve a reason? Tell me,” he coaxed. “I am not a man who abides well by knowledge which I do not possess.”

“They’re simple-just a red flower-and yet there’s something about them that’s…timeless. They’re the symbol of everything from desire to purity and of many countries including England. They’re something that’s able to be delicate and beautiful without being defenseless.” He blinked. “I suppose that I admire their thorns and it’s stupidly romantic of me.”

“You’ve thorns of your own, my lion.” The gentle grip vanished from his shoulder as the Dark Lord stepped away, black cloak and bare feet whispering across the ground. “Walk with me, my cherished. Your trial is tomorrow; we need to speak.”

Cocking his head a bit further to the side at the new pet name and casting a final glance at the rose bush that he’d been observing for the better part of an hour Harry turned away and fell into step beside the tall cloak figure of the older wizard. Green eyes gleamed with curiosity as they reflected the light of the setting sun, waiting for Voldemort to speak.

“You realize, I am certain, that after you have been cleared of wrong doing you will not be able to return here for the remainder of the summer.” The Dark Lord’s voice cut through the sounds of the evening breeze rattling through the leaves and the chirping of countless crickets in the garden surrounding them. “A port key has been prepared for you to take to the Ministry; the members of Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix will swoop down on you like vultures and you’ll be spirited away back into the ‘protection’ of the Light. Once there you will resume acting as you were before your…change of heart until told otherwise.”

“I understand.” He grumbled. “I won’t be able to come back at all until I reveal my allegiance to the Dark? Even for a short time when I can sneak away?”

Sharp teeth were flashed in a brief smirk as he reached out to stroke his hair. “Perhaps for Samhain and the Winter Solstice, though you’d have to be in disguise before being allowed to mingle with my Death Eaters and we cannot risk you returning to my side more often than these two important holidays.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Harry grumbled as he edged carefully around the stone rim of a garden pond. “I’ll quickly find myself counting down the days until then, I’m sure. Even while trying to play at who I was I’ve changed too much to be able to pull it off; there will be questions.”

“Put through a tournament meant for adults at only the age of 14; a friend killed before your eyes; forced to witness the Dark Lord’s return; abandoned by those who should have protected you; crucified in the public eye by the Ministry’s rag. You’ve been through so much, my lion; you’ve a right to be angry and of course you’ve changed.”

“They’ll be concerned.”

“But they won’t question the origin of your difference further. I trust that you’ll be capable of fending off the concerns of your former ‘friends’.”

The raven dipped his head. “I am.” He said. “They’ll ask where I’ve been. What should I tell them?”

“An edge of truth, my lion.” The Dark Lord replied. “Make use of the Slytherin side that you’ve so long suppressed. Let me hear you weave a tale for the Light to swallow.”

Invent a story? Tie together threads of truth and lies into something believable not just for Ron and Hermione but for Sirius and, most importantly, Dumbledore as well?

“I’ve been with a recently taken partner.” The first explanation that popped into mind which was simply understood and did not involve any form of Dark Magic. From the brief but heated glance which he received Harry took it that Voldemort was not in objection. “Named…Nero. Julian Nero.” Ridiculously pretentious sounding: seemed that this imagined lover was a Pure Blood. “We first met…” when? When could they possibly have met that Ron and Hermione wouldn’t have known? His holidays were spent at the Burrow. His summers stuck indoors at Privet Drive. “We met…”

That was it! During the time between the start of the Tournament and the first task when he and Ron had become distant and he’d withdrawn from Hermione as well. Choosing to spend his time either alone or with Neville instead until Ron had warned him-through obscure code and Hermione-about the Dragons.

“We met at the Triwizard Tournament last year, after Ron went after me about putting my name in the Goblet of Fire before the first task. He expressed interest in me; in who I was not because I was the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’. Believed me about your return when no one else did. Gave me an emergency portkey which I used to escape from the Ministry Officials who came to snap my wand. It was while I was hiding out at his manor that we fell-.”

Stop. Stop! He cut himself off mid-sentence, eyes wide and somewhat frightened as he stared at the Dark Lord: his expression hadn’t changed outwardly but something bordering on bitterly displeased had begun boiling across their link.

“Became involved.” Harry finished weakly, voice sounding very dry. Thankfully, the displeasure ebbed away a moment later.

“You will stick to this story, Harry?” the raven nodded mutely. “Very well. I will assume the persona of Julian Nero in correspondence with you.”

“I understand.”

“You will not wear Muggle clothing tomorrow: you will dress your best, instead, in wizarding clothing to better make for yourself the best possible impression. Even with a favorable outcome almost assured it is best that we have everything possible within our favor.”

Harry said nothing.

“Return inside; the Elves will bring dinner to you within the hour. Wash up and sleep. You’ll leave early come morning.”

His dismissal clearly understood the raven left the Dark Lord standing in the garden and hurried quickly up to his room. Filling the large tub in the adjoining bathroom and carefully choosing his outfit for the next morning; the same black robe with silver buckles which he had worn before.

Harry slipped into the warm water and leaned his back against the granite wall of the in ground tub with a heavy sigh. The coming months, he felt certain, would be very long indeed. After thoroughly shampooing his hair and washing up with the vast array of expensive bath products he soaked in the tub for a while longer until the telltale pop of one of the House Elves arriving with dinner reached his ears. Only then did he emerge from the water, dry himself quickly and exit the bathroom. Throwing himself carelessly onto the bed with his black hair still damp and not bothering to redress himself.

A light meal of fruit, cheese, sausage and crackers but that suited him perfectly fine. Harry lounged there and ate, gaze slowly panning around the room where he’d lived during his stay doing what he could to put the contours and colors to memory, knowing that it would be unlikely that he’d encounter such excess again anytime soon. It had been daunting at first to be surrounded on all sides by ridiculous wealth but he’d since acclimated to it and now, knowing he’d soon have to go back to a crowded dorm room and shared bathrooms-not to mention wherever he’d be ending up for what little remained of the summer once the Order caught him-he’d have to admit that he wasn’t particularly happy.

Setting the finished tray down on the floor beside his bed, Harry curled up beneath the silken sheets. The lights dimming around him as he closed his eyes and made a semi-reluctant effort to sleep. He drifted for a while in calm darkness, entirely devoid of the nightmares which had once plagued him, before a hazy image began to take shape in his mind. Slowly coming into sharper focus.

Harry found himself standing in a wide cobbled street which reminded him vaguely of both Diagon and Knockturn Alley but he instinctually recognized was, in fact, some street or another in the middle of what was once Muggle London. The heavy traffic, rushing business professionals and towering office buildings were gone replaced entirely with Magical establishments. Witches and Wizards surrounded him on all sides, a gushing tide towards and away from him; a few sent a respectful “My Lord” towards him but most simply shot him fearful glances and gave him a wide berth.

The sky overhead was clouded and grey. Harry looked down into the nearest puddle out of the countless littering the street; he hadn’t aged a day. A calendar in the window proclaimed the date as the same day and month as the one that he’d fallen asleep on almost two hundred years in the future. Equal parts confused and intrigued and feeling as if he was being lightly urged onwards by an unseen force Harry began walking down the street as well. Going where he was led without really knowing or caring about the ultimate destination. Street after street of once-Muggle buildings and without a single non-Magical person to be seen and ending up walking through the doors of the massive citadel which had once been the Capital Building of London. Making his way down halls and through doorways until ultimately finding himself in a massive cavernous room with stone pillars and vaulted ceilings.

The Dark Lord waited for him there, pallid as ever and still cloaked in the same flowing black robe that he was rarely without, lounging gracefully in a sable throne with Nagini wrapped around the high winged-back. Beside it stood another throne, slightly smaller and empty. Once he’d settled into it the tugging stopped.

“You’ve kept my waiting, my cherished.” Voldemort reached out to him and ran his knuckles down his cheek. Harry leaned into the touch, a silent apology which seemed to be enough for the dream conjured version of the Dark Lord who continued his attentions and turned back to face the front, awaiting the arrival of one of his followers to deliver another report telling of their world.

Only a dream for the time being, but not for much longer. The Light’s days were numbered and they no longer had a hero to save them, only Voldemort to destroy their precious world as they knew it and Black Lion to help.

Chapter Text

Hedwig was perched atop the back of a nearby leather armchair. His ruck sack, its contents and everything he would need for the coming school year had been placed in a new high quality trunk which now sat ready to be sent off to where he’d be staying. Harry was fully dressed in the fitted black robe with silver buckles, fake glasses situated firmly on his nose and black hair beaten into as much of a state of submission as it was ever capable of. He stood in the center of the room where he’d first arrived, the arranged Portkey-a beaten old pocket watch-sitting in his palm. Voldemort was staring at him.

He was leaving.

“So,” his green eyes shifted from the beaten tarnished watch to the cloaked figure of the Dark Lord, “I suppose we’ll see each other again on the 31^st of October.”

The last day of the tenth month of the year. Halloween. Samhain. Two months away, give or take a handful of weeks. Given the way that their conversation had ended the night before-Harry coming so close to saying the only thing that would have set his benefactor off on him, even if it had only been the vaguest hint of it-he couldn’t help but feel nervousness crawl underneath his skin. His body tensed of its own volition as Voldemort stepped up to him but his caution melted the instant that those spindly fingers brushed along the curve of his cheek bone.

The Dark Lord’s touch was as delicate as it always had been, as if he were handling something rare and easily broken without a trace of malice to be found.

“Yes, my lion, we shall see each other again in a little over two months; I’ll retrieve you from Hogwarts on the night of Samhain.” The warm pleasure was slower to fade than usual when the older male released him. “Remember your narrative and keep up your guard. Never for a moment make the mistake of thinking that you are safe amongst the Light, no matter how strong you are now.”

“I may well be known for my recklessness, but contrary to popular belief I’m not a bloody idiot.” He huffed, grip constricting and releasing around the Portkey in his hands; a nervous tick which he wasn’t fully aware of. “At the moment the only person alive whom I know that I can trust implicitly is you, and that’s because I’m your Horcrux. A bearer of your soul. You need me alive to insure your immortality so I can be certain that you won’t kill me. On top of that, I know that for that same reason Dumbledore wants me dead: if this summer showed me anything it’s that my ‘friends’ are in his pocket. Anything they learn will surely be reported to him. I’m not about to let anything slip before I’m in a position to be able to get away.”

“It will only be for nine months, my cherished, and then you will be free to take your well-deserved revenge against them and laud the truth of your position to the world.”

“Our world?”

“Soon.” Voldemort stepped away, then, as if the temptation of contact was too much with him so close. “The Portkey should activate at any moment: keep your mask in place without exception.”

The urge to roll his eyes at the unnecessarily repeated warning was nearly overpowering. “I’ll try to land with at least some dignity this time around, though my history with Portkeys leaves me little hope for success in that regard.” The time-device began to glow with a pale blue light and Harry looked up again into slitted red eyes. “Well, this is it.”

A rough jerk behind his navel yanked his feet from the floor and the Dark Lord, Hedwig and the room in which he’d been standing vanished from around him. Harry hit the ground, hard, a moment later stumbling drunkenly with his head spinning off his shoulders; he teetered dangerously but managed at the last moment to keep his feet and remained upright.

Well, he thought, brushing imaginary dust off his front and straightening up that could have gone worse.

“Harry!”

Not a moment’s repose. His head snapped up at the call of his name to find Arthur Weasley rushing towards him, relief quite clearly etched across the features of his face.

Harry forced his face to curl up into a convincing smile. “Hello, Mr. Weasley. Glad to see me?”

“Oh, I think that’s an understatement.” He said as he came to a stop a few feet away. “When I heard that you’d be arriving by Portkey I rushed to meet you: have you any idea how worried we’ve been? Why didn’t you stay with your relatives after you received my letter? Where did you go?”

“From your reaction, I assume that you’ve all been very worried. I left the Dursleys immediately after receiving my letter of expulsion-I hadn’t had any reason to think they’d change their minds and knew that without my wand I’d be as good as dead given that Voldemort is after me-so I didn’t receive whatever letter you must have sent. As for where I’ve been: abroad, with help. I can’t say anymore here because I don’t want him to get into trouble. Besides,” Harry set his eyes on the large clock set into the wall overhead, “I should really be heading down to where my trial is being held. I’ve put so much effort into making the best possible impression-not that it’ll really be of any help to my situation given the fact that Fudge is out to get me as much as the Dark Lord is, and all because I’m telling the truth-and I don’t want to have it all go to waste because I wound up being late.”

In a motion meant to appear nervous and self-conscious Harry smoothed down the wrinkles which had formed in his robe.

“Of course, I don’t know where I’m going. So even if I leave now I’ll probably still end up being late if only because I can’t find the right room and floor.” A lie, of course, but better to appear helpless for now.

“A good thing that I showed up then, I suppose. You’re more than welcome to come with me and I’ll take you down to where your trial is being held.”

“I wouldn’t want to take time out of your day-.”

“Nonsense! You’re part of the family Harry, it’s no trouble at all.”

The raven dipped his head to look down at his hands, fiddling with one of the buckles on the front of his robe, and offered up a perfectly self-conscious smile. “Thanks, Mr. Weasley.”

“No trouble. No trouble.” The man waved him off. “You’re right to say that we should hurry, though. As a visitor to the Ministry you still need to be searched and submit your wand for examination. We can’t head down to where your trial is being held before then.”

Mr. Weasley led him across the floor of the Atrium-Harry made a show of looking around at the surrounding sights with his mouth agape though he didn’t really register any of what he saw-and over towards a desk over which hung a sign which read SECURITY behind which a badly shaven wizard in an atrociously hued robe sat reading the Daily Prophet. Once the reason for their presence was explained the wizard, in a noticeably bored voice, instructed Harry to step aside.

A long golden instrument was passed up and down his front and back before he held out a hand and demanded his wand.

How dare you speak as if you have any right to expect that I’ll hand it over to you, Ministry Pig. But he reluctantly relinquished it. The man set it on an odd looking vibrating scale and then proceeded to prattle off its length, wood, and core as if being able to read from a sheet of paper somehow made him intelligent.

“Yes, that’s correct.” He winced slightly when a bleed of annoyance ruined his attempt at mimicking a nervous tone. Harry thanked the man rather sourly, reclaiming his wand and followed Mr. Weasley onto a lift.

The lift which they stepped onto was extremely crowded and Harry hissed in agitation as he was pressed against the back wall. Foreign bodies were rubbing against him-their clothing preventing the contact from being of any use for feeding-and some were obliviously even pressing into him in ways that only the Dark Lord had a right to. The clattering of the metallic contraption and the rasping whistles emitting from a creature caged in a box held by one of the other occupants covered up the affronted growling which rumbled free of his chest the entire way down to level three at which point the lift cleared out entirely except for him and Mr. Weasley.

“Department of Mysteries” was coolly announced by the lift as they reached the correct floor and ran up the corridor and down a flight of stone steps.

“These courtrooms haven’t been used in so many years that the lift doesn’t even come down this far. Why they’re doing it down here…”

They ran along the corridor at the bottom of the steps which bore a great resemblance to the one leading to Snape’s dungeon. The doors they passed were made of heavy wood, their bolts and key holes of wrought iron. The one they stopped outside was grimy and dark with an immense iron lock; Harry looked from the handle to where Mr. Weasley had slumped against the wall to catch his breath and back again.

“Go on, Harry; I’m not allowed to come with you and need to get down to my office. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Schooling his features into the appropriate ‘terrified school boy’ mask he grabbed the knob and heaved the massive door open. The dungeon on the other side was dimly lit by the light of numerous torches hung in the dark brackets bolted to the slick stone walls. High benches rose to either side of him and, in front of him atop an even higher pulpit, sat the Minister of Magic and the rest of his tribunal.

“You’re late.” A cold male voice echoed around him.

Nice try. He thought sharply. “Actually, sir, you’ll find that I’m exactly on time should you check again.”

“He’s right.” Another voice agreed. “He’s punctual. Dangerously so, but still on time.”

“Take your seat.”

Harry crossed to the chair covered in chains in the center of the room and sat down. The moment he did so the chains flung themselves off the arms as if attempting to flee for their lives. It was difficult for him not to smirk at that reaction. He grounded himself by looking up at the people sitting amongst the benches above him. There were about fifty of them by the rough count he bothered to take, all dressed in plum colored robes with silver W’s emblazoned on the front.

The Minister of Magic sat in the middle of the row; gone were both his green bowler hat and usual indulgent smile but Harry was too busy fantasizing about ripping him limb from limb to care. On one side of him was a grey haired, forbidding looking witch with a monocle who he assumed was Madam Bones and on his other side was another witch whose face was in shadows. Sitting at the very edge of the front bench was Ron’s older brother Percy, horn rimmed glasses perched on his nose, eyes trained on the parchment in front of him and a quill poised in hand.

“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” the Minister drawled, the red head beside him immediately beginning to take notes, “into offenses committed under the decrees for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”

Had he been a cat his ears would have been twitching wildly at the irritating scratch of Percy’s quill against the paper.

“Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley-.”

“-Witness for the Defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat so quickly that he almost inhaled it when he gasped in shock. Terror, thick and cold, began to course through his veins like tar. Overwhelming his blood. Cutting off all oxygen to his spiraling mind. He could feel his pulse beat heavy in his veins as he went into involuntary palpitations: heart throwing itself against his ribs as if trying to escape the confines of its cage. Chest heaving so violently he felt certain that all in the room could hear his labored breathing.

He knows! He knows! He knows!

Albus Dumbledore knew what he was and knew about his siblings. What if he had guessed where he’d been all summer? Could guess that now Harry knew, too? His fingers convulsed into a stranglehold around the arms of the chair, nails gouging out thin corkscrews of wood. At any moment, he felt certain, his body would be consumed in Fiendfyre and he’d die. He’d die and so would Nihil.

Calm down! The combination of the high voice and the pressure of an unseen hand on his shoulder jerked him out of his panic. The ringing in his years which he hadn’t noticed before ceased, his heartrate slowed and his breathing calmed.

He’d missed the exchange between Dumbledore and Fudge; the man had summoned a chintz armchair and sat down directly beside him. The raven eyed him through his peripheral vision, thankful that at least the man wasn’t looking at him.

“Yes. So. Well, then. The charges.” Fudge shuffled his notes. “The charges, yes.”

Removing a piece from somewhere in the middle of the pile he took a deep breath and read “The charges against the accused are as follows: that he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produced a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty three minutes passed nine, which constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statue of Secrecy.”

If this legal talk kept up much longer he might just crack and kill them all on the spot, low energy reserves be damned. He’d be able to make it, surely. Everything but Cursed Fire would be deflected by the protections he’d been put under and he could simply activate the Portkey to escape back to Slytherin Manor.

As if to say ‘control yourself, he’ll be angry’ the portkey bracelet tightened briefly around his upper arm where it had coiled itself before he’d left that morning.

“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge glared at him over the top of the parchment.

No, I’m obviously the second coming of Merlin. Of course I am, you twat! He thought viciously. “Yes.”

“And you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?”

“Yes, but-.”

“Knowing you were under 17 and not permitted to use magic outside of school?”

“Yes, but-.”

“Fully aware you were in the presence of a Muggle at the time?”

By Morgana, if something wasn’t done he wouldn’t get a word in bloody edgewise. “Yes,” he snarled, “but only because we were being attacked by Dementors!”

Silence fell with the force of a boulder dropped from a great height.

“Dementors? In Little Whinging?” Madam Bones sounded shocked. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you, Amelia?” Nihil snarled with him at the sight of Fudge’s little smirk. Harry’s fingers twitched and he gritted his teeth, forcibly willing away the extra three feet of reach which his shadow had acquired. “He’s thought it through and figured Dementors would make the perfect cover story because Muggles can’t see them, can they boy?”

“I’m not lying!” His shadow stretched again and he bared his teeth, nearly letting loose a vicious growl. Several of the members of the Wizengamot shifted and muttered nervously.

“Of course you are, Potter! You have been all summer; it’s merely your word and no witnesses-.”

“We do, in fact, have a witness other than Dudley Dursely.”

Fudge’s purple face left him as a perfect imitation of Uncle Vernon as he turned, incredulously, to look at Dumbledore. “I…you…we haven’t the time to listen to nonsense-!”

“I believe that you, Madam Bones, being the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, can correct me if I’m wrong but it is not the right of the accused to present witnesses in their own defense?”

“True. Perfectly true.”

“Oh, very well. Who is this person?”

“I brought her with me,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “She’s just outside the door. Should I-?”

“No. Weasley, you go!”

Percy hurried by without so much as looking at them-no one seemed to notice that Harry's shadow clung to his shoes like evaporating tar as he passed through it-and returned a moment later with Mrs. Figg shuffling behind. If possible she looked even battier than usual and was still wearing her damned carpet slippers. Dumbledore gave her his chair and conjured another for himself.

Harry zoned out as much as possible while still being able to know if he was addressed or something interested was said. Mrs. Figg did a rubbish job of explaining what she’d seen, leaving him with a dull relief that Fudge and most of his jury had been bribed because otherwise the assured outcome would have been his wand being snapped. With detached interest he watched the prior-shadowed woman-short and much too toad like in appearance for his liking-lean forward and speak. Fudge turned brick red and, a bit later, a vivid shade of magenta. He only spoke again when he himself was mentioned.

“The Hover Charm wasn’t me it was Malfoy’s House Elf.”

The fireworks show continued on from there and it was becoming increasingly difficult to conceal his amusement. He was thereby grateful when a call of role was announced. More than half the number there raised their hands in his favor-Fudge included, though whether that was because of any actual presented evidence or because he’d remembered he’d been bribed he couldn’t tell. Harry made sure to send him a knowing smirk, though he covered it up quickly once Dumbledore turned to address him for the first time that summer.

“Congratulations, if I may say so Harry, on being rightfully acquitted. You feel relieved, I’m sure?”

Hot rage. Burning anger. Blood boiling. Kill him! Kill! “Yes, Sir.” His tone came out mild and Harry dropped his gaze to his dragon-hide boots. “I’m relieved that all of this is over.”

“I can certainly imagine, my boy.” Harry had to wrestle down a twitch. “You dressed for the occasion.”

The raven fiddled with the cuff of one of his sleeves feeling the silver scales of the bracelet brushed over his skin as it moved slightly downwards on his arm. Coming to a stop below his elbow from where it had formerly been resting just above it.

“I figured that it would make a better impression. And Muggles dress formally for court as well, at least so I’ve been told.”

“It’s an unwise choice to change one’s self in order to avoid judgement, Harry.” Dumbledore rested a hand on his shoulder, steering him out of the court and back through the corridors.

I guess it’s a good thing that I’ve embraced my true self then, isn’t it? He thought venomously.

“You’ve a great deal of explaining to do, Mr. Potter. You’ve had all of us extremely concerned: to run away from your relatives to fend for yourself while Voldemort is at large rather than doing as you were instructed-.”

“With all due respect,” read none at all, “I left before I received Mr. Weasley’s letter and I was never on the street; I travelled to Julian’s manor using the Portkey he gave me for emergency purposes at the end of last year.”

“Julian?”

“Yes, Julian Nero. An Italian halfblood and my recently acquired boyfriend. I’ll be saying no more on the matter; it’s deeply personal, as I’m sure that you can understand, and I think that it’s safe to say that a bit of a rift has opened between us over the summer. I no longer feel as close to you as I used to and there are certain things I would rather keep to myself.”

“Of course, my boy, I understand; typical of people at your age. And this isn’t the place to speak of such matters in detail regardless: we wouldn’t want to lead Julian to trouble by having the wrong person overhear after all.”

You expect that you’ll get the information out of someone else later. That figures.

“Grab onto my arm if you would, Harry. Though I’m sure you want to return to him for the remainder of the summer I’m afraid I can’t allow one of my students whose safety I’m charged with overseeing to travel so far on his own. I’ll be taking you somewhere you’ll be safe; Ron and Hermione will both be beyond relieved to see you again.”

I’m safe with the Dark Lord, not with you. Showing honest, if muted, disappointment-he had been expecting this, after all-Harry nodded. “I understand, Professor. I’ll just have to owl Julian later and explain.”

Doing as he’d been told he reached out and took the Headmaster’s offered arm. The Atrium of the Ministry vanished from around them. They landed in a patch of unkempt grass on a small square. The fronts of the houses surrounding them were grimy, grim and most unwelcoming; all peeling paint doors and broken windows. A pungent stench of rotting garbage came from a pile of bin bags just within the broken gate of the nearest house.

Oh bloody fuck, this is worse than Privet Drive!

Harry was passed a small, folded slip of paper before he could open his mouth and question their surroundings.

“I’m going to have to ask that you memorize the address on that slip of paper, Harry.”

Memorize an address? What was happening? Left with no other recourse, he unfolded the paper and looked down at it.

'The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.'

So the rumors were true. I am going to be staying with the Order. He raised his green eyes from the paper, crumpling it in his hand as he did so, and looked around. They were standing in front of number eleven; to the left was number ten; to the right was number thirteen. … …?

He barely had the chance to register the fact that there was, in fact, no Number Twelve before Number Twelve spontaneously popped into being between Numbers Eleven and Thirteen. Dumbledore swept up the badly cracked walkway and Harry followed, stopping only once they’d come to a stop outside of the door.

The black paint was shabby and scratched, peeling backwards in small smooth curls which fluttered slightly in the occasional breeze. The silver door knocker was in the shape of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letter box to be seen. Dumbledore tapped the door once with his wand and, in a flurry of quiet clicks and whirs, the door swung open.

“Well, my boy, this is where I leave you.” He said, stowing his wand back within his robes. “It’s best you head inside.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore.”

Glad to be free of the man at last and anticipating the chance to rip into his former friends for having thrown him away Harry turned his back on the Headmaster and stepped into the dark hall just beyond.

Chapter Text

The moment that the front door closed behind him he was submerged in a darkness so dense it would have left any creature with lesser senses entirely blind. Numerous old fashioned lamps-unlit and smelling of kerosene or oil—were bolted to the wall amidst large curls of faded peeling wallpaper and age-blackened portraits which hung on their pegs and shifted nervously at his presence. The carpet coating the floor of the gloomy hallway was bald and thread bare and a cobwebbed chandelier hung from the ceiling gleaming dully in the near complete absence of light. Something skittered behind a baseboard and Harry’s head whipped towards the sound. 

Nothing was visible. Nihil growled and settled.

His nose twitched and curled, sharp sense of smell overwhelmed by all the typical smells of a building long left derelict: damp, dust and the sickly sweetness of rot.
The silence in the hallway was so complete that it nearly presented as a presence and made him twitchy. Uncomfortable. Feelers of awareness reaching out around him, seeking out any nearby presences in case something lay in wait to ambush him. Five people on the above two floors, two pairs and one alone all shut up in separate rooms, though of precisely who they were he couldn’t be sure. There were also around fifteen people on the same floor as him, all gathered in the room behind the firmly shut doorway at the end of the hall from beneath which a faint chink of light issued.

Cautiously, Harry moved forwards off of the mat and approached a nearby rickety table atop which stood a candelabra; tarnished and made of silver it, like the chandelier, had arms which were shaped like serpents.

Reminded of the light fixture hung from the ceiling of the Dark Lord’s study with a dull pang, a chill prickling discomfortingly over his skin at the realization that it would be over a month before he felt the glorious warmth of completion that only came from his touch and that was if he was lucky. He ran the tips of his fingers over the metal serpents. Artfully formed in perfect likeness of a viper of some uncertain breed. Perfectly rendered from the shape of its head to the definition of its scaling. Smooth. Cold. Oddly comforting.

“Definitely a Wizarding manor, then, and not a Muggle place put under enchantments.” He rasped, turning from the candelabra and beginning to walk slowly and quietly down the long hallway. Careful to keep his footsteps light so as to have a better chance at perhaps catching some of the conversation going on beyond it. “Just where am I?”
The hissing sound of rungs on a metal bar going off beside him made Harry jump and whirl around, wand out and raised and a compulsory spell on his lips but he quickly realized that he was face to face with not a person but a portrait. He straightened and quickly stowed his wand again.

“Hello deary, there’s no need to be frightened. I hadn’t meant to startle you, it’s simply been a while since a real Wizard has been in this house.” Her voice was the high scratching one which would be expected of a person of particularly old age. Dark eyes-a bit too large for her face and sunken into sallow skin-observing him curiously. He blinked back for the first time hyper aware of the fact that the shape of his pupils had, if not starkly noticeably, changed. “A privilege to have the Heir of Slytherin grace the halls of the noble House of Black. A much needed honor in the face of the Mudbloods and Bloodtraitors and filth that my worthless son would allow into my house.”

“Your son?” Harry repeated. “Do you mean Sirius?”

“A worthless boy; disgrace to the family. Nothing compared to his younger brother Regulus. How dare he return to this house after running away so many years ago, and after getting himself locked up in Azkaban to boot.” Had the woman not been a portrait he got the impression that she would have spat onto the floor. “Might I ask your name, deary? I’m interested to know which family is lucky enough to be able to lay claim to Salazar Slytherin’s blood?”

She didn’t need to know that the reason he could speak the tongue of snakes was because of a Horcrux induced soul-bond with the real Heir of Slytherin instead of being the Heir himself. “Harry.” He said. “Harry Potter.”

“Potter?” now the woman sounded shocked. “Perhaps that little Gryffindor brat James wasn’t so bad after all: he’d have to have married a real Witch to have a son with such a noble gift.”

“Lily was a real Witch you hag. Now shut up and get back behind your curtains, I won’t have you speaking to my Godson!”

At some point during their conversation, no doubt attracted by the sounds of voices out in the hall, Sirius had emerged from the room behind the door-a kitchen, by the look of what little he could see through the open door-accompanied by Mrs. Weasley. Ron’s mother rushed up to him while his Godfather went about yanking the curtains back closed over the portrait which had begun to hiss and spit at him. The Weasley matriarch was paler and thinner than the last time that he had seen her and dragged him forwards into a bone-crushing hug which was sincerely unappreciated though he dragged a smile onto his face when she stepped back to look him over.

“Oh Harry dear, thank goodness! You’ve had us all so worried!” She said before patting him gently on the cheek; he had to forcibly crush the kneejerk reaction to bite. “Well, at least we can rest assured that whoever you were with was taking care of you. You’re well fed for the first time I’ve ever seen you. I hope you’re hungry, though I’m afraid it’ll still be a bit before dinner is ready.”

He tried to peer over her shoulder but Mrs. Weasley turned him about before he could get a good look at the meeting going on in the other room and began to march him towards the stairs.

“Everyone wants to speak with you but, as meetings are only for members of the Order, that will have to wait as well. Ron and Hermione are upstairs, you can wait with them; I’ll show you to where you’re sleeping.”

He ignored his Godfather’s attempt to catch his eye and, skirting a severed troll’s leg umbrella stand, followed Mrs. Weasley up the stairs. A row of shrunken House Elf heads were hung on plaques on the wall. If Harry didn’t know any better he might have assumed that he was standing in the house of a Death Eater.

“Mrs. Weasley, why-?”

“Ron and Hermione will explain, dear. I’ve really got to dash. There!” They’d arrived on the landing of the second floor. “You’re the door on the right; everything that you left at your relatives before running off has already been brought here. I’ll call the three of you down once the meeting is over.”

And just like that he was alone. Squaring his shoulders and tilting up his chin he crossed the dingy landing with all of the grace that he could muster and reached out for the snake-head doorknob. The room on the other side was gloomy and high ceilinged but that, and the fact that it was seemingly filled with an annoying twittering sound, was all that he could manage to gather before his vision was obscured by a large quantity of bushy brown hair.

If it hadn’t been for his Seeker’s reflexes Hermione’s weight crashing into him would probably have sent Harry tumbling back down the stairs. Pigwidgeon zoomed around their heads, tweeting excitedly.

“Harry! Oh my God! You’re alright! You are alright, aren’t you? Where have you been? Did you get our gifts? Why didn’t you write back? We’ve all been so worried!”

“Let him breathe, Hermione.”

“Oh, uh, yes…right. Sorry.” Blushing, Hermione released him and stepped back.

“Worried,” he repeated, a growl evident in his voice. “You were worried? That’s funny. Could have bloody fooled me.”

“Of course we were worried, Harry. You’re our friend. My best mate!”

“We wanted to write to you, really we did, but Dumbledore made us promise not to. He said that it was for your own good.”

“’Dumbledore made us promise not to.’” The tone was high, cruel and mocking. Hermione flinched but Ron narrowed his eyes at him and stepped forwards.

“That’s uncalled for mate. Dumbledore-.”

“I DON’T GIVE A BLOODY TOSS WHAT DUMBLEDORE TOLD YOU YOU COULD OR COULDN’T DO! I STILL WOULD HAVE OWLED YOU REGARDLESS AND YOU BOTH KNOW IT!” He snarled, eyes flashing with something that made both of them step away in alarm. The silver bracelet hissed in agitation and crawled up his arm, attempting to encircle his neck before seeming to realize that it wasn’t long enough to do so and slithering down the sleeve of his opposite arm before resettling around his wrist. “Tell me, if you wouldn’t mind, was this ‘supreme command of authority’ delivered before or after your little promise to write to me was made?” Both looked down at their feet in shame. “That’s what I thought.”

“We really did do it because he told us it was for your own good. Dumbledore only wants to protect you; you know that he thinks of you like a grandson!” There were tears in the corners of Hermione’s eyes. Harry gazed at her pitilessly. “We’re sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

Silence.

“R-Really mate?” Ron asked, looking at him warily. Harry flashed him a grin that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a half-transformed werewolf.

“Of course. I mean, it isn’t as if my only two friends in the world abandoned me at the drop of a hat all because of the word of a barmy candy obsessed old man. Isn’t as if I was left to the mercy of my magic hating Muggle relatives; the same relatives who locked me in a cupboard under the stairs for the first eleven years of my life and-you remember Ron-put bars on my windows when I finally did get a bedroom. Isn’t as if there’s a homicidal Dark Wizard hell-bent on killing me with an entire pack of frothing followers out for my blood. Isn’t as if the Daily Prophet made me out to be some sort of attention seeking lunatic. Isn’t as if I was attacked by a pair of Dementors specifically sent by someone within the Ministry of Magic to give me the kiss so that I’d shut up about Voldemort being back. Oh, no, my summer has been completely uneventful!” The smile turned into a sneer. “Don’t be daft.”

“Harry-.”

“In honesty, though, I do forgive you. However it will be a long while before I forget. If I forget. The two of you have a long way to go.”

“We’ll make it up to you, mate. You know that.” Ron told him. Hermione nodded wordlessly, wiping furiously at her eyes.

“Good. Now that that’s cleared up, shall we-?”

The sound of the door creaking open interrupted him and Harry whirled around. Stood hunched over and still holding on to the knob was an incredibly old House Elf he had never seen before, dressed in dirty rags and with copious amounts of white hair sprouting from its bat like ears.

“Oh bloody hell, that’s Kreacher!” Ron exclaimed exasperatedly. “Sirius’ barmy old Elf!”

“Don’t be so unkind to him Ron! It’s not his fault he’s mad, alone for so long with only that horrible portrait to talk to.”

The elf ignored both of them, his eyes on Harry as he shuffled forwards before bowing low at the waist. “Kreacher has cleaned Harry Potter’s room for him at the behest of his mistress. The Heir of Slytherin should not be forced to sleep in the same room as a Blood Traitor. If Harry Potter would please follow Kreacher, Kreacher will lead him to his room.”

The elf opened the door and shuffled out into the hallway. Ron and Hermione both looked at him in confusion and Harry shrugged.

“I’ll explain in a second.” He told them. “Coming?”

“O-Oh, yeah. Right behind you.”

The room that the House Elf led him to was one at the far end of the hallway. Considerably larger than the one he would have otherwise shared with Ron and with a single king-sized bed it had obviously been freshly and thoroughly cleaned and all of the metal fixtures shone.

“Kreacher will move Harry Potter’s things into his new room for him.”

“…Yes. Thank you, Kreacher.”

With that said the House Elf turned and left. No sooner than he had a second elf appeared with a pop along with a handsome trunk containing all his new supplies.

“Hello, Tilky. Thank you for bringing my things along so quickly.”

“Master’s orders, Master Potter. Tilky was to bring Master Potter’s things to him from Master’s manor in the evening once certain Master Potter’s trial had concluded. Tilky was also to inquire about the outcome?”

“Things ended favorably, though I’m sure that’s likely only thanks to his efforts. Please pass along my thanks when you return.”

“Tilky will do so, Master Potter. Master also wished me to alert Master Potter that Master Potter’s owl should be arriving here within the hour, Sir.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

“Tilky has other duties to attend to, Master Potter…?”

“Of course, I understand. Running a household is difficult to do, I imagine. You may return to the manor.” With another crack the House Elf disappeared.

“Whose Elf was that?” Ron asked him, looking surprised. Hermione was aiming a mild sideways glare at him; he had no doubt that this was due to the fact that, though he hadn’t been rude to either Elf, he hadn’t exactly been kind.

“Julian’s. He has a number of them; inherited them from his family along with the manor.” He replied coolly, crossing the room to inspect his new trunk; he actually hadn’t seen the thing before except for in passing. “Where did you think I’d been hiding all summer? A drainpipe?”

“No. Of course not. We just figured that it’d be somewhere in the Muggle world.”

Harry grunted out a noncommittal response and hissed at his trunk, opening it once the lock clicked.

“Who’s Julian, Harry?” Hermione asked him, tone sounding stern. “Please tell me that you didn’t go running to the first person who offered to help you. They could have been a Death Eater, or even the Dark Lord himself in disguise for all you know!”

You have no idea how right you are. He hid his smirk by examining the red and gold quill which he’d found inside of the trunk; he had a creeping suspicion that it was the tail feather of a phoenix. “Of course I didn’t go running off to some stranger. Gryffindor or not, I was desperate not naïve.” He drawled, setting the quill aside in favor of examining the custom robes. “I met Julian last year, before the first task. We hit it off as friends-he was one of the few interested in the me behind the title of the Boy-Who-Lived and he was the first to say that he believed me after I spoke out about what happened. He gave me this,” he briefly held up his arm, sleeve falling back to reveal the bracelet, “for use in an absolute emergency before he left to go back to his home at the end of the year. We became…closer over the course of the summer.”

He allowed his thumb to rub gently along the underside of the band of the ring on his hand for a moment before continuing to speak.

“About the misunderstanding regarding the portrait of Sirius’ mother thinking I’m the Heir of Slytherin she over-heard me talking to myself when I first got in. In Parseltongue. I’ve fallen into the habit of speaking it around Julian.”

“He’s a Parselmouth?” Hermione sounded horrified. “Harry! The Slytherin line is the only bloodline that-.”

“The Slytherin line is the only English bloodline of Parselmouths but there are other lines in other places across the world that can speak it too, most of them from the Arabia. I thought you’d know that, Hermione, with all the books you’ve read.” He let the lid fall closed with a dull clunk, resolving to root through the rest of it later. “Julian is Italian; I’ve been at his manor in Tuscany all summer.”

“I…o-oh, yes. You’re right.” She half-squeaked. “Italy? I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

Thinking of the deep forests and lush gardens of the manor Harry smiled as he crossed the room to perch on the side of his bed. “It is. And his manor is incredible; probably bigger than Malfoy’s.”

“But they’re the richest family in England, mate. To have a bigger mansion than them his would have to be loaded.”

“From what I can tell, though that hardly matters to me, they are. I like him because he doesn’t give a flaming toss about the fact that I defeated Voldemort when I was only one not because he has money and influence though that is nice, mind you. Especially when he seems so bent on spending it on me no matter what I say to try and discourage him.” He said. “I’m used to adults either treating me like a nutter, some sort of Divine savior or a child that can’t do anything for himself but Julian treats me like an equal.”

“You look good.” Hermione ventured timidly, as if in fear he’d go off again without warning, looking him up and down. “And I’m not just talking about what you have on. You look, well, healthier than I’m used to seeing you. And happy.”

“I am happy.” He replied. “As for the clothes…I would have been fine wearing Muggle attire to the Ministry for my trial but Julian was insistent that I dress in Wizarding Formalry to ‘make a better impression’ or something.”

“The trial went alright, didn’t it?” Ron asked suddenly, sounding as if the thought to do so had just occurred to him. “You’re not…?”

“Expelled?” the raven finished for him, amused. “No. I got off. Thankfully, despite someone in the Ministry having sent them after me and then covered their tracks between Dumbledore helpfully pointing out the obvious fact that it was self-defense and Julian using his connections to make generous donations to certain…individuals the outcome was all but assured.”

“He bribed them? Harry!”

“Don’t yell at me: it isn’t like I asked him to! He didn’t even tell me what he’d done until today!”

They were quiet for a while after that.

“So…” Ron started, shifting uncomfortably. “This Julian bloke…is he…are you…?”

“Yes, Ron, so that you don’t need to ask. I am.”

The second youngest Weasley turned as red as his hair as his friend smirked at him. Hermione crossed the room to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

“What does he do? For a living?” she asked.

“From what I understand he’s a historian, archivist and collector of rare and priceless artifacts; our first real bonding experience was sitting on the shore of the Black Lake talking about the Sword of Gryffindor and how I used it to kill the Basilisk.” He chuckled lightly, allowing his eyes to unfocus as they might when reminiscing. “If you saw his library you’d die…it’s incredible. Some of the books are so old and rare that you have to use a hover charm to read them so they don’t fall apart. Though…he is a little bit traditionalist.”

“What does that mean?” Ron demanded, eyeing him suspiciously. “Please tell me that my best mate hasn’t been shacking up with the Italian version of Lucius Malfoy!”

Harry snorted, grimacing slightly at the image. “Nothing that extreme, he just harps on the Witch trials a little more than can be considered healthy. He gets it from his mother no doubt.” Deciding to add a bit more truth to his lies he put in “he’s a first generation half-blood, as I understand it, and was abandoned by his Muggle Father before he was even born. Given my experience with my relatives I can understand his animosity.”

More silence.

“So…the Order of the Phoenix…what is it?” he didn’t need the answer, he already knew, but it would be untoward if he slipped up and revealed that later so the best course of action was establish the basics as soon as possible. Perfect the image of obliviousness.

“It’s a secret society.” As expected, Hermione was the first to jump on the bait. “It’s a secret society founded by Dumbledore; the people that fought You-Know-Who the last time.”

“Interesting.” Ugh. “Who’s in it?”

“A few people.”

Not Helpful.

“We’ve met about twenty of them,” Ron supplied, equally as unhelpfully. “Of course, we think that there are more.”

“Right.” He drawled. A pause, again. Long and drawn out. “Well?”

The other two exchanged a glance before Ron asked “well what?”

“Well what?” he repeated. “Well Voldemort, that’s what!” Both winced, much to his savage amusement. “What’s he up to? What’s happening? Where is he? How are we going to stop him?”

“We don’t know, mate. Mum won’t let us anywhere near the meetings; says we’re too young.” He told him. “We do have a few details, but they’re weeks old by now; Fred and George had to hide all of the extendable ears after Mum found them and lost her mind.”

“Extendable ears?” Harry repeated, tilting his head. “One of their joke supplies, I assume?”

“Yeah. They’re really useful.” Ron told him. “Some of them are tailing known Death Eaters. Some were keeping tabs on you before you disappeared. Some were working on recruiting more people and some were standing guard over something.”

Harry’s ears perked up. “Standing guard over what?”

“We don’t know,” Hermione told him, “but it’s definitely important. It’s the only thing that they kept talking about aside from finding you after you left to stay with Julian.”
So he wouldn’t be getting any useful information out of whatever this ‘something’ was. Harry knew that it wasn’t really his prerogative to learn anything while there at the Headquarters of the Order but it was still annoying to know he’d be left with nagging questions.

He could only assume that Voldemort knew, through Snape, about the guards around whatever he was after. And that, over Samhain or Yule, he could convince the Dark Lord to at least tell him what he was seeking.

“If you haven’t been in meetings all summer than what have the two of you been doing?” admittedly he really was curious.

“We’ve been decontaminating the house; things have been breeding in here, what with how long it’s been empty. We’ve cleaned out the kitchens, most of the bedrooms and I think we’re going to do the drawing room tomorr-EEK!”

With yet another pair of loud cracks Fred and George materialized in the middle of the room.

“Stop doing that!” Hermione squeaked from where she still sat, one hand pressed against her chest and steadying herself by placing the other on Harry’s shoulder.

“Hello, Harry.” George said, grinning widely. “We thought we heard you a bit earlier though it took us a while to find you; didn’t expect you not to be in Ron’s room.”

“The portrait downstairs likes me, apparently, and ordered Kreacher to prepare a separate room.” He informed them calmly. “The two of you passed your Apparition tests, then?”

“With distinction and the most vivid of flying colors.” Fred said as he held up a piece of long, flesh colored string. “The conversation you three are having is interfering with reception-though, mind you, it’s interesting to know about your ‘Julian’-we’re trying to hear what’s going on downstairs.”

“What that. If Mum sees one of them again-.”

“It’s worth it; that’s a major meeting going on down there.”

“It’s not worth it. She’s gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the door.” Ginny said as she pushed open the door and walked in. “Hi Harry.”

“How do you know?” George looked crestfallen.

“Tonks told me how to find out. You chuck stuff at the door and if it can’t make contact than the door’s been Imperturbed. I’ve been flicking dung bombs at it but none of them even come close so there’s no way those will be able to get under the gap.”

“Shame.” Fred sighed, winding up the Extendable Ear and stowing it in his pocket. “I really wanted to hear about what the bloody Git Snape had to say.”

So Snape was there, then?

Harry pushed himself up off the bed and started calmly for the door, aware that everyone had turned to look at him.

“Don’t just stare at me, come on. There’s always the old fashioned way.”

“Uh, mate, we’d need to get really close to the door to hear anything.”

“If we were using the door I’d imagine we would, yeah.” The floorboards creaked and shuddered under his foot. “These floors are thin and most people wouldn’t bother putting a Silencing Charm on a ceiling. Which room is directly over the kitchen?”

“Not a room,” Ginny told him, eyes wide, “a hallway.”

“Good enough.” He yanked open the door. “Let’s go.”

The others exchanged brief glances but followed him out the door and down onto the first landing.

“This one. Over here. We should be directly over them right about now.”

“No point wasting time, then.” The raven got down onto his front and pressed his ear to the floor, the others following his example a moment later. There was a muddled murmur of voices which he had to strain his ears to even attempt to decipher, followed quickly by an odd scrapping sound which Harry quickly recognized as chairs being pushed back.

“Blast,” he muttered, pushing himself back upright as a herd of footsteps began heading towards the front door. “The meeting was already over. So much for that plan.”

“Oh well,” George said as he helped his twin to his feet. “There’s always next time I suppose.”

Their conversation came to an end quite quickly after that as, at that moment, Mrs. Weasley came up the stairs.

“I hope you lot are being careful of which rooms you’re going into. We’ve no way of knowing what could have been left behind in the ones that we haven’t gotten around to yet.” She said. “Come down for dinner, all of you. Everyone has cleared out and it’s almost ready. I hope you’re hungry, Harry dear.”

“Starving.” He assured her with a small smile, trailing after the others back down the stairs and through the hallway to the kitchen. The moment that they were through the doorway he noted that not everyone had gone: Sirius, of course as it was his house, sat at the table alongside Lupin who, Harry noticed, was eyeing him somewhat shiftily as if he knew something about him was off but couldn’t quite place it, and a Witch with a heart-shaped face and purple hair who he didn’t recognize. Piled oddly in another chair was what looked like a mound of rags with a foul-smelling pip protruding from it like some manner of strange snowman. He raised an eyebrow.

Sirius must have seen him looking and motioned to the empty chair. “Sit down, Harry. You’ve met Mundugus, haven’t you?”

The pile of rags jerked awake and nearly sent him out of his chair in surprise. “Did somebody say my name?” it grunted sleepily, raising a grubby hand as if in an attempt to cast a vote. “I agree with Sirius.”

“The meeting is over.” Harry said dryly as the others sat down around him. “He’s the one who scarpered to go buy black-market cauldrons when he was supposed to be on guard duty?”

“Er…yeah. Yeah, that’s me. I wouldn’t have left but it was a business opportunity. You understand. Still, though, I suppose I should apologize for that.”

The owlish glare that Harry ran him through with made it clear precisely what he thought he could do with his apology.

“Wotcher, Harry! It’s great to finally get a chance to meet you.” The purple haired Witch said at the exact same moment that her hair shifted to bright pink. Harry stared. “Tonks. Just Tonks. Auror.”

Raising a hand and pointing at his own black hair he managed a genuinely shocked “how did you…your hair?”

“Oh, that? I’m a Metamorphmagus; was born one. I can change my appearance at will.”

“That’s wicked.” Too bad being a Horcrux didn’t give him any abilities like that, not that his powers weren’t impressive in their own right. “What’s it like to be an Auror?”

“Pretty quiet, surprisingly. Almost boring, even. For now at least.” She said. “Not like it was back in Sirius’ day.”

Harry shifted his gaze back onto his Godfather. “You were an Auror?”

“Yeah, I was, back before the whole Azkaban fiasco. Your father and I were partners.” He told him. “How was your summer? And where have you been?”

“Up until I nearly wound up getting kissed by that pair of Dementors it was terrible.” Harry replied, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. The large black stone caught the light of the numerous candles, winking off the heavy golden band and shattering against the gem into a myriad of colors. Sirius did a double take, eyes wide. “After that I took an emergency Port-!”

“Why are you wearing…! Who gave you a Consort ring?” His Godfather cut him off, seizing the hand that had the ring on it and dragging it across the table-nearly taking Harry with it-as if to examine it closer and ensure he wasn’t mistaken.

“What’s a Consort ring?” Ron called from his position a few feet away. His question went unanswered, his Godfather’s gaze rested heavy on him.

“Julian gave it to me on my birthday; I’ve been staying with him at his family’s manor in Tuscany all summer. It’s why no one could find me. I wasn’t in England.”

“Julian?”

“Julian Nero. Italian. Half-blood. My boyfriend: we met just before the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament.”

“And how old is Julian?” there was a tenseness to the other’s voice now.

Seventy something at this point, right? He blinked. “Um…thirty…five…I think.”

“He’s twenty years older than you and you’ve entered a binding-! Harry!”

Pulling his hand back rather sharply he hid it from view underneath the table, caressing the cold gem with tender fingers as his expression settled into stone. Ron and Hermione both tensed, well aware that another tongue lashing was surely soon to come.

“So what if he is?”

“You’re not even of age!”

“And?”

“I can’t allow this!”

“Why not?”

“I’m your Godfather!”

“AND A FINE BLOODY JOB YOU’VE BEEN DOING OF THAT!” He snapped, eyes narrowing. Lupin was now regarding him in outright concern though it seemed as if it were directed less at him and more at what he might do. Crookshanks, who had just nosed his way into the kitchen again, took off again with a feral hiss of fright. Harry could feel Nihil’s dark shadow pulsing through his veins along with his heartbeat, intoxicating and thick. Still, despite the temptation, he managed to pull himself back from the edge by a thin thread. “I think it’s fair to say that you lost any real ‘parental power’ over my life when you decided revenge was more important than sticking around when I really needed you.”

Silence. Everyone, including Mundungus, were now staring at him as if expecting him to suddenly explode. All color had drained from Sirius’ face.

“W-Well,” Mrs. Weasley finally broke the silence in a shaky voice, sending their prepared dinner floating over and onto the table between them. “Dinners ready. Let’s talk about something else, shall we? How did your trial go, dear? Those clothes you’re wearing are quite nice; did Julian get them for you?”

“Yes. He had a field day with buying me clothes and supplies and setting up my room.” Harry said lightly, picking up a piece of crusty bread to go with the stew that had been prepared. “He’s…definitely an interesting Wizard. Knows a lot about a lot of interesting things, especially history. He’d just come back from retrieving a ‘lost’ artifact in Albania when I wound up sprawled out in his foyer; think I gave him a bit of a fright.” Chewing and swallowing he continued “my trial went…alright, I guess. I got off. I’m going back to Hogwarts for another year, though I’m heading back to Italy for Samhain and Yule, and am probably going to move there permanently after the war is over.”

“I…I’ll have to meet with him before I let you just go running off with an older man. Even if he is your…your Consort.” Sirius sounded half like he didn’t want to believe Harry had entered into such a contract and half afraid that Harry would go off on him again.

The raven hummed happily around his spoon, pleased that he’d secured a place of tenuous dominance over his legal guardian. “Yule would probably be the best time for that. I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind too much though he may have words for you, with him I can never be sure.”

Further conversation was put off by the soft rustle of feathers as Hedwig came soaring in through the open window to perch on the back of his chair.

“Hedwig!” He turned to his familiar with a smile, eyes widening at the sight of the dethorned rose-unmistakably from the bush in the garden-clenched gently in her beak. She dropped into his hand with a soft croon and nibbled his ear before accepting the bread he gave her and fluttering off again.

Wrapped around the carefully dethorned stem was a small slip of paper which he unrolled and read. A single phrase had been inscribed onto the slip in familiar hand writing.
Gemino Flos

“Does anyone know what Gemino Flos-?” the instant that he said it the rose in his hand turned ice cold, causing him to drop it in alarm, and then began to multiply. By the time it stopped he was left sitting in his chair buried up to his neck in flowers and the twins were howling with laughter, many of the others were chuckling and Sirius had actually cracked a smile.

“You didn’t mention that he was a prankster.” The former Marauder said approvingly.

“In honesty,” Harry replied as a cascade of petals tumbled to the floor, “I didn’t think he was.”

So the Dark Lord had a sense of humor? Harry could help but view this revelation as a considerable surprise.

Chapter Text

“Harry Potter.” That voice. That glorious beautiful voice which he would have recognized anywhere, more keenly than even his own. That wonderful high pitched susurrus which had once filled him with fear now filled him with an entirely different sensation, causing a warmth to pool in his belly which was completely separate from the usual pleasure which overwhelmed him on contact with the Dark Lord’s skin. “The Boy Who Lived.” He was blind in warm darkness, utterly relaxed and feeling entirely boneless as he lay across his lap. A position he’d once have reviled, but now his only complaint was that he couldn’t see his benefactor’s face. He nuzzled into his hip, feeling thick silken robes rub against his face. Comforted by his familiar scent; heady and rich and slightly reptilian. “My Black Lion.” A large hand with long spidery fingers came to rest on his back. The touch almost delicate and making the raven yearn for less clothes to separate them. “They’ve called you the Savior of the Wizarding World for almost all your life, and now you truly shall be. My Horcrux. My consort. My most loyal-.”

“Mum says get up! Your breakfast is in the kitchen!” George’s voice was so loud that Harry was sure he’d shouted directly into his ear, and all traces of the dream he’d been having shattered apart along with his skull as his head hit the ceiling. “Sorry Harry, didn’t mean to frighten you that badly but you’d better hurry up before Ronnikins eats your portion along with his. You’ll definitely need your strength today.”

Finished hissing out a string of curses in Parseltongue while rubbing the raised knot on his head Harry sent George a mild glare through his watering eyes. Nihil seemed more amused by the situation than he was, judging by his cackling. “Why would that be?” he gritted out.

“Surely Ron and Hermione told you about the child labor house cleaning services; not old enough to participate in the actual fighting? Never fear, for you can still contribute to the war effort by assisting the Order of the Phoenix in clearing the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!”

Cleaning? Marvelous. Just when Harry had thought the remainder of his summer couldn’t get any worse he was now expected to preform practically the same duties as he had at the Dursley’s? Were Snape less of an ass Harry might have actually begun to sympathize with the man: being a double agent truly was a thankless job.

“And it looks like it’ll be even worse than usual today, sad to say. She found loads more Doxies in the drawing room than she expected, and on top of everything else there’s a nest of dead Puffskeins under the couch.”

Puffskeins? A brief moment of consideration conjured up an image of a giant ball of fluff with a simian like face. They had, if he recalled correctly, briefly talked about them during Care of Magical Creatures at some point between Hippogryphs and Blast-Ended Skrewts.

“Right. I’ll be down as soon as I’ve changed.”

George nodded at him once before disappearing with a crack. Harry hauled himself off the surprisingly comfortable bed and padded over to the trunk, changing into one of the few sets of Muggle clothing that he had; better not to wear anything he might need later for a day of slaving away at clearing the house. He’d always wound up covered in dust and mud and sweat by the end of such a day-almost every day-at the home of his ‘oh so loving’ relatives and there was no telling what he’d be covered in by the end of such a day in a magical home. Especially one that had stood empty for as long as Number 12.

Dressed in a soft white t-shirt and blue jeans and resolving to make use of the private bathroom as soon as their cleaning was through Harry headed down the stairs to quickly eat his breakfast and join the others in the drawing room.

A high ceiling. Olive green walls covered in dirty tapestries. A number of pieces of antique, claw footed furniture were scattered throughout the room, their weight leaving deep prints pressed into the grey stained carpet. Thick velvet curtains, their green hue obscured by a layer of dust so thick that their shade was almost indiscernible, hung astride the windows buzzing like a hive full of bees. The moment he stepped over the threshold an odd, gentle hissing filled the furthest reaches of his awareness.

Did he really want to know? The small group of people with bandanas tied around their faces and bottles of what looked like black Windex in their hands told him that, no, he really didn’t. But as Mrs. Weasley’s eyes landed on him Harry knew he didn’t have a choice.

“Cover your face and grab the last bottle, Harry dear.” She said, voice muffled behind the cloth as she pointed at the bottle resting on the spindly legged table. “It’s Doxycide; I’ve never seen an infestation this bad.”

She went on to say more but Harry had affectively tuned her out. It didn’t matter what it was, what they were up against or whether or not it touched, stung, bit or otherwise attempted to harm him. He was swathed in the strongest protections which Lord Voldemort had to offer; only the best to defend the carrier of his soul.

Next to nothing could touch him now so what was the point of caution when dealing with anything aside from Dumbledore?

He only refocused on the conversation when Sirius made some comment or another about Kreacher before dropping a bag of dead rats-why? Did he care, not really, but why?-on the very same table the Doxicide had been resting on and went to examine a rattling writing desk.

The two adults discussed in voices which were carefully polite, making it clear that neither had forgotten the explosive argument which had occurred the night before, after dinner had concluded and the amusement from ‘Julian’s’ prank had faded when Harry had indulged his curiosity.

He’d been left frustrated and without any real answers. Sirius only remained in the room briefly before rushing off to silence the portrait of his mother, agitated into screaming by the doorbell which rang out through the house.

Harry was the one tasked with closing the drawing room door. It was only seconds after they had finally gotten around to spraying-the chemical smell made him terribly lightheaded himself and tasted sickly sweet on his tongue-a fully grown Doxy came flying out at him. The thing was much bigger than Harry had expected and actually managed to startle him a bit with its sudden appearance. His instincts reacted before his mind could catch up and rather than spray the demented little creature he seized it in his fist and threw it across the room into a wall. Ginny’s aim was terrifying, Ron got bitten twice and the twins caused a bit of havoc trying to sneak away some of the unconscious Doxies for use in crafting joke supplies.

By the time they were through Harry felt as if his chest was being squeezed by metal bands and the curtains, now fully de-Doxied, hung limp and dripping from the intensity of their spraying. Not entirely interested in the sandwiches that Mrs. Weasley brought up to them he forced himself to eat at least one anyway to avoid being questioned. He nibbled unhappily on it as he stood in front of the glass-paned cabinet, peering in at the items inside.

The warm hissing was coming from something inside. They’d be cleaning it out once they finished with their meal. That time couldn’t come fast enough.

“A nasty collection fit for an equally nasty witch.” Said his Godfather from behind him. Sirius had come back into the room now that the portrait had once more been silenced. He should have known that he was approaching well before he spoke, but the glorious hissing had drowned out everything else with its hypnotic croon. “There’s no telling what sort of vile things are in there. We’d best be careful when we open it.”

Harry answered with a disinterested hum, green eyes still searching the contents for the source of the call. Another Horcrux. It had to be. But what was it hidden in and why was it here of all places?

“…” he could practically taste how nervous the other man was. Nihil shifted in agitation but didn’t move otherwise. “So…want to ‘meet the family’?”

He finally turned his eyes away from the cabinet to look his Godfather up and down. “I thought you were the last of the Black line.”

“Well, I am, but the family tree is still around. If only because we’ve yet to find a way to get the bloody thing off the wall.” He said. “Care to take a look?”

The plate of sandwiches were only half gone and, for once, even Ron didn’t appear eager to start shoveling food into his mouth. Anything was better at this point, than attempting to develop spontaneous x-ray vision so he nodded. “Sure.”

Despite his having kept his answer short and curt, an affirmative response made Sirius’ face light up like Christmas come early. He bounded across the room and Harry followed at a much more sedate pace.

The tapestry was clearly very old and had been chewed on in a number of places, presumably by the Doxies they’d removed from the curtains. It was as filthy as the curtains had been before their Doxicide soaking but the golden thread still shone brightly enough that the family tree could still be clearly seen. As far as Harry could tell, it dated back to the Middle Ages.

Sirius proudly prattled on about how he’d run away from home, moving in instead with Harry’s own father. He didn’t pay all that much attention and interrupted when he caught sight of something which caught sight of something which caught his interest. He pointed at the name scrawled at the very bottom of the tree: REGULUS BLACK.

“Who’s that?”

“My brother.” He said. “He was younger than me and a much better son, at least according to my parents.”

“He died.”

“Course he did, the stupid idiot. Ran off to join the Death Eaters the moment he got the chance but got cold feet and tried to back out.” Sirius said grimly. “But Voldemort doesn’t take anything less than a death certificate as resignation: it’s a lifetime of service or no life at all.”

As it should be. Serving is a privilege only afforded to a few.

Nothing more could be said between them before Mrs. Weasley called them back. Lunch was finally over and the time to open the cabinet had come at last.

He needed to locate his brother amongst the clutter and somehow spare it from being chucked out with the trash, and paid attention to little else as they pried the odd objects from the shelves. A biting snuffbox filled with Wartcap Powder. A silver tool which looked like what you’d get if you bred an Acromantula with a pair of Muggle Surgical tweezers. An evil music box. A number of worthless books. A heavy locket which couldn’t be opened.

Harry grabbed it before any of the others could and attempted to shove it into his pocket but wasn’t as subtle, clearly, as the Twins had been as Mrs. Weasley caught him and promptly gave him a lecture on safety which would have put his Head of House to shame and tossed the locket out before he could do anything to stop her.

His mood was thunderous for the rest of the torturously long day and once the cleaning was finally done he shut himself up in his room rather than going down to dinner with the rest. He wasn’t hungry, had a back log of summer homework which still needed finishing and above all needed to come up with some way to get the locket back.

He was sitting in the wing-backed chair, coiled around that year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts text book, attempting to make the blatant stupidity scrawled across the pages make sense, when Sirius knocked on the door and walked it. Harry’s eyes zeroed in instantly on the locket which he held.

“I checked it for curses and charms and came up with nothing, it’s far too gaudy for my taste but likely too valuable to just pitch and I don’t see any issue with allowing you to have it.” He said, crossing the room towards him. “Mind telling me why you wanted it so badly, pup?”

“Because I realized what it was and wanted to give it to Julian; he’s an antiquarian and has a special interest in items connected to the Hogwarts Founders despite not having gone there himself.” He said. “He already has Hufflepuff’s Cup and the ‘lost’ Diadem of Ravenclaw. The Sword of Gryffindor likes to travel a bit too much to stand for being collected by anyone but I figured giving him this would be enough of a consolation for his failed efforts regarding it.”

Sirius seemed shocked by the news. “That’s a Founder’s item?”

Harry nodded, grinning as he took the heavy necklace and set the book aside. “It is. You’ve had the Locket of Salazar Slytherin sitting in a cabinet in your house for who knows how many years, just gathering dust and I think it’s high time that it went to someone more capable of…appreciating such a priceless piece of history.”

Chapter Text

The morning of their return to Platform 9 ¾ to catch the Hogwarts Express had always been defined by a hectic rush of noise and color and this year was, of course, no different. Though he was very much grateful for the shelter from the majority of the mad rush of activity that having his own private room provided Harry would be lying if he were to attempt to say that he wasn’t glad that summer was finally over.

Not that that wasn’t another detail contiguous with how his life always seemed to have gone. The difference this time was that he wasn’t pleased because he’d be getting away from his troglodyte family and returning to the castle which was the first place that he’d really considered to be a home. In fact, he wasn’t pleased to be returning at all.

He was glad, however, to finally be getting the bloody hell out of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place; even if it had been only for the tail end of the summer that he had stayed there the place still felt like a prison to Harry. Constantly having to play the role of what he no longer was, had never truly been in the first place, was exhausting. Imitating emotions that he no longer had and couldn’t fathom ever having actually understood was torture and suppressing the frustration and rage that he could still keenly feel was a chore. Putting up with his ‘friends’ and Godfather was a weight beneath which his brittle patience was beginning to crumble and doing menial chores, cleaning the place like a House Elf as if he were still in the heinously normal home of his supposed family, was entirely beneath him.

He was the Dark Consort, for the love of Morgana! How dare they treat him like a servant and attempt to keep him in the dark like a child!

The thought of all his failed attempts to catch even a single word of the Order’s many meetings had him up and pacing yet again, Nihil giving an agitated grumble as Harry growled under his breath. Had it not been for how weakened he’d become since leaving Voldemort’s side the young Horcrux was certain that his powers would have lashed out and torn the room around him to shreds.

As it was, all his anger reminded him of was how long it had been since he’d fed. Even simple touches, brief but frequent, would have been enough to control the gnawing pit enough to prevent it from chewing on the edges of his sanity but with the state of the house and all of the gear in use to prevent the harsh chemicals from getting on their skin he hadn’t had the amount of chances that he’d have liked.

The gaping hole inside of him opened its fanged maw and roared; biting down on a cry of pain the raven wrapped his arms around his middle and fell to his knees beside his open trunk with a small thump. The thump was followed quickly by a crack as another presence joined him in the room.

Harry opened one watering green eye to cast the aged elf in a questioning glare. As bent, dirty and sour looking as ever Kreacher was holding a small but obviously quite heavy silver platter in his hands. When he looked at it more closely Harry realized that the platter was filled with sandwiches, all of which had been individually wrapped for easy transport.

“Kreacher noticed Master Potter seemed to be acting quite weak and told Kreacher’s Mistress. Kreacher’s Mistress ordered Kreacher to make sure that the filthy half breeds and Bloodtraitors and thieves were not starving the real Wizard under their roof so Kreacher has brough Master Potter food to take with him on the train.”

Nihil snarled in his ear as he sized up the elf out of the corner of his vision; it would be simple enough to kill the creature but what he’d do with the body afterwards he didn’t know. It would all look too suspicious. Not to mention the very real possibility that the little cretin could prove useful in the future.

The locket ticked steadily against his chest like a second heartbeat, hidden safely beneath the button up he wore.

“Thank you, Kreacher.” He finally decided to say, pushing himself up into a slightly more upright position and reaching out to take one of the sandwiches. It wouldn’t do anything to sooth his pain, but at least it would be something for him to busy his hands with. “Can you do something else for me? It’s very important and will help me to feel at least a little bit better.”

Watery eyes fixed on him attentively.

“Bring me a magic item; it can be hexed, cursed, jinxed or anything else. It just has to have some form of magic or magical residue attached to it. It doesn’t even have to be capable of serving its intended function anymore.” He said, resisting the urge to curl in on himself again as another wave of pain wracked through his body. “Please, and do it quickly.”

Harry nearly sagged fully onto the floor in relief when the elf did as he was told. It wasn’t an ideal solution to his problem, far from it, but it would work. At least for the short term.

He could work out a more permanent solution once he’d reached the castle.

With nothing else to do while waiting for his requirement to be met the raven set about unwrapping the sandwich in his hands and shoving it into his mouth. Its taste didn’t really register on him, and with how dry his mouth already was whatever he ate seemed to possess the texture and consistency of saw dust.

The young Wizard didn’t have even the slightest clue what, exactly, the House Elf had chosen to bring to him when he returned minutes-though it had seemed to him to be a century-but it’s identity and function wasn’t what mattered. He seized the object in a shaking fist, tearing the magic free and devouring it like a starving animal.

The knot in his stomach loosened but didn’t go away completely. Sweat beading across his forehead but finally able to stand up Harry pushed himself back up onto his feet. He was vaguely aware that his hands were shaking as he dropped the now drained object onto the floor.

“Is Master Potter alright?”

“Yes, Kreacher. Thank you.”

“Is there anything else that Kreacher can do for Master Potter?”

Harry looked over the contents of his trunk once more before pushing the lid closed. “Take this down for me.”

The elf wasted no time in disappearing with a pop, his trunk vanishing with him.

A low hoot drew his attention to where Hedwig sat perched atop her cage, still positioned where he’d last left it atop the wardrobe of the room. Despite his foul mood and discomfort Harry still found it in himself to smile as his familiar fluttered down onto his arm.

“And no, I haven’t forgotten about you.” She nipped gently at his fingers as he ran them over her feathers. “I’d meant to consult you earlier over whether you wanted to fly to Hogwarts early or travel with me on the Express? I know that being cooped up in your cage isn’t pleasant.”

Hedwig hooted at him again, turning her head to focus him in a glare with first one eye and then the other.

“I am taking care of myself, and you don’t need to worry. It’s just…hard.” There were no readily captured prisoners for him to drain of their magic, and subsequently their life, every other week and he wasn’t in a position where it would be acceptable behavior to hunt anyone, Muggleborn or otherwise, down like wild game. “I’ll be alright once I get back to Hogwarts. I’ll be able to devise something then. And, if nothing else, I’ll be able to feed on the castle itself; at least enough to keep functioning.

She tugged on a few strands of his hair, presumably in an attempt to organize them into a constellation which was at least semi-presentable, and then nibbled in the shell of his ear.

“He didn’t put you up to babysitting me, did he? I’d presume that the Darkest Wizard to ever live would have more direct methods to keep an eye on his already well protected Horcrux and consort than said consort’s beautiful owl.”

Hedwig proudly fluffed up her feathers at the compliment, but the click of her beak made it quite clear that he wouldn’t be getting out from under her close eye anytime soon.

“Suit yourself, then.” Reluctantly, the raven pulled down the cage. “I’m not sure which of us hates this situation more: you, having to be stuck in his bloody thing, or me, having to put you-.” Two loud thumps, followed by what sounded like something being thrown down a set of stairs, cut him off. Immediately following that were the twin screaming voices of Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley. “What the bleeding hell has happened now?” he spat, closing the door of Hedwig’s cage and latching it shut.

Annoyed but forced by circumstance to keep his expression mild Harry trounced towards the door of his bedroom and, after rearranging his features into a passable mask of curiosity, ripped open his door.

Fred and George stood at the top of the stairs at the far end of the hallway, their wands still out as they cringed away from the tirade of their very angry mother. From what he could manage to gather through the echolalia of raised voices and the headache rapidly building behind his temples the pair had, in an effort to save time, spelled their trunks to fly down ahead of them and had subsequently wound up knocking their little sister down two flights of stairs.

Of course it was the twins.

At this rate I’m going to lose my mind long before the time comes to show my hand. On the periphery of his hearing, Nihil cackled. “Ginny alright?” he inquired hollowly of Ron as the redhead emerged from another room, dragging his trunk behind him.

“I’m sure that she’ll be fine; Mum will patch her up.” He said, looking him over. “Going to court again, are you?”

Harry glanced down at what he was wearing-a pale blue button down and black slacks-and then back up at Ron. “Jules didn’t really provide me much in the way of Muggle clothing, largely because it irritates him to see me in it. What he did give me is all formal, but at least it fits.”

The other boy dismissed his explanation with a rather uninterested sound. “You’d better get your trunk, mate. Mum sounds like she’s about to blow a gasket.”

“It’s already downstairs; Kreacher handled it.”

“Right. I forgot that mad portrait had a thing for you.”

“Would you lot get down here, please!”

The pair exchanged a final glance before they headed down the stairs. Hermione met them at the bottom, her Prefect’s badge already pinned to the lapels of her school robes which had been draped across one arm.

“Both of you have everything?” Both the raven and the red head grumbled an affirmative response. “Harry, where’s your trunk?”

“The front room.” Able to tell that she was about to launch into a lecture about ‘using House Elves for menial labor that he could have easily done himself’ Harry preemptively cut her off by saying “so I assume that we’re going to be heading to the Platform with some manner of ‘Guard’?”

Laughable as it was that the Dark Consort would require a Light vanguard, Harry had to remember both the role that he was playing and the fact that the Death Eaters at large were as of yet unaware of his shift in sides.

“We will be, yes, but we’re in a bit of a bind at the moment.” Thankfully the segue had had the desired effect of shifting Hermione’s focus onto another subject. “Sturgis Podmore hasn’t arrived yet, and Mad Eye won’t let us leave without him. Says we can’t be one short.”

Insert expected ‘Golden Boy line’ here. “What, is Voldemort going to jump from behind a dustbin in an attempt to do me in? Maybe pop out of one of the public loos?”

Ron did a terrible job of containing a snort and Hermione sent him a disapproving glare. “You really ought to start taking your own wellbeing seriously, Harry!”

He ought to start taking it seriously? Wasn’t that rich, given all that the Order of the Phoenix had allowed to happen to him just that summer alone.

“We can’t wait any longer or we’ll miss the bleeding train!” No one had bothered to close the curtains around Mrs. Black’s portrait, no doubt due to the knowledge that the clamor in the hallway would only rouse her again, and the raven was beginning to fear his head would pop like an overinflated balloon is things went on like this much longer. He sent a beseeching look in the portrait’s direction which either went ignored or wasn’t seen in the first place. Mrs. Weasley had to shout even louder in order to be heard. “You’ll be coming with me and Tonks, Harry dear. Alastor will handle the luggage, so leave your trunk and-oh, for heaven’s sake Sirius! Dumbledore said no!”

As if he needed further annoyance in his day, his dogfather-I’m sorry, Godfather-trotted up beside him in his animagus form, complete with high pitched yips and madly wagging tail. Internally Harry sighed, dragging a-hopefully not deranged looking-smile onto his face.

“Honestly! On your own head be it, then!”

Very much like an overexcited untrained cur the great black dog bounded out into the yard the moment that the front door was open. Harry resisted the urge to face palm by only a narrow margin, busying his hand instead with caressing the black stone on his finger.

The surface would likely be quite worn by the end of this little game.

The state of his supposed ‘Guard’ was, as the raven soon found out, quite laughable. Sirius was far too distracted scaring cats and chasing his own tail to recognize a Death Eater if he bowled them over; Mrs. Weasley was too busy glaring at the lolloping dog to focus much on their surroundings; Tonks was immediately recognizable despite having taken on the appearance of a hunched old lady and there in lay the problem with her.

One would have thought that a Ministry trained Auror with the capabilities of a metamorphmagus would have been able to put together a more convincing disguise, but apparently not.

This just went to show that the Light was incompetent.

All the better for their side, he supposed.

Something was being said about ‘Ministry cars’ and ‘not being able to believe how Muggles could do anything without Magic’ but Harry simply tuned them out. Just over seven hours from that moment he’d be back at the castle; at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At Dumbledore’s mercy. Back to suffering the Lion’s den.

In two month’s time he’d be rescued, if only briefly, by ‘Julian’ and two months after that would be another break for Yule. And when the year was finally at end he could shed the constricting skin of the ‘Boy Who Lived’ persona once and for all.

And maybe he and Voldemort could get a little bit…closer. A consort did have duties, after all.

The Platform smelled like soot and smoke; where once the smell would have relaxed him, filled his every pour with the warm and pleasant buzz of nostalgia, now with his enhanced senses it was only cloying and uncomfortable. He could taste the ash in the air. Feel the soot clinging to the back of his throat and the roof of his mouth.

“Nice dog, Harry!”

Resisting the urge to choke the raven again flashed a false smile; not perfectly convincing quite yet, but he was beginning to get good at the whole ‘mimic emotions’ thing. “Thanks Lee.”

A gentle tug on the cuff of his sleeve brough his attention down to Sirius, who nudged him in the back and trotted off to a nearby room. Behind the curtain of opaque glass he saw him shift back into his human form; Harry hissed under his breath but went after it regardless.

The raven was only half there, mentally, while Sirius handed him a photograph of the so called ‘Old Order’ and went over numerous people the names of which he neither knew nor cared to know.

He was all too pleased, though still dutifully put on a mask of disappointment, when the other adults came to drag him away and usher him onto the Express on the heels of his ‘friends’. Ginny and the twins, it seemed, had gotten on ahead of them and, most likely, already found a compartment.

Doing the same himself would likely be…less than simple. Though he was sorely tempted to just invade Draco Malfoy’s compartment simply for the pleasure of pissing him off.

He didn’t want to make Voldemort mad at him, though. They’d been getting along so well, thus far, and reckless as he was-at least in the past-he wasn’t a masochist.

Not certain many people would take his word for that at this point, but it was true.

It was Hermione’s voice that pulled him from his thoughts, and though he missed what she actually said he did catch her guilty expression when he looked up.

“I’m sorry?” why was she looking at him as if he might spontaneously combust?

“I said that…well…Ron and I are supposed to go to the Prefect’s carriage.” Oh. Right. He’d forgotten about the fake fit he’d had to throw over not being chosen as the new male Prefect for Gryffindor House. Concerns about Ron’s suitability to fulfill the role aside, all not having the badge meant was having more time to do things that were actually important. Like furthering his own training and ensuring that he was preforming at his highest possible caliber as a weapon for the Dark.

“Oh. Right. Fine.”

“I doubt that we’ll be there the whole time; we only need to get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors on occasion.”

“Fine.” Harry repeated, observing his nails. He really didn’t give a toss about any of this. In fact he was glad they’d be off doing something else. “I’ll see the two of you later, then.”

The pair spared him more worthless platitudes before heading off down the hall away from him. Hedwig whistled and clicked her beak. Harry was inclined to agree with her.

Sighing heavily, he started dragging his trunk down the hall in the opposite direction.

Naturally, he was hated by the Universe and couldn’t go three minutes before another annoyance threw itself before him.

This time in the form of Draco Malfoy, suspiciously unaccompanied by his troll-like ‘friends’ and with the Slytherin Prefect badge pinned to the lapels of his black and emerald robes. He didn’t wear them as well as Voldemort had, when he’d been young. Never mind that that was an honestly impossible standard.

“Nice dog. Potter. Father told me to let you know that the Minister will be very interested in the Black mutt.” His angular silver eyes settled on the ring on his finger and his lips pulled back into a sneer. “Who made you their whore?”

The raven was across the corridor in the blink of an eye, Draco’s chin caught in a firm grip-though he was careful to keep it just shy of hard enough to bruise-as he used his body to pin the blonde’s larger form to the wall. His control slipped for a moment, a static spark passing along his fingers as the Horcrux tasted the other boy’s magic, feeling him shudder beneath him as he dragged Nihil back into check.

“I, Draco Malfoy, and no one’s whore!” The faintest hint of a growl had entered his voice. Black pupils were blown wide against pale irises, a mix of confusion fear and arousal waring on his face as he stared at him. Taking note, perhaps for the first time, of the subtle changes to his appearance which had happened since the ritual; cat’s pupils, black lined eyes and sharp white teeth. Harry leaned in closer, scraping those teeth lightly over the shell of his ear and feeling a surge of delight when a half-frightened whimpered escaped his pinned prey. “There are people in this world, little dragon, that your dear daddy can’t protect you from. The man who gave me this ring is foremost amongst them. I suggest you mind your tongue, lest someone decide to cut it out.”

He pushed the taller boy for good measure as he withdrew, turning his back and grabbing the handle of his trunk which he’d been holding prior to the young Slytherin’s interruption.

“And tell your father that he can tell that plonker Fudge whatever he wants. A dog is a dog. You’d only be doing me a favor.”

Maybe it was his heightened lust speaking, but Harry would have had to admit that he’d found that little confrontation to be riotously fun. Maybe a little bit of sex would be just what he needed to keep his head on straight. A grit-toothed, snarling hate fuck once or twice a month would, at the very least, provide an opportunity to feed.

He would, of course, have to ask permission first and the likelihood was that Voldemort wouldn’t be at all willing to share. Still, it was worth a try.

His first opportunity to bring it up to him would be Samhain. But, even if he couldn’t go much past first base in the meantime, that by no means meant he couldn’t have some fun.

Harry managed to find an empty compartment about ten minutes later. Well, empty aside from a blonde haired witch with a permanently surprised look who-clearly-wasn’t ‘all there’.

Whether it was the wand stuck behind her ear for safe keeping, the necklace of butter beer caps that she wore or the fact that she was reading a magazine he’d never heard of upside down the witch in question gave off such a strong aura of dottiness that Harry was concerned he’d catch it himself. Like some sort of contagious disease.

He reacted accordingly by sitting as far away from her as possible without saying a word. Unfortunately for him his movement across the compartment was enough to draw her attention. She stared at him unblinkingly for almost a minute before finally stating an airy “I’ve never seen a lion with black fur before,” and returning to her magazine.

Harry continued to stare at her in alarm for quite a while after before, when no other comments were made, finally relaxing and allowing his head to drop against the window. Caring very little for the fact that his glasses were pressing into his face at an odd angle, he closed his eyes and very soon after had drifted off to sleep.

Red eyes and white skin stood out stark against the darkness of the room, the fuzzy detail of the colors and furnishings making it starkly clear that wherever they were in the manor it wasn’t a room with which Harry was yet familiar. Silken sheets slithered, cold to the touch, along his bare skin. Clawed nails dragged raised red marks down along his stomach and over his hips. The hairless, emaciated yet still somehow gloriously beautiful form swaying above him like a serpent poised to strike, a high hiss of laughter falling from the lipless mouth as one unnaturally long finger prodded about his virgin entrance before slipping inside, dragging a stilted whimper free of the raven beneath him.

Harry was awoken by Ron shaking his shoulder, Hermione poised worriedly on the edge of her seat while the odd blonde girl continued to peruse the magazine in her hands as if nothing was happening.

“You alright, mate? You sounded like you were having a nightmare.” He said. “Anyway, we’ll be pulling in to Hogsmeade Station in a few minutes. We should change into our school robes.”

Robes? They’d interrupted his more than pleasant dream over school robes? “Right.” Harry rose slowly from his seat. “We should change. You’re right?”

He’d never wanted to kill Ron more than he did in that moment.

Chapter Text

Nihil’s claws dug into his psyche in the same way that the much smaller equivalent belonging to Crookshanks dug into his thighs, the cat having been left with him by Hermione in much the same way as Pigwidgeon had been left with Luna when his ‘friends’ had left the compartment to attend once more to the suit of duties which came with the title of being a Prefect. But the great ginger lug of a half-Neazle was not stupid-as was proven in their third year, when he’d aided the drooling mutt in the pursuit of the sniveling pest-and unlike his owner had a much more accurate sense of Harry’s true nature. And unlike Hedwig, seated serenely on his shoulder, had no assurance that he wouldn’t end up prey to the predator the arms of which now held him.

Luna had already left the compartment, her strides as dreamy and disconnected as the rest of her, leaving the young Horcrux alone with the snowy owl and the spitting, squirming cat. Claws raked over his hand and a stinging sensation shot up his arm, ruby droplets beading against olive skin. Two pairs of eyes-detached emerald and highly offended amber-turned down to stare at the now frozen feline.

“I haven’t any concern with you; behave and that won’t have to change.” Unlike his angered, puff-feathered familiar the raven didn’t really think too much of the three shallow cuts now carved across the back of his hand. “It’s difficult to hold you and pull my trunk with you struggling like this. It would be appreciated if you’d stop.”

Whether it was fear-fueled obedience or a not entirely purposeful and wandless use of his magic on account of his annoyance Harry neither knew nor cared. Crookshanks was cooperating. He propped the positively massive cat under his arm, grabbed his trunk with his free hand and joined the cue of students which had formed in the corridor of the train outside; rushing towards the nearest entrance like the current of a stream.

It was there in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express that Harry felt the first sting of cold night air against his cheeks. Deliciously cool. Carrying with it the many distinct scents of night-shadows and stars and moonlight-and forest-wood and pine sap and acorns, fallen leaves and dark loamy soil and the feral wild scent of animals-and home-the stone of the castle and the grass of the grounds and the water from the Black Lake-and the taste of the magic which hung thick in the air.

Magic. Charged and loose, shed from the wards which protected the school and suspended-invisible-in the air that he breathed like smoke from a wood fire or water vapor after a summer’s rain. Filling his lungs. Sparking against his skin. Crackling on his tongue like Fizzing Whizbees.

Enough to keep him going, but only while running on the barest reserves. He still had full access to his core and his academic performance-as well as the ‘extra circulars’ that he had planned for himself-wouldn’t be affected but the abilities gained from his status as a Horcrux were only kept at hand by the barest skin of his teeth.

He had, at most, one use of his powers left in him and a very basic one at that. But perhaps that was for the best. It made it more difficult to give himself away, after all. Harry could never afford to forget the reality that, in exchange for a seat of comfort and absolute safety in the Dark Lord’s lap, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had become the most dangerous place for him on earth.

Nihil relaxed the dug-in grip of his claws and settled, Harry’s persistent discomfort beginning to wane. Given time it, he suspected that it would recede completely.

That time would only pass faster if he could find some way to feed, but so far the only option which he’d really been able to come up was one that would all but certainly be rejected.

Hedwig fluttered her wings, hooting in annoyance when someone bumped into him from behind and jostled her on her perch. The raven’s head whipped around and the boy responsible-a first year, by the look of his uniformly black robes and his doe-eyed expression-withered under the combined glare of Wizard and owl like a weed before the heat of direct sunlight.

Not for the first time since the shift in dynamic between him and the Dark Lord had first occurred Harry found himself incredibly glad that he had taken Voldemort’s metaphorically offered hand. Had he still been the ‘Boy Who Lived’, Dumbledore’s man through and through, the Scapegoat Savior, he’d have been nothing more than a blindly manipulated lamb dressed up as a lion and the first year would probably have probably have quoted the Daily Prophet at him and jeered. But now, though still small on account of having been denied proper nutrition in his formative years, he was the Dark Consort, the Black Lion, a vessel for a shard of the soul of the Greatest Wizard alive; to have ever been alive! He radiated strength, oozed power, and when Voldemort finally did seize control no one would dare to so much as look at him the wrong way again. He’d make sure of it.

He was no longer Dumbledore’s blind little lion, but he wasn’t a basilisk either. He was a hybrid of the two, the bold strength of the first and the venomous hatred of the latter, and all the more dangerous for it. He was a chimera, distinguishable from the pride only by his black pelt and serpent tail, and the Light wouldn’t see him coming until it was far too late.

Plainly aware that her Master’s head was starting to inflate Hedwig nipped him on the ear, pulling Harry out of his musings of superiority and back into the present. Unable to give her a pat with his hands full of trunk and feline he settled for murmuring a quiet word of thanks. The resultant hoot that he received in response sounded very smug.

Harry stepped off the train and onto Hogsmeade Platform and, in some reflex left over from who he’d once been, immediately set sharp eyes scanning the platform for the familiar hulking shape and ears straining for the hoarse tones of the half giant usually responsible for guiding the incoming first year students down towards the boats which awaited them on the bank of the Black Lake. His gaze landed on the lantern, but the shadow behind it was not Hagrid’s and the voice which called the first years to order was stringent and feminine.

Professor Grubbly-Plank had been called in to fill the half giant’s position this early in the year? How…odd.

The raven couldn’t help but think, as he passed her, that if there had been a scent particular to the Order of the Phoenix the situation would have reeked of it.

His orders not to poke his nose into things unduly were starting to make him squirm. Already, what would presumably be his final year at Hogwarts was shaping up to be assorted flavors of uncomfortable.

That brewing storm of discomfort was promptly interrupted when Harry ran face first into what he could only describe as a Pegasus from hell and very nearly jumped six feet in the air. Two glossy white orbs stared placidly at him from where they’d been set deep within a skeletal, almost draconian face and high pitched laughter rang in his ears.

“I had though, my Lion, that you wouldn’t have seen them before but I hadn’t expected you to be so surprised. Did you really think that those carriages pulled themselves?”

Wanting neither to appear as if he’d completely lost his mind or to take his eyes off the as of yet unidentified and potentially dangerous horse Harry replied “self-pulled carriages wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.” He couldn’t quite decide if his tone was wry or tart. “How are you…?”

“Speaking with you? Am I not the Greatest Wizard Alive, my Lion? With your being my Horcrux and our link fully open communications with you across distances like this is simple. I can do the same with my Nagini.” The smug tone in his voice was impossible to miss. The black horse tossed its head and and rustled the wings which sprouted from its withers. “They’re Thestrals. The most fascinating breed of winged horse, cousin to the Abraxians and the flesh-eating inspiration for the mythical Mares of Diomedes. They’re only visible to those who have witnessed death; the death of the extra last year is likely what allowed you to see them now.”

“They’re beautiful.” And they were, in the same horrific eldritch way that Voldemort himself was. Driven by a surge of bravery Harry reached out his scratched hand towards the Thestral; it snuffled at his fingers before licking the drying blood from the back of his hand. He smiled and patted its snout. “I like them.”

“Good. A herd of them, though much smaller than the one you will find on Hogwarts’ grounds, lives on the grounds of the manor. You’ll make use of them when my service requires a method of untraceable travel. But you should be getting into the carriage now, Harry; if you stand there for too long those around you will begin to grow suspicious.” Aware that he was right the little raven gave the Thestral one last friendly pat-ignoring the horrified stares of some of the other students that passed around him-and headed around towards the carriage’s door. The Dark Lord’s presence was beginning to withdraw from his mind, now; just as it was about to disappear completely-though he could still practically feel the smirk on his face-he informed him “though it is impressive how vivid your imagination is, your vision of my body could make use of anatomical corrections.”

Once upon a time Harry would have lit up with such a bright shade of red that it would have put the banner of his House to shame, but now all the realization that Voldemort had witnessed, or was at the very least aware, of his little dream on the train brought was a pale blush to the summit of his cheeks.

Though in his current state of stunted emotions that in itself was a monumental achievement.

“I can see them too, you know. The Thestrals.” It wouldn’t have been accurate to say he was disturbed by it, but the way that her bulbous pale eyes stared entirely passed him was a very strange experience. “It’s perfectly normal; they just haven’t seen what we have. You’re just as sane as I am.”

If that’s the case, you ought to be committed. He was spared from having to reply by the arrival of Ron and Hermione.

“Thank you, Harry.” She said as she relieved him of the cat, or perhaps more accurately relieved the cat of him. “He wasn’t any trouble?”

“Not at all.” He easily pushed the lie through his teeth but Hedwig was having none of it. The snowy owl lifted off his shoulder and dive bombed the cat before flying off towards the owlry.

“That birds a bloody terror!” Ron said, wide eyes, having been whacked atop the head by one of the owl’s wings as she flew passed. “I know you love your owl, mate, but I think she may be a little too attached to you.”

Harry didn’t bother to answer the red head beyond a thin smile which left his sharp canines on prominent display.

The carriage rocked gently left and right as they began moving at a steady pace towards the castle. The raven kept his eyes on the two Thestrals that pulled it, watching their movements as they walked and paying no mind to the conversations going on around him.

He was the first of their group out of the carriage and led the way up the stone steps into the castle. The flag-stone corridor and Great Hall looked the same as always, the banners hung over the four tables rippling gently in the breeze from the open front doors and the ceiling reflected the starry black night outside.

His passage attracted stares and whispers, his enhanced hearing picking up on derision and jeers, but he refused to appear at all bothered by them. With his eyes straight ahead and an arrogant grace that would have well bequeathed a Malfoy he proceeded down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw House tables and dropped onto the bench.

The other two joined him without a word on the matter, turning their attention to the staff table. Harry looked too, quickly finding that-as he’d come to suspect-Hagrid wasn’t present and, to his indignant surprise, the woman from his trial with the atrocious voice was sitting in the seat that was usually reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

The sinking feeling of impending doom was soon joined by the pleasant tingle of the return of the other’s presence to his mind.

“Lucius has informed me of this: that woman, though her views on Muggleborns are quite correct, has views on nonhumans that are less than helpful to my cause. Greyback, when I’ve finally succeeded in tracking down his pack, will all but certainly want her gone and if she comes to suspect that you are some manner of ‘half breed’ things will become more than simply troublesome. Use caution in your façade, my Lion.”

“She’s dangerous?” to his position, at the very least, if not his health. He had full confidence in the protections which had been woven around him.

“Both for you and for the sovereignty of Hogwarts as an entity apart from the control of that fool that calls himself Minister. She is his ‘Senior Undersecretary’, was sent on his direct order and has been afforded numerous additional powers beyond those of a Lay-Professor. I suspect that she’ll have it out for the ‘Golden Boy’.” A cold trickle of anger filtered to him from the other end of their link. “I also have good reason to suspect that she is the one responsible for the visit paid to you this summer by those Dementors. They still answer to Fudge for the time being, on my order, and such physical threats are still capable of harming you.”

“Nihil-?”

“The Horcrux would be left untouched by the Kiss but you’re of no use to me as a corpse! If I had simply wanted a vessel I’d have removed it from you entirely and placed it in an object I could have locked away safely in some manner of case!” Despite the harsh snap of his tone the-likely unintended-sentiment still left him feeling rather warm inside. Voldemort hissed “don’t prove yourself a fool, Potter!” before withdrawing again.

Despite having missed the entirely of the Sorting Hat’s yearly song and the Sorting Ceremony itself Harry had at least managed to retain control of his face. Lucky thing, too, because otherwise he’d have been sitting there smiling like an idiot.

He filled his plate quickly with whatever was within reach and tucked in, listening but not bothering to contribute to the conversation which was now going on between the other two regarding the possible meaning behind the Sorting Hat’s words but quickly growing bored.

He turned his attention instead back to the Umbitch-ss he’d spontaneously decided to refer to her within his own head; Nihil was most amused-woman who was now engaged in an almost one-sided conversation with a clearly uninterested Professor McGonagall. She was short with mousy brown hair, an awful cardigan which looked to have been woven out of threads of cotton candy, and a pouchy toad-like face which closely resembled a melting pie.

No doubt feeling his stare the toad-woman turned to look at him with a simpering smugness. The moment that she made direct eye contact with him his inner predator was up in arms, hackles rising at the challenge. He would not be made to give up his superiority and plain dominance, as the Dark Consort, to her! He was a lion, the Black Lion, and would not be made to back down by an ugly amphibian that looked to have eaten one too many flies.

Though she appeared quite perturbed to do so, a combination of the acid green thousand yard stare and the Head Master rising from his chair to give his annual start of the year speech forced her to blink and look away.

The victory, however small, was sweet.

And now it was time to listen to drivel. Joy.

Points of importance:

-Forbidden forest: off limits

-Magic is still not permitted for use in the corridors between classes

-Professor Grubbly-Plank would be standing in for Hagrid as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor.

-Professor Umbitch would be the new DADA Professor

The Headmaster attempted to say something about Quidditch Tryouts for the year as well but was interrupted by a high pitched breathy noise that made Harry cringe. The taken aback expression which flashed across the old man’s face, though quite worth putting in a Pensive for casual viewing at a later time, still didn’t make the horror that the toad-creature had perpetrated on his ears in any way forgivable.

Nihil smirked and snickered, the sentiment that the Ministry Wench didn’t know how things were done at Hogwarts rippling through him clear as day.

Their shared amusement disappeared the instant that she started talking. Convinced that his ears were bleeding and would, at any moment, fall off and flee Harry curled forwards and covered his them with his hands. Ron chuckled and patted his shoulder and Hermione sent him a disapproving glare.

Sadly, Harry could still hear the woman despite his best efforts.

Points of importance:

-The woman was a Fudge worshipping borderline narcissist who believed herself a great manipulator and thought that she deserved the position of power she’d been shoehorned into.

-She was, apparently, under the mistaken impression that they were five.

-The Ministry of Magic, just as Voldemort had said, was making an effort to interfere at Hogwarts.

This year was shaping up to be miserable in extraordinary ways. Distantly, he wondered whether he’d be able to keep his head on straight for long enough to even make it to Samhain, let alone the end of the year.

Once the speech was finished he bid both Ron and Hermione farewell before rising from his seat at the Gryffindor House table and sweeping down the aisle in the best impression of the Dark Lord that he could manage, his Acromantula Silk school robes fluttering behind him in alternating patterns of sable and crimson. There were renewed  whispers, stares and pointing as he passed. He ignored them all and turned into a hidden passageway, leaving the crowds behind and making his way towards the Lion’s den.

Only when he arrived at the portrait which covered the entrance did he realize that he didn’t know the password. After ten minutes spent staring blankly as the Fat Lady smoothed out the folds of her pink dress a very excited Neville Longbottom appeared, pleased with the knowledge that the password was Herbology related: Mimbulus Mimbletonia.

The password was Mimbulus Mimbletonia. A grey. Twitching. Slime spewing cactus!

Why?

He entered the common room with Neville trailing behind him, waved on reflex at Fred and George and proceeded up to the fifth year dorms. Dean and Seamus were talking about him, he had heard them clearly through the aged wooden door, but fell silent when he entered the dorm. He resisted the urge to sneer.

Their questions about his summer were met with clipped answers as he moved towards his bunk, but his interest was piqued when Seamus said in response to Neville’s question “Me Mam didn’t want me to come back.”

“To Hogwarts?” he shrugged off his robes. “Why?”

“Well…” he fiddled with buttoning up his pajamas, his nervousness only serving to further set Harry’s predatory impulses on edge, “because of you, I suppose. Because of Dumbledore.”

Time to turn the emotional dial to ‘righteous indignation’. “She believes the Daily Prophet?” he demanded. “Thinks me a liar and Dumbledore a fool?”

“She’s right to! You-Know-Who has been dead for fifteen years and when you’re dead you don’t come back! He may have been a ‘Dark Lord’ but he wasn’t that great of a wizard; he couldn’t have overcome Death!”

Voldemort, dead? Voldemort, not that great of a wizard? He’d been acting before but now his anger was very much real, his fingernails biting crescents into the palms of his hands. Who did this upstart little Halfblood think he was? How dare he speak that way about the greatest wizard to ever live!

“Look…what did happen that night? After the third task, I mean?”

He couldn’t jump on the insolent bastard and rip his head off then and there, as much as he wanted to, but he would get him back. And it would be that very night that he did it, ‘revenge best served cold’ be damned. The sooner that everyone went to bed the better, because then he’d be free to bite him for what he’d done. “What does it matter what I have to say? Just go read that Ministry rag like your fool of a mother!”

Harry didn’t wait for the other boy to response, toppling backwards onto his bed and erecting a Silencing Charm with a flick of his wand. A pair of dethorned roses, upset by the sudden heaving motion of the mattress, rolled off the pillow and onto his face; they’d doubtlessly been delivered by one of the manor’s Elves. A pleasant thing to find waiting for him, but nowhere near enough to cool the malice that was now boiling inside him.

He waited for two hours to pass before dropping the Charm and poking his head through the drapes which surrounded his bunk.  Darkness hung thick over the dormitory. The only sounds were the deep breathing of the other occupants and the occasional shift of mattress springs.

Harry knew that he’d be using up the last of his reserves for petty revenge but for the moment that didn’t matter. With more effort than usual and a bit of numbing pain the shadows below his bunk condensed into something formless, red eyed and approximately the size of a rat. It kept low to the floor as it crossed the room at a rapid speed, vanishing beneath his target’s drapes.

The smirking raven then proceeded to curl up beneath the duvet of his bed and drift off to sleep to the sound of violent nightmares.

Chapter Text

‘Julian,

The end of my summer following up that farce of a trial was incredibly uneventful and boring, characterized largely by cleaning and decluttering the home of my Godfather. Sad to say that the best contribution those of us yet to be deemed ‘adults’ by either the law or our legal guardians can lend to the war effort against Voldemort and his Death Eaters is to serve as paltry maids, though I’m sure you’re pleased to know that I am safe at least for this current moment.

There is, however, an item I discovered in a cabinet within the house which is of great historical importance. How it got there I have no idea but it will, I trust, be more than able to find a comfortable place amidst the rest of your extensive collection of priceless antiquities. I hope to return it to you when we next see each other on the eve of Samhain. In the meantime, know that it is perfectly safe with me and on my person at all times.

The train ride to school was as uninspiring as ever. The ferret is still a prat, though there’s a proposition regarding him I’d like to lie before you when next we meet as well. You may be pleased, in the meanwhile, to know that your suspicions regarding the toad are quite correct. I’ll be as mindful of disturbing it as I can given my position.

Those things having all been said the real reason that I am writing to you is regarding my academic prospects and aspirations for the coming year. As you know, the fifth year of a student’s Magical education is marked by the Ordinary Wizarding Level examination that we’re to sit at the end of the year. The results of this test will determine the classes we can take for NEWT, and thereby the potential careers we can have upon graduation. As my interest is in becoming an Auror I’ll need to improve my performance in a number of classes, Potions chief amongst them; a tall order considering I’ve been condemned by my Professor in the subject for the very crime of daring to breathe.

I know that you yourself did not attend Hogwarts as a child, having received your education instead through a mixture of private tutors and classes provided by the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic but I am well aware of the fascination which you hold for my school as well as the fact that it has led you to procure many artifacts of interest pertaining to its history. Including a set of blueprints detailing the castle’s internal structure.

Would you happen to know of anywhere in the castle which would provide me with both the necessary quiet and materials to engage in both practical and theoretical, as well as physical if at all possible, training? Preferably in complete confidence of my privacy.

I look forward to your reply.

Your Lion.’

With his letter satisfactorily penned and allowed to dry for long enough a time not to smear across the parchment Harry folded it into thirds, creasing it carefully, and slid it into a sturdy envelope. Sealing it and labeling it accordingly with the Dark Lord’s working pseudonym, well aware that Hedwig would know precisely where to take it, he left his bunk with the letter in hand and the destination of the owlry in mind.

It was still early morning, freshly minted sunlight spilling through the tower windows, and none of the others were yet awake. Preying on any one of them would have been more than easy. He resisted the urge, leaving the dorm and heading down the narrow staircase into the common room below.

The cluttered room was empty, dimly lit by the morning glow spreading through the beveled windows inset about the walls and sending a play of shadows scattering about the room. The large lion tapestry stretched over the wooden mantle was riddled with a thick lair of dust, rather like the tapestry depicting the Black Family tree at Number Twelve, and the roaring fire which was normally in the hearth had been reduced over night to a bed of cold ashes.

Nihil paced restlessly, sending the shadows rattling around them, but wasn’t strong enough to manifest himself. Harry was glad for that. The Horcrux was, among many other things, quite glib in his (its?) mannerisms and the raven found that it grated on his nerves.

He wove his way between the squashy armchairs and empty couches before clambering out through the portrait hole and setting out through the castle’s echoing halls. Most of the portraits were still asleep at this point in the day and those few that were awake watched him pass in cautious silence. Peeves had been lurking behind a bend, no doubt planning to pull some manner of prank on an unsuspecting student or professor, but all it took for him to send the Poltergeist packing was a particularly threatening growl.

The caretaker’s cat stared at him as he passed but he ignored her; no rules were being broken by his innocent trip to the owlry to send a letter to his boyfriend and, thereby, he had no reason to fear that anything would come of it even if she did report him to her Squib master.

What could a Squib possible do to him anyway? The mere thought of Filch attempting something made him want to double over with malicious laughter.

Though he had to wonder if his touch would affect a Squib in the same was as it did a Witch or Wizard? A fun question to pursue once he was back in a position where he could experiment with such things freely.

The weather that morning was cold, the wind chasing the last traces of sleep away from him as he ascended the spiral staircase of the owlry tower towards the summit of hooting and rustling wings.

The owls paid him little mind, secure in the apparent safety that the eaves afforded them from his reach, though a few of the smallest ones shifted uncomfortably on their perches. He ignored them all, smiling as he watched Hedwig’s familiar white form descended towards him. She landed primly on the arm that he held up for her and ruffled her feathers.

“Morning, lovely.” He received a low hoot in reply; Hedwig nibbled on his fingers before sidling over to his shoulder.  “I have a letter for you to take to Julian this morning. I know that it’s a bit of a ways to fly from where we are, and though the reply is important information it’s nothing dire. Take all the time you need.”

She took the letter from him when he offered it, gently tapped him on the head with it, and then flew away into the latening morning. Harry remained at the top of the landing for quite a while afterwards, looking out over the Forbidden Forest as the sun rose higher into the sky. At some point during his stay there he caught sight of a Thestral circle briefly over the tree tops before diving down again.

Knowing that he had no choice but to attend breakfast in order to receive his schedule for the year Harry descended from the tower and made his way to the Great Hall. Even with his long trip to the owlry he was still one of the first members of his House to the table.

The next thing he knew the bench opposite him had been occupied by a tall girl with sharp eyes and long braided hair. “Good summer?” Any effort Harry would have made to answer her question was destroyed before he could even attempt to open his mouth as she immediately plowed onwards “listen, I’ve been made the Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor House now that Wood is gone.”

He’d forgotten that the team’s former Keeper had graduated. “Nice one. I-.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going to need a new Keeper won’t we? I want the whole team there at try outs to-.”

“You’re not just going to need a new Keeper. You’re going to need a new Seeker as well.”

“What do you mean we’re going to need a new Seeker? You’re the youngest Seeker in generations and are damn good at what you do!”

It was a lucky thing that only half the Great Hall was there at the time. Even so, a number of the people that were there turned around in their seats to stare at them. Harry sighed; he’d been hoping to go at least a handful of days without having to have this conversation.

“Angelina,” he did his best to keep his voice calm as his fingers tapped a sporadic staccato on the table in front of them, “this is my OWL year. I need all the time that I can get to study, especially Potions, if I’m going to pull the grades that I need to become an Auror. No matter how good I am at being a Seeker, no matter how much I may enjoy playing the game, Quidditch isn’t what I want to do as a career.”

Becoming an Auror: what a bleeding joke. All that lay in his future was occasionally hunting down enemies of the state while otherwise living in the lap of luxury, waited on by Death Eaters.

The real reason that he didn’t want to continue to compete in Quidditch for that year, aside from the obvious desire to train and better himself, was that the likelihood of him attacking someone in such a situation skyrocketed.

He could clearly tell that she was annoyed, but he could also tell that she knew the motivation he’d presented her was one she couldn’t argue with. Rather than attempting to, Angelina huffed and said “well, I hope you reconsider” before flouncing off.

Ron and Hermione both walked up to him at that point, the red head watching her storm away in obvious confusion.

“What happened to her?” he asked, sitting down on his left and immediately beginning to pile his plate high with food.

“I told her that I’m not playing this year.”

Ron did a spit take but Hermione seemed to be quite pleased with his decision.

“I think that’s a responsible choice, Harry, given that we have our OWLS this year. Did Julian nudge you towards that decision?”

“Not exactly.” He said. “I just want to improve my prospects as much as possible. With Snape out to get me I don’t have much choice.”

“You should really consider doing the same, Ron. You can try out for Keeper next year, when we don’t have a test which could honestly decide our future.”

At that point he tuned out the conversation, waiting quietly for their Head of House to come around and hand out their schedules.

From there the morning proceeded as was fairly typical: Hermione received a copy of the Daily Prophet, making Harry obliged to snap at her about it; Ron complained loudly about their class load for the day; Fred and George messed with them briefly before making off with stacks of toast.

History of Magic finally found some worth for him that year. Professor Binn’s droning, sleep inducing voice led naturally to the expected conclusion that everyone in attendance bar Hermione would either pass out at their desks or stare dreamily into space for the duration of the class. Harry put his head down at his desk and closed his eyes; when he opened them again he was confronted by a highly displeased glare.

“I’m working on it.”

Nihil continued to glare at him in silence, his serpent tail letting out a pointed hiss.

“I’m at Hogwarts now, need I remind you; under Dumbledore’s thumb, it’s difficult to feed! I can’t just go around ripping the magic out of people as I please!”

“Oh, what’s the matter? Feeling trapped? Feeling caged?” Nihil flashed his pointed teeth in a snarl and curled forwards on his velvet perch. “Imagine how I feel, trapped inside your bloody head!”

“I just sent you after Seamus didn’t I?”

The Horcrux huffed and turned his nose up at him, pushing the snake tail away in annoyance. “That was nothing!”

“Well, what would the difference really be even if I did have the energy at hand to do more than keep you from chewing on my core? Need I remind you of the fact that we’re not in the position to be hunting; you’d be ‘trapped in my bloody head’ regardless so what does it really matter?” he snapped back. “Isn’t it better, still, than being imprisoned in an inanimate object or an animal that can’t set you loose like our brothers? If not I’d be open to broaching the subject of transferring you into one with our Lord, though something tells me he wouldn’t be receptive.”

“Even if I couldn’t act, at least I could get out.” His double’s form wavered, features shifting until he appeared as the raven’s younger self: thinner, even, than he was now and more disheveled looking with wide eyes and knobby knees drawn up to his chest. “Don’t you remember what it was like, locking away in that cupboard all the time? Barely to see the light of day?”

“Save it, Nihil. I haven’t any pity left for you to prey on.” Harry couldn’t quite determine if the expression which flashed across the other’s face was disappointment, rage or something else. “Having said that it’s better for the both of us to get along, isn’t it? Your power could well be what saves my life in the future and you depend on me to continue living in some capacity or you’ll cease to exist. Working against each other, arguing like this, won’t solve anything will it?”

“No,” the word dripped with reluctance, “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

“I’ll do what I can do find a way to rectify the situation but even then you’ll have to be careful. Neither of us want to be caught.”

The Horcrux grunted.

“At the very least hold out until Samhain. We’ll be returning to the manor, briefly, then. I’m certain they’ll be something for you there.”

“Ask him for it. To be certain.” Nihil demanded. “Now bugger off. Your class is ending and you don’t want to be left behind; it would only draw undue attention.”

He opened his eyes and sat up just as Hermione had swung her text book at him; the weak strike missed but her displeased glare did not.

“What would the both of you do if I refused to lend you my notes this year?” she demanded. “I thought you said that you were going to do better, Harry!”

“I’d get more out of this class by sleeping during the lectures and studying on my own than I ever would be listening to them.” He said. “I think we both know that.”

She turned her attention to Ron instead who promptly answered “I’d fail my OWLs. If you really want that on your conscious…”

The ringing of the bell spared them both from the remainder of the conversation that Hermione likely would have imposed upon them, and as they joined the cue shuffling forward into his fellow double agent’s class he couldn’t help but feel…less than pleased.

Potions class went about as well as he’d expected; able, with his new vision, to see the instruction board for once he was actually able to properly brew a Draught of Peace. He was promptly accused of cheating and had 50 points docked from Gryffindor.

He’d heard the old saying ‘there’s no honor among thieves’ but apparently there was no honor between spies either.

Lunch followed Potions. He ate shepherd’s pie and drank pumpkin juice and listened to the pair bicker about Snape’s loyalties.

In Divination they were assigned dream journals. Harry, after being told of Ron’s dream of playing Quidditch, informed him that it most likely meant he was going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow.

“You do one.”

The raven leveled his ‘friend’ with a heavy stare. “Recently they’ve tended to involve an excess of Julian and an absence of clothes. Do you really want to know?”

Ron’s reaction was the high point of his day.

The low point came during Defense Against the Dark Arts: not only was the prospect of being robbed of the opportunity to learn more of what his enemy may one day use against him by a syllabus based solely upon theories that wouldn’t hold water a hard pill to swallow but he was forced by her ridiculous rhetoric to give an ‘impassioned’ speech that left a bad taste in his mouth and for which he was given a detention.

For all that Harry knew he should be wary he couldn’t bring himself to be. The Black Lion was far too interested to see what the Ministry Wench was capable of without Dementors to do her dirty work to both much with self-preservation.

Chapter Text

Harry stood outside of the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, his tilted slightly to one side like a curious parrot, his vaguely luminescent green eyes focused on the pattern of the grain in the wood. The corridor in which it was located was at this point-three minutes to five-entirely deserted, given that the majority of the school was in the Great Hall eating dinner leaving the raven to stand alone and in silence in near darkness. His nose twitched, the smell of frumpy perfume and cats fully discernable to him and strong enough to make his sinuses burn. He could hear the steady ticking of a clock, the scratching of a quill against parchment and the tapping of the short stubby fingers against the top of a desk.

With a harsh click of turning cogs the hands of the clock shifted over to their places above the five and the twelve and a high pitched hell rang out the top of the hour. At that moment he raised his hand and rapped smartly on the door, the sound of his knuckles colliding with the solid oak echoing around him briefly before fading into nothing.

He only had to wait a few moments before his prison warden for the night called for him to “come in.”

The raven closed thin fingers around the cold metal knob and turned it, pushing the heavy wood of the door open with the low creak of old hinges. Lithe body jittering in anxious anticipation, almost eager to see what torment the toad-woman would seek to rain down upon his head, he stepped cautiously into the room on the other side and looked around.

Harry had been to this very same office many times before in the years part, and had there by seen it under the occupancy of three other Professors before her. Back in his second year it had been adorned by multiple massive portraits of Gilderoy Lockhart smiling down at him creepily from all directions, propped upon stands or hung on the walls. In his third year it had been much more comfortable, kept by Professor Lupin, and had without fail always had some form of Dark Creature in a tank or cage. In his fourth year, while the supposedly dead Death Eater Barty Crouch Junior had masqueraded as the Auror ‘Mad Eye’ Moody, it had been filled with a cluttered array of Magical artifacts meant for the detection of wrong doing and concealment.

But he’d never seen anything like the absolute horror show that the place was now.

Pink. Pink everywhere! All around him was a sea of lacy covers and clothes and there were numerous vases full of dried flowers, each positioned atop its own doily, set atop almost every flat surface in the area. Hung along the walls were a collection of ornamental plates decorated with atrocious technicolored kittens, each with a different bow around its neck.

He was, to say the very least, appalled.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s whipped around in surprise at the sound of her voice; Professor Umbridge stood in front of her desk, the floral pattern of the dress that she wore causing her to blend in with the table cloth she’d draped over it like a chameleon. He stared back at her for the span of a few moments, eyes wide enough to put their black lining on clear display, before he replied with a stiff “hello.”

“Sit.” She pointed stiffly at one of the many small tables that filled the room. A stiff backed chair had been pulled up to it, and the bloody thing was draped with so much lace that it looked like it had been overgrown by a voracious colony of highly aggressive white mold. On it was a piece of paper and a black feather quill; no ink. As Harry shuffled over to it and sat down in the chair his scar prickled, almost as if Nihil was trying to warn him of something. “You’re going to be sitting a detention with me for…well, we’ll see how long it takes for the message to ‘sink in’.”

Yes, something was definitely very wrong here. Harry looked down at the items in front of him curiously, once again hyperaware of the absence of any ink to speak of.

Again, his scar prickled. Not the explosive pain that had once afflicted him each time that the Dark Lord experienced a strong emotion, but an almost numbing tingle which spread through his forehead and into his skull.

He rested his hand on the parchment; the material was thick and soft beneath his fingertips and clearly of fine quality. It was equally as clearly not the source of the Horcrux’s agitation.

The quill, however…

Touching it caused the tingling to intensify exponentially until it felt as if he’d stuck his tongue into a Muggle light socket. But perhaps the oddest thing about it was the fact that Nihil made no effort to drain the magic from the jet black feather.

Cursed. The bloody thing was Cursed!

Question was, Cursed to do what?

Aware that he’d undoubtedly be finding out the answer to that question quite soon, he looked up at the widely grinning toad woman questioningly. “I’m going to be writing lines?”

“The proper way to ask that question, Mr. Potter, would be ‘I’m going to be writing lines, Professor Umbridge’?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m going to be writing lines, Professor Umbridge?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, you will be writing lines. And, don’t worry, you won’t be needing ink. That’s a very special quill, you see, and it will take care of everything.” She simpered; her stubby hand grabbed his wrist when he reached for the quill and Harry had to bite down on the urge to hiss at her. Nihil’s reaction to the toad woman was about the same as it was to the quill. “But before you begin I think you and I need to talk about a little something.”

Oh, did they?

Her bulging eyes focused on the ring on his hand; Harry curled his fingers into a fist and slid it off the table, concealing it from view within the coarse folds of the lace.

“I think that you’re a bit young to be in waiting to be married off to someone, Mr. Potter.”

If the toad bitch wanted to attempt to tell the Dark Lord ‘no’ it was her funeral. “My guardians are alright with it; they gave their permission, Professor. Julian has shown that he’s capable of supporting me, and has agreed not to move things forward until I’m of age.”

He knew, full well, that what upset her about the matter was the blatant disregard of what could be considered normal societal convention-even Purebloods, who promised their children away at birth, didn’t allow them to actually become publically enfianced until they were properly of age-than any real concern for him being potentially taken advantage of by an older man.

“Julian?” she said sweetly. “Julian who?”

“…Julian Nero. He’s an Italian Pureblood who I met last year.”

“And you said that this Mr. Nero is capable of ‘supporting you’?” he nodded. “Could ‘supporting you’ encompass the bribing of the officials of your trial to ensure that you weren’t met with proper justice and expelled, Mr. Potter?”

Harry had to bite his lips to keep himself from baring his teeth at her like a wild animal. He did his best to construct an innocent expression on his face and blinked up at him. “I’m not sure, Professor. If he did have any sort of hand in the outcome of my trial I don’t know about it. You would have to ask him.”

Not the answer that she wanted, clearly. The toad woman straightened up, narrowing her eyes at him. “You will write, Mr. Potter, ‘I must not tell lies nor attempt to bribe authority’ until the time comes where I think that you’ve learned a lesson that won’t slip your mind.” She informed him sharply. “Off you go.”

Reluctantly, Harry turned his attention back to the parchment in front of him and picked up the quill. Its razor sharp point gleamed in the low light which illuminated the office. He eyed it dubiously before pressing the point against the parchment.

‘I must not tell lies nor attempt to bribe authority.’

A gasp of pain ripped from his mouth before he could stop it; the words had been written in a dark black ink which flashed the same crimson tint of blood whenever it caught the light. The same words had been carved into the back of his hand and the same black, red-tinged fluid was leaking from the wound.

Blood. His blood. He was bleeding black. Like the diary had after he’d stabbed it with the fang pulled from his arm after the Basilisk had bitten him.

Why? Why was he bleeding black? What did it mean? Was it the quill? It had to be! Had the Curse caused it? Would there be permanent damage? Was he-.

“A blood quill.” Harry had been so distracted by his spiral into mild panic that he hadn’t noticed the telltale tingling sensation which heralded the Dark Lord’s entrance into his mind. “A powerful Cursed object that’s illegal to even own, let alone use on children. If it weren’t for the fact that her presence there is to our advantage in that it throws Dumbledore off balance I’d take steps to have her removed and then dealt with properly; for now, I’ll only promise you the ability to take your revenge on her at some point in the future my Lion.”

But my blood is black. Why?

“That quill isn’t only hurting you; the Curse placed on it is strong enough that it’s wounded my Horcrux as well. It’s only a superficial injury and can be tolerated for the time being; file it away to fuel your magic later.”

They did say, that revenge was best served cold. If you’re certain that it’s nothing that I need to worry about…

“Would I lie to you, Harry? Have I ever lied to you?”

No.

“Do you trust what I tell you, ame?”

I do.

“Then return your attention to your writing assignment before you’re staring is noticed; imagining the possibilities for what you can do to her in the future should, I think, keep the pain manageable. The method of suffering you determine most appropriate shall become a reality in the future, provided that you don’t fail me.” His tone was even and no emotion bled over their link but the threat in that promise didn’t go unnoticed. “You’ll find your owl back at your dormitory when your detention is over with.”

Voldemort withdrew once more from his mind, leaving the raven to stare blankly at the back of his bleeding hand for another few moments before he quickly resumed the task that had been assigned to him.

The Dark Lord’s advice had, indeed, worked wonders in helping to manage the pain.

“Alright, Mr. Potter, I think that’s enough.” The awful woman finally said after what felt like an eternity. He rose from his stiff position sitting at the table and walked up to her desk to turn in both the parchment and the quill. She held out one of her stubby, ring adorned hands out to him expectantly; with great reluctance he presented his own inflamed and bloody hand. “Well, it certainly seems like we’ll need another few nights together before the lesson really makes its mark but at least we know that my little punishment seems to be making progress in bleeding the evil out of you.”

Bleeding the evil out of him? At least the fact his blood appeared to be closer in shade to ink than anything human played into her twisted little narrative rather than being a cause for alarm.

“I’ll expect to see you here tomorrow night, and every night after that, at the same time for another…let’s say another week, shall we?” the constant sickly sweet simper of her voice made him want to reach out and strangle her. “Now you’d best be getting back to your common room, lest I have to give you more detentions for being out passed curfew.”

He was more than pleased to slink from the room.

Despite not having either the Marauder’s Map or his cloak on him at the current time the raven braved the risk of being caught by the Caretaker, his cat or one of the numerous Prefects and stopped off in the Prefect’s bathroom to clean and bandage his hand before proceeding the rest of the way to the tower.

It was better safe than sorry, and he really didn’t want to have to deal with the likelihood of anyone asking questions.

As Voldemort had promised, as soon as he entered the dorm he found Hedwig sitting on the outer windowsill with a letter in her beak. Harry quickly let her in and, without speaking to anyone, retreated into his bed and drew the curtains shut around him.

The letter that ‘Julian’ had sent back was short, containing only a brief set of directions and a description which read ‘The place that you’re looking for is called the Room of Requirement’.

Chapter Text

Keep the mask of the doe-eyed golden boy in place at all times. Act the part of Dumbledore’s man through and through without fail. Keep his head down no matter how much he was chafing inside beneath the morals and sensibilities of the Light which were no longer his own. Deal with his ‘friends’ and his teachers and his classes and the avalanche of homework which had kept him from the more important matter of training. Sit pretty through his eternity of detentions no matter how badly he wanted to turn the pink bitch into a cane toad and feed her to the giant squid. Write letters, at least on occasion, to Sirius even though he really had nothing to say or any real desire to speak with his Godfather.

There were, at least in the highly annoyed opinion of the young Dark Consort, far too many inane obligations piled onto his shoulders for far too little pay off. All because he was still tied to the persona of the ‘chosen one’, the ‘boy who lived’, the ‘hero’ who would save them all from the big bad Dark Lord by falling on his own sword despite how desperately he wanted to shed it like so much dead skin and reveal himself for what he always had been. He knew that he was only there because Voldemort truly didn’t have another choice; he wouldn’t have been allowed within spitting distance of the candy-obsessed old man if he had, but that didn’t mean that he had to be happy about it.

Once upon a time Hogwarts had been his home, as it had been the Dark Lord’s before him, but now he viewed the castle with a sense of something which bordered closely on distain and couldn’t wait until the day when he could finally find permanent installment in the manor on the Isle of Man. Once he got the chance to head to the ‘Room of Requirement’ and begin his training he’d find some relief from the stir craziness which had settled over him, at least, but he’d still have to work out some means of feeding Nihil more than the minimum required or the Horcrux would never stop his whining!

Samhain couldn’t come soon enough.

Wiping the point of his quill clean on a small shred of cloth and closing his inkwell with a sharp click Harry set the letter he’d penned aside to dry and went about his by now almost routine after three weeks of straight detentions (which had at last come to an end the night before once the hag had believed her message had had the appropriate chance to ‘sink in’ and insured he now bore a permanent scar) of pouring the Essence of Murtlap recommended both by the Dark Lord and Hermione to help with his pain and given to him by the later of the two into a bowl and soaking his hand in it. Lounging on his bunk for the twenty minutes it took to properly marinate the injury (well aware of the Horcrux’s frustrated picking at even the smallest particles of loose magic left suspended in the vaguely chicken brother colored fluid) before promptly dabbing the gleaming crimson cuts dry and wrapping his hand in fresh bandages.

With the lettering on the yellowed parchment having by then had more than enough time to dry he folded it up and tucked the brief letter into an envelope, which had rather snidely been addressed ‘to Snuffles’ without bothering to entertain the possible fall out of the press learning he wrote letters to his non-existent dog, before trotting down the dorm room stairs and exiting through the portrait hole.

With just over an hour left before breakfast on a Saturday and freshly minted sunlight spilling in through the windows the halls of the castle were empty, leaving Harry with free reign to stroll unaccosted through them towards the owlry with the letter gripped in his good hand. The portraits were silent as he passed watching him with an almost nervous tint to their eyes, and the only trouble he found was a brief encounter with Peeves.

The temperature verged on cold that morning. The wind tugged at his hair and robes as he descended the outer stairs of the tower the owlry was perched atop. The Forbidden Forests dark canopy sighed and shuddered, the trees swaying, and his eyes were drawn across them by the echoing cry of a circling Thestral. Harry paused half-way up the tower and leaned against the railing to watch the skeletal horse’s winged form wheel above the trees for a while before it dove back down and disappeared from sight. With nothing left to occupy his attention, he resumed his trek up the stairs.

Hedwig barely gave him the chance to walk in through the door before she swooped down from one of the exposed and raptor-crowded rafters, alighting on his shoulder with a low hoot and nipping at the shell of his ear. Smiling, he reached up to stroke her feathers only to have his fingers nipped as well.

“I know it’s been a while and I’m sorry. I simply haven’t had anything to send since that last letter to Julian.” The snowy’s curved beak clamped down a bit harder and Harry winced. “I know you’re bored. I’m sorry. But we’re in the same boat, really, and I’ve got a job for you today so you’re still better off than I am at the end of it aren’t you?”

Hedwig hooted dolefully and blinked her amber eyes as he gently lifted her off his shoulder, setting her down on one of the lower hanging poles so that he could tie the letter to her leg.

“I don’t think any of the three of us are precisely ‘happy’ with arrangements,” he couldn’t quite keep the grumble out of his voice when he said it, “but it is what it is. We’ll make it through to the point it changes.”

Another hoot, this time with a questioning tone.

“Nothing too significant, but at least it’ll get you out and about.” He said, a half-apology in his voice. “Just a delivery to Snuffles. Take as long as you need.”

The snowy owl ruffled her feathers and hooted again as Harry offered her his arm, carrying the owl over to the outside landing and tossing her up into the grey sky. He watched her form grow smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared and couldn’t help himself from feeling more than a little bit jealous. Not for the first time wishing that he, too, had wings.

“Harry?”

Oh bloody hell, he knew that voice! He knew that voice and absolutely did not want to deal with the accompanying problem that it signified but, yet again, it didn’t seem as if he had much choice. Gritting his teeth, rearranging his face into something passable for the situation and flipping his golden boy’ persona back on full blast Harry turned to face the Ravenclaw.

“Cho.” A bit colder than the address should have been; a shred of his annoyed indifference leaking through. Thankfully, it seemed to go unnoticed. “What are you…doing up here?”

At least he’d managed just the right pinch of awkward stupidity.

“Just…sending a letter. To my Mum. About…well, I suppose that’s not important.”

You’d be quite correct with that assessment. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned to descend the staircase but barely made it three steps passed her before he was called back.

“Harry.”

Internally he cringed. Turning around he tilted his head and blinked curiously, certain he looked rather owlish himself in that moment. “Yeah?”

“I, uh…was wondering…since Cedric…would you like to come out with me sometime? Maybe when the first Hogsmead weekend rolls around?”

That is a pile I don’t want to step in. Desperate or not.  He held back a grimace by the skin of his teeth. Not even if the choice was her or starvation. I’m not playing second fiddle to anyone.

It didn’t escape him, either, that he’d be turning her down in the exact reverse of the position they’d been in just the year prior when he’d asked her to the Yule Ball. “Sorry, Cho, really. But,” he held up his hand, allowing the black stone set into the consort ring to glitter in the sun, “I don’t think my fiancé would be very pleased with me if I took you up on that offer.”

The expression which flashed across her face was one of utter shock. “Fiancé?” Cho repeated. “I hadn’t realized…Congratulations, I suppose.”

“Thank you.” He said, nodding before promptly descending the tower. And wasn’t it a relief to get away from her!

With breakfast already having started by then Harry didn’t bother returning to the common room, simply charting a course for the Great Hall; he arrived a good while before most of Gryffindor House, and by the time Ron and Hermione had joined him and the owl post had arrived he’d already eaten two portions of food.

“It’s good to see you finally have a proper appetite on you, Harry.” Hermione said, slipping a copper knut into the pouch tied to the leg of the barred owl that had delivered that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet. “Maybe now, between this and Julian, you’ll manage to stay at a healthy weight.”

“It’s easier to eat when the toad isn’t around to ruin my appetite.” Harry said, sending a subtle glare in the direction of the staff table. “Why do you think I got here so early?”

Ron snorted from his left, shoveling another spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth while Hermione shot him a half-hearted glare but said nothing.

“Why do you even bother with that bloody rag anymore?” he demanded, jabbing his fork in the direction of the newspaper in her hands. “All they ever do is winge about me and Dumbledore having finally lost the plot and blow smoke up Fudge’s arse despite the fact that all he’s ever achieved is incompetent bumbling!”

“That’s a bit of an over exaggeration, Harry. That isn’t all they say.” Though the brunet witch notably made no attempt to deny the fact that the mentioned sort of content wasn’t in the majority. “Irregardless of any of that, it pays to be aware and up to speed on what your enemy-political or otherwise-is saying. You really ought to look through at least every other issue.”

“Oh, come off it ‘Mione.” Ron muttered around his fork, spraying the table in front of him down with crumbs.

“I’ll think about it,” he grumbled, edging his words with a reluctance he didn’t really feel. Both Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix were up to something and neither would tell him what it was due to some variation of the same reason. If any move was made on either of their parts, there was a chance-however small-that hints of it would be buried somewhere amidst the dribble that the British Wizarding masses were content to refer to as ‘journalism’.

“I’ll lend it to you once I’m finished.” Hermione peeled open the people and buried her face in it, effectively deadening herself to any and all conversation which might proceed to go on around her.

“You’re not really going to read that thing are you mate?”

Harry propped his chin up on his hand, pushing his plate away with a low clatter. “If nothing else we can point and laugh at how stupid they’re being.”

Ron dismissed the subject with a grunt. “I still can’t believe you decided not to play Quidditch this year.” He said. “We’re doomed for sure.”

“Such faith you have in the abilities of your sister, Ron.” He said.

“Oh, come on Harry! Ginny may be good but she’s nowhere near as good as you! No one is; you’re the youngest Seeker in a generation!” He said. “Ginny can beat Malfoy but she can’t beat him all the time. There goes our perfect record.”

Harry decided to refrain from pointing out the fact that he had lost a couple of times, partly because it hadn’t been his fault-Dementors, anyone?-and partly because he couldn’t be bothered to do so. “Don’t let her hear you say that. I hear that he’s been practicing the Bat Bogey Hex recently.” He said. “I’ll see if she needs any pointers later today; I’m going to watch your practice later.”

“Hate to break it to you, mate, but…” he sent a sideways glance at Hermione and lowered his voice to a level which, frankly, could be described as conspiratorial and said “but I’ve left Snape’s essay too long and Hermione has threatened to hang me off the Astronomy Tower by my toes if I don’t at least attempt to start it today.”

Hang him off the Astronomy Tower by his toes? Well now, that might be interesting. Pity it was only an empty threat. “How did Angelina take that?” especially given the fact that, as things stood now, Ron was their weakest link.

“She wasn’t happy but figured it was better I miss a practice than get kicked off the team for shite grades.”

“Well, I’ll let you know how it goes.” He said. “I finished that essay two days ago.”

The red head huffed. “You know, Harry, I miss the days that you and I would both slack off and get yelled at instead of it being just me.”

“I, Ron, think that the change is for the better.” Hermione folded her copy of the Daily Prophet and set it down on the table. “I’ll admit that I initially had numerous concerns about Julian but he seems to be nothing but a good influence on you. Though he doesn’t send you many letters, does he?”

“He sends most of them after the morning post.” Harry informed her. “Are you finished with the paper?”

“Are you trying to avoid the question?”

“Does my answer affect whether or not I get the paper?” The brunet witch huffed and handed it over. “I’m surprised you’re so interested in my mailing habits during our OWL year. I’d expected you’d have a greater focus on studying.”

“I can’t study when I’m worrying about my best friend.”

“You weren’t worried about whether or not I was lonely not receiving mail over the summer.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her wince. Harry unfolded the paper and scanned the page, immediately falling on the headline ‘Trespass at the Ministry’. Sturgis Podmore, an Order Member, had been arrested the night before attempting to break into a ‘top secret door’ at the Ministry of Magic and would now be receiving sixteen years in Azkaban. I’m going to assume that this has something to do with their ‘weapon’ and that he was less than of his right mind at the time.

The brush of Voldemort’s mind against his own was tinged with amusement. “I’d advise you to learn the use of the Imperius Curse as immediately as possible. When subtlety has its place the first Unforgiveable pays its dues well.”

So you were going for the weapon?

“Weapon?” He could hear the curl of a smile in the Dark Lord’s voice. “Interesting that they would call it that. Though knowledge is, I suppose, the greatest weapon of all.”

I want to help.

“Harry-.”

I want to help! I can’t keep sitting here much longer or I’ll go crazy, even if it is to ‘keep me safe’! Surely there must be something I can do!

Voldemort’s answer came after a long silence. “We’ll see my lion.”

Better than a flat ‘no’ he supposed. Pressing the point would doubtlessly only cause him to lose ground. Not to mention the fact that his mental conversation, this time, hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“What did the ruddy bleeders have to say this time?” Ron asked, scrapping his third plate clean. “You don’t look happy.”

“It’s the same type of thing you’d expect from the Daily Prophet.” He tossed it down onto the table with a flop. “Shite.”

Hermione cracked a smile at that.

“Isn’t Sturgis Podmore a member of the,” Harry dropped his voice to the appropriate level to avoid being heard and said “Order? He was one of the ones who were supposed to show us to the station.”

“You’re right; Moody was bloody pissed.” Ron said. “Can’t have been on a job for them then, could he?”

“They may not have expected him to get caught.” Hermione said.

“It could have been a frame up.” Ron said excitedly. “They could have known he was Dumbledore’s man and lured him there; he may not have been trying to get through the door at all.”

Hermione looked vaguely convinced. Harry snorted and stood up. “I’m heading down to the pitch.”

Without giving either of them the chance to reply he got up from the table and quickly exited the Great Hall. At a clipped pace and paying little mind to the cold, he made his way down to the Quidditch Pitch and climbed up into the otherwise empty Gryffindor stands.

The Lion House Quidditch team was already out on the pitch, Angelina running them through strategy and ground drills: apparently that day they were going to be working on something called the Wronski Feint. Ginny, catching sight of him, waved; a gesture which Harry only half-heartedly returned. Angelina was too busy chiding Fred and George for messing around to notice.

In the end, his determination to sit out on his once favorite sport for his final year had proved to be the right one. Even as increasingly sluggish and torpid as Nihil had been since his arrival to Hogwarts the Horcrux was quick to leap to his feet at the first motion of the brooms, leaving Harry perched on the very edge of his seat with his fingers gripping white-knuckled against the wood struggling to contain the instinct to pounce.

Luckily enough a loud clamber of heckles and boos from the green and silver stands distracted him, drawing his attention away from the drills going on over head, green eyes swiftly landing on Malfoy’s pale head. Predatory urge still sparking up and down his spine like electricity, he descended the red and gold stands and stalked towards the opposite set of bleachers. Peering into the dark maw of the stairs he found there only briefly before starting up them.

The Malfoy Scion was accompanied by, as usual, his two pet trolls Crab and Goyle whom snorted and guffawed at the weak and insults the blonde was lobbing at the practicing team, and none of the three of them noticed Harry as he leaned against the frame of the door. He watched them continue to jeer for a while longer before he finally spoke.

“Quite adult of you, Little Dragon. Yelling at them from the stands while they’re trying to prepare for the next match is really quite admirably sporting.” He drawled, grinning when all three spun around. “It’s almost like you’re confident in your own inability to beat them, even without me there.”

“Potter!” The blonde snarled, though his expression shifted towards unease.

“Malfoy.” Harry purred in response, his grin growing wider. His tone was that of the cat which had gotten the canary and the cream, feathers protruding from its mouth and flecks on its whiskers, and was very pleased to know it lodged under the other boy’s skin. “Don’t mind if I join you, do you? I could swear the Slytherin stands have more stairs than the Gryffindor ones. Rather odd, seeing as snakes haven’t any legs to get up them with.” Without waiting for an answer and doing all he could to mockingly imitate a Pureblood’s grace he dropped down onto the nearest bench.

Crab and Goyle seemed to simultaneously snort circuit and Malfoy looked beyond stunned by his blatant behavior. Sure, Harry had never been exactly shy about going after him physically in the past, or at least attempting to, but his reactions had never been so…Slytherin. Obviously, it threw him off quite a bit.

His recovery, however, was sadly quick. “There isn’t any place for some drooling lion-.” Rising from his seat and stalking towards him in an effort to look intimidating he made the mistake of coming a bit too close to the grinning predator and was seized hold of before he could realize his mistake. Winding up pinned flat on his back to one of the benches. Crab and Goyle, seeming to finally put together the fact that their ‘friend’ might need their help unfroze, but only managed a couple of steps before Harry bared his teeth and hissed at them. “My father will hear about this!”

“’My father will hear about this’.” He simpered back, mocking. “I’d mind yourself Draco because your father doesn’t scare me and if you really want to play I’m more than willing to. You can tell Lucius all about this. Bugger it, you can set that pink toad who seems to like you so much on me or even tell Dumbledore; he won’t believe his little ‘hero’ would ever act like this. Julian is more than enough to deal with all of them anyway.”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Potter!” The mix of distain, frustration, wariness and reluctant attraction so plainly at war on his features was more than amusing. “Father’s looked into it; he did a bloody good job of covering his tracks but Julian Nero doesn’t exist!”

Of course he didn’t exist! ‘Julian Nero’was nothing but an alias which he himself had come up with on the spot.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Deliberate, enjoying himself immensely, the raven began kneading against the fabric of the other’s robes; applying just enough pressure to make it verge on difficult to breathe; leaning over him until they were almost nose to nose with the blonde. “Julian Nero is an alias. A very accurate alias for a man who is, in many ways, very much like a Roman Emperor of the same name: good with fire and possessed of a large enough ego that I wouldn’t but it passed him to burn down all of Britain just because his manor wasn’t begin enough. I wonder if you’re intelligent enough to put together his real identity from that.”

Dismounting with a flourish, the raven stretched and made a point of preening briefly before turning back towards the stairs. “You can go back to screaming at the lot of them like a troop of baboons now, never mind the fact that it’s undignified. I have better things to do.”

Pleased to have had the last word and leaving the three Slytherins mired in varying degrees of shocked confusion, Harry left the Slytherin stands and headed back towards the castle. Charting a course not for Gryffindor tower but for the Room of Requirement, at last able to devote enough time to investigating what he’d find there to make the visit worth it.

Passing in front of the wall three times, as he’s been instructed, Harry focused on his need for a place to train. He slipped through the door the moment it appeared, closing it firmly behind him and turning to face the room which the castle had provided him.

Hardwood floors. Tall ceilings. Wide set, dark colored walls. The room was well lit and divided into three sections: a small, cozy library filled with plush antique furniture and shelves topped with items to take the edge off and stuffed with Dark Arts texts in both English and Parseltongue covering a range of theoretical and practical subjects; a dueling circle complete with automated opponents outfitted to look like Aurors and a little gym filled with Muggle equipment to handle his physical needs. All in all it was impressive though Harry supposed he shouldn’t be entirely surprised: it had been recommended to him by Voldemort.

Making his way over to the little library Harry trailed his fingers along the bent spines of the centuries old books, pulling out any which struck his fancy and flipping through them. Blood. Pain. Chaos. All things his former self would have shied away from in disgust and fear but now he craved to learn more of. More knowledge. More power. More, more, more until he was something to truly be feared for more than the abilities Nihil gave him. Until his status as the spear-head of the Dark was unshakably cemented and he was uncontestably worthy of his place at the Dark Lord’s side.

No time to waste.

Snapping the book shut and returning into its proper place on the shelf, Harry crossed to the dueling circle and pointed his holly wand at the nearest dummy. “Imperio.”

Chapter Text

The last two weeks had been…somewhat more interesting he supposed. Largely because he’d landed himself in detention again, this time for a level of antagonism which was truly memorable. On top of that Draco seemed to have at least begun to put some of his hints together into a bigger picture because he kept at a distance now, as did all his pinheaded ‘friends’, and did little more now a days than watch him cautiously from a safe ways away. It was somewhat disappointing as it was more difficult to mess with the blonde Slytherin in a truly satisfying matter but at the same time it was more than a little bit amusing that all he had to do to make him turn whiter than the Bloody Baron and take off running was take one too many steps in his direction.

Hermione was rather disappointed with what she regarded as ‘harassment of a fellow student’ and ‘slipping down to Malfoy’s level’. She’d even taken points from him on a small handful of occasions but Ron had been nothing but impressed-if somewhat put out by the raven’s refusal to explain to him precisely what he’d done to gain such a reaction-and, with a bit of hinting and reminding of his own prefectural powers from Harry, had awarded said lost points back while Hermione wasn’t looking.

The pink toad had subjected him to twice as many repetitions with the Blood Quill as before and the lacy table cloth draped over the desk she had him parked at was now permanently stained with the reddish black ichor which leaked freely from the phrase ‘I Must Not Tell Lies Nor Attempt to Bribe Authority’ and he’d run out of the more ‘mundane’ methods of killing her. Nihil had gotten fed up with matters himself and, somewhat reinvigorated by the broken magical items Harry had been scavenging each time he visited the Room of Requirement  to train, had begun to join him in the nightly effort of envisioning more and more exotic methods of extracting compensation for the torture he’d been put through. Painful as it was, it turned out to be just the bonding experience the pair had needed to start getting along.

The Horcrux was a unique brand of vicious and possessed a dry wit which Harry had little doubt he’d inherited from the main soul rather than being something he’d simply picked up from the just over fourteen years he’d lived in his scar. It was an aspect of him which the raven appreciated immensely when his doppelgänger wasn’t aiming it at him.

“I still can’t believe that that bedazzled quack has allowed himself to slip so far.” Unable to content himself with sitting on a piece of furniture like a normal person the Horcrux had draped himself backwards over one of the shelves filled with Dark Arts texts and now hung upside down in a position which managed to both look effortlessly graceful and as if he’d broken his spine. The crimson robe he wore hung partially open, slipping down over the swell of his left shoulder and revealing an expanse of smooth pale skin. His serpent tail was too busy attempting to swallow the fanged perfume bottle Harry had fed to him that morning to do much of anything. “By allowing that hag into the castle all he’s done is undermine his own authority. Fudge himself has done the same. Really the whole situation would be funny if we were able to look in from the outside.”

“I don’t see how it undermines Fudge’s authority.” Harry darted out of the way of the curse the dummy sent at him before slashing his wand through the air and blasting it to pieces. “She’s cultishly devoted to that bowler hat wearing twat. It might be scary if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

‘And disgusting’ went unsaid between them. Nihil rolled onto his front, seized his tail by the neck and ripped the bottle out of its mouth in a move rather like that of an owner whose puppy was eating something it shouldn’t be. “You still have so much to learn, Harry. Ever since our Lord completed you you’ve changed enough that I’d almost forgotten the fact that you’re a child.”

“You’re the same age as me!” He snapped, flinging another dummy into one of its fellows with the raucous clang of metal.

“No, I appear the same age as you because of the nature of our bond as soul-shard and vessel. I, in fact, am the same age as the Dark Lord was when he created me. On the night at Godric’s Hallow where he fell.”

“So nearly sixty?”

“Indeed.” Nihil grinned, preening proudly while ignoring his tail’s put out hiss.

“Explains the stick.” Harry grunted as he jumped down from the raised dueling circle.

Nihil’s eyebrows knit together and he tilted his head. “What stick?”

“The one up your arse.” Taking the towel which had materialized over the back of one of the antique chairs and draping it over his head, he quickly dried his sweat soaked hair. “You’re practically a geriatric.”

The Horcrux sat up with a hiss, red eyes sparking. “Quiet, pipsqueak!”

Cackling, the raven ducked into the shower that the room had provided for him and turned on the water. It only took him a few seconds to be pursued and the next thing Harry knew Nihil had ripped the curtains back with the hiss of metal on metal. Even devoid of the typical embarrassment which tended to come with being ambushed in such an indecent state it was still odd to find himself being stared at by his own double while trying to take a shower.

“Banter aside, my point is that Umbridge isn’t loyal to Fudge because of the man. She’s loyal to Fudge because of the power he can give her. And she’ll be just as loyal to whoever after him can give her power. Who do you want to bet that will be?”

“Our Lord.” He grumbled. “But that shouldn’t make a bloody bit of difference. Not after what she’s done. Surely damaging one of the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes is an unforgiveable offense.”

“Provided we don’t fail him, yes.” Nihil leaned his back against the tiled wall, he tail stretching out towards the spigot to drink the falling water. “But that doesn’t mean her death sentence will be carried out immediately. Not while the bint still has her use.”

“What use could she possible have that outweighs wounding the lover of the Dark Lord?”

Harry let out a yelp of surprise when Nihil pounced, pinning him against the opposite wall. “Lover?” he repeated, tone dropping as if afraid he’d be over heard. “Morgana, isn’t that a dangerous slip of the tongue. Bloody hell. For both our sakes see to it that you don’t let it happen again.”

“Slip of the tongue? What do you mean slip of the tongue! He’s called me his-!”

“Consort. Consort, not lover!”

“They mean the same-.”

“The connotation is what’s important, pinhead!” The Horcrux snarled. “Love is weakness and you cannot let him know-.”

“I don’t-!”

“You do!” Harry saw stars when Nihil slammed his head back against the wall, gripping his chin nearly hard enough to bruise. “I think my position makes it easier for me to unravel your bleeding feelings than you so if you could stop interrupting me I’ll happily explain something to you which will quite possible save both our hides, understand?”

Reluctant, teeth bared, he nodded.

 “I don’t know what you think, but you’re not free of emotion. Not entirely. Not where our Lord’s concerned. You were once defined and defended by your ability to ‘love’, and not only are you still able to love him you already are in love with him whether you realize it or not. You’re flawed. Fundamentally. Fatally. And if he finds out the truth it’s very likely he’ll simply destroy us.”

“He wouldn’t throw away his own ties to immortality when he fears death so much!” Harry growled. “He’s already lost the Diary.”

“He has five others. And has already shown a willingness to off us if need be. Or have you forgotten what he promised to do to us if you refused to leave the light?”

‘Bear in mind, boy, that I have six others: should you betray me and determine you would rather remain as Dumbledore’s lap dog, the fact that you are my Horcrux will not stop me from destroying you.’ Harry shuddered, the water raining down on them both suddenly feeling ice cold. “How do we keep him from finding out? He can enter my head at will. I don’t know anything about Mind Magic and even if I did I doubt it would be enough to keep him out. Not when I’m a Horcrux!”

“You are going to hold your tongue. I’ll concern myself keeping him blind to the fact that you’re broken.”

“Because we’d both be done for otherwise.”

The Horcrux chuckled, the sound somehow managing to ring cruel. “I’ve grown a bit more fond of you, my little prison, but not that fond. And if it weren’t for that I wouldn’t lift a finger; you really ought to be a bit more grateful.” Harry’s efforts to growl fell flat and Nihil turned away from him, righting his now dripping crimson robe. “Finish your shower in the next two minutes or we’ll be late for your next class.”

He yanked the curtain back shut behind him, leaving the little raven alone beneath the spray of hot water. Snarling, Harry seized the shampoo bottle and upended it over his head.

The Room of Requirement happily provided him another towel and a change of clothes. Nihil had perched himself, this time, on the edge of a chair.

“Which class will the hag be poking her warty nose into today?” he asked pleasantly over the rim of a cup of steaming tea. Where he’d gotten it he hadn’t a clue, given that the Room as a rule didn’t provide food and drinks. “It was Potions a few days back: the spy nearly had kittens when you added the powdered Dragon’s Claw to the Strengthening Solution and set off that explosion. Much more amusing when you’re doing it on purpose.”

“It’s Divination today.”

“Well, I hope that damned hack had her sherry this morning because otherwise this will be a glorious disaster.” Nihil tossed the cup aside with a clatter and stood up. “Off we go, yes?” He vanished in a wisp of dark smoke.

Grabbing his bag from where he’d left it by the door at the beginning of the free period, Harry pulled the strap over his shoulder and charted a course for the North Tower.

Ron caught up with him halfway up the spiral staircase, looking somewhat out of breath. “Bloody hell, Harry, where did you disappear to? I haven’t seen you since free period started.”

“I’ve been studying.” He said, resuming walking and leaving the red head struggling to catch up. “Come on. The toad is sitting in on this class and we don’t want to miss the spectacle.”

They rushed up the remainder of the staircase, their school bags bouncing behind them.

He spotted Nihil reclined against a pile of throw pillows and silks in the darkest corner of the tower, unnoticed by all others in the room and grinning widely as he scratched beneath his tail’s chin. Ron and Harry took their usual seats at a low standing table and removed their Dream Journals as Trelawney floated about passing out copies of Dream Oracle.

Ron elbowed him with a snicker and pointed with his thumb at Umbridge as she pulled herself up through the hatch in the floor, the noise in the room dying immediately. “Let the games begin.”

After a brief exchange the pink bitch set herself up on a chair with her clip board they were unleashed on the same assignment they’d been working on for months now.

“I think it’s your turn to give a dream for once.” Ron said around his smirk. “And for my sake, mate, censor that ‘lack of clothes’ you mentioned a while back.”

“I’ll just invent something then.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I dreamed of drowning Snape in my cauldron last night.”

“Which word do we use for the calculation?” Ron asked, thumbing through the pages of the book. “’Drowning’ or ‘cauldron’ or ‘Snape’?”

“Pick any of them. It doesn’t matter.” Truth was that neither of them was really paying attention to their assignment, but rather the conversation between Professors going on in the center of the room.

“Now,” Umbridge said, “how long have you been in this post exactly?”

The taller woman was hunched down into a protective posture but seemed to come to the reluctant conclusion that it wasn’t an offensive enough question to reasonably ignore and said “nearly sixteen years.”

“Quite a period.” The toad made a notation on the clip board. “And it was Dumbledore who appointed you?”

“That’s right,” she said shortly.

Nihil snorted. Nail in the coffin number one: hammered into place. Another note on the clip board made.

“And you’re the great-great-granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?”

Trelawney held her head a bit higher. “Yes.”

Yet another note.

“But I think-correct me if I’m wrong-that you’re the first in your family since Cassandra to possess second sight?”

“Such things often skip a number of generations.”

Umbridge’s toad-like smile widened.

“I see.” She said sweetly. “Well, if you could just predict something for me then?”

The look the bespectacled woman shot the toad almost split the raven’s sides and he barely managed to stop himself from laughing. “The third eye does not see upon command!”

“I see.”

But as she turned to write something else down the taller woman practically lunged forwards, eyes glazing over and all Harry could think as Trelawney bellowed “wait!” was ‘this should be good’. She looked like she had in his third year when she’d given the prophecy about Pettigrew.

“I sense…a betrayer. A lion. He is a black lion.” Harry jumped in his seat when she spun around and pointed right at him with one talon like finger. “You!” As her voice dropped into a raspy register his Dream Journal hit the table with a soft thump, falling from slack fingers. “The Black Lion who lies with the Dark Lord approaches, born of a fractured soul, born of abandonment, shall topple the Light with his cloak of lies. The he will mark him as a failure, but he shall hold the heart which the Dark Lord knows not, and by the hand of a once friend shall he die. The Black Lion who lies with the Dark Lord approaches, and shall topple the Light with his cloak of lies.”

Nihil looked as if he’d been run over by a stampeding hippogryph, slack jawed and fangs gleaming as he stared at the woman in shock. The rest of the room was either staring at Harry or their professor and the young Horcrux hadn’t the foggiest clue how he was supposed to react.

“Well,” Umbridge said, making a final notation, “you may be a fraud but at least we can agree on one thing: that boy is evil.”

“Evil, Professor?” he had to fight to keep his voice pleasant as he rose, all eyes locked on him now. “I have it on good authority that there’s no such thing as ‘good’ and ‘evil’. Only power and those who are too afraid to use it!”

Without giving anyone a chance to say anything Harry grabbed his back, slid down the ladder and descended from the tower.

After Trelawney had delivered what had to be a true Prophecy-she couldn’t possible have known what he was otherwise-and he’d escaped to the shore of the Black Lake to skive off the rest of the class his mind had scattered in a hundred different directions at once. Had anyone believed her? Would Dumbledore be told? Would anyone else pick up on the ‘born of a broken soul’ line’s true meaning? And what was the meaning of the rest of it? He’d topple the Light? Pleasant to know, but how? Did it simply mean the truth of his having joined the Dark would destroy the moral of the Light side supporters? Or did it mean something else entirely; perhaps that he himself would be the one responsible for killing the Minister or maybe even Dumbledore himself. ‘By the hand of a once friend he shall die’? Him? Be killed? After all of the protections which Voldemort, the Greatest Wizard of all time, had personally placed on him? He doubted such a thing would come to pass. And who was the mentioned ‘once friend’? Ron? Hermione? The very notion of it was almost enough to make him laugh.

What concerned the most of his focus, though, was the line ‘and he shall hold the heart which the Dark Lord knows not’. Did that mean he’d somehow fall in love with someone else? That someone else would fall in love with him? Or, perhaps, that Voldemort would…?

Remembering his last conversation with the Horcrux-Nihil hadn’t re-manifest himself, no doubt running through things on his own end as well-he viciously cut off that train of thought at the root and turned his attention to the placed water in front of him.

Harry sat like that for a while after that, just staring out across the lake at the distant mountains and thinking of nothing, but the quiet was interrupted by the arrival of both Ron and Hermione on the scene.

“Harry, there you are!” The brunet witch all but shouted it at him as the pair rushed over. “Ron says you stormed out of class. I can’t blame you, really, seeing as it was Divination but still that was very irresponsible of you! And with Umbridge there too! You’re lucky that she didn’t give you more detentions!”

“Look on the bright side, Hermione,” Ron said somewhat weakly, “Trelawney may have suggested he’s been sleeping with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named but at least she didn’t predict he’d get his head bitten off by a horklump again.”

“I wouldn’t say I escaped another prediction of a gruesome death.” Harry said, getting up and stretching before brushing grit off of his robes. “‘By the hand of a once friend shall he die’ doesn’t exactly sound like happily ever after does it?”

“No,” the red head said, the fact that the line had even been spoken only now dawning on him. “I suppose is doesn’t. You have to admit, though, that ‘Black Lion’ is a wicked title.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded. Harry just sighed.

Conversation shifted to what had happened during the toad’s investigation prior to the prophecy which had led Harry to leave and what had happened to afterwards but something about the tone that Hermione was using and the way that she kept looking over at him almost sheepishly seemed slightly off.

“What do you want?” he finally asked, resigned. With the opportunity to make whatever case she’d planned to suddenly open before her Hermione didn’t bother being shy and launched immediately into an explanation.

“Well I was simply thinking that, since it’s our OWL year and all, we can’t afford to be knowingly handicapped by any of our Professors. These tests are important and our futures ride on the grades that we receive on our OWLs and NEWTs. And that awful woman isn’t doing us any favors.” She said. “I thought it would be best that we start an inter-house student run group to cover the weak points of the class. Make it open to whoever wants to join. We could meet maybe once a week.”

“It sounds like a reasonable enough idea, Hermione,” Harry was by no means concerned with his OWL scores as even getting straight T’s wouldn’t have affected his job. “But there’s one problem with it: who would be the teacher?”

The brunet witch fidgeted and looked up at him with wide brown eyes. “Well, I thought…you would be the teacher, Harry. You’re the best student in our year in Defense Against the Dark Arts and have experience fighting,” she dropped her voice and said “Voldemort” before continuing “so I can’t think of anyone more qualified.”

Hermione wanted him to waste his time teaching his peers Defense Against the Dark Arts? Even if it was only once a week that cut even more into what precious little time he had to devote to what was really important.

“Don’t dismiss the idea yet.” Nihil stood atop the short staircase leading to the castle’s open doors. “Teaching means correcting posture and wand movements and that means I’ll have a chance to skim magic off the lot; touch enough of them and combine it with the objects I’m draining and I’ll actually have a proper meal for once. And that means you get some of your powers back.”

Of course the Horcrux’s first thought was food! Unable to argue with him without attracting the attention of his two companions the raven settled for a dirty glare.

Still, he did raise a good point. There was a real possibility now that that damn prophecy had been delivered in front of his class and would be flying around the castle at speeds only the rumor mill was capable of that Dumbledore might catch on to the fact his true nature had been made known to him and move to take action somehow. Even with the protections which had been placed upon him, Harry would need all the tricks up his sleeve that he could fit just in case.

There was no affording for error.

“That may be a good idea.” Harry said, his response clearly taking the other two a bit by surprise. “Not just because of our approaching OWLS but because Voldemort and the Death Eaters are out there whether the Ministry wants to admit it or not. Some spells I know which haven’t actually been taught in our classes could save lies, like the Patronus Charm. When would the first meeting be and how do you plan to get the word out?”

“We’ll use the rumor mill to our advantage, though we’ll have to be careful about it to keep Umbridge from, well, taking umbrage for lack of a better phrase. And I was thinking the first meeting could be next week on the 30^th, during the year’s first Hogsmead visit. Maybe at the Hogshead so there’ll be less chance of us being overheard.” She said. “But we still have the problem of exactly where the meetings would be held.”

“I know of the perfect place.” Harry said somewhat reluctantly. “I’ve been using it to study. It’s on the seventh floor, come on.”

He led both up to the seventh floor of the castle and into the corridor with the tapestry of the dancing trolls, pacing three times passed before the door appeared-much to the amazement of the pair-and pulling it open. Checking the room inside over to insure that it wasn’t quite the same as the one he’d been using up until then to train, he turned and motioned them inside with a curving grin.

“Welcome to the Room of Requirement.”

Chapter Text

“You know,” Harry said just quietly enough that those on the street around him couldn’t hear, “we never did properly consider a nice classical decapitation as an option for the bint.” This topic was largely brought about by the sight of the large wooden sign hanging from the eaves of the establishment in front of him, jangling in the slight wind on the rusted chains it was attached to. Above the blunt lettering which read The Hog’s Head was a beautifully detailed, if very faded, decapitated hog’s head sat on a plate, dead eyed and surrounded by a small lake of crimson blood. “I may not be frilly, just a plate, dead eyed and surrounded by a small lake of crimson blood. “It may not be frilly, just a plate and a rusty knife, but I like the aesthetic.”

“The aesthetic.” Nihil snorted rolling crimson eyes. “It may be a pleasant ‘aesthetic’ when it’s a pig but, I assure you, it won’t look near as pretty when it’s a toad. They’re remarkably ugly creatures.”

“Ugly?” Harry repeated, continuing to watch the sign swing. “I think you’re going a bit too easy on her, Nihil.”

The Horcrux let out a derisive snort. “If you’re looking for pretty synonyms I suggest you consult a thesaurus instead of me.” He said, heading towards the chipped wooden door of the dodgy little pub. “We’ve stood out here for long enough. The buffet line is waiting.”

“You’re not very likely to eat much more today. If Hermine’s description counts for anything, I’ll merely be ‘recounting my exploits and great triumphs over Voldemort’ and there won’t be much ‘touching’ involved.” He said. “Why do you think I gave you an entire box full of objects this morning?”

“I’m still hungry. Shake their hands or something.”

Shaking his head, Harry opened the door and stepped into the pub. His nose curled as the stench of something he strongly suspected to be goats and he looked around the single small, dirty and very dingy room which made up The Hog’s Head. The bay windows were so caked in grime that what little light managed to force its way through was stained an insipid yellow color and the room was instead lit by the misshapen stubs of once candles which had been relit so often that they’d melted into masses of mangled wax which were nearly unrecognizable. At first glance the floor had appeared to be over grown with some strange breed of grey moss but when he stepped onto it he realized that it was in fact solid stone covered in a three inch thick layer of filth which must have taken centuries to build.

A man sat at the bar, wrapped heavily in bandages, gulping down copious amounts of a smoking liquid he highly suspected to be Fire Whiskey. A hooded pair who sat at a table near the unlit hearth could have easily been mistaken for Dementors if Dementors were known for speaking in strong Yorkshire accents. In a dark corner sat a woman with a floor length black veil, her nose the only part of her body which was visible.

All in all it struck him as just the sort of place where one could find themselves walking out with an illegal Dragon egg in tow.

“Cozy.” He drawled.

Nihil’s disgusted expression spoke volumes. The Horcrux clambered up onto one of the nearest tables which were only marginally cleaner.

The barman shuffled out of a back room and right up to him, looking an unnerving deal like a scrawnier dirtier and all in all much more disgruntled version of Dumbledore. “What do you want?” he grunted.

Harry glanced once more over at the bandaged man and then said “Fire Whiskey.”

All the barkeep did was grunt out the price, take the money and, after once more shuffling behind the bar, poured his drink. Harry eyed the cup, eyed the alcohol inside of it, and then downed the contents in a pair of stiff sips which left his throat and lips burning. Leaving the drained glass sitting onto of the bar the raven approached where Ron and Hermione stood waiting.

“Mate,” the red head’s eyes were bright with admiration, “was that a Fire Whiskey?”

“It better not have been!” Hermione cut in darkly. “You’re underage!”

Harry shrugged, pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “Need to be at least a little drunk to stay in this place for longer than five minutes.” He said. “And it’s not the first time I’ve had alcohol. Julian and I had a cup or two of wine every night with dinner over the summer.”

“At least you had supervision.” One of the small muscles in her face twitched but she sounded largely resigned on the matter.

“Do you think the barkeep would let me buy a cup too?” Ron asked.

Hermione nearly lunged out of her chair at him. “You! Are! A! Prefect!”

Ron deflated at the reminder, and before the conversation could go any further the door of the pub opened and the potential members of Harry’s soon to be ‘class’ began filing into the little building.

Neville. Dean. Lavender. The Patil twins. Cho and her usual, vapid group of friends. Luna. Katie Bell. Angelina. Alicia Spinnet. The Creevey brothers. Ernie Macmillan. Justin Finch-Fletchly. Hannah Abbot. A Hufflepuff girl he couldn’t place. Three Ravenclaws he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot. Ginny. Another Hufflepuff: this time a boy with an annoying face. At the rear of the group, grinning widely and pushing each other around, were Fred George and Lee.

“Smorgasbord.” Nihil purred ecstatically leaping from table to table to make his way over. “Delicious!” Harry rolled his eyes as the Horcrux reached his table and dropped onto his haunches in front of him, cackling. “Look at the barman; the ruddy bastard’s probably never had so many people in his disgusting pub.”

“Hi.” Fred had reached the bar first and quickly counted up the lot of them. “Can I have twenty five butter beers, please?”

As the red head called for all present to pay up Harry couldn’t help but think that the barkeep didn’t look happy to have the business.

“I hope you’re prepared to give a speech, Harry.” Nihil said gleefully, red eyes as wide as saucers. “Because they looked like they’re expecting one.”

Indeed it did seem like they were expecting something memorable out of him judging by the way he was being stared at. Of course, it seemed like Hermione intended to say something first as the brunet witch had gotten to her feet.

Her speech was…lack luster at best. Shaky. Unpracticed. And finished with the declaration of ‘Voldemort is back’ which caused a chain reaction of surprise and led to the scrunch faced Hufflepuff demanding proof that the Dark Lord had returned.

Ignoring Nihil’s mindless cackling Harry stood up abruptly, allowing his chair to loudly scrape against the floor. All eyes immediately turned onto him, half wary and half curious, and Harry leaned calmly against the edge of the table. Staring at them all over the Horcrux’s shoulder.

“What makes me say that Voldemort,” he made such a point of saying the name he almost snarled it, “is back? Simple. I saw him. Dumbledore told the lot of you what happened last year but you didn’t believe him and I, for one, am not going to waste my afternoon rehashing it all when I could be doing better things, like being a typical love-sick teenager impatiently waiting for my fiancé to pick me up tomorrow evening so that we can celebrate Samhain together for the first time.”

“Going to ‘celebrate Samhain’ are you Harry?” George snickered from across the room, waggling his eyebrows at him.

“I’m not putting out before the ceremony, Weasley.”

Half the room went red. Neville choked on his butter beer. The twins looked at each other and chorused “they grow up so fast.”

“Is it true,” the Hufflepuff girl eventually piped up after a drawn out silence, “that you can cast a Patronus?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “I can. I was taught by Professor Lupin during my third year.”

“A Corporeal Patronus?”

He blinked. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Madam Bones would you? Because she said something similar at my trial.”

“She’s my aunt. I’m Susan Bones.” She said. “So it’s true.”

“Yes.” He confirmed.

What followed was a listing and affirmation of the truth of his achievements and a determination of a working schedule which frankly struck him as little more than exhausting. Nihil had sprawled out across the table and was taunting his tail with his fingers; he let out a feline yowl when the cobra locked its fangs around his thumb and quickly moved to free himself. He perked up after Hermione pulled out a jinxed paper which she expected them all to sign; just to keep the Horcrux quiet Harry positioned himself to the right of it. A little over three fourths of the group took him up on the offer to shake hands and once the entire line had come through he sent a sideways glare at the red raven.

“You try living on crumbs for weeks on end.” The Horcrux grumbled, licking the beads of blood welling from where his tail had bitten him.

“Just one final thing to be had then.” Hermione called as everyone went about gathering their things. “We need a name. Something to promote a feeling of team spirit and unity.”

“The Anti-Umbridge League?” Angelina suggested hopefully.

“The Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?” suggested Fred.

“We need something that doesn’t give away what we’re up to.” Harry said with a sigh.

“Defense Association?” Cho suggested. “D.A for short?”

“D.A is good,” Ginny said, “but I have something better it can stand for: Dumbledore’s Army.”

A wide grin split across Harry’s face, eyes glittering acid green in the flickering candle flames. “Perfect, Ginny.” Perfect indeed, he thought as Hermione scrawled the name over the top of the parchment. Connecting Dumbledore’s name directly to a club the Ministry would in no way approve of, one which seemed to confirm one of Fudge’s greatest fears, should they get caught, would only get the man in a great deal of trouble.

Yet another card in his deck to tuck away for later.

That morning Harry had awoken to relief that he’d be escaping Hogwarts for a weekend in only a handful of hours, excitement to see the first debut of ‘Julian’ that night and Educational Decree Number Twenty Four. Mostly empty out of the way pubs patronized by the seedy sort weren’t the best places to go holding secret meetings. Hermione’s concern had been being overheard by a fellow student, and in attempting to avoid that outcome had sacrificed the protection of the inherent white noise of The Three Broomsticks. Someone had been listening in who wasn’t a part of their group, had told the bint and now they’d been ‘gifted’ by the toad’s latest royal decree.

By order of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor:

All student organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded.

An organization, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students.

Permission to reform may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).

No student organization, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor.

Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organization, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.

The above is in accordance to Educational Decree Number Twenty Four.

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge

High Inquisitor.

Hermione had not taken the news well, nor had Ron really, and as a result Harry had been subjected to a Friday of stressful classes and paranoid whinging from them both. Now that dinner had finally arrived and the parents of those who would be returning home for the weekend had begun removing their children from the Great Hall at any moment he was in a notably better mood and, much to the amusement of both Ginny and the twins, kept craning his neck in an effort to see over the crowd.

Lucius has just walked in to collect Draco. Half the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables were already gone. Harry felt as if he could lose his mind at any moment. When the Dark Lord walked through the Great Hall’s door he recognized him immediately. ‘Julian’ wore a fine sapphire robe lined in gold and had Nagini-who had been shrunken down considerably so as not to incite too much alarm-wrapped around his broad shoulders like a scarf. The resemblance of the illusion to his younger self was striking, verging on dangerously so no doubt owing to a fierce desire to mock Dumbledore even knowing that he couldn’t show his hand, but enough difference was there that a claim of no relation was believable. His hair, still glossy, was a lighter shade of brown and had been formed into a more modern style of comb over. His face was thinner, slightly more severe and his skin was olive in tone, making his ice white eyes stand out in sharp relief. He still moved the same, Harry noted as the man found him among the sea of other students and started across the room with a rolling ethereal glide.

“My Lion,” he said once close enough to be heard without shouting, “sei stato bene?”

He’d spoken fluent Italian, his English laced with an impeccable accent, and the raven barely held down his surprise as he smiled and answer the question which Nagini had hissed a translation to. “I’m better now.” He said, standing up and stepping into the other’s arms. Voldemort’s reaction was a smooth and natural one; wrapping his arms around him in return and dropping his chin onto the top of his head. “Merlin, Jul, I’ve missed you.”

“And I you, ame. Where I understood the motivation behind the Headmaster’s decision I must admit I was disappointed you had to leave me early.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a wand which Harry didn’t recognize, summoning a pair of scarlet roses with a flourish and holding them out to him. “A gift.”

“An odd number of roses to give someone.” Hermione said, looking at him oddly. “Usually it’s a single rose or an entire bouquet.”

“That’s an odd thing to question a complete stranger on.” The Dark Lord retorted. Harry, meanwhile, was too busy wrestling with the fact he’d never be given a single rose no matter how much he might have wished otherwise to notice. “This would be?”

“Hermione Granger.” Harry supplied.

“Ah, the Muggleborn.” He said, ignoring her glare. “I can’t imagine how you cope, Ms. Granger.”

“Easily. My parents are good people.” She said. The raven made a point of shooting her a false ‘I’m sorry’ look. “Harry mentioned you’ve had bad experiences with Muggles but you really shouldn’t condemn the many for the bad behavior of the few.”

“The ‘bad behavior’ which shapes my view of Muggles has been habitually exhibited by far more than just a ‘few’.”

Before anyone could reply to that comment their conversation was interrupted by the high pitched ‘hem hem’ which made all of them-even Voldemort-cringe.

“I take it that you would be Mr. Julian Nero? The one responsible for giving Mr. Potter, an underage wizard who is still in school and yet to even take his OWLs, a consort ring?” she was smirking smugly up at them as Voldemort and Harry turned. Nagini, flattening into a half-hood, raised herself up off the Dark Lord’s shoulders and hissed.

“There’s nothing in wizarding law, British Italian or otherwise, which marks such an action as illegal Mrs.….?”

“Professor Umbridge. Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Hogwarts High Inquisitor.” She simpered. “I’m sure you must be eager to get on your way but I’m afraid I have to ask if you’re responsible for rigging the outcome of Mr. Potter’s trial?”

“Rigging the outcome?” he repeated, a sibilant tone beginning to invade his voice. “My dear woman, making donations to public officials, even foreign public officials, isn’t prohibited under wizarding law. Unlike, say, using a Blood Quill to torture your students under the guise of assigning ‘detentions’.” His grin was pleasant but succeeded in making her turn paste white. “Use a cursed object on my fiancé again and I’ll see to it that both you and that hack you call a Minister will never be able to show your faces again.”

Umbridge was so quick to retreat back towards the safety of the staff table that she almost hopped the first few feet, causing most of Gryffindor table to stifle laughter. The twins exchanged grins. “Legendary.”

The Dark Lord let out a satisfied chuff and returned his attention to Harry, holding his hand out for him to take. “Shall we depart, my Lion? We’ve quite a flight ahead of us still and Nyx and Erebus shouldn’t be kept waiting too long.”

“Flight?” Harry repeated as he was gently drawn away from the red and gold table. “You didn’t apparate into Hogsmead?”

“I thought I’d entertain your love of flying while at the same time introducing you to some of my Thestrals.” He paid no mind to the curious glances thrown their way as they walked toward the open doors and into the courtyard. “You’ll be riding Nyx.”

A pair of the same skeletal horses he’d seen pulling the carriages at the beginning of the year and soaring above the Forbidden Forest stood in the center of the flag stone courtyard, silent and watching them with eyes like glass as the occasional groups of passing parents and students paid them a wide berth.

“Have you ever ridden something other than a broom before?”

Harry nodded. “A Hippogriff, but I was lifted up onto its back by Hagrid.”

“Always mount from the left side,” Voldemort informed him as he pulled himself up onto the thestral Harry assumed was named Erebus. “Steer with your thighs and hold her mane to keep from slipping off. Smartly, please.”

Circling around to the Thestrals left side Harry wound his hand in the creature’s thin mane and pulled himself up onto its back as well, convinced it had been rather less graceful than the motion the older man had made merely owing to lack of experience. Settling comfortably behind the withers of its pointing shoulder blades and looking expectantly over at the other.

“Secure?” Harry nodded. With a tug on the Thestral’s mane and a sharp click the Dark Lord’s mount pounced forwards with incredible power, closely followed by the raven’s own. Leathery wings stretched and, with an echoing flap, they rose into the air. Cold wind whipped past with a low whistle, flinging his black hair wildly about, and the late afternoon sun caught against his wire-rimmed glasses. The speed was exhilarating, far out doing even his Fire bolt, and the land rushed passed below them in a blurred quilt of brilliant color. City. Field. Forest. Sea. The sheer jagged shorelines of the Isle of Man rose and fell behind them as the moon began to rise.

The hooves of the Thestrals sparked as they landed, trotting to a stop at the foot of the porch stairs. Voldemort was up the steps and into the building before Harry could dismount, his ‘Julian’ persona and image both dropping like stones to the well-tended wood. Patting the Thestral’s neck and straightening his robes, the little raven followed him inside.

To his surprise the Dark Lord hadn’t proceeded further into the house and waited for him in the well-appointed foyer, his red eyes glowing in the gloom.

“I want one thing to be made clear lest the wrong idea become impressed upon you. Where I’ve a certain affection for you, being what you are and given your position, I am not nor will I ever be in love with you. ‘Love’ is a pitiful weakness; something that the Light is prone to and which must be stamped out with prejudice wherever it is found. But,” he said, “they would expect their ‘hero’s’ ‘fiancé’ to love him, thus while wearing his face I act accordingly. I want to make certain nothing is misconstrued.”

“I understand.” It was a struggle to keep his expression neutral. The stabbing sensation which had taken root in his chest, pressing up under his ribs, Harry was forced to confront the fact that Nihil had been right about his feelings.

“We’ve been invited to take part in Samhain festivities at Malfoy Manor; we’ll be leaving soon.” He said. “You’ll find what you’re to wear waiting for you in your bedroom. I expect you back down here in fifteen minutes.”

Harry quickly proceeded through the house, up the staircase and to his room. Sitting on his bed, as promised, was what the raven assumed he could now consider his ‘Death Eater Uniform’: a black robe made of such fine silk it was nearly see-through, a pair of supple leather gloves and a silver mask carved into the shape of a lion. Changing into them quickly, he left his bedroom again and rejoined the Dark Lord in the foyer.

“You’re not to speak to anyone who wouldn’t have reason to know who you are.” The look which Voldemort sent him made it rather obvious he knew at least some of what Harry had told Draco in the Slytherin Quidditch stands. “Loyal followers or not, we cannot yet afford to risk the truth getting out regarding your shift in allegiance.”

“I’ll keep silent.” He promised.

“You and Draco will both be witnessing the Ritual; not only is it your first time, what will be conducted tonight is an ancient rite far too complex for fifth years to perform in any capacity.” He held out his arm again and Harry wasted no time in taking it, firmly gripping the thin limb hidden beneath the thick fabric of the Dark Lord’s sleeve. “Behave yourself, my Lion. I wouldn’t wish to punish you.” With that warning given, Voldemort turned on the spot and the tug of Apparition whisked them both away.

Reappearing in the receiving room of Malfoy Manor Harry only needed a single look around to determine that the place was neither as big nor as grand as the Dark Lord’s. He snorted dismissively. Voldemort smirked, briefly rested his hand on the top of Harry’s head, then led him towards the doorway of the room without waiting for either House Elf of the Master of the House himself to appear.

Lucius attempted to enter the doorway at nearly the same moment that they were walking out of it, only narrowly avoiding trampling Harry, and the little raven snarled so ferociously that the Pureblood Lord leapt backwards in surprise.

“Mind your step, Lucius.” Voldemort hissed. “My consort doesn’t much appreciate being stepped on.”

“C-Consort-?” Lucius’ silver eyes-which, Harry idly mused, looked so much like Draco’s-were disbelieving; almost wide enough to pop out of his head and roll away across the floor. “My Lord, I apologize for not being here to greet you; preparations for the Ritual took longer than expected.”

“Your timeliness is not my concern, Lucius.” The Dark Lord replied, sweeping passed the other man. Harry followed immediately on his heels making a point of treading on Lucius’ feet, relishing the older wizard’s hiss of pain and grinning behind his mask. Knowing full well he couldn’t so much as lift a finger against the Dark Lord’s Consort. “Show us to the room.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Lucius started off down the hall. “Follow me.”

Dark Lord and Dark Consort both followed the Malfoy Lord down the manor’s hallway. Harry observed his surroundings with a detached interest, caustic green eyes roving over the portraits which hung on the walls and watching the occupants shudder. The room in which the Samhain Ritual was to be held was dark with no windows, lit by bracketed torches and paneled on all sides-that was ceiling floor and walls-in high polished black tile which gave the impression of floating in an endless sea of dark water. The floor was etched with a series of intricate carvings and designs overlapping and spiraling outwards into a dizzying display. Harry stopped short and stared at the floor.

Voldemort seemed to find his reaction amusing. “A traditional Ritual Chamber, typical of most manors owned by Pureblood families holding the title of ‘Most Noble and Ancient’.” He said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the difference between this one and ours.”

Remembering his orders not to speak, Harry nodded and pointed at the floor.

“Yes. Rituals are delicate and complicated affairs and very few are intelligent and competent enough to recall all the idiosyncrasies and details of the circles and associated incants to do them properly without aids.” The Dark Lord said. “Having a range of the most commonly used Rituals engraved on the floor illuminates the need for book study and potential for disastrous mistakes, but renders the space far less dynamic.”

The circles on the floor shed a faint glow rather similar to starlight; cold and silver, seeming to flow beneath the tile like liquid mercury. Voldemort ran his hand over the swell of the lion’s mane, his pale blue talons scraping gently against the metal, and briefly Harry cursed the mask for getting in his way.

“You remember what I said you’d be doing tonight, ame?” the raven nodded. “Go join Draco, then. I’m certain he’ll be more than happy to play host, right Lucius?”

“I-I-.” The Death Eater swallowed, eyeing Harry with obvious fear. “Of course, my Lord. My son would be honored to…entertain your Consort.”

Obeying the silent command of the press of a hand against his back the little raven drew himself up to his full (unimpressive but never mind that; it was presence that mattered, damn it) height and started across the room towards where Draco stood with his mother hovering nearby. The blonde looked at him like he might pounce at any moment but, to his credit, held his ground.

Draco’s mother, a tall blonde witch with notable Black family features, was never the less still quick to swoop in on him. “We hadn’t been aware that the Dark Lord would be accompanied tonight, nor that he’d taken a Consort.” The ‘especially one so young’ went unsaid. Aware that his height was most certainly not helping her perception of the matter Harry frowned as she extended her hand. “Narcissa Malfoy.”

“So that’s what the gloves were for; he doesn’t want me taking bites out of any of his servants.” Nihil’s voice echoed from the room’s darkest corner, his red eyes only just visible. “I hope you won’t be forced to make a habit of wearing those.”

Ignoring the Horcrux Harry took the offered hand and, unable to remove his mask to properly conduct the greeting, did the best he could before stepping around her without a word.

“Rather rude of you, Potter.” Draco snapped once the witch had gone to join the other two, his wariness superseded by what he evidently viewed as a slight against his mother.

Harry blinked placidly back at him through the eyeholes of his mask. “In such a rush to see the Dark Lord angry? Stupid thing to be eager for.” With just the right touch of grace the raven collapsed onto the floor, the mouth of his robe slipping open far enough to bare his collarbone and shoulders and draw the other’s unwilling attention for a moment before Draco viciously ripped it away. “I was ordered not to speak while those who did not already know where present within hearing range. I’m sure you can appreciate the precarious nature of my position, especially now that that damned prophecy is flying around the school. Dumbledore can’t know that I’ve switched sides until Voldemort is able to pull me out; the Dark isn’t quite yet prepared to properly prey upon the chaos my betrayal will cause.”

“And once that changes?” Refusing to lower himself so far as to sit on the floor Draco leaned his weight against the wall a good distance out of his reach.

Harry snorted. “I don’t bite, Malfoy.”

“Yeah, and Blast-Ended Screwts make marvelous house pets! I don’t believe you.”

Harry’s laugh echoed off the walls and ceiling, slightly hysterical, drawing the brief attention of the adults. Voldemort observed the scene with unreadable calculation in his eyes. Lucius simply seemed relieved that his son wasn’t being ripped apart. “Oh?” The raven purred, pushing himself back up into a crouch. “And why not, Little Dragon?”

Silver eyes sent him a suspicious glare. “No one in their right mind would ever mistake you as anything short of dangerous! You’re a monster, Potter, just like him.”

Harry made a sound in the back of his throat which was somewhere between a bark and a growl. “Monster?” he repeated. “So the cat is to the bird. What’s wrong, can’t handle a lion?”

“Lion?” he sounded incredulous. “Nundu would be far more accurate!”

“You consider me the most dangerous creature alive?” grinning wide beneath his mask Harry pressed a gloved hand to his chest. “Goodness me, you certainly know how to make a guy feel special. I’m flattered, truly, but sadly spoken for.”

The blonde’s immediate response was a strangled choking sound. “I want nothing to do with you! How Granger and Weasel can stand coming within ten feet of you I can’t imagine; not that Bloodtraitors and Mudbloods have much taste to begin with.”

The raven snorted again and licked his lips. “Scent doesn’t lie, and in this case it bares a rather solid witness against you.” He said. “Also, at the moment, you look like the Gryffindor banner.”

With a surprising amount of tact considering the situation Draco acted to change the subject. “You haven’t answered my question! What happens once that changes?”

“The exact details would all depend on circumstance.” Harry said. “But, in short, war. War will happen once that happens, Draco. And we, the Dark side, are going to win. Sit back and enjoy the ride. Do the jobs you’re assigned when you’re assigned them. A fairly easy ride, over all, for you. Better prospects than any on the Light side of things.”

“Unless you change your mind and go back to Dumbledore’s side.”

“Albus Dumbledore attempted to lead me by the nose to my own death!” Harry snarled, the pitch of his voice dropping low enough to make the blonde go white in the face. “It would be wise of you not to mention the old sot to me again because next time I may not be able to keep hold of my temper.”

Leaving Draco standing where he was the raven went to join Nihil in the far corner of the room. The first thing out of the Horcrux’s mouth did little to help his mood. “I’m hungry.”

He sent him a baleful glare. “You’re always hungry, Nihil.”

“An easy thing to be when you feed off life essence and magic; it’s not like solid food. It’s impossible to actually become ‘full’. Bloody hell, I don’t even have a stomach!”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Harry demanded. “There’s all but certainly a prisoner or two waiting for us back at the manor. And at school I feed you objects almost daily. Not to mention the fact that, soon enough, you’ll be able to feed during the weekly D.A meetings. How much do you need?”

“There’s no such thing as ‘too much’. Magic is food for me and food for me is power for you. Besides,” red eyes went back to Draco, “you could do with getting laid.”

The little raven crossed his arms. “Not only are you an unapologetic glutton you also have horrible taste!”

“Says the one who first came up with the idea.”

“I was out of my right mind at the time thanks to you chewing on me!”

“Yeah? And I’ll start chewing on you again if you don’t start doing me to feed me! Morgana, you give your owl more consideration than this!”

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes, but annoyed as he was he knew the Horcrux wasn’t one for empty threats. “There’s not much that I can do without permission.”

“Then seek permission!” He growled. “Or I’ll make things decidedly unpleasant for you.” Nihil vanished in a curl of black smoke.

Now in a decidedly bad mood the raven spent the remainder of the Ritual fiddling with the portkey bracelet on his arm, spinning it as fast as he could until the poor thing was left hanging off his wrist in a disoriented mess. He was more than pleased to leave when Voldemort came over to collect him.

The moment they were back in the seclusion of Slytherin manor Harry ripped off both the mask and gloves and threw them to the ground at his feet with a clatter.

“You seem upset, my Lion.” Pale spidery hands cradled his face, the pleasurable warmth immediately blooming across his skin; unconsciously, he leaned into the touch. “What troubles you?”

“Nihil. No matter what I do to feed him it’s never enough; for all he gets he just wants more and it’s begun to drive me to distraction.” Harry said. “He wants…” he looked away. “’Love’ and other such nonsense aside I’ve a responsibility to remain faithful to you as your consort. A responsibility to you as…my master.”

“Your master?” an amused tinge of danger had entered his voice, the Dark Lord running his thumbs along delicate bones with enough pressure to communicate a threat. “Are you trying to manipulate me, Harry?”

“I won’t use the term often but I do acknowledge that that is what you are. My master. My creator. If it weren’t for you I’d still be trapped under Dumbledore’s thumb. I owe you…everything.”

“Yes.” The s was drawn out into a sibilant rasp, the touch of his fingers once more becoming tender. “You do owe me everything. Because you are mine.” Voldemort released him and stepped back, a grin unfurling across his reptilian features which Harry couldn’t place. “You may have Draco if it will silence Nihil but he may ask for nothing else. And he may not kill him.”

“…W-What?”

“Surprised, ame? Did I, perhaps, strike you as too possessive to allow my consort to lay with another?” the raven answered with a semi-slack jawed nod. “You will have him, he will not have you. The encounters will be for the sake of feeding and no more. I care little for it if you sleep with him or anyone else, because in the end it’s me you dream of.” Sharp talons carded through wild black hair. “You are mine, Harry Potter, and mine you shall remain. No matter whom you lay with or how often that will never change, because there is no being in this world which can ever compare to me.” Turning abruptly the Dark Lord vanished deeper into the manor, leaving Harry rooted to the spot in shock.

“Can we go to the dungeon now?” Nihil drawled, blinking at him from the very same doorway Voldemort had just passed through.

Harry felt one of the small muscles in his face take up an erratic twitch. “You,” he hissed, turning on his double with flashing eyes. “You knew!”

“Of course I knew. You may be the vessel but I’m the one that’s actually a piece of him.” Nihil pushed his tail away with a growl of annoyance. “His logic is different than that of most people. This is an arrangement he’s quite happy with for a host of simple reasons. In his eyes, by taking others but only allowing yourself to be taken when he’s involved you remain fully his. And by lying with others and still returning, still being so obsessively twisted up around him as you are, it feeds into his view of himself as the second coming of Merlin.” The Horcrux calmly checked his nails. “And the arrangement is beneficial to everyone involved: our Lord gets the mentioned benefits, you and Draco both get laid, you get a new avenue through which to mess with Malfoy in a whole different manner I get another layer of protection from the state of starvation I lived in for thirteen years before you finally pulled your head out of the Light’s ass and joined the proper side.”

“So that’s why you’re so obsessed with hoarding feeding avenues?” he drawled. “Trauma?”

“Dungeon!” The Horcrux snapped in response. “I want dinner!” He melted away into the shadowed hallway, leaving Harry to follow after with a grumbled huff.

Chapter Text

The events of the first night and the bizarre turn which their relationship had taken aside Harry had enjoyed the reprieve which the weekend away from Hogwarts had offered him immensely. There had been a handful more prisoners than he had expected held in the dungeon for him, and much to both his and Nihil’s delight a small handful (though not all at once so there was no risk some would escape) were released into the forest surrounding the manor for him to hunt down. Stalking through the underbrush after nightfall, tracking his prey through scent and prints and the faint residue which all magic left behind like a proper predator. Lazy days spent enjoying the massive tub in his bathroom or catnapping in the library with Nagini. It had been paradise. He hadn’t seen the Dark Lord much, which quite honestly was to be expected, but even compared to the summer holidays Harry was having the time of his life.

He’d hoped to wait until he found an opportunity in which Voldemort wasn’t quite so busy in order to bring up the matter but unfortunately no such occasion had come to be. Now, with only hours left before he’d be Flooing back to The Three Broomsticks, there was no resort left for him to take but to disturb the older wizard’s work. If he was lucky and the older wizard was in a good mood-or at least in a mood which would leave him willing to stop any punishment which might ensue at yelling-the topic of conversation would make his transgression in interrupting his business forgivable. Trotting to a stop outside the heavy oaken door of Voldemort’s study the little raven steeled himself and raised his fist to knock.

There was a period of worrying silence after the sound of his fist against the wood had faded before a hiss of “come in, my lion,” reached his ears. Relieved, Harry pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

The office looked just as Harry remembered it on the night he’d first arrived, soaking wet with rain and still suffering the effects of exposure to Dementors after just having been told his wand would be snapped. The black marble hearth was filled with unlit firewood and the tarnished silver chandelier glistened in the thin light filtering through the chink in the emerald curtains. Voldemort was once more posted behind the desk in his wing backed chair, scratching through a tower of paperwork with a white quill.

“You’ve free reign of the manor, access to the library and dueling room and Nagini to keep you company. Surely you don’t need me to entertain you.” The Dark Lord dipped his quill back into the open inkwell sitting beside his hand and then resumed writing. “Especially when you’ve only less than an hour left before you return to school.”

“I’m not here looking for entertainment. I know that you’re busy and I wouldn’t disturb your work if it weren’t a matter of importance. But I thought I should return it before I go back; I’ve had it for long enough as it is.” Reaching up and grabbing the heavy golden chain around his neck, he drew the clasp free of his robe and pulled the locket over his head. Setting it down atop the desk with a solid thunk.

Red eyes lay heavy on the little emerald inlaid S embossed onto the front of the clasp for a small eternity before they finally rose and met Harry’s green gaze. “Ame,” hostility and a tinge of what might have been honest fear laced his voice though the raven very much doubted that either of those emotions were truly aimed at him. “Where did you get this?”

“Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.” He hadn’t expected to be able to name the building inside which the Order of the Phoenix had made their Headquarters on account of the Fidelus Charm and was thereby rather taken by surprise when he encountered no trouble. Though, in retrospect, he supposed his being able to do so made perfect sense: as a Horcrux, he was connected enough to the Dark Lord that the keying of him into the Charm had carried over to Voldemort as well. This determination then proceeded to stir up a whole host of other questions, including ‘why was the Dark Lord continuing to allow the Order to exist’ though admittedly his own assumptions, largely being that the Dark wasn’t yet ready to make the best use of the results of moving on them and the fact that Dumbledore’s little secret society weren’t a real threat, served as enough of an answer that he didn’t feel compelled to ask. “The House of Black.”

“Black?” a wolfish express, less a smile and more a ferocious bearing of pointed teeth, spread across his face. “Ah, yes, I remember now. Regulus and his love for that elf; he’d be one of my inferi now, no doubt.” Harry had never heard the term ‘inferi’ before and it seemed he’d have to look it up on his own time because he wasn’t given a chance to ask before Voldemort plowed onwards. “Heed what happened to him as another word of warning of what such pathetic weakness leads on to. A wizard.  A Pureblood wizard. Dying for a servant!” With a sound of disgusted dismissal the Dark Lord lifted the locket from the desk, examining it with a critical eye. The clasp winked faintly in the fading light as it hung from taloned fingers. “Sounds like something you would have done, before you’d been completed.”

Fighting to keep the stab of pain and offense which shot through him at the offhand comment off his face, Harry dragged his lips upward into a bladed smile. “It does.”

“Call the elf, Harry.” The raven looked up sharply in surprise. “He’ll answer to any Black, not just his direct Master. I must know if Regulus somehow managed to discover my Horcruxes and if he managed to steal any more of my property prior to his demise.”

“But I’m not a Black.”

“Such neglect of your family tree, Harry. Your grandmother was: you have Black blood. Call him and he’ll answer you.” There was a tinge of impatience to the Dark Lord’s tone which warned him better of continuing to stall.

Unconvinced that it would work but never the less having decided not to push the older wizard any further he said “Kreacher” with the firmest tone that he could muster. To Harry’s shock and with a harsh crack the ancient and incredibly hairy House Elf appeared hunched over in the middle of the room.

“Master Potter called for Kreacher?” the elf croaked.

“Elf!” The snarl in Voldemort’s voice was nearly enough to make Harry jump. Catching sight of the Dark Lord as he rose to his feet Kreacher immediately began to cower. “You once belonged to Regulus Black, yes? Answer me!”

“Y-Yes. Kreacher was Master Regulus’ elf; a good Master, Master Regulus was. But the Dark Lord knows this. He enlisted Kreacher to test his potion to protect the locket.”

“And I left you to die on that island! So how did you escape!”

“Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to come back after the Dark Lord was done with him. Kreacher did as he was told.”

“But I laid the protections around that cavern myself! The wards! The concealments! The barricade! The inferi! The potion! All my personal work! All carefully done to insure that that cave was transformed from a mere artifact of nature into a temple to the power and might of Lord Voldemort! Apparition isn’t-!” The Dark Lord cut himself off mid-rant, abruptly seeming to calm and straighten up. “Of course. The magic of House Elves, like many other magical creatures, are not beholden to the same limitations and conventions as that of man. That was how you returned. How he got in. Clever indeed.”

He almost sounded impressed and Harry bristled with jealousy.

“Regulus drank the Draught of Despair, I take it. Demanded that you take my locket and leave him to die.”

“But Kreacher failed! Kreacher tried everything to destroy the locket but nothing worked! Nothing! Kreacher is a bad elf and failed his Master!”

Both Harry and Voldemort looked on in dispassion as the elf burst into tears and began banging his head against the wall.

“He knew of no others and told no one else.” Voldemort calmly returned to his chair behind the desk and resumed his paperwork, paying no mind to the repeated thudding which echoed through the room. “Inform the elf he’s to speak of this to no one and dismiss him back to where he came from.”

“Kreacher!” Harry had to shout in order to be heard. “You’re not to speak of this or anything that was said to anyone. Now return to Grimmauld Place.” With another harsh pop the sobbing elf vanished. “He could be useful if he can really get passed wards. Very few people would suspect a House Elf.”

“Useful, yes, but dangerous as well unless he was beholden to no other Master but you. Or, at least, to no master outside those who answer to me. He belongs to your Godfather, yes?”

Harry nodded. “Yes.”

“The elf would pass to one of a small handful of people should he die. Narcissa, Draco, Bellatrix who is currently in Azkaban but will not remain so much longer or you. It all comes down to the contents of your Godfather’s will.” Voldemort said. “In times of war, people die often. And you’ve lost so many people you care about already. It’s only natural you’d be concerned enough of another loss to inquire on such things.”

“Am I being ordered to kill Sirius Black?” Harry asked, tilting his head like a curious parrot.

“If the chance to do so arises you’re being ordered to take it.” He said. “He’s a Light supporter. A member of the Order. One of Dumbledore’s. An enemy. And he abandoned you, not just this past summer but when you needed him most. You’ll have no qualms, I’m sure.”

“The only qualm I’ll have on the matter is if I don’t get the chance to do it.” Harry said. “Are you going to return the locket to where it was taken from?”

“No. If Regulus could bypass my protections there Dumbledore could as well.” Voldemort said, holding the locket out to him. “You’ll continue to wear it until the foreseeable future; Dumbledore would not expect me to have two of my Horcruxes in the same place and we’ll use that to our advantage. In the future, once the elf and house are yours, perhaps it can go back to Grimmauld Place.” The raven stepped forward and took the locket, dropping it over his head again and feeling it settled at the hollow of his throat. “Harry.” Green eyes rose once more to meet merciless red ones. “If anything happens to my locket, it will be on your head.”

Releasing the clasp and allowing it to fall back onto his chest with a muted thump Harry sighed and squinted up at the canopy of his bed as he listened to the sounds around him: resting heart beats, deep breathing, the occasional creak of ancient bedsprings as one of his dorm mates shifted their positions. He was fairly confident that he was now the only one left awake.

Sitting up slowly and with careful motions to prevent the bed from groaning Harry rose to his feet and, after retrieving his wand from the bedside table, padded around to his trunk. Hissing the command to open at the silver clasp and pulling the heavy lid into its upright position he quickly excavated both his invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map before closing it again. Taking full advantage of his impeccable night vision Harry tapped the parchment smartly and swore the required oath.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Ink bloomed across the yellowed parchment; Harry didn’t bother to read the Marauder’s declaration before he opened it and scanned the castle’s halls, eyes quickly zeroing in on the pair of footprints labeled ‘Draco Malfoy’. He was still out on his Prefect rounds, which meant he’d be alone in a dark and empty hallway with no one to happen upon them and see them together. It would, after all, be more than a little bit suspicious to see the supposedly enfiancéd and perfectly in love Boy-Who-Lived propositioning his school yard nemesis for sex in the middle of the night.

Bloody hell, Harry wasn’t quite certain he wanted to do this himself. As much fun as messing with Draco was, as much as that indiscriminately lustful part of him snarled for an outlet, as much of a miserable time he knew being on the receiving end of the Horcrux’s teeth was the raven wasn’t certain he wanted to go this far. But every time the thought of ignoring Nihil’s threat and simply crawling back into bed to sleep crossed his mind a flash of pain knifed through his core, leaving him coiled up and gasping for a good five minutes before he could get over the shock and recover his breath.

Deciding it was better to remove himself from the temptation offered by his bunk-meager as it was compared to the royal lodgings which waited for him back home in Slytherin manor-before it became enough to overcome his still present aversion to pain-sadly becoming a Horcrux hadn’t fixed a lot of things-and left him miserable and irritated Harry wrapped himself in the silvery fabric of the cloak and left Gryffindor Tower behind.

Aware of exactly where his target was courtesy of the Map and able to determine his route with a relative amount of certainly Harry quickly darted through a network of secret passageways to get into proper position to intercept him. The Beaver Moon hung high in the sky outside, spilling silver light and long shadows through the castle’s gothic windows and leaving the little raven with a perfect stage to take the blonde by absolute surprise. Filled with anticipation from the side of him which had a decided flair for the dramatic-which he suspected was yet another aspect of his personality which had bled over from Voldemort-Harry waited for the other wizard to arrive on the scene.

Much to the relief of his patience he didn’t have to wait for very long. Draco rounded the corner a short while later, on the last leg of his rounds and no doubt anticipating soon returning to his bed in the Slytherin House dorms. Harry’s sudden appearance amidst the ethereal lighting of the formerly empty corridor took the Slytherin by such surprise that he froze on the spot and the raven used that brief moment to swiftly hide the cloak and Map from view.

“Hello, Draco.” He made every effort to sound quite pleasant as he started down the hallway towards him, allure at full blast and the smile on his face overflowing with sharp milk white teeth. “Mind if I have a word?”

He expected the blonde to be frightened of him, to either remain completely frozen or back away from him, but to Harry’s utter shock and consternation he’d evidently misjudged how much weight could be put on the self-preservation instincts a member of Snake House possessed because the first thing the other boy did was bolt.

Hunting instincts roaring Harry leapt after him, grin growing more savage as he darted into another passageway to head him off. The Silencing Charm he managed to peg him with as he skidded around the corner was enough to keep him from drawing attention by calling for help; the Map sufficient to allow Harry to head the blonde off at every attempt he made to run towards one of the Professors or other Prefects on patrol and force him to make for the dungeons. Allowing him to think he’d made it to safety before snatching the hope away with an elegant pounce.

He’d be a bit bruised due to the impact, but that-at least in the young Horcrux’s mind-was entirely Draco’s fault.

Harry tsked at the struggling blonde as he held him down with ease, straddling his chest. “Running from a predator is the sort of mistake most people don’t live to regret. Luckily for you I’ve been fed well enough I was able to keep this little game of tag as just that. A game. Now, I’ve an offer to make so I’m going to take the Silencing Charm off you.” He pointed his wand at the Slytherin’s face, amused to see Draco immediately go cross-eyed to keep track of it. “Scream and I’ll personally see to it that you’ll be looking for your tongue for the rest of your life. Understand?”

Draco nodded, the terror in his eyes making his glare anything but affective. The moment that charm was removed he demanded “get off me, Potter!”

“Get off you?” Harry repeated, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the other chest. “No, I don’t think I will. Boney as you are I’m quite comfortable on top of you though before the night is over I’d rather there be fewer clothes between us.”

Que the return of a blush to put Lion House’s banner to shame. “You’re the Dark Lord’s consort! If he knew-.”

“You needn’t worry about what he’ll do to you if he finds out you’ve been with me because I have his permission.” The Slytherin’s eyes almost bugged out of his head and Harry had to bite down an echoing laugh. “Surprised to hear that? Yeah. Me too.”

“Why?” Draco spat, at last giving up his efforts to push the smaller male off of him.

Harry shrugged. “Why not? We’re fifteen and in boarding school. That’s typically the normal time for ‘experimenting’ in such ways, at least so I’ve heard.”

“I’m not in to men!” The hitch of his breathing alerted Harry to the fact that that might not be strictly true but he ultimately didn’t care either way. The blonde’s sexuality didn’t matter to him, didn’t play into his calculations, because it wasn’t a relationship that he was looking for.

Not with Draco.

“You don’t have to be in to men.  You just have to be in to me.” Harry said, leaning over him further. Feeling Draco shudder as the raven’s warm breath wafted across the sensitive skin of his vulnerable neck. “Come on. What could one time hurt? It’s just sex. No strings. Simple. You may even find yourself enjoying it.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Sure you do.” He drawled, now almost nose to nose with the blonde. His grin never faltering. “If you find yourself,” with a half-purr half-growling sound Harry traced a pattern into the other’s chest with his ring finger, “unsatisfied then it’ll be over. We’ll forget it happened. Never mention it again. All will be as it was. I’ll find someone else to provide for my…needs until I’m able to return to our Lord.”

“He’s not my Lord!”

“Not yet, no, but I’m sure you’ll follow in your father’s footsteps. Only son. Pride of your family. You’ll call him Lord soon; in the mean time I’d mind your words. We do take offense fairly easily after all.” He said. “What do you say?”

“I’m not taking you into my dorm!”

“Good. I don’t want to go into Slytherin House’s grounds. Can’t give myself away.”

“I’m not going to Gryffindor tower either.”

“Again,” Harry hopped off the taller male and resituated his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “I can’t give myself away. Bringing you into the lion’s den wouldn’t end well.”

“What other choice is there? The hallway?”

The raven rolled his eyes. “Oh please, how vulgar can one be?”

“I’m the vulgar one?”

“Just shut up and follow me.” Harry draped the cloak around his shoulders, keeping it close at hand in case the sudden need to use it arose.

“What’s that for?”

“To not get caught out of bed.”

“What about me?”

“Malfoy, you’re a Prefect! You have an excuse to be out in the halls right now.”

Grumbling Draco hesitantly fell into step behind him. “Where are we going?”

“The seventh floor.” Harry said.

“Anywhere specific?” he snapped.

“You’ll see.” They proceeded in silence along the corridors and moving staircases until reaching the proper hallway; once the door to the Room of Requirement appeared Harry turned back to him with a threat in his eyes. “I use this room for my own purposes. It’s vital to my training in service of the Dark Lord and you’re not to mention it to anyone.”

Without waiting for a reply he swiftly slipped through the door.

The Room of Requirement had arranged itself into an entirely different space he’d never seen before: gone were both his personal training room and the sanitized ‘Light’ version reserved for D.A. meetings. What waited for them was a sumptuous bedchamber with a depressed floor; starkly similar to his room back at Slytherin manor, its furnishings were in more neutral colors than red and gold likely to avoid offending the blonde’s sensibilities.

Harry descended towards the bed, shedding layers of clothing as he went. Stark naked by the time he reached the bed he turned his head to find the other still lingering by the door. Seemed he’d have to work a bit harder to lure him in.

Feeling the silken slide of fine sheets against his bare skin the raven collapsed back onto the bed and shifted about until he could send him a stare which was equal parts invitation and challenge. He wasn’t frightened, was he? Wasn’t going to back out now?

Evidently made wary by the sudden turn of his behavior the Slytherin still held his ground. Admirable, at least to a certain point. Probably more motivated by stubbornness than courage.

“You realize this requires less clothing on your part as well as mine, yes?” rolling onto his front and arching his back, Harry propped his chin up on his hand.

“I’m aware of that!”

Disregarding the other’s snappish tone he chirped an expectant “well?” which led to him receiving a look that could only be described as ‘the evil eye’.

“I am not going to strip down with you staring at me, Potter!”

Rolling his eyes, Harry proceeded to make an over exaggerated show of covering his eyes with his hands in much the same way as a Muggle child playing peekaboo. “Would you like me to keep my eyes shut during the whole of our encounter as well?”

Draco’s reaction was a growl of annoyance accompanied by the soft rustle of clothing hitting the floor. Harry’s acute hearing easily picked up on the gentle tap of bare feet against the stone floor as his prey approached the bed. He only opened them again once he felt the other’s weight push down against the springs.

Green met silver and for an extended moment neither wizard moved. Then came the hesitant press of pale lips against his; that same spark of pleasure which he’d felt on the express arcing between them. A low purr began to rumble in his chest and Draco withdrew in surprise, something within him seeming to recognize the danger in that spark for what it was, but the lure of sensation was too strong and he was only kept at bay for a few moments.

Purring louder Harry reached up to loosely wrap his arms around the other’s shoulders. More sparks crackling from each point of contact with bare skin like a haze of electricity. He lazily dragging his tongue along the contours of newly revealed territory while the other’s actions became more and more insistent. Pressing closer. Seeking more of the addicting pleasure provided by the feeding Horcrux and beginning to stir the raven’s own carnal appetite to life.

Deciding that the other had become much too comfortable atop him and actually seemed possessed of the notion he’d get to stay there-why, the very nerve of him!-the raven snarled and flipped them over. Pinning the blonde against the sheets with ease and driving vicious teeth into his shoulder. Nails digging into skin with enough force to bruise and leave crimson crescents imprinted in their wake. Hearing Draco whine in pain Harry began to purr again, licking away the blood which welled from where his teeth had punctured a curve of neat holes.

As he cleared away the slowing flow of blood, sank his teeth in again a few inches to the left and then repeated the process, distracting himself with the copper smell and salty tang, Harry allowed his mind to wander back through time. Three years prior. To a certain diary and the figure it had contained. When he pulled back it was to find blue eyes, instead of silver, staring back at him, near black with lust and gazing hungrily up at him through a perfect tousle of mahogany curls. The features weren’t quite right and if he looked at him straight on or too hard he saw Draco clearly on the other side of the thin veneer but it was enough to overcome what little remained of his aversion to the arrangement. Nihil’s hunger and that carnal fervor which clattered around inside him like a caged bird at last overwhelming his senses completely.

He was unfamiliar with the process, hadn’t the slightest clue of how things were supposed to work and it showed but in the end-after a considerable deal of trial and error which left both wizard’s rather irritable-managed to figure out the basics and the troubles of earlier were soon forgotten. Draco’s voice wasn’t right, not deep enough to fit with the image, but no matter what he tried and despite his relative success with mentally amending his partner’s appearance Harry couldn’t manage to make himself hear the dark tenor he was after. Still, he gritted his teeth and forged onwards, burying his face in the junction of neck and shoulder. Failing to muffle that name when it slipped so easily passed his guard; stilted and breathy.

“Tom!”

Draco didn’t stick around for long after things between them had come to an end, redressing and stumbling unsteadily from the room. Leaving the satiated and pleasantly exhausted predator to lounge atop the fresh sheets which the castle had so thoughtfully provided and lick the remains of drying blood from his lips. For the moment left with nothing to complain about Nihil didn’t make an appearance and, unmolested by his red double, Harry soon drifted off into a comfortable sleep.

He dreamed of Azkaban, Death Eaters and Patroni. Reveling in the Dark Lord’s triumph in the raid-there was a tint of confusion to it: it wasn’t his Basilisk. Four legs. Feline. Why?-and woke in time to go down to breakfast with Ron and Hermione; concealing a broad smile behind the rim of his goblet upon reading the front page of The Daily Prophet.

‘Mass Breakout at Azkaban: Ministry Fears Black is Rallying Point for Old Death Eaters’

Somethings never changed. And that was all the more to their advantage.

Chapter Text

November had just begun to show its teeth, and the wind which howled around the weathered outer bricks of the tower rattled the old windows in their panes; the cold fingers of a draft wedging their way through the cracks and around the contracted wooden edgings of the glass and reaching for the students huddled away in the red and gold common room with its icy claws. For the first time that year a fire was crackling in the worn hearth, throwing flickering orange sparks upwards alongside a plume of soot and smoke.

Harry had been coiled up on the most comfortable couch in the room for the better part of the day, aiming baleful glares at anyone who attempted to oust him from the nest he’d built for himself out of blankets and the two essays-one for Charms and the other for Transfiguration-he’d been hard at work on for three hours and had only just managed to finish. He’d begun to doze off to the rhythmic rattle of the wind, soft popping of the fire and low drone of voices and jolted in surprise when Hermione spoke from directly beside him.

“You know, it’s unhealthy not to eat at least twice a day and as of now you’ve skipped both lunch and dinner. Please don’t be slipping back into old habits.”

He blinked sluggishly up at her. “Just because I skipped going to the Great Hall doesn’t mean I didn’t eat. I could have gone to the kitchens.”

“But I’m willing to bet you didn’t, did you?” Ignoring his glare, she moved his feet off the far cushion of the couch and sat down.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Refusing to fully give up what he’d claimed as his little raven proceeded to prop his feet up in her lap. Now he was the one placidly ignoring a glare. “I’ll go down to the kitchen at some point before bed. Really, Hermione, you don’t need to mother me over this.”

“I am not ‘mothering you’ over anything; that’s Mrs. Weasley’s job.” She said, picking up both of his drying essays despite his grumble of protest and beginning to look them over. “I am, however, going to make sure you’re fully aware that if you start shedding pounds you desperately need I will be personally writing to Julian with full expectation of him doing anything necessary to remedy the matter.”

Harry snorted and dropped his head back against an overstuffed pillow, listening to the wheeze of escaping air it made as it was compressed by his weight. “’Not mothering me’. Right. Definitely.”

His comment went entirely ignored. “You really have improved an incredible deal with your studies, Harry. To the point where I really believe you simply weren’t applying yourself to the full degree you could have been outside Defense Against the Dark Arts until this year.”

He hummed in response.

“Though your attitude in History of Magic could still do with marked improvement.”

“I’m never going to use what we learn in that class; it isn’t worth the time or effort which is better applied elsewhere.”

“Like whatever you’re doing up there in the Room of Requirement at all hours?” Hermione rolled her eyes when she caught sight of his expression. “Merlin, Harry, Ron and I both know you well enough to be plenty aware that studying for your OWLS isn’t all you’ve been doing. You’re not playing Quidditch this year and without the constant training for matches you should have lost muscle mass but the opposite has happened. In fact I’d be willing to bet money that a large part of your increase in weight is due to muscle tissue and not fat. Have you been using the Room as a gym?”

“In part.” He said. “I’ve been using the Room of Requirement to teach myself to fight. To prepare for facing Voldemort. To study dueling and…other subjects.”

“Other subjects?” she repeated dubiously. “Would these be school approved subjects, at least under circumstances where the Hag isn’t lording over everything?”

The raven looked back at the fire.

“Harry, please tell me you’re not teaching yourself the Dark Arts in there!”

“I’m learning the theory; nothing that wouldn’t happen in Auror training. Maybe a bit more in depth.” He lied, doing a good job of making the admission believably reluctant. “Fighting fire with fire only works with fire, Hermione, so there’s no need to worry about me stooping down to his level, but it does pay to know your enemy. Especially when you’re fighting for your life. And it isn’t something I’m going to be teaching anyone else so there’s no call for concern.”

“I don’t know, Harry. Even if it is only theory it’s still dangerous. Especially…well, don’t take this the wrong way…but with how volatile your temper can be it’s possible that you could…accidentally…”

“Put what I’ve studied to use?” he questioned with a snort. “Did you forget about the fact that fake Moody taught us the theory, and a slight bit more than that, of the Unforgiveables last year? I don’t think I’ve ever been as angry as I was when I let loose on the two of you after my trial, but I didn’t start lobbing Killing Curses around the room did I?”

“No. No you didn’t.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could have a bit more faith in my control.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just…there’s so much Dark Magic is capable of, all of it terrible, and I’m worried for you.” She said. Harry grunted in response and resumed watching the flames inside the hearth. “Did you notice Draco has been acting a bit…odd? He missed classes entirely on Monday and his performance in spell work suddenly dropped a rather drastic degree on Tuesday and Wednesday. I wonder what happened.”

“I wonder why you’re paying the blonde git so much attention all of the sudden. Something Ron and I should know?” he drawled without looking over, snickering when she whacked him lightly on the ankle. “Its magical strain; nothing serious. Probably a side effect of participating in a Samhain ritual. Julian told me it was common for first timers, especially if their core isn’t mature. That was why he made me watch instead of letting me join in.”

It was, indeed, magical strain that was at the root of the Slytherin’s problems but it had nothing to do with Samhain and everything to do with their Sunday night rendezvous. Nihil must have gotten a bit overzealous. If the opportunity to do so arose again he’d have to be more mindful of just how much he skimmed off the top. It wouldn’t do, after all, to have someone become unduly suspicious and feel the need to look into it.

“Ron and I have plans to study in the library on Saturday. Would you mind joining us? We do miss you.”

She and Ron had plans to study? More like Ron was getting dragged into the library by his thumbs after once more putting off work until the last moment. “I guess I could do with a change of scenery.” He said with a small smile, pushing himself into a sitting position and swinging his legs off the side of the couch. “Don’t we have the first real meeting tonight?”

“We do; Merlin knows what Ron is doing! We’ll head up once he gets here.” Sending a mildly agitated look in the direction of the portrait hole, she said “I have something I’ve been meaning to show you anyway.”

“Oh?” Harry watched her begin digging through her bag with an honest, if incredibly mild, sense of curiosity. “What is it?”

“Well, after the first meeting ended and everything that happened with the newest ‘educational decree’ I started thinking that we needed a way to get into contact with everyone. A way that was more secure than the rumor mill or relying on waiting for the next designated meeting time and that could disseminate important information at a moment’s notice. I kept coming back to the Dark Mark and the way it’s used by Voldemort and his Death Eaters to keep in contact with one another.” Seeing how his eyebrows had shot up into his fringe Hermione quickly said “obviously we can’t go burning anything into other people’s skin, not to mention how that would look both to those involved and those outside the D.A., so I came up with a way of doing it externally with these.”

Pulling a drawstring bag excitedly from beneath a pile of text books Hermione dropped it into his lap where it landed with the recognizable clank of coins.

Opening it and reaching inside, Harry drew out a large golden disk. Turning it over in his hand he examined what was imprinted on the glimmering metal: a lion on one side, a phoenix on the other and numbers along the rim. “Fake Galleons.”

“Charmed with a Protean Spell; you’ll have the master coin which you can use to set dates for meetings and send messages. The other coins will then heat up to alert the holders. It’s perfectly affective, perfectly secret and they’re designed differently enough that no store will take them so they won’t be accidentally spent. It’s foolproof.”

Considering whom it was that they were dealing with Harry certainly hoped so. “Ingenious, Hermione.” He said, grinning. “Not that I’d expect anything different. Not coming from you.”

She blushed lightly and hid behind her bangs. “Harry, please!”

“What?” he said, pocketing the golden coin. “It’s only the truth.”

Both looked up at the creak of the portrait hole swinging open and rose from the couch when they caught sight of Ron. Harry took the time to stretch and roll his joints while Hermione trotted up to the red head and gave him a minor lecture on nearly making them arrive to the first real meeting late. Once she’d finished, and Ron looked properly cowed, the trio departed from the common room and made their way to the seventh floor corridor. Slipping through the door when it appeared.

“Everyone should be arriving here at any minute.” Hermione said, pulling the list of names she’d made from the Jinxed parchment from her bag and pinning it up in plain sight of the whole of the room. “Do you have a lesson plan for the night?”

“I do.” Harry said, reclining against the wall. “I’ll go over it with everyone once they’ve arrived and you’ve passed out all the coins.”

“Coins?” Ron asked as the door of the Room of Requirement opened again and the first handful of D.A members entered. “What coins?”

“If you have been in the common room on time you’d know,” came the snapped reply. “Now you’ll just have to wait until we explain the matter to everyone else.”

Not that he had to wait all that long, as within ten minutes the entirety of the D.A had piled into the room (which all too happily adjusted its size to comfortably accommodate them). At that point all it took was a small nudge from Harry for Hermione to step forwards and introduce the coins.

“Since our last meeting I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about how best to spread the word of the next meeting’s date and time among our members; considering how dangerous to our academic careers being a part of this club is we can’t just freely discuss matters around the school and waiting until the meetings themselves to give out the date and time may also not be wise in case something happens and we have to lay low for a while. I found the inspiration for a solution from an unlikely source: the Death Eaters.” She held up the drawstring bag and Harry did the same with the coin he’d pocketed earlier. “Using a Protean Charm I was able to turn some fake galleons into a method of exchanging information. Harry has the master coin: there are numbers along the side which will display the date and time of the next meeting and alert all of you if anything changes. Whenever an alteration is made the coin will heat up to alert you to the message.” She handed the bag to Ron. “Everyone take one: keep it on you at all times.”

Harry watched the little bag as it traveled around the room, flipping the coin that he had as he did so. Lion. Lion. Phoenix. Lion. Finally, the now empty draw string bag made it back to the brunet witch and she turned to look at him.

“Well, Harry, the floor is yours.”

The little raven pushed off from the wall and stepped forward but before he could open his mouth the nasal voice of the annoying Hufflepuff he’s since learned was named Zacharius Smith cut through the crowd. “I’m still having a hard to believing you’re capable of half of what you claim you are. We’re risking a lot by being here; I’m sure I’m not the only one who would like some proof.”

“Proof?” Harry repeated. “What do you want me to do, pull Voldemort out of a hat? Would that satisfy you?”

 His reply stirred up a spattering of snickers but Zacharius plowed onwards. “Most adults can’t cast a Corporeal Patronus. You’re little tall tale about chasing off hundreds of Dementors at only thirteen-.”

“Hold up there, mate,” Ron hissed, glaring at the blonde, “what do you mean by calling it a ‘tall tale’? Are you trying to suggest that Harry is lying?”

“He isn’t. I was there when he cast it.” Hermione said. “His Patronus is a stag.”

“Was a stag.” Harry said mildly.

“I’m sorry?” Hermione turned to look at him.

“My Patronus was a stag. It isn’t anymore. I’m not sure precisely what it is, wasn’t really looking at it when the Dementors attacked my cousin and I this past summer, but it isn’t a stag anymore.”

“Harry, the textbooks-.”

“First lesson: just because a textbook doesn’t say something is possible doesn’t mean it isn’t.” He said, pulling out his wand. “We’re going to clear this up here and now by the simplest means: a demonstration.” The raven’s voice carried all the authority of a real Professor and brokered no argument. All eyes in the room were on him as he moved into a position where he could be certain he could be clearly seen from all angles. “The Patronus Charm, as Zacharius pointed out, is rather complicated but even so I have every expectation that all of you should be able to at least produce a non-corporeal one. However, that’s a bit too much to take on for our first couple lessons so I’ll leave the explanation there for now. Expecto Patronum!”

A flash of silver shot from the tip of his wand, landing on the floor in the center of the room and coalescing into solid form. Four legged, sleek and muscular its head was crowned with a thick mane and Nihil’s serpent tail, hood flared, rose up into a striking pose from behind.

“A lion?” Ron said.

“No.” Hermione said as the Patronus coiled itself about Harry’s legs like a house cat. “That’s a Chimera.”

‘A Slytherin by rite but a Gryffindor for fear of your own nature’. Harry looked down at the serpent tail as it stretched itself towards his chin. So that’s what Nihil meant. He dismissed the Patronus with a flick of his wand and said “now that that’s out of the way I’d like to begin the lesson I actually had planned for tonight. Unless I need to demonstrate something for anyone else?” He looked around. Everyone was shaking their head. “No? Good. We can move on then. Tonight we’re going to go over something which may seem a little remedial but is never the less incredibly important. The Disarming Spell.”

“The Disarming Spell?” Zacharius again, this time sounding quite incredulous. “You’re here claiming that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back and you want to teach us the Disarming Spell? As if that would do anything if we used it against him!”

“I have used it against him.” It might have been his blank expression or saccharine tone but his answer shut the bastard up immediately. “It saved my life last year in that graveyard when Voldemort forced me into a formal duel. The main function of the Disarming Spell may be just that, disarming your opponent, but depending on the level of power put behind it, it can have quite a deal of unforeseen utility. If, since you’re so keen on critiquing me choices and ability, you’d be so kind as to grace me with your assistance for another demonstration Mr. Smith?”

Fred and George didn’t allow the Hufflepuff to refuse, lifting him beneath the arms and dragging him to the front of the room. Deaf to any of his protests.

“Thank you.” Harry said, looking at the twins. “Now, shall we observe proper conduct? It’s only polite to bow, after all.” Smirking, he made a show of deeply bowing to the blonde who responded with a stiff jerking motion which really could have been anything. Without giving him the chance to react he bellowed “Expelliarmus!” and flung him ten feet backwards into the mattress the Room had supplied on catching wind of his intentions. “Now,” he said, certain there would be no further interruptions, “I want all of you to break into pairs; I’m not going to go so far as to assign the groups myself but make sure you’re paired with someone outside of your comfort zone. You’ll be less likely to be hemmed in by hesitation that way. I’ll be around to correct you as needed.”

Having already finished the work which Ron had neglected to the point of endangering the possibility of ever getting it done at all and without any actual engagement in guiding and cajoling (or at least attempting to) the red head in getting through it Harry had had little to do with the activities of the pair for the majority of the day despite being present for the sake of pacifying them. Ron’s work was passable, if only just, and for the better part of the past hour he’d been staring out at the rain through the library window while Harry determined the best subject to handle during the next D.A meeting and Hermione had made a last valiant effort to pull the ‘study session’ back onto its proper course despite surely knowing it was doomed.

All in all, the amount of effort she’d poured into something futile was more than a little bit impressive.

“Honestly, Ron! Is that really what you’re going to give Professor Snape?” she demanded. Harry ignored her helpless look and flipped the page of the Charms textbook he’d been pretending to read for the majority of his time there. “It’s barely three feet long and the handwriting is atrocious. You know that he docks points for that!”

“The gits already biased enough against Gryffindors as it is.” Harry added blithely, turning another page, opening a small cut along the pad of his thumb as he did so.

“Which is enough reason not to bother. Snape will find some excuse to take points off my grade no matter what I do so what’s the point in trying?”

“He’s been giving Harry O’s on a regular basis, Ron. That goes to show that he can’t find a reason to grade badly even with his bias if it’s done well enough.”

In a clear attempt to change the subject which failed at being subtle on every possible level Ron leaned forward in his chair and pointed out at the rain swept grounds below. “There’s a light on in Hagrid’s cabin. He must be back.” He said. “Reckon we should go and visit him?”

“Ronald!”

“Oh, come on ‘Mione! We’ve been here all day; I finished my essay and Hagrid’s been gone so long he’ll be glad to see us.” He said. “Not to mention that if anyone’s going to tell us what the Order is up to, or at least what they were doing for it, it’d be him. He’s a nice bloke but not exactly the best at keeping secrets.”

“He’s right.” Harry said, sucking on his paper cut in an effort to get it to stop bleeding. “We have been cooped up in here all day and it’s getting late. The two of you should go and see him.” And leave him alone so that he could resume training without being pestered about spending time elsewhere or ‘taking a break’.

“’You two’?” Hermione repeated, voice tinged with surprise. “What do you mean ‘you two’? You’re not coming? I thought you’d want to see Hagrid.”

“I’ll go and see him some time later when the weather isn’t as bad.” Harry said, making an exaggerated show of rubbing his eyes. “Besides, I’m not feeling my best at the moment. I think I’ll do a bit more studying and then head to bed early. Tell me what he says, will you?”

The pair exchanged looks but seemed to buy his explanation and after a half concerned “suit yourself” from Ron both left the library, Hermione resuming her efforts to convince the red-head to revise his essay as they disappeared down the hall. Getting up from his seat Harry perched on the sill of the window and squinted through the rain, waiting until he spied the pair running through the soaked twilight towards the little cabin to leave the library and make his way to the Room of Requirement.

Removing his school robes and draping the red and black fabric over the back of the nearest chair Harry sidled over to the side of the room which had been outfitted as a gym and hauled himself upwards onto a set of bars with ease.

“Interesting choice not to go with them, Harry.” Nihil said, phasing into existence primly balanced atop the highest bar in the set and entirely untroubled by the way it shook beneath him with each repetition the raven made. “Are you really so disinterested in what the oaf has been doing that you’re not even going to attempt to ferret out the information yourself?”

“Hagrid wouldn’t have been given too sensitive a task. Not with how well known it is he’s shite at keeping secrets. Ron and Hermione have no reason to suspect their ‘best friend’ is actually an agent of our Lord and will happily tell me whatever they learn. Given all of that the information isn’t worth the drenching I’d receive going down there to collect it myself.” He said. “And, speaking of ferrets, I had another reason to stay behind.”

“So you did notice him stalking us from behind the shelves? Good. For a while I’d been concerned about your perceptive capabilities.” Nihil said. “Giving him the chance to confront us, hmm?”

“Leaving him unaware of what’s really going on passed the first feeding is unsporting.”

“Unsporting!?”

“I don’t want to hear it, Nihil! The pleasure caused by contact with our skin should be just enough to keep him coming back regardless but you need to cut back a bit.” The Horcrux answered with a snort. Harry swung himself up onto the uppermost bar and flipped over to perch beside his double. “We can’t have someone looking into the matter; this shouldn’t be something I have to go over with you.”

“You don’t.” Nihil drawled, tapping his claws against the bar beneath them. “It’s simply that I find this constant limitation grating.”

“That makes two of us.” Harry said as the door swung open. “But that won’t last much longer. A few more months and we’ll finally be free.” In a louder voice he added “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to come out from behind those books. You weren’t hiding from me, were you?”

Draco ignored the question and did a good job of glaring at him as he walked into the room, observed by two ravens but only able to see one of them. “What are you?”

“What am I?” Harry allowed his body to fall backwards, the bar set creaking as he swung from his knees. “Confused about what you mean to be asking by that question.”

“What are you, Potter! Some sort of evil Veela? What did he turn you into and what did you do to me?”

“Evil Veela?” Harry blinked, eyes shifting over Nihil who was now laughing so hard that he looked in danger of falling from his perch.

“Evil Veela?” the Horcrux cackled. “Yes, I suppose I can see where he’d get such a foolish idea from. You do look quite beautiful now, with your black rimmed eyes and fitting clothing. And my allure is rather similar to what a Veela is capable of producing, but those Light Harpies aren’t sexual vampires. An Incubus would be a much closer comparison, but those are non-existent Muggle creations. I’m not surprised he’s never heard of them.”

“I’m afraid I can’t really answer that question, though I will say this: I am a cousin of the Obscurus, in a way, and I was created by the Dark Lord as a direct result of the events which took place in Godric’s Hollow. Neither of us knew until this past summer but when we did discover the truth things changed between us.” He said. “As for what I did to you? I fed off your magic.” Harry’s grin grew wider when Draco jerked back in alarm. “Oh, relax. I just skimmed a bit-if admittedly a bit more than I should have-off the top. I’m perfectly capable of killing someone, but you won’t die from what I’ve done and nothing quite so serious will happen again.”

He shot a glare at Nihil, Draco sending a concerned glance in the same direction but seeing nothing there, and the red raven grumbled “yeah yeah, I understand.”

“Consider it a symbiotic relationship: we both get something out of it that’s worthwhile.” Admittedly it was more towards the parasitic end of ‘symbiotic’ but that didn’t need to be mentioned. “I’ll make certain you face no further truly ill effects and I’m forbidden from killing you, accidentally or otherwise, so there’s really no danger. And though sex works best it doesn’t have to be the method of feeding: any prolonged period of skin to skin contact will do.” Reaching up to grab the bar with his hands again, Harry swung his legs back underneath him and dropped onto the ground. “You didn’t seem particularly keen to be bottom to our arrangement but he’d do worse than kill you if I’d allowed things to go any other way.”

Having said that and leaving Nihil still sitting atop the bars Harry made his way over to one of the couches on the opposite side of the room. Dropping down onto it and picking up the book which sat on the table, Harry flipped to a page at random and commenced totally ignoring the other wizard’s presence. The tactic worked and soon enough the blonde was sitting beside him, a little less stiff but still sending him looks of the sort a sparrow would send a snake that had suddenly appeared in its nest.

After a period of tense silence he asked “who’s Tom?”

“Tom?” The raven repeated, trying very hard to keep his focus on the book in front of him and not otherwise react. “Tom never existed, not really. It’s better you forget that name before the knowledge gets you hurt.”

Clearly not happy with the matter but picking up on just how serious he was, Draco switched to another only slightly more comfortable subject. “You’re not allowed to kill me?”

“No.” Harry turned the page, not looking up from the newly revealed paragraph describing the Entrail Expelling Curse.

“The Dark Lord said that?”

“Yes.” Harry confirmed, sticking his thumb back into his mouth and licking at the dried blood from the cut he’d given himself earlier. “So you can relax.”

“I’m not going to ‘relax’ until I’m certain I don’t have to worry about this,” he pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing the bandages which had been applied over the bite wounds he’d given him, “happening again. Pansy thought I’d been with a werewolf, Potter! And I couldn’t go to the hospital wing for treatment. Not knowing there wasn’t any way I could have reasonably explained why I look like I’ve been savaged!”

“I guess I’m a bit vicious during sex.” He said pleasantly, still not looking up. “I’ll control myself in the future, you have my word. You’re also free to leave if you wish to.”

“You’re an arse.”

“A fine one, I hope.”

“You know I can’t leave.”

“Oh? Because that’s news to me.” Looking up at last he found Draco glaring at him again. “Don’t fault a predator for playing nature’s game. Ever heard of cold turkey?”

“I’m not here to talk about turkey, arse!”

“It’s a muggle term: it’s when you go flat off an addictive substance. Kick the habit, as they say. Withdrawal shouldn’t be too bad, just cravings. Then again I’m not precisely certain how the mechanism works; it could have to do with mind altering chemicals and it’s very possible withdrawal could mean shakes.”

“Arse.”

“Sweats.”

“Potter!”

“Vomiting. Muscle cramps. Hallucin-umph!” Resorting to a desperate act to shut him up and forgetting his wariness entirely Draco had seized him by the front of his shirt and yanked him forwards. Snickering against pale lips and gazing innocently back into glaring silver eyes he wrapped his arms around broad shoulders but had barely managed to pull the blonde closer when the sound of the knob turning made him jerk in alarm. “Shite! Under the couch!”

Giving Draco no time to protest the raven pushed him onto the floor, draping enough of the blanket over the edge that it covered him from sight completely and then rolled over onto his front and went convincingly limp just as the pair entered the room.

He needed to add a caveat in the future to ensure no one could walk in on him as they pleased.

“I thought he’d be in here.” Hermione’s voice. Footsteps moved towards him and then a hand fell on his shoulder. “Harry. Harry, you need to wake up.”

Adding in the touch of a sleepy grunt and ignoring Nihil’s snort the little raven pushed himself upright and blinked sleepily from behind glasses perched haphazardly on his face. “Wha-?”

“You said that you were going to do more reading.” Hermione said as Ron took Draco’s place on the couch.

“I did do more reading.” He told her. “I never said it would be library reading.”

“Yes, well, you could have been a bit clearer. We’ve been looking for you almost fifteen minutes.” She said, claiming a chair. “I hope you have the cloak on you because we’re not going to make it back before curfew.”

“I do.” He said. “What did Hagrid say?”

“Giants, mate.” Ron said, looking dumbstruck. “They sent him to try and recruit the giants to our side. Looks like he got beaten pretty badly by one of them too: he was treating a black eye with a Dragon stake when we got there.”

Well, that was probably…a sight. “What happened?” Harry asked. “Did he convince the giants to join?”

“No.” Hermione said. “He convinced the giants’ original leader to help us, but the Death Eaters convinced another giant to kill him and take over. They’re with Voldemort now, just like in the first war.”

“What’s next, the Dementors?” they already were on Voldemort’s side, but that was something they were keeping under wraps for the time being. “What a nightmare.” Really, things couldn’t be going better. Standing up and pulling the invisibility cloak from his bag Harry picked up his school robe. “Not that there’s much we can do about it stuck in school. They won’t even let us into the bloody Order because we’re ‘too young’ never mind the fact I’ve already fought with Voldemort on more than one occasion.” Making a show of running his hand through his black hair in annoyance he grated out “all the culpability and none of anything which makes being a ‘savior’ remotely bearable. Never mind the fact I never wanted a part of this bloody war to begin with.”

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

He shook his head. “You’re not the one who killed my parents, Hermione.” Harry said, starting towards the door. “Come on. It’s late and I want to go to bed.”

The action had the effect he wanted and the other two followed him out. Laying in his bunk in Gryffindor Tower a few minutes later, cloak safely tucked away within his secure trunk, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what else the Light might attempt to steal from beneath them.

Chapter Text

True to his word Harry had indeed gone down to visit Hagrid, all be it briefly, a few days after Ron and Hermione had once the weather cleared up a bit though the half-giant had been far more interested in interrogating him on ‘Julian’ than answering any of his questions about his thoroughly battered state and Harry hadn’t been able to stand matters passed the span of time it had taken to have a cup of tea. On top of that their first Care of Magical Creatures class of the year with Hagrid as the Professor hadn’t done much in the way of improving the ‘dark’ turn his image had taken around the school at large since the advent of Trelawney’s little prophecy. It also hadn’t gone particularly…well, all things considered.

The toad had, of course, wasted no time in appearing on the scene and, with the help of Draco and his mindless cohorts, had asked a number of uncomfortable and very pointed questions. Harry, whom the Thestrals which had been Hagrid’s chosen subject that day had been almost concerningly fond of, had been left to look on with the rest of the class as Hagrid had tried with little success to defend himself and only ended up landing in even deeper water. If it hadn’t been Umbridge who was responsible and led to him having to listen to another of Hermione’s tirades against such behavior Harry would have found the matter more amusing than anything else.

Then there was the Hag’s latest decree which had led to the majority of the months of November and December being that little bit more miserable. Male and female students were to remain a certain distance from each other at all times; public displays of affection were not permitted under any circumstances; and anyone caught ‘fraternizing’ were punished with the same prejudice as Harry himself had been for his little near-to-scripted outbursts in her class. The Blood Quill had been seeing quite a lot of use of late if the number of students of all years and Houses (though members of Slytherin were in such a conspicuous minority that they were nearly nonexistent amongst the punished ranks)who were seen with reddened or bandaged hands were anything to go by. And Harry, seeing a loophole in the latest decree’s assertion that male and female students were to always remain at a certain distance from each other, was tempted enough to cause mischief that (if only for the briefest of moments before discarding the idea) he’d considered jumping the blonde in the halls one day after classes had ended. Preferably in front of Umbridge’s office.

Bringing this consideration up to Draco had led to a litany of threats which he knew full well wouldn’t have been followed up on but had gotten a good laugh out of anyway. Which, judging by the other wizard’s expression, hadn’t been the reaction he was hoping for. Of course, it was difficult for a spoiled teenager to come off as intimidating to someone who had faced off against on a number of occasions and was now, ostensibly and absent all formality (and legality as well for that matter but what did they care?), married to the Dark Lord.

And then, of course, there’d been the continued D.A meetings. Four in since their first gathering in the Room of Requirement they’d gone over Diffindo, Protego and Accio and Zacharius hadn’t gotten any better. Fred and George had taken to controlling the Hufflepuff with their latest untested pranks; under normal circumstances Harry wouldn’t have been in any way pleased with the situation, Hermione certainly wasn’t, but as long as the solution kept Smith bearable he’d continue to tolerate it.

Now, at last, the winter holidays were only a small handful of days away and though it seemed he’d be spending the holidays themselves at the Burrow-at least it wasn’t Grimmauld Place-he felt confident he’d be able to see the Dark Lord at least once over the break and that had him in good spirits as he and Ron prepared for bed. More than relieved that classes were soon to be over for a while, the red head had even gotten his work done in a respectable enough timeframe.

“Just a couple more days and we’ll be free. Just think: a week with no homework, no classes and no Umbridge.” Ron dropped onto his bunk with the creak of springs, his arms flopping out to either side of him. “It’ll be paradise, Mate. And of course Mum will want to meet Julian: you should probably send a letter and let him know.”

The Dark Lord having Christmas dinner at the Burrow? That might just be a worthwhile sight to see. “I’ll send Hedwig with a letter for him tomorrow.” He said, climbing into bed himself. “With any luck we should be able to prevent Hermione from roping us into Yuletide studying for our OWLs. Renewed focus on my schooling aside, I need a break.”

“Bloody hell; don’t even bring that up around her! We don’t want to give Hermione any ideas!” Ron said.

“I won’t mention it if you don’t.” Harry said. With that agreement made both pulled the curtains around their bunk shut and the raven curled up atop his sheets, soon dropping off into sleep.

He dreamed of red eyes and gentle touches. Long fingers. Kind hisses and scaled skin. Small scales. Large. Large scales. Green scales the same color of his eyes sliding along a long corridor’s cold tiled floor. They were his scales and he was the one sliding, slithering, through the corridor. Through pools of flickering blue light reflected from the torches on the walls. Surrounded by the recognizable presence of two minds.

Voldemort

Nagini.

Where was he? Or, more accurately, where was the snake? What was he seeing? Had he been brought in purposefully in the expectation he’d witness something important or was this simply an accident of their connection?

His question was soon answered by a command of “watch” which filtered across their link. “You said that you wished to help me, Harry. Or, at least, that you wished to know. To know the thing which I’ve been seeking. The thing which the Order wishes to protect; that which they refer to as a ‘weapon’.” The black door at the end of the long corridor swung open with a creak and Nagini slipped soundlessly around the corner. “It concerns us, you and I, my lion. We will discuss precisely what it is soon, once we can speak again in person, but for now you will watch. Nagini shall retrieve it for me and we shall tie up loose ends.”

Around another corner and through another door, the massive serpent found herself in a circular room with countless doors lining the walls. The door she had just passed through swung shut behind her and then, with a low grinding sound, the wall began to spin. Moving at a dizzying speed. Going so quickly that the colors blurred together into an unintelligible mass of Harry was left feeling incredibly dizzy. When at last the doors stopped moving Nagini proceeded through the one to her direct right, passing an assortment of strange objects and a shelf full of time turners, and then into yet another room.

Cavernous and wide it was filled with towering shelves which seemed to stretch for miles in all directions and lit only by the pale blue glow shed by the items which occupied them. Orbs, all made of glass and filled with the same substance. Something diaphanous and metallic, like vaporized quicksilver.

“The Hall of Prophecy.” Raising herself up on her coils, swaying slightly back and forth, Nagini flicked out of her tongue a few times to taste the air before she seemed to settle on the quickest path to her destination. “Jewel of the Department of Mysteries and, in many ways, the most closely guarded secret of the Unspeakables. It is here, within these orbs, that every true prophecy which has been delivered since its inception has been recorded. And it is here the ‘weapon’ lies. The very words which sent me after you. The reason for my attack upon your family of which Dumbledore is well aware. Which he refused, as I’m sure you remember, to tell you after my failed effort to gain the Sorcerer’s Stone during your first year.”

“It was a prophecy?”

“Yes, ame. A prophecy. Fate. The reason for your creation and proof that forces beyond this world favor me above all others. It states-.”

But Harry never got to know what the prophecy Voldemort was seeking said, because at that moment Nagini recoiled with a hiss of agitation and alarm as aspell glanced off her scales and ricocheted away into the dark. She coiled back on herself, hundreds of pounds of sinew and muscle preparing to launch forward in a devastating spring. Her jaws stretching to their full capacity, revealing venom-beaded fangs and the deep red lining of her mouth in a clear threat which, along with her deafening hiss, went ignored.

Her attacker, an Order member, raised their wand to fire off another spell but missed. Shattering the tile in front of the serpent. Nagini struck. Her bulk shooting forward at a shocking speed. Fangs digging into flesh and breaking bone. Blood, hot and salty, welling from the wounds tainted with the bitter flavor of venom. The man yelped and stumbled, recognizable by his flaming hair, and Nagini struck again this time catching him in the arm. He fell, groaning, making a weak effort to crawl across the floor until his back was pressed against the wooden shelving. Tinting the pale light of the orbs red with his blood. Raising up into an aggressive posture Nagini prepared to strike a third and final time. But Harry didn’t get to see what happened next.

His body had been reacting to the dream as much as his mind and he’d managed to get himself wrapped up in his sheets. He must have been shouting as well as Ron was awake and at his bedside, no doubt believing the source of the commotion to be another of the nightmares he’d all but become famous for in Lion House, and between the red head’s efforts to wake him up and the restriction of his movements due to said tightly wound sheets, Harry didn’t have much chance of staying in his bunk; even his new found grace wasn’t enough to save him and he toppled onto the floor with a thump.

With approximately thirty seconds to determine the best course of action and very little choice available Harry fought his way out of the self-made straight jacket and leapt to his feet. “Your dad!” Injecting precisely the right amount of panic into his voice and ensuring that his eyes were wild Harry reached out for Ron and grabbed him by the front of his nightclothes. “It’s your dad! He’s been attacked!”

What followed was to be expected. There was a panicked clamor. McGonagall appeared and rushed them up to the Headmaster’s office where they sat for quite a while (much to Harry’s discomfort) while they waited for information from a portrait and the Headmaster did something with one of the odd silver objects littering his office. Once the portrait had returned and they were certain Mr. Weasley had been taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries they were given a portkey.

So much for the break he’d hoped for, as plans had changed. They would not be going to the Burrow for the holidays; Christmas would, instead, be spent at Grimmauld Place.

Their arrival at Number Twelve had stirred up the clamor Harry had expected. The portrait of Mrs. Black started screaming. Kreacher croaked something insulting and Sirius snarled at him after returning from pulling the curtains shut over the portrait, sending the elf scurrying away.

His Godfather herded the group to the dim and grimy kitchen, depositing them all at the table and the raven was forced to explain for a second time what had happened. What he’d seen. Leaving out, of course, the fact that he’d not been having a nightmare at all. They were then left to wait for word from Mrs. Weasley, currently with her husband in the hospital ward. Fred and George nursed the Butter Beers Sirius had summoned from the larder for them. Ron wasn’t drinking his but instead fiddled with the bottle likely for something to do with his hands. Ginny was coiled up in her chair like a cat, staring into the hearth’s low-burning fire. Harry, for his part, paced. Using the repetitive motion to cover up the distraction of his mental conversation.

I’m sorry. I didn’t have much other choice but to pretend that I had had a nightmare.

Voldemort’s response came through their link a moment later. “The effort was lost the moment he and Nagini became involved in a clash. The man would have been found eventually either way; dead or alive was the only question.” He sounded perturbed. “My protections held true, not that there was ever any doubt, and my beautiful Nagini is fine but I’ve been thwarted.”

We’ll try again?

Harry felt the mental nod. “We will, in time.” He said. “Are you jealous of my praising her, cherished? Your thoughts have soured.”

No.

“My lion,” phantom talons ran themselves tenderly through his hair. “You’re most precious to me, but Nagini earns her keep. Soon you’ll have the chance to do the same. Do well and I’m well prepared, and willing, to lavish you but fail me…I’m sure you know what would happen then.”

He did. The price of failing the Dark Lord was something which Harry knew well and has seen others pay on a number of occasions. I’m better, more competent, than your other servants. I won’t make the same mistakes. I will never fail you.

“Your confidence is as I would expect,” was the reply. “We’ll see.” The Dark Lord’s presence removed itself from his perception, leaving him entirely alone.

None of the others around him had moved. Seeing the time to be as good as any other to convincingly broach the topic, Harry approached the table again and came to a stop beside his Godfather. “Can I talk to you?”

Sirius looked up at him. “Pup?”

“Please.” Harry made his voice desperate, tight and with just enough force behind it to make the words crackle slightly. Eyes darting to the hallway as his body rocked forward onto the balls of his feet before his weight fell back on his heels. “Outside? I…I need to…”

It was far too easy to play games with people when they didn’t even consider that perhaps they shouldn’t trust you. Especially when they were faced with the broken face of an angel. As much as the Dark Lord had hated his father, Harry was starting to truly understand why he’d waited so long to fully dispense with his face.

Sirius rose from his chair, gripping Harry’s shoulders and pulling him close. Hiding a grimace in the fabric of the older wizard’s shirt he made a show of nuzzling closer and allowed a dry sob to escape. “Alright, pup, if you really need to speak with me than we can go out into the hallway for a few minutes and talk.” He said, turning to look at the gathered red-heads. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, you lot. Keep a look out for any news: Dumbledore said he’d send Fawkes as soon as there was word.”

No one replied, but a slight shifting of motion was apparently answer enough for his Godfather who quickly steered him out of the room and into the dark hallway; down passed the portrait of Ms. Black and into another room at random. Harry didn’t pay attention to the décor of his surroundings, simply stumbling over to the nearest couch with just the right amount of unsteadiness and dropping down onto it with a thump.

Now clearly concerned by his demeanor and the fact Harry had promptly curled around himself like a frightened knarl, Sirius sat down as well. “Pup,” he said softly, “what’s wrong?”

“Haven’t I lost enough?” he sniffled into his knees. “Mum and Dad being killed when I was only one. You going away to Azkaban and then me ending up with the Dursley’s. Cedric. My reputation. And now maybe Mr. Weasley as well? Who else am I going to lose? What else? I can’t keep doing this; not knowing that Voldemort’s return is my fault.”

“Harry!” Sirius said, catching him by the arm and attempting to pull him into another embrace. “Harry, that isn’t true!”

The little raven tore himself free and ripped his sleeve back, revealing the puckered scar on his forearm. “He used my blood. To come back. It’s my fault. All of this is my fault!”

“Pup.” His voice was low and choked, as if he wanted to do something to comfort him but didn’t know how. “I-.”

“And what about you? People die in war all the time and even if you’re safe now what about later? What about Kreacher and the house and the Order if you die? Who’s left with Black blood that they could pass to? Draco? His mother? That crazy witch Bellatrix who recently escaped from Azkaban? They’re all on Voldemort’s side! With all the information he has Kreacher alone could be the end of the Order.”

“You don’t need to worry about all of that, Harry.”

“Why?” he shot back, voice beginning to form a resentful edge. “Because I’m a ‘child’? Because, despite having faced Voldemort countless times, fending off over a hundred Dementors at thirteen, and saving the entire school from a centuries old basilisk at twelve I couldn’t possibly understand due to being underage? Only fifteen? Why do you think I was so unhappy coming here this past summer: Julian never treated me like I needed to be shielded from the truth, but here that’s all that happens!”

“You don’t need to worry about that because it’s already been taken care of.” Sirius said, his expression oh so understanding. Really, it was laughable how simple it all was. “Your grandmother, Dorea, was a Black. You have Black blood too. And that means the house, and Kreacher, could also pass to you in the event of my death; I’ve seen to it that they will.”

Harry nodded but didn’t respond verbally, aiming a thousand yard stare at the far wall and doing his best to look sufficiently traumatized. It must have worked because Sirius felt the need to charge the subject in an effort to pull him out of the dark spiral he’d seemed to have fallen into.

“What I said about wanting to meet Julian…I meant it, pup. I know that you feel like I abandoned you to go after Peter and maybe you’re right, maybe I did without realizing what I was doing-I certainly didn’t think the consequences of my actions through-and that you’re upset with me because of it but I just want to make sure that you’ll be alright.”

“I love him.” Harry said hollowly; and that, everything else aside, was true even though he dearly wished it wasn’t.”

“You said that Yule would be the best time that I could meet with him. We still have a long while to wait for news on Arthur’s condition I’m sure, so…why don’t you go and write a letter to Julian and let him know what’s going on.” He said. “You can use my owl since Hedwig’s still at school.”

Nodding Harry rose from his seat and started up the stairs, leaving the Weasleys to their silent vigil below.

Chapter Text

Harry hadn’t gone back down after writing up the redundant letter and sending it along with Sirius’ owl (if the thing knew what was good for it, it would curb its habit of biting during this particular delivery) using the apparent breakdown he’d had in front of his Godfather as cover to shut himself up in his bedroom to get some sleep. It was restful, this time, without any dreams though he could feel the distant sensation of Nihil pacing around the bed on which he lay. The smells of breakfast being made on the floor below roused him only slightly: he raised his head to peer blearily at the door Nihil sat in front of, meeting red eyes, before dropping his head onto the pillow again and drifting back to sleep for another few hours. When the trunks arrived from Hogwarts he was woken up by a pale and quite exhausted looking but evidently relieved Mrs. Weasley who insisted on thanking him, thoroughly and repeatedly, for saving her husband. Harry’s insistences that he deserved no credit (nor did he want any considering the fact that the falling through of one of the Dark Lord’s plans wasn’t something to be proud of) had fallen on entirely deaf ears and by the time he was finally left alone to dress in the closest approximation that he had to Muggle clothing (one of his button downs, this one dove grey in color, and a pair of slacks) the raven was very much annoyed.

On the schedule for that day’s activities: a visit to St. Mungo’s.

“He’s in such a sour mood and I can’t help but wonder why.” Harry shot the Horcrux a glare. Nihil lay on his front atop his rumpled bedsheets. “Oh, come now Harry. There’s really no need to be Moody.”

The emphasis which the red raven put on the word gave the other pause. Buttoning up the last button of his shirt, Harry said “is there something I don’t know, Nihil?”

The Horcrux showed his pointed teeth, kicking his feet like a small child. “Maybe.”

He grit his teeth. “Don’t be difficult.”

Nihil snickered and propped his chin on his hand. “Not in the mood, I see.” He said. “Perhaps I do know something that you don’t. Just because you’re sleeping doesn’t mean that I am and it’s rather difficult to guard your secrets from a shadow. Especially when you haven’t any reason to even consider needing to.”

“But I never left the room. Not since last night.”

“My leash is short,” the Horcrux drawled, “but not that short, Harry. You simply need to be present on the premises. I have full reign of the house.”

“I-.”

“Before you get up in arms, I know better than to allow myself to be seen.”

Harry tugged on the collar of his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. “How far are you able to go?”

“Without you nearby?” the raven nodded. “That would depend on the amount of power that I have available to me, I’m sure, but at maximum? Half a mile. Give or take a couple hundred feet. Your soul is strong.  Our bond will stretch, much like Muggle elastic, but I can’t afford for it to snap. You’d be left powerless beyond your own magic and I, without a proper container, would die so there’s no reason to fear I’ll leave you all alone.”

“Shame.” Harry grunted.

Nihil let out an amused puff of air, his tail letting out a disgruntled hiss as it was waved back and forth. “You needn’t be so upset about the turn of events things have taken.”

“What’s there that’s happened that’s not to be upset about?”

“A number of things, but being able to pick them out all depends on the way one looks at them; the angle chosen.” Nihil was still grinning at him. “Tell me what you see.”

“A disaster.” The raven deadpanned. “The prophecy is still at the Ministry, under the protection of the Order; we’re trapped here in Grimmauld with no chance of getting away to the manor; and all day we’re going to be stuck in a bloody hospital!” He growled. “New sights and sounds aside it isn’t worth it.”

“Only because you’re looking at things the wrong way.”

“How are you looking at it then?” he snapped.

“Your Godfather wants to meet with our Lord, in his ‘Julian’ persona; I’m certain you can find some way to convince him to allow you to spend at least one day of break back at the manor.” Nihil said. “And places like hospitals tend to be filled with the terminally ill and badly injured. And no one would look too closely if a few of them were to suddenly die…”

“Because no conversation with you can ever occur without everything inevitably circling back to your unending desire to stuff your face with someone else’s magic!”

The Horcrux looked less than impressed. “But neither of those reasons are the pivotal point you’re missing. The reason which you have to be entirely ecstatic with the turn things have taken.”

“And what would that be?” Harry snarled, folding his arms.

“Nagini failed. The Order still holds the prophecy which our Lord wants.”

“And why is that a good thing?”

“Because the one he’s going to send in to retrieve it this time is us!” Nihil sat up. “This is our chance. Our chance to prove ourselves by doing what even the Dark Lord’s loyal familiar couldn’t. No matter what protections the Order attempts to put around it or who they set out to guard it, they won’t be prepared to stand against us. Will have no reason to stand in the way of the Boy-Who-Lived; to see you as a threat. And that will be their downfall.”

“You think he’ll set us on the job? I’m not even marked yet and he’s not ready to pull me out.”

“And that’s precisely what makes you perfect for the job.” He said. “He may have you wait to act on it until closer to the end of the year, but he will give us the job; just you wait. For now you should be going downstairs as its better not to keep the others waiting.”

As was his custom, the Horcrux vanished from sight in a curl of smoke. Grumbling and tugging the cuffs of his shirt into their proper place Harry opened the door of his room and headed out to join the others.

“You look formal.” Ginny met him on the first landing, dark circles imprinted under her eyes from the late night prior.

“Julian doesn’t like Muggle fashion much and he’s the one who overhauled my wardrobe.” He said, resuming his earlier tugging on his sleeve; this time in an effort to make himself seem appropriately uncomfortable. “This was all I had that could pass for ‘normal’ attire around London. Figured it was better to look like I was headed to a job interview than like I’d just escaped from the mad house.”

“That was probably smart.” She told him as they began to descend. “Mad-Eye would have Transfigured new clothing for you himself. And judging by how he’s dressed, you’re a great deal more passable for someone who’s ‘normal’.”

“Mad Eyes here?” so Nihil had been right. Annoyance that he’d be doubted filtered through to him from the Horcrux but Harry ignored it entirely.

“Mad Eye and Tonks.” She said. “I’m surprised that you’re surprised. Ever since Voldemort returned you haven’t been allowed anywhere without a guard.”

Because the Dark Lord’s Horcrux and consort needed to be protected from the Dark Lord. Sound logic.

“What about Julian?” she asked.

Harry blinked and looked over at her. “What about him?”

“Surely he didn’t let you go wandering around Tuscany alone.”

“He was always with me.” Harry said. “But that wasn’t because he was worried about Voldemort or the Death Eaters. I hadn’t any idea where anything-magical or otherwise-was in the area and couldn’t speak enough words in Italian to fill a thimble.”

“What can you say in Italian?”

The raven sent her a deer in headlights expression before saying “sí.”

“That’s it?”

“Certo.” This word generously supplied by Nihil. What it meant Harry hadn’t a clue.

Ginny smirked at him. “I never thought you’d turn out to be a ‘yes man’.”

Harry rolled his eyes as they dismounted the last stair and joined the others in greeting Tonks and Moody who stood in the doorway. As the others laughed at the ex-auror’s appearance the little raven assured the ragged man that the bowler hat he was wearing over his magical eye (something which wouldn’t have looked out of place during Jack the Ripper’s time) would attract far more attention than even Tonks’ bubblegum pink hair. This was something which the older man didn’t much appreciate if the grumbling he responded with was anything to go by.

It was still better than Tonks, though, who was incredibly curious regarding things which didn’t concern her and felt the need to insult him by suggesting he might possibly have seer blood in his family tree. Thankfully they departed the train they’d been riding in the very heart of London and Harry was able to use Fred and George like a wedge to separate her from him. Mad Eye had the hand which wasn’t holding his gnarled walking stick shoved between the buttons of his overcoat and, despite the hat which obscured his view Harry could sense the magical eye staring at him.

I wonder, he thought pleasantly, turning his head to look at the older wizard, if he suspects me somehow. If anyone in the Order were threats to him (at least as far as finding him out went) and didn’t already know the truth of his nature it was the hyper paranoid former auror (though with Mad Eye’s reputation and his own working in his favor Harry had little reason to fear that others would believe the man if he did speak up) and Remus (who, judging by his reaction on the night he’d first arrived at Number Twelve, knew that something was wrong, that his scent had changed, but surely didn’t want to believe that the only son of his dear late friends would ever turn to his parents’ murderer).

“Mad Eye?” Harry kept his voice carefully neutral; it wouldn’t do to attempt to inject sugar into his tone when it would only tip the older man off. “Where is the entrance to St. Mungo’s exactly.”

The ex-auror eyed Harry a little while longer before answering, pushing the little raven out onto the Christmas decorated streets ahead of him. “Not much further.” He grumbled. “Nowhere in Diagon was big enough to make a hospital and it couldn’t be built underground: unhealthy. So it was put in in the middle of Muggle London.” Harry was forced to jump aside to avoid being trampled underfoot by a crowd of Muggle shoppers intent on stampeding into an electronics store: his efforts to leer after them in distain were ruined by Moody grabbing his shoulder and continuing to haul him along. “Here we are.”

Purge and Dowse Ltd was an old fashioned towering building of dark red bricks which reminded Harry of the Dark Lord’s eyes. Once upon a time the place might have been the pinnacle of high end but now it possessed a shabby and rather miserable air and the window displays were more off-putting than anything else. Pasted across the peeling door was a large sign which read CLOSED FOR REFURBISHMENT.

Bloody hell. He thought, staring at the cracked mannequin which appeared to be wearing a pink cardigan. That one looks like Umbridge.

Harry was so distracted by this fact that he didn’t notice the fact that Tonks had been addressing one of the mannequins, or that the others had begun passing clear through the glass, until he was lifted by the scruff and flung through after them.

More than just a little bit displeased and feeling as if he’d just been drenched in ice water Harry stumbled, caught his feet and then patted himself down just to ensure that he was still as perfectly dry as he remembered. Once that had been seen to and pulling himself together in the wake of his surprise, he looked around.

The room which he now stood in was a large and very crowded room, filled with rickety wooden chairs populated by witches and wizards. Some of them were normal, perusing out of date copies of Witch Weekly and The Daily Prophet but the vast majority of them were suffering from a variety of…colorful ailments. There was a witch who belched steam from her mouth and ears with the shriek of a tea pot. A wizard who clanged like a brass bell every time he moved. At the front desk stood a madly dancing man whose shoes seemed to have been jinxed to eat his feet. Another wizard, looking quite harassed, was holding his daughter by the ankle as she fluttered about his head using the pair of wings sprouting from her back. The witch behind the desk looked less than happy with her job.

Losing interest, Harry turned his attention instead to the witches and wizards in the offensively green cloaks who were moving about among them. “Are they doctors?” he was really getting sick of acting like a simpleton.

“Doctors?” Ron looked horrified by the suggestion as they joined the cue. “Those Muggle nutters who chop people up? No, mate. They’re Healers.”

And that was the end of that conversation, as at precisely that moment Mrs. Weasley rounded them up and marched them through a narrow corridor and up a flight of stairs; entering the CREATURE INDUCED INJURIES corridor, which they entered. The second door on the right read DANGEROUS. DAI LLEWELLYN WARD: SERIOUS BITES underneath which was a handwritten brass card; Healer in charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck, Trainee healer: Augustus Pye.

“It ought to be just family first.” Tonks said. “We’ll wait outside, Molly. Arthur wouldn’t want too many visitors at once.”

Mad Eye-bowler hat now pulled back into a more natural position and blue eye spinning wildly around-grunted and settled back against the wall. Harry’s attempts to draw back as well led to him being seized and hauled forward through the door alongside useless platitudes about ‘not being silly’ and how Mr. Weasley ‘wanted to thank him.’

The ward was…unimpressive: dingy and small with only a single window set high on the wall. The main source of light was a cluster of glowing baubles on the ceiling and the portrait which hung on the oak paneled walls seemed to be the creator of one of the Dark Curses Harry remembered reading about in one of the text books in the Room of Requirement. The exchange which occurred was painfully uneventful and Harry acted his way through it with aplomb (though Mr. Weasley’s typical fascination with the fact that Muggles were present in St. Mungo’s as well, having lost fingers to biting door knobs, grated on his patience a great deal). Once the twins brought up Nagini Mrs. Weasley seemed to decide that they’d been in there long enough and Tonks and Moody needed a chance to see Mr. Weasley. But before any of them had the chance to move, and with a brief scuffle from outside, the door of the ward slammed open and a highly agitated Julian swirled into the room like a storm front.

His white eyes were sharp and hawk like as they landed on Harry, who quailed slightly. “J-Jule? What are you doing here?”

The brunet’s eyebrows shot into his fringe and his expression morphed into total incredulity. “Cherished, I do not appreciate receiving heart attacks in the morning post.” He said, reaching out and pulling him close. “Next time you send a letter informing me you’re going to the only magical hospital in your country, include mention of the fact that the injured part isn’t you.” Dropping his chin into the raven’s hair his body seemed to sag in relief. “Caro Dio! You had me so worried; tournaments, Dark Lords, Dementors! After everything I’d thought the worst!”

“I’m fine.” Harry mumbled, his voice mostly lost in the fabric of the other’s shirt, face smushed against his chest. “Jule, really. I’m sorry; I didn’t think about how the wording of the letter made it seem but maybe busting down the door wasn’t the best way to introduce yourself to my surrogate parents.”

Seeming to realize where he was now that his concern for Harry had been satisfied, he dropped Harry and straightened up. Clearing his throat. “Merda, how embarrassing. I apologize.” He said. “I’m afraid that I allowed my concern to get the better of me. Forgive me.” He offered a rather stiff bow only to have a shrunken Nagini pop out from beneath the collar of his robe. “Julian Nero. As I understand it, you’re Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? I hadn’t meant to disturb you.”

 “No worries. No worries.” Mr. Weasley assured him, though he was eyeing Nagini with undisguised nervousness. “Glad to finally get the chance to meet you. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“That makes two of us.” The Dark Lord replied.

“We’ll need to speak later, Mr. Nero.” Mrs. Weasley said. “Fifteen is a bit young.”

“It’s not illegal.” He sounded attacked. Harry snorted. “I checked.”

“The legality of it isn’t the question; Harry’s been through enough and I want to make certain that he’s in safe hands.” She said. “And I’m not the only one. Now, if you’d please escort the lot of them out?”

“Of course.” Julian said with another, slightly stiffer bow. “I apologize again. Come now.”

Harry followed the Dark Lord out without complaint, the rest of the Weasley children following a few moments later with a bit more reluctance. Moody met them at the door, clunking passed the brunet with a suspicious glare. Tonks seemed more curious than anything else.

“We had a bit of a scuffle when I arrived.” He said, a playful amusement in his voice though the raven was well aware he was anything but amused. “Tried to keep me from going in. Think he thought I was a Death Eater coming to finish the job.” Catching sight of Fred and George intermittently eyeing him and then the door the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. “Up to something, boys?”

“No.” Unconvincing.

The grin which spread across his face in that moment was all Voldemort and Harry was surprised the Dark Lord’s eyes didn’t flash red. He took a step forward, everything about the motion predatory, and when he spoke his voice was conspiratorial. “Perhaps I can be of assistance?”

The twins exchange another glance before grinning at Harry, pulling Extendable Ears from their pockets. “Maybe you can.” Fred said.

“We like your fiancé, Harry.” George said. “Amazing choice; your taste is spot on.”

“Handsome too.”

Putting enough force behind his hiss to make it sound appropriately threatening without tipping too far towards inhuman Harry attached himself to the Dark Lord’s side. “He’s mine; find your own!”

Sniggering, the twins handed out the Ears and sent them under the door. What was heard confirmed that Moody was indeed suspicious of him, though that stemmed more from what he’d seen than how he’d acted; that Dumbledore had apparently been waiting for something like this to occur; and that the assumption was that he could potentially be possessed. At that point Harry threw the Extendable Ear away from him in mock disgust, the Dark Lord holding him as his body quaked with the force of laughter he knew he couldn’t let free. Words of comfort, mumbled into his black hair, tied the whole picture up nicely with a little bow for his ‘friends’ to swallow.

“Let’s have a spot of tea while we wait for them to finish up in there.” Voldemort suggested the tone of his voice that of a typical concerned adult; he continued to hold Harry against his chest, large hands idly pressing into the divots in his spine, and the young Horcrux reveled in the attention. “There’s a tearoom on the fifth floor. If nothing else, ame, it should help you to calm down. Such vile suggestions…its better you put them out of your mind.”

A pointed look from ‘Julian’ rallied the whole group to agreement, no doubt much assisted by the eerie color of his eyes, and they headed for the stairs. Their quest for tea, like almost everything else in Harry’s life, was sadly far less simply achieved than one would expect it to be as, in the corridor of the fourth floor outside the wing marked SPELL DAMAGE they somehow managed to run into none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. Sadly, since the last time they’d seen him, the man had regained some knowledge of who he was and was as narcissistic as ever. After twenty minutes of being tormented by ‘helping him read his fan mail’ (and ripping the core out of his catatonic roommate simply as a means of venting pent up frustration) they finally managed to break free and from there had a mostly peaceful time in the tea room.

The adults finally came to get them about an hour later and, after a fifteen minute lecture about ‘treating Harry right’ and the consequences of failing to do so, the couple were parted with an agreement to meet again the next day at the Leaky Cauldron so that Sirius and the Dark Lord could ‘meet’.

That event, Harry didn’t doubt, would be one for the pensive.

Supposedly Remus was only going with them because Sirius couldn’t apparate in his animal form and Harry was too young to be able to apparate himself (he’d begun to study the theory but hadn’t any chance to practice it thanks to the anti-apparition wards erected around Hogwarts) but something told him that that wasn’t the case. Or, at the very least, wasn’t the only case. Though precisely what reason there was for the werewolf’s presence and one whose account he was there (his own or Sirius’) Harry wasn’t sure. It could have been that the werewolf’s concern was stronger than he’d expected. It could have been that Sirius had asked his remaining childhood friend to serve as wingman in confronting his Godson’s fiancé. Either way, the young Horcrux didn’t particularly care.

Shaking off the unpleasant sensation of side along apparition Harry trotted eagerly out of the alley they’d ended up in and towards the Leaky Cauldron. Whining softly, Sirius started after him with Remus not far behind.

No matter what happened or how many years passed the Leaky Cauldron never truly seemed to change. The tavern was clean, at that time of day only moderately crowded but never the less filled with light and noise. Thankfully, this time, no one approached him with stars in their eyes. Tom came forward, bald head glinting dully in the ambient light and a bright smile plastered to his face.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. Mr. Nero asked that I send you up to his rooms when you arrived.” He said. “The number you’re looking for is 541.”

“Thanks.” Harry nodded and the inn keep and started up the stairs. Remus remained silent, watching him. The raven kept his hand on Sirius’ collar. Room 541 was at the very end of the hallway on the fifth floor; the little wizard pushed it open without knocking.

A string of warm Italian met their entrance, none of which was in any way comprehensible to Harry, before ‘Julian’ swooped down on him; enveloping the raven in his arms, green and silver robe fluttering gracefully about his form, and planted a kiss full on his lips. Beside Harry, Sirius raised his hackles and growled.

“We just saw each other yesterday.” Harry said, grinning at the older wizard. Forcing down the swell of longing that the overflowing warmth in his voice, the way he looked at him then (tenderly, with none of the incendiary hunger of the Dark Lord) was real before it could be felt across their link. “Did you really miss me that much?”

“Harry.” He took his chin gently, fingering the raven’s jaw. “You could die. At any moment, I could lose you. I’ll always cherish every moment we have together, but in such times as these I find myself doing even more so.”

The Dark Lord bent to kiss his again, but Sirius stuck his wand in his face before he could. “Kiss my Godson again and I will hex you.”

Voldemort straightened up and looked over at him, eyes frosting over. But, still, he smiled and held out his hand. “You must be Sirius Black.” He said. “My lion’s Godfather. The one who abandoned him after the death of his parents for a flubbed attempt at revenge against a rat, leaving him to the ‘mercy’ of his Muggle relatives, and then again this past summer all at the behest of a man who’s…passed his prime.” The brief uncomfortable silence which followed was ended when the brunet summoned a pot of tea and four cups from the attached kitchen and brightly offered “tea?”

With Sirius affectively stunned into silence, though whether it was from the other’s words or whiplash from his shift in personality was unclear, and Harry too busy hanging off the Dark Lord to respond Remus cleared his throat and said “please.”

His Godfather still struggling to recover they moved to the table and sat down. Voldemort poured them all tea with a flick of his wand. Harry drowned his in a frankly ridiculous amount of cream and sugar before settling in to watch.

“I’m afraid I’m unsure of who you are.” The Dark Lord said. “Though I’ve a few guesses.”

“And those would be?” Remus’ tone, though polite, was wary.

“The first to come to mind would by my lion’s favorite Defense Professor, Remus Lupin.” Voldemort pulled the pot of sugar out of Harry’s reach when the raven made an effort to further adjust the flavor of his drink by dumping the whole contents inside. “Who, incidentally, happens to be a werewolf.”

“You’ve a problem with werewolves?”

“Only those that do their fellows no favors by playing into stereotypes. Greyback, for instance.” Almost imperceptibly, Remus flinched. “I lean Dark: no judgement of…monthly problems here.”

“Lean Dark, do you?” Sirius’ tone had become markedly judgmental. “And just what do you use Dark magic for?”

“Has Harry told you of my profession?”

“He has.”

“My work is similar, in many ways, to that of a Curse Breaker only I’m not under anyone’s particular authority or employ. I consider myself a preservationist of important magical history: everything from tomes to artifacts and anything in between. Primarily from the ancient world. I need to be fairly learned in both the theory and practice of Dark and sometimes even Black magic to safely handle the majority of what I move.”

“Move?” he repeated. “You mean you sell Dark objects?”

“You, Mr. Black, are an escaped fugitive. I don’t think you’re in any position to judge me.” Calmly, the disguised Dark Lord took a sip of his tea. “In my country, the buying selling and acquisition of antiques is fully legal.”

“Antiques?” Sirius spluttered. “You’re no better than that slimy bastard Borgin!”

The Dark Lord showed his teeth. “I assure you, Mr. Black, that the circles I deal in are ones Mr. Borgin can only dream of. Borgin and Burke’s, more often than not, deals in…disappointingly common, ill maintained and historically unimportant objects while I, among my personal collection, hold such invaluable items as the Uraesis of Ra and three of the four iconic items of the Hogwarts Founders. Speaking of, I suppose I should thank you for the locket.”

“I suppose that you agree, politically, with Voldemort!”

Sculpted eyebrows rose. “An odd segue from our former subject, Mr. Black. You seem to be becoming mildly hysterical.”

“Hysterical?”

“Likely due to your long term exposure to the Dementors.”

“I-!”

“But, never the less, I suppose I should indulge you in your wish to interrogate me. You are, I’m sure, only acting in the all be it belated best interests of my cherished.” Nagini chose that moment to emerge from wherever she’d been hiding, relieved of the shrinking charm she’d been under, and began hauling her massive length up the back of the Dark Lord’s chair. The Dark Lord ignored the horrified stares of both men and continued speaking. “In some aspects, yes, I do agree with Voldemort. In others, at their core, I agree with Dumbledore. In others still I’ve my own thoughts which coincide with neither which is too be expected of a high functioning and free thinking individual.” That last comment was rather pointed. “I am a supremacist of magic, not blood. Muggles are dangerous to us. Wizards are dangerous to them. Both worlds are better off apart.”

“We are not-.”

“My mother, a witch, kidnapped and repeatedly raped, by means of a highly potent love potion, my father. So yes, Mr. Black, we are quite dangerous to them.”

Another beat of uncomfortable silence, and then “I’m going to have to ask you to show me your arms.”

“Sirius-!” But as the little raven tried to rise the brunet reached out to stop him.

“That won’t be necessary, love. I know better than to take exception to anything said here today.” He said, beginning to pull up his sleeves. “Or, at least, not to take much exception.” After laying his bare forearms, wrist up, against the wood he asked “satisfied?”

Ignoring the reproachful gaze of green eyes his Godfather leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “How, exactly, did you two meet?”

“It was last year, not long before the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Which that year, oddly, had four contestants but that’s beside the point. I traveled from my home in Tuscany to see the games but arrived a bit earlier than most to tour the castle and grounds. Hogwarts, you see, has always been a point of personal fascination.” He said. “I was examining the Black Lake, hoping to catch sight of the Mer People fabled to live there, when instead I stumbled upon a vision of beauty sulking alone at the water’s edge. My lion was wary of me at first, understandably, but none the less pleased to have a conversation partner who wasn’t either star struck or possessed of the belief he’d somehow entered himself into a life threatening tournament. Why? Because having a Dark Lord out for your blood is, I suppose, not dangerous enough?”

“He’s bad at pickup lines.” Harry mumbled into his cup.

“The first thing I said to you wasn’t meant to be a pickup line.” The other defended. “And you didn’t need to throw a rock at me.”

“You deserved it. A drunken boggart could have done better.”

“Ame, for the last time, it wasn’t a pickup line.” Harry grunted something noncommittal into his cup of tea. The Dark Lord summoned a pocket watch and made a show of checking it. “Dio, look at the time! I’ve an appointment to make; incredibly important deal towards securing backing for next summer’s expedition to Peru. If we’re finished here?”

“You’re not to touch my Godson until he’s of age and if I discover otherwise I’ll personally see to it you lose the ability to ever do so again.”

“Noted.”

“I have a question.” Harry said. “I get to spend some time at the manor with you over this holiday, don’t I?”

Dropping another brief kiss onto him as he rose the brunet replied “ask the Grim” before darting off into the other room.

Pleading eyes and a somewhat miffed expression was all it took to get the other to relent. “You can spend the last night of break with him, but you need to stay at Grimmauld long enough to open presents.”

Fair.

“Speaking of,” the Dark Lord said as he returned to the room holding a wrapped package about the size (though much thinner) of a shoebox, “I’ve my present to give you before you go. Some extra protection of the sort which won’t be expected, custom built with you in mind from only the finest materials.” He handed it over to him. “The paper is charmed to be unrippable until Christmas morning, ame, so don’t go getting any ideas.”

Bidding a politely curt farewell to the two adults and leaving the little raven pouting in his wake the Dark Lord swept from the room.

Chapter Text

A Christmas tree (entirely Muggle, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with an array of vividly colored fairy lights in an effort to make it look at least somewhat tasteful which didn’t serve for much affect) blocked the Black family tree from view; the severed elf heads which lined the dark stairway had been adorned with Santa hats and fake beards which, in Harry’s view, made them look far more like Dumbledore than anything else. Presents if all shapes, sizes, and colors were piled up beneath the tree and the mood throughout Number Twelve, boosted by the return of Mr. Weasley (though periodic visits to St. Mungo’s would still be required for another few weeks) was one of warmth and buoyancy rather typical of what could categorically be called ‘holiday cheer’. Hermione had put off a skiing trip with her parents to join them there for the occasion and, despite the hostile tinge of his encounter with ‘Julian’ a few days prior, his Godfather was in a good mood. Harry, for his part, was anticipating leaving for Slytherin manor owing in large part to the desire to give the Dark Lord a ‘gift’ of his own.

Breakfast (an invariable feast, as always, and provided by Mrs. Weasley) had just come to a conclusion and now, eager and talking excitedly with Harry stuck in the middle of them, the group of teenagers tumbled into the sitting room in pursuit of presents.

Ginny got to the pile first despite the best efforts of Fred and George, slipping between the twins and all but taking a flying leap into the massive horde; beginning to pass out package after package. Blue. Red. White. Green. Gold. Large and small. Thin and wide. Light weight and heavy. Soon enough the single large pile had been reduced to multiple smaller piles at everyone’s feet. The adults had joined them by then, their entrance markedly more calm and with smiles on their faces. Wrapping paper began to fly in all directions, the sharp sound of ripping and tearing filling the room as they went at it like wild animals. With a bit calmer affect, Harry picked up his first gift and began to unwrap it.

The package had handwriting that was distinctly Hermione’s; peeling away the crimson paper revealed a book which Harry at first mistook for a diary but he soon discovered the truth that it was, in fact, a homework planner when he opened it and was promptly informed “do it today or later you’ll pay!” in a voice which was much too authoritative for his liking. Ron, too, had received one of the dreadful things and as the red head was currently complaining to the brunet about the lacking quality of her gift Harry didn’t feel the need to join in. He set it aside and picked up another of the gifts which sat beside him.

Sirius and Remus had given him a set of frankly disappointing Light books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts. He’d still read them, probably, once he’d gotten bored enough and was out of anything else to hold his attention. At least the moving full color illustrations of all the Counter jinxes and Hexes it described were…kind of interesting. And they could be of help with the D.A. Feigning enthusiasm, he flipped through the first volume before dispensing with it as well and picking up another box.

Hagrid’s gift was a brown furry wallet with a set of fangs which would have made Nagini jealous. Though they were likely meant to be some sort of antitheft device they also made it impossible to use the thing for its intended purpose as any attempts to insert money led to his fingers nearly being ripped off. Aware that Voldemort’s protections did not extend into physical damage Harry quickly discarded the wallet into the pile of recently opened gifts with no intention of ever using it.

Tonks’ gift was a miniature but fully working model of his Fire bolt which Harry watched whizz around the room, wishing he had his real one and a place where he could fly.

Ron’s gift, a massive box of Every Flavor Beans, was rather uninspired.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given him the typical yearly gift of a knitted jumper and mince pies.

Dobby had given him a…painting? …Of himself? ….At least, that’s what Harry thought it was it was really hard to tell; turning the thing upside down didn’t make it look any less like a gibbon. No matter, he could finally move on to the only gift he’d really wanted to open.

“Who’s that one from dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked as Harry lifted the emerald package.

“Julian.” Harry picked at the edge of the wrapping and, when it ripped, quickly tore it open. Inside was a closed box and a small card covered in familiar handwriting. “He gave it to me before we left the Leaky Cauldron after he and Sirius had their little talk.”

Picking up the card, Harry examined the message which had been left behind.

‘A lion needs its claws. A rose needs its thorns. Here are yours.’ And below that ‘the accompanying vial is to be kept on you at all times. Use immediately in the event of self-injury.’

Self-injury? Had he been given something poisoned? Lifting the box to his ear, Harry shook it gently but no sound which could alert him to the contents was heard. Eager to solve the mystery of exactly what was inside the box he pulled off the lid and peered inside.

The majority of its contents were hidden from view beneath a sheaf of emerald silk, colored to match the velvet which lined the box, but set into a small divot at one end was a crystal vial about the size of his pinky strung on a silver chain. A thin label threaded around its narrow neck and read Phoenix Tears. Pulling it free Harry held the vial up to the light, turning it in an effort to get the pearlescent sheen which he’d seen in Fawkes’ tears both times the phoenix had healed him but it remained inert. To him, it looked like water. But the Dark Lord was a magical genius, the greatest student Hogwarts had ever had, and Harry trusted him of all people to know Phoenix Tears when he saw them.

Of course, that didn’t alleviate any of his nervousness as the only poison which would require phoenix tears and not some other more easily obtained antidote, the only poison that could actually harm him, was Basilisk Venom. Dropping the vial around his neck and tucking it beneath his shirt alongside the locket Harry removed the silk which covered the box’s other inhabitant and felt his eyes go round.

The gleaming silver blade curved into the shape of a thorn, and strung around its hilt and guard were vines and budding roses of precious stone. A ruby, shaped like a rose in full and brilliant flower, adorned the pommel and glittered in the light. The sheath which sat beside it was made of smooth ebony, its sides adorned with stylized lions. When he lifted the dagger, its weight fitting comfortably against his palm, the tapered point glinted with a yellow tone which instantly confirmed his suspicions: the entire length was steeped in the most toxic poison in the world.

“Bloody hell, mate!” Ron said, gaping at the blade. “Is that a dagger?”

“Yeah.” He said, sliding the sheath over the blade and feeling the tension leave his shoulders. “Yeah, it is.”

“Can I see it?”

Harry shrugged and handed it over. “Sure; pass it around. Just don’t take it out of the sheath because the blade is poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” that seemed to be the last nail in the proverbial coffin on the matter as far as Mrs. Weasley was concerned. “It’s bad enough that he’s seen fit to give a piece of medieval weaponry to a child but to think that the blade is poisoned on top of it all! How absolutely, utterly irresponsible! I cannot believe-!”

The little raven tuned out the witch’s shrill shrieks in favor of directing his attention to Nihil whom had manifest amidst the snow drift of shredded wrapping paper. To his surprise his form was different: eyes still red and with a pelt as black as Harry’s own hair, the chimera reached out a dinner plate-sized paw to nudge at a crumpled ball of tissue paper.

“You find it interesting, I’m sure, that he’d arm you with a weapon which could harm us?” he sat back on his haunches once the paper ceased to hold his interest and, in a flash of dark smoke, shifted back into the form he was familiar with. Reaching up to tug the red robe he always wore into its proper place. “Well, any weapon could harm you but the likelihood it would kill you is next to none. Permanent coma, maybe. But kill you?”

Unable to speak while surrounded by the others Harry was forced to settle for sending the Horcrux an pointed glare.

“Even if you cut yourself, or somehow otherwise came into contact with the venom of a Basilisk, the Phoenix tears will prevent both of us from dying.” Nihil said. “You’d have a minute, after the exposure, to uncork the vial and pour it out onto the wound. Perhaps a bit longer if simply saving your life, and not mine, is in the cards. Plenty of time.”

Though if that happened Harry knew he wouldn’t get to live for very long. Voldemort wouldn’t allow it.

“There by, the risk of damage to us by your having that weapon is either very low or entirely nonexistent. Which makes the fast acting power and potency of the venom of a Basilisk so very attractive to instead be transformed into another protection.” He said. “All it takes is a scratch, no deeper than a paper cut, and a threat will be disposed of within a minute.”

Covering his mouth and mimicking a sneeze, Harry hissed “what’s the point when almost nothing can kill me? I don’t need extra protections.”

“Is not our Lord known for being paranoid?” the Horcrux purred. “The locket didn’t need more than the Draught of Despair, really, to protect it yet he still hid it away in an extremely remote and difficult to access tidal cave; behind a blood-sealed stone wall; on an island in an Inferus filled lake under heavy anti-summoning and anti-apparition wards. It was only a fluke that it was removed from those protections, and even then it still couldn’t be destroyed.” Reclining on his elbow, Nihil examined his blue-tinged talons. “Expect at least one more defense of some sort to be erected around you. I only hope that, this time, it’s something edible.”

Having kept his end of the bargain he’d made with his Godfather and remained at Grimmauld for long enough to have holiday breakfast and open presents with everyone, Harry-after the dagger had been returned to him by Ginny-had gotten up from his chair and voiced his intentions to leave only to discover (and, really, he should have expected this by now) that it wouldn’t be as simple as packing his trunk and using the portkey. Up in arms about his being provided with arms it took a further hour and repeated mention of the provided vial of phoenix tears before he was finally allowed to return to his bedroom on the second floor and put away his things.

Trunk secure and excited anticipation near to brimming over the little raven bade a hasty and tinged-false farewell to the inhabitants of Number Twelve with promises to meet them at Platform 9 and 3/4s in time to catch the train before activating the bracelet portkey with the hissed phrase “Black Lion.”

Like the last time he’d arrived in Slytherin manor by portkey, he landed in front of the crackling hearth but, this time, his trunk was the only thing which tipped over and fell; landing with a muted sounding thunk on the flame-warmed rug.

“I see you’ve been working on those landings.” There was a tint of mild amusement to Nagini’s voice when she spoke, black tongue flicking out to taste the air. “That’s good. I’m not listened to nearly enough around here.”

“I think our Lord knows better than either of us, Nagini.” He said, straightening his robes. “Expecting him to listen is rather presumptuous.”

“He knows best in many things, brother, you’re right. But not everything. Not about himself and his own feelings. In that regard, he’s dumber than an unhatched egg.” Without waiting for a response the massive snake turned and began to slither from the room. “Our master is in the study; he asked that I take you to him when you arrived.”

Harry stared after her for a solid moment, rooted to the spot by second hand offense at her comment, before he managed to unfreeze and follow her out into the hall. The path to the study was by now familiar and the raven was more than able to locate the door on his own.

“Will you be coming in?” he asked the snake as he reached out to rest his hand on the knob. The only reply he received was the scratching slide of scale on wood and a look which was all too knowing for his liking. Annoyed, the little raven pushed all thoughts of the serpent away and opened the door.

The Dark Lord sat behind the desk, large white hands folded in front of him against the bare wood and red eyes glinting beneath the cowl of his hood. Despite it only being near mid-day the cloud cover outside was thick enough that it, combined with the velvet curtains drawn astride the windows, allowed very little sun into the room to compete with the fire roaring in the obsidian hearth.

“I’d begun to wonder,” the older wizard said, “if you were going to come and visit me at all, my lion.”

“I had a bit of trouble getting away.” He admitted. “I hadn’t meant to keep you waiting.”

And he had, it seemed, kept him waiting. That knowledge, along with the fact that keeping the Dark Lord waiting was ill-advised and never ended well, sent a thrill of fear shooting down his spine. Would he be punished? How badly?

Voldemort simply smiled at him, the flash of sharp teeth indulgent if not comforting. “You’re here now, cherished. We’ve much of importance to discuss so let us not waste further time. But first, I must ask, did you enjoy your gift?”

Harry pushed back the hanging tail of his robe to reveal the blade where it hung buckled at his thigh like a deadly garter. “It’s beautiful.” He said, fingering the jeweled petals with the same delicacy as he had the real thing months before out in the manor’s garden. Awareness of the way those red eyes lingered on where the leather strap vanished around the swell of his inner thigh heating the fear back into anticipation. “Roses are my favorite.” Harry could feel his gaze like a physical weight and his clothing began to feel uncomfortably tight. “Though it will take a bit of training before I’m able to make use of it.”

“And what gift do you have, my cherished, for your Lord?”

The fire in the hearth behind them let out a particularly loud pop as the little raven skirted the desk and lowered himself to his knees. With the light of the chartreus fire reflecting in his eyes, outlining his own slightly slitted pupils, he made the rest of his approach on all fours. Back arched just so, drawing that gaze to precisely where he wanted it. Sitting back on his haunches once he’d reached the feet of the older male and without breaking eye contact, Harry rested his head against the Dark Lord’s knee.

Long, taloned fingers carded through his hair; cupped his jaw; traced the cupid’s bow of his parted lips. As before, he took each into his mouth in turn. Sucking on them. Feeling the sharp press of talon and scale against his tongue. Twinning the pink muscle about them like a serpent. And all the while Voldemort stared. Slitted pupils steadily growing round, overwhelming red with black.

“You’re beautiful, my lion.” The dry rasp of Parseltongue made the little raven shudder as the Dark Lord removed his fingers with a slick popping sound. Using them to trace the lips of the smaller male again, leaving them gleaming wet in the light of the fire. “The embodiment of debauchery. Asmodeus himself.”

The hand which wasn’t involved in toying with Harry’s mouth twisted, viciously, in his hair. Dragging him upwards before his legs could react to support him, scalp screaming at the abuse. His yelp of pained surprise was swallowed by the hungry descent of the Dark Lord’s mouth onto his own. A foreign tongue, long and forked, forcing its way into his mouth. Tasting. Conquering. Harry groaned, the sound low and lewd. A trickle of drool leaking from one corner of his swelling lips. His hands groped for and found solid purchase against Voldemort’s knees.

Just when spots had begun to dance before his eyes from lack of air he was released. Collapsing into a heap on the floor; hair and clothing rumpled, lips kiss-bruised and eyes dazed. A bare, pallid foot slipped between his legs and applied pressure. Drawing a helpless whine from his throat.

“I believe you were in the middle of something, Harry,” was hissed from above him, the foot beginning to alternate between pressure and relief; rubbing slow circles into blood-filled flesh. “Continue.”

Shaking head to toe, eyes blown and heart racing the raven reached forward to slip his hands beneath the folds of the older man’s robes. Pressing against the hard planes of bone and cold flesh as he fumbled with a button his vision had gone too blurred to properly see. Finally getting it undone and pulling down on the last layer of separating fabric.

The best approximation his imagination had been able to provide for his dreams hadn’t been anything near adequate enough to do the real thing justice. Hairless and pale as the rest of him, flushed ruddy at the tip and covered in the same near invisible scales. Raising his eyes back to meet Voldemort’s stare the little raven slowly dragged his tongue up along the dominate vein, feeling the rhythmic thud of his pulse and reveling in the clouding warmth of their direct contact, then pressed an open mouth kiss to the swollen crown. Taking the length in his mouth. Suckling on it. Purring. Enjoying the weight of hot flesh against his tongue and the soft scrape of talons against his scalp.

Without warning the Dark Lords grip tightened, thrusting forward at the same moment, forcing Harry to take him all the way down to the base. The little raven choked, hands scrabbling desperately at the other male’s hips, but Voldemort held him down. Merciless. Continuing his steady motion. “Come now, my dear.” With a deceptive gentleness, he wiped away the reflexive tears which had formed in the corners of his eyes. “Control yourself for me.”

The urge to gag swelled up again, tensing the muscles of his throat, but Harry forced down his discomfort. Struggling against the natural reaction of his body as the Dark Lord continued to fuck his face. Doing the best that he could to breathe through his nose and operate his throat and tongue in a way that would at least be pleasant if not pleasurable; to remember that, as this was meant to be the other’s gift, his own pleasure wasn’t important; to prevent his reflexive tears from watering eyes from becoming real tears.

He didn’t know how long it all went on before the pace of the other wizard’s thrusts quickened, the grip of the pale fingers getting stronger, but the only warning Harry had before a warm and unfamiliar fluid filled his mouth was a harsh command of “Swallow it!” which he complied with without thinking. Coughing, he slumped to the floor of the study once he was released as the Dark Lord tucked himself away and put his clothing back to rights.

“Your gift, my lion, was far superior to those of my followers.” He said. “A true display of devotion.” Again those talons found his hair. This time, their touch was gentle. “You’ve done so well, Harry. I’m more than pleased.”

Even with his throat sore and his own needs left unsatisfied, body gathered in a heap on the floor, Harry couldn’t help but preen. He’d pleased him. Had been praised by the Dark Lord!

“But now is the time we speak of business.” Gripping his arms, Voldemort lifted Harry up off the floor and set him down on the desk, leaving his legs dangling off the edge. The Dark Lord stood beneath them, pressed flush against Harry all along his body. The young Horcrux’s breath hitching, heart beginning to race. “The order thwarted my efforts to obtain the prophecy. A necessary piece of information if we’re to move forwards of which I only know a portion. That portion is what sent me after you.” The thick black fabric of his robe crinkled as Voldemort brought thin lips to Harry’s ear. “’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.’” The raven shuddered against him, the tone of his voice seductive. “You’re my Horcrux. My consort. Mine, now, body and soul, and no longer a threat. But loose ends cannot be left hanging for our enemies to find. I must have that prophecy, Harry.” Voldemort rested one long finger against his neck, the spark of heat flaring to life at the contact, and dragged it down the pale column of his throat. “You’ll retrieve it for me, won’t you ame?”

“Yes.” His voice crackled, throat dry.

“Succeed and I’ll reward you richly.” The Dark Lord’s words dripped with honey, hands sliding up along the raven’s thighs. “I’ll give you that which you most desire if you bring it to me.”

“You’ll stop teasing me?”

Sharp teeth confronted him, studding the grin of a shark. “You’ll deserve the honor, then, to fulfill your duties as my consort. But only if you succeed. And to do so you’ll need to begin to formulate a plan.”

“I think I already have one.”

The Dark Lord pulled back, raising a hairless eyebrow at him. “Oh?” he said. “Did you suspect this?”

“Nihil did.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“It starts with getting Dumbledore out of Hogwarts and on the run.” Harry said, his green eyes sparking with hostile glee. “And I’ve just the way to do it.”

Chapter Text

The shrill whistle of the Hogwarts Express blew through the platform as Harry and the Dark Lord stepped down from the apparition point, the black and silver trunk hovering behind. The bustle of last minute activity rushed around them like the current of a river, children and adults fluttering about gathering needed items and shuffling stragglers off onto the train. The candy red steam engine glinted in the sun, belching silver clouds into the cold air, and while he couldn’t be sure Harry thought he saw the Dark Lord’s eyes linger on the train with what almost amounted to affection.

The raven grumbled low in his throat and Voldemort chuckled, resting his hand on the back of his neck; the rush of warmth near enough to take his legs out from underneath him. “Relax, Harry, I’m not going to replace you with a train.” He said. “I’ve simply fond memories of the Express and of the castle. Much like you and despite the presence of Dumbledore, the castle built by my ancient ancestor was my first true home.”

He was supposed to be relaxed by that, Harry felt sure, but it only worked to a small degree. It was stupid of him to be jealous of a train. Stupid of him to be jealous at all regarding the older wizard. He held Voldemort’s attention with his body and his status as a Horcrux, a container of a piece of his soul, but he wasn’t loved. There was no devotion there and never would be. The Dark Lord expected to take without ever giving back; wanting otherwise would only end in pain. And no matter what he did, what Harry tried, there was an eternity in front of them and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his attention forever.

Lust, no matter how powerful, faded over time. And without anything meaningful to hold their relationship together, when it did everything would fall away. In the end, he’d be living in a golden cage alone.

“You ought to be pleased, my lion. Eager to begin the assignment that I’ve given you. Which you pleaded for. You seemed pleased with your plan last night.” He said. “Yet now you seem upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Do not lie to me, Harry.” His tone was pleasant but the tight grip on the back of his neck communicated the threat clearly.

“I am eager to begin my assignment. I am happy with my plan. But I still don’t like leaving.” He said. “That’s all.”

“It won’t be long now my dear.” Voldemort promised as they stepped up to the nearest door of the Express. Lowering his trunk and tapping it once with his wand to lighten the contents before bending to kiss the raven briefly. “Hurry, love, or you’ll be left behind. Remember to write, and do try to see me over this coming summer.”

“I’ll do my best, but Voldemort will probably have other ideas regarding how I should spend my break.”  He said, forcing a believable smile onto his lips. “Goodbye, Julian.”

“Goodbye, Harry.” The Dark Lord ran a hand through his wild hair. “Safe travels.” Turning away, he disappeared into the crowd. Picking up the lightened trunk, Harry started up the stairs onto the train.

He would, of course, have to find Ginny or one of the others to sit with during the journey in order to properly maintain his facade but he had a bit of time available to him before he had to really settle down to endure the ride. Still, it was better that he find the compartment first. Not only would it allow him to deposit his belongings, it would also give the prefects of the respective Houses time to leave the prefect’s carriage where they were held up in and begin patrolling their portions of the train. That would be the time he’d leave the compartment again and head to the Slytherin end of the Express.

The compartment which Harry ultimately settled on already contained Ginny, Neville and Neville’s toad Trevor. Both human occupants looked up when he entered and the toad let out a sonorous croak before making a thwarted attempt to escape into the corridor.

“Hello, Harry!” Neville said cheerily, placing the unruly amphibian back down on the bench beside him. “How was your break?”

“Good, after the scare of Mr. Weasley’s attack was over.” He lifted his trunk upwards into the overhead compartment with a low clunking sound. “It was nice to get the bleeding hell away from Umbridge for a while. But I’m sure that’s a sentiment shared by everyone.”

Grinning somewhat sheepishly and slightly pink in the face, Neville nodded. Ginny looked over at Harry with a sly grin on her face.

“So, how was Julian?”

Harry was able to pull a cherry pink blush up along his neck and onto his face without all that much trouble. The memories of what had happened the night prior in the Dark Lord’s study more than enough fuel for it; though its source was more arousal than the embarrassment he was trying to pass the matter off as. “Fine.” He adjusted his tone enough that his voice came out as a squawk. “What do you mean ‘how was he’?”

She gave him a knowing look, complete with raised eyebrows. “Underage or not, I doubt that stopped the pair of you from doing something. Especially with how eagerly you were to head off to Tuscany.”

“I…we…” Harry cleared his throat, shook his head and set his expression into one of mulish stubbornness. “I am not discussing my sex life with my best mate’s little sister. Ron would kill me!”

The red headed witch snorted in amusement, watching him shift position until he’d bundled himself up against the wall of the compartment just beside the window. “Good.” She said. “As much fun as teasing you is, Harry, I don’t really want to know. Not about him. I’m sure he’s nice and all, definitely seems attached to you, but…he creeps me out.”

“He does?” Neville piped up. “I only saw him that one time when he came to pick Harry up for Samhain but he seemed fine to me. Was it his eyes?”

“No. Well…yes, they are a little bit eerie-that color is so unnatural-but that’s not the reason I’m getting at.” Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Ginny pushed a stray lock of flaming hair back behind her ear. “He reminds me of him.”

“Him?” Harry repeated, a question tinging his voice despite knowing full well to whom she was referring.

Ginny nodded eyes on her feet. “Riddle.” She said. “Something about his bone structure, I think. Or the way he holds himself. And his hair; that comb over. It’s not quite the same, but…it makes me worry for your type Harry.”

“I refuse to allow Mini-Voldemort to ruin classically attractive men.” The raven grumbled, looking out the window to avoid sight of their snickering faces. “It isn’t my fault that he used to be a bloody Adonis before he decided that he’d rather look like a snake than the Muggle father he had so many problems with.” At that point the snickers had transformed into full blown laughter. Feigning annoyance only partially, Harry got up from his seat and headed towards the door. “I’m going to take a walk.” He said, ducking out. “I’ll be back before the trolley comes around.”

Neither Ginny or Neville had the chance to say anything before he exited the compartment. Trotting down the corridor headed towards the far end of the train. Escaping from the Gryffindor area without running into anyone. He was paid no attention by the prefects of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and was almost certain he’d get his little plan done and over with without interruption when he ran (quite literally) into Pansy.

“Potter!” The Pug-faced witch snarled as he stepped back, catching his balance with easy grace. “Sticking your nose in things, are you?”

“I hadn’t been aware that it was a crime to stretch my legs.” He said pleasantly, the smile on his face anything but. “I don’t see how I’m doing anything wrong. Or, at least, wrong enough to warrant the attentions of a prefect who ought to have much better things to which they could devote their attention.”

“You could have ‘stretched your legs’ just fine in the other parts of the train.” She said, taking exception to the false politeness in his tone and puffing up like a cat. “This end of the Express is for the members of Slytherin House.”

“Oh?” annoyed the witch couldn’t seem to catch the hint despite the fact he’d begun exuding a palpable-at least to some-aura of danger ever since his completion Harry made an exaggerated point of looking around. “Funny. I don’t see any House colors. No House banners. Nothing written on the walls.”

“You don’t belong here, ‘Golden Boy’!”

“I’m not hurting anyone.” But he’d start to in about another thirty seconds.

“Twenty points from-!”

“Pansy!” Tone tinged with panic, able to pick up on the warning signs where the witch was not, Draco came rushing towards them up the corridor. “I’ll handle this. Go back to the compartment.”

“Little Dragon to the rescue.” Harry’s grin became less threatening and more mocking. “How sweet.”

The blonde made an angry sound and sent him an sharp glare but didn’t otherwise react. Realizing that her Slytherin Prince appeared to be taking matters lying down Pansy bristled. “You’re just going to let him get away with that?”

“He can’t do much to stop me; saying ‘no’ to me is near tantamount to saying ‘no’ to Daddy’s boss and Daddy’s boss isn’t well hinged enough to take ‘no’ very well.”

Pansy spluttered for a moment before what he’d said seemed to click in her mind at which point she turned to the blonde in surprise. Draco just looked annoyed.

“What happened to ‘I don’t want to give myself away’, Potter?”

“The realization of the fact that lemon drop won’t be in charge much longer.” He said. “Meet me when we get back to school at the same place as usual and bring something to drink. ‘Julian’ has assigned me business.”

“What sort of ‘business’?” Draco’s demand was part caution and part curiosity.

“That’s no concern of yours. Your job is to help me with the Hag; I’d do it all myself but seeing as she isn’t terribly fond of me I don’t think that would get me anywhere.” School robes flaring out behind him Harry turned and began his trek back towards the opposite end of the train, green eyes sparking as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

Ducking beneath the clattering swing of a dummy, sweat plastering his black hair to his forehead, Harry landed on all fours and brought up his feet; driving all the power in his legs into the target’s chest with a loud clang and flinging it backwards; feeling the press of the hilt of the dagger against his palm as he put his weight against it. Back bowing into a graceful arch, he brought his posture back upright and he lashed out with the blade.

His movements with the weapon, by contrast to those of his wand and the hand to hand techniques he’d been practicing for most of the school year, were graceless. Clumsy and slow with too much unnecessary motion. His stance needed to be fixed. His movements tightened. It would take work but Harry was fairly confident he should at least be considerable as competent with its use by the end of the year.

One of the other mechanized targets shot a spell at him. The jet of light exploded in multicolored sparks against his protections and rained down around him. Harry pounced; wrapping his legs around its waist to hold himself in place, seizing its head and snapping its neck. Releasing his hold as it collapsed and rolling up onto all fours again.

There were two left, now. He examined the motions of the pair before selecting the more aggressive of the two and unleashing Nihil on the unsuspecting dummy; its form vanished into a dark cloud, the sound of shrieking metal echoing off the walls of the room. When the shadows faded from view nothing but scrap was left scattered about on the floor.

The final mock-opponent matched his movements. Pacing back and forth alongside him on the opposite end of the dueling circle. It attempted to run when he lunged but Harry caught its legs. Knocking it to the ground with a crash and driving the blade as far through its back as it would go.

He looked up sharply as the sound of the door swinging shut and was met with the sight of Draco glowering at him, holding a bottle in one hand. “You couldn’t sit still for the hour it took me to get up here?” the Slytherin demanded, heading towards the seating area.

“I could have.” The raven slid the dagger back into its sheath before stepping down from the circle. “But then that would have been an hour wasted. Idleness isn’t well served when there are things that need to be done and I don’t like sitting still.” Picking up the towel from the place the Room usually left it hanging Harry draped it carelessly over his head and began to lazily dry his sweat-soaked hair. Draco was actively avoiding looking at him. Sitting down with an amused chuff, he asked “something the matter?”

“Put a shirt on, Potter!”

“Why?” Harry eyed the slightly dusty bottle which had been set on the table between them and the Room, in response to his interest, provided a pair of glasses. “Does it bother you?”

“You exist to bother me!”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” The raven summoned his school robes from where he’d left them lying on the floor, draping the fabric around his shoulders and leaving himself bare-chested underneath. “Happy?”

“No.”

“Perfect!” Ignoring the Slytherin’s growl of annoyance he leaned forward and seized the bottle by the neck. “What’d you bring and where did you get it?”

“Where I got it is a Snake House secret: ask the Dark Lord if you really want to know because I refuse to be responsible for giving it away.” Draco snapped, watching him struggle with the cork for a while before he finally succeeded in removing it.

Harry couldn’t stop the pleased surprise which spread across his face when he brought the open bottle under his nose. “Smells good.”

“Of course it smells good! That’s fine Mead!” The blonde still wasn’t looking at him but his tone had become slightly hysterical. “How uncultured you are is disgusting!”

“Oh?” Harry poured himself a generous portion before setting the bottle down. “Well then, Draco, I invite you to please ‘culture’ me. Please be thorough and be sure to do it properly.”

Finally, even if it was only for long enough to send him a sharp glare, he got the other wizard to look at him. “Does anything come out of your mouth that’s not in some way meant to be a crude innuendo?”

Harry blinked slowly, like a lizard sunning itself on a rock, before stating in a perfect dead pan “Ron snores when he sleeps” and taking a sip of his drink. Had it not been for his upbringing he was certain Draco would have face palmed. “Let’s move on to why we’re here, before I get too carried away with playing with you and the entire night is wasted.” Harry sent a mild glare of his own over the rim of his glass. “I don’t want to be the only one drinking!”

He watched Draco frown, pick up the bottle and pour himself a half-glass. Satisfied, the raven settled himself comfortably in his chair.

“Like I mentioned on the train, the Dark Lord has assigned me a job. That’s all you need to know, in that regard, aside from the fact that I need your help.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing which would lead to trouble for you, so please, retain your hold on what semblance of a spine you still possess.” He drawled before taking another drink. Quite fond of the flavor, Harry made a mental note to make an effort at gaining a supply for himself when the occasion arose. “In order for the later stages of my plan to succeed Dumbledore needs to be no longer in power and out of the castle. I have at hand just the means I need to not only ensure that but ensure that he’ll be forced to go on the run from the law. Fudge, you see, is quite terrified of Dumbledore attempting to take over his position. A student run organization calling itself Dumbledore’s Army won’t do out dear Headmaster any favors.”

“Dumbledore’s Army?” Draco repeated.

“Dumbledore’s Army.” He confirmed, smirking. “I couldn’t have named it better myself. It was founded back in October as an extracurricular Defense Against the Dark Arts study group. I am, after all, a better bet for competent OWL preparation in the subject than our current professor. Speaking of the Hag, that’s where you come in to this occasion. By the end of this week, through owl post, you’ll receive an ‘anonymous letter’ from a ‘whistle blower’ within the club, detailing our ‘nefarious operation’ and the old man’s plot to ‘steal Britain from beneath Fudge’. Also enclosed, on a separate parchment, will be the date you’re to turn over said letter to Umbridge. She’ll handle the rest all on her own.”

“All I have to do is give her the letter on the included date?” Draco seemed to be finding it difficult to believe no catch was involved. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.” Harry confirmed. “At least as far as I’m concerned. Umbridge may want you to participate in whatever plan she has for us but that’s hardly my business and I’m sure you’ll be compensated for it.”

“I have your word, Potter?”

“My word, yes.” He said. “Shall I sign in blood as well?”

His cheek, clearly, wasn’t appreciated. “Alright,” he sneered. “I’ll give her the letter but nothing else. I mean it! If something comes up later you’re either going to do it yourself or find someone else to be your errand boy!”

A grin spread across his face as he raised his still half-full glass, the deep amber liquid inside shattering the light into shafts of red and gold. “To success in our endeavors.” He trilled, aware but not caring that the blonde did not reciprocate his joy. “To the Dark Lord.”

The first day of classes after their return from the winter holidays had been an uneventful one as far as his schedule was concerned, not that Harry’s mind had truly been engaged enough to pay all that much attention. Transfiguration: normal. Charms: normal. Care of Magical Creatures: due to Hagrid’s ongoing probationary status they’d studied Flobberworms, something which the entire class had found incredibly boring. But everything took a drastic turn for the bizarre at the conclusion of the day’s final class: potions.

The class itself had gone as usual. Harry’s now keen eyesight had allowed him to easily pick out the instructions on the board despite the thick pall of fumes which hung in the air. He’d brewed in silence. His potion had turned out on par with Hermione’s. Snape had gone around the room at the end of class to check things over, banishing the potions which weren’t even near up to snuff, and stopped at his. Rather than the usual quip he instead delivered a demand to see him in his office after class.

Ron and Hermione, much like Harry himself, had been…confused by the nature of the demand. He hadn’t done anything. Couldn’t fathom what the man could possibly want. With no other recourse, he left the pair behind with promises to catch up with them at dinner. Left alone, Harry proceeded to the Potion Master’s office alone. Entering after knocking on the heavy wood.

The room was large with a cavernous ceiling, steeped in shadows and with the walls lined in shelves of animals parts suspended in multi-colored potions. In one corner stood the ingredients cabinet he’d once been accused of stealing from. Sitting on top of the desk, emitting a pale blue column of light, was Dumbledore’s pensive.

Strange. Harry thought, taking a step further into the room. What’s that doing here?

Before he could get any further Snape’s voice issued from a darkened corner, making him jump. “Potter!” The acoustics of the room caused the word to echo like thunder and the raven had to resist the urge to cringe at the noise. “Close the door behind you.”

Fighting down the instinctual fear of imprisonment which the thought of closing the door invoked-it was unreasonable, they were on the same side. And even if they weren’t he was well protected-he turned and did as he was told. When Harry turned back it was to find that Snape had moved into the dim light, his face a mask of etched dislike, and was pointing at a chair standing opposite the desk. Harry slunk across the room and sat down, the other man doing the same, and for a drawn out moment both stared in tense silence.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, Harry spoke up. “Professor,” he said in a soft voice, “may I ask why you’ve called me here?”

“The Headmaster wishes you to learn Occlumancy.” He replied, venom in his voice. “Unfortunately for me the only one with the skills and available time to do so is me.”

“Occlumancy?” Harry repeated as the Dark Lord’s presence stirred in his mind. “I assume Dumbledore wants me to study it in order to keep Voldemort out of my head?”

For a very brief moment, what almost looked like surprise flashed across his face. “You’re aware of what Occlumancy is?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, Sir, but I am capable of reading.” He said. Can I tell him?

“Yes, Potter, Dumbledore does indeed wish for you to learn Occlumancy in order to keep the Dark Lord out of your mind.”

“You may, my lion.” Voldemort’s reply was edged in hostility, plainly directed at the idea of him learning Mind Magic. “You are mine! Your body; your soul; your mind! Whether the effort would be futile or not you’re forbidden from the knowledge of closing any part of yourself off to me!”

“We will begin our first lesson now.” Snape said, dropping the last of a string of memories into the pensive. “Take out your wand.”

“No.” Harry’s voice was flat as he stared him down with acidic eyes.

Snape’s own eyes narrowed dangerously. “I said take out your wand, Potter!”

“And I. Said. No!” His arm reacted of its own accord, moving in a sharp ark, and the older man reeled. Clutching at his arm as the Dark Mark burned. “I will not shut myself off from the Lord to whom I belong. He’s forbidden it. And you, if you know what’s good for you, will obey!”

Released from its partial possession Harry’s arm dropped back to his side and he watched Snape slump back into his chair. “So that was a prophecy, then, and not some desperate effort to keep Dolores from marking her for sacking.” He glared at him. “Julian Nero is the Dark Lord in disguise. You’re-.”

“The Dark Consort.” Harry perched himself primly back on his chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. “The ‘Black Lion’. And you’re only pretending to work for Dumbledore.”

Seeming to realize that Harry was waiting for an answer, Voldemort peering out from behind his eyes, the Potion’s Master reluctantly admitted “yes.”

“Do you know?”

“Know what?”

“What I am.”

“Aside from insolent?”

“He does not know of my Horcruxes, ame.” The Dark Lord said. “I’ve made certain of that.”

What should I do now?

“Arrange it so that Dumbledore does not grow suspicious and study something else during the period of your ‘lessons’.”

Harry nodded, seemingly to himself, in agreement. “Dumbledore mustn’t know I’m not doing as he wishes. I’ll keep coming here, but during that time I will study something else on my own. This is non-negotiable.” He said, ignoring the other man’s sour look. “He won’t be present at Hogwarts for much longer. We won’t have to deal with each other for very long.”

“I await the day of our parting with baited breath.” The elder sneered.

“You’re not the only one.” Harry hiss back at him before his tongue, as had his arm before it, moved with words which weren’t his own. “You will speak of this to no one, Severus. If you do I will know. And you will only wish for death.”

“I understand, my Lord.” Having to address Harry as such seemed to make the dour man’s mood even worse than usual. “Dumbledore will hear none of this. Potter, you may leave.”

Without another word to his Professor and with the Dark Lord’s presence, Harry rose from his chair and exited the room.

Chapter Text

Harry managed to make it into February before everything went to pot; dutifully attending classes training in the Room of Requirement during his free time and studying ‘Occlumancy’ with Snape; Counting down the days in quiet anticipation until the date he’d given Draco would arrive. But then, of course, the chaos which had followed him for nearly all his life returned, this time in the form of Hermione, Rita Skeeter and an interview with the Quibbler.

The thing had been planned to take place on the next Hogsmead visit, which happened to be on Valentine’s Day, and Harry had gone expecting to have to find some way to whittle away the time before it only to run into ‘Julian’ and, to his utter shock, be subjected to a romantic date at one of the more tasteful couple’s spots in the village. The disguised Dark Lord accompanied him from there to the meeting with the (due to Hermione’s blackmailing skills) currently washed up reporter and the interview went…mostly well up until the point Rita dropped a line about whether or not he’d ever find a girlfriend. The Dark Lord hissed like a viper which had been stepped on and lit the woman’s Quik-Quotes-Quill on fire.

She was lucky that the man had to keep up a façade and that they were in public, because otherwise he’d have done far worse than that to her.

After that, matters spiraled into less than pleasant things. The interview, despite its hosting publisher, was well received. Umbridge, displeased (and that was putting it lightly), had assigned him a fresh round of detentions despite ‘Julian’s’ warning back in October and banned the Quibbler from Hogwarts. The other teachers, however, had been quite happy with his ‘defiance’ and lavished him with gifts and points at random for such innocuous things as sneezing.

After that had been the melodrama of the Hag’s attempt to throw Trelawney out of the castle which, sadly, was thwarted by Dumbledore’s appearance; where Umbridge had the power to sack the witch she didn’t have the power to remove her from the castle and so the witch remained. The professor hired to replace her was none other than the centaur who had rescued him from the Forbidden Forest during his first year: Firenze.

And, of course, no visit by chaos could be complete without some contribution from Fred and George: the twins had grown tired of their schooling and of the squat toad-woman and, with their funds for their joke shop in order, had decided to go out with a bang. Literally.

The bloody fireworks they lit off remained behind in the school for a week!

At least the things which had been under even his partial control had gone off without a hitch. Draco did his job well, turning the letter over to the toad at the exact date and time included and, that night, Umbridge crashed in on proceedings half-way through his lesson on Patronus Charms. Dobby’s pre-emptive warning, though, had allowed enough time for them to scatter leading to Harry being the only one caught. And only because he’d wanted to be.

Hauled off to Dumbledore’s office, confronted with the Headmaster; deputy Headmistress; Minister of Magic; Percy; and a number of Aurors he’d been forced to watch Fudge and Umbridge both descend into a frenzy over the contents of his letter. A bland act of innocence following cues from the Headmaster and, after the revelation of the list of names Hermione had hung on the wall, Dumbledore’s stereotypically Gryffindor escape through phoenix fire post taking the fall for him led to Harry finding himself let off unscathed.

Once back in his bunk in Gryffindor tower, he couldn’t stop smiling.

Umbridge had, of course, appointed herself the castle’s new Headmistress before the night was out but, not taking kindly to her, Hogwarts locked the office; she was forced to settle for being set apart from the rest of the staff only be an official looking plaque and only became all the more tyrannical as a result. There were also a number of minor occurrences of note which took place after Dumbledore’s flight while Harry waited for the time to come at which he would implement the final stage of his plan; namely Ron winning the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor and the revelation that Hagrid’s badly beaten appearance was at the fault of his half-brother, a giant named Grawp.

Now, on the morning of their first theoretical OWL, Harry ducked into the showers with the spring of anticipation in his step. It was time. Finally, finally, it was time to dispense with all of the ‘Golden Boy’ nonsense and be done with all of them! By the end of the night he’d be safely home in Slytherin manor, the prophecy in hand and fully prepared to receive his reward.

All it would take was an over-acted caricature of one of his ‘visions’, a fabricated rescue mission and the eager assistance of the useful idiots who called themselves his ‘friends’. When the Order rushed to save them he’d take the afforded chance to dispense with his Godfather as well; surely there was something in the Department of Mysteries he could use to off him, and if all else failed there was always the old fashioned way.

Stepping out of the shower and drying himself off, Harry dressed himself in clean clothes strapped the disillusioned dagger to his thigh and, after making certain the dorm room was empty, summoned his assistant. “Kreacher!”

With the resonant crack which had by now become familiar the squat and aged House Elf appeared before him. “What can Kreacher do for Harry Potter?”

“I’ve an assignment from the Dark Lord to retrieve something from the Department of Mysteries but, not knowing what I’ll face there and aiming to get rid of as many future threats as possible, I find it necessary to drag along assistance. My History of Magical Theoretical is in another hour; halfway through I’m going to ‘have a vision’ and call on you. You’re to confirm that Sirius has indeed left Grimmauld Place against Dumbledore’s orders.”

“Kreacher understands.” The elf wheezed. “Is that all which Harry Potter requires?”

“There’s one more thing.” He said. “You’re to tell Sirius that I’ve been lured to the Department of Mysteries by the Dark Lord. Make sure he tags along with the members of the Order who are sent to the rescue. The Death Eaters sent to assist me will, hopefully, take care of all of them.” ‘Hopefully’ because what he, at least, had seen of their competence left much to be desired. “Repeat what I’ve asked of you; mistakes cannot be afforded.”

“Harry Potter wants Kreacher to come when he is called and tell him that his Master has left. He is the to tell his Master that Harry Potter has fallen for the Dark Lord’s trap and is in danger. When the Order goes to help him, Kreacher is to make sure his Master is with them.”

The raven nodded sharply. “Good. That’s all. Return to Grimmauld Place; I have to make at least some appearance at breakfast.” When the elf vanished again Harry shrunk his belongings and took a detour to the owlry to send them off with Hedwig before heading to the Great Hall.

Conversation among his year mates was…subdued. Ron looked somewhat green in the face with nerves despite the OWL ahead not being one of particular importance. Hermione was buried in a book on Arithmancy, no longer needing to study for the immediately looming test in particular. Around the table at even intervals notes and textbooks could be seen pulled out for a bit of (futile) last minute studying. Despite anticipation having murdered his appetite Harry buttered a few pieces of toast and forced himself to eat.

Harry spent the vast majority of the OWL alternating between staring blankly at the test paper in front of him as his hand moved without attention and watching the sand fall through the giant hour glass at the front of the room until Nihil, crouched beside the desk with only his eyes peering over the top, became annoyed enough to start pointing out answers for him. Forty five minutes passed that way, interspersed with comments like “B. B, damn it, not A!” and “Vampires have no connection to the Statute of Secrecy breach in 1749, idiot!” until Harry determined that the time to begin had at last arrived.

Putting his head down on his arms he mimed sleeping for another ten minutes, Nihil alerting him each time sixty seconds worth of sand had slipped through the hour glass, before letting out a yowl and falling sideways out of his chair. Toppling onto the floor. Clutching at his scar as if it were paining him. His body writing as it had in the graveyard when he’d been held under Cruciatus, screaming all the while; an agonized sound which only spluttered off when his throat had been stripped red-raw.

The Great Hall, as expected, exploded into chaos. Students leapt up from their chairs, some retreating and all staring, open mouthed and wide eyed, at the display. One of the proctors rushing up to him. Hauling him off the floor. Supporting him when his knees buckled. Shuffling him out of the room.

Nihil made an exaggerated swooning motion which was highly reminiscent of the one Draco had mocked him with during his third year, after his encounter with a Dementor on the Express. Harry ignored him; instead concentrating on digging his heels into the flagstone floor to stop himself from being frog marched any further. After convincing the elderly wizard that he’d simply had a nightmare and had in fact done all he could on the exam he was left alone to await the inevitable arrival of Ron and Hermione.

His ‘friends’ did not disappoint arriving at the Room of Requirement where he’d taken refuge the moment they could after the exams had concluded. He didn’t give them a chance to speak before dropping his line. “Voldemort’s got Sirius!” The reaction was as he’d expected and Harry explained himself further with “I saw it! Just now, when I fell asleep in the exam!”

“But where?” Hermione’s face was white as snow. “How?”

“I don’t know how.” He snapped, internally grimaced, and then injected the proper amount of tremor back into his voice. “But I do know where. The same place where the snake attacked Ron’s dad; there’s a big room there full of shelves of balls of glowing glass. They’re at the end of row 97.” Pausing for effect, he mimed having to swallow down a lump in his throat. “There’s something he wants. He thinks Sirius can get it for him. He’s torturing him; says he’ll kill him.” Moving over to the nearest piece of furniture Harry collapsed onto it and put his head in his hands. “How are we going to get there?”

This lead to another expected reaction which culminated in Hermione attempting to convince him better off wanting to go by claiming he had a saving people thing. Harry, in turn, played the “he’s the only family I have,” card and broke down into hysterical tears.

At this point Ginny, Neville and Luna came into the room stating they’d seen Ron and Hermione headed to the seventh floor and had heard about what had happened, and after an obligatory argument about not involving them he had successfully roped all five into his trap and arrived at the final stage. When Hermione, exasperated, suggested they determine whether Sirius had really left before they did anything Harry knew that he had won.

“We can Floo him, can’t we?”

“Ron, the fireplaces are probably being watched by that awful woman! We need to find some other way-.”

“Kreacher.” It came out hiccupped. Harry sat curled up in the chair he’d fallen into, knees pulled up to his chest and eyes over bright.

“What, mate?” Ron asked.

“I can call Kreacher. Over the holidays…Sirius told me that I have Black blood. I can call him; he’ll have to come.”

“Well, it’s certainly safer than trying to use the Floo.” Hermione said after a draw out pause. “And he does seem rather fond of you.”

“Because that bloody portrait thinks he’s the Heir of Slytherin.” Ginny grumbled.

“Either way, it’s settled.” The brunet witch said. “Let’s see what he has to say before we do anything rash.”

Everything had all gone perfectly. As he called “Kreacher!” loudly enough to summon the elf Harry almost couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“Harry Potter has called for Kreacher?” the elf croaked, shooting furtive glances at the raven. “What does he want, Kreacher wonders?”

“Is Sirius at Number Twelve?”

Kreacher stared for a long time, seeming reluctant to divulge the information, and then said “Master has gone out.”

“Out?” he repeated, making his voice jump with a tinge of fear. “Out where?” The House Elf cackled. Harry took a step forward. “Out where? I’m warning you!”

“Master did not tell Kreacher where he’s gone.”

“Liar!” He snarled. “He’s at the Department of Mysteries, isn’t he?”

“Harry-.” Hermione attempted to intervene but he drowned her out with a roar.

“Isn’t he?”

Again, the elf cackled. “Master will not return from the Department of Mysteries. Kreacher and his Mistress are all alone again.” He vanished before Harry could leap at him.

“I told you!” He said, half wild, aiming an accusatory glare in Hermione’s direction; she had once more gone white. “I told you! We have to go! We have to help him! Find a portkey or…or summon the Knight Bus or something! And we have to go now!”

“Flying would be faster.” Luna said, her tone and affect both remaining dreamy despite the gravity of the situation. “We could use the Thestrals. They’re more gentle than they’re given credit for and I know where they like to congregate.”

“Even if you didn’t, Luna, we could probably just attract them with Harry.” Neville said, flashing a tight smile. “They certainly seemed to be fond enough of him during that Care of Magical Creatures class.”

“What are you all waiting for!” Nearly bowling both Ron and Ginny over in the process, Harry lunged for the door. “Come on! The flight into London will take hours and we don’t have that kind of time!”

When Luna had said she knew where the Thestrals liked to gather she hadn’t lied; they found the heard in a small clearing not far into the tree line of the Forbidden Forest. With only a brief bit of trouble largely revolving around the fact that the vast majority of the group couldn’t actually see the Thestrals they managed to get off the ground and away from the school.

Harry flew at the head of the group, hands knotted in his mount’s mane and enjoying the cool wind in his face; watching countryside transition to hinterland transition to big city beneath them.

As they swooped low, entering the canopy of lights and skyscrapers that was London, his heart began to beat so fast that the sound of his own blood in his ears overpowered the shriek of the wind. He could see it all playing out before him. Could envision every moment of his triumph down to the slick slide of warm glass against his skin as he lifted the orb down from the shelf to the looks on the faces of his ‘friends’ as he revealed the truth. The eagerness pumping through his veins was so strong he almost collapsed when he dismounted outside the beaten telephone box that concealed the Ministry’s guest entrance.

A triumph. One that no one else, even Nagini, could accomplish. He would be the one to pull it off. The one to give the coveted object, the prophecy, to the Dark Lord. The one to be praised. To be rewarded for what he’d done. For proving himself invaluable; the most loyal and affective of all of them!

“What are you staring at?”

Harry jumped at the sound of Ginny’s voice from just beside and shook himself out. “Nothing.” He said. If every Death Eater got so wrapped up in the rewards they’d receive for success that they became too distracted to actually achieve it he could actually understand why they were often so ineffective. He couldn’t allow himself to fall into the same trap. “Come on. Over here!”

After cramming into the booth, dialing in the entry code and receiving badges labeled with their names and the purpose of ‘Rescue Mission’ they were at last lowered down into the Ministry’s atrium. Though dimmer than it had been the last time he’d been there with the absence of the fires in the line of hearths the cavernous room looked the same. The only sound was the gentle trickling of water from the golden fountain.

“We need to get to the lifts.” Harry informed them as they started across the room at a sprint. “The Department of Mysteries is on floor nine; the lowest floor the lift will reach.”

He ripped open the grated door as soon as they reached the lifts, stabbing the button repeatedly as soon as everyone was inside. His heart was back to racing and it wasn’t just his own excitement he was dealing with; Nihil had made another appearance, this time in his animal form, and had coiled around his legs.

“I hope you’re planning to use me, Harry.” He said as the lift clattered around them. “I’ve too much energy and haven’t had a worthwhile target yet. And the fight you’ve got brewing…even if our real concern is the prophecy it would be a crying shame to let the Death Eaters have all the fun.”

The movement of the nearest torches on the wall, flickering in the air from the lift when the doors at last opened, made his pupils constrict. His urge to pounce surged but he held it back; Nihil wasn’t the only one who thought leaving everything to the Death Eaters would be a waste of a fun time but there were more important things which needed to be done first. He couldn’t lose his grip yet.

So close.

“Let’s go!” Harry struck out down the hallway, Nihil unseen beside him, and the others followed. The first room which they encountered was what he expected: the circular chamber with the whirling wall. “Last person through shut the door.”

Neville did as he was told and the moment the door clicked back into the place the walls began to spin. Harry picked out the proper door once it stopped again and stepped into the strange room on the other side. Clocks were everywhere, filling the room with a constant Tick! Tick! Tick! which would certainly drive him mad if he was forced to remain there too long. A jar containing a billowing wind, sending a small egg upwards through the lifecycle of a hummingbird, stood on a small table not far away; he practically had to drag Ginny away from it. Thankfully no one cared too much about the cabinet of time turners which they passed to arrive at the opposite door and pass through it.

Unable to contain himself another moment longer Harry bolted the instant he was over the threshold, ignoring the shouts of alarm and calls to come back which rang out behind him. Running passed row after row of gleaming orbs; prophecies contained within glass; numbers steadily ascending until they reached 97. Here he stopped and then, at a much slower pace, began to make his way down the aisle. Searching eyes running over placards, reading each of them and finally arriving at the one that he was looking for.

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D

Dark Lord

And (?) Harry Potter

Reaching up with shaking hands he removed the little orb and lifted it down. Cradling it as if the glass could shatter at any moment, the silver light illuminating his face with an eerie glow.

“Bloody hell, mate! Don’t run off like that!” Ron said as he rounded the corner ahead of the others, wand drawn and at his side. “Where is he?”

“He?”

“Sirius! This is row 97; you said he’d be here.”

The raven purred. “I’m afraid I’ve a bit of a confession to make.”

“Do it later, Harry!” Hermione said. “We need to find Sirius and get out of here; it isn’t safe!”

“Not safe?” he repeated before dissolving into manic laughter, the wild sound echoing off the shelves and vaulted ceiling until it seemed as if they were in the center of a heckling crowd. “Of course it isn’t safe, but neither is being oh so very trusting; even if you’ve known someone for years that doesn’t mean they won’t suddenly turn on you. Won’t suddenly lie to you. And I did lie to you, you see, because I wanted this. The Prophecy. For all the smoke and mirrors the class makes the subject of Divination seem, some of them are very real.” Holding the glass orb higher he turned the face them, the eldritch glow backlighting his slitted pupils. “I am the Black Lion.”

Stunned silence fell in the wake of his announcement and for a long moment his only answer were staring eyes and shocked faces. Then, Neville spoke. Looking as if he couldn’t believe it. As if he refused to. Yet every aspect of his features were still etched with betrayal. “Why, Harry?” His voice was small and heavy. “You were supposed to be a hero.”

“Supposed to be.” His voice was low and growling, the words drawn out into a susurrus which verged dangerously on Parseltongue. “You’ve answered your own question. My life has always been nothing but ‘supposed to be’! I was ‘supposed’ to die that night in Godric’s Hollow all because I was ‘supposed’ to be able to defeat the Dark Lord. I was ‘supposed’ to be raised by ‘loving’ Muggles but according to them I was ‘supposed’ to be normal and since I could only ever be a freak I was ‘supposed’ to stay well out of sight from their otherwise perfect lives! I was ‘supposed’ to be in Slytherin but ended up in Gryffindor because I objected and then I was ‘supposed’ to behave. I was ‘supposed’ to sit pretty and then I was ‘supposed’ to save them and then I was ‘supposed’ to let them use my like an accessory, a doll, to make themselves look better! I was ‘supposed’ to shut up and when I couldn’t do that I was ‘supposed’ to be their scapegoat and then, when the time came where they needed me again I was ‘supposed’ to forget all of that and go running headlong into danger for their benefit! Supposed to. Supposed to! Supposed to! And all along no one gave a bloody toss about what I might want!”

Harry had curled down into an aggressive stance, his teeth bared and a growl in his throat, but he straightened abruptly; calming so quickly it were as if he hadn’t just been shouting loudly enough to shatter his voice against the walls.

“Until him. My Lord didn’t force me into anything. He opened the door for me; stepping through it was my choice. My choice and no one else’s!”

“Harry-.” Whatever Hermione might have tried to say caught in her throat and was lost to tears; she covered her face with her hands.

“Why didn’t you tell someone Harry? If you’d said something we could have helped you!” Ron said, half-desperate and half-accusatory. “Dumbledore-.”

“Death lies with Dumbledore!” He snarled, taking a step forward and watching the others take a step back on reflex. “Death, for me, always lay with Dumbledore. He was never safety; he only pretended to be. Voldemort was, is, now that he knows! Now that he knows what I am! I matter to him. I matter to him!”

“You mattered to us!” Ginny threw the words at him like a spear, her brown eyes over bright with tears. “Was that not enough for you? Was being a brother and a friend not enough for you? Are you really that selfish-?”

Over the snarl which ripped from Harry’s chest a calm voice drawled “were I you, girl, I wouldn’t provoke him.” A dozen Death Eaters, illuminated wands raised and eyes gleaming from within the slits of their masks had come up behind the group while they’d been distracted, lead unmistakably by Lucius, and blocked all routes of escape; trapping the four between them and the snarling, sharp toothed raven. “Drop your wands.”

Chapter Text

“Lucius,” Harry hissed, eyeing the other five as they pressed closer together, “what took you so long?”

“We were told not to show ourselves until you’d given your little speech.” The blonde sneered. “The Dark Lord wanted you to have your piece.”

Were he really a lion, his ears would have lain back against his skull. “Watch your tone, Malfoy, when speaking to your betters!”

“Our better?” the voice was female, though only barely discernable as such through the sheer amount of madness it was laced with. Harry’s eyes snapped to the masked woman just behind Lucius who was now holding her curved wand above her head in an exaggerated position. “You’re not even one of us; don’t even have a mark! Hand over the prophecy to me, little lion, and I’ll make certain that it gets to the Dark Lord safe and sound.”

“Hand it over?” Harry repeated, voice soft and dangerous. Eyes narrowed.

“Bellatrix!” Lucius said, but his warning was ignored.

“Hand. It. Over?” Harry repeated again, the growl returning to his voice and making his ‘friends’ flinch.

“Yes.” Bellatrix, as he now knew her to be, stated. Thrusting her hand, pale and tipped in dirty talons, towards him; splayed open and expectant. “You’re nothing more than a pet; a passing possession meant to look pretty and make the light sad that their ‘ickle hero’ isn’t so heroic after all. Hand over the prophecy, and while you’re at it cut off your finger and give me that ring! I spent fifteen years in Azkaban for the Dark Lord; I deserve to be his consort!”

She lunged at him, eyes wild behind her mask, but Harry had expected it and side-stepped. Slamming the hand that wasn’t holding the prophecy into her back and sending the witch to the ground, hard. Bellatrix hissed at him, absolutely nothing in her eyes but crazy, and lifted herself up onto all fours. The impulse to reach for the dagger at his thigh fizzed through him, arcing between his nerves like electricity, but his arm didn’t respond; the action overridden by the older wizard’s influence. Before Harry could formulate another reaction Bellatrix had pounced. Her weight slammed into him and knocked the little raven flat. The prophecy flew from Harry’s hands and into Neville’s. He flung her off with a yowl, bleeding from where the witch’s talons had dug into his face and neck, but it was too late. The little group of hostages had seized their chance.

Shouts of “Reducto!” went up, jets of light shooting down the aisle and dispersing the Death Eaters into puffs of smoke; with their way clear they wasted no time in running away.

“No!” Harry roared, eyes blazing yellow-green in the gloom as Nihil’s power erupted out of him. Swelling into a tidal wave of boiling darkness, consuming the shelves and their contents and rising all the way up to scrape against the ceiling; howling like a scorned banshee as it barreled after them; breaking the wooden shelves and shattering the orbs which sat on them as it passed, a thousand different voices all speaking at once rising up to join in on the cacophony as the little group ran for their lives while the room tumbling down around them.

“What is that?” Ginny shouted, red hair flying behind her.

“I don’t know!” Neville said.

“Some sort of Dark magic, I think!” Hermione said. “Harry was studying it in the Room of Requirement! He said it was only theory but now I’m almost certain that was just another lie!”

“Dark magic?” Ron repeated, forcing himself faster as the door at last came into view. “Dark magic? What kind of Dark magic has teeth!”

The cloud was only inches away from them now and catching up fast. An icy chill pouring off of it. Shapes and faces roiling inside, never appearing in solidly discernable form for longer than a moment. Thin, clawed arms reaching out for them.

Luna was the last through the door and slammed it behind them, the thunderous force of the impact ringing out for the briefest of moments before they’d piled through the second door and back into the first room. The walls once more beginning to spin.

“That looked like FiendFyre, but it couldn’t have been; that wasn’t fire!” Hermione said, rolling up onto all fours with her hair askew. “I can’t believe this!”

“I don’t think any of us can, ‘Mione.” Ron said, brushing himself off. “At least we have the prophecy. We need to get out of here; get this to the Order. It isn’t safe to stay here.”

“The Order?” Neville repeated, eyeing the glass ball in his hands as if it might suddenly sprout fangs and attempt to eat his thumb. “What’s the Order?”

“We’ll explain later.” Ron said. “We need to find the door that leads out of here and get to the lift!”

But that would be much easier said than done. They hadn’t been able to mark the door they’d come through in any way before it had spun away behind them. Had no way of knowing which door contained a pack of Death Eaters and their former friend who’d shown himself capable of terrible dark powers which they’d only barely escaped. And all of the doors looked exactly the same.

“It’s like Russian roulette, except instead of bullets it Dark wizards.” The other four exchanged confused looks but Hermione didn’t seem at all keen on explaining what ‘Russian roulette’ was or what it had to do with anything. “Come on. The only choice we have is to start trying doors and hoping there aren’t any snakes or lions behind them.”

Despite a relative certainty that the first door they chose would be safe it was still with great reluctance that they proceeded. Turning the knob. Swinging it open. Peering inside. The room was dark and empty, filled with giant planets and with a domed ceiling depicting unfamiliar constellations. There was no other door to proceed through on the other side. Turning around, they quickly retreated.

“Wait.” Hermione said before Ginny could close it behind them. “Flagrate!” Slashing her wand through the air left an X of fire imprinted on the door. “Alright. You can close it now.”

“Good thinking.” Neville said as the wall began to spin again.

“We can’t afford to go in circles.” She replied, reaching for another door. They ended up, this time, in an office. Small, dark, and cluttered there was again no other door. “We’ll have to try another.”

But when they opened the door they’d come through they discovered Harry standing on the other side, a wide grin across his features showing remarkably knife-like teeth. “Boo.” Expression abruptly transforming ferocious he lunged for the prophecy which Neville still held. “Give it to me!”

“Impedimenta!”

The spell bounced off the raven’s body to no affect at all but it staggered him enough to let them push passed. They only made it a few paces before “Accio!” ripped the little ball from the other’s grip. Catching it with the precision of a skilled seeker Harry darted through another door just as Bellatrix, mask forgotten and murder on her face, erupted through the one across the room.

“Potter!”

“Bellatrix!” Lucius, skidding around the threshold after her, made another failed attempt to grab his crazed sister-in-law as she took off running. “Bellatrix, stop!” With no other recourse, the Malfoy Lord rushed after them both leaving the remaining Death Eaters behind in confusion. Not giving the lot a chance to gain their bearings the five escaped hostages rushed into the room as well and slammed the door behind them.

“Give it to me! Give it to me!”

“Bellatrix! Do not make me stun you!”

“Shut up, Lucius! The lion brat is going to give me that prophecy and I’m going to give it to the Dark Lord along with his pretty little-!”

“Glasanguinis!” a jet of light, colored a dark and evil looking blue, rocketed over Bellatrix’s shoulder and slammed into the wall. Ice shattered across the stone into a wicked fractal.

“The Ice Blood Hex? Ickle baby’s been practicing.” Pointing her wand at him, Bellatrix shouted “Avada Kedavra!”

Harry ducked behind the massive fish tank which sat in the center of the room, filled to the brim with a brackish murky fluid, and the pane of glass exploded. Its contents, human brains as pale and slimy as dead fish, spilling across the floor. Snarling as he popped back up Harry lashed out at her with his shadows. Ducked again when Bellatrix shot another Killing Curse at his head. Emerging again and raised his wand only to have Lucius, likely in an attempt to end the fighting, trip him sending the prophecy flying out of his hands.

“Mine!” Bellatrix howled in triumph as she caught it only to have Luna pull the same trick Harry had on them and summon it out of her grasp.

“Go!” Together, with both Bellatrix and Harry snapping at their heels, they plowed back through the door and into the main chamber. Running blindly through the next door they came through only to have the ground vanish from beneath them and be sent sprawling down a flight of stone stairs leading to an arch at the bottom of what looked like an amphitheater; made of crumbling stone, it was hung with a whispering veil that moved as if caught in a slight wind.

Bellatrix reached the door first but Harry tackled her aside with a roar and slammed the door behind himself, locking her out. Landing on all fours, wild eyed, teeth bared and bloody from hitting the ground when he’d been tripped, he prowled towards them. Face more animal than man in that moment, etched with something primal and terrifying that in no way resembled anything they’d ever seen from him before. Forcing them to retreat further down the stairs as he advanced, down towards the archway.

“Give. Me. The. Prophecy.” He snapped. “Hand it over and I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt. Keep playing games and I’ll rip your cores out piece by bloody piece!”

Luna, nearest him, looked down at the snitch-sized orb in her hand and then back at the raven again before calling “Keep away from the Gnargle!” and tossing it at Ron who was furthest down the stairs. It seemed like Quidditch had paid off for him as he managed to catch it before it could fall to the ground and shatter.

“Scatter!” He yelled over the raven’s howl of fury, leaping onto the nearest bench and running down its length. Harry was on him in only a few moments but Ron tossed it over his head at the last possible moment and into his sister’s hands, on the opposite side of the room, forcing the other male to skid and change directions.

“Neville, catch!”

“Hermione, here!”

“Luna, take it!”

Their deadly game of lion-in-the-middle was successful up until the point when, as he was want to do when he became frustrated, Harry tossed all thoughts of caution to the wind and leapt off the tenth row of bleachers while Luna was throwing the orb to Ginny as if he were attempting to fly. He landed at the foot of the arch’s dais with an audible thump; rolling twice head over heels before sliding to a stop. For a moment he didn’t move, unconscious or dead they didn’t know, but then the raven twitched and rose onto all fours. The orb clutched between his teeth.

A challenge on his face and green eyes locked triumphantly on Bellatrix, who had finally managed to rediscover the proper door and stood at the top of the stairway they’d toppled down, Harry tilted his head back and swallowed it. The mad witch let out a harpy screech but before she could throw herself down the stairs towards him she was seized from behind by one of the others and dragged backwards out of the room.

“Now that that bloody madness is over and done with,” he spat a small mouthful of blood onto the floor as he got to his feet, “shall we deal with them?”

The raven raised his wand again, pointing it dead at Ron, but before he could cast anything a shout of “Expelliarmus!” sent it flying out of his hands in a graceful arch. The wood clattered to the ground a few yards away.

“Ah,” he turned his head enough to catch sight of his Godfather, stone faced but looking very pale, standing not far behind him; pointing his wand with a shaking hand. Making their way down from where they’d entered through another set of doors were Lupin, Moody, Kinglsey and Tonks. “So the cavalry has arrived.” Shooting a sharp glance at the remaining Death Eaters he shouted “what are you lot waiting for: a written invitation? Kill them!”

“Pup.” Sirius’ voice shook as the Death Eaters jumped in alarm, hurriedly engaging their nearest target in combat. “Harry, what are you doing?”

“Betraying the Light.” He deadpanned, calmly strolling over to where his wand had fallen and bending to pick it up. “What did you think I was doing? Sightseeing? Skiving off class like my father would have?” the other man flinched at the mention of his best friend and Harry felt a surge of wicked glee flow through him. “You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you? For me to start acting like my father, too, as well as looking like him. Because it’s James that you really want, isn’t it, not me. It never was!”

“Harry, that isn’t true! You’re my Godson! Family! I-!” Looking half sick and half dumbstruck, he shook his head. “Damn it all, is that why you did this? Why you felt the need to join Voldemort? Whatever he’s told you, whatever he’s offered you, it isn’t true Harry!”

“It’s a very small part, yes, mixed in with many more important grievances and carefully weighed factors.” As he’d seen Voldemort do in the graveyard after his return, Harry rolled his wand between his hands. “It is, however, a very large part of the reason why I’m about to kill you.”

“Kill me?” he repeated, voice pitching high in disbelief. “Harry, please, think about this. Whatever you think we’ve done or haven’t done joining him won’t fix it; he killed your parents, pup! He’s only using you! You can still come back, Harry. You haven’t done anything that’s unforgiveable.”

“…”

“Please. I promise I’ll do better; we all will! Just…come back.”

Harry looked down at his feet for a long moment, examining the ground on which he stood, and then said “there is no ‘coming back’ for me’” and raised his wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

Time seemed to slow after the flash of green light went off. Sirius stumbled backwards, a shocked look on his face; as if he refused to believe that Harry had done what he had. Then his foot caught on the uneven floor and he tumbled backwards through the veil. Harry didn’t stick around to witness the reaction, bolting out of the Death Chamber and leaving the Department of Mysteries altogether. Running up the corridor which led to the lift, paying no heed to Bellatrix or her mad shouting as she tore after him. The peels of yowling eventually died behind him as the lift rose higher. Higher. Reaching the atrium at last.

He’d done it. He’d done it! Sirius was dead. Now, all he needed to do was get back to the surface of London’s city streets and activate the portkey back to-.

“It’s too fine a night to be in such a rush, Harry.” Dumbledore said, calm where he stood beside the golden fountain. “I’d like to speak with you a moment if you’ve the time to spare before you go running back to Tom. That’s who Julian was all along, wasn’t it? Clever. Of course, that’s only to be expected considering the faculties of whom we’re dealing with.”

Skidding to a stop, fear causing his muscles to seize up, Harry caught himself against the wall and glared. “You knew?” Dumbledore nodded. “How long?”

“He didn’t modify his once appearance very much when he came to collect you from Samhain.” He said. “Before that, I could only assume.”

“Since October?” Harry repeated, lip curling, voice tinged in disgusted confusion. “You knew since October yet you did nothing? Let me run rampant without you in the castle? Why?”

“Why attempt to subdue you before you’d worn yourself down to being nearly harmless? What you are is something that has never occurred before, but the closest approximation-an Obscurial-is a being capable of immense destruction under the correct conditions. I didn’t wish to risk it in a castle filled with innocent students.” Harry’s eyes darted from the glittering man to the row of hearths behind him and back again. “Bellatrix, in her overzealous devotion to Tom, didn’t do you any favors. Nor, I’m sure, did your display in the Hall of Prophecy.”

“So this was a trap, then?” he hissed. Two hundred feet of empty space was all that separated him from escape. A single attack, even if it missed, would be all it would take to make a sufficient distraction if he ran for all he was worth.

“I’m sorry, my dear boy. I know that you do not believe it now, but I really did see you as the grandson I never had. I still do. And I had hoped for a different outcome.” Dumbledore said. “I’d found a way to save you, something Tom could not have told you as I’ve made it a certainty he wouldn’t know, but there’s no longer any hope of that. Of killing the Horcrux in your scar without doing the same to you. The only option left, now, is the one which left you so afraid. You’ll have to be destroyed.”

Harry threw everything he had behind the strike when Dumbledore stepped towards him, expecting the shadows to rise up and attack the man, but instead a terrible pain tore through his body and he contorted on reflex. His vision whiting out as all the air left his lungs. When he regained his bearings he was crumpled on the atrium’s floor, quivering and sight blurred with tears.

Nihil was out of energy and the pain in his core as the Horcrux turned on him stole any ability he might have had to move or call his magic to his aid. He was left to lay there, defenseless on the floor, as Fudge and his cadre of red-clad Aurors arrived.

“Dumbledore! Potter! I-What’s happened to him?” Red in the face and spluttering severely, the Minister didn’t quite seem able to settle on what he wanted to do or devote his attention to.

“Very dark and irreversible magic preformed, I suspect, over this past summer by Voldemort.” He said somberly, watching Harry as he lay there unable to do much beyond hiss and spit viciously in Parseltongue. Everyone else in the room appeared visibly unnerved. “Downstairs in the Department of Mysteries you will find several escaped Death Eaters, though a few regrettably managed to escape, held under anti-apparition charms awaiting your decision on what to do with them. I advise that Harry, here, be immediately taken to the most secure cell in Azkaban.”

“I…well…we’ll deal with you in a moment Dumbledore! For now…Dawlish, Williamson, take the boy-!”

“That,” Dumbledore cut in, raising his wand and pointing it at the fountain, “would be an unwise decision Cornelius. He will kill, quite horribly I’m sure, anyone who comes into direct skin contact with him and in doing so will again become a danger to others. Though still not a perfect solution having one of the statues detain him would be safer.”

Harry let out a pitiful whine and tried to move again as the golden wizard stepped down off the fountain’s pedestal, heading towards him with long steps that clanked against the floor. Heart racing. Eyes wide and pupils fixed as terror fogged his brain. Help me. He was going to be held for execution by the Light. Run through by the Sword of Gryffindor or thrown into a FiendFyre pyre after Hecate only knew how many months of being left to starve. They’d kill him. There would be no mercy. Master, please! The golden statue bent down over him, reaching out with one of its massive metal hands, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a loud bang! followed by shouts of alarm which quickly transformed into cries of terror as he was seized by the hair and apparated half-way across the atrium. Hanging limp in the grasp of sharp talons as they wrenched him upwards, the hard press of thin lips descending on him; filling him with warmth as strength rushed back into his limbs, banishing the pain. His body bent backwards over a supporting arm as he was released, the stiffness leaking from his muscles, and a gasp-surprise and relief-left him at the abruptness of it all.

“Merlin’s beard, that’s-! He’s back! That’s You-Know-Who; he’s back!”

Red eyes met dazed green ones as they slid open, holding his gaze for only a brief moment and betraying nothing of what the other might have felt. “This is the only time I will lend you a portion of my magic, cherished.” Voldemort. He’d come. He’d saved him. He was in his arms; safe! Completely safe! Reaching up with his hands he gripped handfuls of the black robe and hid his face against the Dark Lord’s narrow chest. “It seems that we’ve found your weakness: your abilities are inefficient in the amount of energy they consume. A solution will have to be devised but until then, I’ll not see you in harm’s way: you’ll participate no further.” The hand between his shoulder blades trailed down his spine, the gesture sending comfort flooding through him, and Harry nodded. “Return home. Deliver the prophecy to my study and await my arrival in your chambers.”

He released him, then, and pushed the little raven towards the line of hearths. Harry stumbled at first, then caught his balance and bolted through the nearest hearth. He heard Dumbledore say “it was foolish to come here tonight, Tom,” but the flames flared up around his feet and whisked him away before he could catch the Dark Lord’s reply.

Chapter Text

Bent over the sink in the expansive bathroom of his chambers Harry shoved two fingers as far back into his throat as they would go. His body jerked as the gag reflex was forcibly engaged. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and blood-tinted saliva spilled over his lips. The contents of his stomach rose up his throat only part of the way before dropping back down again; it took him five tries before his body cooperated, spilling the prophecy into the basin of the skin with a sickening splat.

Weak in the knees, the raven took a few moments to catch his breath while leaning heavily against the sink. Once he’d gathered his strength back together he straightened up and turned on the faucet. Lifting the little orb from where it rested against the raised drain cover and running it under the water. Drying the glass with a towel and slipping it into the pocket of his robe. After clearing away the remains of the vomit and aggressively attacking the taste left behind in his mouth with copious amounts of tooth paste and mouthwash the raven picked at the state of his hair for a while before leaving his bathroom behind and heading towards the Dark Lord’s study.

Harry’s footstep thudded dully against the dusty rug covering the corridor’s floor. Dim light filtered in through the windows as the sun began to rise, the shadows casting strange shapes across the walls. Pausing at the appropriate door Harry turned his head to look at the blocked the entrance of the Dark Lord’s bedroom before going inside.

Quietly crossing the dark room to stand before the desk, he reached into his pocket and set the prophecy down with the soft clank of spun glass on wood.

“I believe I told you to wait in your chambers, Harry.” Voldemort said, his towering form filling up the doorway. “It took longer than you expected to regurgitate the prophecy?”

“Nagini makes it look effortless. Apparently, it’s a lot easier for a snake to bodypack important objects than it is for a human.” Harry dipped his head. “I’m to be punished?”

Long fingers tipped his chin up to meet red eyes; the other hand removing the false glasses from his face. After a brief kiss Voldemort repeated “punished?”

“My plan fell through. Ten Death Eaters are in Azkaban because of me. Lucius was your second in command-.”

“Ame.” A gentle touch of his finger to Harry’s lips was enough to silence the raven. “Those Death Eaters. Lucius. You, almost, and the prophecy as well. All that I lost and might have lost tonight lies squarely on Bella’s shoulders.”

“She’ll be punished?” a mild tinge of desperation had entered his voice. Fanatically devoted. Willing to spend fifteen years locked in Azkaban for the Dark Lord without complaint. What if those factors combined would be enough to make him inclined to let her off with just a warning?

“Yes, my lion. Bella, loyalties aside, will be punished gravely for losing me Death Eaters; for almost costing me the prophecy and you. For being so presumptuous as to assume that her service, while admirable, in anyway entitles her to being at my side as you are. But you, Harry, still need to be properly rewarded for your achievements.” Voldemort removed his hand. “First, since you are here, shall we determine what the full prophecy says? Whether or not there’s anything left for us to fear on the horizon? What say you?”

Mouth suddenly feeling very dry, Harry nodded. The Dark Lord lifted the prophecy in one of his large hands, the spun glass melting out of sight for a brief moment, and broke it against the side of the desk like an egg. A misty figure rose up from it and, as they began to speak, Harry realized with a start that he was looking at 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 shall mark him as his equal, but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not. And one must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord shall be born as the seventh month dies.”

Voldemort straightened, dropping the halves of the broken orb onto the desk. “The Light went through so much, all to protect the knowledge that they’d lost.” He said. “I know your ‘power’ my little Horcrux. And now you are the only one who cannot live without me.”

“I wouldn’t want to live without you.” Those words were dangerous. Toeing the line between the cultish devotion expected of the Dark Lord’s followers and an admittance of feelings which would all but surely get him killed. “I’d rather die.”

Voldemort’s interpretation of the meaning behind his statement seemed to be the former, as his reptilian face split into a grin. “How far the Boy Who Lived has fallen.”

“The Boy Who Lived is dead.” Harry replied. “He was eaten by a lion this past summer.”

“Indeed.” Those fingers resumed tracing his lips. “Are you prepared, my cherished, to receive your reward?”

Heartrate picking up again, the raven’s pupils dilated. “Yes.” He said, breath catching. “Shall we go to your chambers?”

“My chambers?” the gentle motion along his lips ceased. Voldemort’s voice was laced with vindictive amusement.  “My chambers? No, Harry. You will never see my chambers. You’re my Consort, among your duties is satisfying my needs, but you are not my lover. That room is mine and mine alone.”

He’d known. He’d known before Nihil has broached the matter. Had certainly known after. Known, even if he hadn’t wanted to face it, even if he’d tried to convince others and himself otherwise, that he was nothing to the Dark Lord. A vessel; a hole; an object. But to hear it. To have it so clearly stated…” Nihil sank his claws into the feelings which welled up from the remnants of who he’d once been and dragged them away before the hurt and regret of the choice he’d made could show on his face or trickle over their link. “I hadn’t meant to suggest otherwise.” Harry said. “My chambers, then?”

Voldemort’s response was to lift him into his arms and whisk him down the hallway to the red and golden room. Sparing a brief glance of distaste at the color scheme as he set the raven down, he snuffed the lights with a wave of his hand leaving everything a uniform black.

“Strip.” Voldemort said, voice firm and gaze expectant as Harry turned back towards him. “Slowly.”

Harry shed the school robes he still had on and dropped the fabric to the floor. Lifting his hands to his shirt and began to unbutton it. One button at a time. Worrying at each of them just short of long enough to provoke the other man, allowing the cloth to fall apart and reveal the pale pane of his chest to hungry red eyes. The chill of the room raised dusky nipples pert. Then it, too, fell to the floor leaving Harry in only his pants.

He was tempted to stop there, to simply tease at his waistband for a while, but an impatient hiss from the older wizard corrected him of the thought. Opening the button of his pants and loosening the zipper just enough to get them down, Harry slowly inched the fabric over his legs and stepped out of them. Leaving himself naked before the Dark Lord.

Talons ran through his hair, tilting his head backwards. Thin lips devouring his mouth. Hands running down his neck; over his shoulders; along his sides; seizing handfuls of his arse; kneading the plush flesh; parting the cheeks and teasing at the virgin hole hidden inside. Harry inhaled sharply, allowing the forked tongue into his mouth; shuddering against him as the slim muscle coiled lithely around his own.

Harry’s lips were swollen, kiss bruised and wet when the Dark Lord pulled away. Moving his attention to the raven’s neck. Sinking his teeth into the pale flesh and drawing blood; lapping the red fluid away as he moaned. The older wizard’s attention dropped lower. Passed his Adam’s apple. Down to his collarbone. Soon bite-marks bloomed like blue-black roses across his skin, braceletting his throat.

Something cold and sharp brushed against his ribs and Harry looked down. Watching the bone-white wand move lower. The point trailing across the taut, sensitive skin of his exposed stomach. Stopping at his swollen base. “Morsmordre!” White hot pain flared up where the point of the wand met with his skin, at the center of the valley between the wings of his hips. A black brand formed itself into recognizable shapes: a fanged skull; a serpent which spilled from its mouth like a hissing tongue, coiling up along his shaft.

“On the bed.” Voldemort hissed, cold grip closing around his flagging length; the warmth of his touch, the sensitivity of the newly branded skin and two sharp tugs chased all ill effects of the pain away. Drowning the little raven in sensation. “Do not keep me waiting, Harry.”

Harry couldn’t be certain if he was thrown onto the bed or simply toppled onto it but either way he ended up there; on his back and supported by his elbows. Voldemort wasn’t far behind, his own clothing banished and skin so pale it glowed in the gloom.

The raven’s legs fell open and the Dark Lord settled between them. Engorged, scaled flesh pressed into his hip. Thin lips and forked tongue found his chest, lapping at the hardened buds. Sucking and biting. Marking and claiming. Harry’s head lolled back as slender fingers prodded at his entrance once more. Investigating. Invading. One finger. Then two. Then three. Touching. Stretching. Forcing their way deeper. Hunting down and abusing the bundle of nerves deep in his core.

“Say it.” The demand was half a hiss and half a snarl, red eyes glared down at him from above as he removed his fingers. Reveling in the whine of loss the smaller male let out in response. “Address me as your Lord.”

“Master-ah!” The word cut off into a strangled moan as Voldemort’s hips snapped forwards. Driving in to the hilt and filling him up to the brim. Harry’s back bowed off the mattress, the bed shaking beneath the brutal pace the Dark Lord set. Equal parts pain and pleasure flooded through the raven’s body as he was thoroughly shagged without time to adjust to the intrusion of something far larger than the fingers used to prepare him. Teeth back to snapping at his neck and shoulders, leaving the skin a patch work of bruises and blood and giving him little choice but to wrap his arms and legs around the man above him. Nails scratching at the sharp planes of boney shoulders. Fingers clutching convulsively at the sweat soaked sheets. A red hot coil winding tighter and tighter in his belly until it finally snapped. Points of color bursting behind Harry’s eyes as the orgasm crashed through him with enough force to steal his breath. Muscles clamping down around the Dark Lord, who, with a grunt and a final deep thrust, spilled himself inside him.

Left boneless and feeling very warm Harry slumped against the silken sheets, teetering dangerously on the edge of sleep, but to his surprise the Dark Lord seemed to have no intention of staying there with him. Pulling himself free of the smaller male, he wrapped his body back up in the black cloak. “You’ll attend your first meeting at the end of the month where you’ll be marked properly and receive your next assignment. I’ll have some measure in place to balance out your inefficiencies by then. Until that time you’re to stay at the manor.”

Without waiting for his reply Voldemort swept from the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a quiet click. Alone and used, Harry curled onto his side and stifled a sob in the rumpled sheets.